#silly dash game time!!! woo yeah!!

[stoneharbor]

deep dive character sheet

stolen from: i forgor tagging: you

NAME: ZHONGLI

BODY

height: 186cm / 6' 1"

strength: ★★★★★ [ zhongli doesn't have his hefty list of combat related accolades for nothing. presumably one of the strongest living beings within teyvat. ]

dexterity: ★★★★★ [ adept with many weapons, martial arts, acrobatics, instruments, and other things that require high dexterity. ]

health: ? [ idk he doesn't really need to worry about eating or things like that given his species.. he's 'healthy' as long as he's not actively injured. ]

energy: ★☆☆☆☆ [ pretty mellow. "a man of leisure." calmly enthusiastic about hobbies and art. ]

beauty: ★★★★★ [ described as "handsome" in his character introduction. current form is a balance of "handsome" and "pretty." ]

style: ★★★★★ [ takes great care in choosing only the finest garments for himself. all clothing he owns is custom tailored. ]

hygiene: ★★★★★ [ very, very, very finicky about how he presents himself. extensive routines in the morning and evening. ]

SKILLS

perception: ★★★★☆ [ complicated, depends on the definition. he's very sharp when it comes to most matters, and is good at reading intentions, battlefields, etc. but he's also rather airheaded when it comes to relationships due to his thinking being very 'god-like.' ]

communication ★★★☆☆ [ good at talking to people, as required by his job. excellent source for information and knowledge. per perception thing, not the best at communicating in friendships or when it comes to things like perceived sleights, as he often won't notice something is wrong. ]

persuasion: ★★★★★ [see above] mediation: ★★★★★ [ he's very levelheaded and treats things objectively, regardless of personal biases. ]

literacy: ★★★★★ [ HUGE fan of literature and storytelling. fluent in multiple languages as well, as he's had ample time to learn. ]

creativity ★★★☆☆ [ honestly don't know. he's creative when it comes to weapon design i suppose? and he's likely dabbled with many arts.. but zhongli much prefers to admire the creativity of others. ]

cooking ★★★★☆ [ fantastic chef. would be 5 ★ if not for the fact that he's terribly inefficient. his attention to detail is impeccable, but also results in a pot of soup taking 12+ hours to make. ]

tech savvy ★★★★☆ [ contrary to what people might assume due to his age, zhongli keeps pretty up to date with technological advancements. he loves new things. :) ]

combat ★★★★★ [ advice: do not fight zhongli. ]

survival ★★★★★ [ he's a 'martial god' for a reason. zhongli is an excellent strategist. one does not survive 6,000+ years of celestial bullshit without having good survival instinct. ]

stealth ★★★☆☆ [ in combat? excellent. in terms of his mortal disguise? well he tried his best. ]

street smarts ★☆☆☆☆ [ oh absolutely not. wallet? forgotten. ridiculous prices? 0 thought of bargaining. "perhaps it might be said that he cannot imagine himself being poor." his general survival instinct and perception DO help, but he is terrible at playing mortal. ]

seduction: ★★☆☆☆ [ negative rizz. any successful seduction is unintentional, as he seldom gives consideration to things like that. that being said, he is generally charming and conventionally attractive-- he is just not good at intentionally seducing people. ]

luck: ☆☆☆☆☆ [ please god give this man a break. ]

handling animals: ★★★★★ [ canonically spends a lot of time with birds and nature. general animal lover. disney princess vibes. ]

pacifying children: ★★★★☆ [ pretty good with kids! gestures to qiqi. ]

MIND

intelligence ★★★★★ [ depends on type of intelligence, but generally high. if you ever need to know something or require help with a situation, go to zhongli. a bit airheaded when it comes to 'mortal' habits, though. ]

happiness ★★☆☆☆ [ complicated. happy to be retired, but he's had 6,000+ years of grief and is only just starting to process all of it. ] spirituality: ? [ he is god. locals might consider him irreverent due to his tendency to debate rex lapis' greatness and legacy but. well. ]

confidence ★★★★★⠀/⠀generally speaking yes, but it's also kind of complicated

humor: ★★★★☆ [ very cryptic humor, but absolutely hilarious if you know what he's referencing. amuses himself with rex lapis jokes. ]

anxiety ☆☆☆☆☆ [ he's chill. :) ]

patience: ★★★★★ [ i cannot fathom zhongli losing patience with anything ever. ]

passion ★★★☆☆ [ he's very chill and mellow so there's not much outward passion? he's very firm in his beliefs and 'passionate' about things like art and the prosperity of liyue though. ]

nice⠀★☆☆☆☆⠀mean : [ beloved god for a reason. super benevolent and caring for all of his people, friends, etc, to a point of self-detriment. ]

brave⠀★☆☆☆☆⠀cowardly : [ basically impossible to shake. he's seen too much. ]

pacifist     ☆☆★☆☆⠀violent : [ vastly prefers pacifism but will also not hesitate to kill a friend if it's necessary. ]

thoughtful ★☆☆☆☆⠀impulsive : [ everything must be planned out. he views the world through the lens of order, contracts, and rules. ]

agreeable⠀☆★☆☆☆⠀contrary : [ generally pleasant and agreeable, but won't hesitate to correct incorrect information. (ask any liyue scholar) ]

idealistic⠀☆☆☆★☆⠀pragmatic : [ as said previously, views the world very rigidly. ]

frugal⠀☆☆☆☆★⠀big spender : [ mora… hmm. as the god of wealth he is so awful with his spending habits. never budgeted a day in his life. ]

extrovert⠀☆☆★☆☆⠀introvert : [ ambivert. flourishes both alone and in company. loves to talk and share things with people, but also savors peaceful moments alone. ]

collected   ☆★☆☆☆⠀wild : [ generally very composed and orderly, but he is a bit of a shit starter. his closest friends are troublemakers for a reason… ]

ambitious⠀/⠀possessive⠀/⠀stubborn⠀/⠀jealous⠀/⠀decisive⠀/⠀perfectionist

SOCIAL

charisma: ★★★★★ [ unintentionally charismatic, but very charming nonetheless. what can i say, he loves to talk. ]

empathy: ★★★★★ [ complex, as he struggles with understanding the perspectives of mortals. but he also empathizes so much with their suffering. zhongli was quite literally willing to wage war against other gods because he was sympathetic to the suffering of the commonfolk. ]

generosity: ★★★★★ [ generositied his way into archonhood. zhongli goes out of his way for anyone he cares about (including citizens of liyue he's not personally acquainted with.) ]

wealth: ☆☆☆☆☆ [ he's the god of wealth and commerce, but does not care about wealth in the slightest. ]

honest:  ★☆☆☆☆ [ zhongli will never lie, as it goes against his nature. he will dance around things, such as his identity, but he's always as honest as he can be. ]

leader   ★☆☆☆☆⠀follower : [ always ready to offer guidance and leadership, even if he doesn't wish for status ]

polite    ☆★☆☆☆⠀rude : [ well-mannered, careful to honor tradition and such. but. can be unintentionally rude because of how blunt he is. ]

political ☆☆★☆☆⠀indifferent : [ i don't even know what to do for this bc he was the leader of the country. is it political to fake your death so you can stop being the leader? ]

BELIEFS

higher power: ? [ see prev. note about spirituality. celestia is objectively there but fuck celestia. ]

magic: ★★★★★ [ magic objectively exists in teyvat, even if there's occasionally skeptics. ]

fate/destiny: ? [ this is complicated because of celestia and prophecy in lore. he's aware of this stuff but doesn't believe in the 'conventional'/human concept of destiny. ]

soulmates: ☆☆☆☆☆

good and evil: ☆☆☆☆☆

luck: ☆☆☆☆☆

[ for last three : zhongli has lived far too long to believe in any of those things. the world is unpredictable and contradictory, and that's what makes it beautiful to him. also for simplicity i'm ignoring stuff like curses and whatnot bc that's a different can o worms. ]

PRIORITIES

family: ☆☆☆☆☆ [ well he doesn't have one of those so. ]

friends: ★★★★★ [ he loves his friends, even if he's not the best at showing it. he cherishes every one of them deeply. ]

love: ☆☆☆☆☆ [ romantically, he's never considered it much. little time for things like that as an archon. would be important to him if it happened, but it's unlikely. ]

home: ★★★★★ [ zhongli loves liyue so so deeply. even in retirement, he will always be there for liyue when he's needed. a physical home is also important asa he wants to live among his people in the heart of the city. ]

health: ☆☆☆☆☆ [ not a concern to him. he's immortal. happy so long as he's not actively being stabbed or something. ]

praise: ★☆☆☆☆ [ not really something he seeks.. might be nice to have recognition as a person instead of as a god though. ]

justice: ★★★★★ [ zhongli's entire life has been in the pursuit of justice. defender of the land and of the commonfolk. he's also the god of contracts, so he values equity and fairness. ]

truth ★★★★★ [ see honesty. as said before, he values things like equity and fairness, and truth goes hand in hand with those values. ]

power ☆☆☆☆☆ [ despite holding so much power both physically and in status, zhongli never actually wanted any of it. woops. ]

fame ☆☆☆☆☆ [ after being the subject of adoration and worship for thousands of years, he wants nothing more than an ordinary life. ]

wealth ☆☆☆☆☆ [ zhongli may have accidentally invented capitalism, but he's not super interested in participating. ]

others' opinions ★★★☆☆ [ he greatly values the contributions and insight of other people, hence the stars. BUT he doesn't care about opinions regarding him at all. ]

[bakatenshii]

Flushed

Dabi x Reader (BNHA)

word count: 5.1k

TW: 18+, smut, dub/noncon, drug use/abuse, corruption, virginity, (mild) blood

A/N: I am 12 days late for Sunny’s birthday, but my heart beats for one person and one person only— the light of my life, my wife @blahkugo​, who wrote me two (2!!) Shig fics for my bday Charity & Sludge, that I reread on the daily like the morning news. Cheeky shoutout to @thisisthehardestthing​ for writing one iconic sentence in here that I would have framed if I could. 

flushed

/fləSHt/

(of a person's skin) red and hot, typically as the result of illness or strong emotion.

cleanse (something) by causing large quantities of water to pass through it. 

Dabi doesn’t prowl for prey, he’s not on the lookout for fowl to take home for dinner. No, they come to him. It’s easy, always so obvious, he plucks them out like chicken in a hen house, ripe for breeding. 

It wasn’t hard to spot a desperate girl burning out, Hell, the campus’ full of them. But you had something more, something fun, something that made his lips quirk up and his dick twitch— you were uncorrupted. 

He can just tell, despite the airs you try to give, the aura of a virgin’s akin to an omega in heat to a starving alpha. Sweet, honeysuckle, the tiny flinches when a man gets too close, the breathy lilt in your voice when they propose something too risque; he inhales it all, commits it all to memory like you were desperately trying to do as you chewed on the tip of your pen and scratched out lines on the book in front of you. 

He didn’t need to push, you were already teetering the line, but he did it anyways— because it was fun. 

It was elating to watch you stumble into class the next day, eyes dark with sleepless anxiety, misery painted into every crevice of your features while your notes were tucked neatly into the drawer in his room. Really, you shouldn’t have left them so open on the lecture hall table, it’s like inviting a robber home and cooking him a three course meal. 

Finals season marked the end of your social life, and the beginning of Dabi’s career. It was almost boring, the repetitive nature of his job; too easy, too simple, a mockery of the entitled bookworms who look down on scummy repeaters like him. But the entitlement is what fuels him, over-achievers fearing for two simple digits on a crumpled sheet of paper as if it’s worse than death itself.

He thrives off of their stubbornness to accept anything below perfect; the hilarity of it all, the irony that their insurance to achieve higher standards than that of a scum like him only fuels his lifestyle, bringing him deeper down the depths of degeneracy. 

He sat behind you closer than usual, spoke a lil louder than usual, dropped in the most nonchalant comment about a study drug kids are crazing over these days. He watched as you flinched, hands stopped moving to listen in to the spiel he was spewing, the fishing hook he was dangling in front of you. 

A magic pill, one that’ll help you concentrate, kill any sleepiness, get you buzzed for hours on end— best of all, it’s totally legal, he gets it from a pharmacist, scout’s honour. 

That’s what he told you when you turned around to him at the end of class, whispering in hushed fear, nerves bouncing off your skin in goosebumps on your exposed arms.

Why he’s selling it? Because he needs some extra cash, he said. He knew you didn’t believe him, but he knew you were desperate enough not to care. 

When you met him in the dead of night at the empty carpark of his building, he knew he’s got you; hook, line, and sinker. No self-respecting girl would meet bottom-barrel trash like him in a deserted location at half three in the morning, no, you were untainted, but you weren’t pure.

He didn’t need to know it worked, doesn’t matter what your test results reflected, all that mattered was that you came back to him a few weeks later, met him at the same dingy carpark, hands trembling slightly less this time. 

He pretended to scold you, reveled in the way your lips curled into a soft pout, and warned you that tolerance builds fast. Do it in moderation, he had said— he’s the world’s biggest hypocrite. 

You came to him only a week later this time, and Dabi had pretended to be shocked. He wasn’t, he gave you a lower dosage the last time, there was no way you’d have been satisfied. Microdosing leads the unsuspecting to addiction, the one fact he learned from school. He lectured you, asked you if you’d built up tolerance too fast, if you wanted to try something different?

He watched as your eyes lit up, pupils dilating in excitement at the promise of something different, something better. It really was too easy. You were too easy. 

That night he invited himself over to yours, said he’d wanted to make sure you didn’t have any side effects. It was new, after all, and it was stronger. He’d sit there and be quiet, he promised; it was all out of the kindness of his own heart. 

It was almost embarrassing how eagerly you’d lie to yourself in hopes of a better grade.

Dabi wasn’t gonna do anything to you that night, trust takes time to build up after all. Besides, it’s no fun to pounce on the prey before they started running. You studied the nonsensical scribbling on annotated novels, he studied your tiny movements, twitches, nervous habits; etched them into his brain for future use. 

A too-long breath, a gasp, a clench of the fist signaled your come-up. He timed it, approximately thirty-five minutes for the initial peak, then smaller spikes at half hour intervals, totaling in four hours before you came down. Impressive, still, considering he’d given you the same dosage as the first time. 

He stuck to his words, staying quiet only until prompted, offered you water every once in a while, really, he deserved an Oscar for playing the best supporting dealer. It only took two more sessions before your tolerance peaked again, calculated and timed to perfection right before the next assignment.

The beauty of seeking out an English major was that they’re always searching, reaching into the void for any type of inspiration to translate into eloquently formed words. The beauty of seeking out you, was that you were already in too deep, hooked by the lil pills and plunged into the bottom of the ocean. 

Your grades rose while your inhibitions sank, a dramatic irony, isn’t that what they called it?

It’s cute, really, he only had to give you a nudge this time. Asked you how your assignment was going, played the sympathetic friend, and offered you something completely new, completely different. ‘Have you ever tried 2CB?’

Silly question, rhetorical, almost; of course you hadn’t. Innocent sweet girl like you never would’ve even touched weed, much less a hallucinogen. But he poses it to you in an eager tone like he’s genuinely waiting on an answer, like this isn’t just one big game to him. He laughed when you said no, asked him what it was— do you want him to show you?

You trust him, don’t you? He’s helped you through your exams, supported you through your assignments, honestly, he deserved a pat on the back. Don’t tell him you didn’t trust him, come on now, that’d break his heart. 

He didn’t expect you to put up a fight, but you gave in almost too easily, guess those lil pills really did migrate and nest in your bloodstream. 

The safety of your own dorm room was always granted to you, a faux-sense of security to veil you in, shield you from the true depth of depravity you’ve sunken to. He held you underwater in a net, ensuring you that he’d pull you up whenever— ‘just say the word.’

The net had long been cut, he’d admired the way you’d comforted down there, paddling aimlessly in hopeful conviction. 

It’s become routine, almost. Dabi lets himself in easily, settles into the couch across your desk, pulls out a baggy and passes it to you. “A psychedelic,” he explains, “you’ll see colours you’d never seen, find beauty in everything, an artist’s best friend,” if he does say so himself. 

He watches you pop the lil pill in your mouth, follow the stream of water pour down your throat, traveling the rips and divots of your tongue, before it drops down your throat into your bloodstream with a bob of your larynx. You’re so pliant, so obedient, he reminds himself to thank your parents for grooming such a cute lil doll.

You let out a loud gasp an hour and a half later, and he watches your fingers curl into themselves; and for the first time he speaks unprompted. 

“You good?” It’s almost genuine; the curiosity, at least. He wants to know how articulate you are, needs to know how deeply submerged your consciousness has become. 

He watches as you meet his gaze, little tongue dashing out to wet your lips, and nods once, twice, slowly. You shake your head almost immediately after, croaking out an, “I feel ill,” before pushing meekly at your desk to stand your body up. Cute, weak.

Just how he likes them.

He reaches an arm out to you, pulling you into his chest easily and nests your head into the crook of his neck. “Nauseous, aren’t you?” You nod, and he smirks. “Don’t worry princess, it’s just a rough come-up. I’ll make you feel better, I promise.” 

It’s almost believable, how sickly sweet he sounds. Too many sitcoms accumulated in recycled dialogues to woo girls in any situation; mix and match, simple yet effective. 

He can feel the restless rise and fall of your chest pressing against his, short quick pants as if gasping for air, a small hand scraping at his arm; yeah, you’re definitely coming up. 

He picks you up and nestles you into your own couch, so easily as if handling a ragdoll, then walks to the kitchen and pours you some water. The perfect friend, the perfect support, the perfect dealer. You’re so vulnerable, so exposed, you don’t even know it; it makes his brain fog over with carnal desire to pounce— but he doesn’t. Not yet.  

He lays back on the couch with you, arm snaking around your shoulder to coax you into a subdued euphoria. All the words he’s garnered throughout the years of fishing for his next meal come bubbling out so naturally in practiced scripts, “It’s okay princess, it’s a stronger pill. It’ll make you feel better, I promise.” He’s promising a whole lot, tonight. 

“Hey,” he tips your face to meet his with all the tenderness of a lion stalking its prey, “I’m here, right? You trust me, don’t you? I’ve never let you down. I’ll never let anything happen to you.” 

It’s hard to force down the gagging noise on cue with his disgustingly fake, rom-com lines, but the way he can feel your body loosen, relax, and mold into his tells him he’s close. So close. 

This is the best part, this is what he’s good at; the last stretch of patience while stalking his prey, with footsteps so light, treading so carefully, until the air slows down around him and he can taste your scent wafting through the air.

It happens in an instant, a whole-body jolt as you tense up, euphoria announced with a sharp gasp. The smile that crawls up his face is nothing short of sinister, predatory, but he knows you don’t notice. You can’t. Your eyes are strewn shut, basking in the high, and he takes the moment to swallow the pill he’s held under his tongue. 

It’s no fun to tripsit, he doesn’t get anything out of that, and Dabi doesn’t do things for free. He feels your head fall back onto his shoulder, short breaths warming a ripple of goosebumps up his neck, and watches as you push your heavy lids open to gaze at the ceiling.  

He can feel your giggles reverberating through his chest before he hears them, innocent, pure, unsuspecting. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, because virtuous girls like you like to be treasured, made to feel special, safe— he can make you feel safe; no one’s told him not to play with his food before he eats it. 

He watches as you flutter your eyelids at him, sigh into his touch, really, you’re the textbook prototype, he doesn’t even need to adjust his tactics. “You feelin’ good?” A hot breath into your ear, and he revels in the way your lips pout to let out a soft sigh. 

Funny how differently you react when you’re high out of your mind, maybe it’s the drug, or maybe it’s just Dabi? You’ve always wanted a bad boy like him, didn’t you? Good girls like bad guys; it’s textbook cliché, and you’re the blueprint. 

He doesn’t wait on an answer, he knows it: you’re feeling good, great— divine. He’ll be right there with you soon, he promises.

“Tell me what you see, princess,” Dabi’s not listening when a cascade of nonsensical descriptions come bubbling out, he doesn’t care. It’s all to get you to keep talking, shift your attention elsewhere while his hand slithers down your arm to play with the hem of your shirt.

At the first brush of his finger on the bare skin of your waist, he feels you purr into him, eyes rolling back in bliss. It’s his cue to give you more, invitation for him to snake his other hand up your naked thigh and knead the flesh gently. 

Gentle does it, he’ll bring you higher as you go. 

He ghosts a breath just under your ear, nipping at your lobe, and admires the full body shiver tumbling through. Moans, loud and needy, come panting out past your lips and echoes off the walls before bouncing back to him. He lets you symphonize short breaths and whiney pleas with each lick and suck traveling down your neck, painting blooms of purple and red as his hand travels dangerously high. 

A firm grip is all the warning he gives you before he tucks his fingers into the crease of your thigh, laughing almost at how obediently you spread your legs. What happened to that pure, innocent girl? Guess under all that laid a dirty whore, just like the rest of ‘em. 

It was slick, so wet, pussy dripping past the delicate lace and drooling over his fingers. Lace, befitting of a slut who lured him in with the fake charms of a virgin. He slides a finger down your slit, gathering up all the juices before presenting it to you. 

“What do you see?” He holds up his finger, slick dripping down like syrup, and watches your pupils dilate in effort to focus. He can see the way your lips part, string of saliva connecting the two soft molds, before gasping out, “melting ice cream.” 

“Want a taste?” 

You clamp over his finger before he even asks you to, sucks on the digit like it’s a melting ice lolly, before your eyes shoot open and mouth twists in disgust. Of course it doesn’t taste nice, normal food isn’t even edible when you’re rolling like this. You’re sticking your tongue out, in an attempt to air out the taste, or maybe you’re just a dumb dog, a dumb bitch, he’s not sure. He doesn’t really care. 

The same hand, now slick with saliva, grips your chin and crashes your lips into his. His tongue finds yours first, tip licking up the crevice of yours lolling out, and he sucks it into his mouth like it’s a crime for it to be kissing the air. 

There’s no modesty, no gentleness, his tongue pries your lips open, and he feels the weakest form of resistance before he’s thrusting the muscle down your throat. He lapping over the back of your teeth, traces over each bump and rugae on the gummy sides, and snickers at your shit attempt to kiss him back with your slack mouth drooling out the corners. 

He feels a pawing at his arm— your hand meekly grabbing at the sleeve of his shirt to bring him in closer, press his chest into your soft tits, crowd him into you more, more, more. 

It’s cute; it’s stupidly desperate. 

He gets it though, it’s no worries. Human nature is all it is; the desire to climb higher and higher— he wonders if he can get one out of you before the pill hits him. 

There’s no gentleness in the way his hand slots between your legs and cups your dripping cunt this time. He wishes he has more time to admire the way your legs quiver and twitch with every firm pat against your clit, but he’s on a time crunch. There’s so much time to spare, he can play with it all he wants later.

He can feel your needy moan vibrate through his lips and reverberate straight into his brain, sloppy mouths working simultaneously together and against each other as he rips your panties and shorts off in one go. Any self respecting girl would shut their legs in shame, in embarrassment, any attempt to protect their dignity, but you don’t. He doesn’t let you, anyways. 

A hand moves under your shirt to roughly grip at your tits in the same breath he sinks a finger into your sopping hole. Inhale; squeeze, thrust, exhale— you moan. It’s tight, as tight as a virgin pussy should be, but not too tight that it fights against the foreign digit ramming into it at a relentless pace too rough and quick to befit an unexplored hole. 

He can feel the pulsing around him, gummy walls milking his finger for all its worth, and he digs his palm into your swollen bud; it’s all he needed for you to come undone. You don’t squeal, you don’t scream, the 2CB in your system rendering you incapable of anything except long breathy sobs of his name. 

His finger pops out with a wet squelch, and he brings it to his mouth to taste it; tarty, thick— he’s still sober. You’re blubbering out drivel about the stars you saw, the colours swirling around at the peak of your euphoria, you think you saw God— is Dabi God? 

Dabi had to laugh, pat you on the head with his hand covered in syrupy slick, watch it leak and clump your strands of hair. He picks you up with your shorts and panties drenched through dangling at your ankles, and walks you to your bed.

You don’t notice, still basking in the afterglow; he knows this. Not that you’d push him off, tell him to stop. Not in your state anyways. You couldn’t even if you wanted to. 

He drops you once the bed’s in frame at the same time he feels his pulse rise, heart palpitate, and a wave of nausea threatens to bubble over. It doesn’t; he doesn’t let it. An experienced veteran would never. It’s a welcomed sensation, one he’s all too familiar with, and he gives himself a brief minute to breathe it in, savour it, before glancing back down at your limp body on the bed. 

Is it your body? He can trace your silhouette from the dip of your waist, the full of your hips, something glistening, gleaming in the light— your pretty little virgin cunt. His eyes roll back at the next inhale before he finds himself landing on the bed on top of you, forearms digging into the soft mattress of your bed. 

He hears your voice singing into his brain, soft lulls of his name stringing out in DabiDabiDabi— the desperation and need shooting straight to his cock, he doesn’t even need to look down at your soft pliant body, welcoming him, inviting him in. 

“Feels good, yeah?” His voice comes out rougher than usual, low and strained, and laughs at how eagerly you nod, watches your chin catch the air and paint strokes of colour following the route it takes, “Who makes you feel this good?” 

He knows, he knows because it’s all you’ve been able to say the past while, the only word on your mind that you can even blubber out— 

“You, Dabi,” your pants grow heavier; his pants grow tighter, “it’s you Dabi, please—“

A hand reaches up to cradle his cheek, your soft, uncalloused, hand, and he grips it by the wrist before bringing it up to his face. He traces every line that curves and meets on your palm with his tongue, letting it be covered entirely with drool before wrenching it down under his joggers and into his boxers to cup his aching erection. 

His hips rut into your palm almost immediately as a knee-jerk reaction, every hump into your tiny hand has him panting into your face, sweat beading at his temples. His tongue drops down to lick at your lips, asking for entrance, begging for access. Your lips might’ve parted just a fraction, maybe just to let out a breathe, but Dabi takes it as permission to thrust his tongue in and prod at your dormant one.

He can feel you gag at the sudden intrusion, throat convulsing to push back the unfamiliar slimy muscle, and he briefly considers yanking your hand out and shoving his cock down that pretty little mouth of yours. 

But he doesn’t, because he doesn’t have the patience. He needs it urgently, needs your tight virgin cunny stretching and agonizing over his overbearing size, needs to feel the flutter of the gummy walls with each thrust; he needs it bad, he needs it now—

Your hand is wrenched away as he yanks both waistbands down to his thighs. He looks at you, eyes blurring through kaleidoscopic vision, and makes out your disoriented gaze staring back at him. Disoriented with toxins, disoriented with need, lust, desperation— a hand reaches behind Dabi’s neck and pulls him back down to crash bruised lips together. 

It’s all the invitation he needs, not that he needs it, no, what he needs is to sink his painfully hard cock into that sweet, sweet cunt of yours. There’s a faint squealing coming from underneath him, and he thinks he can feel nails digging crescents into his nape, but all he can feel is your warm, wet walls clenching around him. 

There was no need to prepare you for any longer, there’s no point if he doesn’t stretch your virgin pussy out with his own cock; it’s wasted on fingers, his fingers don’t deserve to feel the way you walls quiver and contract around it. The pitched cries stop eventually as he feels your body go pliant and soft, and he has half a mind to realize you’re probably starting to come down soon.

He doesn’t wanna deal with that, you won’t be sober for another few hours, but you’ve peaked already, and not with him; that’s not fair, that’s no fun. His cock stills inside you with half still unsheathed and he reaches down into his pocket to take out a baggy of powder. There’s a spoon in, thank fuck, and he feeds a small bump right up to your nose. 

“Inhale,” he slots it right up your nostril, “it’ll make you feel good, didn’t you feel good?” Your head lowers to nod, bumps the edge of the spoon right into the cartilage of your nose, and inhale. Good girl. 

The baggy is tossed haphazardly before he’s working his dick into you again, cockhead pushing through the doughy walls in search of that pocket at the end of your pussy.

You don’t struggle anymore, instead clinging onto his shoulders and carving half-moons into the flesh. It hurts a lil, and Dabi doesn’t like it when it hurts, not when he’s the one hurting.

He snatches your hands off him and pushes them above your head, into the plush forgiving mattress. His teeth are back on your neck, biting over the ripples of purple and green and red and blue, reveling in your cries and moans that come out in symphonies. 

It feels good, great— divine, it’s what he deserves for bringing you to Nirvana. He’s basically your muse, after all, how can you truly describe rapture without experiencing it first? 

He can hear your moans ringing out from underneath, can see them traveling in the air in hues of reds and pinks and reds and reds— there’s red on your bedsheets, of course there is. He forgot that’s what comes with a virgin cunt; blood, mixing with the translucent coating his cock, dripping down and painting the crisp white sheet red, drifting into the air and congesting the whole room with red. 

He inhales the colour, sucks it into his lungs, and uses it to fuel the pistoning of his hips. Your breaths turn to pants, turns to sobs of his name leaving your lips again, and he thinks you look good, so good, taking his cock like this. You should thank him for bringing you to your second orgasm. 

Just look at you, crazy isn’t it? Crazy what a lil pill can do. But he’s got something better, something so much better, something that’ll bring you to a new dimension. You want that, don’t you? C’mon don’t be shy, Dabi will bring you right there, don’t you worry.

There’s still the faint cries from your orgasm when he flips you over and pushes your face into the untainted sheets. He watches as your hands sprawl up to grip and grasp at something, anything, and his hands ease up on the hold on your skull for a second to let you wheeze and greedily gasp for air.

He flickers a trail of blue down your back, watches the flames dance and rage in a mirage, every bouquet indented by the ligament of each tender rib, and there’s a faint scream. The pitch rises with the flames, taunting it to go higher, faster, paint murals in every swell of your back until he can’t see anything except ash coal char. 

Dabi blinks, squints his eyes as he throws his head back to focus on the paint chipping on the ceiling. It cracks and crinkles, shying away from his pointed glare, before he sucks in a deep breath and looks back down at you. 

There’s no ash, no char, only warm tanned flesh, pressed flush against the pristine white sheets underneath. It burns against the pads of his long fingers splayed out across your back, and he winces in annoyance at the irony.

You don’t seem to notice his pause, too fucked out or fucked up to register what’s going around you probably. A mixture of both; Dabi can’t really remember what he’s given you or how long he’s been there. 

He can’t decide if he wants to stay there anymore,  can’t make out the pros and cons of either. He counts them off with each painful yank of your hair, each harsh thrust into your abused virgin cunt— it was that, wasn’t it? 

He was there because he sniffed out a cute lil virgin, one so untainted and untouched, one begging for him to corrupt. He’s not known to be very generous, but sometimes he gets into one of those moods; it can’t be helped when there’s a desperate doll waiting to be torn apart. 

He knows what you want, can read you with his eyes closed— you don’t need eyes to feel the pulse of a greedy cunny; it clenches with every slap of the face, damn near clamps down entirely as his slender fingers slither around to the front of your throat.

Two fingers shove past your lolling tongue and yanks your head back by the digits hooked on the corner of your mouth. There’s drool, and spit, and so many fluids coming and entering all at once— and then you’re coming, again, probably, for the third time that night. Fourth? 

It’s methodical, straightforward, he reads the instruction manual once, maybe twice if the first one’s a bit faulty, and he’s got it down to muscle memory.

At the sound of heaving he looks back down again, admires the feel of two of his fingertips fucked straight into the back of your throat, and pushes down on the rugged gummy wall. You gag, and he laughs. It’s cute, so cute, you’re real cute, you know?

“Such a good lil whore aren’t you?” He digs his nails into the flesh of your hip and rams his cockhead until he can feel the kiss from your puckered cervix. “All fucked out of your mind, bet you can’t even hear me, can you?” 

He watches as you gurgle out words past his fingers wedged down your slack mouth, and choke on the pools of saliva drooling out. It’s the funniest sight, fascinates him to death, really. 

A slap to the face might bring you out of your daze, so he slips his hand back out of your sloppy mouth and revels at your body propelling forward straight into the headboard. He grasps at the tips of your hair and wrench your body back towards him before any satisfying impact could sound out. It’s a shame, but concussions are not in his agenda. 

“Been fucked so loose, filthy slut can’t even keep your body up,” he rolls your hair around his hands and yanks back until your skull meets his chin; it’s excruciatingly painful, probably, and that’s why it’s the best. 

It’s the perfect way for your mouth to fall open naturally, to scream, squeal, fluster around in attempt to be freed from the position— it creates the perfect hole for him to spit in. He watches as your face contorts in disgust, tongue pushed out to let his spit drool out the sides, but that’s no fun, not very nice of you, is it?

“Swallow,” he assists you with an extra hard thrust, and you choke on the moan coming out. His hand comes forward from your hip to rest under your chin before pushing it up so it clamps shut, “I said, swallow.”

Your eyes flood with tears that waterfall down your face, and God, he thinks you look the best like this— wrecked on his cock, body littered in purple and red, covered in sweat and blood and cum; his perfect lil cocksleeve, just for him. 

It’s emotional, almost— religious, even, he can feel the palpitations in his heart thumping against his chest echoing off the headboard banging against the wall, and lets the euphoria consume him, wash over him as he coats your walls with hot ropes of cream and white, hips stuttering with your greedy cunny fluttering and clenching around it, milking and sucking in his cock in deeper, deeper, more.

He thinks you might’ve cum, might still be cumming, but all he can hear is the Messiah calling for him, choir singing lulling him into an infinite jubilation; he closes his eyes to bathe in it, let himself be cleansed and washed over with ecstasy. 

When he pulls out, your body flops onto the mattress, and he watches as white dribbles out your quivering hole, mixing with the red on the sheets, creating a puddle of pink and magenta, before passing out in the fuschia.

[alternislatronemhq]

Congrats, BEE, you have been accepted to AL for the role of DOLORES UMBRIDGE (FC:Olivia Taylor Dudley). OH MY GOODNESS, BEE! Your portrayal of Dolores was just stunning. I found myself laughing in places and gasping in others. You’ve really gotten into the head of a character that is just awful and played that out in a way that’s captivating. I can’t wait to see what chaos she brings to the dash! Please send in your blog (no sideblogs for first characters, please) in the next 24 hours and be sure to take a look at our new player checklist. Welcome home (once again), we’re so excited to have you join the family!

OOC

name — Bee age — 29 pronouns — She/her timezone — MST activity level — I have quite a bit of free time at the moment! I can usually manage being on for at least a little while every day and I’ll average a handful of replies a week at a minimum. any questions? —No questions per se, just a small disclaimer to let anyone reading know that I am a tolerant and open-minded individual, so while I’m excited for the creative challenge and entertainment of potentially writing an absolutely loathsome person like Ms. Dolores Jane Umbridge, anything offensive that she says or thinks or does IC does not reflect my own personal views!

IC Overview

name — Dolores Jane Umbridge—but my friends call me Lo, at least they would if I had any FRIENDS. -hold for laughter- Yeah, eat your fucking hearts out all you moronic lowlife swine. Hem hem. faceclaim — Olivia Taylor Dudley, Jenna Coleman, Mae Whitman age — 32 gender — Cis-female, and uncomfortably cutesy girly-girl for a woman over thirty. Hyperfemme caricature with BDE. Never met a shade of pink she didn’t just love.

sexuality — Outwardly, all Dolores cares about is locating the picture-perfect partner for the type of life she wants to be seen as having and lock them down, and in her mind that person is a man. She wants a husband with money and looks and brains and power, but not so much of any one that it would outshine her; she craves to be in the power seat of a power couple, and to get the attention she feels she’s always been unjustly robbed of. She’s got no interest whatsoever in romance and finds the whole concept a laughable waste of time. But for all she projects to the world, Dolores in reality harbors a deep, deep, DEEPDEEPDEEP same-sex attraction. She has thoroughly locked herself in that closet and a Norwegian Ridgeback swallowed the key.

patronus —Persian cat. This animal has all the appearance of being sweet and cuddly, but rub her the wrong way and those barely-retracted claws are coming out in an instant. Vain, independent, calculating, haughty, and very, very well-groomed at all times.

boggart —Stemming from her Napoleon Complex, Dolores’ boggart takes the form of herself shrunken down like Alice in Wonderland after sipping the drink me potion; her voice squeaks higher and higher into an undetectable range no matter how loud she yells and she can just barely avoid getting squashed beneath someone else’s disgusting, dirty shoes. Dolores as a person demands attention to function and she simply will not tolerate being made to feel literally small.

IC In Depth

personality traits —

tidy - Dolores is obsessed with beauty and perfection and symmetry in all things and nothing makes her skin crawl more than disorder—to the extent that after her mother and father split and she lived full-time with her father, Dolores developed OCD (though it hasn’t been properly diagnosed as such, and Dolores would immediately write off anyone who attempted to call it that to her face). In her mind she is simply particular; she has very high standards and she expects the world to rise to them, or else she’ll root out the filth around her weed by weed. She cut off the heads of her stuffies who stepped out of line at her toddler-age tea parties you’d better believe she’d do the same to you and care less about it.

passive aggressive - Dolores is well-known for her disconcerting calm in face of disagreements, her calculated cute-sweet demeanor and high-pitched voice. But make no mistake; Dolores is sugar laced with arsenic. In all likelihood she hates your guts and has already cooked up an in-depth five-year plan to chip away at you piece by painstaking piece. It’s a mystery how she manages to keep all that highly-pressurized rage simmering beneath the surface the way she’s somehow perfected, because she’s wound up so tight that it’s a wonder her eyes don’t pop out of her damn head and she’s about twenty-five seconds away from a full-blown psychotic break on a good day.

jealous - Dolores wants what she feels she’s due, plain and simple. When she sees others gain the things she wants while she gets overlooked, it stokes that ever-burning vindictive flame inside of her. It started in early childhood when her father gave attention to anyone or anything that wasn’t her, and it’s only gotten worse every day since.

intolerant - At this point in her life, her infamous intolerance is still in its earliest seed stages, but the seed is planted. One of the most interesting things for me about writing a character like Dolores at this age is to see how and why this mentality grows out of experiences she encounters in these formative years.

character biography —

Born ten pounds of spunk in a four pound, five ounce package, Dolores Jane Umbridge came into this world pink and perfect.

Perfect. Perfect. Perfectperfectperfect.

Even from a young age it was all Dolores cared about. Her father Orford Umbridge would whisper to Dolores what a beautiful perfect princess she was and Dolores believed it with every fibre of her being. Beautiful. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

Then her mother Ellen gave birth to a younger brother who showed not the faintest trace of magic, and that was not perfect. The rift between parents and siblings grew into a cavern as Orford’s whispering words turned against Ellen; her fault. Worthless. Vile. Mudblood. Filthy Squib. Repulsive. Disgraceful. Wrong.

It wasn’t long before the couple split up, with Ellen and her son being banished to the Muggle world, and then it was just Orford and Dolores, together in their once-more perfect world.

And would that it could have stayed that way forever. Orford had always had wandering eyes and Dolores, desperate always to be the only girl in her father’s life, grew jealous and suspicious and hateful (and nonononono NOT anything else nope) for the beautiful vapid creatures that drew his gaze, threatening to upend what was hers.

Knowing nothing beyond her childhood of constant praise and adoration, Dolores went to Hogwarts expecting the world to cater to her every whim. So when people didn’t immediately kiss the ground she walked on, it made her angry. When all the girls and boys didn’t fall all over themselves to try and woo her, it made her furious. When the professors and adults didn’t sing her vast praises on high, it made her outraged.

How was everyone on earth too fucking useless to see how perfect she was?!

Dolores was a bundle of dynamite wrapped up in a pretty pink bow, just waiting to blow.

She went to the Ministry with adjusted expectations on being outright offered what she knew she deserved, and was proven right when she was overlooked by grotesquely unqualified superiors in favor of the sniveling ingrates all around her. But Dolores was prepared to play the long game and bide her time, just waiting for that one weak crack in the system where she could dig in her knuckle and crumble an empire with a smile on her face.

And she thought she’d found that perfect crack when she went to the Dark Lord. Surely he would see Dolores for all she was worth, surely he would bestow upon her all that power, finally, finally, finally. He was only a silly man, after all.

But the foul, imperfect world let Dolores down again. The Dark Lord gave his preference to some other detestable twots just like Dolores always feared Orford would, and then he paid the price for his idiocy when he fell from power (serves him right the arrogant swine), and Dolores returned to her long game at the Ministry with a newfound fervor to crush all who dared try to overlook her beneath her pink kitten heels.

Waiting for the next perfect move to present itself. And when it does, she’ll be ready.

plot ideas —

Girlsgirlsgirls. I would love an opportunity to unpack some of Dolores’ deeply rooted internalized homophobia. Maybe it’s an openly gay and proud woman who drives Dolores up the wall, maybe it’s a beautiful lady who despite all of Dolores’ efforts starts to get beneath her skin, someone she can’t seem to shake… This could go in so many directions and I’m here for them all!

Ministry Spats. Anyone she might have dustups with on her Ministry stomping grounds—Arthur Weasley, Alastor Moody, etc. Also anyone with pro-creature leanings and/or sentiments at this stage could greatly inform her later mindset and I would love to have them interact.

extra —

Headcanon: Dolores hates children; she thinks they’re disgusting tiny wastes of breath and absolutely looks down on anyone who has chosen the family plan for their life.

[feelsgood-anon]

Eros - Bar AU Chapter 6

DISCLAIMER: THIS PIECE IS A MYSTIC MESSENGER AU.  IT IS HEAVILY INSPIRED BY THE AMERICAN SITCOM CHEERS, A SHOW CENTERED AROUND A BOSTON BAR CALLED CHEERS AND IT’S REGULARS.  EVEN THOUGH I HAVE TRIED TO KEEP AS MUCH OF CANON PERSONALITIES WITH ALL THE MYSTIC MESSENGER CHARACTERS JUST REMEMBER THAT IT IS AN AU AND A FEW THINGS MAY BE DIFFERENT THAN IN GAME OR YOUR HEADCANONS. THIS HAS BEEN FUN TO PLAN AND I HOPE YOU FIND A BIT OF JOY READING IT!  

PG13+ FOR SWEARIN’ AND BOOZIN’.

CH.1 PT.1 | CH. 1 PT. 2 | CH. 2 | CH. 3 | CH. 4 | CH. 5 |  Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 |

Swinging in the backyard Pull up in your fast car Whistling my name Open up a beer And you say, get over here And play a video game

I'm in his favorite sun dress Watching me get undressed Take that body downtown I say you the bestest Lean in for a big kiss Put his favorite perfume on Go play your video game

Red rolled his head around as he let out a loud yawn. His eyes blinked firmly a few times as the bottles of liquor fuzzed before him. He was tired as hell and could barely keep from falling into a short nap behind the bar.

 “Yo, sleeping beauty, my order? Hello?” Cannon smacked his brother a few times with his notepad, “Wake up, I don't have all day.”

 Red recoiled as he felt the hits, grumbling as he finished up the drinks he had earlier started, “Cut me some slack, man. I'm running on three hours of sleep.”

 “Not my fault, you’re the one who stayed out all night after your shift. You should've thought about how tired you'd be before you went and had a late night rendezvous.”

 Zen slid a full shot glass towards Red, “Take that, it will help. I need you alert, it's getting a bit busy.”

 In his dazed confusion he took the shot obediently, eyes widening as the liquor burned down his throat and into his stomach. “Damnit, Zen! What the hell did you give me?”

 “Just a bit of 151, it won't hurt yah.”

 “You're trying to kill me with that rubbing alcohol?” Red coughed out, “I'm sure as shit awake now, my life flashed before my eyes.” He finished Cannon’s order and placed it on the tray, rubbing at his chest, “You could have at least warned me.”

 Zen pat his back firmly a few times, “You would have objected if you knew what it was. Help me get these drinks for Sunny, she's got a table of eight waiting.”

 Jingle~!

 “There’s the man of the hour!”

 “Tom!”

 Red looked up from the beers he was filling up, smirking towards the man that walked in, “Fancy seeing you in here.”

 Tom. A squirrelly, lanky type with a head of shaggy brown hair that came to Eros often only to shoot the breeze with Red who was one of his best friends. They lived in the same neighborhood as kids and often got into trouble when they were together.

 “Hey Tom, how's life in the fast lane?” Zen called out, eyes too busy mixing drinks to turn properly to address the man.

 “I dunno, got stuck on the on-ramp. I'll let you know when the traffic let's up.” Tom sat himself in front of Red and gave him a wide grin, “So that was fun yesterday, eh? We should go out more often, you're always stuck at work.”

 “Yeah, being an adult with responsibilities sure is the pits. Why aren't you at work? It's still pretty early for you to be here.”

 Tom shrugged, “They think I'm in the bathroom. I'll give it about half an hour before they start wondering where I am. That’s not important, though. That sassy blonde was asking me about you this morning. She sure was disappointed that you left with-”

 Red cleared his throat loudly, glaring at his friend, “Tom, how’s your girlfriend? Still out of town for college?”

 The brunette frowned, “How about a beer, bartender? Why are you being so sensitive?”

 “What I do in my spare time doesn’t have to be showcased here,” Red hissed, “Just keep things to yourself, alright?”

 “What did you do last night, Red? It must have been quite the party if you came to work so tired!” Zen poked into their conversation, casually pouring a few drinks for a fresh order, “You didn’t even invite me! Any pretty ladies?”

 Red groaned now that Zen had overheard, “We played video games all night. You know me, so nerdy.”

 Tom snickered as he took a sip, “Oh, we played alright…”

 “How about a round of shots on me?” Red called out as he tapped his hands loudly against the bar top, “But don’t let Zen pour them, he’ll knock you out until next week!”

 Zen let off a pout as he finally backed off, “Fine fine, sheesh. Don’t let your ol’ pal in on your fun.” His attention was stolen by a few ladies that had walked up to the bar, all thoughts of trying to find out what his employee had done the night prior flew out of his mind as he flashed them a smile, “Well hello~ What can I get you gorgeous women? A drink? A shot? Me?”

 The group giggled and one of them leaned forward as she looked him over, “Could we get a few martinis? We’re celebrating my birthday and having a girl’s night out.”

 His red eyes sparkled as she had given him quite the bit of attention, “Well happy birthday! Of course you can get some martinis! First round is on the house for the birthday girl.”

 “And next round is on me!” Tom interjected, smiling deviously at them.

 “The round of shots after that? You can take them off me. They’ll be free if any of you ladies can find my ticklish spot.” Zen countered, now feeling the need to exert a bit of dominance since Tom had slid his way into the exchange.

 “You boys are silly!” One of the other girls laughed, “We’ll be sitting at the table over there if you want to come join us.”

 Tom stood up and shot Zen a wink, “Don’t mind if I do. Put their drinks on my tab.”

 Zen scowled as they walked off towards the table knowing he was far too busy to join them, “You know, Red, your friend really kills my mood.”

 “Leave me out of this~” the other bartender sang out, “I want nothing to do with you two’s flirting battle. As you said before, we are getting pretty busy, let’s stay on top of things.”

 Jingle~!

 “Hey Everyone!”

 “Duckie!”

 The blonde smiled and waved, making his way towards the bar before he heard a voice call to him, “Duckie! Kiddo! Come join us!” He whirled around to look at the summons and seeing Tom surrounded by multiple women he dashed to hide around the bar. “Damn! Why does that guy always try to round me up in his escapades! I thought he was out of town for work, Red?”

 Red slid a glass of beer towards him, “Yeah, he got back two days ago. He was going to call you last night but I told him you’d broken your phone. You’re welcome, by the way.”

 “Yeah, thanks for that! He keeps trying to set me up! What is with that guy?”

 “He wants everyone to have a good time, and he feels sorry for you. You’re a bit lame when it comes to getting dates.”

 “What!” Duckie exclaimed, “I do just fine on my own! In fact, I have a date this weekend!”

 “Study groups don’t count, bud.” Zen said as he placed some glasses in the sink to wash, “You gotta get ‘em one on one. You know, a nice dinner, maybe a movie. Why don’t you ever go out with...wait a minute!” he glared at Red, “You guys invite Duckie but you don’t invite me? What gives, man?”

 Red let out a sigh, “Look, I don’t go out, it’s Tom. If you went, you’d steal all of the attention and he wouldn’t be happy with that. Look at him now.” He nodded his head towards the table, “He’s probably pulling out every line in the book on those girls and if you were there they would be fawning all over you. Let him have this one, Zen. You get enough numbers already.”

 Cannon lazily came up and set his tray down at the bar top, “Speaking of which, another round of martinis for Tom’s table. They also asked when those body shots would be ready.”

 Zen quickly whipped up the drinks, adding a round of shots to the tray along with a salt shaker and some limes, “I’ll take these myself. Red, watch the bar for a few. If Tom wants a battle, then he’ll get one!”

 As the guys watched him walked towards the table, he placed the tray on to the side, “I heard you were requesting those shots?”

 Tom frowned but didn’t object as to not ruin the mood all around. He knew he had to pull his biggest tricks to take some of the attention off the other male that could woo a room just by flashing a smile. “Just remember what he said, ladies. You find the spot where he’s ticklish and they are free!”

 Zen bowed his head slightly, “Yes, I did promise that and I am a man of my word! So, who’s first? Who thinks they can find it? Just sprinkle the salt where you think it’ll make me hot!”

 Cannon scoffed as he went towards a table that had waved him over, “Does that shit work on anyone?”

 “You’d be surprised.” Red said flatly, “It’s gotta be his looks that make them forget he says the dumbest things sometimes.”

 “What’s going on over there?” Sunny piped up as she had approached the bar from the back area, “Some sort of special event?”

 “I think some girls are going to take body shots off Zen. That guy...he’s my hero.” Duckie sighed as he turned back around, “He could get a date whenever he wants.”

 She scrunched her nose in disapproval, “What a gross display. Are these things they really do in public? How much more macho can someone be?”

 “Me first, me first!” One of the girls squealed out. She motioned him to unbutton his shirt which he did, showcasing his amazing physique to the other girls. Poking at the skin right above his belt, he grinned mischievously, “My my, you are bold! I’m going to have to lay down for this.” He cleared the table off and draped himself a top it. He put a slice of lime in his mouth as the girl sprinkled salt on the area. She quickly took the shot and licked slowly along his skin before reaching her lips over to take the slice from him. He waggled his eyebrows at her making her spit the lime to the floor and pressing a kiss to his lips. The folks around the table cheered, Zen moved to stand up keeping his arms around the girl, “Close, but not the right place! Hey, you know what? I’ll change the rules. Find a ticklish spot on either me or Tom and the drinks are free! Who wants to give him a try?”

 Tom shot a surprised look towards Zen, “What? I mean, yeah!” The white-haired male leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Look, I don’t know what idea you have about me, but I’m not greedy. I’ll always make sure you have a good time too.” A smile spread across Tom’s face as he carefully nodded in response, “Ah, perhaps I did misjudge you. No hard feelings, eh? Ladies~!” He pulled up his shirt, “Zen has made a grave mistake since I am very ticklish so pick your place!”

 Sunny rolled her eyes as the acts continued, “How disgusting. It sometimes truly amazes me how barbaric humans can be.”

 “Jealous that you can’t lick Zen?” Cannon jeered towards the girl as he set up his tray, “I’m sure if you just asked nicely he’d be more than happy to oblige.”

 “That’s not it!” She cried, cheeks blushing furiously at the thought, “Some people just have no shame! I have half a mind to go over there and say something-”

 The presumed birthday girl came around from the restrooms and stopped at the bar, eyeing Red carefully, “Say, your friend Tom over there said you were really into playing video games. I like playing games too. Maybe you could come over to my place after you get out of work and...go a few rounds with me.”

 Sunny clapped her hands together and gave a big smile, “Now see! Here’s a woman with some sense! She doesn’t care for that ridiculousness that is happening over at the table and wants to share a common hobby with you. There is hope in this place!”

 The woman quirked a brow at her and nodded slowly, “Right...well...here’s my number…” She slid a piece of paper towards Red, “I know a few other people that might want to join in, if you’re interested.” Waving her fingers to him she walked back towards her friends, Red reached over and took the number to place in his pocket.

 “Really, Sunny? Did that go over your head?” Cannon let out incredulously.

 “Huh? What do you mean?”

 He walked behind the bar and leaned over to whisper a few things into her ear. She let out a gasp and glared at Red, “You too? I work with pigs! I’m going to check on my tables.”

 Red finished up the rush of orders that had come in staying mostly silent the entire time except for a soft chuckle in response to Sunny’s reaction. His brother stared at him, “So you’re really going to just keep quiet? Act like nothing happened? If they only knew-”

 “Knew that I liked to play video games a lot with friends? Yeah, they know that and that’s how they will continue to think. My personal affairs are not for public consumption, you all get enough of that with Zen. Order up, Cannon, you’ve got work to do.”

 Cannon sighed deeply and took his tray, “Whatever you say, bro.”

 Red pulled the paper out once everyone was distracted, looking at it then towards the girl at the table who managed to catch his gaze and shoot him a wink, “A few rounds indeed.”

 “Say Red,” Duckie waved him over, “Why don’t you ever play video games with me? I know you do it a lot and so do I. You never invite me!”

 “Well you see, Duckie,” Red walked over to refill the beer glass for the blonde, “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I don’t actually play video games. Tom and I go scouting the town for people to bring home. Pretty ladies...handsome guys...you know. Anyone that wants a good time. So we head back to his place since he lives alone. Sure, we play games. Strip poker, naked twister. But by the end of the night it really just turns into a huge orgy! He wants to invite you for specific reasons, you know. Sometimes there are just too many ladies to handle and we could use some helping satisfying them all!”

 Duckie sat mouth gaping open as he listened. He finally shook his head and glared at Red, “Like hell you do that! I know your life isn’t that exciting! If you don’t want to play games with me you don’t have to make up an elaborate lie like that. Geez…”

 “You’re right, buddy, i’m sorry. We both know I’m not capable of anything like that. I’ll make you a deal! Next time I have an all-nighter with games you’ll be the first I call, okay?”

 Duckie huffed and nodded, “You better! Ugh...strip poker...orgies...you have a really wild imagination, you know that?”

 “Yeah...imagination...Cannon! Order up!”

  **************

  The next afternoon at Eros was forgiving as the customer flow was a bit slower than the day before. Red let out a loud yawn as he filled a glass with beer from the tap to pass to a patron down the end of the bar.

 Zen handed him a cup of coffee, “It has Bailey’s in it, just so you know.”

 “Funny that you mention what’s in it when it won’t kill me.”

 “Funny that you are, once again, tired out of your mind. You really should have joined Tom and I last night. Man...was it crazy!” Zen sipped from his own cup of coffee, “Did a new game come out or something? You’ve been staying up pretty late these past few nights.”

 Red hummed a bit as he drank, “Yeah, new game. Did you two have a good time?”

 “I’ll say! You know that fiery little lady that kissed me on the table? Turns out that’s not the only trick she had up her-”

 “I get it, I get it. No need for details.” Red groaned out, “I’ll just have to hear it again from Tom. Looks like you two get along now which is good. Maybe you both will stop competing.”

 Zen shrugged, “A little competition never hurt anyone, but overall I think we both know we are on the same team. Hey, weird thing. The girl who’s birthday it was disappeared after a while. I wonder where she went? She was pretty cute, I bet she is a great kisser.”

 “She is. And so is her boyfriend.”

 “Oh, she had a boyfriend? No wonder she really didn’t stick around.”

 Red nodded and watched his boss from the corner of his eye, waiting for the moment.

 “Wait, you know she’s a good kisser? You know her boyfriend is a good kisser?! Red, what the hell?” Zen sputtered, dribbling coffee down his chin.

 There was the moment.

 “Hmm? What was that?” Red smirked from behind his mug, “A brand new game, came out a few days ago. It’s been keeping me rather interested.”

 Zen slammed his mug on the bar top and towered over Red, “Alright, spill. What the hell were you up to last night?”

 Red pointed towards Zen’s shirt that had started to stain with coffee, “I think you’ve spilled enough for the both of us, boss.”

 “Damnit!” Zen exclaimed as he dabbed a towel along his chest, “I’m going to go change but when I get back you are telling me everything! I knew you weren’t holed up in your apartment all the time!”

 The other bartender removed his glasses from his face to wipe the lenses with his shirt, “Video games, boss!” He called out, “It’s just video games!” He laughed to himself, pulling out the piece of paper with the phone number from his pocket as soon as he placed his glasses back on, “Ah well, at least the ending was good.” He carefully tore it up, sprinkling the shreds into the trashcan before busying himself with a few drinks.

 “Hey Red!” Sunny called out as she leaned across the bar top waiting for him to fill up her serving tray, “I thought Zen gave everyone a nickname and is really adamant about only addressing them in that way.”

 “He does!” He replied, “At least to anyone he sees more than once. I thought he explained it to you?”

 She shrugged slightly, “He did, but you guys call your friend by his name. Why is he an exception?”

 “Who, Tom?” Red inquired, “That is his nickname.”

 “Sounds like a real name to me.”

 “Nah, he’s simply Tom.”

 Sunny squinted her eyes at him, “That just...doesn’t seem right. Everyone else has some weird name with an explanation! What’s the story behind Tom?”

 “No story.” He said plainly, “He’s just Tom.”

 “So it’s just...Tom? Your friend Tom?”

 “Yeah!”

 She rubbed at her temples with two fingers, “Why do I even continue to stay employed here.”

 “Because you have work to do. Order up!”

tags! @illneverrecover @zenscrotch @suzunesays @serensama