#bet-barter

[pantoranqira]

"Anakin/Obi Wan/Yoda/Padmé/Shmi is the most tragic character in Star Wars" you are WRONG actually. L3-37 HOWEVER.....

[theauthorlives]

@charofthestars - Continued from here

-

One thing Yancy missed about prison was the access to food. The trunk in his cell that held all his possessions and items bought through the prison commissary was stuffed with food, snacks, and drinks. If he ever missed a meal, he could whip up something on his own. But in space, he wasn’t allowed that little luxury. The food reserves were only accessible to certain crew to ensure they would last the entire trip. It made sense, but it didn’t make moments like this any easier.

The immediate refusal of a trade made Yancy pause. Meeting people that weren’t instantly grabbing at whatever you offered was still a culture shock for him. People were... Genuinely nice without any sort of ‘group loyalty’? Or was the crew as a whole one large ‘gang’? He was still trying to figure that out.

“Oh. Uh. Cool. Youse only need -” The kitchen staff correctly predicted what Yancy was going to say, prompting the former convict to snap his mouth shut in a comical manner. Rubbing the back of his neck, Yancy glanced aside, keenly aware of how awkward this must be. “Look, ah... Youse gotta understand that I came from a place where you didn’t get nothing fancy. Like... Chili? I know it ain’t, but all I think of is one of them little pepper things.”

[cookie-dough-writes]

i cant believe ill never get to be a my little pony

[dantakeyoman]

omg.. i need a pt 2 to the seeing you for the first time :") it was so well written!! maybe something where he keeps staring at her and not doing well to adapt until his parents scold him?? if ur too busy then no need obv, but yeah i like ut writing alot !! 🫶🫶

Neteyam Is Struggling In Learning The Metkayina Ways, So You Give Him Some Encouragement (SFW)

Part 2 of "Head Over Heels"

CW: simp Neteyam, touchy reader, Lo'ak and Kiri duo, annoyed Ao’nung, reader is lowkey kinda crazy lol ( but in a good way i swear ), i headcannon that the Sully kids use beads as a barter system of some sort, and the person with the most beads has the most bragging rights, which is why Lo’ak and Neteyam have so many in their hair ( they bet a lot), Kiri has a few, and Tuk has next to none ( she doesn’t really understand it, but still attempts to )

“Neteyam, how many times have I told you? You must breathe from here, not here,” you playfully scolded, placing your hand on his chest and stomach to show how he was doing it wrong.

Neteyam’s breath hitched, already feeling his heart rate pick up.

Shit.

You moved you hand from on top of his lungs, to on top of his heart, and sighed.

It was practically going a mile a minute, like every other time you had checked these past two weeks.

“And your heartbeat. You must calm down, Neteyam. Allow your mind to go blank, and your heart rate to slow.”

It had been the same shtick since the boy got here.

All of the other Sullys had taken to their lessons swimmingly, now able to keep up with Ao’nung and Tsireya.

But Neteyam was the only one that couldn’t quite get the breathing right.

When Ao’nung taught him how to ride an ilu, he got it almost immediately. It only took him two tries.

When Rotxo taught him some basic sign language, he got each gesture the moment it was shown to him.

So why was he having so much trouble when you showed him some simple breathing techniques?

Little did you know, the boy could to do the breathing perfectly fine.

Practicing in his free time, he had managed to get it on his own.

But in order to graduate from his lessons, he had to keep up the technique for 5 minutes, with you checking to make sure he maintained the proper form.

And that was the root of the problem.

In order to check, you had to touch him, feel up on his chest.

And that always sent his heart into a frenzy, making all memory of the technique go out the window.

You were just so...you.

Every time you got anywhere near him, everything about you would flood his senses.

Your smell, your voice, hell, just your aura in general. 

It would all cloud his mind, and leave him unable to think about anything else.

It was overwhelming, and made it so he couldn’t be anywhere near you unless he wanted to become a stuttering idiot.

Which was, obviously, impossible to avoid during your lessons.

How does Dad do this everyday?

Who knew having an angel could be so frustrating.

“Here,” you started, snapping him out of his thoughts. “I think I have one more way to help you get it.”

He watched you, intently, as you tied a large rock to a really long stalk of kelp, then tied it to your ankle.

Once it was secure, you gave him a warm smile, which practically turned him to putty.

Fuck.

“See you later,” you winked, pushing the rock in the water and jumping in after it.

Neteyam stared, confused, as he watched you sink.

What is she doing?

2 minutes go by.

Is this normal?

4 minutes go by.

Okay, something’s up.

5 minutes go by.

That’s it.

Neteyam quickly dove into the water, frantically looking around to find any sign of you.

When he couldn’t see anything, he swam deeper, turning at a large coral reef.

There was no way you could’ve disappeared. So why couldn’t he find you?

It was scaring him.

What if you drowned? What if you were attacked by a predator? What if you had been swept away by the current?

These thoughts only fueled him more. And when he made it past this giant school of fish, he saw you.

The fish had been obstructing his vision at first, but he could now see that you were floating in the water, limply, as the rock from before kept you tethered to the ground.

Without hesitation, he swam towards you, whipping out his knife and cutting off the kelp stalk, before taking you in his arms, dragging you up.

He could feel himself slowly running out of air, but he had to stay strong. He couldn’t let you drown, not like this.

Not when he could’ve saved you sooner.

“Sure, men can have angels. But only real men can protect them,” his father’s words repeated in his head, keeping him going.

He was a real man.

And he was going to be his angel’s protector.

When the two of you broke the surface, he let out a loud gasp, flopping the both of you back onto the rock, panting.

When he turned to you, you were unconscious, laying still on the stone.

“(y/n)! (y/n), are you alright?!” Neteyam frantically asked, trying to shake you awake, pressing on your chest a few times.

That seemed to do the trick because you gasped, coughing up a little bit of water as your eyes snapped open.

“For Eywa’s sake! You surely took your time,” you breathlessly laughed, looking up at the boy with a smile.

“I-...wait....YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE?!” he exclaimed, shocked.

He was absolutely befuddled. You scared him half to death, and you did it on purpose?

“I’m sorry I tricked you. But that was the only way I could see the breathing get through your thick skull,” you apologized, giving him a little flick in his temple, making his nose twitch.

It made your smile grow.

He looked cute when he was shocked.

Without warning, he pulled you into a bone crushing hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Please don’t scare me like that ever again,” he asked, his voice quiet and slightly broken.

It made you blush, and your heart wrench, at the same time.

You hadn’t thought he cared for you that much. Not to the point where he sounded like he was on the verge of tears at your death.

It made you guilty for pulling such a cruel stunt.

But it also made you feel loved, loved in a way you had never felt love before.

“I am really sorry, Neteyam,” you apologized once more, your joking tone gone.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he backed out the hug, keeping him close.

He expression turned confused, and you gave him a chaste kiss as an answer, making his eyes blow wide.

This was really happening. You were really holding him. You were really kissing him.

Eywa, please don’t let this be a dream.

You kept it short and sweet, long enough to let him feel your emotion, but short enough to make him want more.

When you pulled away, his lips chased you a little bit, mindlessly, and you giggled.

“Let’s take it slow, forest boy,” you smiled, placing a hand on his lips.

He nodded frantically, like a child being promised candy, and it made you burst into full laughter.

This boy made you feel happier than you had in a long time.

“C’mon, let’s go for a swim,” you suggested, moving your hand from his mouth and nodding towards the water.

“I’m in,” he smiled, staring at you with an enamored glint in his eye.

That’s when you remembered.

“Hey, if it makes you feel any better,” you started with a smirk, turning to him and resting your hands on his chest.

His breath hitched, and his heart picked up speed yet again.

You leaned into his ear, dropping your voice to a whisper.

“You passed.”

The way you said the words made a shiver go down his spine, and a warmth spread through his body, it’s origins being your hands.

You pulled back, flashing him an innocent smile as if what you did was the most natural thing in the world.

But he knew better.

You knew exactly what you were doing to him, hiding it behind that beautiful smile and those gorgeous eyes.

Little did you know that that was making you all the more enticing.

Who knew his angel could be such a little troublemaker?

bonus !!

Lo’ak, Kiri, Tuk, and Ao’nung watched you kiss Neteyam in the distance, their ilu lessons being put on hold for the spectacle.

“Look at my bro. It’s only two weeks and he’s getting some tail in,” Lo’ak smirked, setting a reminder in his head to congratulate his brother the next time he saw him. 

“You better tell him to keep his hands to himself,” Ao’nung grumbled, turning to Kiri.

He did not find the situation as amusing as Lo’ak.

“Tell her that,” Kiri playfully scoffed, watching you move your hands down to his chest.

“Are Neteyam and (y/n) mates now?” Tuk asked, tugging on Lo’ak’s arm.

“No. But it’s only a matter of time,” he shrugged, ruffling her hair.

“Hey!” Ao’nung exclaimed, shooting the boy a sharp glare.

“I’m betting a week,” Kiri smirked, crossing her arms as she turned to her brother, holding up a satchel of beads.

“I’ll take action,” he smirked back, holding up his own.

“I hate you all,” Ao’nung groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

But in all honesty, knowing his sister, he gave it a few days.

[liyawritesss]

ʟᴏᴠɪɴɢ ʜᴏʙɪᴇ ʙʀᴏᴡɴ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇ...

Characters: Hobart “Hobie” Brown [Spider-Punk] x black!earthy!GN!reader

Type: headcanons

Synopsis: What’s it like to be favored by everyone’s favorite punk-alt spider, in either a platonic or romantic setting?

Warnings: cursing, very very horrible british accent & slang I apologize in advance/please teach me better

A/N: I specifically had an earthy!reader in mind but I think that it can somewhat be applied to most other aesthetics as well. It was just a reason for me to write a farmers market date type thing because it's so cute to me. Hobie is around 18-19 in this!!

Tags: @6-noir @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @jacuzziwaters @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @verachii @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @niyahwrites @pantherheart @marsfunzon22 @movie-enthusiast22 @famedrs-blog @briology @honeybleed @pnkweb

Sign Up For My Taglist Here!

You meet Hobie at a community farmers market, one that you frequented often because of the closeness to your home and the bartering style of trade that was used in place of currency. You had a service of your own that you provided to the community, and exchanged the things you made, grew, or produced, or the knowledge you had in exchange for the things that you needed such as food, clothes, utensils, etc.

Hobie’s crew was a new sight to see in the last couple of trips you’d taken to the market, their presence striking yet welcomed by the community there. Thick black boots and spikes adorned their bodies, slightly rattled clothes giving them an edge, but none of them were hostile, and in fact, many of his crew - including Hobie himself - engaged in the bartering and trade system themselves

The two of you seemed to be from completely different worlds, but with the same mindset, beliefs, and values in defying the construct, it wasn’t long before eventually the two of you engaged with each other as well.

On his electric guitar you noticed a couple of missing strings, and the remaining ones seemed to be on their last legs anyway. You had a friend who specialized in string instruments, and offered to get him a new set of strings if he taught you how to play. Contrary to what you initially thought, he accepted

So a week later, you both met at the market again, you with the promised strings and a basket of baked goods and other produce you were bartering away, and so began your friendship with the punk-alt man.

Hobie and his crew called you their ‘wildflower’ because of the earth tones you dressed in and how you were so fascinated with flowers that sometimes you’d pin them to your clothes or your hair. It was cute to them, him specifically, and it was an interesting sight to see a spot of green and brown amidst the sea of black and red.

You’d go to his shows sometimes, teasing him about putting the strings you got him to good use, and he definitely shows up and shows out because of it.

If its a late night, and you took a raincheck on one of his underground shows, he’ll find himself at your place and crash, leaving little to no room for argument. Hobie spends the night so often he has clothes tucked in his own little chest in your room. 

You don’t live in town, however, opting to live in the countryside in a tiny cottage left to you by your family, so you always wondered if he actually made the trek to your place or did he find someone to drop him off. He doesn’t tell you about his other identity just yet, though, so you’re stuck trying to figure out his riddles on the subject.

After a while of knowing each other he’ll give in to your constant begging of performing a wick maintenance on him. He never saw a point in ‘maintenance’ on his head, he liked it the way it was, but you were obviously fed up with how careless he was with his hair and figured it couldn’t hurt to indulge you. Though he cant deny that he knocks right out after the first wash, the way your fingers were massaging his scalp had him a bit too relaxed.

Neither of you are sure when the line between friendship and relationship began to blur. You just know that at some point he began to have physical contact with you more, growing more protective of you. You’d sleep in the same bed, finding comfort on top of his lanky yet warm body as Hobie’s arm drapes around your waist in his sleep. You start cooking for him, taking extra care in the presentation of it, even though all he’ll do is wolf it down the second he smells it.

Hobie never says anything, and with his constant reminders of hating labels and hating consistency as they were all forms of oppression by the establishment, neither did you. Yet you could never deny the tug on your heart that pulled you towards him whenever he was around, nor could you ignore the shift in his eyes whenever they landed on you.

It takes time for Hobie to come around to the idea of having these strong affections for someone. He never used the term ‘love’ as it pertains to relationships with people due to his past, and the knowledge that anyone you ‘love’ could leave you at any given notice. He was much better at showing rather than telling, but even that was hard for him for a while. So when he found his heart swelling and his chest growing tight and it becoming harder to breathe around you when he was harboring his feelings in secret, it scared him a little bit. Cuz how was someone like you even attracted to someone like him?

It is ultimately up to you to have a sit down with Hobie and address the air that surrounds the both of you - that whatever yall started off as has changed, and that you want it to be a good change, but Hobie has to acknowledge it to, and acknowledge you and how you feel. And as said before, it’s scary for Hobie, because he’s never had a need to label what he felt for anyone, but when it came to you, what he felt was so strong and intense that he felt like he had to.

So he tells you, he tells you everything that night - about his feelings, about his fears, even about him being Spider-Punk. And he’s expecting you to be apprehensive and change your mind about being with him, and what that truly means for people like the both of you. But you dont push him away, you don’t tell him to fuck off, and Hobie isn’t sure if he should be relieved or even more scared about that

All he knows is that he wakes up the next day to you cooking breakfast, like you normally did when he slept over, but this time, it feels different; solid, secure, warm. It feels like home, and that's something Hobie hasn’t had in a long time.

He moves with more purpose now, a lot of his intentions directed to you and the betterment of his bond with you. With his crew and out in public, he won’t hesitate to call you his person - he won’t use the term boyfriend or girlfriend, but partner or person is more reflective of the bond he wishes to enhance with you. 

Overall, loving Hobie Brown is an immense task. He’s loud and wild and everywhere sometimes; he’s also thoughtful, considerate, and gentle other times. You gotta teach him how to love in some areas, teach him what it means to be loved, and overall: patience and understanding is key with a man like Hobie - he’s got a lot going on, but if you’re willing to be down with someone like him, he won’t hesitate to make it worth your while.

[moonficrecs]

Favourite Series Part 2

🌙 - all time favourite

✔️ - completed series

👩🏻‍💻 - ongoing series

1. Tongue tied by @jeonqkooks 🌙👩🏻‍💻

summary: pure domestic bliss between two idiot neighbors.

genre: neighbors to lovers, fluff, angst, smut

2. Cat-astrophe by @astralmono 👩🏻‍💻

summary: Hello! I love your work, could I ask you a request about Jungkook strong/intimidating aura but soft towards the reader who is shy, inexperienced and shy?🥺it turns him on but at the same time he feel protective towards her innocence. I would love to read a smut interactions between this two 🥺✨

genre: slice of life, established relationship

3. Ruin you by @taegularities ✔️

summary: It started with a gentle spark and harmless gazes; but by now, you’re caught in a wildfire that will expand until you’re burned inside and out.

genre: established relationship, fwb; fluff, angst, smut

4. Colour me in by @taegularities 🌙👩🏻‍💻

summary: Jungkook's door only opens for you when there's a barter: a trade of lust and haze. But today you knock for something more, as intriguing as it is frightening – and you hope it doesn't close his door forever.

genre: fwb, fake dating, college!au; fluff, angst, smut

5. Summer bummer by @kooktrash 👩🏻‍💻

summary: Summertime is supposed to be a time of easy living and that’s what you were hoping for when you signed up for an extra credit program cleaning up the shores of Busan and staying in a luxurious beach house. what you didn’t sign up for was to live with Jungkook, a failed talking stage who you’ve avoided for the past few months. despite having a slight disliking toward each other you find yourselves be by pulled back into each other throughout your stay. the only question that remains is if this is just going to be a summer thing or something more.

genre: enemies to lovers/beach read. jungkook x y/n [afab she/her]

6. I know the end by @onlyswan 🌙✔️

summary: But you had to go, i know, i know, i know.

genre: angst, a dash of fluff

7. Gold rush by @onlyswan ✔️

summary: What must it be like to grow up that beautiful? with your falling into place like dominos.

genre: fluff, smut

8. Evolution of lover’s heart by @jeonstudios ✔️

summary: The rules are simple: first one to take the virginity wins.

genre: fluff, angst, college au, fuckboy au, bet au

9. Bad influence by @noteguk 👩🏻‍💻

summary: In which you know Jungkook is a bad influence on you, but you can’t avoid falling for him every time.

genre: badboy!jk x goodgirl!, smut

10. Dilf JK by @venusiangguk 👩🏻‍💻

summary: You find a baby in your store and in turn, a dilf finds you.

genre: strangers to lovers, friends with benefits, smut, fluff

11. Gold rush by @venusiangguk 🌙✔️

summary: Jk comes back from a weekend away and he wants to show you just how much he missed you. 

genre: pwp, smut, college au (kinda), established relationship

12. And they were roommates by @hoseok666 🌙👩🏻‍💻

summary: It all started with a rejection from your longtime crush, jeon jungkook. you decided to confess to him on your last day of high school. after a harsh rejection and a rough summer dealing with the heartbreak, you were starting anew once your freshman year of college came. you were going to be sharing an apartment with two other roommates that you don’t even know. what a surprise you’re going to be in for once you find out it’s the one and only: jeon jungkook and kim taehyung. 

genre: fluff, angst, eventual smut, pretty much everything . college!jungkook AU, college!taehyung AU, cold personality jungkook, warm personality taehyung, slowburn

13. The lucky one by @babystrcandy 🌙👩🏻‍💻

summary: Growing up you only had one goal: beat Jeon Jungkook. Sometimes you'd win, other times you'd lose. Sometimes he'd lose, other times he'd win. But you'd both walk away from the match thinking the other was the lucky one.

genre: 18+ Minors DNI | sports au, e2l/r2l, angst, fluff, smut

14. Fool for you by @btsgotjams27 ✔️

summary: When Jungkook is finally single, you shoot your shot.

genre: fluff, angst, romance | college, fake dating, strangers to friends to lovers

15. My pretty boys by @btsgotjams27 🌙👩🏻‍💻

summary: They say if you want to learn what someone fears losing, watch what they photograph, you just didn't think your best friend would be one of them.

genre: romance, angst, drama, eventual smut | non-idol!au, camp!au, college!au, best friends-to-lovers, strangers-to-lovers

[yourdoorisunlocked]

Kill Your Darlings - Part Three

𝐀/𝐍: I think I'll start posting the rest of this series on A03, while posting one-shots and requests on Tumblr. It's been cool posting my series here, but I prefer posting to A03 when it comes to longer fics.

Nonetheless, please enjoy!

➺ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 𝟑,𝟑𝟓𝟎

. . .

The incessant clicking of a mousepad and the mad ticking of fingers flying over a keyboard filled the barren kitchen, as he occasional moan of the wind rocking the apartment complex back and forth and the cold, hard blare of the silver screen on your laptop aggravated the pain of your headache.  

The tips of your toes just barely brushed against the frigid kitchen tile as you leaned obsessively over your computer, clicking away on the mousepad like it was your lifeline.  

At that point, it very well could’ve been, since the precious piece of technology held all of your answers, answers that Alastor wouldn’t offer you – not without a price. 

And you had nothing left to barter, since he already owned your soul – a thought that loomed over you when the demon wasn’t around to distract you from that chilling reality. Alastor owned you. He could’ve pushed you around like a dog strapped to a chain, and yet he didn’t. Most likely because he couldn’t truly control you, since you weren’t lost to his wrathful clutches just yet. 

So, using your timed freedom, you did some digging around on the web in a last-ditch attempt to find anything about Alastor himself, and his history. Know thy enemy, as the saying goes. 

But whether he was truly your enemy, would be tested with time. 

And right now, the blasted internet was proving to be a worthy opponent, since you were practically tearing your hair out by the bunches since you barely discovered anything about him. Still, you were determined to decode his mystery. Humans were terrifyingly efficient at finding each other, and dead ones would be no more difficult, even if you found squat about Alastor. 

Mark my words. I’ll find out who you are, Alastor.  

“Where there is a will,” you clicked away from the barren search results, fully prepared to surf around the dark web if you had to, “There is a fucking way.”  

Even though you hadn’t a clue to his origins or background, you were convinced that Alastor had to have been some kind of serial killer while he was alive, and you’d bet your soul on it.  

His personality fit the stereotype – a well-based one, at that – he was haunting your fucking radio – granted, a very swanky radio – and on top of that, Alastor was a literal demon . Maybe. You weren’t all that certain about what exactly he was, but there was too much evidence supporting the theory to consider him being anything but. 

Whatever the case, you were convinced. Alastor was, without a doubt, a bona fide serial murderer . Perhaps that ominous information should’ve put you on edge, but you were twisted too deep in Alastor’s captivating mystery to care. Fascination had overcome your fear of the unknown, and you were ready to dive in, and lose yourself in his mysterious past. 

But that was proving to be damn near impossible, when you could barely find anything about the bastard. He was a footnote in history, at best. No last name, no family members related to him, nothing.  

Still, you were determined. 

Leaning forward, you chewed on your thumb nail whilst scrolling through yet another forum that went into thorough detail about demon encounters and sacrificial rituals. Or, at least, a human’s rendition of them.  

You had sifted through a fair share of information on demons as well but turned up with virtually nothing, save for many helpful bold-lettered warnings that demanded to be heeded: Do not. Fuck. With demons.  

“Gee, thanks,” you muttered to yourself, clicking away from the site before groaning and massaging your aching temples. 

By all standards, it had been an agonizingly unproductive session of information-scouring. However, you had made some headway with a client of yours and finished most of your task list. Everything minor was shoved to the side in desperation of somehow piecing together Alastor’s intentions, stressing over his poorly veiled threats, and trying to figure out just whoever the hell he was in life. 

Just as you were about to yield to the great barriers of the internet, with nothing but an increased hopelessness and frustration at your lack of understanding of your new “Master” – as you were loath to call him – a soft wisp of a shadow flitting about the kitchen caught your attention out of the corner of your eye. 

“Hello, there,” you sighed without looking up at the shadow, already annoyed with its presence as it leaned over the counter with a smug grin.  

One glance at the computer and your hopelessness told it a thousand words regarding your predicament. 

“Yeah, yeah, you can gloat later. I got plenty done, anyhow.” You raised an eyebrow towards it. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about him, would you?” 

The shadow stared down at you, unimpressed as it crossed its arms, crackling curtly in response. Absolutely not.   

“Aw, come on, not even for a snack? I could make you something.” You nodded towards the fridge, grinning when it perked up and followed your glance. “Just throw me a bone here. Give me a hint, anything, and maybe I’ll give you a nice meal. How does that sound? C’mon, I’m sure you’re hungry.” 

Its emerald green sockets glimmered mischievously, and it bristled with a soft purr as it leaned down on the counter, practically drooling at the thought of a meal.  

A low rumble shook the floors with an unmistakable growl of hunger, and it whined softly. 

You pouted sympathetically. Seems like Alastor hasn’t fed it, recently.  

“Oh, poor baby,” it nuzzled into your soothing touch as you scratched behind one ear. “I’m sure he doesn’t feed you as much as he should,” the shadow’s stomach rumbled in response. 

“Resorting to bribery, are we?”  

You rolled your eyes as the radio flickered on, and you raised an eyebrow at it as it sat innocently upon the coffee table. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” You cooed down at the eager shadow as you completely ignored Alastor and his offended scoff.  

“Ignoring someone when they’re talking to you is quite rude, my dear-!”  

“I have some chicken that I can prepare for you. You can choose the spices, the temperature, whatever you want,” you were beaming cheekily when the shadow perked up, one fuzzy ear twitching towards you. 

“Temptress,” Alastor snapped. 

You at least had the decency to feel partly ashamed, though you just grinned triumphantly. You weren’t proud of having to barter for information, but whatever got you the scoop on Alastor was well worth it. 

“That’s right, just imagine those carefully baked, golden-brown edges, and oh, think of the spices!” Alastor rolled his eyes at your dramatic tone, choosing to peek through the shadow’s eyes at you. Pretty little temptress. You’d somehow tamed his shadow, and he was certain it wasn’t just the chicken that it was after.

To Alastor’s chagrin, the devilish phantom had all but leapt over the counter towards you, curling around you with a loud purr as it nuzzled into your neck.  

You chuckled at its antics and pushed yourself up from your seat, stretching your cramped back and legs and wincing from the lightning strikes of pain that shot up your joints from the hours of sitting in a hunched position. 

“Alright, let’s get you some food,” you scratched beneath its chin, and it hummed contentedly in response, its fluffy tail enthusiastically beating the air. 

“Traitor.”  

You cast a triumphant smirk at the slight pout in Alastor’s from the other side of the line. “Oh, I’m just doing some charity work. Clearly, you’ve been starving the poor thing,” you rubbed the shadow’s cheek, grinning smugly as it nuzzled into your neck with a soft coo. 

“Charity work!? You’ve seduced it with your wiles!” Alastor spat indignantly. 

You rolled your eyes while pulling out a few ingredients. “It’s food, Alastor. And you know what they say,” the shadow suddenly tittered and flew away from your side to rummage through the spice cabinet, “The way to a man’s heart, is through his stomach.” 

“It has no heart, and it is no man,” his tone darkened slightly, but you either took no notice or simply didn’t care as you took out the raw chicken from the fridge. 

“But it’s attached to one,” you grinned cheekily as the shadow returned with several spices in its arms while smiling widely with a wagging tail, while Alastor scoffed with a roll of his eyes. 

You clapped your hands. “Alright, let’s get to work.” 

. . .  

Alastor had grown quiet for most of the process, leaving you and the shadow in pure, content silence as you got to work around the kitchen. The shadow was entirely unbothered at his master’s sudden radio silence, instead choosing to make itself comfortable looming around your form while watching you season and prepare its supper. 

As you waited for the chicken to be cooked, you turned to the shadow who had been staring at you with its head resting upon its inky palm while watching you work with salivating, emerald eyes, simmering with the fire of raw gemstones.

“Now, I believe I was promised some information in return?”  

Static buzzed as it put a finger to its chin, humming softly before speeding off into the apartment, and it soon returned with a pen and paper and scribbled madly across the parchment. 

Alastor Hartifelt.  

As soon as the name tumbled from your lips, a loud record-scratching screech sounded from the living room.  

Ӻᵾȼҟ.  

But you didn’t even flinch at the ear-splitting noise as you grinned and nodded in approval, your determination flickering bright yet again. “Finally, we’re getting somewhere.” You barely got a moment to process your excitement at a new lead, a possible doorway to the holy grail of information about the strange, ominous demon haunting your actual radio-!  

Ding!  

The shadow’s ears twitched in the direction of the noise, and it was suddenly nipping at your nipping at your heels and pushing you insistently towards the oven. You were certain that it was drooling all over your floor, but you stifled your jittering excitement anyway. There were promises to be fulfilled, after all.

“Alright, alright!” Batting the phantom away, you grabbed the oven mitts with a sigh. 

“Not so easy now, is it?”  

“Oh, nobody asked you!” 

You soon plated the chicken and served it over to the phantom, who made quick work of the poor bird in mere seconds. At least it was already dead, you shuddered, trying to push the image of being ferociously torn apart by its razor-sharp canines out of your mind. 

It licked its chops with a satisfied rumble once it finished with not a crumb left on the plate you offered, and you were still reeling from the bizarre few minutes you spent watching it enjoy your cooking. 

I wouldn’t be surprised if it licked the plate. Seriously, how long has it been since the poor thing’s eaten?  

The shadow immediately curled around you as you sat down in front of the counter, hissing lowly at the laptop before burying its face in your neck with a soft growl. You didn’t want to be rude and shove it away, and besides, the shadow’s aura was surprisingly warm, which shielded you from the cold, drafty air of the apartment. 

And so, you allowed it to remain cooing and teething around your neck – as on-edge as it made you – while you typed Alastor’s full name into the search bar. 

As soon as you hit enter, the internet decided to be helpful again, and provided you with a golden website, containing any and all answers to your ever gluttonous curiosity for your new demonic companion, and his shadowy servant.

You smirked and ruffled one of the shadow’s ears. “Nice sleuthing, Alastor Jr.” The shadow grinned into your neck and pulled you even closer, while Alastor chuckled softly at the nickname, choosing to survey the laptop through the eyes of his ghostly scout. 

Not the first choice I’d make, since simply going down to the station would’ve sufficed.  Alastor sniffed and rapped his gleaming nails against his desk, eyeing the device with distaste. Then again, it doesn’t seem like those incompetent oafs would want an account of something so gruesome happening just beneath their noses staining their records!  

You relaxed into your seat, mentally preparing for the deep dive into Alastor’s shady past that you were about to take. It seemed that no information was buried enough to be obscured, so long as you were awfully specific with your search.  

But thank the merciful deities above that some history buff – who seemed quite outraged at the lack of discussion and information around their favorite serial killer – had taken it upon themselves to collect and piece together a consistent timeline of events, all centered around one Alastor Hartifelt. 

Got’chya.

You scrolled a little bit through the Godsent gold mine of information, baffled at just how much there was for you to access. Apparently, Alastor Hartifelt had been a charismatic personality on the radio, a beloved host and rising star in New Orleans. Around the time that he’d made his debut as a radio host, however, was when the murderers started. 

The presence of the Bayou Butcher rocked the city harder than any other scandal at the time, and you couldn’t blame the people for being so paranoid, after reading the brief description of his kills, and his M.O. 

You whistled. “Damn. You have quite the track record, Alastor.” 

“I’m well aware, my dear!”  

You raised an eyebrow at the sound of ruffling paper in the background, accompanied by the clicking of frantic typing. But it didn’t sound anything like the short tapping of a keyboard, and the telltale ring heightened your suspicions. He cannot be serious...  

“Alastor, do you have a goddamn typewriter?”  

“It’s essential, darling! Every good radio host needs a captivating script,” you laughed and shook your head. He’s committed to the bit, I’ll give him that. 

As you explored the very depths of the case surrounding the Bayou Butcher, you began to grow quite curious and weary of just how Alastor disposed of his victims. Unfortunately, there was a certain tab that fed into that very curiosity. At least they provided a warning, before you could view what came next. This one was on yourself. 

“Fucking Christ!” You nearly jumped out of your seat as you clasped your mouth in horror, eyes widened with terror at the gory, uncensored photograph of one of Alastor’s maimed victims.  

The poor soul’s belly had been slit open with a still-inserted butcher knife, with his rotting insides displayed for all to see and staining the floor with bile and undigested food. Squirming maggots and fat cockroaches feasted upon the corpse, which had been festering with mold and disease in Alastor’s basement for quite some time before the authorities found it. 

“Language, my dear~,” said demonic psychopath sang from the radio, and you were just about ready to chuck that thing out of your window as your eye twitched. 

“Prick...” you muttered, quickly scrolling away from the photograph. 

“I heard that.”  

“Greatest apologies, my liege,” you rolled your eyes haughtily. 

Alastor let out an amused huff but said nothing as he went right back to typing out his script. 

Bold headlines like ‘The Bayou Butcher Strikes Again!’ or ‘Victims Brutalized and Missing, Families Torn Apart’ were thrown around wherever you scrolled, and a mere glance at the cohesive timeline provided in one of the documents gave you a good window for how long Alastor had been active. 

“Huh. Seven years...” Alastor perked up at the sudden weariness lacing your meek voice. He had been tuning out for most of your little binging spree, instead electing to tuck into a book in the later evening, since sleep was seldom required for him. Nonetheless, he reluctantly took a peek through his shadow’s eyes to see what you were looking at on that blasted lap-top doohickey of yours, and dread filled his heart. 

Seems that some folks were quite fixated upon my choice of diet...  

Alastor bristled at the other end of the line, practically scenting the small flicker of terror. Your rising fear of him was building up again, and that just wouldn’t do.

Sure, Alastor was cruel, a monster, even, and he knew it. His deeds would instill fear in the hearts of even the most hardened soldiers, and his gluttony, his bloodlust knew no bounds. But not to you, not to the poor, lost little lamb that he’d so graciously taken into his care, that practically domesticated his shadow, who bantered with him. And just when he’d finally broken down a small part of your walls- 

“...So, is it true?” 

Alastor raised an eyebrow, halting from his tireless typing for a moment. “Is what true, my dear?”  

“That you...” you held back from gagging, and a slick smile crept onto his gray lips, “That you ate some of your victims?” 

Sighing, he leaned back in his cushioned chair and gripped the small microphone that he used for broadcasting. The idea of lying to you, treating you like everyone else prickled at his heart with resentment. There was no need to push you away. You were different. It would be different, this time. 

It had to be.

With a defeated sigh, Alastor nodded, though you couldn't see him. At least you’d know, now. At least there wouldn’t be any secrets between you two. 

“Yes,” was the demon, the cannibal’s resounding answer, and the room grew a few degrees colder with tension.  

You’d known that Alastor was... shady, at best. But now, it was out. It was certain. Alastor was a dangerous man, during life and death, but you knew that from the jump.

But at least he told you the truth, and maybe you could count on that, which was a strangely comforting thought. 

You sighed with relief. “As long as you don’t force me to try it.” Alastor chuckled along with you, grinning wider when you clicked away from the computer and sat back with a tired sigh.

“I think that’s enough snooping for tonight. ‘Night, Al’,” you yawned and softly rolled the shoulder that the phantom had been leaning on, and it retracted reluctantly with a soft whine. 

“Wait-!”  

You paused. Turning to the radio, you cocked an eyebrow at the desperation in Alastor’s voice, and he seemed to notice it too, since an awkward silence followed. Heat crept up the radio host’s neck, prompting him to itch and pull at his collar with a low snarl. 

Alastor fucking loathed this feeling. 

“Did you... Did you see anything else? Anything that caught your eye, perhaps?”  

It was the first time that Alastor had spoken to you with anything but suave confidence. “No, why? Is there something even worse than cannibalism, that I should know about?” Crossing your arms, you leaned against the threshold of the living room. 

Alastor softly cleared his throat. “No, nothing like that, my dear. I was simply curious as to how much information was disclosed...” he straightened in his seat, refusing to recognize his anxiousness. “Any mentions of family, spouses, perhaps...?”  

You shook your head with a negatory hum. “Nope, it was all just about you. Why’s that? Did you have a wife? Or a husband?” 

“Just wondering, darling,” he replied hastily, choosing to side-step that question as relief flooded him.

You eyed the radio sympathetically. “Sorry, if that’s... a bit too personal for you. I get it, if you don’t want to talk about it.” Shrugging, you started down the hallway with a wave and a yawn. “Goodnight, Alastor.” 

Alastor watched you, yearning, remorseful eyes tracing the familiar, soft curves of your form as you disappeared down the hallway.

And he answered your final words of the night, a solemn whisper against the cold, bleak air as memories of decades passed invading his memory, threatening overflowing emotions to pool to the surface. 

If you only you could hear the choke in his voice, the restrained tears, the remorse, the regret.  

“Goodnight, my darling.”  

. . .

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: Thank you for reading <3 It'll be a while before I post here again, since I'll be focusing on my series on A03. If you'd like to read the rest of the fic, I'll put my account below for ya'll

𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 - A03

. . .

➺ 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @starsformydarlingmazel, @chitter-chatter, @hazzbindarlingg, @darkangel582, @matrixbearer2024, @prosciuttosblog, @frog-fans-unite, @mysterypotatoink, @burgerflipper72, @chibikochannumberone, @strawberry-gothic, @roboticsuccubus83, @lulurubberduckie, @fangirlanxiety74, @viviannagiorgini, @localmsifan, @justtnat, @karolinda007-blog, @mglawwica, @wonderlandangelsposts, @saitisfied, @repostingmyfavs, @weirdflower2024, @montis-posts, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @theperfectmangovoid

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@maggotzdilemma, @cassidywinters

[jjkeremika]

The Betting Games

description: it started as an innocent game to pass time, to keep you and eren entertained during the tedious cadet lecture days. it ended as an excuse to torment the other, in more ways than one.

eren jaeger x fem!reader

disclaimer/warning(s)?: fem reader; lowercase; profanity; public touching(fem receiving); NSFW

“hey, eren,” you whispered to the taller boy next to you, the boredom from the guest lecture eating you both alive, “i’ll bet you a chore that jean kisses this dude’s ass.”

you saw him bite back a smirk in your peripheral, and you felt oddly proud for breaking his guard.

he shifted more weight onto his left foot, edging closer to you. “i’ll bet you two that armin does it first,” he wagered.

**************

eren was flicking his pencil against the table when he slid a piece of paper to his right, in front of you. you glanced up at the garrison guest lecturer before moving the paper closer, peering at the sentence lightly scratched into the material.

bet you a meal ticket that armin asks five questions

you snickered behind your hand, which caused eren to look away from you and a few surrounding classmates to look at you. you glanced over to armin, who sat at the front of the room, writing note after note after note.

you snatched the pencil from eren’s hand and quickly wrote a response, sliding both across the table back to him. the grin overtook his face, he tapped the pencil eraser against the table, then nodded.

two for ten.

*****************

eren appeared next to you when you were watching mikasa and annie stretch before their set. he mimicked your stance, his legs anchored into the ground and arms crossed.

you didn’t acknowledge him, but you felt his body heat radiate onto your side and you felt a budding smile.

“what are your thoughts?” eren finally asked once mikasa and annie were called to the field, started to position themselves on the painted ground.

you smirked. “definitely annie.” eren hummed, but you could hear the disagreement. “i’d bet ten chores on that.”

“i’ll take you up on that,” he added, nodding slowly and walking away.

************

“hey, y/n,” eren whispered from the seat next to you, hiding his face from the military police lecturer with his hand, “bet you five chores that reiner asks historia out.”

he gestured with a tilt of his head towards the two blond cadets the row over. you watched reiner draw various shapes and faces on historia’s notebook, and you watched historia giggle and draw something back in response.

you snickered once your eyes carried over to ymir, who sat behind the two flirting cadets with daggers for eyes. “double that for ymir beating him up when he does.”

and eren laughed out loud, a short spontaneous guffaw that was cut short by an authoritative command for silence. eren waved his hand and apologized to the lecturer, turned to you after with wide eyes, pink cheeks, and a smile.

“whoops,” he tittered, slumping a little in his seat and covering his mouth with his hand.

************

“hey,” eren greeted, starting to walk in line with you, “i have a proposition for you.”

“right to the point, as always, i see,” you chuckled lightly. you peeked at him from the side. he was wearing the jacket you bought him for his birthday. “what have you got?”

he took a sharp inhale, which caught your attention. “i was thinking we could bet more than just chores and meal tickets,” he said simply, like you would already understand what he was implying.

“uh, and bet what instead?” you scrutinized, squinting curiously. chores and meal tickets were the perfect bartering chips because they were infinitely supplied and easily passed on. why would he even want to change that?

his face was faintly lit with surprise. “well, uh,” he stumbled, feeling remarkably less confident than he was a few minutes prior, “i’m not sure.”

you laughed, which influenced eren to smile. “well, alright then. great chat.”

*********

the next day, before the first lecture started, right after eren waltzed in and sat in the empty chair next to you, he made his proposal: “ill bet you a month’s chores you can’t stay silent all day.”

“for everyone?” you asked, to which he nodded, an arrogant smirk on his lips.

you leaned back in the chair, put your foot against the tabletop. you hated chores—you knew it, eren knew it, everyone knew it—and, as of last night, it was officially your month to clean the stables.

and you hated the stables.

“starting when and until when?” you followed, which caused eren to lean forward onto his elbows, pleased with how deeply you were considering it.

“as soon as you agree, and after last class.” he gestured to the clock on the wall. “can’t speak at all. to anyone.”

you rolled your eyes. “c’mon. easy.”

“so, you’ll do it?” he was visibly excited at the idea, his eyes lighting up with a thoughtful plan.

you shrugged, and held your hand out. “yeah, why not.” he shook your hand and smirked, and your stomach churned like you might’ve made a mistake.

***********

just before the last hour was up, during the day’s final strategies and formations class, when you were starting to fall asleep into the palm of you hand, you felt eren’s knee brush against yours.

the slight touch lifted your stomach slightly, and you were pretty sure you heard his chair scrape a little closer.

you opened your eyes to see the front of the class when eren’s chair was right next to yours, when eren’s thigh was leaning into yours.

the heat spread to your cheeks and chest when you barely tilted your head to see him with a failed bit-back smirk and a mischievous glint in his eyes. he kept his gaze fixed to the lecturer while his hand crept from his thigh to yours.

you squeaked lightly once you felt his fingertips sliding from your knee to your upper thigh, hid your mouth behind your hand and bit the fabric of your sleeve once his hand wrapped around the muscle, firmly held it in his grip.

you glanced at him in your peripheral, but he was already staring at you with a straight, flat face, a stern reminder that you’re supposed to be silent for more reasons than one.

you mouthed a halfhearted threat to him, telling him he’d regret it if he didn’t stop, but the weight dropping in your stomach and fizzling like wildfire meant that you knew you’d regret it if he did.

you watched his attention return to the front of the room as his hand confidently slid to the apex of your thighs, to the dip in your pelvis below your abdomen.

you noticed eren bite his lip at the airy gasp you released in your palm, watched him move his other hand to his own crotch as he tentatively pressed his finger onto yours.

you slumped in your seat, separated your legs to give eren more access, make it easier for him to please you, and you bit back a giggle at the blush glued to his cheeks.

you shivered as his fingers intimately caressed the button on your jeans, breathed a little easier as soon as the button was freed.

his hand easily slipped into the band of your underwear. you blushed furiously from embarrassment, wondered if he’s done this before, wondered if he cared about the hair at all, before he touched his fingertip to your unexpecting bundle of nerves and your entire mind was wiped clean.

your breathy exhale garnered some attention from your peers, but if anything eren secretly thrived off of it, running his finger against your inexperienced, extremely sensitive skin a little faster and alternating the pressure.

thoughts spontaneously entered and exited your head, but all were fleeting. the only one you could focus on was the fixation of his finger of your clit, his being the only finger other than yours to ever be felt, and you can’t even exclaim about it.

your head rolled back and you crossed one leg over the other as eren’s finger sped up, as it rounded out in circles and ovals and who even cares. you fought every instinct to keep your eyes open and mouth closed, directed the growing tension and turmoil towards squeezing your legs together and digging your toes into the soles of your shoes.

he covered his growing smirk with his hand as he felt your thighs tighten, as he kept going. you considered moving the hand that was tightly gripping the chair to the erection he was hiding under the table. you kept your hand on the chair, deciding you’ll win first and repay the bet later. when he’s cleaning the stables.

you bit your bottom lip until you tasted iron on your tongue as the electricity riled inside of you, building into a heated twisted energy held by a capacitor until you heard eren involuntarily groan at how wet you were and you just had to let it all go.

you hid your face in one hand, bit your bottom lip until it bled, tensed every muscle in your body, and dug your toes into your shoes as you felt the spark spread outwards and rush through you. you tightly grabbed his hand, digging your fingernails into his wrist until he stopped, until eren moved his hand from your lap to his.

your chest heaved to catch your breath and you wondered if it was noticeable, and your mind reeled with every thought you’d neglected previously, like whether or not anyone was aware of what was happening or whether or not eren planned it all from the beginning.

five minutes later and the teacher signaled for the class to dismiss, the final lecture done for the day. before eren could stand, you hit him in the shoulder.

“you, fucker,” you sneered, your heart still beating quickly, intending to be quiet but failed miserably, and hit his arm again, your cheeks blushing with another heat when your first thought was to squeeze it, to feel how strong his bicep actually was. “have fun cleaning the stables.”

eren laughed, which took you by surprise and made your stomach flutter, “oh, believe me,” he started and winked, “i will.” you stared flabbergasted at him as he stood up and picked up his backpack, easily slinging it over his shoulder. “bet you four meal tickets you come visit me,” he whispered, winked and smacked your ass, then walked away.

[probablyasocialecologist]

Abstract economic theorizing typically asserts that prices coordinate the best rational resource allocations and that prices reflect the best information available while the market bets of the smartest people with skin in the game ensure efficiency. But Russell exposes this as flawed fig-leaf logic. He quotes one market participant (an insider “traitor”) confessing the “irrationality of commodity prices.” Algorithmic trades are shots fired between swanky skyscrapers as “hedge funds raid each other’s coffers,” collaterally taking calories out of the mouths of poor kids. Besides, only the absurdly blinkered could imagine that global food is used rationally or efficiently—never mind ethically. Grain used for biofuels “eats up enough food to feed 1.9 billion people annually.” Rich-world pets are less food insecure than the 2.4 billion people (1 in 3 humans) classified by the U.N. as lacking “access to adequate food.” Seventy-seven percent of global farming land is used for livestock which mostly the rich consume (or waste). Indeed, 30-40 percent of all food grown is wasted. Market forces aren’t in the business of fixing this sort of massive and malicious malarkey. For instance, analysis of market-oriented African Green Revolution projects, which aimed to “catalyze a farming revolution in Africa” by helping farmers in 13 countries over a period of 15 years switch from traditional subsistence-and-barter methods to raising monocrops for commercial export, concluded that they led to 31 percent higher undernourishment. As Timothy A. Wise reports in Mongabay News, this large-scale effort was led by the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation and the U.S., U.K., and German governments, with the goal of doubling “yields and incomes for 30 million small-scale farming families while halving food insecurity.” As much as $1 billion per year went into the effort. But integration of small farmers into international markets put these small farmers under the same pressures that for-profit farmers face the world over (but without rich-nation safety nets). They’re at the mercy of volatile global pricing but have high fixed costs of inputs like commercial seeds and fertilizers. The net result was that even when yields rose, they often “failed to translate into rising incomes.” Many of these small farmers could now neither barter traditional crops with neighbors, nor did they have sufficient income to buy local food, a punishing recipe for food insecurity (further details are available in Wise’s coverage). The bottom line is that markets only feed you if you can pay (to match the bets of invisible-hearted hedge-funders or manufacturers of rich-world pet food).

[pikapeppa]

Astarion/Tav: Dull

A little early-Act I bonding between Astarion and a bard-rogue Tav. 🥰 1070 words, SFW!

*************

Astarion sighed loudly.

Tav fell back a step and elbowed him. “What’s the matter now, handsome?” 

“You’re dull,” he complained. “That’s what the matter is.”

She barked out a laugh. “Excuse me? What did I ever do to deserve such an insult?”

“It’s what you won't do that’s the problem,” he said. “You keep on purchasing things from traders at fair prices.”

“So?”

“So,” he drawled, “we were all snatched into that ghastly nautiloid ship with nothing but the clothes and weapons on our backs. And yet you keep throwing gold around like it’s going out of style!”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” she said. “I barter, and I do it well.”

“And did your bartering get you this?” He deftly rolled a gold ring across his fingertips and held it up with a flourish. 

She gasped. “Astarion! Where did you get that?”

“It’s called petty theft, darling,” he said, and he pocketed the ring. “You ought to try your hand at it sometime.”

“Should I, now?” She lifted her hand and scratched her temple in an exaggerated way. 

His eyes widened. She was wearing a gold bangle with an oak-leaf design: one that Astarion distinctly remembered having stolen from that healer-druid’s table back at the Sacred Grove.

He slapped a hand over his coin purse. “What the devil—? How did you—?”

She snickered and took the bangle off. “Don’t try selling theft to a thief, my friend. You’re only preaching to the acolytes.” She slipped the bangle into her pocket. 

“Excuse you, but that’s mine,” he exclaimed.

“Nice try,” she said sweetly. “If you can’t hang onto it, it’s not yours anymore.”

He smirked. She’d won this particular battle of wits, he’d give her that. “Well, now I especially don’t understand. If you’re such an apt little thief, why in the hells do you keep wasting our precious coin on trading with people when you could be fleecing them instead?”

“Because I’m a noble thief now. I save my nimble fingers for those who deserve it.”

“Please,” he scoffed. “What makes you think those people don’t deserve it?” He waved dismissively back in the direction of the Grove.

She raised her eyebrows. “You think that Nettie deserved to be stolen from? The same Nettie who gave us advice on how to get these tadpoles out of our heads?”

He widened his eyes sarcastically. “You mean that same Nettie who was ready to poison you if you hadn’t given her the answer she was looking for?” He tsked. “I’d have liked to see her try such a trick on me. I wouldn’t have gone down without a fight, I promise you that.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know, I know. You’re the stabbiest vampire who ever stabbed anyone on the face of Faerûn, I know.”

“And the most beautiful, don’t forget.”

“How could I ever?” she said with a grin. “But my point still stands. I save the thieving for those who deserve it.”

“And my point still stands,” he replied. “You’re very dull, not to mention naïve, if you think there’s anyone out there who hasn’t deserved a good robbing at one point or another.”

She gave him a strange look: a thoughtful look, but one that was rather piercing, too. It gave him an odd squirmy feeling in his belly to have her look at him like this, like a faint and unfamiliar kind of discomfort.

He flicked back a lock of hair. “Stare all you want, darling. Just don’t go wandering into a tree while you do.”

She smiled, then tilted her head shrewdly. “How about this, then, if you think I’m so dull: let’s make a bet.”

“What sort of bet?”

“When we get to the goblin camp, I bet that I can pickpocket more than you can.”

He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “More what? More individual goblins, or more profit?”

“More profit, of course. There’s no way to keep track of how many individuals we each stole from.”

He pressed a hand to his chest. “You mean you don’t trust me to accurately tell you how many of those misbegotten creatures I steal from?”

“Not for a second.”

“Ha!” he exclaimed. “Look at you learning. Good for you.”

She wrinkled her nose at him: a rather charming look on her freckled little nose. “I’m not that naïve, you know.”

“Of course you’re not, my dear.”

She clicked her tongue, then bumped him with her hip. “So? Do we have a bet?”

“That depends,” he said. “What’s the prize for the winner?”

“If I win, then you have to give this bangle back to Nettie and apologize for pilfering it in the first place.”

He groaned. “Ugh, you want me to apologize? You might as well ram a stake through my ribs. It would be less agonizing.”

She grinned. “If you win, on the other hand, I’ll let you bite me every night for a week.”

Now that was interesting — interesting and surprising. He was going to accept the bet regardless since it would make for an amusing diversion, but now with such a sweet prize at the end? And one that Tav was offering so readily, without even a hint of disgust about what he needed? Wanted, he should say, since he didn’t technically need her blood. Though the feeling it gave him to drink from her rather than from some filthy animal was very different and very delectable. 

He shook off the thoughts. Need, want, whatever it was that drove him to imagine the exquisite flutter of Tav’s pulse against his lips: she was offering it without any hesitation, and that alone was… very interesting. And unexpected. And his mouth was already watering for the prize.

“Fine,” he said. “We have a bet. I’ll look forward to having that sweet neck of yours laid bare for me.”

“Will you, now?” she said slyly, and she held out her hand. 

In her palm was a gold ring: the stolen ring Astarion had shown her a mere few minutes ago. 

He gasped. “You wicked thief! Give that back.” He grabbed for it.

She deftly dodged away from him. “Oh, no you don’t. It’s mine now.”

Her face was lit with a gamine grin, and against all odds, he found himself laughing in response. Despite Tav’s faults — her friendliness and her helpfulness and her naïveté, no matter what she claimed — perhaps she wasn’t quite so dull after all. 

[andysorbit]

I know requests are closed but I looooved the Jaehyun as a sugar daddy thing - can you do one for Johnny when requests open again?

Yes requests are closed but... it's Johnny like... come on

Minors DNI

"I bought you that already? I kinda feel like I bought you that." Because he just buys you whatever and isn't necessarily fussy about keeping score.

Spoils you rotten but also has a barter system

"Okay so you said you wanted to learn how to read music. I got you a music teacher. You want those shoes? Prove it.

Invested in an in-home photo studio so he can take nasty ass pictures of you for his personal art collection

Is in love with you and is definitely not bashful about it

"So uh... I'm traditional I guess but if you don't want people calling you my trophy wife when I marry your ass because I'm gonna marry you, you can like... get a job or something? Only if you want to. You know I got you."

Big on cock warming during phone conferences

"I promise they can't see you, babe. The camera isn't on. Come on, sit down like a good girl."

Loves bringing you to charity events and business conventions and fucking you in random places like in the restrooms or in empty conference rooms

Bought you a clone-a-willy as a joke but you still use it when he's away

Likes that you look at him like he's an entire universe

Doesn't like that people put him on a pedestal because he's rich

But he loves that you practically worship the ground he walks on because he knows you mean it

Doesn't make you call him daddy in public

Y'all are equals in public but if you call yourself stepping out of line, when you get home... it's game over

"You say you love me and you value our time together but somehow you counted five orgasms... how is that?"

He has cute nicknames for you that he doesn't say too loudly in public because he hates the idea of people seeing you as anything less than the powerful Queen that you are

He's sure to whisper any degrading or fluffy things to you

"Are you ready go home yet, Button? Daddy's bored."

"Wanna go home so I can tear this dress off of you? It's so expensive but it is just so... flimsy. I bet I could tear it off in one go. Bet on it?"

You both would proceed to bet his money

And he'd tear it off in one go just like he said he would. Like you both knew he could.

He's a classy gym rat

He loves working out in his home fitness room while you watch.

Measures his gym progress on how easily he can toss your ass around

"See how strong daddy's getting, Button? And you're getting flimsier... just like that dress."

Is either the most passionate and tender guy in bed or he's the spawn of satan and laughs when you're crying and fucked out but begging him to keep going

"God... why are you such a slut? Huh? Can you even answer me right now or are you too dumb and fucked out to form a coherent sentence?"

Aftercare king

"Good girl, Button. How are you feeling?"

Did he beat someone's ass for calling you a gold digger? Did he fire people for gossiping about you? Did he pay to have your picture up on a Times Square billboard because he knew you'd see it? Those are all rumors.

You're his person and he's not afraid to say it or beat it into anyone's brain

[the-dark-artifices-trees]

The importance of the number 7 in crescent city

Throughout the entirety of the crescent city series, the number 7 plays a huge role in both a symbolic and a literal way

⚠️ House of Flame and Shadow spoilers ⚠️

7 Asteri on Midgard

Rigelus (title- The Bright Hand)

Eosporos (title- The Morning Star)

Hesperus (title- The Evening Star)

Polaris (title- The North Star)

Octartis (title- The Southern Star)

Austrus (title- unknown)

Sirius (title- The Wolf Star)

7 Princes of Hel/ Circles of Hel

Hunt also mentions that “Type-Seven is only for the princes themselves, and given what this thing can do, I’d bet it’d be deemed a Six” in chapter 29 of HOEAB, when talking about the demons and princes of Hel

7 districts in crescent city/ city heads/ gates

7 “Made” objects *

Mask (made by Cauldron)

Crown (made by Cauldron)

Harp (made by Cauldron)

Horn (made by Cauldron)

Starsword (made by Cauldron)

Truth-Teller (made by Cauldron)

Ataraxia (made by Nesta)

*now while nesta did make another sword and dagger, we don’t know if they possess any magic and they don’t have any names either*

7 members of the Pack of Devils

Danika Fendyr (alpha)

Connor Holstrom (second)

Nathalie (third)

Bronson

Thorne

Zach

Zelda

7 courts in prythian

Night Court

Dawn Court

Day Court

Spring Court

Summer Court

Winter Court

Autumn Court

7 tog books (not including novella)

Throne of Glass

Crown of Midnight

Heir of Fire

Queen of Shadows

Empire of Storms

Tower of Dawn

Kingdom of Ash

Known starborn fae *

Fionn

Theia

Pelias

Helena

Silene

Bryce Quinlan

Ruhn Danaan

*The term Starborn describes the descendants of High King Fionn and High Queen Theia.

1. Also when bryce traded places so Danika would get into the Bone quarter, she said the vow (“I wish to trade my place.”) 7 times:

“She’d tossed a Death Mark into the Istros, payment to the Under-King—a coin of pure iron from an ancient, long-gone kingdom across the sea. Passage for a mortal on a boat.

And then she’d knelt on the crumbling stone steps, the river mere feet behind her, the arches of the bone gates above her, and waited.

The Under-King, veiled in black and silent as death, had appeared moments later.

It has been an age since a mortal dared set foot on my isle.

The voice had been old and young, male and female, kind and full of hatred. She’d never heard anything so hideous—and beckoning.

I wish to trade my place. (1)

I know why you are here, Bryce Quinlan. Whose passage you seek to barter. An amused pause. Do you not wish to one day dwell here among the honored dead? Your balance remains skewed toward acceptance—continue on your path, and you shall be welcomed when your time comes.

I wish to trade my place. For Danika Fendyr. (2)

Do this and know that no other Quiet Realms of Midgard shall be open to you. Not the Bone Quarter, not the Catacombs of the Eternal City, not the Summer Isles of the north. None, Bryce Quinlan. To barter your resting place here is to barter your place everywhere.

I wish to trade my place. (3)

You are young, and you are weighed with grief. Consider that your life may seem long, but it is a mere flutter of eternity.

I wish to trade my place. (4)

Are you so certain Danika Fendyr will be denied welcome? Have you so little faith in her actions and deeds that you must make this bargain?

I wish to trade my place. She’d sobbed the words. (5)

There is no undoing this.

I wish to trade my place. (6)

Then say it, Bryce Quinlan, and let the trade be done. Say it a seventh and final time, and let the gods and the dead and all those between hear your vow. Say it, and it shall be done.

She hadn’t hesitated, knowing this was the ancient rite. She’d looked it up in the gallery archives. Had stolen the Death Mark from there, too. It had been given to Jesiba by the Under-King himself, the sorceress had told her, when she’d sworn fealty to the House of Flame and Shadow.

I wish to trade my place. (7)

And so it had been done.”

- HOEAB, chapter 62

2. Hunt was in the Asteri dungeon’s for 7 years

“How long did they do that to you—after Mount Hermon?”

“Seven years.”

She closed her eyes as the weight of those words rippled through her.

Hunt said, “I lost track of time, too. The Asteri dungeons are so far beneath the earth, so lightless, that days are years and years are days and … When they let me out, I went right to the Archangel Ramuel. My first … handler. He continued the pattern for two years, got bored with it, and realized that I’d be more useful dispatching demons and doing his bidding than rotting away in his torture chambers.”

“Burning Solas, Hunt,” she whispered.” -HOEAB, chapter 35

“We need to get out of here,” Ruhn said, and nothing had ever sounded more stupid. Of course they needed to get out of here. For so many fucking reasons.

But Athalar cracked open an eye. Met his stare. Pain and rage and determination shone there, unbroken despite the halo and slave brand on his wrist. “Then talk to your … person.” Girlfriend, the angel didn’t say.

Ruhn ground his teeth, and his ravaged mouth gave a burst of pain. He’d rather die here than beg the Hind for help. “Another way.”

“I was in these dungeons … for seven years,” Hunt said. “No way out. Especially not with Pollux so invested in ripping us apart.” -HOFAS, Chapter 11

3. Apollion (7th prince of Hel) ate the Sirius (7th Asteri)

“No one would dare say his name, not after the Prince of the Pit became the first and only being to ever kill an Asteri. His butchering of the seventh holy star—Sirius, the Wolf Star—during the First Wars remained a favorite ballad around war-camp fires. And what he’d done to Sirius after slaying her had earned him that awful title: Star-Eater” -HOEAB, chapter 51

4. The slave tattoos has seven stars in it

“For there was also no hiding the second tattoo, stamped on their right wrists: SPQM.

It adorned every flag and letterhead of the Republic—the four letters encircled with seven stars—and adorned the wrist of every being owned by it.” -HOEAB, Chapter 6

“Ruhn spied their own solar system in the center of it all. Seven planets around a massive star. Seven Asteri—technically six now—to rule Midgard. Seven Princes of Hel to challenge them.

Seven Gates in this city through which Hel had tried to invade this spring.

Seven and seven and seven and seven—always that holy number. Always—” -HOSAB, Chapter 25

5. 7 is a holy number

“Seven—the holy number. Or unholy, depending on who was worshipping. Seven Asteri, seven hills in their Eternal City, seven neighborhoods and seven Gates in Crescent City; seven planets, and seven circles in Hel, with seven princes who ruled them, each darker than the last” - HOEAB, Chapter 19

“Micah had left the latter’s body up. Justinian would hang there for seven full days and then be pulled off the crucifix—and dumped into the Istros” -HOEAB, Chapter 69

6. Hypaxia and necromancy

“So this is it?” Ithan asked Hypaxia, gesturing with a hand to the seven candles she’d arranged on the ground. “Light the candles and wait?” -HOSAB, Chapter 61

“It took Hypaxia seven hours, seven minutes, and seven seconds to raise Sigrid.

Ithan barely moved from his stool the entire time Hypaxia stood over the corpse and chanted. Jesiba left, came back with her laptop, and worked for some of the time. She even offered Ithan some food, which he refused.

He had no appetite. If this didn’t work …” -HOFAS, Chapter 48

7. Sailings happen on the 7th day after the death

Don’t come to the Sailing tomorrow. You’re not welcome there.

She’d listened to it over and over, the first words to echo in her silent head.

Her mother hadn’t woken from the bed beside hers when Bryce had exited the hotel room on Fae-soft feet, taking the service elevator and leaving through the unwatched alley door. She hadn’t left that room for six days, just sat staring vacantly at the floral hotel wallpaper. And now, with the seventh dawning … Only for this would she leave. Would she remember how to move her body, how to speak.” -HOEAB, Chapter 7

8. Midgard geography

““Seven—the holy number. Or unholy, depending on who was worshipping. Seven Asteri, seven hills in their Eternal City, seven neighborhoods and seven Gates in Crescent City; seven planets, and seven circles in Hel, with seven princes who ruled them, each darker than the last.” -HOEAB, chapter 18

“Bryce didn’t wait for them before trailing the old male up the walkway as the seven planets aligned themselves perfectly, stars glittering in the far reaches of the room.” -HOSAB, chapter 38

“Bryce halted after a turn in the stairs and assessed the long hallway ahead. When it revealed no guards, she stepped into it.

There were no doors. Only this hall, perhaps seventy feet long and fifteen feet wide. Likely fourteen feet, to be a multiple of seven. The holy number.” -HOSAB, Chapter 71

“She’d studied Fury’s rough map of the palace layout. This area was seven levels below the throne room, where the Asteri sat on crystal thrones” -HOSAB, chapter 71

“They could fly no further. The massive black wall stretched for miles in either direction before curving northward, with wards protecting the airspace above it. Hunt knew from maps that the area the wall encircled was forty-nine miles in diameter—seven times seven, the holiest of numbers—and that at its center, somewhere in the barren, snow-blasted terrain, lay the Northern Rift, shrouded in mist. Barriers upon barriers protected Midgard from the Rift, and Hel beyond it.” -HOFAS, Chapter 70

9. Ithan & the number 7

“Sabine stared down at the seven shards the Fendyr sword had broken into, then lifted her furious gaze to Ithan.

Ithan shifted back into his humanoid body with a near-instant flash. “It’s just a piece of steel,” he said, panting, the metallic tang of the blade lingering in his mouth. “All those years you obsessed over it, resented Danika for having it … It’s just a piece of metal. - HOFAS, Chapter 74

“You have seven minutes” -HOFAS, Chapter 81 (when Ithan was talking to Connor)

[flamie-42]

Chapter 3 of "in every other universe"

Meeting Him

or

Dazai gets even more whipped when he meets Chuuya

Preview:

The Louvre Robbed?  One of the museum's art pieces, Liberty Leading the People, was stolen last night! Police report no leads on the culprit. “And why are you showing me this? I was a jewel thief not an art thief” Dazai looked at her puzzled as to the reasoning of her showing him this.  “Well I was thinking this would satiate you and Ranpo while we are gone from work. First one to find who the one behind the art theft wins!” His sister leans back in her seat as she looks expectantly at the two geniuses. Ranpo moves his Queen to checkmate Poe and looks over at the two, “What do I get if I win?” His eyes were twinkling, he always liked a good mystery. Dazai followed his gaze and looked at Yosano with the same question. She thought for a moment before replying,  “A favor from me and the loser should be sufficient, hm?”  It was a common reward for a bet between the three. Running the most profitable underground organizations in Asia came with a lack of want for anything monetarily so they were left with bartering favors from the others. Dazai and Ranpo exchanged glances before reaching across the aisle to shake on the deal. Yosano nodded at the exchange and pulled her tablet out.

I hope yall enjoy <3

[kittenofdoomage]

Gamblin' Man

Summary: He’s not going to let it drop, not until he gets what he wants.

Prompt: John Winchester, in church, vibrating panties

Pairing: John Winchester x female!reader

Word Count: 3924

Warnings: sexual wagering, smut, sex toys/vibrating panties, inappropriate public behavior (in a church, and other places), teasing, edging, unprotected smut, exceptionally brief anal play, begging, dirty talk/degrading language, fluff (sorta), slight Daddy kink, age gap (reader is around Dean’s age), hunting (canon-level violence and gore).

Dedicated to @impala-dreamer who always encourages dirty John thoughts.

AO3 Link

The wet thud of the werewolf’s head on the ground was more satisfying than it probably should have been, but you and John had been tracking the pack for over a week now, so it was a good feeling to finally put them down. They had left a trail of carnage across the Midwest, leading you on a hell of a chase; you hadn’t even been sure how many of them there were.

A gunshot made you turn just as the last werewolf dropped from the silver bullet, revealing John standing behind him. You grinned, lifting up your machete triumphantly. “And you said I wouldn’t need this.”

He chuckled, walking over to the decapitated monster, putting a single silver round in his chest just to make sure. “You lost,” he pointed out.

The comment made you frown. “Huh?”

“You said it was four at most.”

“Really?” you asked pointedly. “You’re holding me to that.”

“Bet your sweet ass I am,” he smirked. “We shook on it.”

“I thought you were joking.”

“Well I wasn’t.”

With a groan, you turned away, surveying the scene. There had been six werewolves altogether. The other four were inside the house, and you knew there was no leaving until the two on the lawn were inside with them, and the whole building was torched. Luckily, the farmhouse was miles away from town, so the fire wouldn’t be noticed quickly.

John didn’t press the subject of the bet while you covered up the slaughter, and by the time you were in the truck on the way back to the motel, you could barely keep your eyes open. He waited, of course, until you were inside, closing the door and locking it.

“About my winnings,” he started.

You grunted, turning your head to look at him in disbelief. “Seriously. It was a joke, we didn’t even say how much.”

“I’m not after money.”

The way he said it gave you pause, but you were far too tired to continue with any bartering. It was nearing dawn, and you needed a few hours of sleep before getting into conversations about supposed bets. Not that he’d let it go even when you woke up.

“John, I’m exhausted. If I agree you won, can we just go to bed?”

His smirk widened. “Fine. As long as you agree to whatever I want.”

“Whatever,” you yawned, barely managing to get your pants off before you tumbled into the covers, “just lemme sleep.”

It took only a few minutes for you to doze off, just long enough for you to feel the dip of the bed as he climbed in behind you, one strong arm encircling your waist. You smiled and slipped into unconsciousness, forgetting all about the bet.

His warmth was gone the next morning when you woke to the sound of the door closing. You sat up and yawned, smiling sleepily as John as he approached with a drink in one hand and a bag with a cartoon bagel on it in the other. “Breakfast,” he offered, handing it over.

You opened the bag, inhaling the deliciously warm scent from inside. “Mmm, thank you.” Eating in bed only seemed uncomfortable, and you needed to pee anyway, so you got out, dropping your food and drink onto the table before heading for the bathroom. When you came out, John was at the table waiting, sipping his usual black coffee.

“Where are we heading today?” you asked, pulling out your breakfast.

He tapped a folded paper next to his unwrapped sandwich. “Duluth. Got a lead on something. Flimsy but it’s enough.”

Biting into your bagel, you groaned at the taste, chewing slowly to enjoy it. “These are almost as good as the ones in that little deli we found - where was it?”

“Colorado. Brent’s Bagels.”

“Yeah. We haven’t been to Colorado in ages.”

He chuckled, watching you as you ate, a pensive expression on his face like he was waiting to say something. You didn’t pay much attention to it, too hungry to think beyond filling your stomach. Once the last bite was gone, you licked your fingers clean, then looked at him properly, smiling brightly.

“You haven’t forgotten what we talked about last night?” he murmured, leaning back with one hand on the table.

You rolled your eyes, picking up your drink. “No,” you replied.

“Good. Because I decided what I want.”

The way he said it made you guess that whatever he wanted was sexual in nature and you weren’t surprised. Despite his stoic outward attitude, in private John had the capability to be incredibly kinky, and there wasn’t much you’d let him do that you didn’t enjoy. No doubt he’d thought about what he wanted a lot, and you knew when he got up to go for his bag, that he had definitely thought ahead.

He pulled something from the duffel, turning around and returning to drop it on the table. It was a rectangular box with a female model on the front, showcasing the contents - a single pair of black panties. You picked them up, reading the box, realizing quickly that they were vibrating panties.

Looking up at him, your eyebrows lifted. “Really? You want me to wear these?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Right now?”

“Twenty-four hours.”

“John -”

“I can pick something else if you like,” he interrupted, the leer on his face getting a little wider. “And I got plenty of ideas, sweetheart.”

The expression on his handsome features spoke volumes - this was probably the least of the ideas he’d come up with, and John Winchester was not short on imagination where it came to sex. You swallowed, looking at the box again, still thinking of excuses.

“I can’t wear these if we’re on a case,” you stuttered. “What if we get into a fight with something?”

He chuckled, pulling the remote out of his pocket. “It’ll only go off as long as I’m holding the button,” he explained. “You won’t even notice them.” Pulling the panties from the box, you ran your fingers over the soft material. “See,” he prompted, “inconspicuous.”

You sniffed, your hesitation clear. “How loud are they?”

“Baby girl,” he chided. “I’m a little more subtle than that.”

Fixing your gaze on him, you pulled a face, remembering just how subtle he’d been when he’d fucked you in the parking lot of a Denny’s, right over the back of his truck. “Not always.”

“I promise,” he reached out to take your hand, “no one will know except you and me.”

He wasn’t wrong about how discreet the panties were. Before you’d put them on, you’d asked him to turn them on, just to see how loud they were, and you had to admit, for how powerful the vibration was, they were fairly quiet. Once you had them on, you found them to be comfortable and soft, and though you could feel the pad of the vibrating insert pressed up against you, it was no worse than a sanitary towel.

Of course, John had to test them out. The sudden vibration had shocked you, and after only a few seconds, you felt flustered and aroused, and John chuckled as he turned them off and pocketed the remote.

A four-hour drive only provided him with more “testing” time. He’d tried every setting, taking great pleasure in watching you writhe in the passenger seat of his truck, trying to catch you off guard with it. By the time you reached Duluth, your pussy was aching, desperate to be filled by something, anything, so you could cum.

“How are you feeling?” John asked, pulling the truck into the parking lot of the latest motel you’d call home.

“I hate you,” you shivered, still panting from his last round of torture.

He laughed, and you scowled, folding your arms across your chest and ignoring him as he got out of the truck. You waited while he checked in, and when he returned with the key, he was still smirking. “Let’s go,” he ordered, grabbing his bag from the back seat.

“What’s our first stop?” you asked, still slightly bitter as you climbed out of the truck.

“All three victims were members of a local church group. I figure we start there.”

“Great.”

You hated wearing the fed suit, and having vibrating panties on underneath them didn’t make it any better, but John didn’t set them off again. Working a case made distraction easy, and you’d almost forgotten about your kinky underwear when you followed him into the church where a choir was practicing loudly. He took the lead, engaging with a priest by the name of Father Teddy, introducing himself as Agent May and you as Agent Taylor.

“Apologies for the noise,” Father Teddy said, leading you away, but not far enough that you couldn’t hear them. “Unfortunately, the good acoustics in here mean that the sound is inescapable.”

“Ah, it’s not a problem,” John drawled, all charm. His hand snaked into his pocket, and you went still, hoping he wasn’t going to -

The panties buzzed to life. You tried to keep your composure, focusing on the questions that John was asking, but after a few minutes, you were feeling the heat in your face and the wetness the vibration was provoking. There was a pew behind you, and you took a slight step back to grab it, hoping to stave off the quivering in your thighs. John’s eyes slid to you, the curve of his lips turning gleeful as you shuddered from head to toe.

Your action caught Father Teddy’s attention, the absolute last thing you wanted to happen when you could feel the buzzing get stronger, your pussy gushing in response.

“Are you alright, Miss?” the priest asked softly, reaching out one hand to you when you gripped the pew tightly to balance yourself. “You look a little flushed.”

The choir rose to a louder volume on the final chorus and you fixed a shaky grin on the elderly gentleman. “I think I need a little air,” you gasped, turning your attention to John with an urgent look. “Agent May?”

John was barely containing his smirk, and the vibration at your core ceased as he pulled his hand out of his pocket. “Thanks for your help, Father.”

The priest nodded, though he seemed thoroughly concerned with your disheveled state. “Of course, Agent. If there’s anything else I can help with, please let me know.” His head turned to you again. “I hope you feel better soon, Agent Taylor.”

Your smile was tight and you couldn’t get out of there fast enough now your composure was returning. You hurried down the carpeted walkway, bursting out of the huge oak doors with John hot on your tail, his mirth bubbling to the surface once you were outside. Whirling on him, you slapped at his shoulder, scowling when he only laughed harder.

“You’re an ass.”

“What?” he snorted through his laughter. “He didn’t know what was going on!”

“We were in a church,” you seethed, almost hissing at him. “Ugh, you’re such a pig.”

“Didn’t seem like you weren’t enjoying it,” he retorted, voice turning to a low rumble that had exactly the effect on you that he was expecting. With a strained groan, you turned away, striding to the car with the intent of ignoring him, but you’d forgotten one thing.

He still had the remote.

The panties buzzed to life, and the shock of it made you gasp and trip; the truck door broke your fall, palms holding your weight against the sun-warmed window as John turned the vibration up to max. You sucked in oxygen, the arousal you’d felt moments before in the church returning ten-fold.

John approached slowly, and you saw him look around in the glass reflection in front of you before he pressed up against your back, running the hand not on the remote down your side and over your hip. “Tell me how wet you are now, baby girl.”

Your breath fogged against the glass. “J-John -”

“Uh-uh,” he scolded, letting his hand slide around to your front, holding steady right over where the panties were driving you crazy. “You said you’d play the game, princess, and I’m not done yet.”

You moaned, unable to stop your hips rutting back against him. Even though it was broad daylight and outside a church, you would have given anything to have him take you right there. His name left your lips again, needier this time, a higher pitch to reflect the want in your core.

“You still got eighteen hours,” he reminded you, and you exhaled a shaky cry as the vibration stopped, but John didn’t move away. “How about a new deal?”

You didn’t move. “What?”

He chuckled again, grazing his lips over the back of your neck. “I bet you can’t last the whole twenty four hours,” he taunted. “I bet, you break before it’s even dark, and beg me to fuck that pretty little pussy until you can’t see straight.”

A lump formed in your throat, a mixture of your desire to get fucked and your reluctance to let him “win”. “W-what do I get if I win?”

“What do you want?”

You had no idea, scrambling to think of something, anything. “Uh -”

“Why don’t you think on it?” he murmured, lips against the shell of your ear now. “We still got witnesses to interview anyway.”

“John,” you whispered desperately.

“What?”

“Please don’t use it when we’re talking to people,” you begged, turning in his hold when he gave you the space. You looked up at him pleadingly. “I can’t… I can’t think straight when I’m horny. It’s dangerous.”

His smile dropped away, genuine concern on his handsome face. He lifted his hand, caressing your jaw gently. “I promise, baby girl. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” You smiled, placing your hand against his chest and leaning into him. “Can’t say it wasn’t adorable to see you all flustered like that though.”

You groaned, ducking out of his hold to walk around the truck to your side. “You’re an asshole.”

It took around four hours for you to realize you weren’t going to win. He’d behaved around the witnesses, though you couldn’t say the same for the trip to the morgue, after which you’d decided you needed a break, and persuaded him to let you go to the grocery store while he checked out the town’s history. The hunt was most likely a spirit, and no one had died yet, so the need to find whatever or whoever it was wasn’t as pressing.

Your hour alone was blissful, and you picked up enough supplies for a few days, finishing up way before John was supposed to pick you up. There was a bench outside, far enough away from the entrance that no one would bother you, so you took advantage of the pleasant afternoon sunshine to wait for him.

Around five minutes after you had sat down, the vibrator in your panties began to buzz lightly. Your head shot up, eyes scanning the lot for his truck, but there were too many larger vehicles obstructing others to be sure he wasn’t there. Maybe the damn thing was malfunctioning.

The buzzing got stronger, and you tried to ignore it, gritting your teeth as you clutched the edge of the bench, still looking for him. It had to be him, and he was fucking with you again, probably watching you gleefully. You wanted to get up and go look for him, but you couldn’t focus, panting heavily as the vibration only grew more intense.

Grabbing your phone, you couldn’t help the whine that left your lips, drawing a curious stare from an employee wheeling carts back to the store. You could barely type a message out, telling him to stop, and you were relieved when only a second later, the panties stopped, except your whole body was still electrified from the stimulation. Looking up, you spotted his truck, pulling out from behind a large white van; he was on the phone, smirking at you infuriatingly as he drove closer.

“Thanks, Bobby,” was all you heard as he rolled to a stop and hung up. “You look a little flustered, princess. This thing’s got good range, huh?”

You glared at him, dumping the groceries in the back before climbing in without a word. He only laughed, pulling away from the curb as you stewed beside him.

The back roads were quiet. You stared out of the window, feeling your irritation fading. John hummed along to the radio, both hands on the wheel where you could see them. After a while, he looked at you, a hint of concern in his voice when he spoke. “You know,” he began softly. “If this is really that bad, we can stop. It’s not exactly fun if you’re not enjoying it.”

You clenched your jaw then relaxed it. “I don’t wanna stop,” you muttered, twisting in your seat. “I just wanna cum.”

His eyes widened, then a smile spread across his face. “That’s why you’re all grumpy?” 

“I’m not grumpy,” you growled. “I’m horny. If I’d known it was gonna be this bad, I’d have… fuck…” You threw your head back against the seat, groaning loudly at your own stubbornness. It wouldn’t be hard to just let him win, let him fuck you, to just beg for him like he wanted.

“All you gotta do is ask,” John drawled casually, reaching into his pocket. “If you think about it, you’re torturing yourself.”

The panties came to life, buzzing against your sensitive sex. You cried out, grabbing for the door as if it would ground you, even though it did nothing as he turned the vibration up. “John!”

“Say the magic words, baby, and I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

“You’re an -” You grunted when he turned them up to the highest level. “ -aaaaass.” The word turned into a low moan, and you ground yourself into the seat, fruitlessly seeking more friction. 

He wasn’t even watching you, keeping his attention on the road. “Now I just wanna see if you can get off like this,” he murmured. “But I gotta admit,” he shifted in his seat, “I’m starting to get uncomfortable.”

Speaking felt impossible. Your whole body was alight with desire, and you could taste your orgasm, within reach. The truck moved to the left onto a bumpier road, which only added to your torment.

“John,” you groaned, too far gone to even consider holding your ground. “Oh, Jesus, fuck, John…”

“Got something you wanna ask, baby girl?”

You cried out, nodding as the truck came to a stop. “Fuck me, please, I can’t -” The buzzing stopped. “Oh -”

He was out of the driver’s seat in the next second, and you barely had time to realize what was happening before your door was flung open, and his strong hands were hauling you from the seat. You ended up on your front, legs dangling out of the truck, hips pressed against the edge as John pulled your pants and the panties down to your ankles.

The sudden realization of where you were made you panic. “John, wait, where -”

“No one can see,” he promised, shoving you down when you tried to lift up. The sound of his zipper lowering made you shudder, and you looked over your shoulder as he fisted his cock, drawing it free from his pants. “I need that tight little cunt wrapped around my dick.”

He didn’t waste time, stroking two thick digits through your slick folds and sinking them into you, groaning when he felt how wet you were. You gasped and then whined, clinging to the seat as he twisted his fingers inside you. “J-John!”

“Fuck, princess, you’re soaked,” he chuckled, working his hand back and forth. “Gonna make you cum on Daddy’s cock.” Pulling his hand free, he slapped your bare ass, then pressed the thick blunt tip to your dripping hole.

You weren’t sure if it was the constant arousal or just him, but it felt bigger than usual, the stretch of accommodating him making you struggle to think straight. He stopped when his cock met slight resistance, pulling back to coat himself in your juices a little more before trying again. This time, he penetrated you completely, and you cried out when his groin met your ass, whimpering as he held himself as deep as possible with a sigh of relief.

“You feel fucking fantastic,” he groaned, rubbing one hand over your ass. “Should get you strung out more often. You’re so tight around me, gonna milk me dry. You want that, baby girl? Wanna be my horny little cockslut?”

It was hard to talk with the pressure in your belly, the pleasure of being so filled making your train of thought completely derail. All you could manage was a grunt of a “yes”, and he laughed in return, rutting against you.

“Look at you,” he purred, beginning to pull back a little more, thrusting lightly. “All cockdrunk, ready to be used, huh?”

You nodded listlessly, hovering on the edge of your climax, sure you’d fall apart any second. John started to move faster, holding you down with one hand when he leaned back to look down and watch your body take him over and over. The sound of how wet you were filtered through the blood rushing in your ears, and you couldn’t stop your eyes rolling back.

“Lemme feel it,” he murmured, tugging his shirt up when it got in his way. “Lemme feel you squeeze me, princess.”

His strokes got harder, almost forcing you across the seat. You cried out over and over, unable and unwilling to do anything but let him use you, and within seconds, your pussy was fluttering around him, the pleasure curling into an almost unbearable throb in your core.

“That’s it,” he praised, grazing his thumb across your asshole.

The dam inside you broke. Your cries turned silent, body shuddering from head to toe as you came, feeling the upholstery underneath you grow damp. John groaned, tipping his head back, fucking into you harder and harder, leaving you dazed as he used you. Finally, he slammed into you, his grunts stuttering as you felt his cum fill you to overflowing, dripping down your thighs.

He slumped forward, panting out a laugh against your back. “Fuck,” he groaned.

“Uh-huh,” you managed, mouth slack against the seat. There was a ringing in your ears and your heart was pounding; if you were honest, you wanted nothing more than to sleep.

With a groan, he moved, withdrawing and leaving you where you were hanging. You were exposed and ruined, and despite the somewhat open area he’d chosen to take you in, it was hard to get yourself to move.

“I guess we should get on with this case,” he said, buttoning up his pants as you pulled yourself off of the seat, trying to fix your pants.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, yawning as you attempted to make yourself look like you hadn’t just gotten yourself fucked in a picnic area. Failing, you stumbled back, using the truck for some stability when your head swam. “Fuck, I don’t think my legs work anymore.”

John laughed, coming closer and leaning in to kiss you. “Guess I’m doing the digging.”

“You bet your ass you are,” you grumbled.

He grinned. “You sure you wanna be making more bets, sweetheart? I mean, I’m a gamblin’ man -”

You groaned and hauled yourself into the truck. “Never again.”

Let me know what you think ☺ thanks for reading!

[kit-williams]

Barn Anon. Bet Space Marines give other Space Marines a discount price. They know for sure which human businesses aren't to be trusted. I headcannon that Imperial Fists and Iron Warriors have construction companies of their own where the humans are more for admin and communication with human clients. They're in high demand but they'll give a bit more priority to fellow Space Marines.

Your Space Marine effortlessly plucked the heavy bag of groceries from your hands. He refuses to let you hold anything more than the carton of eggs that you're currently holding. You raise your eyebrow at the sight of an Imperial Fist moving about the back porch. Your Space Marine nudges you along, a soft hum from him as he steers you straight to the kitchen. You're aware that your own Space Marine is a bit of a social butterfly with his fellow Space Marines but this is the first time you've seen this particular Imperial Fist. They tend to stick to the south side of the state. You live in the north.

Your Space Marine puts the bags on the island, patting you on the head before he heads out to speak to the Imperial Fist. You tilt your head curiously when you see the Imperial Fist pointing at certain parts. You had off-handedly mentioned to your Space Marine that you feel like redoing your back porch now that some of the wood flooring is starting to wear down. You are aware that the porch was build a decade before you bought the house and it seems it's time for a new look for it. You didn't think he would take it this seriously.

You had included him when you looked over various contractors and at some designs online. It was only polite given how he lives here most of the week. He does disappear a few days a week but that's normal for Space Marines. He had expressed his preferences design wise but was visibly unsatisfied with the contractors you found. He had said something to you but you couldn't understand a single word. He disappeared soon after that rather one-sided conversation and later that night you heard two set of heavy footsteps. Now you realize that he found human contractors insufficient and sought to find one that was more to his standards.

When he comes back in from the back, you teasingly tell him that human contractors would be out of business at this rate. The Imperial Fist outside clearly heard as you would hear a bark of laughter from outside. Your Space Marine only shrugs. You're his human, of course he would make sure you get the best.

Post

Uh 100% I was thinking about writing this in for some of Orn trying to get a discount from another Iron Warrior on lumber in exchange for chopping down some trees on the readers property.

But you've brought it up. Thing is this goes into the business of payment if he is with a company that does employ humans then of course some sort of cash would be exchanged but it's always cheaper than human contractors but then again you need to have an Astarte to even get in contact with them.

I think there is also a side payment in terms of far more bartering on the Astarte's half as given they were so use to getting whatever they wanted they probably have their own exchange system in lore when dealing with other Chapters.

You pat the gold armor of your blue helmed Lion as he treats you like a child but you're a young adult capable of handling everything but your Astarte treats you like a child. He seems a bit nervous about things... you've done your research and you can hardly find any information on your boy except that he is very friendly with Imperial Fists.

You can tell your boy does enjoy to provide and protect as it seems he is very caring but very distrusting of certain organizations it seems. He drew a symbol on a piece of paper for her to watch out for but you tell him there aren't any symbols like that but you'll be the first to let him know if you do see it.

[brittle-doughie]

Hello! It's me 🐀-anon again!

A little thing about me is that I love souls game (newer ones especially but I'm still trying to learn more about the old ones) especially elden ring, and one of the many characters that I like are the merchant's.

So could I get a yogurt cream cookie x merchant reader? As I didn't see any of him in your current fic's.

Where reader was just traveling through the desert, and decided to rest in yogurca. That's when they meet yogurt cream, and since reader is a merchant they start a conversation with yogurt cream,when they were talking about reader's wear's (items) yogurt sees reader's very beautiful flame like eye's, yogurt got curious and amazed then started to talk about them.

I made a basic premise as to what I want. I hope this doesn't sound demanding, that's not my intentions.

I hope you have a great day/night/afternoon!

Sands of the Sale (Yogurt Cream Cookie)

Can he not bet his wares to pirates next time? Next time on Cookie Run Z.

You step down from the boat and onto the warm sand beneath you as you took a breath of the fresh air. You were here, the city of Yogurca.

You figured this is where you’d make a home after leaving the bustling and busy streets of your old city. You heaved the luggage you brought with you to your designated spot in the city, you had to negotiate with quite the stubborn cookie to take that space, but after a little convincing with a jewel you found in a cave, that house is where you call home!

Another reason you left your old town was simply that the apartment you had didn’t have enough room to store all your treasures and wares you’ve collected over the years! You were the adventuring type and you always came home with something valuable in the end, taking great displeasure when your exploring ended up a bust. Now that you’re in here in a bustling market, you felt this was the great opportunity to sell some of what you got to any interested buyers!

You were a hard cookie to barter with, you were passionate with how much worth the items you had for sale were. The merchants next to your stand were taken aback by how determined you were to get the amount of coins you felt like the item fetched for. You didn’t tolerate any lowballers and you’d get offended when these cookies tried to buy something off you with ridiculously low offers. You didn’t have time for these deals as you had a line, so either they pay the price or please move along.

You were more friendly with your fellow shopkeepers since they understood where you come from with your decisions on prices. Some were willing to trade items they had of equal value with what you’ve got, of which you’d gladly accept and swap over your item. After a while, you became known as the more reliable stand to go to if a cookie needed something eye catching or not here in Yogurca. This notoriety would garner the attention of a particular treasure collecter…

You had just waved your most recent customer farewell as you went into the back of your stand and read a newspaper. Hmm..oh! Sandwich Cookie’s shop made it to the front cover. That’s quite the achievement, good on her. Case of the Cheesecake Mansion? Let’s see what Walnut had to say about that…, oh it was just Rougefort Cookie. Typical, that one never misses the opportunity for something shiny-

“Excuse me!”

You jolted and looked upwards to the voice calling for you..and if you had a drink in your mouth, you would’ve done a grand spit take.

Y-Yogurt Cream Cookie, member of a rich family! Your fellow shopkeepers have told you about him, more specifically to them, just how rich he was! If he was here at your stand, that must mean you have something he wants obviously! In a way, you felt honored that he did find something he liked, but think of the coin you can make with this sale. With those thoughts, you played it cool and placed down the newspaper and go to greet him.

It's only cookies like yourself who keep things from drying up entirely. Let's say you're a very welcome customer here, sir.

“Thank you, I can’t help but notice that dazzling array of golden necklaces! How much will you sell it for?”

You turn to the display box at the back where you kept the necklaces as they shined from the sunlight beaming inside your stand. You quickly went to grab the box and bring it to the front where he can get a closer look at them.

Yogurt Cream had made an excellent choice in your eyes. These necklaces were collected from a hidden temple deep within the forests, in good condition surprisingly. You’ll happily let them go for about…200 coins. (I have no idea how much is expensive in this world-)

“Why would I want to underpay a merchant with such lovely eyes as yours!”

Your…eyes? What? You looked to him and did notice that he was staring intently into you. 200…was underpaying?

“For you, I’m willing to pay 500 coins for the necklaces! Your eyes dance and flare like beautiful flames with nothing obscuring their grace! And the more I look at you, the more I seem to want to pay for your wares…”

U-uh…sure.

You packaged up the necklaces, ready for the purchase. All the while, he wouldn’t stop talking to you. At first, it was about his wealth and just how much he’s willing to pay for all the things you had for sale, then it started delving into more..personal questions like how you came here, what did you do after bazaar hours…., and if you had a partner.

That last one was quite much for you as you hastily received the coins and handed over your necklaces.

“How wonderful these look. But you far surpass their wonder! I might just come back here in the future. Bye for now, I look forward to our next meeting~”

And with that, he walked away from your stand. Doing your best to hold your breath until he was out of your sight, you closed your eyes and let out a sigh of relief.

Only to get spooked when you opened them to see another cookie staring intently at you. You didn’t even hear them coming!

It became a quiet staring contest for a minute.

“….”

….

“Not bad…”

Before the cookie hurried away and out of sight. Your fellow shopkeepers hurried over to you to see how you were and how much Yogurt paid for your items. You were…at a loss of words of what just happened.

Since that day, Yogurt Cream had been showing up at your stand much more often, while he did have business with what you had, it seemed he was more interested in talking to you then buying the item.

He’d definitely show off just how wealthy he can be when he either makes large purchases or just casually waved around his coins. He was buying out more then you were collecting!

You nearly tired yourself out one time just to collect more treasures for you to sell and wouldn’t you know it? There was Yogurt Cream waiting for you at the front again.

You managed to catch the name of that cookie that seems to appear after him, Lilac Cookie. You…asked about his appearances here and there. Yogurt Cream let out a small laugh and said with a smile that Lilac appears to like you too. However, he won’t lose to him~

It would be one day where he would lay a coin down on the counter and slide it to you. No, it wasn’t any treasures he was after today. It was you~

He simply must take you out to eat, he promises to pay for everything and just make it the best experience you’ve ever had! So much that you’ll consider the offer to have another with him. And another. And another. And another

Don’t think that you can turn him away. He’s stubborn. He’ll swoop you up in the end. No matter what~