#i should practice drawing people with masks...

[lokh]

oh my god. a manga where everyones actually wearing masks???

edit: NEVERMIND jumped the gun here it was just for one scene cos they were at a nail salon 😭

edit 2: hmm actually. depending on how recently this manga was drawn it could just be reflective of how not everyone wears masks. the customers are wearing masks in the salon but outside usually not but Sometimes. they are

edit 3: I WAS RIGHT??

[rapilne]

-Ice Cold

beomgyu x fem!reader

warnings: sub!beomgyu, sex (?) this contains smut, not proofread, MDNI, beomgyu pov-ish

a/n: no summary cause i couldn't tell you what this is about. this is my first time writing anything like this, i wrote it on my notes so im not sure how many words there are, i think too many, this is without a doubt too long, pls bear with me. also english is not my first language, if something doesn't make sense well idk figure it out pretty pls, thankssss 🫶

--

"she's my girlfriend," beomgyu said, his expression a mask of utter sincerity.

his words hung in the air, the silence filled with unspoken questions. 

yeonjun squinted at him, scrutinizing his face before glancing at taehyun then back at him. "so, you're saying… you have like a crush on her?"

an exasperated sigh escaped beomgyu. “what? no," he protested "i mean, yes? ” he closed his eyes and said slowly “no… it’s like i said it. she’s my girlfriend for real.”

the weight of his words hanged heavily and his friends remained speechless, drinks on their hands and stares like daggers. beomgyu shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to do to stop them from looking at him like that.

"i just don't understand what's so surprising about it," he muttered, a pout forming on his lips.

—

choi beomgyu had always been the epitome of charisma. from his looks to his charm, whether he stepped into a crowded room or sauntered down a bustling street, all eyes gravitated toward him.

he was well-known and well-liked everywhere he went: university corridors, guitar lessons, basketball practice, even the corner store near his apartment. everyone is positively drawn in by his undeniable charm.

he likes to think he got that from his mother.

naturally, beomgyu thrives on the attention. the way people's faces lit up upon his arrival was a like drug he couldn't resist. 

specially when he is so used to getting his way. never in a malicious or manipulative way, it was jut that asking was usually all it took to always obtaining whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it.

so, all things considered, he'd never struggled to draw the attention of those he found attractive. one could almost say he had his pick of the litter.

that is the reason why setting his sights on you should be the most foolish thing beomgyu has ever done in his entire existence. and yet, there he was, unable to resist the pull.

from the first time he met you, in his advanced music business class, it was as though you existed in a world entirely apart from his own. not responding to any of his advances honestly threw him off but he tried to look past it attributing it to a fleeting lapse or perhaps an uncharacteristic bad mood on your part.

but after you acted the same way the next time he tried talking to you, and the next, and the next, he couldn’t help but take it personally. 

he soon realized it wasn't merely a matter of wounded ego. from the very first meeting, he had mustered his most charming smile just for you. after all, he thought you might just be the prettiest girl he had ever seen in his life, and after just a few classes, he realized you were also one of the smartest people he knew. everything about you seemed to get his attention, like you were the main character in a movie he couldn't take his eyes off of.

so, whyy you, out of everyone, had to be the one to give him the cold shoulder like that? why couldn’t he just like someone who liked him back?

either way, he soon came to find out thanks to his seat mate jun that your behavior was not uncommon.

he couldn't shake off the words his friend had offered in consolation: "don't sweat it, she's like that with pretty much everyone."

of course, in true beomgyu fashion, he couldn't help but sweat it. 

he did pick up on your vibe—not shy at all, like he thought at first, but definitely serious and reserved— but he wasn't accustomed to blending in with the crowd like that; being treated like “pretty much everyone” didn't sit right with him. 

"it's all so high school," jun chuckled, shaking his head. "but people actually call her the ice queen.”

now it seems like getting on your good side might be a task for the gods.

good thing he is known for always getting what he wants.

— 

taking a sip of boba should never be this unpleasant. except that time he ordered matcha when he meant taro, beomgyu's boba runs are always a particularly happy time. right now though, it isn’t going so well. especially when yeonjun goes "you’re fucking lying," for what must be the seven-hundredth time.

“i only lied when i told you that mesh shirt you’re wearing was a look.”

the older gasps, "take that back."

beomgyu then stands up and looks at the counter. there are only a couple of tapioca pearls left on his drink and he thinks he might ask for some more. are tapioca pearls refills allowed in this place? he doesn’t think they’re allowed anywhere, but he might as well ask.

throwing a pointed look at yeonjun—who still looks mildly offended—taehyun tries again. "when did that even happen, beomgyu?"

entirely unfazed, he stirs his drink lazily and sits back down. "i only have like two tapioca pearls left."

"he’s talking about boba because he’s lying." yeonjun scoffs and beomgyu thinks he might punch him any second now.

"look, I don’t know what’s so unbelievable about me and Y/N being together when-"

"Y/N and me," taehyun cuts him off.

"huh?"

taehyun takes a slow sip of his drink before explaining. "the correct way to say it is ‘Y/N and me,’ not ‘me and Y/N.’ though, technically, it depends on the context of the sentence. like, both are grammatically correct, but ‘Y/N and me’ is considered mo-"

"what on actual fucking earth are you talking about?" beomgyu stares at him

"i'm talking about the proper structure of-"

“that is literally not important!” yeonjun interrupts them both with a loud voice, “can we please stay on topic? why are you lying about y/n being your girlfriend beomgyu?”

beomgyu glares at yeonjun, throwing his straw to the trashcan right next to them. they came in quite late to the boba shop and didn’t get the best table.

“for the millionth time, yeonjun, i’m not lying!” he says with wide eyes. “what is it that you want? i can call her right now, put her on speaker and asker to tell you how much she likes me, yeah?”

yeonjun narrows his eyes at him, suspicious. “do it.”

“you’re fucking kidding me-“ 

the door chimes and the older’s attention is momentarily taken by the sound. beomgyu takes advantage of it and quickly sizes yeonjun's cup only to realize his mistake too late and have the matcha flavor assaulting his taste buds.

he chokes back a gag and it’s impossible for taehyun to not roll his eyes. he appears to be the only one inmune to beomgyu’s charm, consequences of their close friendship.

yeonjun’s laughter fills the air once he realizes what happened. “that’s what you get,“ he says.

“how can you drink that?”

“matcha is tasty,” yeonjun shrugs.

“matcha is a gross,” beomgyu retorts, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

“the way you are just unwilling to talk about it makes me think that yeonjun might be onto something,” taehyun looks up at him propping his chin on his hand.

“why would i lie about me being in a relationship with someone?”

“that's what we want to know stupid," yeonjun says mockingly. "actually, why do you do half the thing you do?”

“yeonjun stop,” taehyun he says and then looks at this other friend, “beomgyu, it is not really about you being in a relationship. it is about with who.”

“what’s is wrong with y/n?” he asks with a pout on his lips.

“oh nothing,” yeonjun scoffs. “except everyone says she is quite literally a bi-“

"watch it, yeonjun,.” beomgyu cuts him off coldly with a hint of seriousness in his tone that wasn’t there before

yeonjun raises his eyebrows, frankly surprised "i was just going to say she's quite literally a big fan of not making friends,” he finishes instead, eyes wide.

taehyun intervenes swiftly, sensing the tension rising. "beomgyu," he began way softer that the other two, "i'm not doubting your feelings, but we kind of know y/n's reputation. she's known for being... distant, self-centered even. i just don't want to see you get hurt because you're too trusting."

taehyun's words struck a chord with beomgyu, but before he could respond, yeonjun chimed in, his voice filled with remorse. "he's right, gyu," he admits, a hint of regret on his tone. “and i'm sorry about before. but still, you need to be careful. y/n... people have tried to get close to her before, and it hasn't gone well."

beomgyu's heart sank at yeonjun's words with the weight of their implications settling heavily on him.

"look," he begins, "y/n is different, okay? she's not like anyone else i've ever met. and maybe i haven't been completely open about it because... because i know how you guys get. but i mean it when i say i’ve known her like other people haven’t. she is amazing”

there's a pause as beomgyu searches for the right words," she's nothing like that ‘ice queen’ corny, nonsense everyone is always talking about. I just wish you guys would give her a chance."

as the trio leave the place, beomgyu sips on his refilled boba. turns out they definitely don’t do refills, but of course the staff made an exception. “just for you,” they’d said.

he even got a new straw.

—

“and that’s my problem how?” you ask with straight expression.

the girl in front of you stumbles over her words, her voice quivering as she tries to play it off with a quiet laugh. "i-i’m not saying it's your problem," she began cautiously. "but, like, your signature could totally convince mr. yang to extend the due date. if we all get on board, he'd have to at least consider it. please?”

"no," you reply.

“what?" she blinks, caught off guard. "i mean, i’m sorry?" 

leaning back, taking a sip of your iced coffee, you return your gaze to your book. “you’re good,” you say in an almost nonchalant tone. "i’d just rather not be disturbed while i’m reading.”

"i'm not apologizing to you!" she snaps before taking a deep breath. "i just—why not? it literally doesn’t hurt you at all to sign? we really need your help y/n. it will even give you more time to finish your own stuff.”

"already finished it,” you say, not even making eye contact.

she lets out a surprised squeak, but recovers quickly.

"well, i guess that's cool for you," she mutters. " but we really need your signature or mr. yang won't even look at the petition.” 

nothing from your part.

mr. yang was a no-nonsense professor who smelled of tobacco and liked to look at everyone over his glasses as to remind you he is much more smarter than you. he hands out tough tasks, but always provides the necessary materials to complete them. though you weren't his favorite student, and he certainly wasn't your favorite teacher, you excelled in his class, meeting his high expectations. but you worked hard to get things done.

"look,” she tries one more time, “i know you're really smart, but some of us are really… struggling.“ she sighs sadly. ”it's taking forever to get through the text he sent, you know? if we all, like, come together and help each other out, we could totally make it happen. team effort. what do you say?"

once again she was met with silence.

"y/n?"

anna, the heroine in your book, seems genuinely tormented and you’re really starting to feel bad for her. if only she didn’t chose the red door. the blue door was the obvious right choice, but she decided to be adventurous. now, she will probably die. can vampires die? of course they can, you remember. for example, in twilight, you have to cut them in little pieces and-

"hello?! earth to y/n?" you hear a loud voice in front of your face.

you glance up. right, the ‘help us change the due date’ girl from your class. can’t really say you remember her name. 

“you're still here?" you ask flatly. can people get any more annoying? 

"oh my god, seriously?!" she practically yells this time. "i can't believe you're such a bitch!"

suddenly, and before things could escalate further, beomgyu steps in, appearing from around the hallway "whoa, why are we yelling" he asks, his guitar hanging on his shoulder. “what's going on?”

he could hear the shouting from a distance, but the details were lost to him.

on the other hand, you think beomgyu looks exceptionally good today. his dark, long hair framing his beautiful face, and eyes so deep and brown, pouty lips, you can not wait to get him alone…

"hey, beomie," you greet him with a smile. "nothing much. ready to leave?"

you've been waiting for him to finish his composition class. your own class got cut short, and you were ready to head home, but beomgyu insisted on spending the rest of the day with you, asking if you could wait for his class to end.

there's someone you can't say no to, and that's choi beomgyu, you've come to realize.

without waiting for an answer, you toss your book into your bag, grab your iced coffee, and take his hand, leading him towards the exit. your classmate watches you with wide eyes, speechless with incredulity. beomgyu glances back a little confused, offering her an apologetic smile and a quick wave as if to to smooth things over.

once outside, hand in hand, beomgyu asks carefully, "what was that?"

"oh, nothing at all,” you brush it off.

"she seemed mad," he remarks, and you stop in your tracks, making him stumble a little.

"did she? i didn't notice," you say, teasingly. "but i did notice i haven't kissed you yet."

with a playful glint in your eyes, you reach up and gently pull him down by the collar of his shirt, closing the distance between you as your lips meet in a slow, lingering kiss. beomgyu sighs contentedly, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you closer.

"you're the sweetest," he whispers against your lips, screaming girls all forgotten.

—

“look at this video i took on saturday,” hao leans over the table to show a clip to beomgyu as they sit with a couple of his classmates at the uni cafe. beomgyu recognizes the place on the video as the han river, and the performers on the clip as a dance team yeonjun showed him before.

“oh, i know them!” he says with a big smile, “they’re sooo good. don’t you think they should be like performing on music videos or something?”

“they should,” hao agrees. “i’ve seen them on tiktok though, and they’re making really big numbers.”

“oh shit, yeah, me too! i keep telling y/n to come with me to see them whenever yeonjun tells me they have a showcase.”

this caught the attention of gina, a girl from his music production class “i’m sorry, but i still can't believe you're with her, gyu.” she remarks shaking his head incredulously. 

beomgyu looks up from his phone to give her a questioning look, “what?”

“ah, she’s right” hyunjin says next to them through bites of his ham sandwich, "i mean, she's smoking hot, but she's also a total ice queen."

beomgyu rolls his eyes. "not the high school nicknaming, please” he says irritated “she is not an ice anything, you calling her that is cringe. and i’ll have you know she is really sweet, actually.”

"sweet? seriously, beomgyu?" hyejin chimed in, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "every time i've tried talking to her, she acts like i don't even exist."

“sh-“

"yeah, and remember when she snapped at mark for accidentally bumping into her? it was like she thought she was too good to even say sorry."

“but-“ 

"and what about that time she ignored seungmin’s text asking for help with the assignment? she could have at least replied!”

beomgyu's heart sank as he listened to his friends.

“remember last week? what she did to lila? the stuff with the signatures? honestly, she is such a bitch sometimes…”

before beomgyu could respond, you happened to walk past their table, expression colder than usual. hearing only part of the conversation and misinterpreting it, you shot beomgyu a hurt look, assuming he was trash talking you, and quickly walked away without a word.

"great, now she thinks we're all talking behind her back," gina mutters with her eyes flicking nervously toward you as you walk off.

beomgyu stands up abruptly, “you know what? that’s exactly why she doesn’t get close to any of you,” he says, voice low but firm. “you all love to run your mouths, but when it comes down to it, you can’t even look at her in the eyes. don’t talk about her like that again. if i hear it once more, i swear i won’t just walk away.”

glaring at all of them, he turns sharply, striding out of the café without a word. outside, he quickens his pace, determined to catch up to you and make things right before it's too late.

—

the doorbell rings incessantly, echoing through the hallway as beomgyu refuses to give up. he followed you from the school building to your apartment, his apologies relentless, his determination evident in every step, but despite his efforts, you continued to ignore him.

now in front of your door, beomgyu knows he's pushing it, but the thought of you hating him now drives him crazy. with each ring of the doorbell, he feels a surge of desperation, making him want to rip all his hair out. 

ringing the bell and knocking on the door with urgency, he's fully aware that he's risking disturbing the neighbors, they may even call the police.

but beomgyu will risk going to jail for you, he thinks.

the door suddenly swings open with a sharp smack, and you're finally standing there "knock it off!" you yell with frustration evident in your voice.

despite you glaring at him, he’s just glad to see your face.

"i'm sorry," beomgyu blurts out, his words coming out in a rush. “but i am sorry you had to listen to that, not sorry because i was agreeing with them or anything, because i didn’t. i swear i didn’t. i was actually telling them how amazing and sweet you are- i always do, you know that. they’re not even my friends anymore! i ended things with them i let them know- oh fuck, i always talk about how perfect you are, how you’re the best person i’ve ever met in my life, and i'm just-god, i’m just so lucky to have you! you don’t understand, i need you to know that! i love you more than anything, and i don’t care what anyone else says, i don’t care what they think because you’ve always been nothing but good to me, and i’m not gonna let them make you think otherwise"

his words spill out in a jumbled mess, but the sincerity in his voice is unmistakable.

you stare at beomgyu, your expression neutral, as his words hang in the air between you. his eyes search yours desperately and, for a moment, he thinks he might have finally pushed you too far, that his rambling confession may have been a mistake.

but then, without warning, you break the tension with two simple words. "come in," you say.

relief floods beomgyu's features as he exhales a shaky breath, the weight lifting from his shoulders. without hesitation, he steps through the doorway, the sound of the door clicking shut behind him.

—

an hour or two passed and now beomgyu is sitting right in front of you, in your bed, with red cheeks in anticipation. 

“beomie, do you think i’m a bitch?” you ask with a teasing pout on your lips.

“no! no, no, no i don’t” he responds, looking up at you with puppy eyes, long lashes and a slight frown on his face

“correct,” you concede, putting his hair behind his ear softly “you were dying for me to even look at you, beomie, so i did. how can i be a bitch when i give all you the attention you so desperately beg from me?”

beomgyu exhales, clearing his throat to prevent himself for making any noise. you look down at him, his dark hair, indolent eyes and pouting lips. so pretty, just for you.

“answer me.” 

“you’re not, you are so good to me, you’re always so good to me.” he whines, but somehow his voice gets lower. aching to touch you, but keeping his hands on his side, just like he was told.

"that's right" you move down, slowly positioning yourself to straddle his lap. he feels the heat of your body against him, every movement making him burn with anticipation “i’m so good to you…” you concede as you tap him to lift his hips and reach out with confident fingers taking his pants off. you pause halfway, though. a teasing smirk playing on your lips. "but, do you deserve it, beomie?" you ask, your tone laced with mock concern.

beomgyu's breath escapes him in rapid bursts, too stunned to speak, but he knows better than not to answer you.

“no..” he chockes out “i don’t deserve it, don’t deserve you.”

“you’re right, you don’t deserve any of it,” you remind him, “good thing i’m so wonderful and sweet right?” you mock as you shove the rest of his pants down and underwear down in a quick motion. 

his cock comes up against his stomach, twitchy and veiny and your mouth is watering at the sight in front of you, wanting nothing more than for him to cum down your throat. but today is not the day.

beomgyu chews down hard on his lip and closes his eyes at the feeling of you liberating his length. he’s always been too sensitive, but with you he feels like it’s always the first time.

“open your eyes, beomie,” you tell him. “i want you to see and remember what you have to be grateful for.”

he opens his eyes in an instant just for him to watch you kneel down and slowly wrap your mouth around his tip. he sucks in a a hiss and let’s out a groan when you draw your lips with a light pressure down his cock until he hits the back of your throat, only to come back up and leave a trail of saliva along the way.

“fuuck,” he lets out with a trembling breath. “oh my god”

you put him on your mouth again and swirl your tongue around him, he hits the start of your throat once again and slide up and down, up and down. you wrapped your lips around his tip one more time before running the flat of your tongue up his cock slowly as you stare directly into his eyes,

beomgyu is a mess of flushed skin and teary eyes and can’t stop whimpering at the feeling and sight of you using your mouth on him, he swallows, throat dry and bites his bottom lip to prevent him from spluttering nonsense.

“i don- don’t know if i can- fuuuck- i- i can’t.. can’t hold it, fuck y/n , you’re so- so good to me-“ 

with his hands on your hair loosing himself to the feeling of your mouth on him, you can’t help but moan on his cock as you can already taste his pre-cum on your tongue, threatening to spill past your lips. you take you mouth off of him. “beomie, don’t cum yet-“ you say between licks, before spitting on him, lubricating and using your hand instead “- baby, hold it in, not yet.”

“i- i can’t, i can’t” he cries and you stop, his chest going up and down aggressively before lifting his face to look at you. lips red and shinny from biting hard and cheeks rosy from all the pleasure. you think he has never look this pretty.

he sits up trembling, looking at you you slide your drenched panties off. then you straddle his lap once again, looking at his red erection up and proud, tip right at your entrance, and without any warning, you take his cock in your hand go down on him inch by inch, his arms coming around your torso in desperation as you hold yourself up wrapping yours around his neck, holding each other so close you could feel eachother’s heartbeat.

you completely sink down on him and you both gasp, automatically making you clench around him.

“fuuck, baby” beomgyu hissed. his hands coming down to your waist to keep you in place, he’s afraid he would cum in a second if you moved an inch. “don’t move, please”

so, you raised your hips and you both let out a breathy moan as you sat back down again. he whines.

“you can do it beomie, hold it baby” you purr in his mouth. repeating the action again and again. “don’t you want me to fuck you?” 

“ye- yes please,- fuuuck yes” he cries, holding you close. always eager to please, he lets you do as you want. obeying you just in time for him to become a whimpering mess.

it was embarrassing, really, how affected he got in literal seconds. and you, with the sensation of having his cock filling you up, couldn’t help but use him like a toy.

“good boy,” you sing softly, breath hitching. “good, good boy. i knew you would let me use you like this. kne- knew you would like to make me happy. right beomie? because you love me? you want to- oh my god” you whine, bouncing up and down on him with urgency, felling him thus up to meet you halfway. “you want to make me feel good”

beomgyu feels like fire inside you, feeling you squeezing him so tight he feels himself closer and closer. he takes his hand from your waist to massage your breasts, knowing how sensitive your nipples are, making you sigh, earning him a kiss so lewd he’ll dream about it. “yes, thank you, please,” he cries, “i want- i want-“

“you can’t even talk beomie!” you chuckle dryly, “wh-what would your friends say if they saw you like this? huh?” you whispered on his mouth, the feeling so good its sending your blood rushing to your head as you keep fucking him stupid.

“their proud, confident beomgyu is just- fuck” you gasp at the feeling of his lips closing around your nipple, ”just a dirty slut? huh” you throw your head back to give him more access as you continue to bounce on his cock “ a begging little whore is what you are beomie”

he feels himself closer and closer, your dirty talking sending him over the edges he pleads, “just for you, i swear is just for you, i love you”

“good boy” you panted on his mouth again, feeling the sensation of your orgasm looming over your body and beomgyu was hit with the staggering force of his release as he came inside you, calling out your name in pleading gasps.

you blinked almost sleepily, looking down at your boyfriend and his post-fuck look, a small smile on his face as you leaned down to place a little kiss on his nose.

“love you too, pup.” you sighed.

—

not matcha, but not taro, either.

beomgyu feels like trying something new as he looks at the menu. the scent of sweet tapioca and freshly brewed tea surrounds you two and he thinks this is exactly what dreams are made of, yet deciding on just the right drink feels like an impossible task right this second.

so he scans the menu, his eyes flickering between the various options. yeonjun said their new horchata drink was good, but he doesn’t trust yeonjun’s taste.

“do you know what you’re ordering?” he asks you with big, round eyes. 

you can't help but notice how his eyes resemble tapioca pearls – "just iced coffee," you reply with a hint of amusement.

“right,” beomgyu chuckles, realizing he should have guessed as much.

suddenly, the girl behind the counter approaches you, her bright smile matching the cheery vibe of the boba shop. "hi there! can i help you?" she chirps.

beomgyu's attention shifts to her, “oh! yes yes, just a second” he responds, his eyes scanning the menu once more.

"well, our special today is the pina colada boba blast," the girl continues with a playful tone "it's sweet, refreshing, and i guarantee you it will leave you wanting more!”

beomgyu looks up, and before he could respond, you step forward, "we'll figure it out ourselves, thanks," you say curtly.

the girl's smile falters slightly. "o-okay, let me know if you need any help," she mumbles, retreating to the safety of the register.

"come on, babe, she was just doing her job," beomgyu says, chuckling a little and reaching for your hand. "but i think is time for me to finally admit… there's something kind of hot about you being mean."

you rolled your r eyes, but a small smirk tugged at the corners of your lips. you figured that much way before he did “i’m not being mean, beomie,” you still say, feigning ignorance “i truly don’t know what you’re talking about.”

beomgyu grins, feeling a surge of affection for the girl by his side. as they placed their order and settled into a cozy corner of the boba shop, he couldn't help but think how happy he was to have you, even if you did have a bit of a mean streak.

[renhanaschewtoy]

Favorite Bartender

This one also got away from me OTZ I hope I did okay with Strade. Pardon my translation all I have is Google. I'll write Ren the cosplay handler when I get back from a con next week. If you're at Colossal North lmk! 💖 NSFW MDNI

There was something endearing about dive bars, there was something exclusive about them in their own right. People knew each other, there was a decorum of understanding. Regulars were their own type and new folk, out of towners, well- they usually couldn’t appreciate it fully. The Braying Mule was well and good, always rife with interesting people, but nobody could be “on” all the time. Strade knew that. In his own time, on the quiet nights he decided to be out but lay low, not on the prowl, not looking for an easy bright eyed mark, he was in this dive bar. The name didn’t even matter, the sign was so worn it had been taken down in a storm years ago- the owner just never bothered with it. Regulars kept business in order and they helped keep the place in check. Strade included himself in that roster. Granted nobody really knew him, all by his design. But he was endearing, he was liked here. Maybe it was just nice to shed away a little, wear a different mask.

And sometimes, even he had to admit, the acrid smell of the place reminded Strade of his own little projects. Pushing open the door, Strade moseyed up to the bar, giving a little nod and grin to a few other regulars who greeted him similarly or with a small wave or raise of a glass. Settling on an old worn stool, he leaned on the sticky lacquered wood and inspected the beer taps.

“You can stare at ‘em from sun up to sun down, they still haven’t gotten that funny sounding beer you keep trying to pitch.”

A teasing lilt of a voice draws his amber gaze over to your form shouldering the door behind the door open dragging a bucket of ice to dump into the bin and let the metal lid clatter shut. A grin pulls your lips as always. Ah- you. The feisty bartender who wasn’t afraid to talk shit to anybody, get their hands dirty if need be, keep the establishment and all in it in line with a way that was firm but fair. Admirable. “Ah, liebling, I didn’t know you were working tonight!” Strade mirrors your grin with a warm chuckle.

That was bullshit.

He knew your schedule.

He preferred to be here when you were here.

Though of course, sometimes he had to skip out or change it up so nobody, or you, got wise.

You give a playful roll of your eyes as you deftly pluck a stein and pull a tab with the glass tilted at the perfect practiced angle. A rich dark dark beer sits in front of him on an old cardboard coaster so worn it should likely be trash at this point. “It isn’t the one you were talking about but…you must’ve worn him down. He got a German beer.”

“You spoil me!”

“All I did was pour it.” You chuckle and lean against the back of the bar folding your arms expectantly, awaiting his verdict. Maybe it was because it was your job to serve him but Strade liked the attention you paid to him. It was different from the other patrons and regulars. You didn’t snap at him, your lips didn’t curl in a sneer at him, you didn’t wave him off. No- you paid attention, you listened, you participated. All beautiful qualities wrapped up into once very enticing package. Strade gives a little contented sigh before lifting the glass to his lips and taking a healthy swig, setting the glass down and wiping the foam from the corner his lips with his thumb.

“Hmm…it’s good. Strong.” Strade comments with a nod of approval before lifting his eyes to see you look some pleased with yourself about it. You could say all you wanted, but Strade picked up your tells. You were probably the one bothering the owner enough about getting a keg of something for him. You sweet little thing, you. “Do you know what it is?” He leans forward on his elbows with a tilt of his head as a lazy grin curls his lips. You look away and shrug.

“I dunno something something doppelbock or whatever.” You fib lamely, pretending as if you didn’t care, as if you weren’t pleased with your little stripe of success. Strade huffs a chuckle and leans back on the stool giving a hum of acknowledgement as he takes another sip. “How much do I owe you then?”

“Nah, on the house.” He knew that was coming, you always give him a few freebies here and there under the usual saying that everyone gets a free beer here and there with their regular patronage. But that usually only held after he had one or two, not just off rip. He gives you that disarming smile that makes most women swoon. It isn’t that you’re immune to it perse, rather a little more used to it. A motion of endearment to match your own. Strade watches you idly bustle around the bar, serving other customers, fetching fresh bottles, wiping down the bar- though the latter, it didn’t matter how much elbow grease you used. Occasionally he watches whatever is playing on the TVs around the joint, sipping his beer- of which you never let stay empty for too long. You always insisted it was muscle memory and your years of working but Strade noticed that he was given far better attention.

Drumming his fingers on the bar, he lazily looks to you, “It’s a slow night.” He muses thoughtfully, “Do a shot with me. It’s too lonely to alone.” His grin splits to show a flash of teeth and you chuckle, setting down a few clean pint glasses with a shake of your head as you lift a small, narrow can to your lips.

“Sorry, Strade. I don’t drink on the job.” You admit easily with a languid shrug as you take a few sip, Strade’s eyes glimpsing down to the column of your throat as it works to swallow your energy drink. He wonders what your throat might feel like in his grip, how smooth the skin would be against he callouses of his palms. How your pulse would flutter if he applied just the right amount of pressure. If he kissed that soft, unblemished skin, perhaps left marks. What did you like, he wondered? Did you prefer to be taken soft and gentle, peppered with praise and coos of endearment? Or did you like to be roughed up, bruising grips and mottled marks to decorate your skin while you’re growled filth at and degraded? It was a curious thought he entertained quite often, even so much as when he did take a victim home, sometimes he would imagine you when they were face down in the cheap foam mattress, when their hair was in his hand as he bucked his hips into their mouths…but you’d be different. You were different.

“Mmm…what a shame. You aren’t allowed to have a little fun?” Strade flutters his eyes for a moment to focus back on you, with a curious little brow arched on your face as you caught him daydreaming for but a moment. “Come on, it can be our little secret.” He teases mock conspiratorily, leaning towards you on the bar as. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Ah, I just don’t wanna risk getting messy on the clock.”

“One shot won’t fuck you up, liebling. You’re made of stronger stuff.”

“...You’re not going to let up until I do, eh?”

Strade pretends to look half heartedly apologetic but you both know he isn’t in the slightest. And to him a foot in the door is a foot in the door, sure- a shot on your shift is but an inch and he would just love to take your world. To become your world. He watches you give an exaggerated sigh of defeat and roll of your eyes before a playful smirk pulls your lips while you fish two shot glasses and begin to fill them. 

Taking you, owning you, breaking you- it’s all part of the same pipe dream. As tempted as Strade is, as easy as it would be; you had family and friends, you had a wide social circle that was sure to garner attention with your disappearance. And he would be directly connected to you with this little song and dance routine he’s come to adore so. Doing such to you is a thrilling danger he can only flirt with but never act on. And that’s part of the allure of it all, of you. The shot glass is pushed in front of him, some of the liquor spilling over the rim before he picks it up and meets you half way in a cheers. “To our little secret.” He grins and you both tap your glasses on the bar twice before clinking your glass against his, downing your shot with the same practiced ease that Strade does. Strade watches you exhale through your nose before shooting him a smirk. “See? And you’re fine!” He chimes and you roll your eyes playfully before scooping up the dirty shot glasses.

Strade shuffles up beside you, easily stringing an arm around your shoulders and tucking you into his side. He smells of the beer you poured him, of lingering cigar smoke, a cologne of spice and musk that's as oddly comforting as it was masculine. “I'm…uh, just around back that way.” You mutter with a blush rising over your cheeks and pointing towards the back of the block. Strade chuckles to himself and nods, leading and preening at the feel of you leaning against him in kind. His large hand gives you shoulder an affectionate squeeze as you walk with some amicable conversation and goofing as usual, Strade's charm laid on a little thicker as he feigns a slur as if it was all your pours that impacted him so.

Hours tick and tock on by before you’re hollering last call for the bar. Strade settles up his tab and leaves you hefty tip that you, as always, try to give at least part of it back. Strade shakes his head, running a hand through his wavy chestnut hair. “You’ve earned it.” Strade insists as you pout at him before begrudgingly pocket the money. Not that you weren’t grateful but it felt excessive. Not that it mattered to him. “Hm…Let me walk you to your car.” Strade hums as he stands from the stool and fixes you with an expectant look.

“What? I’m not going to be done cleaning up here for like…another hour. I’ll be fine. I do it all the time. I’ve got my means.” You reply, waving him off as you begin to collect empty bottles and discarded napkins or coasters around the establishment. Strade’s huff is brief, but he rolls his shoulders back. Maybe he was being gluttonous after convincing you to break one little rule. “Besides, nobody but staff after we’re closed.”

“We already share one little secret, what’s one more? Surely some help and getting home sooner would be nice?” Strade urges, already beginning to upturn some barstools on other tables and onto the bar counter. Seeing you pause and chew your lip, seeing him already being able to sink his hooks in you, in any little way, is simply delightful. You play tough, you’re feisty, but clearly you like being looked after, like the attention he grants you. But you relent and give him a little smile that curls your lips, looking almost bashful. Strade gets a better look of behind the bar, be a little closer, be a little more alone with you and ultimately that’s all this was about really. Fostering trust, drawing you closer. Though it felt as if he was more in your orbit than anything but he was loathe to give up that control. This could only go so far, after all. Eventually you both finish up with your tasks about closing down the bar and you pull keys out of your pocket to lock up the doors as Strade waits behind you, hands leisurely in his pockets while he takes in the stillness of the night, or rather early morning. As if you two were the only people left alive for a moment.

“Ah, your chariot, liebling. Be safe getting home.” Strade grins as you unlock your car and he reaches for your door with a playful flourish and bow. You snicker to yourself, that ever charming grin pulling on your lips as you move to tuck into the driver's seat. He closes the door as your car rumbles to light and you give a shy little wave before pulling away which Strade returns. 

Fuck does he want more. Want you. Standing there in the empty back lot he gives himself a moment to envision you again. Spattered in warm, sticky blood…begging under his hands for mercy…what kind didn't matter, tears beading your lashes, the way your eyes would roll back and flutter in agony or pleasure… Strade’s cock begins to stiffen in his pants as a shaky sigh parts his lips, lidded gaze watching your taillights disappear down the street.

×××

Perhaps he couldn't do all he wanted.

But there were some he could.

Coincidences were funny things, unexpected, sometimes happy, sometimes messy, Strade usually embraced them with his large open arms. The confidence of a man who lived and knew that he could spin just about any scenario to his favor. Tonight was a night he opted not to go to your humble bar. Sometimes, distance made the heart grow fonder after all and Strade couldn’t bear to let you make him go soft. Well…you usually had a different lingering affect but that wasn’t here nor there. There were some critical things he wanted that you simply couldn’t satisfy. Strade knew better. Nobody should shit where they eat. Strade was many things but he wasn’t stupid. So tonight was a little more routine, a little more…designed for the inclinations that you couldn’t sate. But Strade could pretend through perhaps someone who looked a smidge like you.

Oh goddammit. God, of course he would come over and say something- you made a point to make eye contact. You suck in a breath through your teeth and force a smile as you turn to look at Strade; toothy grin on his face and holding his stein close to his chest. “Hey Strade. Yeah, uh…got cut early so figured I’d have a night out.” You shrug, unable to hold his honey colored gaze for too long which seems to raise his brows, a curious twinkle in his eye as he sets his mug down on the table beside your glass as you idly poke at the straw and shift the ice around. The woman he had been chatting up wasn’t beside him but you could feel her eyes prickling at the back of your neck.

At a different bar across town, Strade was posted up a heavy glass stein laden with a dark doppelbock like you had last served him. Fortunate that the bar served something similar but not quite the same. It seemed to be the theme of the night as he chattered up an oblivious and bubbly woman, they had hair just a few shades off from your own- too (short/long) to quite fit you but Strade could make do. Their eyes were a darker tinge of (color) from your own, their smile didn’t carry that unspoken sarcasm, her clothes nearly polar opposite but that was the least of his concerns. Those certainly didn’t matter at all. “A shame you got stood up, truly. But I will say- their loss is certainly my victory.” Strade chuckles smoothly as the woman gives a titter of laughter, covering her painted lips with her hand trying to be coquettish. He leans in to murmur the final string of words that will put the nail in the coffin.

“Hey- uh…can I get a (preferred drink)? Thanks.”

Strade would know that voice anywhere. What were you doing here? Today was usually another one of your closing shifts. His attention falters as he looks over to you and catches you glimpsing at him with a rather annoyed side eye before turning your attention back to the bartender. Taking your drink you flash the bartender a grateful smile and slip your tip on the bar before quickly turning on your heel to disappear into the throngs of other people in the bar. Your lips set in a tight line as you skulked over to your friend settled up at one of the tall tables and you leaned against it with a bitter sigh.

You had no right to feel this way, to feel jealous. Strade was a regular, he was a patron where you worked. You weren’t blind, you knew he was good with his words, you knew he was charming. You naturally had tripped up at his charms but felt damn good that you’d never gone ass over tea kettle for them. Maybe it was foolish to think you had chemistry. Maybe it was stupid to have a secret little self rule not to date regulars- after all there were plenty of other bars. But seeing him lean over that woman, being so close to her, that lazy little grin he often gave you, the way the woman looked up at him so enamored…it made your stomach twist in taut knots. Your friend raises a brow inquisitively that you simply shoot them a look that makes them swallow their words as you raise your glass to your lips for a sip.

“Buddy! I didn’t know you would be here! What a nice surprise.”

“A night out, well- I’d say that’s a good reward for you, hm? Be served rather than serving? I could never forgive myself if I missed an opportunity to buy you a drink myself.” Strade places a hand to his heart in playful theatrics that for a moment make you forget your sour mood and a small smile quirk your lips.

“I mean, I’d hate to interrupt your night. You seemed pretty uh…busy.” You’d cringe at the delivery of your own words, a small grimace crinkles your nose for but a moment as your shoulders stiffen. It takes all Strade has not to let smug satisfaction come over him as he hears the bitterness tinge your statement. You were jealous. Oh, he relished in that, he adored it even. You simply had a way of always just making his evenings. Elation rose in his chest as a better opportunity presented itself in you. Sure- your beautiful blood would never paint his basement but if Strade played his cards right, he was more than certain he could make you scream and cry in other ways.

“And miss such an occasion? Please. This was a boring night until you came along. As always.” Strade replies smoothly with a toothy grin, “It isn’t every night we get to be on the same side of the bar.” And with any luck he can get you all to himself. Play the right cards, say the right things, get you wrapped around his finger, or his cock- whatever worked. You return his smile, your shoulders relaxing as you look up at Strade and give a little bob of your head to relent.

“...Yeah, yeah you’re right. It could be fun.”

“Of course it’ll be fun, have you met me?” Strade gives you a little wink before being interrupted by the woman who decides she’s had enough of being sidelined.

“Uhmm…I thought we were leaving?” Her arms wind around Strade’s arm, pressing herself against him with an exaggerated pout, trying to set a tone as you simply look between Strade and the woman, as Strade simply arches a brow to her, and your friend raises their brows to their hairline, sipping their drink with rapt attention as if watching some sort of reality TV program.

“Hmm? Mein Gott, wie peinlich…” Strade mutters for but a moment, his words and tone are genuine though some irritation belies the sheepish look he forces onto his rugged features. “Just a moment, buddy.” Strade gives your shoulder that same squeeze as the nights before as he places a hand firmly on the other woman’s back and leads her away from the table. Your throat grows tight again with an irritated exhale.

The night carries on, you getting a little bolder with each drink, every shared shot as you laughed and joked, growing a more and more affectionate with each little sip of courage Strade was happy to give you. But you were smart, you didn’t want to wake up hungover and with no recollection of this night. You wanted to remember whatever it was that you got from him, be it another simple walk to your car and a night of revelry or if it was tangled up in either of your bedsheets. And Strade was all too happy to oblige, watching you flaunt your mettle in the bar but being careful all the same as not to lose your head. Strade wanted you to cut loose. Wanted you to be as untethered and wild as possible. But maybe he was getting ahead of himself. Your friend had since excused themself quietly- reading the room and sending you a knowing little wink and wave that you gleefully grinned at.

Unbeknownst to you, ever the opportunist, Strade wasn’t willing to let the other woman go either. After leading her out through the alley and cracking her head hard enough to the wall to hear the skull fracture, she was swiftly bound, gagged and deposited in his trunk. A midnight snack for a later date. So when he returned with a reddened cheek, he had an easy story to spin.

“The fuck happened to you? Christ.” You remark, instinctively reaching out to his cheek before retracting your hand.

“Ah…well, she didn’t quite take so well to being told I…wasn’t interested.” Strade remarks with a roll of his broad shoulders and he could almost see that flicker of approval in your eyes that he’d opted to spend his night with you instead.

“Feels like I should be the one buying you a drink.” You quip playfully, nudging him with your elbow, you’re careful with your contact now, you don’t want to seem too eager. And that’s fine. Strade flashes you a grin of pearly whites before slinging an arm around your shoulder again to tug you close in a side hug again.

“No, no, no, I am a man of my word, liebling. Tonight is all about showing you a good time.” Strade chuckles warmly, the timbre of his voice sending a shudder down his spine that he can feel against his built frame. His hand slips from your shoulder to the cinch of your waist this time with a firmer squeeze, possessive. And you leaned in. Like he knew you would.

“I could go for a cigarette right about now…care to join me?” Strade’s voice is low in your ear, warm breath fanning over the side of your neck as he carefully tucks a strand of (color, type) hair behind your ear before his hand slips down past your hip to slip itself into your back pocket. A large hand gropes the plush of your ass through the denim eliciting a sharp inhale from you, a rosy hue blooming over your cheeks as you bob your head and let him guide you out the back door as the crisp night air meets your exposed skin.

“I didn’t know you smoke.” You look up at him curiously as Strade tucks the two of you into the cover of an empty side alley.

“There’s much you don’t know about me yet, liebling. But I could say the same for you, no?” Strade’s eyes glance to the side before returning back to you, leaning against the brick wall so cavalier, so unaware of what Strade could do to you, all he wants to do to you.

But he would take this, there was an outlet for later.

Sweet serendipity.

Your eyes drift up as you see Strade’s frame looming over you, silhouetted by the moon. Suddenly aware of how close he is to you, that you can smell his cologne again and your breath hitches slightly before you swallow thickly. “...Stra–mmpf!” His name is barely off your tongue before his lips crash onto your own. Hungry and all consuming as Strade descends upon you, devouring you as he presses you back against the cold brick wall, pinning you to it and the bulk of his body. His teeth nip at your lower lip, demanding entry that your foggy brain is powerless but to comply to. You can taste the bitterness of beer on his tongue and he can taste the sweetness of whatever you had been ordering on his tab. Strade’s groan is swallowed as your arms lift to string around his neck, fingers carding through his hair and nails raking against his scalp. He feels your back arch, pressing your body closer to his own, Strade lets a low growl at your willing surrender as he shifts a thigh between your legs, applying pressure to your aching core. Strade’s lips leave your kiss swollen lips to let you pant and catch your breath, rivulets of spit connecting your mouths as your lidded, glassy eyes slowly lift to Strade.

“Look at you, liebling…” Strade coos almost mockingly and it makes something tighten in you abdomen  as the vice grip on your hips moves you lightly as if to help you ride his thigh that pulls a ragged moan from your throat. “Mmm…needy, hm? Don’t think I didn’t see that…that look from before…” Strade mutters as he dips his head to kiss along the curve of your jaw down to your throat, teeth nipping and tongue laving at the spots to leave a litany of marks in his wake. Little mewls leave your lips as you squirm under his grip, wanting to be closer, trying to form words but your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. “...Don’t be embarrassed. I liked it…I’m flattered.” Strade purrs as he feels your hips buck against his thigh eagerly, hands fisting his wavy tresses that sends shockwaves straight to his cock that strains against the zipper.

Large hands drift to the button of your jeans, popping them open and the draw of your zipper being pulled down that makes your lashes flutter. “W-Wait…woah, St-Strade…not here, I-”

“Mmm? Why not here?” He teases, dragging the fabric down the smooth skin of your thighs that you suddenly tried to clamp shut. “No, no…” He tutts softly, prying them back apart, “Wouldn’t this be just so perfect? We are in private…and if someone were to see, well…” His tone is alight with amusement, “They could be jealous instead…that I have you.” Your nervous eyes can’t tear themselves away from the sight of Strade crouching between your legs, forcing you to lean back against the wall in nothing but your underwear that he moves about to expose your throbbing, eager sex. “Behave, liebling…I don’t do this for just anybody.” And that might be one of the truest things he’s ever said. Control was always a given, Strade to take what he wanted, perhaps you made him feel…generous. All the attention you’ve fawned upon him in your own way, how pliant you showed him you could be- and only for him, that was something that deserved to be rewarded. To melt you, make you more malleable in his hands. His tongue traces shapes and patterns along your sensitive flesh, one hand keeping your thighs apart before one disappears to nudge a finger at your entrance before easing a finger in, crooking it against that spongy spot of nerves before thrusting slowly as he spelled his own name with his tongue in a way that had you fighting against bucking your hips.

“F-Fuck…St- shit..! Strade…!” Your breath fans out in ragged pants as you watch him lave attention over a bundle of nerves paired with a thrusting digit that almost has your knees buckling. “...’m gonna…!” You keen eagerly, lashes fluttering as he feasts upon you wetly, soft sounds in the alley with your muffled moans as you bit down into your knuckle to feebly stifle your wanton sounds. Pressure builds and coils tight in your belly, flirting with the edge of euphoria until Strade bites the inside of your thigh eliciting a yelp from you. “The fuck?!” Strade stands up fast, with a dexterity and agility that didn’t match his size and stature, that had your body falter slightly against the bricks. Strade’s hand holds your chin in place  as he looks down at your lips and your furrowed brow. Your pleading was so sweet, so beautiful…god- he could make you beg more. But for now…well, Strade has his ways, as always. “Strade, please…” You groan and he seems amused all the more.

“Open your mouth.”

“Wh..huh?”

“Open, liebling. I won’t ask again.” There’s an authoritative edge to his voice that has your core throbbing, leaking as you’re exposed in the alley. The thrill of it all sending lightning through your veins as you slowly part your trembling lips. Strade gives a low, rumbling hum of approval before spitting onto your tongue making heat flood your cheeks and a humiliated whine in the back of your throat. “Swallow. You should be grateful…you taste so good.” Strade watches you close your mouth, your throat bob slowly as you swallow and sigh before your breath is stolen from your lungs again in a bruising kiss, swallowing your moan greedily. Parting for air is brief as you feel large calloused hands gripping your waist to pull you further upright, shuffle you around until your front is pressed to the brick, the fat of your cheek pressed to the cold bite of brick but Strade seems to mind the pressure and strength he holds over you as you’re bent, pants now pooled around your ankles but you’re too far gone to care. You arch your back with purpose, pressing your ass back against his hardened cock with an eager obedience that Strade adored so.

“So good for me, liebling…like you were made for me…” Strade huffs as you hear the soft clink of his belt buckle coming undone, a calloused hand groping the fat of your ass before shifting your underwear to meet with your jeans below you before you feel the bulbous head of his cock press against you. The hand on your ass moves to grip your hip and keep you steady while the other trails up the beautiful curve of your spine, up the nape of your neck before his fingers tangle in your hair, the grip is firm enough to sting a little but not hurt. Strade could if he wanted to, temptation was there most certainly but he’d go slow for you. Breaking you in piece by piece with rough affections that would leave you satisfied. He could feel how eagerly you were, how badly you wanted this, and how readily you responded to his means. You whine with his fingers in your hair, pressing your hips back and urging him in. And that’s all Strade needs, to have you wrapped around him. And wrapped around him you will be. Until you are bent and broken, full and delirious; treated better than anyone one else. You were something different, something special. Untouchable but in a way immortal to Strade.

Maybe you could be something… special and more permanent.

He was already flirting with something similar in Ren back home but you…oh, what fun it could all be. Thoughts for another day.

With a sudden snap of his hips, Strade buries himself in you with a brutal thrust that punches the air from your lungs and has you choking on air as your body quivers at the sudden intrusion. “Ich kann fühlen wie du dich nach mir sehnst (I can feel you aching for me)…”Strade huffs with a smug smirk curling the corners of his lips as he sets a ruthless pace, the wet sound of skin colliding with skin, his heavy sac slapping against you with each push of his hips that you reciprocated in kind as your teeth dug into your lower lip trying to keep your sounds hushed but your body betrayed you. Strade bent over your back nipping at your ear as he stilled to more shallow thrusts to torture you further, “Just imagine, Liebling…someone seeing you spread out here for me…” He lilts in that low silken tone that has your walls clenching around him, fluttering with each filthy, honeyed word that drips from his lips. “Just a perfect little cock sleeve…just for me, yes?” Punctuated by a deliberate roll of his hips that has your lashes fluttering and eyes threatening to roll back into your skull. A sharp tug to your hair leaves your mouth agape as you tighten around his dick again with a breathy groan. “...Say it.”

“Sh-shit…please! Yes, please!” You nearly sobbed, desperation and want clouding all rational thought as you begged Strade, giving him the allowance to do as he pleased with you. Soft mutterings in his mother tongue left his lips; an assortment of praise, of filth, obscenities as his thrusting became staccato before a long, low growl parted Strade’s lips, muffled as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Spilling into you with rivulets of thick, viscous cum while your walls milked him greedily, your own orgasm threatening to have your knees to collapse around you but Strade was quick to move his thick arms around your middle to keep you up, keep you in place as he pumped you full of his cum until it dripped out of you obscenely, forming a small puddle on the concrete. The vacant alley was only given life by the two of you panting raggedly to catch your breaths, Strade’s grip still a vice you wouldn’t be able to break from.

“Hhnngh!...fuck…just for you!” You manage to choke out pleadingly, trying to push your hips back but Strade halts entirely in a way that makes you whine.

“You can do better than that.”

“I d-don’t…wh…uh…” The brick digs into your palms as you try to collect your addled thoughts, of what words might appease him, “Haah~...mmm…J-Just for you, Strade.” You try as his name seems to be all that can fill the folds of your brain; his taste, his smell, the feel of him felt ingrained into you.

“That’s better…” He croons to you, however the feeling of you throbbing around his aching cock was just as torturous for Strade but he could be patient from time to time, when it counted anyway. Impulse won most of the time. “Taking me so well…” his breathing labored as you could feel him pressed to your back, hips pistoning with newfound vigor as Strade’s hand left your hair to close around your throat. No pressure is applied, simply relishing in the feeling of your erratic pulse as he fucks all coherent thought from your brain as he uses the leverage to bring your face to his in a sloppy kiss. All tongue and teeth, as if to consume you whole, that you would be devoured. “Mnnngh…hah…sucking me back in like that…such a slutty little hole…” Strade growls against your mouth as his hips slam against your ass so hard you were certain you’d be bruised by the end of it. “...fill you to the brim…” He huffs, a deep flush had risen from his throat to his cheeks, a heady look that washed over his features as sweat beaded on his brow dampening the curls that fell over his forehead.

“F-Fuck…” You breathe, slowly raising your hands to rest on his forearms, giving them a little tap, “I just…I can’t…” You were still trying to collect your thoughts and you could almost feel him smirk against your skin as you felt his breaths warm your sweat slicked skin.

“...Maybe I can interest you in a nightcap? At my place?” He hums, dislodging himself from your depths with a deep grunt as he watches you quiver and leak. You seem to take stock again, remembering where you are, as you quickly reach to tug up your underwear and jeans, pulling your shirt back down as Strade tucks himself back into his pants and adjusts his belt. You look so pretty like this, embarrassed but thrilled, debauched but dressed again- the tell tale signs of what- or rather who, happened to you, evident on the outside and inside.

“Huh? Oh, no…I don’t think so.” You breathe with a little chuckle and Strade looks at you, a dark and almost hollow look upon his face but for a minute that you seem to misinterpret. “Just cause my place is closer. C’mon.” You give him that fond, disarming smile as you dare to reach for his hand and lead him to the parking lot that has the brief uptick of annoyance assuaged from Strade entirely at your quick turnabout. He pushes a small smile on his lips before raising a hand to cup your jaw before holding the back of your skull and pressing another searing kiss to your lips.

“Give me your address and get ready for me…I just have to stop home very quickly. But I will be there.”

“If you stand me up, I’m pouring you Malort every time.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, liebling. You said so yourself, you’re just for me now.” He flashes you grin that holds an underlying meaning you can’t quite ferret out, but you giddy stride to your car to do as your told for a promised nightcap.

[angeliteeyes]

Hailo~ Let's do one for our beloved madam herta~ with an Oni S/O~

The Oni S/O sneaks onto Herta's space station disguised as a human. Why? Cause they're a masked fool , of course, and they're bestie Sparkle dared them too. So they successfully sneak in and actually remain undiscovered, Illusion powers are really the best. They can't just leave, though. So, like any masked fool, they decide to pull pranks on the researchers there while remain undercover, that is, until madam Herta makes a very rare visit to the space station.

She keeps getting reports from her puppets and about all the pranks that keep happening, and since she was in the area and was just a bit curious, she decided to investigate.

Imagine her surprise when she finally tracks you down and corners you. Then, after a brief battle, she strips away your illusionary disguise she and gazes upon two bright red horns sticking out from your forehead.

Oh man. I had sooo much fun brainstorming this idea with you, you have no idea. And with that, I present to you...

The Herta x Oni Reader: How You Met

-> Masterlist with all Herta x Oni works

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Ever since Aha glanced at you and saved you from the destruction of Izumo, you'd become dedicated to upholding THEIR values. Every day was an opportunity for wild adventures, silly jokes, and lots and lots of laughter.

Admittedly, though, you weren't exactly the best at staying out of danger.

As you look around at the wide expanse of the Herta Space Station, you grin to yourself. Sneaking in here really was a piece of cake. Of course it was. After all, you're the number one member of the Masked Fools! Ah—but Sparkle can't hear you say that, even if it's true. Still... now that you're here, isn't it kind of boring? There hasn't even been a single human that's noticed you or gotten in your way. It's not much of a dare if nothing even happens here.

You could always just spice things up yourself, though. Now that you think about it, all the people here seem practically glued to whatever devices they're using. Maybe that's why they didn't notice you? How annoying. If they're not going to give you the attention you deserve, you might as well mess with them somehow. Maybe by playing with the power supply. A couple of lightning shocks in the right places should do the trick.

Sneaking your way around the station, you happen upon a delightfully vulnerable power panel. Looks like today's about to get a lot more interesting after all.

Purple zaps explode from your hands as they're held in front of you, extending their reach towards the many cords held within. And... bingo! Before long, the light coating the room flickers, then comes to a halt. You can already hear the whiny voices of the station workers groaning and complaining outside, and barely suppress your laughter. Those morons are probably running around like headless chickens out there.

Your glee rapidly turns into panic as you hear voices draw closer and closer. In hindsight, you should've seen it coming that they would check on the power supply after a blackout, but whatever. You're not about to let them ruin your fun.

As the doors burst open and a trail of people walk into the room, voices raised, you turn to them with a blank expression—a perfect replica of the many Herta dolls you saw passing by earlier. Now, the hard part: actually acting like one.

"Oh, it's you, Herta. What's the situation?" Their many faces peered at you.

"Well, uh... it would appear the circuit's fried on this thing. Not to worry, though, I've already gotten it taken care of. Run along now." You pray to Aha that your acting skills are up to the task. Thankfully, whether it's because of your outstanding talent or their laziness kicking in, they readily scurry off. So simple.

If they're that easy to play around with, can you really be blamed for pushing your luck a bit further?

Before long, the entirety of the space station morphs into a sea of chaos and confusion. People being sighted in two places at once, Herta dolls malfunctioning and saying strange things, and all the while, the lights remain woefully nonexistent. Laughter burst out from you as you hid yourself in one of the many vacant rooms. Oh, if only Sparkle was here to see this masterpiece you've created. Space station? More like a total trainwreck!

"What's so funny?"

Your body stiffens. That voice... it sounded vaguely familiar, yet you couldn't quite place it. The blood in your body pulsed violently through you all at once, as if it recognized the danger you were in before you could.

"I said, what's so funny? Is it the blackout you caused, or perhaps you find pretending to be my dolls amusing? Come on now, don't make me wait for an answer."

You may not be the best at staying out of trouble, but you could definitely tell when you were in it. Something about her voice made your blood run cold with its power alone.

Wait, her dolls?

This is bad, like reaaaally reallyreallyreally bad. How could you mess up so badly? You could've sworn your reports stated that she was out on some business trip and would be gone for a whole week. All you wanted today was some nice, harmless fun. And now here you are, very much going to be harmed by none other than the owner of the station: Herta herself.

Okay, well, you'll just have to improvise a way out of here. Somehow.

As the clack of a moving boot hits the ground, you too glide across the floor. With one of your trusty kanabos in hand, you cut through the air in one swift motion. Herta, untouched by the weapon, smirks at you.

"Not today, sweetheart."

She lifts her arms to swing her own weapon at you. As you two make eye contact, you can't help but laugh at her idiocy. She's even more of a fool than you are if she thinks that's all you've got up your sleeve.

Herta's eyes narrow at you as she processes your reaction, or lack of the expected one. The questions running through her mind are quickly answered by an automated voice. Its robotic tone echoes through the dark room.

Detonating in 3... 2... Now.

Before Herta can even react, a loud series of bangs rushes out from the kanabo—or more accurately, a cheeky toy kanabo Sparkle made for you that dispenses a bunch of adorable fireworks if you swing it hard enough. A real shame that you have to leave it behind as a distraction.

You only hope you can make it out of here before she catches up with you.

Surprised screams of passersby ring in your ears as your legs slam into the ground faster than you've had to make them in years. A couple of Herta dolls even try to get in your way, blocking you off, but you manage to maneuver through them all the same.

As you make a final turn, you see it; the exit is right up ahead, looking grander than ever. Despite your rapid breathing and strained limbs, this was heaven to you. A truly joyful end to your adventure, filled with fun, energy, and a couple of vibrant fireworks. Just one more step and—

Your vision goes black for a second as vibrations flutter within you. Why... why aren't you running anymore?

"Pathetic. Did you really think that you could escape me, the great Madam Herta?"

Those damned boots strolled over to where you were sprawled onto the cold floor, calm and melodic as ever. Her form slowly crept into your hazy field of vision, with her hovering over you like a vulture. You grimaced. You were so, so close. Or maybe you weren't, after all. Maybe she had been the one toying with you all along.

"Let's go over all of the problems you've caused me today. First was the blackout, then a series of poor acting. Oh, and how could I forget having a bunch of fireworks blowing up in my face?"

Still in a daze and with your consciousness waning, you could hardly keep up with her words. Pieces of her flowy hair draped onto your body as she crouched next to you. Was this the end? After all you suffered through just to get to this point, an impulsive dare was what sealed your fate? It was so pathetic, so dumb, you couldn't help but giggle to yourself deliriously.

"I assume you're done with playing dress-up. You know, now that your horns are on full display?" Her fingers glide down one of them smoothly.

"Ha! So tell me, oh great Madam Herta, what do you got in store for me next? Some kind of torture or execution?"

She hummed in response. "I was considering that, but..." Her lips brushed against the exposed skin of your ear, making you shiver.

"You'll be a lot more fun to play with."

[auset66]

What your inner child wants you to know (Never heard before specific messages). 🎯👼

1. The Orange Girl 🍊

I see that you are a very practical and hardworker person. Past few days or weeks I feel is you are having some problems related to health or things just not going your way. I see the mental fog you cant pin point but things are just going wrong. A lot of confusion. You are also doing everything practical you can to deal with this but the thing is it is the matter of emotions and heart. 🧊🧹

Now the inner child of you wants to be free and have free flowing emotions. Now I feel you are that person who has been very emotionally detached from yourself as long as you can even remember living. Like you go and work hard and make things right physically. You might be that A class person "cold hearted" who is always about work work work. So why have you been like this? Because there is this fear of expressing yourself. Now I don't know if it because of seeing poverty or because of your parents being so strict not letting you be freely yourself. It could be many things, but the main energy the main source I see here is fear. That is now ingrained in your mind since the very young age. But you are exhausted now and your physical reality your health your body is giving out these signs. Calling you out to let your emotions flow free be the wild animal and live life freely in peace in happiness. What you can start by doing is maybe writing, drawing or even just try crying. It might be very very out of comfort zone but you can give it a Try. One thing you can do is write your feelings down everyday or everynight in the dairy or note app anywhere without any filters. Do what "feels" right. Very foreign to you rigth? And offcourse if you can I highly highly recommend consulting a therapist, not a psychiatrist, a psychologist. A good therapist can really understand all your problems and will help you out through this. That's their work afterall. What you need is therapy not medicines. Goodluck ✨️❤️

2. The blue walker. 🌧

Okay, so the first feeling I feel is happiness. Yeah I know you will be like... what happiness I literally hit rock bottom this time. Yes you did. I see a relationship or something very long term even could be your long term work it all breaking off. You lost something for sure or even someone. Whatever it was you made the decision already and are feeling a lot of uncertainty now about the future and everything. But (yes don't forget this reading) in few months from now you will see you feeling happy that type of happy you never even thought you could feel. You changing drastically growing naturally feeling natural and almost at peace. I feel whatever situation you left there was a lot a lot of masking up, a lot of chaos, people especially, lot of you doing and gaslighting yourself to do feel things you never wanted to. So this thing that ended your inner child is almost happy and thanking you actually that you finally let it go. All you have to do right now is to be patient and breathe. Rest. Let it flow. Whatever you doing right now you are doing right. You will see the change in yourself that you never even thought could happen. The change in your life the reality. Then look back at your life you had when you were in this "cage" I should say. And one more thing that I never say in my reading but it was strong so I see a person a good person entering in your life yes a romantic intrest. With this person you won't have to beg for attention or love or even have to pretend that you are Not clingy or that you are very cool person. You can just let be and this person will do everything without you even asking. You will be happy and feel free. Good luck. I honestly see a very bright and happy future and days. ✨️❤️🍃

3. The Green Rain 🍃

So I see you are a person who actually is really in tuned with their emotions. A good person a nurturing person. Having compliments about your motherly nature and being a caring person is not something new. So I see there is this calling in you which wants to make things right. Make the world a happy place. You love people and you are a humanitarian person. The thing is this energy is put on the people around you. Relationships, friendships and you know just these people. Most if not all these people are very immature and wants you to keep on giving and giving without expecting anything in return. Now the problem is you, that you think you feel that it is your responsibility to mother them, to nurture them to bring Them back to path. You feel like "give me all your pain let me alchemise it for you, because I know how it feels how to deal with it". You put yourself in others shoes, but the problem is these people are not giving the results back. They are just keep on becoming more dependant on you keep on taking all your life force out of you. Why you still think it is right even when you are so emotionally Intelligent? It is because of your childhood trauma of having irresponsible parents, huge mother issues. You feel if you won't do it everything will fall out. Your worth is only when you "protect" these people. What you can do? You should know that there is a line. The truth why you are still keep on doing it? And the truth is the trauma response not the empathy in this case.

The inner child in you wants to put this energy into something that will give the results back. What do i mean? Give a try to NGO work or becoming a clinical psychologist or world health or even teaching anything everything you can think of that will actually give the results back. Not the big manipulative corporations but the actual things that can help people not them keep on falling back to same cycle with you repetiting the same. You want to give to the world and you want results back. If you invest money in charity you want them to be invested in what charity told it will be invested it and not in their bank accounts becoming black money.

And yes the person whoever it is you are romantically involved in yes even if it is just a situationship. leave.You and me we both know how sneaky and immature this person and won't ever grow and especially never with you. The happy family dream... this person is far from that. Don't waste your wisdom and energy on these energy Sucker people in your life and put them into those who actually needs it. That's what your inner child wants. To make things equal and right. The change in world won't happen if you keep on mothering a litreal adult with mommy issues. Goodluck. 🍃❤️✨️

[imaginedreamwrite]

for matchmaking Monday, Gaz or Simon or Johnny think John needs to start dating again, they set him up with one of their girlfriends/wives friends —can you make reader have some kind of disability like you did with Unburdened?

People You Meet

A/N: Reader has mutism and speaks in sign language/writing on a board if I use these with reader " " they are meant to be taken as sign language and not spoken word

The no smoking sign at the back of the reception venue had stacked on another irritant that got under the captain’s skin. If it weren’t for Kate Laswell and his men, he wouldn’t be here putting up with the inability to smoke cigars on the venue grounds.

“A wedding is a celebration, Cap. Even you must like weddings, the free booze, the food-” Kyle began speaking and was swiftly cut off by Johnny’s eager horniness

“Scamming on single bridesmaids.” Johnny cut Gaz off, speaking over him as a few of those bridesmaids walked past the 141. The sight of them made Johnny turn his head, trying to get a crack at the pretty women walking by.

“I’m divorced, Gaz. I’ve made enough mistakes-” John reached for his pocket, the cigars that should be in there were missing, and his mood dampened again.

“Got room for another wedding in you, Cap? Another attempt at marriage maybe?” Gaz grinned at the leader of the 141 before he looked around the venue, as if to find someone specific. Gaz’s date, and his fiancée, hadn’t paid any mind to his staring, if anything she had almost aided him.

“Who the fuck are you looking for sergeant?” Simon asked gruffly, drawing the youngest soldier in their unit’s attention back to him.

“A friend-” Gaz ignored Simon, largely, and his grin widened when he caught sight of who he was looking for. The small group of soldiers had been puzzled by Sergeant Garrick’s distracted state, until a woman slipped through the crowds and joined him.

“Thought you’d show up late again,” Gaz pulled her into a side hug, his fiancée doing much of the same, “Cap, Soap, Ghost this is Y/N.”

John watched as you waved, smiling cordially but you hadn’t spoken. You were studying them just as they were studying you, though your attention was divided between Gaz and his fiancée, and them. Gaz had looped an arm around your shoulders to secure you to his side as he made the introductions.

But what had really drawn their curiosity was the way your fingers moved as you communicated in sign language. You hadn’t spoken, you hadn’t made any kind of noise that would be taken as verbal welcoming. Rather you communicated through the standard ASL.

“Y/N is mute, she’s been mute since she was 5. She communicates through sign language,” Kyle explained, signing like you had, though slower, “and she has a board to write on.”

You finished signing and rest your hands by your sides again, silence between the men and you was tampering on the lines of awkward. There was no real clues given by Gaz as to why he wanted you to meet them, not really until he had furthered his explanation.

“Y/N is related to the bride,” Gaz had been practicing his British Sign Language, trying to master the communication, “and is my fiancée’s sister. We met a few years ago, and she is part of my family.”

“It’s really nice to meet you all,” your fingers moved quickly, forming the letters and words you were trying to communicate, “Gaz has told me a lot about you.”

“Aye, had he mentioned how devilishly handsome some of us are?” Johnny cocked a grin, charming and flirtatious as he naturally was.

“Johnny,” you signed his name, your head tilted slightly to the side, “flirts with anything that has legs and a heartbeat.”

“-flirts with anything that has legs and a heartbeat.” Kyle delivered the message as you signed, even though both John and Ghost knew sign language.

“I dinnae-” he protested, crossing his arms over his chest, taking offence to the very idea regardless of it being true. “Gaz’been spreading lies.”

“Ghost,” you looked at the silent and masked man, only giving him a quick look over, “deadly and mysterious.”

“Oi! I get manwhore and ghost gets mysterious?” Johnny harrumphed, rolling his eyes at the implications that Ghost was somehow on a higher scale than him.

“Captain Price,” when you looked over at him, John felt alike a battering ram had slammed right into his gut, rattling any kind of protective guard that kept him emotionally isolated, “brave, daring, capable-”

“-smart.” Gaz finished for you, relaying everything you signed as you signed it, until you were done.

“What the fuck, Kyle? That’s all I get?” Johnny was still mildly miffed about the designation he had gotten, irritated that Kyle had seemingly ruined any chance to flirt with you before he had it.

“Johnny likes to make things explode,” you signed the words, emphasizing the explosion aspect of your speech, much to the amusement of Gaz and John.

“Gaz we should take our seats,” his fiancée addresses him a tap on the shoulder, drawing his attention back to her.

“You’re seated with Y/N, Cap. Over here.” Gaz states before he starts moving toward the table you’re assigned to sit at, with Ghost and Johnny following behind.

You find your seat in between Gaz and John, your name scrawled across the placard—with the addition of honorary bridesmaid added beside it. You reach for your chair and find that John has already started pulling it out for you. You smile at him and raise your hand to your chin, keeping your fingers and hand flat before you move it forward and slightly downward.

Once you take your seat you reach for the already filled glasses of water and pull it before you. You don’t get to take a sip, not before Johnny breaks the silence at the table.

“You know the bride?” His question draws your attention and you raise your head to look at him from across the table.

“The bride and I have been friends since we’ve been ten.” You communicate in sign language, and as you do Ghost translates instead of Gaz. “The groom is a soldier of yours?”

“Good soldier,” John answers you now, stealing any opportunity from Johnny who tries to flag down one of the waiters for a drink, despite there being a bar, “smart and tactical.”

You don’t think to ask more than that, and they don’t give any more on the soldier marrying your friend. But your connections to the lot of them are indelible, through Gaz’s relationship with your sister, his fiancée, and through the bride that’s marrying one of their soldiers.

As the night progresses, you feel more comfortable around the soldiers that Gaz wanted you to meet. Their sense of humour makes you laugh, and you hang onto every word they say when they tell you about some of the things they get up to on base. But it’s John that you can’t stop looking at, can’t stop drawing your attention toward the pretty captain with heart stopping blue eyes.

By the time the dancing arrives, Johnny asks you to one or two because he has to show the rest of them up. You like being around him, he seems easy to be around with a boyish charm that’ll never leave. One dance turns into two, and potentially three, if John hadn’t interrupted.

“Gaz set this up.” The whispered admission draws a silent laugh from you, as John seems annoyed but not surprised.

“I know.” You mouth the words, silently confirming what he initially thought. “Gaz likes to meddle.”

The hand on your back tightens as John dances with you, his eyes moving across the room before they settle back on you. His blue eyes search your face before the corner of his lips twitch but he remains quiet. He is a good dancing partner, he takes the lead and whisks you around the dance floor to the music, before he escorts you back to the table when it’s over.

After you take your seats again, the table is suspiciously empty, another ploy by Gaz no doubt. Regardless of the emptiness at the table, there’s no lingering awkwardness between you and John. It feels oddly comfortable, and any silence there could be is filled as he begins telling you some unclassified stories about the three soldiers that had been here minutes ago.

By the end of the night, his hand is on your thigh with a promise to take you for coffee for a proper date.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

That's What Friends Are For

A/N: Sometimes the mask you wear is a baseball cap and fake glasses, am I right? 😉 Happy day 2 of @nestaarcheronweek! I hope everyone enjoys this fic that is just fun and vibes

Read on AO3

"And according to his bio, he's some sort of professional athlete. A hockey player."

"What? No way!" Emerie snatches the phone clean out of Gwyn's hand before she seems to register and words and tone, halting her movements and offering the redhead a sheepish smile. "Not saying that you couldn't bag an athlete. We all know you're hot shit."

"Nice save," Nesta mutters into her wine glass.

"I'm just saying," Emerie continues, slowly emphasizing her words and sending a good-natured glare in Nesta's direction. "That Washington Capitals players don't exactly go around sliding into people's DM's every day."

"He said he liked my singing videos that I post," Gwyn explains, biting her lip and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. But there seems to be no stopping the smile that tugs across Gwyn's face, the soft pink that spills across her cheeks and over her freckles.

The whole display has Nesta grabbing Gwyn's phone out of Emerie's hand. If this man has her friend reacting like this, practically a blushing school girl again, she needs to see what he looks like. Nesta looks at the screen, at the Instagram profile currently pulled up and displayed there, but Nesta has to admit she's somewhat disappointed at what she sees. This Azriel's entire feed seems to be mostly promotional shots of him in his hockey jersey, of him on the ice, and official graphics clearly made by a marketing team. And when she scrolls a bit further, all she finds are a few golf Reels.

Nesta quickly scrolls back up to the top of his profile, clicking the most recent official team headshot, at least giving her a good look at the man's face. His expression in the photo is giving a bit broody, but even Nesta can admit he's certainly attractive. His face is all cutting lines, a sharp jawline, and high cheekbones. And his eyes are a dark hazel practically piercing right through the camera lens. With the dark strands of his hair tousled just perfectly to fall across his forehead, he looks more like a model than a professional athlete.

Emerie hums, leaning closer to Nesta and peering over her shoulder. "I have no idea who that man is."

Nesta scoffs, shoving Emerie out of her space. "You don't even watch hockey."

"I watch the PWHL. You know, where all the hot players are."

The comment draws an easy laugh from Gwyn, and Nesta rolls her eyes, finally returning their friend's phone to her. "You were saying? He slid into your DM's?"

"Right. Anyways, so he said he liked my singing videos, and when I saw in his bio that he's a hockey player, I wasn't sure at first, but then we started talking, and we've basically been messaging for like a month now? And now he wants to meet for real, for a date."

"Look at our little Gwynie go," Emerie comments, holding up her glass of wine in a cheers and wiping away a fake tear from her cheek.

"You know, if the date goes well," Nesta offers, biting back a smirk. "You could become a WAG."

"Seriously, Nesta?"

"What? I follow a few on Instagram, and their weddings are always gorgeous. Straight out of a fairytale, disgustingly ornate, and every girl's dream," Nesta explains easily, taking a sip of her own wine. She thinks wistfully back to that one series of wedding photos she saw, all the gorgeous, white flowers in full bloom, the large wedding arch with the mountains providing the perfect backsplash just behind. "I mean athletes have no brains and all that money, so they just say yes to everything their wife wants. Ideal situation, honestly."

"Maybe you should date an athlete and become a WAG then," Gwyn suggests, voice lilting with teasing notes.

"Did you miss where I said no brains? Can you seriously imagine me with an athlete?"

~ * * * ~

Nesta shifts slightly against the cushions of the sofa, burying her legs deeper beneath the blankets. She quickly turns the page of the book in her hand, to the next chapter, excited to discover what sort of fall out will come from the main love interest's secret finally coming to light. Will she forgive him? Will he grovel?

"How do you think it's going?"

Nesta looks up from the pages, finding Emerie now leaning over the back of the sofa, a mug of tea cradled between her hands. "Gwyn's date?"

"Maybe we should go down there and check on her, just to be sure."

"Em…"

"What if he's a creep? I mean she did meet him on Instagram. What if he's secretly not who he says he is?"

Nesta doesn't bother holding back her surprised laugh at that. "His account is literally verified."

Emerie tilts her head, conceding the point, but when she meets Nesta's gaze again, a smirk starts to tug up the side of her lips, brown eyes practically flaring beneath their apartment lights. It's Nesta's only warning for the words that spill from her friend's lips, the words that would have her closing her book with a quiet snap.

"Don't you want to ensure Gwyn gets a WAG wedding for you to live vicariously through?"

"Let me change."

The bar and restaurant is close enough to the apartment that it doesn't take long before Nesta and Emerie are walking through the doors with their arms linked. Pink cherry blossom flowers hang in clusters from the ceiling, adding to the bright, spring elements of the place. It pairs well with the floral wallpaper, with the gallery wall of art and photos, the whole place a perfect place for a first date.

Nesta's eyes sweep over the different tables, over all the different people and couples, until she spots a familiar head of red hair. The man sitting across from Gwyn certainly matches the photos on his Instagram, strands of dark hair messy but artfully falling across his forehead, a pair of hazel eyes seemingly enraptured and pinned on where Gwyn is laughing easily at something said. He looks almost out of place amongst the bright pink flowers, dressed in all black with a leather jacket pulled on over his form fitting shirt despite the warm, spring weather.

"Come on," Emerie says, tugging Nesta away by their joined arms. "We'll have the best view without being spotted on this side of the bar."

The bar is mostly full, but Nesta spots two open seats near the end, just one lone guy sitting there. Even from behind, Nesta can tell that the man is huge, large shoulders stretching the fabric of the henley he's currently wearing and long legs hanging all the way to the floor despite the tall bar seats. There's a baseball cap poised atop his head, his dark hair tugged back in a bun that sticks out the back of it.

"Excuse me," Nesta starts when they reach the open seats. "Is anyone sitting here?"

The man turns his head, and Nesta gets her first look at his face. At the white stitched emblem of the Washington Spirit on his baseball cap. At a kaleidoscope of greens and golds that make up a pair of bright hazel eyes. At dark wire glasses framing those eyes. At stubble lining the man's cheeks and jawline. His gaze sweeps down and up again, a slow and leisurely perusal of her, before an easy, cocksure smile tugs across his face.

"You are now," he tells her, his voice low and smooth.

Nesta rolls her eyes as the blatant flirtation beneath his words, but she slides into the open seat all the same. Emerie works on flagging down the bartender to order them drinks, so Nesta leans forward over the bar, craning her head enough that she has the perfect view of Gwyn and her date again.

"Are you looking for someone?" the man asks, drawing Nesta's attention back to him. "Please don't tell me you're waiting on a hot date."

"If you must know," Nesta bites out with a scowl, looking back toward Gwyn's table. "We're here to check on our friend. She's on a first date and we're making sure he isn't a creep."

The man hums, turning his own head and looking over the tables. "Who's the lucky couple?"

"The red head," Emerie chimes in to answer. "That's our friend Gwyn."

Nesta continues to watch the date unfolding across the bar and restaurant, but it's hard not to frown with each moment that passes. Gwyn is no longer laughing like before. In fact, from Nesta's vantage point, it doesn't look like her or Azriel are currently speaking. Instead, both seem intently focused on the drinks in front of them, Gwyn swirling her straw through the blue liquid in her glass.

"Why does it look so awkward over there?" Nesta asks, her frustration growing when Gwyn glances up toward her date, expression almost expectant, longing, but he keeps his own attention on his drink.

"Maybe he's shy."

Nesta turns to make a face at the man beside her, surprised he even said anything, before shifting fully in her seat toward Emerie. "We should send over a drink. Make him jealous."

"You seem awfully invested in your friend's date."

"Nesta is trying to ensure there's a WAG wedding she can live vicariously through," Emerie offers with a smirk, that smile only dropping a little when Nesta smacks her in the leg in retaliation.

"Is that so, Nesta?"

Nesta has to bite her lip and swallow hard against the shudder threatening to skitter up her spine. She's not sure she's ever heard her name said like that. The deep timbre of his voice and the way it curls around each syllable like smoke, it slinks through her veins like a tall, warm glass of whiskey.

"If you must know," Nesta begins, schooling her features and facing the man again. "They're gorgeous and extravagant, and I want to experience one. What's so wrong with that?"

The tone of Nesta's voice is challenging, her expression just as icy. She expects this man to finally leave them alone and go back to his own business, expects him to flee with his tail between his legs and maybe a muttered comment about her being a bitch just like every other man on the receiving end of that look. But instead a spark seems to flare in the man's hazel eyes, his smile only seeming to grow.

"Why not have your own WAG wedding?" the man asks.

"I would never date a professional athlete."

"And why is that?"

"Why are you asking so many questions?"

The man chuckles, the sound just as warm and deep as his voice. He leans forward over the bar, leans in so close that Nesta can practically count every golden fleck twinkling amongst the mazes of greens that make up his hazel eyes, until she notices the scar slashing through his right eyebrow right above the frame of his glasses.

"I'm sitting here alone at the bar, and you're beautiful," the man answers with a wink. "Can you blame me?"

"I don't even know you're name."

"It's Cassian."

He extends his hand across the bar to shake, and it's practically unfair, the large span of it. Nesta dares to slide her own hand into his, feeling the calluses on his palms sliding against her skin. His fingers close around her hand, his touch surprisingly warm, and Nesta almost has to remind herself to pull her hand away when the handshake has gone on long enough. Almost.

"And you should definitely send a drink over," Cassian continues, nodding his head sagely. "A guy that looks like that is probably used to being the hottest dude in the room, used to girls just falling at his feet. Especially if he's an athlete. So, it would definitely make him jealous."

Nesta rolls her eyes at that, but the comment draws an easy laugh from Emerie, her friend's entire face brightening in delight. She leans forward over the bar and raises her hand, making work to flag down their bartender again.

"Can you send a drink over to that table?" Emerie requests, pointing toward Gwyn's table. "To that girl specifically."

"Say it's from a secret admirer," Cassian adds eagerly.

"But don't say it's from over here."

The bartender looks less than impressed, so Nesta sighs softly. "We'll tip you really well."

It seems to be enough to appease the bartender, and he gets to work preparing a drink. Nesta, Emerie, and Cassian all watch with baited breath as the drink is taken over to the table. As their message is delivered and the glass is set down in front of Gwyn. As Gwyn glances around, pink overtaking her cheeks. As Azriel scowls, pointedly looking around the whole restaurant with an obvious glare, looking right toward the bar…

"Oh, shit," Emerie mutters, quickly ducking her head and pretending to look busy.

Nesta is quick to do the same, taking a pointed sip of her drink, but it seems Cassian didn't get the memo about being incognito. Instead, he meets Azriel's gaze head-on, practically grinning triumphantly.

"Did you just smile at him? He's going to think you sent his date a drink," Nesta hisses, smacking Cassian in the arm. She tries not to think about the fact it's solid muscle beneath her hand, about just how large his bicep is beneath the fabric of his henley.

"Let him," Cassian offers, shrugging a shoulder. "I think I can take him if he picks a fight. What do you think, sweetheart?"

"Oh, I think he could take him," Emerie echoes, her voice teasing and just teetering shy of sarcastic. "Now, let's order some food. I'm starving."

"We should get nachos."

Nesta doesn't bother biting back her surprised laugh. "We?"

Despite her protests, Nesta soon ends up with plates of appetizers to share in front of her, and soon after that, another round of drinks. She wants to hate how magnetic this Cassian is, how he asks Emerie and Nesta about themselves and seems to genuinely care about their answers. She wants to hate how he seems to delight when she dares to throw anything at him, rising to meet her every quip like it's some sort of game.

She wants to hate that his bright hazel eyes, his warm laugh, and his stupid glasses and baseball hat are doing it for her.

"You know what would be really funny?" Emerie begins, reaching forward to snag another bite of food. "We send someone over to the table to ask for a picture. But not with him. With Gwyn."

"Oh, that's good," Cassian agrees, grinning widely. "He's probably so used to people asking for pictures with him. It will drive him mad."

"They can say that they're a fan of Gwyn's singing videos."

"And who's going to go over there?" Nesta points out. "Gwyn will obviously recognize both of us, and Cassian over here already made eye contact after the drink."

"We pay someone," Emerie suggests, already spinning in her seat to scan the seats immediately around them. "Do you have any cash?"

"What kind of person carries around cash these days?"

"I do," Cassian offers brightly, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet.

Cassian produces a twenty dollar bill from his wallet, and Emerie is quick to lean over the bar and Nesta to snatch it from between his fingers. She slips off her bar seat and practically skips away, clearly having identified the victim she's hoping to convince to join their plan. Leaving Nesta alone at the bar with Cassian.

"We'll pay you back."

"Don't worry about it, Nes. I'm more than happy to help. I'm invested now."

"Don't call me that," Nesta snaps, turning in her bar seat to face him completely. "It's Nesta. Nes-ta."

Cassian's grin twists into a smirk. "Whatever you say, sweetheart. Just trying to ensure you get that WAG wedding of yours."

Nesta rolls her eyes with a soft sigh. "You're not going to let that go, are you?"

"What can I say," Cassian says, his hazel eyes practically simmering as he reaches toward Nesta's face, twirling a strand of hair that's fallen from her up-do around his finger. "I think you'd look amazing in white."

"I wouldn't be wearing white," Nesta reminds him, smacking his hand away.

"The deed is done," Emerie announces, returning to the bar. "And I got her number. This is going to be too good."

All three of them watch as a pretty woman with white hair braided back and falling along her spine strides across the restaurant. She walks over to the table, putting on a wide smile and her best act as she talks and gushes to Gwyn. She pulls out her phone, and Nesta has to cover her mouth to hide her snort when the woman holds it out for Azriel without a second glance.

"Look at his face," Cassian says through a laugh.

Azriel certainly looks less than impressed with the turn of events, but he takes the phone, snapping a picture of them. The woman walks away after the photo is taken, offering Emerie a smirk and a wink as she strolls past the bar and back toward her own table. When they're finally alone again, Azriel leans in closer to Gwyn to say something.

"Do you think he's asking her if she wants to get out of here?" Nesta asks.

"If Gwyn's lucky," Emerie offers, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Azriel pushes up from his seat and the table, but Gwyn doesn't make any move to stand, and instead of heading toward the door, his strides take him way across the restaurant. Toward the bar.

"Why the fuck is he coming over here?" Nesta hisses, ducking her head to avoid eye contact.

"I think the bathroom's are over here, but besides, he doesn't know us, so it's not like he would recognize us," Emerie says, but she matches Nesta's movements all the same, focusing hard on stirring the ice at the bottom of her drink.

"Is this supposed to be a disguise?" a deep voice asks from behind them.

Nesta's heart stops beating for a moment. She whips around, and sure enough, Azriel is now standing right behind them, in all his model athlete glory, but his attention isn't on Nesta or Emerie.

"I thought the glasses and baseball cap were perfect," Cassian says, shoving at Azriel good-naturedly, clearly friendly with the other man.

"All that's missing is a fake mustache."

"Next time."

"Whatever, idiot," Azriel tells him, his voice quietly teasing as he turns to continue toward the bathrooms. "See you at practice tomorrow."

"Practice?" Nesta blurts out before she can stop herself, her jaw slackening as she looks toward Cassian with wide eyes.

Cassian chuckles a bit self-deprecatingly, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. "Sorry. Didn't I mention? Az and I are teammates."

"You're a Washington Capital too?" Emerie asks, caught between shock and laughing.

Cassian shrugs off the question easily, turning his attention fully back to Nesta. He leans in close to her again, throwing his arm along the back of her bar seat, practically caging her in with his large frame and warmth, trapping her in his orbit. He has that same lopsided smile he's practically been wearing the whole time stretched across his face, but it's softer somehow.

"What do you say, Nes? You. Me. Dinner. We won't tell these fuckers where, so they can't return the favor, and in a year's time we can make sure you get that WAG wedding."

—

2025 tag list (let me know if you want to be added or removed; bolded names mean Tumblr won’t let me tag you 🥲): @moodymelanist @sv0430 @bookstantrash @hiimheresworld @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @glowing-stick-generation @goddess-aelin @melphss @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @wolfnesta @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @that-little-red-head @kale-theteaqueen @superflurry @lady-winter-sunrise @freakingata @susanbanarchy @jsmelodies @unhealthyfanobsession @presskmewleroux @nativeswfl @livinforthetea @dying-of-wanderlust @berkskc @the-new-ribbon @underneath-the-sidras @deadandsane

[sweatinghoneybee]

Future Silhouette Serenade Sisters

Ok I know that we're still far away til the war future of the fic but can you blame me for fantasizing on how badass MC and Nebula are gonna be? No just me? WELP to bad cause I've already drawn so you deal with my fantasies for now Kay?

Now, TIME TO RAMBLE ON DESIGN DETAILS!!!

For MC honestly she's the easiest since I wanted her to resemble Glowburst since she's mentioned to resemble her carrier but since this is into the distant future with MC's character arc in a war I wanted her to also have her own thing going on and to look like she's a warrior in her own right. Also yes I wanted to give her tattoos (or should I say biolights in this case?) because of two reasons which is one I thought it would be cool if MC goes to Nyon to get her tattoos as her pride for her heritage and also like come on MC would definitely LOVE to have beautiful engravings on her!! And cause two I thought it would be so funny if when the war goes on and MC has her own faction the reason it was made was because people thought her tattoos was a symbol of a new faction and when everyone realizes it wasn't they still stay along making a new faction cause they liked being with MC as their leader, I don't know I thought it'd be funny. And funfact at first I wanted to give MC freckles like belle in the U movie but it made the face part cluttered so instead I decided on making Belle's freckles be marks on MC's battle mask, tho still wanted MC to have abit of something on her face so I just made only her left cheek to have freckles with a star on. Why I put a scar on MC's right optic? I just thought it would be so angsty that her right optic that has resemblance on the decepticons red optics color cause the one that gave her that scar thought she was "evil" only to realize later on that she wasn't and now MC has a mark on her face for something she didn't do but she wore it proudly without regret cause in her mind it is a symbol of her resilience. For MC's claws tho, uuuuhhhh I might have just made it cause I thought it made MC hot.

And finally for Nebula I wanted to design a future version on her cause like COME ON!!! I say it ain't fair that Nebula doesn't get an evolved version as her sister cause like I'm pretty sure she's gonna get her own character arc going on since while we're seeing this in MC's perspective, honestly technically this journey is as much of Nebula's as it is MC's and come tell me if MC wouldn't be fangirling over how badass her sister is? So when I designed Nebula honestly can I just say I'm so disappointed in myself cause only now I just realized even with me drawing Nebula a lot I never incorporated ANY actual nebulas, which is a cloud of stars, into Nebula's design and I am DEVASTATED CAUSE IT WAS SUCH A MISSED OPPORTUNITY!!! but I've come to compromise that all the designs before this one of Nebula because she hasn't fully evolved yet and her evolution was from smokes/mists into clouds (just pretend I've planned this all along Kay please?). And with that I just went ALL OUT on it! I was trying to based off Nebulas look like she's wearing those over the top bed robes where there's fluff on the edges of them cause I thought it would be so badass that Nebula practically looks like she was pissed being worked up from her nap and she just KO everyone just to finally get them to shut up so she can get more shut eye time (and cause cloudy stars made it look like sleepy dream times right?) and I honestly made Nebula with a concept of volcanoes cause I thought it would be so cool since it made her look like she's about to "erupt" with her abilities and cause I wanted Nebula to have her own way to show she's from Nyon cause like come on HELLO Nebula is also Glowburst's daughter here and she's just as proud of her heritage as her sister!! And I love how by making the marks that looks like lava flowing down that it made Nebula look like a storm cloud which I thought both ways it really fits! Tho question which hair cloud do you prefer Nebula with, up or down with a swirl like bangs? I couldn't really decide so I drew Nebula what she might look like with her hair down tho honestly I also like the thought that Nebula likes to style her cloud hair in styles that MC told her sister about, Nebula wants to have fun with her style too you know?

If anyone is wondering what I'm rambling about these are based off of my friend @springingsour tf fanfic

Pls give them some love Kay? They worked really hard on it and it's field with so many cool plotlines so if you read it pls show them many appreciating pls!

[whateveriwant]

Hey! I love your writing so much, and I was wondering if you could do 141 HCs with an albino GN!reader? Or a reader with tics but not tourettes? Either or!! Have a lovely day!

I'm sorry it took me a little while to get to this, anon! I went with the second option!

Ghost

Can you say 'twinsies'? Because Ghost definitely can 👯‍♀️

I can totally see Ghost having tics of his own – motor ones specifically, mostly confined to his face, but you wouldn't know it because they're always hidden by his masks

Thus, when he first notices you ticking, he immediately clocks it for what it is and he (almost giddily) thinks to himself 'Finally! Someone who gets me'

Because of this, he quickly becomes your second shadow, following you around everywhere like a little big puppy

Naturally, he'll get incredibly protective over you, especially when it comes to people who stare or make comments under their breath or even outright approach you and ask something rude regarding your tics

If he catches anyone doing anything of the sort, then he goes into scary dog mode real quick: arms crossed over his chest, head cocked to the side, an intimidating silence as he glares with a gaze so menacing it could melt steel

Price

With a man as sharp and attentive as Price, much like Ghost, he takes instant notice of your tics

And as protective as Price is, he'd probably get fairly concerned about you to the point where he even pulls you aside one day to have a little chat

He knows that… tics, he thinks they're called, aren't necessarily indicative of anything health-wise, but he just wants to make sure that you're okay; that there isn't anything he can do for you

Even after assuring him that you're perfectly fine and healthy and good, that doesn't stop him from looking out for you like you're his own flesh and blood

Similar to Ghost, if he sees anyone staring or making snide comments about you, then he's definitely going to step in and shut that down

However, rather than giving them an I'll tear your spine out through your throat look à la Ghost, he'll mutter something in their ear – the specifics of which you're unsure, but it always has them making a swift, shaky-legged departure

Gaz

While he too notices your tics, Gaz would never ever mention them out of respect for you and your privacy

He would wait for you to be the one to bring it up, should you ever choose to, that is. And if you never do, well, that's a-ok to him. Whatever you're willing to divulge, he'll be there waiting without pressure or judgment

However, if you were to talk to him about it (and thus invite a conversation) then prepare yourself for a barrage of questions

He doesn't ask them meaning to be offensive or intrusive or whatever; he's simply curious. He just wants to get to know you well, and that means knowing what makes you uniquely you

Unlike the other 141 men, if he notices someone bothering you about your tics, he's not going to directly (more like aggressively) confront them over it

Instead he'd harmlessly distract them, drawing their attention onto himself until they've completely forgotten all about their interest in bugging you

Soap

This man, bless his heart, would be totally, astoundingly oblivious of your tics even if they punched him in the face

In fact, the closer you become with him, the more he finds himself unconsciously start to mimic them

Kind of like when you like someone and so you start mirroring their movements/patterns of speech? Yeah, it's like that but with your tics

Of course, if you were to say something about it (and especially if you said it made you uncomfortable), he'd immediately apologize, explain how he wasn't even aware he was doing it, and make sure he never does it again

Like with Ghost and Price, if Soap noticed someone being rude towards you, he'd go into guard dog mode, but he is the most feral by far

He'd be all up in their face, furious, practically foaming at the mouth as he yells to "Mind yer own fuckin' business while you've still got workin' legs to mind with!" … only to turn to you afterwards all sunshine and rainbows like he didn't just tear that person a new one 😇

[chenlesfavorite]

[TEASER] love in the dark. lee haechan

— summary : you love haechan, you truly do, you wish to be with him till death do you part though your families aren't fond of each other and he can't officially court you, your meetings are always secret. but everything becomes complicated once your parents tell you that you're promised to a complete stranger.

— pairing : haechan x fem!reader

— genre : angst, forbidden romance, secret relationship, arranged marriage

— extra : regency era, oneshot/imagine, open ending

— author's note : it's my birthday and I promised I would upload an imagine... didn't say if it was gonna be the entire thing tho so here's a little teaser for it <3 the full imagine will be released once I'm back from my break :)

— teaser word count : 851 (final w.c will have around 3-4k)

reminder that this is pure fiction and not an actual depiction of how they act.

The ballroom is glittering under the golden shine of the grand chandelier hanging above, the violinists playing a melody fitting for the current waltz unraveling. Gowns twirling around as the gentlemen lead their ladies with grace.

Amidst the setting, you feel out of place, your heart weighing you down with the secrets you keep inside it. Your feet are moving along the rhythm of the waltz, but you're buried inside the garden in your mind.

Your eyes are drawn to the figure standing in the corner of the ballroom, his fingers delicately wrapping around the glass filled with the finest wine as his eyes that know your secret follow your every step.

Though you have not exchanged any words with him the entire evening, the tension was present and you know who the figure is. One might say you know him like you know the back of your hand.

The young gentleman you’re dancing with notices your breathing switching to a heavier pace, making your distracted self quite visible. “Lady L/N, are you feeling well?” The gentleman could not resist but ask, his expression carrying concern.

“Ah, I’m well. I just seem to be a little out of it as I’ve been on my feet all evening, pardon me.” You reply, your lips curling up into a smile as you do not wish to worry the gentleman.

Putting on a quick smile is no hard work for you, after all, you have learned the practice of masking your true feelings and intentions. But one person could see through that very easily and he was still watching you from the corner.

As the waltz draws to a close, the figure watching you makes his leave by going up the stairs. You are more than sure he’s going to the balcony. You politely curtsy to the gentleman who just danced with you and you excuse yourself from the ballroom floor, slipping through the sea of people.

At last, you reach the balcony, the cool breeze of the night hitting you and of course, your guess is right. He is here.

You did not think he would come tonight, especially considering his family did not receive an invitation to the ball due to your families not being fond of one another. But alas, that was stupid of you to even ponder about, after all, wherever you are, he will be there too.

“You should not be here, Haechan.” You say in a quiet tone, approaching him with a voice that carries the slightest anger in it, mixed with worry. “And yet,” He steps closer to you. “Here I am.” That cocky smirk appearing on his face, that smirk that just makes you want to hit him.

“You did not receive an invitation!” You exclaim, though by the looks of it, Haechan just did not seem to mind nor care, this is just a game to him. A game that he loves to play. “You think too little of me if you believe an invitation could keep me from you.” He replies, his voice a soft murmur. The moonlight cast a glow over him and his eyes showed a glimmer of mischief.

You step back, the railing of the balcony pressing against your back— your breath catching in your throat. “Haechan, if anyone were to see us— if they were to know you are here—”

Your words are cut off and a light gasp escapes your lips as he holds onto the railing, trapping you in between his arms. Your eyes lock onto his, his stare sending a shiver down your spine. “Let them see, let them know,” He whispers in your ear, his low tone sounding alluring.

“I care not for their gossip, nor for the rules of society. I care only for you.” Haechan leaves those words lingering in your mind as he starts to look directly at you. You narrow your eyes, a light scoff coming from you despite the red color rushing to your cheeks. “You think this is just some grand jest, don’t you? Do you have any clue of what you risk— what we risk?”

Haechan lets out a chuckle, his breath warm against your cheek. “Risk? I risk nothing. It is you who risks everything.” He pauses before continuing. “Your reputation, your family’s pride, their plans for your future... and yet,” His voice softens. “Here you are.”

Your heart starts to pound heavily in your chest, the anger in you battling with something deeper that was inside of you, something so dangerous. You search his face for any signs of seriousness behind that smug facade of his.

You lightly push him away as you clear your voice. “I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have followed you.” You say, turning away from him as you start to head for the doors of the balcony.

“But you did, you smile and dance for the others but you always come back to me because you know your heart belongs to me.” His voice fades away as you rush back inside the manor, the heat becoming very evident on your face.

[TO BE CONTINUED]

[icanseethefuture333]

Solar Return Chart: Asteroid observations

Asteroids used:

Starr (4150)

Singer (10698)

Tone (1266)

Fama (408)

Talent (33154)

Actor (12238)

Lumerie (775)

Fan (151590)

Industria (389)

Universitas (905)

Sagittarius Starr in the 1st house 7°:

Stardom is a stronger placement than Fama in my opinion. You could always experience fame at some point in your life (being a meme, having a video go viral, etc) but it's nowhere near the level of stardom. This placement specifically shows how I will stand out in comparison to others. Sagittarius is well known for being philosophical, optimistic, and honest. People could appreciate or admire these characteristics that I have. Starr being in the 1st house could mean being popular for taking on the role of a leader and not being a follower. 1st house also pertains to the physical appearance as well as 7° (Libra degree), so I could be seen as having attractive attributes. I also interpert this as my personality being considered humorous and that I will be fair to others

Sagittarius Singer in the 1st house 7.59 (could be rounded to 8)°:

Sagittarius is so prominent in my Solar return chart it seems?! I see this as being a singer who's versatile and carefree. As much as I enjoy singing, I am not professionally trained, nor would I consider myself a technical singer. I see this as actually putting in the effort to practice and gaining wisdom from other singers techniques. This could also mean to sing various musical genres or blending different cultures into the songs I sing. This could mean singing in a foreign language as well. 1st house means to be discovered quite fast and be acknowledged by others for being a singer. 7°/8° (Libra and Scorpio degree) people could consider my voice as pretty and transformative. I coild possibly collaborate with other artists, and be involved with a lot of business matters (marketing my music, signing contracts, etc).

Pisces Tone in the 4th house 28°:

What a watery aspect to have JEEZ 😂! Tone pertains to how someone's voice sounds, so my speech could be softer in general this year or I will have a duality to my speaking voice. Being able to play around with different notes or feeling comfortable singing low or high notes. 4th house and 28° both embody Cancer energy. My voice could be regarded as feminine, soft, and gentle. It could also be obvious by my tone what emotions I feel (angry, sad, happy, etc) and having a harder time masking that. There will overall be a sincerity expressed in how I talk.

Capricorn Fama in the 2nd house 18°:

Capricorn Fama is a interesting placement considering it feels neutral here. I see this as having knowledge and means for me to become a celebrity. As a child, I remember I used to watch Yogi Bear on Boomerang and he would always say that he was "Smarter than the average bear" when that wasn't actually true, Boo Boo was a cub and much smarter than his elder. It could be possible I meet celebrities who are well seasoned and think they could steal my "picnic basket" so to speak. They could think they're better than me and would try to convince me to take opportunities from others to get ahead, when that's not how I roll. This placement requires me to be wise when it comes to having fame. I interpert the 2nd house as if I work hard and focus on my goals, I should be able to succeed financially. 18° (Virgo Degree) I believe means there will have to be a balance of health and work. Being famous for health or humanitarian matters is also a factor.

Scorpio Talent in the 12th house 17°:

The talent asteroid is comfortable with the 17° (Leo degree). It represents long term fame and being well known for your talents. This placement represents me very well when it comes to my talents. I am someone who is quite shy and being in the spotlight can be nervewracking for me. I am able to do a lot of things from drawing, singing, etc, but I am not very public about my talents or skills because it draws too much attention. Scorpio is very private, they are known for hiding anything personal about themselves and typically are considered mysterious to others. The 12th house could also mean hidden talents coming to the surface. I see this as slowly coming out of the shadows and allowing my talents to speak for themselves. It reminds me of indie artists when they start gaining popularity and people have discussions as in "Have you heard of this person?" or "Do you know about xyz?". My talents could be spiritually guided or there will be inspiration that comes from my subconscious thoughts. It is possible I will receive signs or premonitions within my dreams. People could ask what is the meaning or how did I become so talented at something but my geniune response would be "I don't know where it came from it just came to me honestly?". I see this as being humble regarding talents and not being someone who brags. This is a comfortable placement for fame and I see this as being known for having a good reputation. My talents could pertain to psychology, the occult, divination, and the arts.

Leo Actor in the 9th house 5°:

I see that I would be successful if I were to start an acting career! There could be a lot of potential for my acting skills and I would have to take lessons to improve them (9th house often being considered the house of travel, knowledge, and education). This could also mean I will be casted for roles because of my race or cultural background. It is possible it would be required for me to travel for my acting career or I would have to speak in a foreign language. 5° degree is the Leo degree and it also signifies short term fame, going viral, or being famous for your beauty. So this could mean getting casted for advertisements, commercials, and passing modeling auditions. Either way, I will gain prominence in the acting industry because of my charm, charisma, and appearance (I.E: Being selected for roles solely because of my looks).

Leo Lumiere in the 9th house 29°:

This asteroid is specific to film and photography, astrologers interpert this as what roles an actor specializes in. I see the Leo energy for this asteroid as being casted for glamorous and lavish roles or being casted to play a character that's brave or having "main character" energy. As in films that have a coming of age story. I see that I could be casted for roles internationally or will have to film in places out of the country. 29° is a big indication of long term fame but since it is a karmic degree, it could possibly mean having to play in roles that are controversial or challenges what society views as the standard.

Aquarius Fan in the 3rd house 18°:

I could gain fans/followers for shared interests and values. There will be discussions surrounding activism and social causes. People could admire my individuality and ability to be a free thinker. My fans will be mostly on social media platforms and could see them being interested in what I think or have to say. This could mean gaining attention from videos, podcasts, blog posts, or any thing that is a form of written/verbal communication. I could form connections with students from my school as well. 18° (Virgo degree) pertains to health, analytics, and human services.

Gemini Industria in the 7th house 14°:

I am a Communication major and this is a significant placement for me since it pertains to jobs in that career field. It is likely I will be able to work in jobs that pertain to communication such as journalism, podcasts, social media influencer, and so on. The 7th House and 14° degree entails Venusian energy (The 7th house representing Libra and 14° is a Taurus degree). This could mean I could work in the beauty, music, banking/investment, & design industry. I could see myself working in jobs related to beauty advertisement, investing in stocks for companies, and working as a intern for a art gallery/fashion magazine. I also see this a positive indication for singing and modeling. This placement feels very luxurious to me and reminds me of "The Devil Wears Prada". Andy was a college graduate and aspiring journalist who ended up working at a fashion magazine. Could symbolize working in a industry that's Glamorous but also requires communication skills, diplomatic behavior, and great determination.

Aquarius Universitas in the 3rd house 17°:

I associate Aquarius with science and technology. My experience for university this could mostly focus on subjects related to this topic. Interesting enough, for this winter quarter I have 3 classes that are all focused on science (global climate, flower science, & the application of computers in technology). 3rd house has to do with communication, intrapersonal thoughts, and social activities. It is possibly I could make friends through my classes. I am likely to participate in more extracurricular activities or school events this year. 17° (Leo Degree), I see this being considered a "picture perfect student". My mother has spoken with one of my academic advisors recently and they have stated that they were impressed with my diligence when it comes to completing coursework. I might be included in one of the photographs for my university's newspaper or social media platforms.

[leoanok]

Protesting & Clothing

At a protest it's exceptionally important that you dress appropriately. 1. Protective clothing ; this means a few different things. - Generally long sleeves, jackets, pants, work boots, gloves, and anything else that's going to cover a lot of skin. These are the kinds of clothing protect you from the elements, like the sun and weather, but also exposure to chemical irritants like pepper spray and tear gas. This is non-restrictive clothing that allows for movement, it's practical. This is also going to cover anything distinct; think tattoos, birthmarks, scars, etc.

Drawstring hoodies are great here, too, because they'll allow you to hide your hair and secure goggles if necessary. - Facemasks are very important: bandanas, t-shirts, surgical masks, N95's, anything of the sort, as long as your mouth and nose are covered; it's important to keep these covered, again, to prevent foreign irritants, like tear gas and pepper spray, from entering your airway. This is also important because the authorities really like to use facial recognition software which infringes on the rights of the people to protest peacefully because it inspires fear. There is nothing illegal about peaceful protesting (I'll make a post about that at some point soon) and using facial recognition software to identify protestors infringes on that ability, especially when it's used disproportionately against marginalized groups. That being said, in some places it is illegal to cover your face in public; this is generally less common because of the mask regulations following covid 19, but always be sure of the law or potential bylaws in the area.

- Non-Shatter eye protection; shatter-resistant sunglasses, goggles, etc. This again just goes back to that idea of keeping irritants out and away from you as far as possible. - Do NOT wear contacts or eye makeup. Avoid this as much as possible; because of how tear gas and other chemical agents work, contacts and makeup can trap irritants. - Proper foot wear is also important; close toed, protective, and do not impede your ability to run in them. Movement is important, protesting is very physically intensive, and in the event that you need to get out of an area quickly, it's imperative that you have the correct footwear to facilitate that. - Nondescript clothing : your choice of clothing should be as plain as possible. Try to avoid branding, and remember that you can flip clothing inside out to hide things like logos. Absolutely do not wear clothes associated with yourself; things like names, sports teams, etc. Some people will recommend darker colors, and while this can be the case, again, be weary. If there is no black bloc, then any sort of nondescript clothing is fine. 2. Choice of bag ; You're going to want a backpack or a draw-string bag for a few different reasons, mostly practicality. If you have something that is easier to access, Velcro is the most optimal, then go with that long as it doesn't impede your movement. Avoid bags that you need to tie or knot closed. - In the event that you need to quickly access the contents of your bag, these are going to be some of the most accessible of common options.

- In the event that you need to leave quickly, for whatever the reason may be, a backpack or draw-string back is going to be the most effective and least impeding to your ability to move quickly. I'll add anything else if I remember it here, but for now there are the important notes. Keep safe, keep protesting, and stay strong. 1312

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

I don't know who needs to hear this, but you should make an OC.

You should make an OC. Specifically a Spider-Sona. Like now. Preferably yesterday. [A MEDIUM-LONG essay about OC's, fanfiction, and how to enrich and better your writing skills in literally every sector. Throughout this essay I reference my two characters Disco-Spider and Inca-Spider as examples of the way OCs can be used.]

_________________________________________

"But no one cares about OCs -"

OKKAYYYY??

IDK about ya'll but fandom is NOT my final destination no siree

I feel like a lot of the time we get so caught up in posting and notes we forget that for many artists and writers on this platform - fanfiction is not the true end goal.

Many of us write and draw fanart for years -

But the fact of the matter is if you want to be an author someday, if you want to be a graphic novelist, an animator, etc, etc - You're going to HAVE to make OCs.

If you want to study English in college or publish books - you're gonna have to write an OC at least once. If not hundreds of times.

If you want to study art - chances are at some point you're gonna have to fill a portfolio with original pieces, including some of OCs.

If you want to do something with your writing, if you want to get better - or make a career out of your art, you HAVE to make OCs at some point.

And this is especially true for fanfiction writers.

You can get very very very good at writing in your specific fandoms, you may have the emotions of the characters on point, and the ability to describe the scenery.

But if you don't know how to create and design a character - if you don't know how to worldbuild, or come up with scenarios without the help of characterai and ChatGPT - you won't be able to write a book.

If you're an artist and you don't know how to draw an original character from scratch, how to match colors, how to draw certain skin tones, certain hair, wheelchairs and mobility aids, how to design a character from looks, to clothing - it's going to be so hard to expand your art outside of fanart. You'll always be beholden to the notes and popularity of your particular fandom.

Do it - even if you've never written or never draw before. Even better.

That's why I CHAMPION Spider-sonas so much. They're basically OCs on easy mode.

Can't write backgrounds yet? Here's a bucket on canon events to pick from? Can't draw faces? Blank mask with eyes.

Hell, if you're really really new about it - just pick a character and make a slightly different variant. Make a Hobie of your own, make a Peter variant. Make a Mary Jane variant. Pick a something you like and turn that into a character.

Can't write? Just fill-in the 'My name is [blank], I was bitten by a [blank]' script that Miles does. Can't draw, just draw out a basic shape of a body and color-out the suit, no fancy pose needed. That still counts!!

Make a self-insert. Make yourself fit into the story, design your suit, write out how you fight crime, how you'd act at the Society, meeting Miguel or Miles.

That's still character design, that's still worldbuilding.

We always hear people say 'Make art for yourself' and yeah that sounds nice - but people also misinterpret it.

Make art for yourself doesn't just mean making art that you personally like.

Making art for yourself also means making art that develops your skills even if no one gives a fuck. It's about making art as practice without the intention of it being 'completed', making OCs that never get used, drawing locations you see or writing a random ass short story then shoving it into your Google Drive forever.

Making art for yourself means making art that invests in yourself.

It means making art that interests you, challenges you, or helps you develop.

And making OC's helps develop your fanfic writing skills.

In may fandoms we begin to fall into these routine 'tropes' between characters and their personalities. This is usually known as the 'fanon' characterization.

Because when you have a set amount of characters and people, there's also a set amount of interactions and relationships between those people.

Writing OCs and having those OCs interact with canon characters allows you to dig deeper into sides of the canon characters we'd never otherwise see.

That's why I wrote Disco-Spider Diane like I do. Often, we see Hobie characterized as the chaotic, rowdy, confident type - which is perfect characterization for him. But in almost all of his interactions - he's the wilder, bolder, extroverted one. I wanted to put him in a situation where for once, he was the calmer one. I wanted to explore more grounded and chill sides of Hobie, one where he's the one grounding the other, and thinking logically - because in canon, we're hinted at a side of Hobie who's way more methodical and slow-paced and willing to stop and wait it out and play it off. And I wanted to see that. I wanted to explore what he'd do if he was faced with someone just as chaotic, who put on a cheeky ironic act - just the same as him.

Because no other characters serve that purpose in canon.

If there are elements of a character or concept you think are interesting but outright ignored by canon and fanon, you can create an OC to explore those parts.

For Disco-Spider: I wanted to explore how someone like a militant Black Panther would handle being Spider-woman, when Spider-people are usually shown as pacifists - what that would look like or how it'd shape her morals based on era, etc. For Inca-Spider: I realized there were so many culture based Spider people like Pavitr and Spider-UK. But none for indigenous communities, and NONE from countries that only existed in other universes. So, I created an indigenous character from Tawanti - a country that's located where Peru would be for us.

You can give a canon character a sibling, to explore how they'd interact with family. Give them a partner that acts totally different than their canon partner, write how that'd change the way they show love.

OC's make your original writing better, AND your fanfiction writing too. They can help you understand canon characters on a deeper level.

And sure, nobody likes your OC. NOW.

But every single character you write about, is someones OC. Every character you write about was once treated that way. Once upon a time, Dean Winchester was just some rando character in the pilot script of a show that hadn't picked up yet. Probably no one gave a fuck until CW picked it up.

The writers had to not only make him and develop him - they had to BELIEVE in him enough to pitch him to a TV show channel to make people care.

That's always the first step. Believing your character's story is worthy enough of being told and presenting it as such.

ESPECIALLY if your OC represents a demographic you don't see represented. Cause yes if there isn't any black women in canon then I'll Thanos this shit and do it myself.

Make OCs.

Write them. Draw them. Even if it's bad. Who the hell cares. Big Mouth is on Netflix with multiple seasons, have you seen that show?? 'Ugly' art is not a crime.

Make piccrews, fill out OCforms or take quiz's as them. Write little blurbs of them hanging with canon characters then post it in the tag.

You don't need a huge Spidersona sheet or a long long fic explaining their backstory. They can just be there.

MAKE OCs.

Make them to explore more in your fanfiction, make them so future you can write that novel or draw or that comic or sell those prints or whatever it is you plan to do.

Make it so your fanfiction AND original writing can grow stronger. It isn't just about notes and content and follows.

Make an OC. Make a Spidersona. Literally you have nothing to lose but your chains.

"Nobody cares-"

Oh they'll care when you pop out with that 6-book publishing deal. They'll care when you're designing big characters for movies. Cause that's how it happens. Watch.

ANYWAYSSSS if you made it this far I hope this inspired you to at least play around with the idea of OCs and Spidersonas in general.

Here's Hobie.

BYE.

If you want to make a sona and are kinda lost on where to start, lemme know!! Because I think they're amazing starting places for those who have never written or drawn before. Or if you have a sona but want to develop them further.

I haven't seen a guide to spidersonas and i wonder if that's something some people might want/need.

Seriously if I can even get one person into writing or drawing I'll be over the goddamn moon.

MAKE OCS PLEASE.

[kieran-granola]

Mer! Tim and mer! Jason knocking each other up at the same time by accident and hilarity ensues when people find out

Jason wakes up feeling warm. His tail is hopelessly tangled with Tim's, the two of them cuddled up on a bed of soft algae. He can feel every single one of Tim's slow breaths, the shudder of water through his side gills ruffling Jason's wispy fins.

It's peaceful in a way he didn't think breeding season could be.

A quiet note fills the water as Jason hums in contentment. The sound makes Tim stir. With a smile, Jason presses soft kisses to his throat and cheek — over the bites he left on him at the height of their Mating frenzy. Tim’s eyes blink open. He gives Jason a slow smile before drawing him into a kiss. Their lips move languidly together for a while, rows of razor-sharp teeth hidden away.

Eventually, Jason pulls back. He nuzzles Tim’s nose with his own, before untangling their limbs to stretch his tail. Eyes half-lidded, Tim watches the movement. Then his own song echoes with a surprised warble as his expression goes from languid to pure delight.

“You caught!” he exclaims.

Jason blinks before looking down. It takes him a bit of squinting in the low light before he spots the darker patch of skin on his belly. Hands flying to his middle, he lets out a soft sound. He’s pregnant! He wasn't sure that it was in the cards for him after the Green Waters. He thought that he'd been too damaged, too broken to be the livebearer in their pair.

(…Not that Tim and him didn't give every configuration a try, but that was more a matter of pleasure than reproduction.)

Grinning widely, he tugs Tim out of bed and twirls him in excitement. “We did it! We’re going to be parents!”

With a giddy laugh, Tim wraps his arms around Jason’s neck. Lost in each other’s eyes, they let themselves forget the world, their tails swirling together in a bright flash of gold and red as they dance in joy. Their fins fan in and out to the rhythm of their shared song… until the rumbling of Jason's stomach interrupts them.

Tim laughs as their dancing winds down. “Sounds like I better do my duty and feed you.”

“I want mackerel,” Jason demands playfully. “To celebrate.”

“Aye, aye, Sir.” Tim rolls his eyes as he slings his hunting harness over his chest.

Jason steals a couple of kisses while helping him with the clasps, before accompanying him to the entrance of their breeding nest. Tim gives him one last nuzzle before swimming into the brighter ocean, his staff in hand. Jason watches the light reflect off his pretty golden tail from the safety of their cave…

Right before rushing after him with a gasp.

“Tim!” Jason exclaims as he catches Tim’s wrist.

Tim whirls around in surprise. “Uh, I don't think you're supposed to leave our ca—”

“You caught too!”

Tim freezes. “What?”

“Look!”

Jason puts his hands around the discreet darker spot on Tim’s stomach. Tim frowns, but he looks down. He blinks. Then his mouth falls open in shock.

“Holy shit! How is that even possible?!”

“I don’t know. I have no idea what happened, but obviously it did, and… Fuck. Tim, we’re going to have so many fries!” Jason can't keep the excitement out of his voice, the deep, overjoyed notes of his song joining the clicks of his tongue.

Tim gives him a soft smile. “Yeah. Yeah, we are. I guess that warrants twice as much mackerel?”

“Yeah! Actually, wait. No." Jason frowns. "It’s too dangerous. You shouldn't be out hunting.”

Jason starts dragging them both back to their nest, but Tim resists. “Neither should you by that logic, but we still need to eat.”

Jason scrunches up his nose. He was so caught up in his discovery that he forgot about the practicalities for a minute. Shit. He has no idea how they're going to deal with logistics when both of them will need to be protected, fed, and taken care of while their fries gestate. Unless…

Ugh. Jason looks at Tim. His partner’s face is schooled into a careful mask of neutrality which tells Jason everything he needs to know. Tim has had the exact same idea he did, and he's waiting to see how Jason feels about it.

“I don't suppose you've got a secret uncle who could host us?” Jason tries.

Tim’s lips quirk in amusement as he shakes his head. “Sorry. No hidden family anywhere.”

“Dammit.” Jason sighs, and a torrent of bubbles swims up between them. “You know Bruce is going to be insufferable if we ask him for help, right?”

“Yeah." Tim sighs too. "We'll be safe, though, and our fries too.”

“Ugh. I guess. Fine. You give him the news, though. I need him to work it out of his system before letting him anywhere near me.”

Tim grimly extends a hand. “That's a deal... if you take care of telling Alfred.”

Jason pales, but he shakes Tim's hand. "Deal."

[cheezbites]

Headcanons of Dating Ghost PT.3

✎: Fun fact, part one is on 600+ NOTES??? HOLY SHIT?!? THANK Y’ALL SO MUCH😋!!! (You don’t need to read the other parts to read this one)

🌸Part One

💕Part Two

♡Summary: Wholesome headcanons of dating Ghost PT.3 <3

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷.-*

Bf!Ghost loves seeing you wear his clothes. Although you practically own or have worn at least half of his wardrobe, he still gets that same content feeling that surges throughout his body when he sees you lounging in one of his t-shirts. They looked way baggier on you, but that makes it even better. No matter what you’re wearing, he’ll always do a double take, smile, and say:

“It looks cuter on you, keep it.”

Bf!Ghost never backs down from his light hearted pranks, no matter what day, season or time it is. Halloween was coming up and he remembered that uncannily misplaced skeleton prop in your garage, slowly withering away as other things piled on top of it. Compared to how it was originally bought, it honestly looked ten times scarier. The quality was worn out and old, perfect for the prank he was about to play on you.

He stood at the end of the dimly lit corridor, calling out your name like he needed your help with a favour.

“Y/N?” he said, trying to contain his laughter by clearing his throat.

“Hmm?”

“C’mere for a sec, ‘need yer help with something.”

You turned your corridor’s lights on before making your way to where his voice was, before you made the final turn he held the flimsy skeleton prop out which admittedly scared you half to death.

“Boo.”

“Ahhh,” you replied, trying to mask how genuinely scared you were with his thoughtless prank. He saw how scared you were, even if it was very, very brief.

“The skeleton checks out,” you quipped, rolling your eyes.

Bf!Ghost always ties your shoe laces for you. Always. It’s honestly became a tradition for whenever you guys go out.

“You ready to go?” you asked, kneeling down to slip on your Jordan’s.

“Wait, I forgot something.”

You expected him to make a quick trip upstairs to grab whatever he forgot, but he suddenly knelt down in front of you, catching you off guard for a second until you realised what he was doing.

You stood up, smiling down at him as he effortlessly tied your shoes.

“Aw, such a gentlemen.”

You always tease him for his officious habits, just like how he always keeps them up.

Bf!Ghost is used to solving your unserious petty arguments with pillow fights. Upon hearing a satirical remark from him, you’d grab any nearby pillow and thwack his face with it. He would grab a pillow and use it to shield his face before you guys have a blast with pillows. They always start off with teasing before they gradually grow in competitiveness. He’s fully aware he can easily win each and every single time but he still acts defeated so you can win. But you still are pretty good at beating people with pillows… is that something he should be taking note of?

“That’s it, let it all out.” He teased, still using a pillow as a shield whilst flailing it at you.

Bf!Ghost draws on your arm/thigh when he’s bored.

“Y’know ink poison is a thing, right?” you asked, still closely watching as he draws an intricate flower on your arm.

“Eh… you’ll live, dove.”

The drawings are honestly impressive, you kind of want to keep them on - possibly get them tattooed just to surprise him and catch his reaction. They’ll be worth the ink poisoning, anyways.

Bf!Ghost can’t go to bed knowing you’re upset with him. He will not go to sleep until he’s forgiven or if he sees you smile, literally. He knows you’re unaware of how many nights he’s kept himself up just because you wouldn’t talk to him and he plans on keeping it that way. He doesn’t even know why he does it, it’s just his guilty consciousness gnawing at him.

Bf!Ghost tickles you just so hear you laugh - it’s always out of nowhere, too. You could be in bed together as he’s resting his head on your stomach and out of nowhere he’d turn to face you. You curiously peer at him. His fingers make way to your stomach and start mercilessly tickling you and you’re suddenly dying from all the giggles and laughter,

“Simon!” you exclaimed through chuckles, trying to clutch onto your stomach whilst floundering his hands off.

Bf!Ghost has only one collection: his beloved teacup collection, of course. You decided to ironically gift him a skeleton cup you saw when you were shopping. God, if you only knew how much that flimsy cup with that cute little chibi cartoon style skeleton waving a British flag around meant to him.

It’s his go to cup each time he drinks tea, which is everyday. If any of his lads comes over and he’s casually sipping his tea, he never fails to mention how you got it.

“The misses got me this,” or something along those lines. He completely abandoned his other ones, this was just his signature cup.

Bf!Ghost has his occasional late night cravings, some weird, some not. But he’s just continually found himself having them and each time it’s at night. He’s not one to typically participate in British stereotypes, well… sometimes. But the urge for a good ol’ beans on toast was starting to get irrepressible. You were willing to try some, too. It honestly wasn’t even bad - in fact, it was good. You added some cheese on yours for the sake of the exquisiteness, so did he. You guys also mix any drinks you have together like odd scientists taking ‘shots’.

Bf!Ghost was trying his very hardest to keep quiet as you took a nap on him. He was a light sleeper, it was only natural to assume everyone else was. He’d inherently hold his breath every now and then whilst keeping his body meticulously still. When he felt faint and dizzy, that’s when he knew about his involuntary breath holding. Little did he know, you were deep in sleep. There could be a boisterous, off-beat 80s band playing and you would still be knocked out.

Bf!Ghost had a long, dreadful day - so did you. You were both burned out and feeling so overstimulated from the lingering buzz of people and their loud conversations and the dizziness from somehow feeling faint. When you have days like this, you’d silently endure in each other’s company, laying with each other in bed with a comfortable tranquility. You’d just appreciate each other being there as his warm hands are wrapped around you. You were both feeling unbothered. but the only person you could both bare seeing at the moment was each other.

•••╰┈➤Masterlist

Dating Gaz

Dating Price

Dating König

[ceslatoil]

WIP

A snippet of my Fic about Ford becoming a life drawing class model; everyone is being so normal about the whole thing 🤥

Stan, wearing a mask of grim determination, stood guard outside Fairuza’s studio. It was fifteen minutes before the first life drawing class, and already an absurd line had queued up at the door. Stan had been given the job of signing people into class and kicking out anyone who was underage or prohibited.

“Wait, this class has a blacklist,” Stan asked Fairuza.

“It’s not so much a list as it is a… specific individual,” the lady sighed. “I like to make my class a welcoming space for all, but some people just wear that welcome right out. I believe you know of a ‘Bodacious T?’”

“Toby?!”

“Yes. One of my other models has requested he not be allowed entrance to the class for their own safety and comfort. Please make sure he respects the boundaries we’ve set.”

Stan did not spy the odd little reporter anywhere in the hallway, but he did tense up when he saw Soos and his Abuelita move towards the door.

“Soos,” Stan cried, “don’t tell me you’re here for this… exhibitionist crap?!”

“Oh no Mr. Pines,” assured Soos, “I’m just dropping off Abuelita; she saw the ad in the paper and got so stoked! She loves the art scene–”

“I was once Andy Warhol’s muse,” bragged Abuelita.

“--and she thinks it’s great Ford’s putting himself out there,” said Soos, smiling.

“Yeah I bet you do, you sicko,” grumbled Stan under his breath. Abuelita must have heard him: with a smirk, she stuck out her tongue and entered the classroom, waggling her fingers at Stan mischievously as she closed the door behind her. Stan left out a beleaguered sigh.

“I just can’t believe it, Soos,” said Stan, “all these pervs with the hots for my brother, that is! Has everyone gone nuts? Our whole lives, nobody’s ever found my brother attractive– he had to make a robot to practice kissing with when we were in high school! What gives?”

“Oh dood,” laughed Soos, “you should hear the gossip Abuelita digs up: it seems like every mom and queer person in town has got a thing for Dr. Pines!”

One only needed to give the line a quick glance to see this was true: Ford’s admirers included Priscilla Northwest, Gideon Gleeful’s mother, Mayor Tyler, both Mr. and Mrs. Valentino, and even a few mystical creatures and anomalies were anxiously waiting to enter the classroom.

“Yeah,” Soos continued, “folks think he’s like, you know, what if a sexy weatherman and a hot dentist had a baby and he grew up into a silver fox college professor?”

“Soos, if you call my brother hot again,” said Stan through gritted teeth, “I’m going to make you sleep out on the lawn!”

In spite of this threat, Soos kept Stan company as the line grew shorter and shorter with each approved entry. Soos would cheerfully greet the next person while Stan glowered with disgust, jabbing his thumb at the door once he’d given them the pass.

“Oh hey, is that McGucket,” asked Soos, pointing down the hall.

“Noooooo,” whined Stan, “don’t call him over here!”

“Huh? Why not?”

“He’s got some kind of thing with Ford,” Stan shuddered. “The last thing I wanna hear about is their nerdy sex life–”

“HOWDY FELLAS,” shouted McGucket from across the room. He waved happily at his friends and scampered over to them like an excitable puppy.

“Great, just great!” Stan threw up his hands to the heavens.

“Mr. McGucket, are you joining the life drawing class tonight,” Soos asked politely.

“Aw no!” McGucket shook his head vigorously, whipping Stan in the arm with his beard. “I’m headin’ to a baking class; the mean British feller with the scary blue eyes reckons if I work hard, my food’ll be fit for other people to eat in a few years! Anyhow, I already reckon I can draw Stanferd nekkid pretty good!” He began to dig through his pockets and pulled a crumpled sheet of paper out of his pocket.

“No, no, no, NO!!!” Stan grabbed the nearest object, a wastepaper bucket full of tissues and pencil shavings, and shoved it over his head, blocking out the sight of the drawing.

Soos squinted as he examined McGucket’s handiwork. “Oh dood, this is just a stick figure with spiky hair and a butt!”

“DON’T DESCRIBE THAT TO ME!!!”

“I better head out, see ya fellas!” As quickly as he arrived, McGucket skittered down the hall and out of sight once again.

Once Stan was sure the hillbilly was gone, he emerged from the trash and checked on the last person in line, a lanky figure in sunglasses and a black trenchcoat.

Stan quirked his eyebrow at this new arrival. “Hey, wait a minute… aren’t you one of Wendy’s friends?”

“Uh… no,” said the teenager. After saying that, he suddenly became transfixed by his own shoes, refusing to meet Stan’s gaze.

“Cause if you are,” Stan continued, “you’re too young to take this class!”

“I’m not Robbie,” said Robbie, “you’re Robbie!”

“I… didn’t say you were? Look,” sighed Stan, “just show me your ID, no one under 18 is allowed.”

“Ugh,” groaned the teenager, “this is so stupid!” He fished a battered driver’s license out of his pocket and handed it to the old man.

“... It says your name is ‘Bobby Balentino,’” said an exhausted Stan, “and you put down for your height, weight, birthdate and eye color ‘69.’”

Robbie stood there grinning like a dork.

“Heh heh… nice.”

“Robbie. Go home,” said Stan flatly.

“And take a flyer for the GSA,” added Soos helpfully, “in case you have any questions about new or confusing feelings!”

“No I don’t; feelings are dumb!” Robbie sprinted down the hall, tripped over his own feet, and flew head first into the exit door into the street.

“This town is such a freak show, I tell ya,” grumbled Stan.