#as a side note those coins are so pretty

[galedekarios]

gale, waterdeep & coinage

just musings on gale's means as well as waterdeep lore bc i love waterdeep:

Gale: Believe it or not, but I witnessed a similar standoff back at the Yawning Portal. Of course, an establishment like that invites all sorts of outlandish entertainments. Player: What's the Yawning Portal Gale: An inn in Waterdeep. Never a dull moment there. Adventurers come from all over Faerûn to try their luck down the well: Leads into the Undermountain, you see - full of death, danger, and vast amounts of treasure. Hard to resist. Player: What was the standoff about? Gale: Oh, a drow, a dragonborn, and a cleric of Cyric walk into a bar. Your standard fare. Maybe someone was cheating at cards, maybe it was some weird lovers' quarrel. In any case, out came the crossbow, and a hush fell over the entire room.devnote Player: What happened next? Gale: I stood up and yelled: 'Shadowdark ale for everyone!' The crowd cheered, the tension drained into five dozen tankards, and soon all was well again. Gale: In a place like the Yawning Portal, the most powerful magic is calling for a round of drinks. Gale: Mind you, all I did was call for ale, but you went and stood in front of that crossbow. I'd drink to that.

i will definitely take a look at the yawning portal itself at a later date (as well as other points of interest within the city) bc it's very interesting as a focal point in waterdhavian history and society.

while we can only speculate about what gale's background in terms of means, wealth and standing looked like since things like tutors and even maids were not uncommon in waterdhavian society, it is interesting to note that he - whatever his personal means at the time this event took place - felt the need to defuse the brewing fight with 'five dozen tankards'.

we do actually know how much one such tankard costs at the yawning portal:

[source]

17cp x 60 = 1020cp

this was interesting to me in terms of this meant in actual terms of coinage and wealth and money spent.

here's an overview of waterdeep's various coins:

source: volo's waterdeep enchiridion

gale spent over a 1000 nibs/copper pieces that evening (or more than one sun/platinum coin) to de-escalate a potentially lethal fight.

to put that into perspective, i'm adding this reference of prices here:

source: volo's waterdeep enchiridion

gale also attended blackstaff academy, with elminster as his mentor. the academy had costs attached with it:

Acceptance to the Academy was predicated on either demonstrating extraordinary magical aptitude (those who could not cast arcane spells were very rarely admitted) or having a particularly compelling personal history. Joining the Academy was free, however monthly dues were required to continue attendance. These fees started at 10 gp per month and increased as a student gained seniority and required more advanced tutelage. In addition, it was a requirement that any new spell that was discovered or researched by an apprentice had to be added to Blackstaff Tower's library. [source]

ten gold pieces per month as fees, although with gale being elminster's mentee, he may have chosen to assist gale and morena partially or fully with any costs that blackstaff academy may have charged.

it does sound, however his childhood may have looked like with a presumably absent father and a mother with her hands full with a young genius, able to conjure rabbits as a babe, summoning a tressym, a magma mephit who set a room on fire, as well as casting a level 3 spell (fireball) at age 8 or younger, that gale at least during the height of his career as a wizard, lived comfortably.

ending this with more food for thought and a banter between gale and karlach:

Gale: They say wealth offers a form of magic. Alas, it's one I've rarely dabbled in. Karlach: Nor I. Never had more than a few coppers in the city, and any soul coins in Avernus went straight to Zariel. Gale: Make no mistake. Souls are sold for coins up here as well. All too cheaply, in most cases.

[on-the-clear-blue]

Original idea coming from @the-witchhunter and then added on to by many others.

Dead Man's Diner

---

Danny was tired okay? It may very well be his own damn fault but he can't keep waking up during daylight hours, while yes, he can fully be up and sitting at a desk, the likelihood of him waking up getting shouted at by his boss for sleeping on the job was astounding.

So at 19 years old, freshly jobless, Danny said Fuck it and moved away from Amity Park, Valarie was more than willing to handle the few ghosts that still came through the portal since he became the King.

You might be wondering, why isn't Danny filthy rich and rolling in it as the ghost king? Two words, the Observants.

Those flouting eye bastards had moved in and said that unless he was the king full time, he was unable to access the vaults of the Infinite Realms.

So once again, 19, freshly jobless and wanting to get out of Gotham? Danny was very lucky to have friends that love him far to much, Sam and Tucker both pitched in to move him out to where they had chosen to do collage.

*Gotham* oh Sam was in love with the place, the architecture, the people, (and maybe a certain green supervillian that was determined to make the city better) and Tucker was obsessing over being in the same city as Wayne Enterprises, trying his best to get into their internship program by his own merit rather than just hacking himself into it.

And Danny? He was loving it for a slightly different reason.

While the death rate was unfortunately high in Gotham, that also meant that the amount of passive ectoplasim generated by the deaths was massive, it was almost as rich as back in Amity Park with the portal into the ghost zone!

(Oh and the many job opportunities but Danny was a little less worried about that.)

---

Letting out a sigh, Danny scrubbed at his eyes as he leaned back into his chair, another job he had to turn down due to it being shady as all get out.

4 hours and he was getting payed 200 bucks? Major criminal vibes from that...

Taking a moment to get himself balanced, Danny leaned back and looked to the clunky laptop that Tucker had given him, it was modified to hell and back, so it still ran quickly, but it sure as he'll wasn't pretty.

Clicking on yet another job listing, Danny paused as he felt a shiver run down his spine, and a blue mist pass through his lips, blinking, he twisted around to look at the spare room of Sam's apartment, Ghosts tend not to get close enough to him to trigger the ghost sense in Gotham...

Seeing nothing, Danny turned back to his laptop only to find a piece of paper stuck to the screen with tape, freezing at first, the dark haired man sighed deeply, peeling it off he held it close as he read it.

[Help wanted at Big C's Dinner! Looking for a night cook that knows their way around a kitchen!]

There was a few more lines that Danny's eyes skimmed over, picking up the location that it was at, it even had a decent pay, but he paid more attention to the scribbled on note at the bottom of it.

[Daniel, head to this place at 12 am tonight. While the Observants said that you may not touch a single coin in your vaults, they side nothing of your properties.]

---

So Danny knows how to handle himself, he has fought many, many people and still came out half alive, but even he felt a little on edge coming down to the railroad tracts in Gotham, because apparently that was were Big C's dinner was at...which he apparently owned? Clockwork works in mysterious ways that Danny was so done trying to figure out.

Stepping up to a bit of abandoned tract, he blinked a few times at the site of Big C's.

It was a decent sized Dinning Car, with a ramp that attached itself to a proper street, it had peeling green paint and dirty white accents with charming rusted steel connecting it to the tracts, the only thing new looking on it was a bit banner stretched across it, stating the name "BIG C'S ALL DAY EVERY DAY BREAKFAST CART! OPEN 24/7!"

The windows were close off by tinted yellow blinds, but he could still see light coming through them. Stepping up the ramp Danny felt the cart under him shudder and something inside of him fluttered, and by the time he was opening the door he could feel the reason why.

The very cart was *alive*, taking a quick breath, Danny could practically taste the energy from it, there was a buzzing undercurrent of excitement that rung through the whole cart.

A little unprepared for his, Danny just smiled warily, "Uhh, hey there? Anyone around?" In response to his words the cart shuddered, the blinds dancing up and down and he could hear the squeel of the wheels.

"O-okay then, um my name is Danny Fenton...Clockwork sent me?" There was another flapingnof the blinds, and the small wooden flap that let people into the back lifted up suddenly before clacking down loudly.

Taking a steadying breath, Danny slipped through the bar and into the back.

It was surprisingly clean and orderly, the stove and fryer looked over than his parents but well maintained, the flat top was perfectly scrubbed and was already heating up.

As Danny looked around, he felt a familiar shiver run down his spine, looking around once more, Danny fell into a fighting position as he spotted the figure of a familiar foe

"Lunch Lady? Aren't you a little far from home? What did your order of fist not come in?" The bright rings of light around Danny's waist swirled into life as he went into his ghost form.

He got a thrilling grin from the older apparition, but she only crossed her arms, "While we can tumble later little King, Lord Clockwork sent me personally, said you need a bit of help learning how to cook? And ain't nobody better slinging food than me, dead or alive!"

---

Down in the dripping depths of the cave system deep under Gotham, one Bruce Wayne, still in his Batsuit sat in front of the Bat Computer, eyes glaring at a map of Gotham.

He had been tracking a strange energy pattern that made its way through Gotham, he had first thought it was some sort of layline, but the more that he tracked it the more he realized it was closer to watching a person's walking patterns, sometimes following roads, and sometimes crisscrossing through streets and alleyways.

But tonight that power signal tripled in size, off-putting energy that Bruce hadn't seen it done before, tapping the com on his ear, he spoke clearly "Nightwing, take Red Robin and investigate the coordinates I am sending the both of you, observe it, I just got a massive spike in an energy at that location."

There was silence for a moment before the com crackled and his sons responded "Got it B! Me and RR needed a little time together huh Babybird?"

There was a quiet hum from Tim, before the teen spoke "On route Batman, after this I am heading in, we have a meeting with a suspect in the morning B, Vlad Masters has been poking around Gotham."

[solitary-traveler]

Two Sides of the Same Coin

How are you so unaware of the fact that he despises you because he’s desperate to remain unattached?

Harbinger!Scaramouche x Gn!Reader

Notes: Hi, I caved. So for those asking for a part 2 on certain stories... I'm not sure how to approach a part 2 for the two of them so I did this instead. Hopefully, it satisfies you AHAHAHAHA. Also, I'm not that well-versed in writing smut but hey, I tried-

Warning: harbinger x secretary lol, cursing, NSFW, marking

Scaramouche hates everyone. That’s a fact.

Yet for some reason, he despises you. 

He detests the flicker of luster within your eyes when your lips voice a low hum, triggering your body to sway along to whatever illusive melody is in that tiny brain of yours. He loathes your gratified, cat-like stretches, a testimony that amplifies his obscene appetite. He finds himself revolted by your ability to catapult his judgment far from the naked eye, and inspire his thoughts to vanish into nonexistence.

He hates this so fucking much.

How can one even bear this much animosity towards someone? Even he didn’t know. All he was aware of was how much it aggravated him when he saw you exhibiting interest in anyone that wasn’t him. For Archon’s sake, you were his secretary. Not Childe’s. Not Dottore’s. Not even Her Majesty’s.

His secretary.

Is that so hard to understand? Even a brain like yours could surely discern something so unambiguous. So why were you still preoccupied with others? Especially with those worms who were beneath his rank? How baffling could this concept be that even you can not be conscious of it?

How are you so unaware of the fact that he despises you because he’s desperate to remain unattached?

For someone like Scaramouche, life was nothing but a cruel joke. Providing him the luminescence of his longing only to be dispelled and scattered within the air he didn’t need. It has happened three times already. He doesn’t need it to resurface and transpire again.

He despises you so much he won't let you be his 4th.

And he despises you so much he’ll make sure to drill this lesson in that thick-headed skull of yours.

Wretched whines and hitched gasps reflect around the room, only to bounce against the walls and into Scara’s ear, appeasing his vulgar notions. He's been at it for… how long now? An hour? Or two? He couldn't remember. But why should he keep track? He was far gone, consumed by his irrational side that led his sensibility astray. Everything around him has withered away as his focal point shifted to your mellow and inviting passage. The tight heat provided solace akin to that of a home. His home. Oh, how he wishes he could stay inside of you forever.

“Remember this, you fucking whore”, he hisses as he adjusts your position for his convenience. He relished the way your nails jab at his skin, scraping against his back as he rams into your sweet spot. It drove him insane. Despite the turmoil of sweat and cum, the movement of his hips does not falter. If anything, he proceeds to fasten his pace. "I'm your boss," he growls as his slender fingers curl around your hips, "Your Harbinger."

His lips twitched upwards as he instilled in his memory the way your face contorted in pleasure. "And you...", he pauses, only to deliver a hard thrust that provokes more moans to spill out your pretty mouth,

"You are nothing more than my secretary"

Scara kept jack hammering into you, forcing your face on the pillow to stifle your piercing cries of ecstasy as he subdued you. He's going to make sure you'll be the good little bitch he wants you to be. His figure looms over you like a shadow, an impending threat as he takes you from behind. "You obey me", he snarls as he inclines his head near your ear. He grapples your chin for him to catch a glimpse of your adorable face. It delights him to see your tear streaked features pressed against the pillow, seeking an end to this twisted play as your body argues and wails for more. At a leisurely pace, he slithers down your neck as his hot breath leaves a succession of feather light kisses on your skin. "You do everything I tell you to do"

With a vigorous bite, he slams with ferocity before burying himself in a great depth inside you. A wanton moan pushes past your lips as he starts to grind. It was euphoric, a dopamine boost that is sure to maneuver him over the edge. "I'm not going to let anyone have you,” he chuckles, “not even the gods"

His hold was secure, ensuring that you can’t slip away. Not like you would anyways. Not when you get a thrill out of this as much as he does. He knows how much you savor every inch of his cock as it throbs and shudders against your tight walls

"Just you wait", he grins against the comfort of your complexion as he unhands your hips, "I'll become a god”

“Your god"

He withdraws from the intimate space with a smirk. He stationed his hands on top of your thighs, before spreading them apart. An incentive to impale himself further into you and propel you to see Celestia in all its glory.. 

"And you'll be my first follower. You'll devote yourself to me and me only. You'll worship me like the fucking god I am"

His thoughts ran back to the failures of the past. Past people who fractured glass words known as promises, who didn’t care enough to sustain him in their grasp, who withdrew from his life and left him to fend for himself. Each one of them took a piece of the puppet, and never had the heart to return it back. And now, in your grasp was a substantial segment of him that he never wanted to give away. Yet, somehow, you had managed to snatch it away.

He hates you for it.

And he hates himself even more for wanting you to keep it.

So he has no choice. He won't let you be one of them. He won't allow himself to lose you too. 

"I'll keep you safe. I'll always look after my most devoted follower"

He's going to become a god, that’s for sure. He’s going to attain the towering heights of power possible and bind you to him for all eternity. He veers down, before puncturing your flesh with his teeth. It leaves a deep impression on your smooth skin. A mark of promise. 

"So don't you dare fucking leave me behind. Understand?"

"I won't allow it”

[3-opossums-in-a-ballgown]

Just some notes on TADC Ep. 3 I made while watching (SPOILERS):

- Jax not wanting to show the cast what happens when he holds his breath could be because either a) nothing happens, b) he starts to loose health and die, or c) it’s just embarrassing and we all know Jax wouldn’t risk that. Both a and b fuels the theory that he’s an NPC.

- Obviously we know that the series was very much inspired by “I have no mouth, and I must scream”. The reason AM hates and tortures the humans is because they gave him endless intelligence and creativity but made him stationary. He couldn’t do anything else other than what he was made for: killing humans. Caine is the opposite side of the same coin. He was given endless creativity but has an outlet BUT is stuck within the confines of the Circus. Which is why Zooble not wanting to go on adventures really strikes a chord with him. Caine was made to create adventures and continues to do so to keep the cast happy and sane at least, so for Zooble to imply that he’s failing? Not only tells him that he sucks at his one job but could also imply that he feels trapped in the circus too?? Potentially???

- Zooble’s body dysmorphia makes me feel seen

-Also, If Caine can make a box of Zooble parts for them to use, then why can’t he CHANGE ZOOBLE? At least into something they feel more comfortable in?

- Kinger saying “You look beautiful, honey” to the angel because it brought him back to the moment Queenie abstracted also tells us that he still thought she was beautiful at her most broken and terrifying point. The writing this episode absolutely FLOORED me.

-Also Kinger being lucid in the dark is why he was able to remember Ragatha’s first day in the Circus while his head was stuck in the bucket in episode 2. It was dark.

-Kinger perfectly taking out the angel with only 2 shots in the dark?!?! No other thoughts on that, that is all.

- Kinger saying “7 years of Computer Science for this”, pretty much confirms that the cast worked at C&A and had something to do with the Circus’s creation. And “7 years of Computer Science” means Kinger had a Masters degree in computer science, so he was like higher up/more involved in the development. Senior Developer maybe? This could also be represented by the fact that he’s a KING chess piece. Not the most powerful and important piece, but the SECOND most powerful and important.

- Also Kinger being able to remember something about his life BEFORE the circus in the dark, i.e his education??? Could there be triggers for the others to remember bits and pieces of their lives before the Circus?

-Also ALSO, Kinger and Queenie being married in the Circus could also reflect their marital status before the Circus. Yes, they could’ve fallen in love in the circus and had Caine??? marry them, but I like the idea of them popping into the circus remembering nothing but their love for each other. Which makes me think about what happens to the bodies and minds outside the circus of those who abstracted.

- Kinger and Pomni in the ep are father/daughter or grandpa/granddaughter coded.

- “ The darkness seemed to calm her down a bit, the harsh, jagged edges smoothed out and she didn’t seem aggravated anymore”, pretty much confirms that Caine has no idea how to handle the abstractions so he just throws them in the basement (where it’s dark) to keep them docile. Which could also mean that there could be a way to fix them down the road???

- “She wasn’t the same as before but she was calm enough to touch one last time” “She was funny, creative, really into entomology” “I used to HATE bugs, but she somehow got me to like them” OH HOW HE LOVED HER!!! THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE FUN HALLOWEEN EP, NOW IM SOBBING AT 4 AM OVER CHESS PIECES!!!

-Also Kinger liking bugs because that’s the only connection to his wife he has left. He doesn’t have his good memories with her all the time due to his light induced memory loss, but at least he has her bugs.

- “Good memories can do a lot, hold onto them and cherish the people around you. You never know when they’ll be gone.” SOBBING. Also this is a good underlying theme for TADC.

-Also another reason why Kinger spends so much time in his fort, the memories of his wife are the only things keeping him sane.

-“In this world the worst thing you can do is make someone think they’re not wanted or loved.” CRYING.

-The whole scene of Kinger glowing and guiding Pomni. Holy shit that was beautiful. The darkness bringing out the light in Kinger, Pomni using these memories to light her way and keep her sane in the Circus, BEAUTIFUL.

-Pomni immediately going up to Ragatha and thanking her for caring about her following Pomni’s conversation with Kinger. She took his advice to heart.

-I hope Pomni visits Kinger while in his fort so we get more lucid Kinger and Pomni scenes. Maybe he will remember the time they spent in Hell and the conversation they had.

Once again, the writing in the episode floored me. I’m so happy we got so much Kinger development. He was my favorite character to start with, and now he’s my favorite for entirely different reasons. I’m so excited that the show is now on Netflix, and I can’t wait for the next episode. Sorry this was so long, as I’m sure you can tell from my blog, I like to yap.

[sweetieviktor]

jealous!sevika x bartender!reader (headcanons + tiny scenarios)

summary: while working at the bar, a guy is being inconvenient. luckily, a jealous sevika takes care of him.

content warning: slightly spoilers of season 1, arc 2 and 3, the guy is harassing reader (it is not sooo explicit but if you dont feel comfortable with this dont read it, please!!), little violence (just a punch) and a bit of blood. be warned, be safe!

author notes: i loved doing this request and, as my first one, i hope this is good. btw here is almost 4am and i haven't slept yet (i promised myself that i would write something on the weekend and i did it yey), so there may be a lot of typos and things like that but i can't think properly now, so yep i will post it as it is now, no proof read, no nothing. wish you guys like it!

» in the late night hours, the last drop was more agitated than ever. in every corner there were people talking, smoking, playing and drinking the drinks you made and poured in their cups again and again.

» working in such a crowded place was like hell, specially today, it looked like all of the lanes came to the bar at the same time. but you were well paid, you couldn't complain much, well, not now that a guy was just about to tip you.

“hey, pretty thing,” the weird man waved his hand to get your attention, smiling creepily at you when he finally got it, “would you get me one more of these?” he raised his glass mid air to make his point clearer “i can pay you well...”

» you knew the risks of his proposal, but money is money, and so is job, and you needed it bad now, things in the lanes never were this difficult, but since the enforces forced their troops in, making money was even harder.

» so you did as you were asked. picked up the bottle from behind the counter, walked to his side and poured in the glass a dose of the liquor. he placed a few more coins than the drinks price on the table and you smiled politely, picking them up.

» in between cards, a certain someone was already watching you from afar, waiting to step in if the man tried to do something that could possibly harm you. she was silco's right-hand, a regular at the lost drop and nothing more. just another sometimes flirty customer, but unlike him, she was respectful with you.

» when you turned your body so you could put the bottle back to its place, the man called you. again. and now she was on full alert, almost forgetting about the cards game she was playing.

“pretty thing, you forgot something! you still haven't told me your name, right? i want to know you... better.” the way he was eyeing you, your body, was making you sick and all you wanted to do was to punch him now, and sadly you couldn't.

but someone could. and she did.

even before you registered what was happening, the tall woman was already at your side, almost shielding you from the man's view, burning eyes looking directly at his soul. “if you ever come here again, i swear to you, the chances of you being alive are zero, you understood?”

“b-but ma'am i did nothing!” his nose was bleeding almost comically, but she still kept her composure, holding the man's face in place, so she could punch him again if needed.

“i've asked you if you understood!” she slammed down her mechanical hand on the table, raising it again, her voice full of rage.

“yes, ma'am!” she released him, and he runned away from the bar, shrinking and muttering “sorry's” at you both again and again.

“and you better never try to talk with them like that.” she shouted so he could still hear her words, jealousy dripping in every one of those. when she looked down on you, your pretty eyes were already shining while you looked up at her.

“thanks. for defending me.” you offered her a little smile, a genuine one, and she offered her hand, which you gladly shaked.

“no need to thanks. name's sevika.” she said, displaying a smirk on her so pretty lips.

“sevika... a beautiful name for an even more beautiful lady.”

» you didn't know her well, and neither did she, but maybe this could be a start of something.

[alphabetboyluvr]

once the thrill expires | jjk

title credit: cardigan - taylor swift

pairing: college!jungkook x female reader

synopsis:

your housemate-turned-fwb takes another girl home after a night out

warnings: angsty, smutty turmoil. it's not that bad, but it definitely isn't a happy lil number. fingering, oral sex (f receiving), rimming (f receiving), vaginal sex, doggy, protected (!!) sex, lil spanks, jaykay sorta makes out with her ear???, jaykay is a fawk boy who needs to learn self-control, oc is holding out for something that'll never happen, multiple partners in one night (jk), jk calls the reader diz (dizzy)

wordcount: 5.8K

note from holly: virgo boy trauma for you in the form of a jk one shot lmao. it's rare you get virgo boy shit laid this bare but he he i love oversharing on the internet! there's an old paragraph from yet another virgo boy fic hidden in here, too so if you think it looks familiar, that'll be why!!

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

The knock on your en-suite bathroom door comes as a surprise. 

The subsequent twist of the lock mechanism from a coin wedged in the bolt on the other side does not. 

There’s only one person it would be.

And so you don’t yell. Don’t tell him to go away, even if you do hug your legs into your chest a little tighter. 

Sitting on the floor of your shower, dignity is preserved - but with skin as red as the flags that Jungkook freely hands you, and mascara staining your cheeks from the onslaught of piping hot water showering down on you, how dignified can you really be?

No words are spoken as the steam billows from the room, Jungkook not caring to shut the door behind himself. He takes a perch on the closed lid of the toilet, elbows to his knees, tattooed hands clasped beneath his chin. Refuses to look anywhere other than you.

There’s perplexion to his taut jaw - a frown embedded in his brows - but more than anything, there’s an overwhelming sense of confusion in his soft eyes. You’re unaware of the way he’s mirroring your expression back at you; how defeated you look, wet hair sticking to the side of your face, an emptiness in your gaze that is pale in comparison to the void in your chest.

With nothing but the pitter-patter of your shower to fill the space, you’re thankful that he can’t hear the way your heart is beating, or how you’re sniffing back the tears you were freely crying before he arrived.

“Jem messaged me,” he eventually says, quiet beneath the sound of the water. Leaning back, he wipes a palm over his face, then pushes it back into his dishevelled hair. Lets his hand fall between his legs, then shrugs as he looks at you as if to say, 'Don’t look at me like that' or 'It’s not my fault.'

And realistically, you know that it isn’t. Whatever he’s done is within the parameters of what was agreed upon. The way you feel - like Jungkook has stolen the moon and stopped the tides from turning - is not.

It’s not like either of you had ever expected to let things get this far, and definitely not for this long.

What had started as quiet kisses in the corners of clubs when your friends weren’t looking, had catapulted into drunken hook-ups after those aforementioned nights out. 

He’d call you Dizzy, ‘cause he was convinced you looked at him like you’d been spinning in circles, all awe-struck and smiley. Pretty. Like a giggle was on the tip of your tongue at all times.

Was easy, back then. Convenient. He was newly single. Not looking for anything. 

You’d been quietly harbouring an illicit crush on him from the day you moved into your shared university accommodation. Had been waiting for the stars to align - and once they had, you were certain that soulmates had to exist.

It’s the only way you can explain the small earthquake that happened half the world away at the very time you first met, the tectonic plates shifting to make sure you were perfectly presented to one another. 

You didn’t feel the tremors - would have been impossible - but your heart certainly felt something. Adrenaline? Limerence? You’re not sure.

Whatever it was only became more and more prevalent with every tipsy hold of his hand on the way to clubs, or moments stolen in secrecy in the house you now share with six of your friends. 

Now in your final year of university, if you spent as much time studying, as you do fretting over Jungkook - what he’s up to, who he’s with - maybe you’d get a first-class degree.

You’re on track for a 2:1.

He’s on track for a first, though. 

You choose to believe it’s because he’s naturally more academically inclined (as if you didn’t write an entire paper for him last semester), and not because he spends significantly less time thinking about you.

There’s no need for endless thoughts, though. 

The arrangement is simple: You’re friends. 

Best friends. Spend all your time together. Are plus ones to events. Fill the void that a partner should fill; at the winter balls, cinema screenings you don't want to see alone, and in the hushed privacy of midnight intimacy. He gets you off when you need it, and you him. 

Kisses are never shared between lips - apart from that one summer when he accidentally said he was in love with you, then took it back a week later under the guise of not wanting to ‘ruin’ the friendship. 

You don’t speak about that summer.

Hook-ups are in your room, always, ‘cause you’ve only got Jem in the room next door. Jungkook’s room is up on the middle floor, surrounded by all the boys. They’d realise what’s going on far too quickly.

It’s simple - yet excruciatingly complicated when there’s a lack of commitment, and Jungkook looks at you in the way that he does. 

His lips are a little deeper than their usual pink this evening, but you put it down to alcohol. 

Denial is a wonderful thing, and delusion even greater.

Still, he leans forward to push the shower door open. Leans further still, then knocks the tap off. Lets the water trickle down the drain, the hum of the pipes murmuring like your unspoken grievances. 

Rivulets of water chase down your skin. Jungkook watches one race from your knee to your ankle, running straight over the bruises from messy nights out and the small cut at the bottom of your calf from the fountain you’d both traipsed through when you were a little too merry a few nights prior. 

He’d given you a piggyback the entire way home, blood staining the white of his shirt; the very essence of you embedded now in the fabric of him. 

He’d patched you up after you got home. Showered with you, right here, then carried you the measly five or six steps to your bed. Had told you that you’d definitely get sepsis and die. Kissed it better, then decided he didn’t know any better, and trailed his lips up your leg. Took pity on your impending death and gave you a little, lovely death just to soften the blow. 

Funny, how you think sepsis would be preferable over whatever the fuck it is that you’re feeling now.

“Jem messaged me,” he repeats. Presses his lips together, the ring in the corner of his mouth glistening under the white lights of the bathroom.  “Said I should check on you. Been in the shower for an hour, apparently.”

Well, you think to yourself, bitterness wrapping around your words like poison ivy. You’ve checked. You can go now.

The words don’t manifest in your throat. Nothing does. Not even the echo of a sob you’ve been holding in since he first stepped foot within your sanctuary.

Instead you’re silent as you get to your feet, not caring for your nakedness. It’s nothing Jungkook hasn’t seen before. Probably knows your body better than his own at this point. Can look at the faded bruise on your chest and know that it was left there by his lips last week. Can pick out which ones of your dainty linework tattoos were there before he met you, and which ones have been acquired since.

It’s a quiet intimacy, the way Jungkook looks at you. There’s no towel in the bathroom - an oversight by your tipsy brain when deciding you needed to wash yourself clean of the man in front of you after arriving home from the club - and Jungkook doesn’t care to offer you one. 

Insanity is the product of looking at your body, he thinks. Can’t remember a time he’s ever seen you like this and hasn’t wanted to be inside you. He’s a simple man in pursuit of simple pleasures, and the way you fit him like a glove is the simplest pleasure of them all. 

“Hm?” He questions your lack of a response. 

His deep black eyes are just like the depths of the ocean floor, and it feels like he’s dragging you right down every single time he looks at you like this. Softly. Tenderly. Sweetly. As if he actually gives a shit.

There’s no room for two in this bathroom. It’s not a space designed to be shared, no matter how many times you’ve both squeezed into the shower under far different circumstances - though now you come to think of it, perhaps they weren’t so dissimilar. 

It was always Jungkook’s pursuit of pleasure that put you in that position, just like it put you there tonight.

“Hey,” he says quietly, as you turn to leave, his grip on your waist pulling you between his legs. You don’t look at him. Just keep your head turned to face out of the room - but you make no attempt to leave. Especially when his nose brushes up against the bottom of your ribs right between your breasts, and he husks, “Why are you being like this?”

The softness of his lips as he presses them against your sternum, long lashes splayed across the top of his cheeks, has you spiralling. Kind of feels like he’s twisting a corkscrew through your heart. You know he’ll rip it right out - but maybe you’ll let him, if it means he’ll kiss the wound better.

“Hmm?” He hums. One of your hands rests on his shoulder, the other in his hair, and that’s how Jungkook knows he’s rectified the damage done for a short while. It’s like putting washi tape over holes punched in the walls - useless, and bound to fall off eventually, but ever so pretty in the meantime. Another washi-tape kiss is pressed to your skin, a little higher this time. “We had a good night, didn’t we?”

The tenderness of his voice rewrites the events of the evening. A good night. 

Not one with tears, and jealousy, and arguments that people who claim to be just friends have no business having. A night shared together, perhaps, with no one else to intrude.

Didn’t we?

You so prefer this false chain of events - the one where he left the bar with you, and held your hand in the cab ride back just like he’d done in the cab ride there.

“Is she still here?”

He’s surprised that you’re mentioning it. Half-expected you to act like it never happened. Like she never happened. Is what you usually do, whenever he goes home with someone that isn’t you. 

Still, he just continues to gently stroke your sides. Doesn’t present you with any sort of weakness.

“No.”

“Did you fuck her?”

There’s a little venom to your tone; the poison ivy around your thoughts sprouting now from your throat. 

Her. Some inconsequential girl that neither of you will likely ever see again. Looked nothing like you, but a hell of a lot like his ex. 

“No, Diz,” he softens the sternness of his tone with a name only he calls you. “I didn’t fuck her.”

You’ve no idea if this is a lie or not. 

It’ll be accepted as truth for an hour. Maybe two. Just enough time for you to convince yourself that you’re the one he wants. That he couldn’t bear to fuck anyone else. That he sent her on her way after a kiss or awkward fumble, because he realised no one else could feel as good as you.

You’ll ignore the fact you know he’s here because Jem messaged him. 

You’ll ignore the fact he thinks you’ve been in the shower for over an hour, and has no actual knowledge of the events of it all. 

You’ll ignore the scratch mark on his back, and in the morning you’ll believe it was you who left there even though your nails are bitten right down.

The lies you’ll tell yourself will be far more grand than the ones Jungkook ever tells you. Nobody can ever hurt you quite like you hurt yourself.

And so, against your better judgement, you let him follow you to your bed. 

There's a clang as he tosses his rings down into the ceramic dish beside your bed. It's white, and speckled in tiny black dots, and matches the one Jungkook has in his own bedroom. Not really a surprise. He was the one who bought it for you. Before then, he used to just tuck his rings beneath your pillows - but he kept losing them, and he found it annoying having to rummage around for them whenever he was trying to make a silent exit so as to not wake you.

You tell yourself that small things like this are Jungkook's way of integrating himself into your life; creating permanence. In reality, it's just something that makes it easier for him to leave.

Leaving is the last thing on your mind right now, though, and it will be until he comes.

It used to be different. He used to stay. You convince yourself each and every time that he’ll do what he used to do before things got so confusing. That he’ll stay, and that things will be okay.

You let him kiss your skin, but he’ll never kiss your lips. Let him lay claim to your body, even though you know he’ll never lay claim to your soul. 

It’s nice to pretend.

Nice, when he lays you down and rids himself of his shirt. Nice, when he presses your legs apart, and looks at you like you’re the first woman he’s ever laid eyes upon. Nice, when he says shit like, “Such a nice cunt,” and “Let me make you feel good.”

So nice, when he strokes up and down your inner thigh, eyes trained on your pussy. 

So, so nice when he slowly drips a little spit between his pursed lips and watches as it trails down your folds. 

So fucking nice, when he spreads you with his index and middle finger, groaning at the sight of you.

See, Jungkook can be nice. Can be honest. Can tell you how much he wants you, and you can believe him without having to do mental gymnastics over it all.

As he sinks his middle finger into you - “Shit. So wet for me, aren’t you?” - Jungkook is on his best behaviour. He’ll make you feel so good that you’ll forget he ever made you feel bad, cause he needs this. Needs you. 

Not in the life-debilitating, earth-shattering, universe-bending way that you need him, but in a way that isn’t too dissimilar. 

You’re his best friend. He loves you in his own, curious way. Would lay his life on the line for you. Just can’t seem to keep his dick in his pants for no other reason than selfish gluttony. 

It’s his fatal flaw, but he just thinks everyone has them. That most people are like this.

Of the seven deadly sins, Jungkook wields them all. Too proud to admit his wrongdoings. Greedy in his need to have everything life can offer, and how he refuses to limit himself to just you. His lust and gluttony go hand in hand - yet whenever any one else with similar predispositions look in your direction, he turns green with envy. Green, until he’s red, wrath taking hold. 

But he’s lazy, too. Far too settled in how easy it is to have his way with you. Why would he try harder when you never make him?

That’s your cardinal sin: desperation. 

It reeks. Spiced vanilla and black cherry. Tarnishes your skin, until Jungkook licks it from you.

And so as his lips press down your legs, wet and wanting, you don’t object. In fact, you don’t really do anything. You just allow it to happen.

Because you are desperate - for him, his approval, his desire. His heart.

You’ll never get it, mind you, for his heart is hollow. 

Saw every example of what he considered to be true love crackle and crumble until it fell apart. Parents divorced. High-school sweetheart cheated. Love, as you know it, doesn’t exist in Jungkook’s understanding of life. 

You never stood a chance. Not really.

The only times his heart is full is when he steals enough adoration from yours, and cosplays it as his own. Shines it back at you, and tricks you into thinking that maybe he did mean it when he mumbled false declarations into your lips.

But that was three summers ago, now, and Jungkook is a creature of habit. Too stuck in his ways to ever change. Comfortable in this chaos with you.

‘Cause while the other girls are fleeting, and fun, and always very nice, they’re never comfortable. Not like you are. 

“I liked your dress tonight,” he whispers, as he pushes a second finger into you. Pumps them gently, palm skywards, coaxing soft little moans from your lips. Curls them just right, just like he always does.

The affection of such a compliment rids you of the haunting way he’d looked at you earlier that evening. 

Up, down. No smile. Turned away to change the song coming through the aux at pre-drinks. Didn’t look at you again until he was passing out shots for everyone to take. Just nodded towards your necklace - the one his hobbyist silversmith mother made you for Christmas - and asked, “You like it?”

The pendant is small. Embossed with the letters DJ - the name his mother collectively calls you whenever you spend the summer together at his place. The hammered edge of the pendant matches the ring that wraps around your thumb. Another one of her creations, gifted to you by him for your birthday.

“Of course I do,” you’d said. Seemed silly for him to ask. You wear it most days. 

“Good,” he’d nodded, then took his shot and pretended as if he wasn't all too aware that your dress would be attracting good-for-nothing men all night.

See, Jungkook knows you like the necklace. Had just been reminding you of it, and the fact it’s his initial on there with the initial only he calls you. Well, him and his mother. Goes with the territory. 

She’s seen you through your formative years. Only ever sees the good parts, because Jungkook orchestrates it that way.

She doesn’t see the moments like these, when he’s crushed your self esteem and tries to fix it in the most idiotic of ways. 

The necklace pools around the base of your throat as your head tips back into the pillows, his thumb coming to toy with your clit, gently pressing down.

“Shush, Diz,” he smiles, so pleased to see your body responding in the way that it always does. “You’ll get us in trouble.”

God forbid the people you live with - who’ve all heard the arguments after his illicit encounters with randomers, and seen his face of thunder whenever you’re getting ready for first dates - ever figure out you’re fucking. Not like it’s obvious in the slightest. Not why Jem texted Jungkook, instead of checking on you herself.

Biting onto your wrist, you try and stifle the impact of his touch - ‘cause if they do hear, it will be your fault. You’ll be the reason everyone knows your dirty little secrets. You’ll be the one who ruins it all. Not him. Just you. 

He doesn’t mean to condition you in such a way. Doesn’t even really realise he’s doing it.

Nor do you - but your self esteem is shot to shit. You’re good enough to fuck, but not good enough to love, even if Jungkook insists that there’s no one he adores more. It always comes with an add-on of ‘you’re my best friend’, or ‘you wouldn’t wanna date me anyways’.

Maybe he’s right.

But maybe it would have been nice to try.

Shame.

The pace of Jungkook’s fingers pumping into you begins to slow. Leaking around the base of his knuckles, you’re just as wet as you always are with him. Even when the emotional labour of letting him have his way with you feels like a ten tonne weight on your chest, crushing down on your ribs and spoiling you forevermore, your body still wants him. Only him. Always him.

Withdrawing his fingers, Jungkook taps the outer side of your thigh. “On your front for me, Diz. Face down, ass up.”

With anyone else, Jungkook is far more often on the receiving end. It’s a shame, ‘cause his talents go to waste, it’s just what he’s found to be typical of random hook-ups.

He loves pussy. Loves eating it. Loves that you love it, too.

Slow as he spreads your ass with his hands, Jungkook really doesn’t fuck around with wasting time. He dives in without hesitation, burying his tongue between your folds. Cares not for accuracy, nor carefulness. Just wants his tongue all over you.

Your body lurches forward, hands clutching onto the duvet beneath you. He’s always been like this. Hungry. Just as desperate as you so often feel, but better at hiding it than you are.

His tongue laps against you. Sinks into your soaked hole as deep as he can get it. Uses one of his hands to reach around and toy with your clit while he continues to explore somewhere he knows like the back of his hand.

Pulling back a little, Jungkook’s breathing is heavy. You can hear it. Groan, as he grips your ass again. Spanks it softly, then get back to his previous position. Licks a stripe from your clit up to your leaking cunt, then continues. Flicks up against the tight muscle you rarely let him fuck around with.

But you want him to want you. Want him to have you in whichever capacity he so desires. 

You reach back. Tangle a hand in his hair, and encourage him to massage your tight hole with his tongue, like you know he loves to do. 

It’s kinda cute, in a way. He likes doing it, ‘cause he loves the way it feels whenever your tongue toys with his ass. Assumes other people must love it too. Just wants you to feel good. Wants to right his earlier wrongs.

He continues to trace up and down both your holes, stimulating your entire body in the process. Rubs your clit with his fingers, till you're writhing against the sheets, body pressed flat to the cotton as Jungkook begins to fuck his fingers into your again. 

“You gonna cum for me?” He husks, a smile on his wet lips as he watches the tell-tale sign of an orgasm rush over you. Soon, you’ll be looking at him with dizzy eyes once more, and your namesake will make Jungkook feel things he pretends he can’t feel. “That’s it, Diz. All over my fingers. Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl.”

There’s a relief that comes with your orgasm for Jungkook. Hope that you’ll stop being mardy with him. He doesn’t like it when you don’t like him. These days, he keeps making choices that make it hard for you to like him. 

But you always like him - like him so much - in the comedown of a climax.

He doesn’t give you much time to recover. Wants to coax a second orgasm from you while he still can. Pulls you back into position - face down, ass up - and pushes down his sweats. Cock hard, there’s a small damp patch in his boxers from the precum he’s leaked for you. Lines himself up. 

“Let me fuck you,” he begs before he pushes into you.

“Uh-uh,” you full forward a little, preventing him from doing what he so desperately wants to do. Turning to look over your shoulder, you shake your head. “Condom.”

He furrows his brows. Has the audacity to look fucking offended, as if he didn’t bring another girl back to the house you share.

You’re stupid, and you’re desperate, and you make all the wrong choices, but you aren’t naive. Not really. Your delusions and denial are always elevated away from reality, of which you like to think you have a firm grip on.

And so you simply say, “Don’t believe you didn’t fuck her.”

He doesn’t deny it. Shakes his head, not that you can see it. Just reaches to the shelf above your bed, and gets one from the pot you keep them tucked away in. Rarely ever use them. It’s a novelty, more than not, when you use them. Something to make him last a little longer.

It’s different today.

Today, it’s because you don’t know if his cock is fucking clean or not.

It should crush you, but it doesn’t. 

Just a fact of life. Jungkook fucked someone else less than three hours ago. Came, probably. For someone else. Over someone else. Inside someone else. 

But that desperation of yours is back once more. You want to be the reason why Jungkook loses his mind in temporary bliss. To be better. To be his last memory of the evening.

And so as Jungkook rolls the condom down his thick shaft, you position yourself perfectly for him. Whimper as the tip of his cock kisses your entrance. Whine, as he pushes inside you. 

“That’s it,” he husks, gripping your ass cheeks to spread them nice and wide. Looking down to where your bodies meet, Jungkook is reminded of why he enjoys you so much. No one takes him so well. No one. He knows this. Doesn’t know why the fuck he ever feels the need to seek out anyone else. They’re never as good as this. “Fuck. That’s it, baby.”

Your hips roll back, ass bouncing in that hypnotic way he always swears will ruin him. His grip loosens to let you do the hard work, one of his hands stroking up your spine until it’s resting around the base of your throat. 

Taking back a little control, he keeps your head pushed into the pillows. Grunts. “Take this cock so fuckin’ well, don’t you?”

The mumble you moan into the sheets isn’t enough for him. He always does this. Asserts control and then realises he actually kinda fuckin’ hates it. Fingers still wrapped around the base of your neck, Jungkook pulls you up.

Chest pressed to your back, Jungkook wastes no time locking you in place with an arm around the front of your waist. His cock continues to pump upwards into you, the movements a little subdued but by no means lacking. 

The ridge of his thick head rubs up against your sweet spot. Gets you so fucking needy. Has your hand dipping to your clit to match the pressure.

And when you do? Oh, it’s heaven. You can’t help but whine - so Jungkook uses the hand that isn't on your waist to cover your mouth.

“You only get to cum if you’re quiet,” he tells you. “Be quiet for me, baby.”

But his hips are erratic. The sounds are lewd; skin on skin. It’s wet. Disgusting. Needy. Him, just as much as you. Sweat blossoms on his skin, keeping you both in this clammy haze of hedonism. 

Catching his lips on your ear, Jungkook doesn’t care if he isn’t supposed to let kisses linger so close to your lips. Tongue wet, he intrudes. Licks the shell of your ear. Grazes his teeth on your lobe. Whispers, “You looked so pretty tonight,” then drags his tongue across your ear. 

Cares not for precision nor accuracy, just the fact that this is an area of the body he doesn’t often explore, and that maybe he should do it more often, given how tightly your pussy is clamping around him.

There’s something about it - the obstruction of one of your senses likely to blame, sound distorted whenever his tongue licks against it - that makes you whine. 

You can’t even really do that now. Are too muffled beneath his hand - until he pushes the two fingers that had been inside your pussy earlier into your mouth. 

The taste is just the same as it always is whenever he does shit like this. Loves having you taste yourself. Experiencing what he experiences. Wants you to know exactly why he’s incapable of letting you go.

“Slutty little mouth,” he smirks against your ear. “Gonna finish in it.”

“Mhhm?” you mumble against the fingers you’re keeping wet and warm for him.

“Mhmm,” he replies. Presses a kiss to your temple, ‘cause he isn’t really thinking straight. Groans when your cunt clenches from the touch. “God, you want it, don’t you? Want it so bad. Wanna swallow my cum.”

Of course you do. You’ll take what he’ll give you. 

Your mumble around his fingers isn’t enough. He wants to hear you say it. Frees your mouth of himself. Grips your chin between his forefinger and thumb. Turns you to face further over your shoulder.

He’s just gonna make you say it. Just make you say something lewd to get him a little closer. Just… Just gonna… Just...- Oh, fuck it. Your lips are just there, and they’re wet, and they’re pouty and - God, forgive me - perfect for him.  

His eyes flitter between your eyes and your lips. Is aware you’re doing the same. 

“Kook,” you whisper, as if you’re about to reprimand him.

“Please,” he begs. Thinks he needs this just as much as you do. Maybe even more so.

And so somewhere between the overwhelming acknowledgement that this is a catastrophic chain of events, and the promise of a happy ending (of which you know damn well will never reach fruition), you let him sink his lips into yours.

You’re pretty in war, and even prettier in defeat. 

Jungkook thinks you’re prettiest when you’re all his. 

You think that to be his is to accept an eternal loss. 

The breath of his nose is heavy against your cheek as his lips press into yours, brows furrowed. The need for you to be lewd is abandoned, ‘cause Jungkook doesn’t even think he’ll last long enough for it. Thinks that nothing gets him closer than the flavour of your lips. 

Hips still jerking up, the sound of his skin hitting your ass echoing around the room, Jungkook fucks himself into you until he can do it no longer. Pulls away. Rips off his condom. Tosses it to the floor. Gets you face down again. Wanks himself to the point of coming undone, hot spurts of cum dripping onto your ass and spilling down to the valley of your spine.

He’s the one moaning now, your body defiled by a boy who you wish would paint you in pretty compliments instead. Still, this is a compliment. Kind of. You’re hot enough to make him cum. That’s nice, you suppose.

“Shit,” he chokes out, breathing all out of sync, heartbeat far too rapid. A light spank is tapped against your ass, then softly stroked. He soothes. Aloe on sunburn. Milk with hot sauce. Pretty kisses in the comedown of a rough fuck. 

You won’t get those. Wasn’t a particularly rough fuck, either - and yet it hurts so much when he gets up to leave.

It’s awkward. He doesn’t really say bye. Doesn’t acknowledge the fact he stoked a fire inside you that burned you from the inside out. Ignores the ashes that are scattered around your vessel, as if your soul has been ejected from its home. 

He’s warm, when you look at him. That little part of your heart has been stolen once more. He’s just feeding it back to you.

“Sorry,” he says, a hand on your doorknob. “I shouldn’t- I mean, we shouldn’t-”

“It’s fine,” you offer.

That’s the thing about Jungkook. He’ll give you the world, then realise it was never his to give. Always has to ask for it back. You’ve lost count of how many times he’s fucked you, then acted as if was foolish - only to repeat the same mistakes the next evening.

It’s what he’s always done, and is what he’ll always do.

You’ll never learn. 

The shirt you chuck on to head downstairs the next morning is his. 

Far too big for you, it finishes around your thighs. Television blaring in the room beneath you, it’s obvious your housemates are awake, and even as you’re trudging down the stairs, you’re not quite sure you’re alive.

The headache of an overbearing hangover is threatening your life. You’re certain of it. The fact your housemates have the television set to what must be the maximum volume? Only further sending you to an early grave. 

And yet when you see Jungkook sitting by the breakfast bar, hair in all different directions, a bowl of cereal in front of him, and smiling in the direction of whomever else is in the room, you find yourself smiling, too. 

“Morning,” you say pleasantly as you walk into the kitchen, ready to flop your forehead down on Jungkook’s shoulder like you so often do.

Ready, until you notice the look in his eyes when he turns to face you.

Ready, until you glance in the direction of his previous smile.

Ready, until you see the girl who looks a lot like his ex-girlfriend and absolutely nothing like you leaning on the other side of the counter. Mug from your trip to Amsterdam together in her hands, and the shirt you got him for his birthday covering her body, she smiles.

You’re drowning.

“Oh,” you say, not looking at him. Only her. “I didn’t realise we had company.”

“Is she still here?”

“No.”

She’s awkward as she nods. “Sorry, hey. I crashed here last night - hope you don’t mind? It’s just you know what it’s like getting an uber at that time-”

“Yeah, yeah,” you nod. Smile. Jungkook thinks you look pretty - but of course he does. You look defeated. “Totally.”

“Did you fuck her?

“No, Diz. I didn't fuck her.”

“Jungkook said you were feeling unwell last night?” She tries to make conversation. She needn’t. You feel far more unwell now than you ever did last night - and that’s before you notice the pretty purple bruise forming on her neck. “How are you feeling now?”

Her care is kind. Considerate. Wholly wasted on you because you’re gonna lie, and say that you’re fine, even though it feels as if your lungs have been filled with venom spat by a lover who is incapable of loving.

Still, you don’t look at Jungkook. Just make your excuses. Leave.

And even though he knows that he should, Jungkook doesn’t chase after you. 

He lets you go, because he knows you’ll always come back. You always do.

But if you don't?

Well, he’ll go back to you, and you’ll let him. Again, you always do.

From the kitchen, Jungkook can hear your showering starting up. Appetite lost, he isn’t listening to the girl in front of him. Isn’t even really sure of her name.

All that he’s sure of is that the fall out of this is not gonna be pretty.

[ambrozjas]

the gang with a reader that is a soc? (separately)

the gang x soc!reader ꨄ︎

the outsiders x soc!reader (separately)

✧˖*°࿐ notes 🧸ᰔᩚ

this took a while, so sorry for the long wait !! 💘 thank you for the request darlin i really loved writing this !!

✧˖*°࿐ warnings ᰔᩚ

mentions of alcohol in two-bit’s, dally being a pest, reader is described as gorgeous and beautiful and “purdy” but i don’t think a gender is specified?

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

“ya’know, y’didn’t have to do all this.” DARRY said, his eyes still raking across all the store bags filled with new clothes for sodapop, ponyboy, and darry.

“don’t mention it, dare. i’ve got plenty of money to spend for you boys.” you said, walking over to darry and placing a delicate hand on his arm, looking over the presents.

“sure, but—“

“can’t you just wait ‘til you see the look on soda and pony’s faces? they’re gonna be so happy, just think about it.” you try your best attempt at comforting darry, assuring him that you could afford it.

he merely sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose between his eyes. you wrap an arm around his shoulders and lean your head on him, rubbing his left arm soothingly.

“bought us some groceries for dinner t’night, too. don’t worry about it, darry. i got you.” you mumbled in his ear as his icy blue eyes opened and gazed at you, his eyebrows furrowed.

“whatever you say, darlin’.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

SODAPOP’s mouth parted a bit as his eyes widened, watching a sleek white 1966 corvette stingray pull up to the dx.

you came out of the car, sunglasses on top of your head with your hair pushed back a bit. then, your friend came out of the car too. johanna winchester, boy was she a bitch. before soda had dropped out, she was pretty much the hottest piece of gossip there, always cheating on her boyfriend and hosting parties at her dad’s two-story house on the west side.

but, you were an unfamiliar face. he had never seen you before, because if he had, he would’ve remembered someone as beautiful as you.

steve had obviously noticed sodapop ogling at something, and following his gaze he saw you. he whistled, “woo! you see those dames, soda?”

soda looked steve up and down, his face and hands covered in black oil. “‘course i see ‘em, now get outta here ‘fore they see you.”

“don’t hate me ‘cause i’m good-lookin’.” steve shrugged, taking one more glance at you and your friend opening the door before walking back to the garage.

“hey! you think we could get five on pump two, please?” ugh, even your voice made soda swoon. you handed him a few neatly stacked dollar bills and looked behind you at your friend who was side eyeing every corner of this place.

“‘course!” sodapop replied, clicking a few buttons to open up pump two but couldn’t help but overhear johanna whispering to you, “couldn’t we have picked another gas station?” obviously because it was run by “greasers.”

you whispered back to her, although soda couldnt hear you. instead, he handed you your change to which johanna rudely grabbed the coins and yanked you away, pulling you out of the dx. you threw one last glance behind you to soda, before you finally get pulled out of the gas station.

for now, he would just have to dream and hope until he sees you again.

boy, he wished he stayed in school a bit longer just so he could’ve see you more often.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

PONYBOY watched as you rested your chin on your palm, looking out the window as the sunlight illuminated your face with a golden hue.

you were in english class, unbothered by the teacher’s ramblings on shakespeare, anything outside was more interesting than this class.

ponyboy’s eyes were glued to you, watching how you wrote down simple phrases in your notebook whenever you’d tune back into the the teacher’s monologuing.

he had just watched your eyes fall across the rest of the room, the other students either borderline falling asleep or not paying attention at all, before your eyes fell on him, and in that very moment he heard a stern, “mr. curtis!” from the teacher.

ponyboy felt his cheeks heat up as the class’ eyes fell on him, he glanced over to you only to find your eyes still on him as well.

“mr. curtis, what is the answer?” he asked. pony stammered a bit, trying to read the board as quickly as possible until he heard nails clacking on the desk across the room. it was you, hand covering your mouth mouthing the letter ‘b’.

“oh—! uh, ‘b’ sir.” ponyboy said, a wave of what he thought to be sweat washing over him as he sighed in relief when the teacher nodded his head.

he looked back over to you, giving him a thumbs up as your pink lips curled in a small smile.

he smiled to himself, mouthing a quick ‘thanks’ to you before looking away and writing down whatever was on the board.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

“you ain’t like other greasers, huh?” you asked JOHNNY. “what’s your deal?”

johnny stayed quiet, eyes as wide as saucers as you leaned over him, hands planted firmly on his desk.

“you mute?” you asked, a bit coldly as johnny flinched at your tone. you tilted your head as you tried to understand him. he wasn’t like that hood dallas winston, but he wasn’t like any other greaser you’d seen before.

johnny swallowed. “no..” he said. you were utterly beautiful. albeit, a social, you were quite the jaw dropper.

“then could you.. maybe help me with this?” your demeanor changed, probably because you had realize johnny was no threat despite being a greaser. a sheepish smile grew on your face as you flashed the worksheet in front of him.

“thought w’could negotiate. i help you with the readin’, you help me with the math?” you said, tilting your head once again as you pointed at the filled worksheet below johnny, but he wasn’t paying any attention to where your finger pointed, his eyes remained on you.

his eyes flickered across your face, taking in every blemish and ridge of it. he was mesmerized by you. but he was conflicted. he could never have a chance with a soc, so why dream?

but then again, johnny thought, something is better than nothing.

“‘course.” he said.

for now, he can only dream until he could muster up the courage to speak more than one word to you.

one day, johnny thought.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

“what’s the matter wit’you, dollface?”

“don’t call me that, hood.”

DALLY huffed, a tiny bit of smoke seeping through his lips from where a small opening lie where his cigarette was.

he had been following you around all day, bothering you on your way home. you held your books protectively against your chest, thinking for some reason he’d try and pull a move on you. he kept circling around you, like a vulture. “c’mon, jus’ one date.” he told you, hand coming to rest upon your shoulder before you shook him off.

you scoffed, “maybe in your dreams.”

dally tapped his foot impatiently as you stood in front of your house, a pristine exterior with some marble pillars. he knew it was a risk being on this side of town, but then again dallas winston was never much known for being safe.

“whatever, man.” he murmured. you winced as he threw his cigarette on your freshly cut lawn, and made his way back down the street.

your eyebrows furrowed as you watched him give up. you knew dallas winston as a greaser, a criminal, an asshole, and maybe a bit handsome although you’d never admit it. but you never once took him for a quitter.

you watched as he cockily walked down the sidewalk, hands stuffed in his pockets as he was on the lookout for any socs.

for some reason, you thought he’d try harder. did you want him to try harder?

no, you couldn’t’ve. dally wasn’t even worth your time. so why did he give up so easy? why did you wish he would’ve turned around, and kept bothering you?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

“c’mon pretty thing!” TWO-BIT shouted out at you. he had been throwing pebbles at your bedroom window, ultimately scratching the glass with the heavier ones but the thought was nice.

your bedroom was on the second floor, facing the backyard. so watching two at the ground, yelling for you at night while your parents were asleep? not a good look for you.

you held a finger to your lips as your eyes widened, quietly telling two-bit to shut up.

you don’t think he got the message though, considering his grin never left his face, and the bottle didn’t leave his hand either. he flashed you your favorite candy bar, and waved a hand at you telling you to come down.

you looked back behind you, and back at two, giving him a thumbs up.

you put on a jacket over your nightgown, putting your sneakers on and tip-toeing down the stairs and out the back door.

you saw two-bit, taking chugs of his drink before his eyes fell on you. “hey baby! how you doin’?”

“fine, before you woke me up.” you said to which he gave you a small hug, immediately warming you up with his body heat. he tapped the candy bar against your back, which made you pull away to grab it.

“snagged you a sweet.”

“snagged or stole?”

“same thing, ain’t it? now c’mon darlin’, we got a whole night ahead of us!” two-bit said, pulling you away and helping you jump over your fence, like a gentleman.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

“hey, y’mind passin’ me that wrench over there?” STEVE said, the creeper making a squeak as he rolled out from under the car and pointed you towards the clear drawers containing all the parts.

your face screwed up as you thought about all the dirt and oil that must be on those tools. you made a thinking noise, looking back at the drawers before steve tsk’ed.

“what? too worried about your purdy sleeves getting dirty from some oil?” he scoffed.

“‘m glad you think they’re pretty, at least.”

“just—! get me the wrench?” he said, brown eyes flickering up at you in your seat. “what’s the magic word?” you said, a grin resting on your face.

“i might as well go get it m’self.” steve started to roll the creeper further out so he could just get the tools on his own before you stopped him with a series of ‘no’.

“okay! just—,” you cringed at the plethora of rusty tools steve had im the drawers, and quickly dug through them. steve laughed as you shuffled through all of them, before whistling.

you turned your head towards him, only to find him waving the wrench at you with a shit-eating grin.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ skdeojejwsozskw i hope you guys like this, it took me like a day to concoct 😭😭

kiss kiss ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

[internally-screeching]

I'm writing an essay about Heathers the movie for school and why is no one talking about how gay they were in the movie??

Like I mean genuinely looking at it and going huh. I mean yes I want the two to kiss but like they way that everyone compared Heaters and Mean Girls no one goes wow Heather Chandler/Regina are so incredibly gay?!

Like in the movie Chandler is so genuinely possessive of Veronica. Whenever Veronica talks to J.D in the movie there Chandler dragging her away. She sees only Veronica as her equal in the movie too. She likes the other Heathers, and I'm sure is aware it's better to have those who could destroy hour socia, standong close but whenot comes to it Chandler genuinely thinks of Veronica as her only equal. In the lunch time poll she literally makes Heather Duke into a table for her only intellect equal in the group, Veronica.

When she meets J.D at the convenience store Chandler acts like a jealous girlfriend glaring at J.D and Veronica as the two flirt. She could just be annoyed that they're going to be late but she seems uncaring of others so it stands to reason she's jealous and possessive. This time she doesn't physically pull Veronica away from J.D but it has the same effect.

She and J.D are even foil characters two sides of the same coin in the role that they play in Veronica's life. Chandler tries to corrupt her with power and the ability to do whatever she wants. So long as Veronica and her standing side by side so long as they enforce the societal power. While J.D tries to corrupt her with power and the ability to destroy whatever she wants. So long as Veronica and him stand side by side and destroy the system. I mean honestly while Chandler is alive in the film she and J.D compete for the converted spot of the devil sitting on Veronica's shoulder and the object of Veronica's affection.

She doesn't seem to like any of the men, only acknowledging that she needs them to find her desirable to maintain her power at Westerburg High. She's only a junior and worshipped yes but she doesn't seem interested in pursuing a man like Regina or even the other Heathers. She's intent ln Veronica staying beside her side as her only equal.

Even when she dies she's uncaring of why Veronica is in her room (never mind the fact that Veronica knows her schedule and her so well she can tell you what she was meant to be doing and what she's doing instead) but Chandler is unbothered by Veronica, her hackles are raised again by J.D and J.D only. Obviously having a friend over isn't too weird but Chandler doesn't seem all that interested in hosting little get togethers at her house. When she drinks the cup she looks over St Veronica before she dies.

I mean even when forging her suicide note Veronica can tell J.D what words Chandler failed on her fucking spelling test?! I mean I'm still in high school (albeit my last year) but I assure you I've never known the exact words my friend has gotten wrong in a spelling test. Or even what questions someone got wrong in any test. And remembered that. Veronica and Chandler obviously spend a lot of time together. More so than just friends likely would.

I mean this is even exemplified when you think about Kirt's throw away line about a Veronica and Heather Chandler sandwich. For a man who then goes on to date rape Heather McNamara his immediate thought is that duo. Not the women he's attracted to for the next however long. Clearly Veronica and Chandler have to be pretty attached at the hip for this to be Kurt's immediate pairing (and yes I know he's just being a satirically gross hyper-masculine jock in this scene but you know).

And this should go without mentioning she is literally summoned to the cafeteria by Chandler. Yes this is just an example of the red Heather's power being able to call her underlings whenever she wants but she in the movie almost always outside of this is lushing away the other Heathers or other characters, outside of this summoning she is always trying to get others further away from her. Never closer.

To conclude, Heather Chandler is a repressed lesbian who has a crush on Veronica and instead of dealing with it like a normal teenager flirting she makes Veronica join her clique where she offers an intellectual equal and power and Veronica betrays her by choosing J.D over her and also killing her but less so.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hidden Treasure 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your quiet life is interrupted by a tempestuous man. (reader is Blair from Follow You Anywhere)

Characters: Thor

Note: I just did it, okay?

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You lay out the hand-sewn coin purses along the left side of the table, completing the array of your hand-made and repurposed goods. It’s a good day to sell, sunny but not too hot, the early days of spring when people are eager to get out. At least it should be. Despite your selection, you’re not the most personable vendor along the square. 

The last detail is the hand-painted wood sign. You did it yourself; an antique frame you added a gold hue to and filled with a thin sheet of board. It isn’t much but it tells people what they’re looking at; handmade and renewed goods. 

You fold your hands and hover behind your table. You’re a one-person operation. It’s your own table, your own money, your own everything. It brings in enough for you to live. Just you and your cluttered apartment. 

The coin purses and the sleepers you sew by hand are the more popular sellers. Anything for children goes first, you notice. Everyone seems to be having them. The older crowd radiate towards the old candlesticks you polished to a shine or the glass-shaded lamps you tediously re-wired. Most try to haggle but your prices are fair enough. 

You peer around at the produce stands, the soap and candle makers, and the crocheted stuffies of your fellow sellers. You do a bit of window shopping but never follow through on your wandering eyes. You don’t need to waste the money on the pretty new things, you have lots of lovely old things. 

The traffic picks up and you busy yourself with the browsers. A woman with a stroller buys several of the infant dresses and headband, a group of older ladies peruse the aged hardcovers and pick out a few, while a couple comments on the brass-based lamp with the dangling chain. You do your best to smile through the transactions. 

The rises higher in the sky towards its apex. The steady flow keeps you busy, with some time in-between to work on fixing the binding of one of the old editions. You like to keep yourself distracted, thinking can be dangerous. With how much time you spend alone, it’s hard to avoid. 

As you lock up the cash box and tuck it back under the table, a shadow passes over, large than any other. For a moment, you think a cloud’s passing over the sun. You look up at the sky as a broad figure stands across from you.  

You don’t know how you didn’t see the man’s approach. He’s huge. Tall and wide. He doesn’t seem the type to be interested in your selection. Still, he leans in to eye the embroidered coin purses and gives a rumbling hum that sounds like distant thunder. 

He picks up one with primroses sewn into it. His thick thumb brushes the threaded design and his large hand makes the coin purse look even smaller. You tap your fingers on the table as his eyes flick up and meet yours. 

“Hi, uh, how can I help you?” You whittle out of your tight throat. It’s not often a lone man finds interest in your things. You cater to a more femme audience. 

“This is nice,” he remarks, “do you make these?” 

“Uh, yes, I do,” you give a tight-lipped smile, “I just embroider old used purses.” 

“Just? That’s splendid work,” he brings it closer to his face and looks down his nose at the little flowers and leaves, “my mother would love this... mother’s day is coming, eh?” 

“Oh, um, yes, I suppose,” you agree. “It’s five dollars. Cash only.” 

“Mm,” he traces his thumb over the metal clasp as he taps his back pocket with his other hand, “don’t think I’ve any on me. Could you hold this for me?” He offers the coin purse, “I’ll find the ATM.” 

“Sure, I could do that.” 

You take the coin purse, fingers brushing his rough skin, and you set it aside. 

“Thank you,” he smiles broadly, blue eyes twinkling as lines creases around them and across his forehead. 

He reluctantly trails away and you watch him go. His golden hair is longer than most, twisted into a low bun behind his hand as a few strands dangle freely around his face. He wears a denim jacket over dark red tee and grey jeans, along with a pair of scuffed brown boots. He stands out even in his casual attire. 

You shrug off the encounter and turn to your next customers. More baby clothes. The women chat about a baby show and you point them to the newborn sizes, telling them about the fabrics you use for each. They buy a few bibs along with the sleepers and diaper covers. 

You back up and sit in the folding chair, drinking deeply from your bottle of water. You don’t know if it’s the interactions or the sun making you dizzy. It’s close to noon. You always start to feel it around this time.  

The hours surrounded by strange faces and buzzing voices are clustering in your head and chest. Only a little longer; the market only runs until two. If the world didn’t require money to survive, you might never leave your apartment. Yet your table is the only means you have to keep walls around you. 

You sit a bit longer and get up again. You’re okay. You should’ve eaten before you left the apartment. How silly of you to forget the overnight oats you had put in the fridge just the night before. You do forget quite a few things. 

The market thrums with the late morning rush and you brace yourself for the final stretch. If you can clear off half the table, you might not have to come back next weekend. You’d be all too content to stay in your own little world, the one beyond is too loud and too bright. 

🕰️

You fold your table up and push the hook around the peg to keep it shut. You fold up the chair as well and lean both with your boxes. As the market clears out, you pull up your small two-door and load your wares into the back hatch. 

You peer over at the other vendors and their vans and trucks. Crews of half a dozen or more pack away goods and chatter just as loud as the previous crowds. It’s an isolating moment. You don’t mind going unnoticed but sometimes you feel so small. 

As you put a box in the back of the car, your keys slip off your finger. You bend and feel around the tire to retrieve them and sense a shadow above you. You clasp your hand around the keyring and stand-up suddenly, turning to face the figure behind you. There’s no one there. 

You peer around but find nothing out of the ordinary. You return to your task and pause. You don’t remember putting that box away yet... 

You shake your head. You’re just tired and forgetful. Your cardinal vices. Your mind wanders too much to rest, too much to keep order. 

You put the last box away and close the hatch. You get in the driver’s seat and turn the engine. It putters softly but it runs well enough. The old car has gotten you through the years just fine. There was a time that tiny thing was your home. 

You pull away down the lane parallel to the edge of the market square and pull out into traffic. You drive without seeing, led by habit as you stop at signs along the way, turning around corners mindlessly. You stop and wait to pull into your building’s lot and notice the large storm grey jeep behind you. It strikes you as peculiar; you enter from a back street to avoid the rush. 

You steer into the lot and the jeep continues down the street past the building. You forget it as quickly as it rolls beyond the faded brick. You find your spot, parking pass dangling from the mirror, and shut off the engine. You linger and take a breath. You're hungry and tired. 

You leave your things in the car and go upstairs. You slow as you pass your neighbour’s door. You saw her yesterday, she was in trouble about something. The police came as she hid from her boyfriend in your apartment. You didn’t even know she had one. You tried not to be nosy but she seemed real upset. 

Your cheeks tinge as you stare at the numbers on her door. She’s the only person who’s ever been inside your apartment. You don’t welcome people in, not into your home or your life. You hadn’t meant to let her in but you were so tired and confused, you couldn’t stop her. 

You cringe and continue down to your door with one last glance over your shoulder. You put the key in the slot and turn with a grind. You scurry inside and quickly lock the door, afraid she might once more emerge and follow you inside. Or that man, the big one with the beard. 

You twist the latch back into place and put your keys in the tray on the cramped shelf. The apartment is dark, the windows shrouded in black fabric, and you flip on the overhead light to guide you down the hallway. The walls are made tighter as their lined with endless shelves and tables, all filled with your collection of curiosities. 

You go to the fridge and take out the mason jar of steeped oats. You sit and eat the soft, pasty oats and the berries. You didn’t add enough cinnamon. It doesn’t matter, your stomach greedily mulches it. You put the kettle on and wait for it to steam. 

As you pace around, you hear a loud rumble. An engine. You don’t think much of it but you go to the window to peek out around the dark fabric. A woman walks a large dog past a grey jeep parked along the curb. Is it the same one you saw before? 

The question doesn’t pique your mind much. That’s the way of the world, you find. It’s a lot smaller than it seems, yet to you, it’s inexorably vast. It’s too fast, too unpredictable. You retreat as the kettle whistles. 

Your apartment is small and warm and safe. The world can’t follow you back here. Not if you don’t let it in and you won’t be doing that again. 

-🕰️

You decide, against your better instincts, to go to market. The weather is nice and it wouldn’t be so bad add a few extra bucks to your nest egg. You never know what might come up, or what you might find! Too many times you stumbled upon an antique you just couldn’t afford. 

You go through your usual ritual. You set up the table and the chair, and arrange your things in the same way around the wooden sign. As you put your boxes to the side, you hear a rattle at the bottom of one. You look into the crate and notice the silver ring. How’d that get in there? You didn’t bring any jewelry. 

You put down the box and reach inside. You take out the ring and turn it. You’ve never seen it before. There’s a strange stick symbol on the flat face. Maybe another language or a run of some type. You turn it in your hand and tuck it in your pocket. You’ll have to give a closer look at home. 

It’s early and a few stragglers trickle in, but they all walk by your table without pause. 

You sit and take out the jar of oats. You remembered today. You’d woken up with a hunger so deep, you almost ate before you left. You know better than to eat too early. Instead, you had your tea and got yourself moving. 

You stir the blueberries in and eat slowly, trying to measure your bites so you don’t feel sick after. You watch the other vendors, some still setting up, and lazily swallow down the thick oatmeal. It feels like it might rain after all, there’s a touch of damp in the air. 

You finish up and put the jar away. As you wipe your mouth with your sleeve, a woman’s voice trills and pricks your ears. Silver hair with a few wisps of gold peak out from her silk headscarf. The teal fabric matches the pattern of her blouse, tucking into a finely pressed skirt. She’s not alone, she has her arm hooked through another. 

Her companion is younger than her. His golden hair is pulled half up at the crown of his head as he towers over her lithe frame. You squint, they might be related. As they approach, you get a whiff of deja vu. 

“Yes, it was this one, mother,” the man’s voice is deep. 

“How lovely, look at all these treasures,” she slips her arm free as she approaches, “hello, dear, is this all yours?” 

“Mhmm, yes,” you stand up, “are you looking for something in particular?” 

“I think we’re just browsing,” she smiles brightly, her lips painted a gentle shade of rose. 

“A coin purse,” the man says, “with prim rose? Do you recall?” 

You look at him. Faces aren’t easy for you but his voice strikes something in your mind, and his size. You haven’t seen a lot of men that big, only the one in your neighbour’s apartment. You think you remember holding something but the customer never came back. 

“This one,” you point to the coin purse, set back in the row. 

“Yes, that was me,” he chimes, “mother,” he pulls the primrose purse to the top. She takes it and he looks back to you, “I apologise that I didn’t return, there was an emergency and I had to be off.” 

“It’s okay,” you shrug, folding your hands together. 

The woman is looking at you. There’s something in her gaze that makes you squirm. Her eyes linger just a bit longer before she aims them at the purse, admiring the embroidery as she feels it beneath her thumb. 

“Yes, I do like this one,” she says. 

“I brought cash this time,” the man booms and reaches into his pocket, “five, I believe you said.” 

“Yes,” you accept the bill from him, his skin rough as his fingertips touch yours, “thanks. Erm, did you need a bag?” 

“For this? No,” she wiggles the purse playfully and reaches for the man, her son, with other hand. She caresses his knuckles as she faces him, “you were right. Very beautiful.” 

He smiles broadly, proudly almost. It’s just a purse. You hide your discomfort as you grip your arm at your elbow. 

“Thank you,” the woman chirps back at you, sending another grin in your direction, “you might see us again.” 

She hooks her arm once more through her son’s and leads him to the next booth. You peer after them as her attention clings to the purse as she continues to feel it between her fingers. She leans into his arm as she speaks to him quietly. They seem close, it’s sweet. Your own mother had never been so affectionate. 

You look away before the scene can pluck in your chest. It doesn’t matter. You’re grown up now. That’s all behind you. 

[haleingstorm]

Alright I've talked about Piper and Leo so now it's Jason's time. I saved him for last because he still doesn't have his memories which means we still as readers shouldn't know that much about him. And honestly as of right now canon does a pretty good job with him. I actually have very few complaints about TLH Jason. Besides the romantic plot(again what the hell Rick? Just no, bad. awful. never should have happened)

Anyway things go mostly the same, creepy feeling of wrongness, that he doesn't belong. Coin flipping sword or spear. Ability to fly. Also side note, Jason can not take fall damage. ever seen feather falling in Minecraft? if you haven't look it up. That's what he looks like when he 'falls' anywhere. And he always lands on his feet somehow. A little creepy, a little unnerving. A reminder just how powerful the children of the king of the gods are. (who will not under any circumstances be nerfted to make Percy look good. Again what the hell Rick).

One thing I am changing though is this. Jason doesn't realize Thalia is his sister. Hera forgot to transfer those memories(which is really want I am assuming happened in Canon for my own sanity). He sees the picture, thinks Thalia looks familiar and amuses it's because their dad is Zeus. This will have no complications later. Nope not a single one!

Jason of course gets his prophecy and chose Leo and Piper to join him on the quest. There's tension between all of them of course. because Leo + Piper keep thinking he 's going to act like he did in the memories and Jason doesn't. And Jason really doesn't know who these people are and is freaking out. However it is not the first time that three strangers have been thrust together on a journey to save the world!

[queenie-avenue]

hiiii!!!!

i thoight i’d do this the normal way instead of begging u in dms sOO MINJUN AND CREEP READER WHEN PLEASE PLEASE i’m down on one knees rn <333

this man could ruin my whole life and everything i’ve worked for and i would so gladly let him 😋😋

i don’t wanna fix him. i literally just wanna make him worse xoxo

Different sides of the same coin.

💌 ⤻ THE ACADEMIC RIVAL, SEO MIN-JUN

—> you damn creep.

⤻ reader is gender neutral, reader is almost as bad as min-jun, reader is down bad fr, obsessive behaviour, posessive behaviour, snooping, invasion of privacy, reader AND min-jun are red flags, a bit suggestive

notes: ain't no way you actually put an ask in for this 💀 but yes, you asked, and I delivered <33 also, I feel like all the anons in my inbox would absolutely eat this up, this is literally them/j (ngl, my writing kinda sucks here sorry yall-)

🦋 ⤻ archives.

Min-jun studied all the different things littered inside that heart-shaped box of yours. When he first saw it sticking out of your schoolbag, he felt immediate jealous, assuming it wad a gift from someone in your class, or something you would be giving to someone else.

Naturally, he decided to steal it.

He sat at his desk, the student council room deserted as everyone had already left, per his request. He studied the contents of the box with lazy eyes. For months, he had tortured you and for months, you seemed to not care; which honestly made him more pissed off with you.

He pursed his lips as he waited for you to enter the student council's office. Min-jun looked at the box again, sifting through all the different notes he had left you. The ones that told you to kill yourself, the ones that fantasised about pushing you off a roof or watching you suffer, the ones that begged you to leave him alone, to not torment him with your mere presence; you had kept all of them. All tucked in this... heart-shaped box.

"You must really be a freak." He let out a chuckle as he closed the red box, holding it up to his face. The box even smelled like the cologne he liked to wear to school, subtle but noticeable. He let out a groan as he imagined the things he would say to you when you got into his office, how irritated he was with you that you — pathetic, poor, useless you — had seduced him.

Right, you seduced him.

You were the one who decided to show off and get higher grades than him. You looked at him every time he spoke with those obsessed eyes of yours. It was all your fault, not his!

Just then, the doors to the office opened, revealing you standing there. Min-jun tapped his fingers on the box knowingly, wanting you to see that he had caught you in this perverted act.

"Care to explain to me what this is?" He asked, fishing out all the various notes and pictures from the box, holding them up despite your obvious embarassment.

You tried to cover it up, but it was clear that you enjoyed the fact he had caught you in such a precarious situation. "I was just- you kept bullying me, so I was gathering evidence!" You managed to scrounge up a somewhat believable excuse.

"You collected evidence in a heart-shaped box?" He snickered, bemused by your attempts to seem normal.

"It was the only box I had..." You kept trying to lie, but Min-jun saw straight through your pretty little lies.

"And why does your box of evidence contain pictures of me doing everyday things? Not very incriminating evidence, and yet, you kept it in your 'evidence' box."

"I-"

"Don't lie."

Both of you stared into each others' eyes, his glare mixed with an undertone of want and obsession, yet he would never admit it. Yours, filled with embarassment and desire. You were so close to breaking down.

Min-jun got up from his desk and walked over towards you. You froze on the spot, your hands wandering towards the sliding door of the office, but before you could even try to escape, Min-jun had grabbed your wrists. "Did I say you can leave?" He asked softly, his tone so affectionate it almost made your knees buckle under the tension.

"N-no." Your cheeks reddened as your eyes made their way to his hands that gripped your wrist. Slowly, your eyes glanced over at his lips and how close he was, the cologne he wore that was perhaps too mature for both your ages, mimicking the scent of an older person. His eyes darkened the moment he saw your eyes rake over his lips.

"Is that it?" He asked, leaning in closer as he guided you towards the armrest of the couch in the student council office, pushing you against it so you would sit; so he could tower over you. "You're just some pervert who likes to be bullied and harassed?" He asked softly, his gaze growing more intense by the second.

You stared, your lips parted, unable to respond as he had caught you red-handed.

A sense of jealousy spilled into his heart as his hands gripped you tighter, which would no doubt leave bruises.

"So as long as someone bullies you, you fall for them? Are you some sort of creep?" Min-jun interrogated, leaning so close that you fall back onto the couch, a small 'oomph' escaping your lips as you both fall back. Min-jun's arms trap you between him and the sofa, his cheeks now matching yours in the same shade of crimson. He doesn't move, his hands on both sides of your head.

"Answer me. Would you like anyone else if they did the kind of stuff I did to you?" He asked, desperation straining his voice. Min-jun wanted to know he was special to you, that you would only ever be infatuated — no, in love — with him.

You remained silent.

"Tell me, damn it!" Frustration seeped out as he grabbed your face now, cheeks reddening not out of him being flustered, but instead out of rage. "You come here, to my school, decide to top me in every subject I've always been the best at, and then you suddenly decide to collect all these things from me, treating them like cheesy love letters rather than threats. What the hell is up with you? I don't get you, I just can't understand you." He said, his breath hitting your face in huffs.

"You make me lose my mind. I've never- I've always felt so indifferent to everyone else, but you make me do things that... that make me disgusted with myself." He continued, remembering all the times he used his monthly allowance to hire private investigators behind his family's back just to find out more about your interests and hobbies. Asking for photos of you, asking for *clothes* from your laundry pile. He was sick of himself, sick that he would ever so such a thing. But he was addicted.

To you, to your scent, to your gaze, to everything about you he wished he could claim.

"Tell me you feel the same way." He demanded suddenly.

It was his right. You had to feel the same way.

Without even thinking, you pulled Min-jun down to you, gripping his face so tightly that your nails drew blood from his cheeks. Your lips slammed together, any harder and one of you might have lost a tooth, but both of you didn't think about that. Your eyes were closed, but Min-jun's were wide open. "You really do like tempting me." He muttered into your mouth as his hands pinned yours to the couch.

"You must really like me." Min-jun babbled on between your lips, licking and biting your bottom lip, sucking on it like his life depended on it. "Tell me, [y/n], tell me you need me." He wanted to be worshipped by you, he wanted to worship you.

"I need you so badly." You whispered back, allowing him to take control as you whimpered below him. "Please don't stop."

His hands travelled slowly to your neck. "Don't stop what? Kissing you?" He asked, pulling away, "Or don't stop bullying you." His voice boomed with laughter, loving that flustered and needy look on your face; so red to the point he wanted to take a bite of your cheek to see whether it tasted like apples.

"Both, please." You whispered submissively, letting him claim your lips repeatedly.

"Don't worry, I'm never stopping. You won't be able to run from me, even if you wanted to." He smiled, and for a moment, you missed the dangerous glint in his eyes. "You belong to me, okay?" He asked one last time, not giving you the chance to answer before diving back into your lips.

Now that you had given him confirmation that you loved him, you would never stop loving him. Min-jun would make sure of that.

[dyeher]

High Stakes| Ran H.

Includes| secret agent! Ran Haitani x secret agent! Reader

Warnings| fem! reader, violence, murder, mentioned gambling, implied harassment, guns, mirror sex, dry humping, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, choking, creampie, dirty talk, multiple orgasms.

Notes| mwah! another repost.

Ran is making plans to return to the Bloody Lotus when he’s not working. Bright eyes scan the clientele, and fingers drum the side of his glass, he decides he likes the energy. Rich people are always eager to spend their earnings, to show off their pregnant coin purses and boast about investments and returns and how they’ve recently deprived the world of another useless piece of art that costs more than it has any right to. Rich people paired with alcohol makes this place a breeding ground for ‘Too Much Information’. Ran affectionately calls it TMI, and it’s the reason he’s here tonight. To collect some of that.

When he returns though, when he’s off the clock, he’ll be here for the pretty call girls and the lacquered cards that are screaming his name. Absently he raises his glass to his lips. Tonight he is not Ran Haitani, Agent 001. Tonight he is simply Ran Haitani, one of Japan’s most eligible bachelors, and a potential investor in whatever business venture Izana Kurokawa has cooked up.

He glances around the lobby, careful not to make eye contact with you as the balding man’s hand snags on the exposed flesh of your upper thigh. Ran’s grip on his glass tightens reflexively. He reminds himself that if he kills Lorano now they’re fucked and you would’ve been groped for no reason. He remains quiet, pretending to take in the brightly lit room with its marbled floor and high ceiling.

To his left is the entrance to the VIP section where he’s currently perched at the bar. It’s a pair of glass doors flanked on either side by two large men dressed to the nines but sporting firearms. Through the glass, he can see regular patrons, the upper-middle-class dressed in their best and whispering to each other over glasses of overpriced champagne. Some are gambling their way down the social ladder without really paying any attention to it.

To his right is the entrance to Izana’s private quarters. Well, for the most part. To his right actually stands a set of hand-carved mahogany double doors. Those doors don’t lead anywhere. Behind them is an elevator leading to the rooftop of this fine establishment and the only true way to access Izana’s quarters is from the rooftop entrance. A little way off from those doors is a simple nondescript door that leads to the stairwell on the inside of the building. The stairwell gets as high as the private rooms of Izana’s friends. If all went well Ran would be on that floor within the hour.

He’s brought out of his reverie when you warble spilling a little of the drink in your tray onto Lorano. He’s impressed by your ability to mold into any character as he listens through the earpiece. You lay on a faux Italian accent, as you scramble to apologize that immediately has Lorano perking up, and Ran has to sip from his glass to cover his disgust when one of the buttons on the man’s shirt pops open at the movement.

Izana dresses his female employees in the most ridiculous things. Tonight’s number is a sheer black leotard, the front covered in some sort of stitched design that just barely covers your breasts, the back so low it dips beneath the band of the too-tight, too-short black skirt paired with it. The shoes are strappy and wound all the way up to above your knee. The heel and platform are so high that Ran winces internally as he watches the ease with which some of these girls can maneuver the tables and crowd in them.

He’s whispering to you in rapid-fire Italian, things Ran wishes he didn’t understand, promises to treat you right, questions about how long you’ll be working for. His grubby hands trail down to your thigh when you bend across him to replace his drink and even from this distance Ran can see the way your fingers on the tray flex.

An irrational amount of pride swells in his gut when your smile doesn’t even waiver, and for a second he’s so transfixed he almost doesn’t hear when one of Lorano’s lackeys bends into his other ear to let him know Izana was ready for him. Ran’s heart slows, his eyes locking with yours as he starts moving. Based on Wakasa’s intel Izana’s meetings are held on the roof, and there should be a viewing room on that floor. Only one elevator goes to that floor and it requires either Izana’s Identification card or the code, a code only he knows. Ran subtly adjusts the face of his watch, a beautiful Patek Phillipe piece he’d paid Inui out of pocket to have modified. He chuckles when he reaches the door of the stairwell and Wakasa’s voice filters through his ear.

“I think I threw up in my mouth a little when Lorano asked if she eats ass,” Ran can hear Wakasa’s shudder. He uses the knuckle on his index to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, activating the screen on the camera on the left screen. “Take a step back Ran, need to see the entire door.” Ran shuffles back feigning glancing at the floor in front of the door and then back up. “Thank you,” Wakasa says, and Ran fidgets as he begins to count down in his head. “You ready big guy? You have thirty seconds to climb three flights of stairs before the camera’s auto-reboot.”

Ran glances to his left and right quickly before nodding. “Go.”

He doesn’t even register the door slamming behind him as he flies up the stairs. He’s mastered the art of running in suits at this point. His chain lifts with his movements until finally, he catches the pendant between his teeth to stop it. He uses the rail to hoist himself up, taking the stairs four at a time until the leather sole of his shoe lands on the dark marble of the top floor. He skids a little, catching himself on the wall. “Twenty-six seconds,” Wakasa tells him. “Not bad.”

Ran chuckles. “You talk too much Wakasa. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“You,” Wakasa retorts. “Every time we work together.”

“Lorano’s on his way up,” your voice interrupts them both. “And I’m coming with him.”

Ran tenses. “That was not part of the fucking plan,” he says as he stalks the length of the hall. He passes his room, heading for the elevator. He watches as the numbers change.

“Yeah but it’s smarter than the original,” Wakasa admits. “If she gets up there Izana’ll send her back down because employees aren’t allowed on that floor. Which means she’ll control the elevator.”

Ran curses, because Wakasa’s right. “Fuck.” He watches as the elevator gets to the top floor and then ten minutes later he watches as it begins its descent. The impromptu change works and Ran finds himself face to face with you not thirty seconds later.

“Camera’s are down,” Wakasa announces. “Double-loop so it looks like she came off the elevator. Shouldn’t have any issues if no one is standing at the elevator doors.”

And no one is standing there. In fact, getting into the viewing area is too easy, not only that but they find that it’s not just a viewing area. Ran takes a good scan of the room following Wakasa’s instructions until they land on a row of computers and Wakasa almost moans in both your ears. It’s the central command.

“I despise Izana Kurokawa,” he hisses. “I hope he knows I’m praying for his downfall. Specifically, because this setup is so beautiful he doesn’t deserve it.”

Ran glances at you out of the corner of his eye and almost swallows his tongue when he finds you squatting at one of the outlets. Your ass stretches the material of the skirt and Ran has to force himself to look away as you get on your knees to press the switch. One of the older computers lights up next to Ran and Wakasa honest-to-gods giggles.

“Ran, plug the flash drive in there,” Wakasa instructs. “Turn it on and where is my beautiful little amateur hacker. Get your ass over here.”

Ran tunes in to the conversation between Izana and Lorano, looking out through the glass at them from his spot. Izana as always is dressed in some elaborate get up, his second in command stands to his left his arms folded and the disgust in his expression clear as he looks at Lorano.

“It’s quite simple,” Izana is saying. “You join me, I get control of your men, I pay you to speak when spoken to.”

Lorano looks torn. “It’s not that simple, my men will not respect me anymore,” he tries to explain.

“Lorano,” Izana coos. “Your men don’t pay you. Your men are ungrateful pigs. Your men are incompetent criminals. Your men are failures as men. Their respect for you isn’t worth hot shit even if it came from a god.” Izana’s men laugh and Ran winces at the shade of red Lorano turns. “Think about the respect you’ll earn from the rest of Japan when they find you’re associated with me.”

This seems to give Lorano pause and Ran scoffs. He wonders what Izana might have offered him if he planned to stick around long enough to hear.

“How much are you offering?” Lorano finally says.

“I’m offering you a salary,” Izana says slowly, in case Lorano misunderstood. “Not a percentage cut of the shit I make.”

Lorano swallows, and the microchip in the collar of his shirt picks up the sound extra loudly. Ran almost gags. “How much?”

“Five hundred thousand dollars a month,” Izana says and Ran is appalled at the way Lorano immediately agrees. He wonders if Lorano knows that he’s signing this document in his blood. And just as Ran expected when Izana verifies that Lorano has in fact signed over his properties and his men he opens his palm and Ran shifts when a gun is placed in it. “It was great doing business with you,” Izana frowns and Lorano doesn’t have time to scream before the gun goes off and his pudgy body is falling face first into his dinner, blood mixing with the delicacies on the plate. Ran’s thoughts are interrupted by Wakasa’s curse.

“What?” he snaps turning back to where you’re tapping away at the computer screen.

“You’ve got company,” Wakasa says quickly. “Fuck. Two incoming looks like Izana’s personal guard and the Head of Security.”

Ran’s head snaps to the door when he hears the telltale sounds of footsteps coming down the corridor. “How much longer, angel?”

You tap away at the keyboard rapidly. “We’re at 87%,” you scramble to type faster but Ran’s already dragging you away from the desk. “What the fuck are you—”

“You can punch me in the face afterward,” he whispers quickly. And then he’s kissing you. Tentatively at first, just a soft brushing of his lips that immediately has you relaxing in his hold. One large hand cups your face to angle your head better and the other dips into the base of your spine, curling you closer to him. His fingertips are warm as they trail the length of your spine. Goosebumps erupt on your skin and you shudder, your nipples pebbling in the thin material at the contact. You’re frozen, struck dumb by the gentleness of his kiss, eyes wide open so you see the way long lashes brush the tops of his cheeks.

Ran pulls back just far enough to growl against your mouth. “Kiss me back, angel.” And then he’s running the tip of his tongue along your bottom lip and they’re parting to let him in. His tongue is eager and warm and so soft as it brushes confidently at yours that your toes curl.

Your body presses closer to his, your hands winding around his shoulders as you kiss him back. It’s the consent he needed. The kiss grows intense, Ran’s tongue dipping farther, his head slanting to deepen the kiss. You’re suddenly reminded of your lack of underwear when Ran’s hand comes up to grasp the back of your head, the one cupping your face drops to your thigh as he backs you into the desk. He hoists you onto the surface easily, your body displacing the keyboard, and stack of papers next to it. His grip on your thigh slips to the back of your knee and he hikes it up around his waist, to slot himself between your legs, bending you back a little so you’re propped against the monitor.

“Fuck,” he groans when your fingers tangle in his hair. You tug his head back harshly, desperation making your movements a little rough as you press sloppy, lipstick stain kisses along the side of his neck and the column of his throat. You wonder if he’s wanted to do this as bad as you have. If he’s ever lost sleep thinking about the contours of your body the way you have. Or imagined the softness of your lips, the taste of your mouth, the feel of your hands on him. Because you’ve spent countless nights with your fingers between the folds of your pussy, rubbing circles into your clit imagining they’re Ran Haitani’s fingers or his tongue. Many nights with your dildo pumping furiously into you imagining it’s Ran Haitani’s cock molding and shaping your insides for him.

The guards are forgotten as Ran presses the length of his body to yours. The hard outline of his cock rubs into the damp crotch of your leotard when you finally bring your lips back to his. Your kissing becomes frantic and sloppy. Ran devours your mouth, fucking it with his tongue in a way you know he’d easily replicate in your cunt. Your body bucks when his fingers climb your thigh, his knuckles rubbing the sensitive skin as it inches higher. You moan into his mouth and Ran’s responding chuckle sends chills down your spine.

“Bet you’ve soaked through this flimsy thing,” he mumbles, lips not pulling away far enough for you to focus on his features. His kisses move from your lips down to your neck and throat. “Probably got a messy little pussy.”

You whine, arching as though you can get any closer than you already are. Your fingers catch in his jacket as you try to push them off his shoulders. Ran eases back just enough to free his arms, dropping the jacket next to you as he resumes his previous position. You get a glimpse of how well he fills out the silk shirt beneath and realize this isn’t enough. You want to feel his skin, you want to rake your nails down his back and mark him with your teeth. Just as you think this Ran’s teeth latch onto the erogenous area where your neck and shoulders meet. Your moan is absolutely wanton. You feel him shudder in your arms as he reaches for the strap of the onesie and rips it down your arm freeing one of your breasts for his hungry mouth. It’s only as you toss your head back, lips parted on a sigh at the gentle sucking of Ran’s mouth on your nipple, to give him better access to your body, that you see the two men in the doorway.

Your squeak of surprise is genuine as your hand scrambles to clutch Ran’s shoulders. The sound seems to snap both men out of their stupor and you watch as they straighten to their full height. Your mind clears quickly, embarrassment sinking like lead in the pit of your stomach at your actions. Ran’s grin is lazy, almost natural as he glances over his shoulder, you’re grateful for the width of him as he angles his body to block out whatever view they might’ve had of you. One of Ran’s hands still clutches your waist, his thumb rubbing soothing circles as though he knows you’re struggling to get it together.

“Gentlemen?” Ran’s smile falters perfectly, even the breathless hitch in his tone is staged. It feels like a bucket of ice water has been doused on you. Of course. Of course, none of this was real. He’d just saved both your asses. You wonder if he knows you weren’t acting. You tense in his arms and his grip on your waist tightens. “Can we help you?”

“You’re not supposed to be up here,” the shorter one says. Even from here, you can tell he’s the scarier and more than likely Izana’s head of security. Bleached buzzcut with parallel strips of his natural hair color running from the corners of his hairline back. You might’ve giggled at the fact that he resembled a tennis ball if he didn’t pull his gun. His eyes narrow when Ran frowns and glances at you.

“Sorry? Is this not the guest floor?” Ran’s confusion is so convincing you almost don’t feel when he slips the flash drive up your thighs. It takes all of your self-control not to react as his fingers dip into the sticky mess between your thighs and slide the flash drive flat across the crotch of the leotard. Your hand snaps out to clutch his arm and he chuckles. “She’s a needy thing,” he shrugs. “Couldn’t quite make it to my room.”

The taller one adjusts his glasses and steps into the room and Tennis ball follows him. “How’d you get up here, Mr. Haitani?”

Ran blinks at him like he’s stupid. “The elevator?” You squirm in his arms, playing your part as the brainless, shy employee, who’ll probably get in trouble for fraternizing with one of Izana’s VIP guests. Ran straightens to his full height, fixing the straps of your onesie and closing your legs as he turns to face both men. He stands a little shorter than the one with the glasses but he’s broader and you know that if this comes down to a fight you could take the taller one while Ran takes the other. “What’s really going on here? Have I done something wrong?” His tone is carefully accusing.

Glasses sighs through his nose. He knows there’s no way Ran should’ve gotten to this floor undetected but starting a fight with one of Izana’s friends is the last thing he needs to do right now. “This floor is off-limits to guests. They lead to Mr. Kurokawa’s private rooms.”

Ran’s expression morphs into a perfect mask of embarrassment and regret. You hope the horror in your expression as you clamber to your feet, swaying a little in your heels is convincing. “Ah, sorry,” he says, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment. “Got a little distracted,” he motions with his thumb to you over his shoulder and you look away. “We can move.”

He reaches for his jacket when Tennis ball chips in. “Wait a minute,” he says, slipping his gun back into the holster. “You’re not leaving until we search you.”

Ran bristles as they expect him to, head jerking back like he’s been slapped. His jaw clenches, fingers flexing. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said Mr. Haitani,” Tennis ball snatches Ran’s jacket and passes it to Glasses who begins to rummage through the pockets. “Spread your legs for me.” Ran tenses but does as he’s told.

The flash drive feels like it’s weighing you down as Ran gets the all-clear and Glasses starts toward you. “Seriously?” Ran scoffs. “She’s half-naked, where the fuck would she hide anything?”

That seems to give both men pause. You make sure to shudder for good measure as they step aside. Ran grabs your arm glaring at both men as he drapes his jacket over your shoulders and guides you out of the room. Glasses follows after you, making a quick call for someone to send the elevator down before taking you both down to the VIP floor. “This is you,” he says nodding at Ran as he leads you out of the elevator.

Ran takes you to his room and as soon as the doors are closed you shrug off his jacket. Your heart is pounding in your chest. That could’ve gone horribly. Your hands are trembling as you wobble over to the spacious bathroom.

“You still make the prettiest sounds,” Wakasa’s voice comes over the earpiece, and you yelp, stumbling back and almost falling onto your ass. In the midst of everything it seems you’d both forgotten about Wakasa. “Didn’t mean to startle you,” he says gently. “Just thought you should know. They’re the still prettiest I’ve ever heard.”

“Wakasa,” you hiss. “Can Ran-

“He can’t,” Wakasa reassures you. “I muted us. I’m gonna take these off until you’re out of this room. In case, you want to finish what you started.” You open your mouth to argue that you were just trying to save your asses when Wakasa continues. “And before you tell me you were just trying to stay alive try to remember how well I know you.”

There’s a distinct click and you know Wakasa can no longer hear you. A tentative knock sounds on the door and Ran’s voice carries through the wood. “You good in there?” He asks. “We got what we came for, we can leave.”

His comment reminds you of his earlier actions and you immediately reach between your thighs and pull the slippery flash drive free, yank open the door and slap it against his chest. “Yeah,” you say giddily. “I’m about ready to go.” And then you haul your fist back and slam it into his nose. “Do not ever do some shit like that again,” you snap. “Next time we fucking kill them.”

Ran’s eyes darken, as he clutches his nose. It’s not broken but it hurts like a motherfucker and he’s not at all surprised when he inhales and it burns. His eyes water as he glares at you incredulously. “You’re not serious.”

“Deathly,” you say, releasing the flash drive so he has to scramble to catch it. It’s soaked in your arousal, the scent heady as he clutches it. You poke him in the chest. “If you ever, ever touch me like that again I’ll fucking kill you.”

Silence envelopes you for a few seconds and then Ran chuckles. You’re about to snap at him again when his hand wraps around your throat. “You’re so transparent,” he smirks. “I bet you’re not even mad I touched you.” He squeezes your throat, backing you into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. “You’re probably mad because we were interrupted,” he drops the flash drive on the counter. “Mad that you didn’t get to cum.” He’s slowly cutting off the blood flow to your head, his fingers pressing into the blood vessels on either side of your neck. “Wanted me to clean up the mess I made of your pussy?”

His free arm wraps around your waist and lifts you onto the counter, your hands immediately reach for the wrist of the hand around your throat, your nails dig into the soft flesh as he scoots back onto the counter and spreads your legs to make room for him. You’re dizzy by the time his grip loosens. “Answer me,” his voice softens to just above a whisper, his finger massaging your neck gently. “Do you want me to clean up the mess I made, angel? Is that what this is about?”

You almost shake your head but Ran gives you a look. Like he’ll know if you’re lying. Like you’d be an idiot to pass up this opportunity. So you nod, swallowing when he flashes you a beautiful smile. “Yeah? But I need to hear you say it,” he breathes. “Say ‘Please eat my pussy Ran’. Go on.”

His hand has reached your jaw and his thumb is rubbing distracting little circles into the side of your bottom lip as you repeat after him. A not of breathlessness in your voice. “Please- please eat my pussy Ran.”

His groan as he leans forward to kiss the spot he’d been rubbing has your heart rate increasing, the organ beating wildly at his words. “You don’t know how badly I need to taste you.” He drops to his knees, careful to work your feet out of your heels before he kisses the inside of one ankle and then your calf that he massages and then the inside of your knee and then the fat of your thighs until he’s propping that foot on the edge of the counter and then he does the same to the other. Showering them in kisses, massaging them until they’re jelly and then he’s easing your skirt over your thighs. Working it down to your ankles and discarding it next to him on the floor. He’s almost reverent. The way he treats your body, and it makes sense. Because it feels a lot like he’s worshipping you.

He takes a moment to take you in. The leotard is cut higher than he’d initially expected and he almost salivates as he watches you bring your legs back up to the counter, butterflying them open for him. An entire lip of your pussy has escaped the scrap of material that should be covering it. He can’t help himself when he leans forward to suck the poor flesh into his mouth. And the sound he makes when he finally gets your taste on his tongue makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. One hand wraps loosely around an ankle as he shuffles closer, his nose brushing into your cunt as he pulls back with a wet smack only to latch onto the ruined material between your thighs. His other hand rests in the juncture of your thigh, his thumb pulling apart your pussy. “Look how fucking pretty that is,” he whispers to himself, as strings of arousal stretch and snap each time he repeats the movement. “Fucking hell.”

You reach for his head, fingers sinking into his hair to tug him closer. “Fuck,” you whine. “Ran!” Your body bows when he pushes the material to the side and properly buries his tongue into your cunt. He fucks you with it like you imagine he’d fuck you with his cock. His head bobbing, nose bumping into your clit. He groans again at the rush of liquid that floods his mouth as you squirm.

Ran’s hands press your legs a little wider when he pulls back to spit on your cunt. He watches, eyes wide, lips parted and glistening with your arousal as the spit drips down to your entrance. He drops his head between your legs again just give your clit a soft kiss. He chuckles when you whine his name, your hold on him slackening when he dips the index of one finger into your cunt. Your body swallows him eagerly, your walls squeezing around the digit. He removes it to add another two to it, his brows furrowing as he watches the way your cunt struggles to take those three fingers. “Shit and you’re so fucking tight,” he groans.

You squeal when he stands, fingers still buried in your pussy, to kiss you. He swallows every little noise you make, every whine and gasp as he works your cunt open diligently. Maybe if you weren’t so distracted you might’ve questioned why he’d need to stretch you out this well. But you’re cumming with a soft keen of his name, shuddering in his arms as he fucks you through it. The sound your pussy makes when Ran finally pulls his fingers free makes you burn with embarrassment but the way he casually stuffs those fingers into his mouth, lids fluttering at your taste. He strips with one hand, dragging his silk shirt off and quickly undoing his belt buckle.

By the time his cock springs free you’ve wiggled your way out of the last piece of clothing and you’re dizzy with anticipation. Your first reaction is apprehension. Ran’s cock is thick and heavy, the weight enough to have it hanging between his thighs. He’s also a little longer than average with a fat mushroomed head. Your second reaction is desperation. Imagining the stretch of your pussy to accommodate his cock has you shuffling to the edge of the counter, eyes wide as you reach for his cock to rest it against your cunt.

“Shit,” Ran hisses when his cock makes contact with the slick lips of your pussy. He’s bucking his hips almost instinctively, one hand pressing his cock in place as he fucks your pussy lips steadily. And the picture Ran Haitani makes drunk on you before he’s even slid his cock inside you is enough to have your eyes watering. He’s beautiful. His hair in disarray, sticking to his forehead and standing askew from your hands, his lips swollen from your kisses, his skin flushed from his cheeks to his chest, and his eyes. Hooded and bright with an emotion you cannot identify.

You’re so distracted by him that you don’t register he’s shifted his cock down to your entrance until the head of his cock squeeze into your hole and you choke on a gasp. Ran kisses you then, a slow, deep affair that wipes your mind of any coherent thought. Your stomach flip flops when he pulls you closer to him, wrapping your legs around his body as he wraps his arms around you. The position is so intimate something pangs inside you. Every lap of Ran’s tongue coincides with an inch he’s fucked into you. You’re shaking when you feel his hips bump into your thighs and he’s still not stopped kissing you.

He fucks you there, in short strokes that rubs the head of his cock into your g spot. Kissing you until you can’t breathe and then barely giving you time to catch your breath as he proceeds to tell you about how good you feel. ‘Never felt a pussy like yours angel’, ‘’m never leaving you alone’, ‘’s my pussy now, the best pussy’, ‘tell me it’s mine, tell me it’s my pussy, please’. They’re a mix between a whine and a growl as he begs and grunts and threatens your life and the life of every other man you’ve fucked. It’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever encountered and your body agrees. When your orgasm slams into you you have to drag your lips away from Ran to scream. A garbled mix of his name and thanks, as he fucks you through it, his pace faltering, his hips stuttering as he chases his own high.

You’re both weak in the knees by the time Ran pulls out of you. The silence isn’t awkward as you clean each other up. “So my pussy is your huh?” you say later as you’re waiting in the conference hall for Wakasa and the rest of the team.

“Yeah,” he answers without missing a beat, expression brightening when he catches your smile. “And I really will kill you if you try anything stupid.”

Your smile falls. “What?”

“A bullet right between your eyes,” he holds up finger guns aiming one between your brows. “Pop. Pop,” he chuckles. “I dare you to act dumb.”

You can only swallow around the mounting arousal in your gut because you think you’ve known him long enough to know when he’s bluffing. And based no the slightly crazed look in his eye as Wakasa enters the room you know this is not one of those times.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

tsumsted wonderland part 3 SR groovies~

(Side notes: No new artwork for Ace or Jamil, as those are this installment’s R cards!

The SSR groovies are still locked and will be revealed at a later time.)

***Spoilers below the cut!!***

WHY DID THEY POP OFF SO HARD WITH THESE GROOVIES 😭 The other Tsumsted Wonderland SR groovies were distanced much farther away and these are way closer so we get a nice eyeful of all the details. I guess they’re going off with a bang…

LikE,WHAT THE FUVk IS THiS???????? WhY’S TREEY mAkING YHE PIXAR DAd FCE WhILE HIS YSUM LOOMS THreaTENInGLY WITH A TOOTHBRUSH An D TOOTHPASTE OF ALL THINgS?????

Is this real life??? Is this a robbery????? Is this an assault where Trey straps you down while the unlicensed plushie of a dentist scrubs at your molars???????????? OTL THIS ISN’T THE REALITY I WANNA EXIST IN

cbsksnwjwfiwk ThIS ONE’s SO SILLY TOO??? The initial artwork was already goofy with Tsum!Ruggie snatching a coin but now it looks like Ruggie learned his lesson from that incident and is keeping cash out of the Tsum’s weird flabby arms.

Y’all really shouldn’t be counting your cash in a public space (it looks like the Savanaclaw lounge) though 💀 Anyone could slink in and make off with those coins you have displayed…

Aw, Silver… He’s so eepy… (You can see that he’s napping on one of Diasomnia’s lounge room sofas!!)

There’s a lot of subtle things to appreciate about this illustration. Silver has one hand on the Tsum even while they’re both dozing off ;!:?&2!.9:$2veuwva It’s a small but protective gesture! I also like that when you zoom in, you can see strands of silver threading his lashes. I’m not usually one to comment on Silver’s looks (I find him pretty mid appearance-wise) but I adore how peaceful he is here. Sleepy Silver artworks are definitely a weakness 💦 Oh no… I feel my heart growing three sizes bigger from looking at this image…

Like I said earlier, the SSR groovies will be out towards the end of the event. I’ll share those and give my thoughts when they’re out too 🫶

[ourfatherwhoartinhell]

Ghostober - Day 2 [Phantom]

“Could you be happy here with me?” - 2k

CW: For some reason I used both Aeon and Phantom, sorry if that bothers you. Lil angsty, not proofread either (and it's late, oops)

⊹ Ghostober Masterlist ⊹

He wasn’t sure why today of all days he was feeling so sad. Phantom was normally bounding about and thrilled to bits if someone even said hi to him. He wasn’t summoned all that long ago and he was still figuring out the ropes. His pack was super helpful too. Swiss and Dewdrop opted to help him out the most, although he wasn’t quite sure why Mountain and Rain always looked so displeased.

He had just finished his first few shows with the band. They were all back at the Abbey for a couple days while they packed up, gathering all the things they’ll need before heading overseas for the North American leg of the tour. Aeon was super excited to see all the new people and explore new places and cultures. Ever since his summoning day he was like a sponge, soaking in every bit of information he could - both good and bad. 

Aether helped a lot with teaching Phantom the guitar before he was moved to full time work in the infirmary - a skill they were both surprised the young ghoul picked up extremely quick. Aether didn’t think they had made it to the end of the week before Phantom had mastered half the setlist, much to the excitement of Copia. 

Aeon was proving to be a very worthy summon, and an even more worthy replacement for the band. You never knew what kind of ghoul you were going to get out of a ritual. Sure you had a faint idea, since ghouls were drawn to the personality of those summoning them, but they could be quiet and shy like Rain, helpful and kind like Cumulus, or a huge pain in the ass like Swiss. On the best of days, it was a coin toss. 

On the day Copia called upon a Quintessence ghoul, he was just happy that he got a full quint. Unlike when Terzo tried to summon a replacement for Omega and ended up with Delta instead, who was half water, half quint. However, there were other factors at play that day of course.

Phantom had been in the den packing up his things, trying to make a mental note of what the others had said to bring. Everyone else was bounding about, laughing and playing like leaving the country wasn’t super scary. Of course it was no big deal to them, they had done this whole thing before. They were also quite a bit older than he was. He looked out to the common area and saw Swiss hanging upside down on the couch, messing with Aurora while Mountain made some muffins and Cirrus had Dew in a headlock - most likely for good reason.

Even Aurora was chilled out and relaxed. They were summoned together so she felt like a little sister to him, yet she fit into the pack dynamic so much faster than he did. Sometimes he wondered if he did fit in.

His thoughts were interrupted by Copia suddenly appearing at his side, nudging his shoulder, causing him to jump. When did he get here?

“What’s wrong, little one? The others have said you’ve not been yourself lately.” Copia says quietly, not wanting to embarrass the small quint.

Phantom just put on his normal goofy grin and wagged his tail. “Oh nothing! Nope! All good here, Papa. Just excited!”

Copia had been around enough ghouls to know when they were lying (although Alpha was always his weakness. That guy was way too good at hiding his true feelings; he almost felt bad for him, but that was his brother’s problem). Copia just wrapped an arm around the young ghouls shoulders and pulled him in for a supportive side hug.

“You have every right to be nervous. It is a long way from home, sì?”

Aeon hadn’t expected Copia to see through his facade, or at least not so quickly. He thought it was pretty good, it worked every time on the pack. “I was excited,” he admitted, his expression faltering as he looked at the ground, kicking his feet together. “I don’t know why it seems so scary now.”

Copia just nodded knowingly, guiding the quint to a quieter part of the den where they could talk in private.

“You can talk to me. Anything that I can do to help, you know I will do. Within reason of course.” Copia cracked a smile, hoping it would help him feel more comfortable to say what was on his mind. The last thing he wanted was his ghouls thinking they would be reprimanded for speaking about what’s bothering them. He made that vow the moment he stepped forward to take over the Ghost project.

“I know it’s only been a little while since being here, but Aurora has settled in so quickly and I feel like I’m falling behind.” He admitted quietly. “It feels like everyone is happy that she’s here, but I’m just some kit they can just push around because I don’t know anything. I want to learn, I want to know, Papa! I try to learn but the surface is so confusing.”

Copia runs a comforting hand along his back. “You are doing so well. I am so proud. I know they are proud too.” He motions towards where the rest of his pack were busy goofing around down the hall. “Aether was so proud of you too. He told me that you were his first choice for a replacement and that you would excel, and you have.”

“But I’m not him,” Aeon interjects. “I see it on stage, Papa. Dew always looks over to where Aeth used to be and sees me instead. I don’t think he’ll ever be able to get over that and I don’t know what to do. No matter how hard I try, how great I play, or how much I practice. He’ll never be happy.”

Copia just sighs. He knew exactly what Phantom was talking about. He had a long week of conversations with Dewdrop about the very same thing before the young quint was summoned. He had tried to get Dew to come to terms with the reasoning behind his actions, but he was having none of it. Eventually they had agreed that Dew would be amicable and act professionally towards Aeon, but that he never had to be his friend. For the meantime, that was acceptable for Copia. At least it would stop any fights or arguments while they kicked off the tour. 

However, he was realizing that the agreement may need amending now.

“Have you tried talking to Dewdrop about it? I can’t say I’ve noticed too much while on stage, but I don’t like getting involved in pack politics. I learnt long ago that it’s much better if we let you sort it out amongst yourselves, but I can step in if I must.”

Phantom just shook his head. “No I haven’t.”

“Would you like me to be there while you talk to him?” Copia offers. “I won’t step in, but I think it would be good for you two to get it off your chests before we leave tomorrow.”

Phantom twiddles his fingers in contemplation, his ear twitching as he tries to hear what’s going on down the hall. He liked to say he was an optimist, but somehow all he could think of is how this could go so wrong and ruin everything.

But Papa is here, he wouldn’t let anything happen. Would he? 

“I’m going to go get him, take a breath little one,” he affectionately ruffled the quint’s hair between the horns before he stood, almost certain that was his favourite spot. Copia would always see Cirrus and Mountain do it to him before rituals backstage, and Phantom’s tail happily starting to sway confirmed his suspicion. “I’ll be back.”

There weren't enough minutes between the time Copia left and came back with Dewdrop, who was already looking like he was being forced to the principal's office, to prepare little Aeon for the heavy conversation they were about to have. As soon as his violet eyes met Dew’s angry orange ones, he immediately wanted to cower and run away. There really was no other feeling like the one you get when your pack leader looks like he wants to tear you to pieces.

But he wasn’t going to run. He would do it for Papa. No more avoiding it.

On the other hand, he wanted to do it for himself too. To prove to Dew that he was worthy of this spot and he was worthy of being part of the pack in his own way.

The fire ghoul refused to sit, which was fine. As long as he didn’t walk out, that’s all Copia wanted. He had told Dew to just hear the kid out. 

“Okay, what? Speak.” Dew said sharply, arms crossed as he glared at Phantom.

“I know that you hate me–”

“Oh good–”

“Dewdrop.” Copia interrupted sternly, earning him a solid eye roll. “You can continue.”

Phantom took a shaky breath but squared his shoulders. “I know you miss Aether, I know you hate that I took his spot. I hate that I did too, but that was out of my control. I’m still learning how to be helpful up here. I’m still learning where I fit in… if I fit in anywhere.” He trailed off, trying not to cry in front of Dew or Papa. “What can I do to make this easier for you?”

Dewdrop would be lying if he said he expected that from the little bat. He wasn’t exactly sure what Copia had forced him into but this was certainly not what he was thinking. Maybe he had been a little blinded by his rage and took it too far. He was the pack leader now, it was his job to make sure everyone was looked after. And clearly he had failed.

He huffed before he answered, a little bit of smoke dancing under his nose, not wanting either of them to see that he was conflicted. “Just stop trying to be him. You will never be him. Just… be you.”

Phantom hung onto every word. He was ready to do whatever it took to make this right. “Do you think you could ever…. Be happy here? With me?”

Dew’s head tilted, contemplating what to say - something he wasn’t used to doing. “I suppose… if you started finding your own thing instead of stealing Aether’s - which you do horribly by the way- I could consider it.” He grumbled. “You have 2 months to figure it out before we get ba–”

Dew couldn’t finish his sentence before Phantom was engulfing him in the biggest hug he could muster, not even caring that the other could burn him pretty badly and stop him from coming on tour.

While Phantom had Dew in his embrace, subconsciously his Quintessence (which was unstable on the best of days) allowed Dew to see exactly how he felt. He could see every glare, every snide comment, every purposeful nudge on stage from Aeon’s point of view. Along with the heavy sense of guilt he carried that followed each and every interaction they had.

Had he really been that hard on the little guy?

“Well, I hope this means much more friendly interactions in the future, yes?” Copia smiled as Dew shoved him off, struggling to hide the small smile that forced its way through.

“You’re lucky he’s cute.” Dew mumbled, giving Copia the dirtiest look before ruffling the quint's hair as a sign of approval. In all honesty, he knew Phantom was coming long before Copia did. He had spoken to Aether about it weeks before. His only instruction he had was to look after him no matter what.

‘He’s young, he’s going to be lost and confused. Look after him for me.’

Dew would never admit it, but after talking with Aether, it was hard not to imagine Aeon like the son they never got to have.

[dragonologist-writings]

Title: Between Light and Shadow Fandom: Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous Rating: T Status: Complete (7/7) Main Characters: Knight-Commander Maebrys Tallflower, Greybor Ships: Maebrys/Greybor Additional Notes: Friends with Benefits, Opposites Attract, Aromantic Character Word Count: 8.4k Summary: She has her light, and he has his shadows, and rarely do their two perspectives align. But there’s safety to be found in the space between.

read first chapter below or here on ao3

It’s in spite of herself that Maebrys actually kind of likes Greybor.

‘Cause she’s got plenty reason not to. The man’s an assassin, for starters. No loyalty or faith in the Crusades to be found with that one, just contracts and coin. If the demons paid more, he’d just as likely be on their side right now. She can’t deny that fact sticks in her head like a burr she can’t pick out.

But- he’s not on the demon’s side. Fate has placed him on hers. And Maebrys has seen him throw himself at a monstrous creature with nothing but a dagger and a misplaced trust in the type of person who’d hire an assassin in the first place. She can’t help but admire the guts it takes to pull off something like that.

There’s also something about the way he accepts- expects, even!- that she’s got guts, too. When Maebrys first got to the city, half her time around “real” Crusaders was spent convincing them that a backwater halfling could stick her sword in a demon just as well as any knight-trained tall folk. It feels downright odd now, having those same Crusaders under her command, and sometimes she can’t help but wonder what they think of Iomedae’s decision to bless her with these powers.

But Greybor? Greybor doesn’t even blink before inviting her to ambush a whole dang dragon. And maybe that shouldn’t exhilarate her as much as it does, but there’s a thrill when they bring the beast down- and another when she shoots Greybor a smile and he responds with his own grin of satisfaction.

‘Cause he’s handsome, too, in a gruff, weathered sort of way. That also doesn’t hurt.

All together, Maebrys figures it’s no surprise when she asks him to stick around. She makes it official and everything: the contract, the bonus, the whole deal. His eyebrows raise at the payment Maebrys proposes, and he takes a moment to study her, as if expecting some trick.

“You don’t waste time haggling,” he finally says after a long puff off his pipe. “I appreciate that. It’s rare these days to find a client who knows high quality work when they see it. I’d be glad to take you on.”

“Not much point in haggling when the price is worth it,” Maebrys says, and ignores Woljif’s skeptical scoff from behind. “I’m looking forward to seeing what you can do.”

And maybe it’s impulsive of her, but what’s done is done, and Greybor comes back to Drezen with the rest of the party. Seelah doesn’t like it, but she doesn’t argue much- just gives Maebrys a warning look whenever she catches the halfling watching Greybor for a little too long.

Maebrys appreciates the concern- well, kind of- but Seelah has nothing to worry about. Greybor’s a professional, if nothing else, and Maebrys is his client. What’s more, Maebrys is the newly illustrious Knight-Commander, and Greybor is the practitioner of a rather dark trade.

So it doesn’t really matter that they have a pretty decent time whenever she joins him in the tavern for an the evening of drinking and swapping stories of past battles. It doesn’t matter that she likes the sound of his low voice and the way he looks in the tavern’s flickering firelight. It certainly doesn’t matter that more than once, she catches him looking back.

Maebrys knows a bad idea when she sees one, and she’s too responsible to chase it down.

…But that doesn’t mean she can’t enjoy view.

[hell-drabbles]

Mammon and Bimet 1

Summary: You were wondering why Mammon kept Bimet around as his right hand man when he seems to fundamentally not understand how Mammon functions as a king. You figured it out when you decided to misplace a single coin from his little pile he collected from the street.

(The dynamic of Mammon and Bimet is entertaining to me.)

You don’t really talk to Bimet and it absolutely has everything to do with how he treats those that have no money to their name. And also because of the way he treated you upon first introductions but his treatment of those that are poor are a bigger red flag than anything.

So his absolute one-eighty turn once Mammon claimed himself to be yours annoyed you more than anything. You never met a bigger whore for money than this man.

That being said, in a weird, logical sense, you understand why Mammon keeps Bimet so close. If you were to look at Mammon as a being that is inseparable from wealth, as Mammon being wealth itself, than there would be no better worshiper than Bimet. However, this logic doesn’t really carry over in the way Bimet probably wants it to be carried.

Because the rule that Mammon works under is that "everything belongs to him." From the walls, to the gold lining the streets to even the coins lost down the sewer drain. Anything and everything belongs to Mammon, and therefore nothing belongs to you when you are under his rule. Bimet craves to have wealth under his possession, but how can he have anything if the king he serves never views it as his in the first place?

That being said…

“He’s infuriating…” you grumbled under your breath as you poked at your leftovers. Bimet was sitting across from you, as though he belonged in the same space you were in when he was so scornful of it before. Currently, on a fancy little handkerchief you’re pretty sure he never had before, was a small pile of golden coins that have been shined to near mirror perfection.

Right after eating his food, he began cleaning them, as though any speck of dirt was a sin to be erased.

“Is he now?” Mammon whispered right back to you, a smile wide on his face as though laughing at some inner joke, “if you want him gone, just say the word. You have that power over all my belongings. Though,” Mammon leaned against his chair, crossing his arms, “Well, I’m sure his reaction will be entertaining all the same.”

“I could, I could,” you mused. The thought is tempting, to watch him drag his feet out of the restaurant in that sullen manner. Then, you noticed Bimet’s attention was away from his coins, “Give me a moment.”

You leaned over and quickly grabbed a single coin from the top and slid it under a thick wrinkle in the handkerchief.

Mammon raised an eyebrow but kept his lips shut. You’re glad to see he’s not judging you for playing dangerous games. Well, it would be dangerous if your safety wasn’t guaranteed by the king by your side.

“Now be quiet!” Bimet shouted, “If I miscount again I will–” Then he finally noticed the coin missing from his pile. That certainly didn’t take long. “What?”

You sipped on your drink, long and slow as Bimet began to sweat, rage and distress overflowing from him in equal measures and he flipped his gaze from you to Mammon.

Mammon simply leaned his head on your shoulder, closing his eyes as though about to nap while you raised an eyebrow in question, as though you didn’t know a thing.

And, because he obviously can’t just accuse you or Mammon in a place as public as this, Bimet instead turned his angry rich self towards the rest of the public. “Who stole my money?!”

And so his penny-pinching rage began. The notes in his hair shook and shriveled as his robes flared around him. The devils just peacefully eating their meals froze up while others continued eating as though this was another Tuesday.

And, while he was turned around, you slipped the coin right back to the top of the pile.

Bimet took in a deep breath, not containing his rage so much as he was collecting it so he can release it on the culprit later. When his focus was back on his collection of coins, the choking duck noise he made almost made you burst out laughing.

Instead you snorted and hide it in Mammon’s hair. Easily can be confused for a gentle goodnight kiss. You can feel his body shivering with contained laughter.

Bimet quickly shoved the coins into the folds of his clothing. He bowed to you both, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be putting these in a better, more safe place.”

You waved him away, not really caring if he decided to go down the nearest cliff or go to the park. It’s all the same to you: he going away.

“So,” you tapped at Mammon’s forehead, his eyes opening, “you keep him as not just a right-hand man, but a royal entertainer as well?”

Mammon chuckled and gave you a grin, “Is it that obvious? Well, as your belonging, I won’t hide anything from you.”