#i imagine them tasting like snickers but better

[fist-of-vengeance]

what do you guys think the apollo bars taste like

[zvdvdlvr]

from the club

Derek’s wolf whistle made you roll your eyes and try to slip into your seat without drawing too much attention. “Damn, mama,” he sang teasingly, eyeing you up and down.

“Derek Morgan! I ought to-“

“Whoa!”

You glared at Spencer, trying to ifnore the way his eyes trailed over your cleavage. “It’s like you guys have never even been in the presence of a female before,” you snark sarcastically. Secretly, though, you feel complimented that such aesthetically pleasing people thought you looked good.

Emily, Jennifer, Penelope, and Rossi were later than Hotch surprisingly. Aaron strode in next, laying a stack of files on the table. He sat down at his regular spot and turned to make conversation until the other arrived when he turned and saw you. His lips drew thinly over his face as he watched you reach over the table to grab a file. He swallowed and averted his eyes from you when you sat back in your seat. Hotch felt like a pervert and averted his mind to the more pressing matter. Dead bodies, knives, murder, he repeated to himself- trying to draw blood away from his crotch.

J.J., Penelope, and Emily arrived next. “Coffee for you all, my precious gems!” Penny sang, placing the team’s favorite brews in front of them. After she placed yours down her eyes gleamed and she raised her eyebrows. “Did you call-“

“Penelope!” You hollered, turning away from the red-head with a laugh. 

She just giggled and wiggled her eyebrows. As Emily took her place beside you, she leaned in to whisper in your ear, “I’m no better than the men here, y/n. You look hot.” 

You swatted her away and waited for J.J. to start the briefing. Emily snickered beside you.

There was really nothing professional about being called into work wearing low-rise jeans and a lacey tank top. But it wasn’t your fault- some of your college friends had stopped in the city and wanted to go to the club and wouldn’t take no as an answer.

Rossi showed up right before Hotch said his favorite phrase (read: “wheels up in 30”). You collected your file and started out of the room.

“Good lo- y/n!”

You whipped around to see Penelope rushinf towards you. “Wh-What?”

“You’ve surprised me more times today than I thought possible, darling girl. Turn around! I didn’t know you had ink!” 

You breathed out a sigh of relief and tried to ignore the feeling of her cold fingers tracing over the black ink just above your jeans. “I have some on the mid back too,” you said quietly.

“Impressive,” Rossi- of all people- hummed. “One of my ex wives roped me into getting a matching tattoo with her. The pain was somethinf else and the aftercare was hell. Rookie, here has a high pain tolerance.” He patted your practically bare shoulder and walked by without another word.

Emily purred lowly as she walked by, laughing at the way you flipped her off in return.

“You know, Jeffery Dahmer didn’t consume people that had tattoos… He said that the ‘tattoos made the meat taste like… shit’,” Reid spouted.

The way Spencer paused before saying shit was endearing. Maybe it was your attraction to nerds, but you felt particularly flattered at the weight of his gaze on you. “That’s interesting, Spencer,” you replied quietly. “Did you know the oldest recorded tattoo ink recipe required insect eggs?”

Spencer just hummed.

“I- uh,” Aaron cleared his throat. You stepped back from Penelope’s hands. “I imagine you have more professional attire?”

Your cheeks flushed. “Yes, Hotch. I’m really sorry, my friends convinced me to go out with them, you know, and I-“

Hotch chuckled and held his hands up. “It’s okay, y/n. What you do on your own time is your business,” he said.

You wrung your hands. “Thanks, Hotch.”

“No problem, y/n.” Hotch started to walk away and you felt Derek’s arm wrap around your shoulder. “Nice ink,” he called back to you. 

“I’ll see you on the plane, y/n,” Spencer told you with a wave. You smiled back at him and watched him run a hand through his hair as he walked away.

“Lover boy’s gotta thing for you, y/n,” Derek told you, a shit eating grin on his face. “And Hotch too, if I took a guess. I think you made the old man pop a bo-“

“Derek Morgan!”

You shoved him off of you and tried to ignore his gleeful laughter.

[yanderenightmare]

Mahito x darling

TW: NSFW, noncon, psychological torture, Mahito in and of himself

fem reader

Mahito is so scary because you're the only one who sees him. 

You can't tell your friends, you can't call the cops, you can't even discuss it with your therapist for fear of being committed. 

You're all alone with him – half the time convinced you’re going insane.

He doesn't even need to kidnap you. Why would he? He likes your cozy apartment. To see you in your natural habitat with all your personal trinkets. Your books, your decorations, the contents of your fridge, your makeup, your clothes, not to mention the soft warmth of your bed…

Sure, his sewer has its charm, but you probably wouldn’t like it there very much. Not that it would stop him, but he’s sure you’d be boring if all you did was stay cooped up there all day. 

This is much more interesting. To be there when you come home from work, having trifled through all your belongings, dragged everything out – made a mess like a new puppy would. To watch you try to cling to your sanity, going about life, trying to live it normally even when he’s right there on your sofa wanting to dish about how much you loath your pissy boss or that loud neighbor and what fun it might be to kill them.

You brush him off as intrusive thoughts – a manifestation within your mind. That’s the only explanation that allows you to keep your wits with you.

But it’s become hard to bring anyone home. Even though others can't see him, he’ll walk about your friends and the odd date and comment on all the things they do, ridiculing them when they say something cheesy, feigning puking before giving it away with a snicker, then asking you why you bother hanging out with them at all. And you wonder if that’s what you really think… why else would a figment of your imagination say something like that?

No. You decide. He doesn’t represent your thoughts. He’s just… a roommate who knows no boundaries. 

Funny enough, you don’t really recognize that he’s any dangerous before you’re getting dressed after a shower, opening a drawer on your dresser you rarely look in – only to find it overfilled with dozens of tiny shrunken heads.

You scurry back on the floor with your hand clasped over your mouth until your back meets your bed – skin crawling. There’s no air left in your lungs from the shock to produce any such thing as a scream – so instead, you start heaving – then crying.

“Oh – I was wondering when you’d find them!” A cheer is heard from your bedroom threshold.

Your eyes pan to look at him – or it. Mahito, with a big grin on his face – clapping as though impressed by your performance.

“Wh-what – what is this?” You splutter, trying not to throw up – casting shifty glances over at the lump that had fallen to the floor – its face twisted with agony, unrecognizable, but you think you still knew… “What have you done?”

It doesn’t smell of rot, but something else – like unwashed clothing – sweat and piss and shit – you don’t understand how you hadn’t smelled it before. You don’t understand how you hadn’t heard it before – the moaning, though only in hoarse weak voices, still there, in a chorus, crying in pain.

“I’ve been studying them.” He says – casually, padding across the floor before bending down to pick the one up.

He looked at it with disappointment, throwing it up and catching it like one would a baseball – then clicked his tongue. 

“But I must say you’ve got boring taste… I don’t feel like I learned much of use from any of them at all.” 

He drops it to the floor in a fleshy splat, and you cringed anew – wanting to crawl away, wanting to get out, to call the police – maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to be committed – maybe there was something genuinely wrong with you…

Mahito doesn't share your concerns, though. He’s got his mind on other things. 

“I think I’ll learn better through practice.”

You don’t realize what he’s talking about before you’re being lifted up on the bed and then pushed down against it.

His lean but muscular frame has you dwarfed as he crawls after you – caging you between his arms and legs.

“I wouldn’t mind the floor, but I’m sure you’d prefer the bed. That’s how you humans usually like it, right?” He smiles – as though he’s doing you a favor. 

He’s taken off his usual tunic – showcasing a pale grey chest patchworked together in crude stitches – and you don’t really understand why you’d ever conjure something that looked like it. So human, yet still… so not. 

“I didn’t know what size you’d want – they were all so different – but I think bigger is better, isn’t it?”

It doesn’t register before you feel the weight of it on your stomach. 

Fat and warm, ridged with veins and hard against you. 

Looking down, feeling the situation settle on your skin like the raw cold – you realize, though you don’t understand it – Mahito isn’t just some imaginary friend. 

Whatever he is – he’s no such thing as a friend at all.

Your chest flares. “Mahito, no – ”

Your hands fly to try and push him off, but they’re easily caught. His fingers stretch inhumanly like playdough, using only one hand to reign in both wrists, pinning them to the pillow above you.

“No? Still too small?” He asks, as though your uproar had been a cry for more – his voice in a playful lilt. “I can make it bigger if you like~”

You squirm when the thing between your thighs grows an inch – swelling up into something fatter than your wrist – weighty and twitching atop you. 

It alone churns your guts, but the sight of his face gleaming so innocently makes it all so much worse. 

You whimper as he drags a rude finger through your folds – bluntly poking at your hole.

“You’re supposed to be wet, no?” He posed, keen eyes watching your face grimace in discomfort – drilling his digit inside you despite it. 

When knuckle-deep, he curled it, nail scraping into the gummy of your tender walls – making your whole body twist with an ache, shaking your head while sinking your teeth into your lip.

“Stop-” You croaked pitifully, still trying to wring your wrists free – but the hand keeping them jailed had hardened into something that was no longer skin.

He just yawned at your struggle. “So noisy...” Bored while looking down at you and the ugly way your lips curled at his crude fingering – but then his eyes widened. “Wait – oh! I get it now! So, this is what kissing is for…”

He didn’t give you much time to turn away before his mouth locked on yours – more in an attempt to swallow than to kiss, feeding you his tongue – which felt so much longer than it should be – winding through you until it licked your gag-reflex and made you choke.

You tensed in response, clenching the finger prodding you – and he took it as an invitation to squeeze another in – making you squeal out a sob in his mouth. 

But though it was a cruel ministration, it was enough to tickle the instinct – dragging wet out from within you, bathing the digits that now slid with greater ease in and out.

“See~ I told you I’d learn better through practice...” He mumbled against your lips – having felt the change – also noticing the quiet that befell you… looking so cute beneath him. 

He chuckled – the taste of your kiss still warm and wet on his lips.

“That really did shut you up, hm~ you humans are so funny.”

That thing resting heavily on your belly does a little jump, and you flinch with it. Left panting after being throat-fucked by a tongue – you’re really only able to shake your head as he slips the beastly thing down between your thighs – its fat head licking your clit on its way until kissing your entrance.

Two fingers haven't done you any justice – nothing could – to prep you for something of that size.

“I think this is correct…” He muses, nudging himself against the slim coin-sized hole – looking a little confused while he did so – though not exactly unsure of himself… more as though it was the whole procedure in and of itself that was at fault and not him. He was just following instructions, after all.

Sucking his teeth at the tautness, he continued to press the tip through you. 

A whine was ripped from your chest as it arched off the bed – thighs quaking on each side of his hips, kept spread despite wanting to force themselves shut.

“It’s better if you relax.” He offered then, though without much sympathy. Sounding almost jaded – as though you were keeping him waiting. 

But then a thumb pressed down on your clit, forcing another jolt to rush through you. 

“Women like to be touched here, right?” He rubbed crass circles into it – worse than amateurishly – rough patterns that bore no real intention of making you feel good. 

Then his mouth slid from your mouth, down your neck – only to sink teeth in your tit.

“And here~” He giggled while nomming your nipple, rolling the little nib between his teeth before flicking over it with his tongue again and again, sucking on it harshly.

None of it made you relax like he’d suggested. Either way, he continued to sink his length one thick chub at a time as fast as your hole allowed. And soon enough, he reached your end before your hole could reach his. But that was no issue…

The hand on your clit, cupped your mound instead – and beneath it, where warmth pooled, you felt inner things alter – change, rearrange, allowing the giant member inside you to sink deeper even though you knew there couldn’t possibly be any deeper to go.

“Wow~ look at that…” He awed when his pelvis smushed against your mound – kneading into your clit as he pressed a curious hand down on the bulge he was making in your belly.

Strings of drool stuck from his lips to your chest – and a sick look pooled in his eyes.

Thicker and thicker breaths left him. He swallowed thickly. Barely blinking.

“I think I get it now…” His voice had shed its humorous tone, now sounding soft with something you didn’t want to have the attention of. “It’s like our souls are playing together…” 

His hand stroked your stomach – like he was petting something.

“Feels good.”

[thegnomelord]

Soap Has a Musk Kink

CW: NSFW, what it says on the tin, musk kink, blowjobs, dom/sub undertones, Male Top Reader, Sub Bottom Soap, I wrote this instead of sleeping, this is dirty I need a shower,

As always y'all are free to ask me or send suggestions for what I should write next.

Soap has an unmentioned fixation with your scent, especially after any mission when you return smelling like sweat and blood and dirt and whatever else you managed to roll in. He's always the first to greet you when you return, hugging you despite your complaints about getting him dirty. You always see this as a sweet gesture instead of what it really is — his perverted need to smell you when you smell like war and testosterone and aggression and fucking alive.

Good Lord help him if it's his turn to spar with you; He needed to buy looser shorts because the combination of feeling your strong hands on him, your sweaty skin rubbing against his, and smelling your heavy musk whenever you pin him with your thighs in a headlock has him rock hard and tenting his pants in seconds. You never notice this, nor his little shuffle of shame to the showers, but the others do, and even he can't help averting his eyes when Ghost gives him a knowing look or Gaz snickers behind his fist as he glances between him and you.

Sometimes when you have a long mission coming up and Soap won't see you for a few weeks, he'll sneak in and steal a pair of your underwear. You'll notice their absence but chuck it up to loosing them in the wash, unaware that they're hidden under Soap's pillow. On lonelier nights when you can't talk over the phone he'll huddle up under the covers and burry his nose in your underwear, chasing your lingering scent as he fucks his cock into his fist while imagining what you'd say if you ever found out. Or he'll take your underwear into his mouth, lick and suck until the material is drenched in saliva and his tastebuds taste like you while he fucks himself on a dildo.

And when you finally come home to him, smelling of the same war and blood and testosterone, he turns completely pathetic.

He can spend hours with his head between your thighs with your cock balls deep in his throat, his gag reflex all but gone as he burrows his nose into your pubes and huffs your heavy masculine scent like it's the best drug in the world. He won't even notice when he starts gagging, mind so blissed out about your scent he'll gladly choke on you and when you finally pull him off so he can catch a breath — he'll whine and ask to let him do that again.

His favorite blowjob moments are when you tell him to clean you off after you shot a load down his throat. He'll happily clean every inch of your sweaty skin, from the tip of your dick down to your ass and perineum, looking up at you with lust drunk eyes and your balls on his face.

Or he'll beg you to sit on him and he'll be unsatisfied if you're not crushing him under your weight. Then he's polishing your balls with his tongue like a man possessed, nuzzling his face into them until every labored and small breath he takes smells like you, until all he can think in his oxygen deprived mind is you.

And please for the love of God mock or praise him. Call him a 'good boy' or a 'disgusting pig' and he's hard as a rock after just a few words. Hell, you don't even have to touch his pathetic cock, put it in a chastity cage and he's still leaking like a faucet.

Or better yet — praise and humiliate him. Call him 'your dirty little puppy' while he's choking on your cock and he'll warm it until you decide to tug him off, call him 'a good slut' as he humps his cage against your boot while nosing your balls and he'll cum on the spot if you don't pull your boot away in time, call him 'such a good pathetic boy' as you play and tug the chastity cage while he's sucking on your balls and he'll whine so loudly you'll feel it through your entire body. He won't beg you to be kind or cruel, so blissed out from the smell and taste of pure you that he couldn't plead for anything even if his mouth wasn't ocupied.

By the time you flip him on his back to fuck him good and proper it's as if he's already cum several times with the amount of pre he's leaked all over the bed, barely able to do much besides spread his legs wide and moan like a proper whore just for you. He tries his best to cling to you as you piston your hips, loud and unabashed moans spilling from his lips with every 'slap, slap, slap' of your balls against his ass.

And when you grow tired or near deaf from his voice, gag him with the same pair of underwear he'd stolen from you a month before. Put the pair you'd been wearing on your mission on his face to further silence him and the moment he registers your concentrated musk in his nose as you fuck him to the edge of his life he's coming so hard he blacks out, screaming your name at the top of his lungs that the entire base can hear.

It's not his fault he's such a perve, you just smell too good.

[rafeyscurtainbangs]

Jerk - Rafe Cameron Blurb

+18 Minor DNI

Perv!Rafe x Sbf!Reader

⭐ republished ⭐

+18 Minor DNI

🪄 Warnings (contains spoilers): Rafe jacking off while the reader sleeps, cum play includes reader, language, non-consensual touching, idk pervert things

📖 based off an ask: Perv rafe jerking off while reader sleeps 🥺

✨ “Hey, sweetheart. Long time no see,” I smile, feeling my cheeks burn in embarrassment as my voice cracks with nervousness. The boys fight their laughter, giving me obnoxious looks, tormenting me further.✨

1k

Rafe’s POV:

You’re going to kill me, sweetheart. I watch as she saunters into the kitchen in her pink silky pajamas with low-cut sides and high-cut bottoms. The curve of her breast peeks through the side. She reaches up high, grabbing a glass, causing the silk to slip up. Just a taste.

Fuck me.

I can feel myself aching for her. She draws the handle up, filling her glass with water. Her lips look delicious, pink, and pouty. I can’t help but fantasize about how they’d look wrapped around my cock, drool seeping from her lips as she deepthroats my dick. Her eyes flash to mine; I quickly look away, running my fingers through my hair, returning my focus to the boys.

“Welcome back, Cameron,” Topper teases before finishing off his beer. Kelce snickers and shakes his head piling on.

“Fuck off,” I mumble as I crack open a beer for myself, watching her out of the corner of my eye as she makes herself a little snack.

“Yo, stalker. A simple ‘hello’ might work better,” Kelce mocks.

“Shut the fuck up,” I grunt, hurling a throw pillow at him, spilling his beer on his chest.

Kelce looks over my shoulder, smiling as he blots the liquid off his polo meaning only one thing… she’s behind me. Is she going to sit down with me? I scoot over slightly on the couch, giving her space just in case. She looks down at me, smiling as she steps even closer. “Hey, Rafey.”

“Hey, sweetheart. Long time no see,” I smile, feeling my cheeks burn in embarrassment as my voice cracks with nervousness. The boys fight their laughter, giving me obnoxious looks, tormenting me further.

“It’s been so long. It’s good to see you,” she coos.

“Good to see you,” I return, leveling my voice with a smoother delivery. Thank fuckin’ god. “So, what’s up? You come out here to hang out with me or…”

“Oh… umm. Sarah and I are just watchin’ a movie. I needed my charger ‘cause my phone’s gonna die. It’s in my purse.”

“Oh yeah? You need my help finding it?” I ask.

“Well… You’re sitting on it I think?” She gestures to my spot on the couch with a soft, sweet smile, making me bloom with humiliation yet again. Why would she hang out with me when she’s here with Sarah? Stop bein’ a fuckin’ idiot.

The guys can’t contain their laughter anymore, looking at me with exaggerated pity as I stand up, holding the pillow that was covers my hard-on from watching her get water alone. Kelce wheezes with laughter, catching my cover-up. I mouth to the boys to ‘shut the fuck up’, the crazed look in my eyes quieting them quick.

“Sorry about your purse,” I sigh.

“Oh. It’s all good, Rafey,” she smiles as she snags her bag. “It’s nice seeing you. We should catch up or something,” she bubbles, stepping closer for a hug. I give her a half-hug, unable to fully commit in my current state. Fuck she smells so damn good. My palm caresses the curve of her lower back making my cock press even rougher against my zipper. I look down at her in my arms, revving myself up again as I get a look straight down her slinky little tank top, the perfect view of her half-hidden tits. I swear to god I could cum untouched.

Fuck I need her.

She has always been pretty; her image has been seared into my mind since the first time I saw her, and I swear she gets even prettier every time. Even her voice is sexy. I can’t imagine what she sounds like when she speaks that filthy shit I dream she says. I want to make her cum more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my entire fuckin’ life… I want to listen to her scream my name, moan it, chant it like a fuckin’ prayer. Rafe, Rafe, Rafe. I’ve replayed that interaction in the living room all night since she left me. I can’t stop.

I had to kick the boys out early. It wasn’t enough to browse her IG; I needed to study it with my fist wrapped around my dick. I scrolled through her feed, each picture sending me further and further into the depths of my lust. She was only a few doors down, driving me insane. I cleaned up the mess on my phone, dick still hard in my hand like I had done nothing at all.

I needed the real thing.

A delicate light illuminates her skin; that silky tank top lying disheveled now, leaving hardly anything to my imagination, which up to this point has not done her justice. Clearly. She’s flawless. Her hair spills across the pillow, her pouty lips juicy, beautiful eyes shut tightly. Her chest gently rises and falls as she breathes rhythmically, hypnotic motion, so soothing to watch. I want to reach out and touch her wet pussy. Circle her pretty little clit and watch her breathing quicken.

The room is pretty loud still, the steady drone of the ceiling fan, and an old rerun of a reality show playing on the TV. The buzz fills the silence, just enough noise to cover the squelching of my hand pumping my cock through a mess of lube. What I wouldn’t do to have it be her slick, wet cunt bouncing on top of me.

I wrap both hands around my dick, pulling to the tip, biting my lip holding back my moans. My eyes roll to the back of my skull. I fight them open, not wanting to miss the chance to stroke myself this close to her. “Fuckkk princess,” I groan, moving my hands counterclockwise, rubbing my thumb over my tip, catching the precum leaking out. “Mmm… just like that, pretty. So, so fucking wet. Does that feel good?“ I breathe.

She lets out a little breath, knitting her brows cutely. She adjusts slightly, giving me a full view of her breast as one spills out. Without thinking I reach out, dusting the pad of my finger across her nipple, watching as it harden under my touch. She whimpers, goosebumps spreading across her bare arm. I do it again, circling softly this time, making her moan. Holy fucking shit.

I begin thrusting up into my fist, gripping my length, holding back every primal urge to wake her and beg for what I need. What do I need? I’ve only thought about it a million times over. My dick in her pussy. My hands on her throat. My cum flowing out of her tight hole just so I can stuff that shit back in. Fuck I want it all.

My thighs start to quake, cock throbbing, muscles clenching tight. ”I’m almost there...“ I grunt. ”Oh, f-fuck… Ugh… Mmm...“ I look down, watching as my climax spurts and spills onto my fist, pooling around her lace panties I stole when I snuck in. I finish myself off slowly, exhaling sharply as I milk out the last bits of my cum.

I lean over, kissing her forehead and then her lips gently as I slip the panties off my softening dick. I breathe a sigh of relief, finally feeling a release. She’s all I needed. I slide her used panties into my pocket, messy with my cum, but I don’t give a fuck. I’m in heaven. I wanna know what we taste like together. Round three bitch.

I swirl my fingers through what little bit of my cum remains, smudging it along her plump bottom lip. She licks it clean and I swear I can see the corner of her lips curl into a slight smile.

Dirty girl.

[sohnric]

SUGAR TALK — S. JAEYUN

pairing: jake x fem! reader

genre: childhood friends to lovers au, vacation au, summer au, fluff. a tinge of first love au. jake and the reader discussing their feelings. shy jake (somebody protect him)

wc: 1.7k

warnings: swearing, a sexual joke :(

a/n: thank u @csenke my beloved for beta reading and hyping me up into posting this i owe you my whole entire LIFE. also lowkey fuck u for dragging me into yet another fandom. anyways my enhablr debut :)) kinda nervous.... pls be nice or else ill cry

A midsummer night in Italy reveals many things you and Jake managed to hide over the course of your friendship—all over a quarrel about ice cream.

“Is it good?” you ask, pointing towards the ice lolly in Jake’s mouth, your legs propped up against the wall right next to where his back is resting. You’re currently laying on the floor– because the heat in Italy makes it unbearable to sprawl on the bed during summer, just the blankets laying under you being enough to make your body flood with sweat. 

“I asked you if you wanted it,” he grunts, taking his eyes off his phone screen and gazing at you through the hair falling into his forehead and shielding his vision, “and you said no.” 

“Okay, and? I’m not asking to have it, I’m just asking you if it’s good–”

“So you don’t want a taste, yeah?” he challenges you. A second of silence passes by as the two of you stare at each other wordlessly before he sighs, right as you open your mouth and utter out your next comment.

“I mean, you can just give me a taste, it wouldn’t hurt you–”

“I’m not sharing my ice cream with you,” your childhood best friend says, shaking his head at your greediness. 

“Why not? I was generous enough to let you have the last one, so you may as well share it with me in this terrible, terrible heat–”

“I’m not letting you lick my ice cream, that’s disgusting,” he mumbles. That comment is enough to have you snicker out loud– because even though you and Jake aren’t teenagers anymore, your brain is still somehow stuck in the age where everything sounds like a sexual innuendo to you– but you manage to make the situation even worse when you let out your next comment, shocking the boy.

“You’re saying that as if it’s the first time we would be exchanging saliva.”

Jake almost chokes on the ice cream, nervously licking his lips. You and him have been childhood friends– with your parents being in the same friend group since high school, it was only natural for them to want their children to be each other’s safe haven as well. And it worked, for the most part– you could never imagine a better person to grow up with than Sim Jake, the energetic boy that lived just down the street from you– but that doesn’t mean you and him don’t have your fair share of memories you rarely talk about.

One of them being you kissing Jake when you got drunk for the first time. You just turned seventeen and although your parents were mostly understanding of your bad life choices, showing up home after underage drinking still wasn’t the wisest idea, and so Jake convinced both of your parents that you were staying over at his friend Sunghoon’s house instead. That boy can be really convincing when he tries to, and with the phone calls done and the fake arrangements in place, you two spent the night together in the nearby park.

In your drunken state, you managed to say a sentence that stayed in his mind to this day and haunted him on some nights: “You’re too pretty. I could honestly kiss you right now,” said slurred and with a voice tired– and without asking for his thoughts on the matter, you leaned in and just followed your gut. 

He kissed you back a few moments later– messy and uncoordinated– and although young Jake wanted to talk about the matter while it was still at hand, you fell asleep in his lap on the top of a skating ramp shortly after, leaving him dazed and confused, watching over you until the sun rose.

It’s now 4 years later, and somehow, you thought that bringing it up on a family trip to Italy– in the middle of the night, sitting on the cold tile floor of your shared hotel room– was the best time to talk about it.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t remember it,” you joke, watching the boy get a little red in his cheeks. “I was the drunk one and I remember, so there’s no way you don’t.”

Jake gulps down the ice cream melting in his mouth, averting his gaze from you completely. “I mean, it was my first kiss. Of course I remember.”

The moment the words escape his mouth, you feel like cotton was stuffed into your ears and the whole world stopped spinning. Your throat goes dry and you momentarily panic– you had no idea that you technically took your friend’s kiss virginity until now. Guilt washes you over– because what if he wanted to save it for someone else? Someone more worthy, someone he liked? What if he wasn't ready? You made that decision for him, and suddenly, you feel insanely bad– wishing that the ground would swallow you alive.

“So that’s why you were such a bad kisser–” you say instead, trying to act nonchalant– to which you earn yourself a kick to your side, having the boy laugh in embarrassment.

“Hey! It’s not my fault you caught me unprepared,” he says, shaking his head at you.

“Well, for whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry,” you hum in all seriousness. Now is your time to avert your gaze from the boy, pointing your eyes towards your legs resting up against the wall. There is a moment of silence following your sincere words, and just when you think the situation got too awkward to continue talking about the incident– which is why you never really brought it up in the first place– Jake speaks up again, breaking the quiet atmosphere of the hotel room.

“For what?” he asks, genuinely curious. 

“For kissing you without asking,” you say, furrowing your brows. “It was selfish of me. Had I known it was your first kiss, I wouldn’t steal it all for myself,” you snicker, feeling a little shy.

“Oh,” he hums just before you hear him laugh airly at your words. “I mean… I enjoyed it.”

“Did you?” you ask, allowing yourself to look back at the boy– noticing the softness of his eyes when he watches you, something in the air tensing, but making you feel like you’re floating, light. “Because you seemed pretty frightened back then.”

“That’s because I was embarrassed,” he explains, laughing. “I had a huge crush on you back then, so it was kind of a big deal for me,” he hums, a tint of pink appearing on the tips of his cheekbones, eyes glimmering a little in the low light of the room.

Now is your time to let out a dead-pan “Oh,” the shock of the new information still settling into you. With how long you’ve known Sim Jake, you thought you could read him like an open book– easily and clearly. Most of the time, you were really in tune with his emotions and thoughts, you could predict what his opinion would be on most things and how he’d feel about certain situations– leaving you checking in with him whenever you sensed he’d be down but wouldn’t outright tell you to your face. But maybe you were wrong to believe this assumption– maybe you couldn’t read your best friend as much as you thought you could. 

Because you would’ve never thought of this being a reality. 

“You didn’t know? I thought you knew, but you didn’t want it to be awkward between us so you didn’t mention it,” he laughs, taking in the situation with much more lightness now, seeing how affected you are by the simple confession. This is not how you imagined this conversation to go.

“No?!” you exclaim, baffled. “How the fuck would I know?”

“Now come on, Y/N,” he sighs, shaking his head at you in disbelief, “I invited you to prom. I think that might have been a clear sign that something was going on,” he snickers before he continues munching on his ice cream. After speaking the fact into existence, Jake seems to be less nervous about the topic– approaching it with almost utmost nonchalance, leaving you space to process with panicked thoughts instead.

“I thought you invited me because you had no one else to invite,” you said, blinking slowly as if rebooting your brain.

“You thought I had no one else to invite?” he laughs, now in disbelief at your words. “I was cute in high school, thank you very much. You think no one else would wanna go with me?” 

“Okay, don’t get all cocky on me now,” you grunt, huffing and pointing your eyes towards the ceiling.

Your brain takes on the challenge of projecting every single memory of Jake and your high school self together, seeing all those situations with much different eyes. You remember telling your friends about how sweet of a guy Jake always was– carrying your stuff for you, helping you with your Science homework, walking you home after your tutoring, buying you lunch– ‘any girl would be so lucky to date him!’. Your little advertisements never worked out, though, because your best friend never really cared about any other girl in the first place.

Now you kind of see why. And it leaves you wondering– are the late night calls you two shared when you’re away at university really just two friends missing each other? Does he get overly-protective over you because he wants to take care of you, or is it jealousy? That one time he called you ‘his girl’, was it perhaps something deeper that you missed?

“Are we talking past tense, though?” you hear yourself speaking out, and you don’t know why you’re suddenly holding your breath.

When you look at Jake, the popsicle is in his mouth and his brows are raised in question. Thinking he’s confused, you ask again. “Or do you still have a crush on me?” 

The boy chokes a little on the ice cream, making you laugh at his animated response. His cheeks grow deep red, and he seems to be avoiding your gaze. Now, you’re no expert at body language, but if you were asked, you’d say this was a telling sign. 

“You know what? Just keep the ice cream,” he says instead, the sweet, cold treat levitating in front of your lips now. Satisfied, with butterflies fluttering in your stomach and your fingertips tingling when they come in contact with his skin around the wooden stick, you take the popsicle into your mouth with the knowledge that you won. 

Mid-july, melting into the hardwood floor of your Italian hotel room, you feel like there is something within your storyline that is slowly coming full circle. Maybe after years of denial, you’re finally going to face the feelings left unsaid.

[zepskies]

So, how would Ben react if he and the reader went clothes-shopping for him and he overhears the saleswomen talking to themselves about how insanely hot he was (and how they’d climb him like a tree, because hello!) While he’s flattered, he sees the reader overhearing them, and she’s visibly annoyed/upset by it? Up to you if she calls them out on it, or spirals and says nothing, or whatever!

Ooooh thank you for this request, my friend!! ❤️❤️

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Female Reader Word Count: 1,100 Warnings: 18+ only! A little smutty towards the end. 😘

Imagine: Getting jealous over this man. 💚

"My clothes are fine," Ben is still insisting, even as you hold up a crisp, black buttoned-down shirt up to his chest in scrutiny.

"You need more stuff in this decade, baby," you tell him. You just think he's taking issue with you picking things out for him.

He doesn't often like to relinquish control, but he's tacitly agreed that you just have a better sense of what's fashionable now. He doesn't mind standing out, but he doesn't want to look out of place either.

And as much as he'd never admit it, he wants to look good.

So you and Ben have been at the mall browsing for the past hour. Express for Men has some interesting finds; you already have a large pile of shirts, jackets, pants, and jeans set aside for him to try on.

Ben has strong opinions, especially on pants. He blatantly refuses skinny jeans, for which you begrudgingly concede. You have to pick your battles with your boyfriend, and this one's not the hill to die on, you think.

So you put down the tight pants in favor of some tasteful dark wash jeans. He eyes this pair also with wariness. "Why the fuck do they have holes in 'em?" he asks.

You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing. "They're ripped jeans."

"On purpose?" he asks.

Oh lord. "Yes, Ben. They're distressed."

"Christ on a cross, so am I. This is what goes for fashion nowadays?"

God, give me fucking strength, you think. But you still smile. "You're gonna look good, I promise you."

So Ben gathers the pile you've created for him, and with a deep sigh, he heads over to the dressing room. There are two saleswomen stationed there. One visibly breathes in at the sight of him as she subtly taps the other one on the hip. Both greet him with bright eyes and smiles. "Hi there! Need a room?" the first one asks.

"Yeah," Ben nods, and she dutifully lets him into the biggest one. It has a cushioned bench and plenty of hooks on the wall for hanging the shirts and pants.

"Need any help laying these out?" she asks. He shakes his head. "No. I'm good, sweetheart."

She giggles a bit, like he's said something funny. "Okay! Well just let me know if you need any help. Like a different size, different color, if you need a belt, or anything like that."

Ben spots her blush and can't help but smile at her indulgently. "Sure." He has no intention of taking her up on her "help," but he knows the effect he has on women. Once she leaves, he closes the dressing room door and starts trying things on.

He's surprised to find he actually likes a lot of what you picked out for him. But then his superior hearing picks up what the women out front are whispering to each other in excitement.

"Oh my God, it's a criminal offense to have that jawline," says the one who helped him. "And that beard? Cut to perfection."

Ben smirks, both in amusement and with a well of pride welling in his chest. Still got it, fuckers.

The other scoffs. "Honey, I'd climb that man like a goddamn tree."

They snicker together, trying and failing to be quiet. "He looks so familiar though, I swear to God."

"Psh. Maybe in your dreams," one teases. The other hums. "Well, he'll definitely be making an appearance tonight...maybe when I'm still awake." Ben raises a brow at that.

"Hmm, looks like he's got a girlfriend though. She picked out all that stuff for him."

He then perks up a bit at the mention of you.

"Ehh, come on. She's gotta be a sister or something. Look at her."

"Aww, don't do that. She's cute."

"Cute doesn't bag a man like that." The other one chortles in response.

Ben frowns. He knew women were petty, but this takes the fucking cake. You're a New York "10," even in your old sweatpants and a bare face.

"What-fucking-ever, bitch. I'm gonna slip him my number. See if he needs any further assistance." Cue more obnoxious giggling.

The other one chimes in. "Ooh, you're bad. But I'm here for it. Get your man, girl."

"Excuse me." Oh, shit. Ben's brows raise of their own accord. That was your voice.

"Yes," one of the saleswomen greets you more professionally.

"I just want to check on how my boyfriend's doing. He's in that room, right?" you ask. Ben hears your tone though. It's clipped, direct, and intentional. He knows then: you definitely heard those twittering broads.

"Yes, right back there," one of the women directs you.

"Thank you," you reply flatly.

Ben smirks as he hears your brusque steps approaching. He checks himself out in the mirror real quick (the white shirt and black pants are simple, but they go well with the black jacket, he thinks). Then he unlocks the door and opens it, right as you were about to knock.

You blink up at him with surprise, and the remnants of a frown.

He leans against the doorframe, looking down at you with a charming smile. "Hey there, beautiful."

Your lips start to form a smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes. "Hey." You take in his current outfit with interest and approval. "Ooh, I like this. You look good...how do you feel in it?"

"Good," Ben says, but his eyes are focused on you. "Come 'ere."

He takes you by surprise when his hand guides you inside the dressing room by the waist. He locks it behind you. You look up at him in askance. He grasps your chin and tilts your face up to him.

"What's the matter?" he asks knowingly.

You raise a brow at him, shaking your head. "Nothing. Come on, did you try on this other stuff?"

Ben keeps a stubborn grip on your chin, so you can't turn away from him. "Don't tell me you're letting those maneating bimbos get to you."

Your eyes go wide and you raise a finger to your lips, reminding him to keep it quiet, but he doesn't give two fucks about that. He sits down on the soft bench and pulls you down with him. You sit across his lap and give him a rueful smile, stroking his cheek.

"I'll let you in on a little secret though," Ben says. Your expression crosses between amusement and intrigue. He leans in close your ear. "Jealousy looks fucking hot on you."

You guffaw in response, playfully smacking his arm.

"Hey, easy on the jacket," he smirks, but he claims you with a kiss. His fingers go to the button on your jeans, undoing it and slowly, torturously, guiding down the zipper. You suck in a breath.

"Ben, we can't," you say. But you're already moaning softly in his ear when his thick fingers begin to rub your pussy through your underwear. You blush at the naughtiness of this, even though the thought just turns you on even more.

He soon moves your panties aside to find your wet, soft heat.

You grip his hair tight, trying to bite your lip against a gasp as his fingers enter you, and begin to pulse inside. Your lower belly coils with heat, especially when his thumb finds your clit.

"We're paying customers," he says, with a deepening smirk. "We can do whatever we damn well please."

At the moment, you find it hard to argue with his logic.

Soldier Boy Masterlist

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[milksnake-tea]

━━ morning in clear skies .

As a traveling merchant, Luocha is constantly on the move, rarely able to settle down in a place he can call home. But with you, he finds temporary relief.

luocha x gn!reader

contains: fluff !!!! lots of phys touch and kissing bc thats my thing, just waking up w my baby, if you squint u'll see a hint of angst

word count: 1.1k

a/n: cant believe this is my first oneshot/longer drabble for my man ANYWAYS THIS IS MY very very late BIRTHDAY FIC FOR MYSELF BECAUSE LORD I MIGHT BE TOUCH STARVED AND I LOVE LUOCHA ANDIUDFJNFION this is just me being down bad for 1k+ words my bad

Long and slender fingers trace the very edges of your face, their repetitive yet ginger motions pulling you from your sleep, lifting you from the dark sea of slumber in their embrace. You stir, squeezing your eyes tighter for just a moment as you slowly come to.

Your eyelids are heavy; it’s difficult to open them, and truthfully, you don’t want to. It’s comfortable here: the linen sheets lay loosely across your body, light enough so they aren’t suffocating, yet they trap heat as well as wool. The pillow that lays under your head sinks under your weight like a cloud.

But perhaps, what tempts you most is the man that lays at your side. Even without your sight, you can picture him so clearly. His breathing is soft, relaxed. Blonde hair tickles at your face as he shifts, and you imagine it splaying over his body like a waterfall of gold. His fingers, finally gloveless for once, leave the edges of your face and instead move to cup your cheek.

His thumb comes to rub under your cheek, his touch almost ticklish. A fond chuckle escapes him as you squirm, the sound like sweet honey to your ears, a baritone melody.

“Good morning to you too,” he muses as you finally peek your eyes open. Sunlight cascades over Luocha from the window besides your bed, bathing him in an almost divine glow. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was an angel sent down by the Beauty themself.

Gone is the heavy coat he usually wears, along with the rest of his daily attire. Instead, Luocha’s form is covered only by a thin, long-sleeved shirt that just barely hugs at him. His eyes gleam like the finest of emeralds, warm and tender with affection as he gazes at you.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks. You nod drowsily, not yet ready to leave the comfort of your pillows. Luocha’s eyes crinkle knowingly - he knows all too well the pain of having to leave the bed.

He sits up, long hair falling as he does, but it's not long before he swoops down in a long, languid motion and captures your lips in a sweet kiss. He lingers there as if to savor it - the feeling of you against him - then pulls away, a satisfied smirk on his lips.

"You taste as wonderful as ever." You roll your eyes at his statement and he snickers. "I only speak the truth, love. You don't take me for a liar, do you?"

You shake your head, an amused smile creeping onto your face.

"Of course not."

You reach up towards him, pulling your arm from the blankets to caress Luocha's face. Your lover's eyes soften fondly, and he takes your hand in his own, nuzzling your palm, never breaking eye contact with you.

"Are you leaving?" you couldn't help but ask. Luocha sighed, his smile faltering.

Due to Luocha's career, he rarely stayed home - and when he did, it was never for long. He was like the Nameless of the Astral Express - always traveling, always searching, always wandering. Even at his "home" with you, his stay was temporary. Sooner or later, he'd pick up that blasted coffin of his again and set off into the cosmos, leaving you with nothing but calls and text messages for weeks on end.

"Now, don't give me that face," he says gently, thumbing at your eyes. "You'll get wrinkles."

He touches his forehead to yours, that emerald gaze enrapturing you, enchanting you, and you couldn't help but get lost in its forests.

"I'm not leaving," he assures you. "Not yet."

"How long?" you say. Luocha's eye twinkles.

"A month."

Luocha suppresses a laugh as he watches you slowly process his words. He doesn't have to wait long, for the drowsiness soon leaves your eyes and you visibly brighten, and Luocha swears he's never seen a better sight in the universe.

"You mean it?" you ask. There's excitement evident in your voice, yet also hesitance, as if this is all too good to be true. Luocha doesn't blame you; rarely does he get a weekend to spend with you, much less a month. After all, his clients are far less understanding than you are.

"Why wouldn't I- whoa!" Luocha barely manages to get the words out before you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into you and the mattress. Laughter fills the room as the two of you tumble.

Somehow, one way or another, you ended up on top of him. Your legs straddled his waist, and your arms caged him between them. Luocha had always been a beautiful man, but by the Aeons, he'd never looked so tempting. His hair splayed out from under him like a halo, his face a tinge flushed and his shirt slightly lifted to reveal his stomach.

"Careful there," he says breathlessly, amusement and absolute adoration evident. "It would be a shame if you-"

He's swiftly cut off by your kiss, a startled yet pleased yelp escaping him. You decide to take advantage of his brief moment of vulnerability by sliding your tongue into his mouth. Luocha hums against you, closing his eyes and allowing you to do what you wanted with him.

Gradually, he lets himself sink into the mattress, obliging as you tilt his head up to deepen the kiss. While you have your way with him, his hands began to wander, reaching to hold your back and caress what skin he could find. His fingers are cold to the touch as they slide beneath your shirt, and you shiver at the feeling.

When you finally part from him, it's with great reluctance. A single string of saliva briefly connects the two of you before Luocha swipes out his tongue, breaking it as he licks his lips teasingly. You let out a exasperated yet fond sigh, dropping down on top of him so that you can nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

"Satisfied?" Luocha teases, letting out a small oomph! as you playfully hit his chest.

"Hardly," you scoff. You move so that you can look up at him from his shoulder. "There's a lot of lost time we need to make up for."

"I'm aware," he hums. "But there's no rush. We do have a month, after all."

"I suppose." You trail a hand over his chest, feeling as it swells and falls with every breath Luocha takes. Finally, it sinks in that he's here, he's still here and he will be here for an entire month.

You smile to yourself, your heart warming.

"I missed you."

Luocha closes his eyes, his grip on you tightening.

"I missed you too."

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[bumblesimagines]

Imagine:

Secretly seeing Natalie Scatorccio

Request: Yes or No

Kind of a sequel

~~~~

"Your music taste sucks."

"As if yours is any better." 

"At least you've got some decent choices."

Things felt oddly... nice. Most times when he invited someone over to his place for a quick hookup (which was a rarity in and of itself), they'd leave right after or he'd drop them off back at their place. But Natalie lingered, slipping his shirt on and exploring his room, going through the things he had scattered around and exposed. Things like his vinyl records, open notebooks, his Walkman, some of his clothes. He watched her from his comfortable spot on the bed, lungs exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air and eyes trailing over the shirt she wore that reached just around her upper thighs. 

Natalie glanced at him over her shoulder, taking notice of where his gaze went, and rolled her eyes, setting down the Blondie record back on the drawer and turning around to face him. "Like what you see?" She asked teasingly and walked forward until her knees bumped against the edge of the bed, moving down to crawl on it. Once she reached him, she snatched the cigarette from his fingers and brought it to her lips, settling comfortably on his lap. His hand moved to her hip, giving it a squeeze when she blew smoke into his face. 

"You excited for Nationals?" (Y/N) asked, waving away the smoke with a small scowl. Natalie chuckled and leaned over, pressing the cigarette into the ashtray on his nightstand and slipping her arms around his shoulders, a bright twinkle appearing in her eyes at the mention of Nationals. A bright smile spread across her cheeks, her body slumping over his. 

"Definitely." She exhaled, resting her head on his shoulder. "Everyone's excited. Lottie's dad is lending us a private jet, too."

"I've never been on a private jet before. First time for everything, I guess." (Y/N) said, resisting the urge to laugh when Natalie shot up, her hands pressing against his chest and widened eyes flickering between his. Her lips began to twitch up, forming a pleased smile.

"You're going? Holy shit!"

"Ben doesn't want to leave me home alone so Coach Martinez told him to bring me along since he'll be taking his two sons." (Y/N) explained, barely finishing his sentence when Natalie swooped forward, mushing their lips together. (Y/N) chuckled against her lips, his arms coiling around her waist as a warm unfamiliar feeling bubbled up in his chest. "You know," He broke apart from her. "Most girls I hook up with aren't usually this excited to know I'll be around."

"Oh, please. You're just not an unbearable dick, is all." Natalie rolled her eyes, lightly shoving his shoulders. (Y/N) released an unconvinced hum, watching Natalie's cheeks turn a soft red as her eyes rolled again, this time more dramatically and forced. He leaned in, planting a kiss on her throat and feeling the vibrations when she giggled. Her fingers moved over the sides of his face, palms pressing against his cheeks and tilting his head back to kiss him again. They both froze when the family dog, Princess, began yapping loudly, the sound of the front door opening and Ben's voice following soon after.

"Shit." (Y/N) hissed and the two scrambled off the bed, almost tripping over themselves and trying to keep their snickers quiet. Natalie whispered a sharp 'fuck it' under her breath, snatching her checkered pants off the floor and wiggling them on as quickly as possible. She grabbed her backpack next, glancing up at him when he almost toppled over while putting his own pants on, a soft giggle escaping her. (Y/N) reached down, grabbing her vibrant red bra and shirt off the floor and tossing them in her direction. Natalie shoved them into her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. "Hurry up!" 

"I'm trying!" Natalie stuck her feet halfway into her boots, glancing frantically toward the bedroom door as Ben's footsteps grew closer and closer. She successfully shoved her feet into her boots all the way and darted toward the window (Y/N) opened, planting a swift kiss on his cheek before she began climbing out.

"My shirt, Nat-"

"I'll return it later!" She assured, hopping down the short distance just as the door swung open and Ben's wide smile greeted him, though it promptly fell when he smelled the air. (Y/N) faced his older brother, folding his arms over his stomach and leaning against the wall by the window with a small smile. 

"What'd I say about smoking? And in the house? Your room's going to stink for ages, (Y/N)." Ben let out a disappointed sigh, his eyes shifting to look at his brother. His brows furrowed slightly and (Y/N) swallowed thickly, giving a casual shrug and turning to shut the window again. He caught Natalie making her way off the lawn and onto the sidewalk, letting a small smile slip before he closed the curtains and climbed into bed.

"Sorry," He replied. "It was the last pack, I swear." 

"Uh-huh." Ben pursed his lips, his head lightly shaking and body shifting to leave his room. He stopped in the doorway and craned his neck to look at him over his shoulder, his brow quirking. "I brought burgers from that diner you really like. And, uh, you've got a hickey on your neck. I'll see you in the kitchen."

[1-800reki]

stop imagine packing a lunch for ranpo. putting a cute sticky note like ‘good luck my little genius ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ’ and he probably says something snarky like “the #1 detective doesn’t need luck… but thank you, i appreciate it nonetheless” cause he’s a little shit head who doesn’t know how to react to your love and affection. you just know he shows off like that one kid in elementary school who’s mom packed him mc donald’s or something. “look at what i get for being the smartest detective in the world” and it’s just like a bento with snacks and a candy or two. showing his shit off like he doesn’t even care that he’s flexing on an orphan. okay maybe he feels a little bad about atsushi but he loves when dazai pouts about how he wishes he had a lover who would pack him food with little notes although the moment dazai even suggests you make one for him too, ranpo shuts it down immediately. especially if that suggestion leads to anything remotely close to a double suicide request.

I love this so much so I'm turning it into a oneshot!

Thank you for the skibidi idea random person!

❝Lunch Notes!���

summary: Oneshot with Ranpo!

Pairings: Ranpo Edogawa x GN Reader!

a/n: I saw this in my inbox and I loved it so much ❤

Whenever Ranpo goes to work you always pack him a lunch with notes! For example 'Good luck my little genius ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ'! Though whenever he reads them at work he acts like the notes are nothing but he cherishes every single one of them! They make his lunch taste a bit better than they already do! Whenever he goes home and you ask him if he liked that note he would say 'I don't need those notes... but it was okay I guess..'

On somedays you give him a little candy or two in the lunch. Whenever he sees them he proudly shows it off. "Look what I got for being the smartest detective!" He would say showing the agency. He loves it when Dazai whines about not having a lover like his. "I wish I had a partner who makes me lunches!" Dazai whined. Ranpo only snickered and said "Well my partner is the best! They even got me a lollipop!"

Today you visited Ranpo because he forgot his lunch. When you got there he went and greeted you immediately. "What are you doing here?" Ranpo asked you with a tilt of his head. "You forgot your lunch so I brought it!" You answer with a smile. He grinned before coughing into his fist. "You didn't need to do that... but thanks I guess.." He spluttered with flushed cheeks.

Dazai was near and took this as his chance! "Y/n-Chan! I've heard from Ranpo-Kun over here that you make him lunches and notes! Would you be able to do that for me too!" Dazai asked happily with a smile on his face and a sparkle in his eyes. Before you could say anything Ranpo spoke up. "No way! They're my partner not yours! Get your own Dazai!" Ranpo retorted back to Dazai's suggestion.

He knew that it would end up in him asking you for a double suicide and he would not let that happen. You laugh and pat Ranpo's head. "I'll be on my way now. Be sure to eat your lunch. Bye!" You say handing him his bento before leaving the agency. Ranpo smiled and hummed happily to himself walking over to his desk. Dazai sulked over being 'rejected' once again.

Despite what Ranpo says he loves the lunch notes you give him. His lunch notes.

[gingerlee-holds]

if it's ok with you I would love a part 3 of the letting of steam fics. i love the first two so far

oh of course!!!! thank you so much for the request heehee! i think there's gonna be one more chapter after this one before the story ends heehee, so if its requested ill begin working on that- i wanted alastor to be sweet with husker cuz husk's very clearly terrified of him so he's gentle with husk- anyways enjoy!! and thanku again for requesting <33333333

(also dont get mad but im not showing Angel's accent phonetically, that's just not my style so use your imagination)

Last Man Standing

Read the first one here! Read the previous one here!

Words: 1953 Pairing: Ler!Alastor, Lees!Niffty, Angel, and Husker Warnings: Alcohol and a panic attack, Angel being Angel, and also its unedited

Husker slightly trembled as he looked around. The radio demon could appear from any shadow, and Husk was never ready. The gambler hated that Alastor got to him so much, but he couldn’t help being afraid. That demon had his soul, and his grip on it was ceaseless. 

Mercifully, Husker wasn’t alone as he slunk through the hotel halls. He tightly held Angel Dust’s hand, who seemed completely unfazed by the situation. Behind them, trying to keep up, Niffty clapped her hands excitedly. Husker was at least glad she was enjoying herself. 

“Stay close, Niffty,” Husk looked behind him, motioning for the maid to hold his other hand. “You know how extra our boss can be.” He felt a little better holding their hands, but he knew that once Alastor tasted figurative blood in the water, it wouldn’t matter.

The shadow of the radio demon followed them down the dark hallway. Alastor may have been part-deer, but all that was going through his mind now was the instincts of a hunter. And if he wanted to be efficient about this - which he always did - he’d pick them off, one by one, starting with the weakest. 

Angel looked over. “Huskie, your hand is trembling. You afraid of the dark?” He said it with a light tone, but as soon as he saw the hotel bartender look back at him with eyes filled with terror, he softened. “Don’t worry, sugar. I’ll protect ya,” he said, affectionately rubbing Husker’s knuckle with his thumb. 

“And I’ll protect you, too!” Niffty giggled as she said it, squeezing Husker’s other hand.

Despite the fear, Husk grinned a little. “Thanks, you two,” he mumbled. He wrapped his tail around his waist like a hug, trying to level his breathing.

“Besides,” Angel continued, gesturing as he spoke, “I’m pretty sure Alastor’s just having fun with this. Nobody’s getting hurt. Just a little scared.”

“Cuz he’s a bad boy!” Niffty offered.

Angel snickered under his breath. “Yeah, sure. Besides, you’ve seen how agitated he looked this morning. He’s barely shown his face since the battle. Maybe he needs this.”

Niffty giggled again. “And when he finds us, he will tear our souls apart!”

Husker’s breath caught in his throat as he was reminded of Alastor’s threat. “What?!” 

“No, hun,” Angel chuckled and rubbed Husker’s shoulder. “She’s just fucking with you, Huskie. Our souls are fine.” He sighed a bit when he felt Husk tense up, silently wishing he could get some alone time with him to talk. Luckily, he wouldn’t have to wait for long. Angel spoke up again as they continued walking. “Niffty, no more jokes, got it?” 

Silence.

“Niffty?” Angel looked over, and Husker stopped in his tracks. Slowly, he held up his other hand for Angel to see: it was empty. “Niffty!” Both sinners looked around the hallway but found no trace of the neurotic little maid.

Husker’s breathing rate increased. “Oh, shit,” he whimpered. 

In an empty room, Alastor dropped Niffty on the bed, who was clapping enthusiastically. “You got me!”

The radio demon grinned and ruffled her hair. “That I did, little darling. I have two more targets, so I can’t tarry long, but I’ll leave you with this.” With a motion, Alastor summoned two tendrils, using one to hold up one of Niffty’s hands and the other to wiggle against her stomach. He fondly knew that it didn’t take much to unravel the little sinner, and as he predicted, she instantly began cackling like a lunatic. She was easy prey. “Now, don’t go anywhere!” Alastor giggled.

“YEhEHEheheHS SihIhIHihIR!” Niffty said through her laughter, giving him a salute. 

Husker was panicking. She was gone, and he was next. He heard Angel beside him, but his voice sounded distant.

“Maybe she just found a bug on the ground, hun! You know she loves cleaning pests.” Angel’s reasoning wasn’t heard as Husker began stumbling forward.

The radio demon momentarily opened the door just as Niffty uttered a loud shriek that echoed down the hall.

Angel stood straight upright, but before he could say anything, Husker took off like a shot, running as if his life depended on it. “No, Huskie, wait!” Angel ran after him, trying to keep up with the gambler. By the time Husker looked back again, the porn star was out of sight. Alastor got him, too. The bartender whimpered and took off running again.

“Alright, asshole!” Angel Dust yelped as he was unceremoniously pinned to a wall by Alastor’s magic. “First of all, how you’re holding me is all wrong. See, these hands over here are barely being held down at all. And you shouldn’t keep the arms completely stretched and extended like this; it’s always better to allow some give; that way, the muscles don’t get sore. Have you ever done this before?”

Alastor’s eye twitched in annoyance, but he took what Angel said into account and moved him a little. “An expert?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty much a pro regarding restraints. But secondly, and also most importantly, you’re scaring Husker. He’s having a panic attack, thanks to you.”

“I’ll attend to him shortly, don’t worry. As for you, my effeminate fellow, it’s time for your punishment after being found!”

“Do… do you hear yourself right now?” Angel raised an eyebrow. “That is some seriously kinky shit. I’ve heard that exact line a dozen times. It’s one of the classic amateur porn-writing lines. Like, you know what I’m gonna say to that, right?”

“Hm! Then don’t say anything,” the radio demon smiled wide. “Just laugh.”

“With the way you’re holding me down, I might just do thahAhahahahhat! WhaaHAt?!” Angel looked down and saw sets of claws extending from the wall, wriggling into his underarms.

“Four arms means four armpits! Now, excuse me,” Alastor turned and walked to the door. Angel Dust’s laugh was just as loud as his personality, and he wasn’t used to the gentle, teasy touch he was receiving. With a chuckle, Alastor left him to his tickling. 

Husker ran until he saw the bar, and with all the grace of a terrified cat, he leaped over the bar, knocking a bottle over, and curled up on the floor in a ball. He trembled and gripped his neck, practically feeling his chain tightening as the radio demon held his soul in a vice-like sadistic grip. 

Suddenly, Husker was jarred out of his thoughts by a single light turning on overhead. He held his breath and looked up to see enough light to fully illuminate the small bar. Then, there was a soft knocking on the countertop.

“I’d like a drink, please.” 

Husker peeked over the counter to see Alastor sitting on one of the barstools, legs crossed and hands neatly folded on his lap. His eyes were closed, and he smiled without teeth. He looked… completely unthreatening. “W-what?” the bartender asked, his voice still shaking. 

“A drink, friend.” Alastor’s voice was soft, almost soothing. Was he trying to comfort him?

“I- why?”

Alastor opened one eye. “Because I’m parched. Being a hunter is hard work, you know.”

“No, as a matter of fact, I don’t know.” Husker glared at his boss. “What did you do to the others?” 

“They’re all having fun, don’t worry.” Alastor tapped the counter again. “Now, gin and tonic, please.”

“That’s… not your usual order.” Husker looked at the radio demon suspiciously. Husker’s favorite drink was a gin and tonic, so why was Alastor ordering it? Regardless, Husker began making the drink and served it to his guest in a large glass. 

“Thank you.” Alastor politely nodded before pouring half of the drink into another glass and passing it back to the bartender. “Here, have some.”

Husker looked down at the glass and then back up at Alastor. He didn’t seem to be manipulating him. It looked like Alastor was genuinely just trying to calm him down. Hesitantly, the gambler picked up the glass.

“You’ve won.” Alastor held up the glass. “A toast! You were the last one I found.”

Husk held up his glass and took a big sip. The alcohol warmed the back of his throat, and he felt all his muscles loosen up a bit. Sighing, Husk leaned against the countertop and looked up at Alastor. He was warmly smiling as he drank from his glass.

“You should have seen the look on Angel’s face, Husker. It was absolutely to die for!” The radio demon laughed as he set the glass down, and thanks to the gin, Husker found himself chuckling along with him. 

“I bet he made a sex joke, didn’t he?” 

Alastor nodded, and the two laughed together. 

After a few minutes, both were filled with warmth and laughing at nothing in particular. The radio demon wiped a tear from his eye and sighed happily. “Now, you get a reward for lasting the longest.”

Husker tilted his head, smiling lopsidedly in confusion, before he felt Alastor’s tendrils from behind him, gently massaging his shoulders. The shock of the touch quickly melted, and the gambler slowly laid his head on the counter. Smiling wide, he yawned like a cat, and his ears twitched. 

Alastor smiled and used one hand to rub his ear, and to his surprise, he heard a low purring sound coming from his bartender. He knew Husker was starved for touch, but he had no idea it was to this extent. He couldn’t help letting a small “Awww…” out, smiling fondly at the grumble Husk made in reply. The feline sinner swatted at the radio demon, and Alastor gently grabbed the offending hand, tracing the heart on Husker’s paw with a single claw. 

“H-heeheehehee… C-cuhuhuhut ihihit ouhuhut…” Husker began giggling but didn’t pull away from the touch. As Alastor continued administering his reward tickles, Husker never once moved, only letting out sleepy giggles.

“You are far too precious to be so scared, Husker.”

“Sh-shuhuhuhut ihihihihit…”

“No, I don’t think so.” Alastor wiggled the claw a bit faster, and Husk’s giggling mixed with his purring made for an extraordinarily adorable sound. Without stopping the massaging, ear rubs, or palm tickles, Alastor gently led Husker out from the bar to the oversized couch in the lobby and sat him down. With a start, the radio demon realized he was still tickling the others, and he quickly stopped all his magic, releasing Lucifer, Vaggie, Charlie, Niffty, and Angel from their tickly punishment. 

The other hotel residents slowly stumbled into the lobby, wiping tears from their eyes and rubbing their still-tingling spots. All had blushes on their faces, and none wanted to talk to the others after being so thoroughly wrecked. Lucifer was practically gasping for air as he shuffled in, and without a word, he sat down on the far end of the couch and instantly fell asleep. Next to him sat Charlie, and next to her sat Vaggie, and the two girlfriends snuggled close to each other. Niffty hopped onto the armrest and conked out faster than you could say ‘stab,’ and Angel crept in beside Husker to wrap his four arms around the sleeping bartender.

Alastor sat in his recliner, took a deep breath, and smiled as the other residents slept. Finally, the Hazbin Hotel was quiet, and he could get some rest. He was shockingly tired, and as he lay his head back against the seat, he grinned at the fun he had had today. He hoped he could do it again soon because, as far as he could tell, nobody else disliked it either. Although maybe he’d have to go easy on the theatrics with Husker. 

The other residents were plotting revenge against the radio demon as he slept. But that would come after everyone was awake. For now, the hotel slept.

[tiny-1karus]

Pairing: Yandere Batfam (Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian) x Reader

TW: GRAPHIC domestic and verbal abuse (but not by the batboys) so please take this warning seriously, stealing, feels, background manipulative behavior, obsession

This is a hurt-comfort fic about a fem Cinderella-esque Reader who wants to move away and yandere!batfam's reaction and response to that. Btw, Damian is around the same age as the Reader here and they are both in university.

There are some dark themes but the hurt-comfort is the main focus. This is technically part 2 but can be read as a standalone. Enjoy!

Just a warning though, this is a 6k+ fic that almost got to 7k. I got carried away lol.

…

"It would be nice to get out of the city."

You were looking out the window with a pensive expression as you said this. You were currently in the Wayne manor's dining room eating lunch with all the Wayne men. You had just finished your lunch (after fighting off numerous attempts to add more food onto your plate with your fork) and was quietly sitting in the large dining table sandwiched between Damian and Tim as you waited for the others to finish eating. You hadn't meant to say it aloud, you were just musing to yourself as you daydreamed, but everyone in the room heard it regardless.

All of the men immediately perked up, albeit in varying degrees.

"You mean, like a vacation?" Dick asked across from you with a smile. You certainly deserved it, after all.

You shook your head with a chuckle as you leaned into your palm with a wistful smile. "Maybe something more permanent than that. Anywhere would do. Maybe out of the country too, who knows?"

Everyone frowned as they immediately picked up on your phrasing. They couldn't help the growing feeling of dread in the pit of their stomach as they began to fear the worst.

Tim cleared his throat with a strained smile. "Permanent?"

You turned to him with a bright and eager grin. "Yeah! Can you just imagine it? I finally get to build the life I've always wanted. Away from—" your smile faltered as your mind drifted to your family but you immediately picked up your smile, you didn't want to worry them after all. "—… From the city and all that. I could get an apartment, get a better job, the whole shebang!" You wiggled a bit in excitement, totally oblivious to the darkening moods of the people around you. You were too caught up in the prospect of a better life away from your miserable family to notice the downright frightening expressions of the men around you.

Of course, it was a few years away but 3 years compared to the hell you've endured your whole life? It wasn't even a competition.

You beamed at everyone even when they stayed uncharacteristically silent, you got the feeling that something felt a bit off with them but their faces gave nothing away so you wrote it off. "Don't worry guys! I'll be sure to get you all nice gifts once I'm rich and famous. The best on this side of the continent and what money can afford, of course!" You tried to flip your hair but immediately laughed at that. The very idea of you gifting one of the richest man alive and his family the best of anything with practically nothing was so laughable that it was silly. You covered your mouth as you giggled uncontrollably. Even if you saved up for the rest of your life, you doubted that you could ever gift them anything worth of value or that could match their status and taste. Maybe it was just as funny to them as it was to you.

But the entire room was dead silent.

You missed the alarmed looks and rapid silent communication that occurred between all the men in the room while you snickered to yourself.

Damian had a fierce glare as he clenched his fork so tightly his knuckles turned white, he had to fight the urge to stab something. Dick immediately reached out discreetly to Jason, who sat next to him, and gripped his arm in warning even as he struggled to remain calm himself. Jason shoved his shaking hands under the table and balled them into tight fists as he grappled with a sudden surge of anger, fear, love, confusion. It was a struggle to keep his rationality at the moment if not for Dick's steadying grip on his arm. Tim wasn't faring any better as he sat there with a growing sense of anxiety as he looked stricken, as if you had just killed a puppy in front of him.

Deep inside, they could all feel a gnawing sense of nausea and panic clawing up from their stomach up to their head as they fought to control it. They never would have expected this of you.

Why didn't you want to stay?

Bruce was the only one who seemed unaffected by the sudden revelation of your plans. If you had known him better, you would have noticed the subtle tenseness of his body and the slight furrow on his brows that betrayed his emotions. He knew his sons wouldn't be able to speak right now so he spoke for them instead. "What do you mean by that?"

Everyone already knew the answer to that but Bruce had to ask just to make it a 100% clear that you meant what they all feared you meant.

You smiled as you propped your chin into your hand, oblivious to the intensity of the question and the glares. There was an excited and hopeful gleam in your eyes as you told them the greatest wish you've held so dearly to your heart for years. "I want to move out once I've finished with college. Anywhere would do as long as it's out of Gotham. I think I could save up enough for that by the time I graduate." You leaned in with an excited grin as if you were sharing a secret, "I've been saving up for years, actually."

Your declaration was met with silence, again. This time, you finally took notice of it and the glaringly dark moods of the people around you. The smile dropped off your face as you looked around. Was it something you said?

"Is everyone alright? Did I—" but you were interrupted as your phone rang. You fished it out of your pocket and looked at the caller ID, it was your stepmom.

You grimaced as you excused yourself from the table and hurriedly went to the hallway to answer it.

The second you were gone, a heated argument broke out on the table as everyone started speaking in furious but hushed tones.

"She's leaving?"

"She never mentioned this before." Tim anxiously ran his hand through his hair, mussing up his neat do.

"Goddammit! The fuck is this shit?"

"We can't allow that to happen." Damian's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I won't allow it."

"Calm down." Bruce's commanding voice cut through the frantic chatter. There was a familiar calculating gleam in his eyes. It was a silent command to follow his lead.

Slowly, the men all settled down. They were the Waynes, and most importantly, a renowned team of the world's greatest detectives and vigilantes. They couldn't lose their composure over this.

They'd have to find a solution for this, simple as that. They would have to dissuade you of this ludicrous notion of yours. The world was far too dangerous for you to be out of their sight and beyond their protection. They knew the darkness of the world all too well; they lived, fought and breathed in it's cover every day and every night of their lives.

Tim clasped his hands on the table and frowned. Now that he was thinking clearly, he immediately pinpointed the reason why you'd want to leave Gotham (leave them). Or, one of the main reasons at least, you've never really talked about this before now.

"I'm sure we're all aware what made her want to go."

In unison, all of the men in the table scowled and shared dark looks. They had researched your background extensively in the beginning, it was a provision for any person they had any form of contact with. It had simply started as any other security procedure, simple and necessary. But when their obsession started and steadily grew, they began digging further and further until the nature of your family was brought to light.

The Waynes were left severely disgusted and frighteningly outraged at the abuse you had to endure everyday from those utter scum infesting your house. It was inconceivable, that you—an angel and Paragon of light in their life—would ever be treated so terribly by the vile vermin posing as your family. Family was sacred to them, and for these churls to desecrate that by hurting you, of all people, to the point that you'd rather leave this city (and leave them) was beyond criminal.

They were the reason you wanted to leave (leave them, leave them, leave them). Of course, it would always go back to that pathetic, disgusting excuse of a family you have.

They'd have to rectify this.

For your sake.

No matter what.

…

You returned with a frown, the earlier light and gleam in your eyes had dimmed as you stood in front of the table fiddling with your phone. You noticed that everyone hasn't seemed to touch their food since you left, but other than that, they seemed normal enough. There wasn't a single trace of their dark mood from earlier. Had you imagined that?

"Sorry it's so sudden but I have to go home. Thank you so much for lunch! Bye Mr. Wayne, bye everyone!" You reached out to give a quick hug to Tim since he was closest to you.

Everyone stood up and crowded against you all of a sudden.

Dick pouted as he held his arms open. "You already forgot about me, baby?"

You laughed and quickly hugged him, his arms held on to you a bit tighter than he usually does but you didn't mind. His hugs always felt so warm and nice.

Jason ruffled your hair roughly as he pulled you into his arms the minute Dick let you go. "C'mon squirt, I'm taking you back."

You raised your head to look up at him even as you were pressed to his chest. "You don't have to, Jay. I don't want to impose on you." You protested with a chuckle as he squeezed you one more time before letting go.

Damian scoffed, even as you leaned closer to him and his arms automatically opened to give you a hug. A feat that none of his family thought him possible of. "Tt. Todd's driving skills are incompetent. You'd sooner put her in an accident before you get her home." He skillfully maneuvered the both of you away from Jason's irritated swipe. His green eyes looked down on you thoughtfully, "let me take you—" his mouth curled distastefully at the next word, "—home."

Your mind reeled as the boys began squabbling amongst themselves on who would take you home. You felt immensely flattered and grateful that your friends were so willing and generous to take you back back home but you were anxious about imposing on them and how you were running out of time to get home. Your stepmom could get… Nasty if you didn't follow her rules to the letter and you were supposed to start on your chores half an hour ago.

You held up your hands placatingly, "I'm really, really grateful for the offer, everyone, I really am, but I have to go. I'll just catch a bus, I don't want to bother any of you."

Tim snorted, as if the very thought was absurd, "how could you ever be a bother? That's just ridiculous. And a bus is just dangerous and unreliable at this time. C'mon, I'll take you—"

Bruce, who had been a silent, watching figure behind the boys, layed his hand on Tim's shoulder, immediately shutting him up.

"Tim, I'll take her home. Why don't you and the others rest for now?" His voice was calm but his eyes were a different story. "We'll figure out that… Issue with the competitors when I get back."

It was like a switch went off in the men in front of you. They suddenly looked so serious and grave that you were afraid to ask about it. It probably isn't even your place to know about whatever business the Waynes had anyways.

You withheld an exasperated sigh but couldn't help smiling a little as Mr. Wayne led you to the garage with his hand resting against your upper back. You knew it was futile to argue with the Wayne patriarch so you just went along with it. Secretly, you were touched and grateful that the family cared so much for your safety that they'd go out of their way to drive you home. It wasn't the first time they did this, but you couldn't help feeling shy about it still. You didn't want to bother or inconvenience them from how wonderful they've been with you, after all.

Gosh, you were going to miss this once you move.

!!! CW: GRAPHIC Domestic and verbal abuse, proceed with caution !!!

Days passed with relative ease, your stepmom still worked you to the bone like a slave as your two stepsisters piled on your already busy duties with inane, miscellaneous tasks that they were more than capable of doing themselves. This was hard enough to do on top of your college workload and your half-time job but you bit your tongue and silently shouldered it all. You had learned early on that fighting and standing up for yourself was pointless and only served to make your life harder than it already was.

And you couldn't afford to anger your stepmom, lest you lose the roof above your head (it was one of her favorite and reoccuring threats against you). You needed a place to stay that was close enough to your university that the commute wouldn't kill you and one that wouldn't be a drain on your already strained finances to maintain. You had already checked for every other alternative there was, everything was frustratingly just out of your budget and means.

On top of being a working student, you only got into the University of Gotham through a full-ride scholarship. You couldn't afford to slack off on any front. Everything would be worth it once you finally graduate. You'd leave this miserable house and find a place you can actually call your home.

You leaned against the kitchen counter with a cup of cheap instant coffee, the only thing that your step-family never seemed to touch. It was the main reason why you kept on buying the brand in the first place even if it tasted awful. You had just finished cleaning the whole house, ending with the kitchen. You were resting for a bit before you'd start on dinner. You preferred to do all the chores early so that you had enough time to dedicate to your school work before you had to leave for your shift.

As you sipped your crappy coffee, your stepsisters entered the house loudly as multiple shopping bags hung from their arms. They ignored you and completely blew past you as they went up the stairs with obnoxiously heavy steps. You glimpsed the brand on the bags as they went by and you couldn't help feeling confused. How on earth were they able to buy from Chanel? You never bought from there, never even entered the store in your lifetime, but you were at least aware that it was a designer brand and what they sold wasn't cheap.

You pursed your lips as you parsed through the memory of the past few days. You noted how weird it was that your step-family seemed to increase their spending habits from seemingly nowhere. Unless they secretly won the lottery and failed to mention it to you (doubtful, your two stepsisters were a pair of braggards), there was just no possible reason on how they could've gained so much money from thin air.

Your stomach dropped as a horrible thought crossed your mind.

No, they couldn't have.

You felt sick to your stomach as you rushed up the stairs towards your room. You hurriedly opened the door and locked it behind you before you all but dove under your bed. Your eyes widened in horror as you saw a corner of the perfectly cut piece of carpet flipped upward. You never left it like that, you always made sure to bring it back to how it was, inconspicuous and safe. Even if someone looked, you made sure to cut the carpet in a way that no one would easily notice.

The sinking feeling in your stomach opened up into a nauseating pit as you shakily flipped the carpet all the way and picked up the loose floorboard you had painstakingly pried open all those years ago. All to hide the ticket to your brighter future.

The small space under the floorboard was empty. The metal box that held all your savings was gone.

Just then, the loud, obnoxious laughter of your step-sisters rang out from the room adjacent to yours and startled you badly enough that you hit your head on your metal bed frame.

You felt so sick that you were a second away from throwing up that cheap coffee. You crawled out of the bed and sat on your haunches with a stricken expression. You felt far away as your mind replayed all the times you caught your step-family parading through the house with brand new, luxurious items.

It was your money the whole time.

After your first few, miserable attempts at gaining financial literacy ending horribly for you, you had decided to personally hide away your money so that your stepmother could keep her and her daughters grubby paws off of it. You had been meaning to transfer your money into a secure credit for years but with how hectic your life had been you had pushed it off until the last minute.

Now it was too late.

You were ripped out of your revery as your stepmother's voice boomed from downstairs, irritatedly calling your name. Without even realizing it, you were suddenly walking down the stairs on autopilot to be greeted with the sight of your stepmother standing in the small foyer with her arms crossed imperiously.

She eyed you coldly and her lips curled in a sneer as she gestured dismissively towards the kitchen. "Have you been slacking off? It's almost dinner and you haven't even started on anything. What do I even work for—"

"Did you take my money?" You cut through her incessant nagging. Your eyes bored into hers with an intensity that she had never seen from you. She seemed too shocked by your sudden gall that she forgot to be angry.

You stopped at the last step and gripped the handrail. You were quivering from nerves and a steadily mounting anger as you stared right at her, as if silently pleading that it wasn't the case. That, by some miraculous force, your stepmother wouldn't do something that was ingrained in her twisted nature.

Her expression schooled into one of casual indifference. The woman seemed to raise her chin higher as she sent you a challenging look, "what money?"

You curled your hands into fists and pressed them tightly against your chest. It did nothing to alleviate the pressure, pressure, pressure—that suddenly burst from the very core of your being into an enraged scream. "DID YOU TAKE MY FUCKING MONEY—"

A harsh, violent slap cut you off mid-scream as you were sent careening into the wall. Your head hit the wall harshly and you crumpled against the landing of the stairs, dazed out of your anger. Before you could even get your bearings, the same cheek was struck, but this time with a sharper, stinging pain that seemed to break skin. You cried out and curled up into a ball to hide your face.

There was a moment of tense silence as the all-consuming anger that had seemed to engulf you was effectively replaced by a familiar fear.

"How dare you." Her voice quivered with malice and sheer, utter wrath.

Sharp nails dug into your scalp and grabbed a fistful of hair before violently yanking your frightened face to face hers. Her eyes spoke of malevolence as she brought your head closer to hers.

"How fucking dare you!" She screamed right into your face, spittle flying from her mouth, "I decided to take in your worthless ass out of the goodness of my heart once your fucking daddy dies. I provided a roof over your head, food to eat, and the clothes on your back and this is how you repay me? You worthless bitch!" She slammed your head against the wall and you clenched your jaw just so that you wouldn't cry out.

If you hadn't been overcome with fear, you would have laughed right in her face. You barely had food to eat, all the clothes on your back you had to thrift on your own with your own money and this house? She stole it from you. You wanted to throw it all back in her face but it was getting harder to think through all the pain.

"That fucking money you have? You owe that to me for every single goddamn thing I've ever done for you. You could've been some worthless street rat or a fucking low-life prostitute but I kept you here, because I'm such a good person and I deserve nice things!" For the third time, she slammed your head into the wall, you didn't even have the energy to cry out. Her chest was heaving as her deranged eyes glared at your dazed eyes. After a moment more, she released her iron-grip on your hair and let you crumple into the floor in a heap. As if to add insult to injury, she delivered a swift but punishing kick to your side.

"Clean this up, then go to your room. You're not going to eat dinner and I don't want to see you until tomorrow." She clicked her tongue in annoyance, "selfish bitch."

Your stepmom stepped over your prone form and went up the stairs as if nothing happened. You pressed your forehead against the cool tiles and counted in your head until the spinning stopped and you could breathe easily.

Once you were absolutely sure that no one would be coming down, you shakily picked yourself up. You glanced at the blood on the ground that had dripped from the wound on your face. It was probably from the large, gaudy ring your stepmom insisted on wearing. You gently poked at the side of your head that had been brutally smashed against the wall repeatedly, it was really sore and you felt lightheaded. Your vision was swimming a little and you didn't know if that was a good sign. You desperately hoped that you didn't have a concussion.

You glanced back up the stairs, heard nothing, then began creeping towards the front door. You held your tender side and ignored the pounding of your head as you reached for the door knob with a shaking hand. You hesitated before opening it, afraid that the sound of the door opening would summon your demonic stepmom to give you a round two.

But the thought of staying even a minute in this house pushed you to open the door. You opened it as quietly as you could but didn't bother closing it once you've slipped past. You secretly hoped that they'd get mugged.

…

Once both your feet were on the pavement, you ran. It was raining heavily and you wore nothing but a thin shirt and threadbare pants so the cold easily pierced you, but it only pushed you to run faster. The sidewalk was fairly deserted so it made running like an idiotic madman very convenient. You barely had the presence of mind to watch where you were going as you frantically weaved through corners and streets until your lungs felt like it was going to burst. You didn't stop until you felt like you've gone far enough. Until you were as far as you could go from that house and the awful people inside it.

The rain pelted you mercilessly as you stood there on an empty sidewalk, chest heaving, head pounding, and body trembling from a mixture of the cold and the storm of emotions that whirled and ravaged you from the inside. You felt so angry, bitter, hopeless, and so damn helpless that you felt like it was going to tear you apart.

That was years of hard-work, of fervent dreams and hopes, of everything that you had been working so hard for, gone. And worse, you had been helpless to stop it. The vision of a bright future away from your awful family was cruelly ripped away from you just when it felt like it was within your grasp.

If you didn't feel so utterly hopeless and bitter, you probably would've laughed.

Someone called your name and you blinked up hazy eyes to stare at a man who stood a couple of feet away from you. He was similarly drenched in the rain as a white streak of hair hung over his blue eyes. His chest was heaving as if he had been running this whole time. It clicked and you recognized him as Jason Todd, your friend. You were suddenly hyper-aware of the very visible wound on your face and you quickly turned your head to the side and let your wet hair curtain that side.

"Doll," Jason called out to you as he slowly approached you, as if approaching a wounded animal. Once he was in front of you, his hand reached up to cup your uninjured cheek as he took in your drenched and rumpled clothes and your bloodshot eyes.

"Are you alright?" You had never heard him sound so soft before and the tender way he held your face seemed to break you down further. You sobbed loudly as you flung yourself into his chest and clung to him desperately like a lifeline. His arms came around you in a protective hold and you felt his hand on the back of your head as he stroked your wet hair comfortingly. You ignored the way it made your head pound.

"I can't take it anymore! How—" you choked on a sob as you buried your face further into his chest, "how can they…?" You couldn't even finish it as a surge of deep-rooted bitterness swelled and clogged up your throat.

Jason let you sob openly into his chest as he held you closely. He didn't seem to mind the rain as he just… Held you, out there on the sidewalk of the seedy part of Gotham. He felt like the only thing keeping you from tearing at the seams until there was nothing left of you.

"C'mon sweetheart, let's get you home." Jason murmured into your hair as he half-carried and half-led you to a sleek, black car parked next to the road. He opened the rear door for you as you all but stumbled in and he quickly followed from behind.

"Hey, sweetheart." You didn't look up but you could recognize Dick's voice anywhere. "Don't worry, we're gonna take you home."

Home, there's that word again. It grated on your fragile nerves and made even more tears spill from your eyes. "Please, I can't go back there. I can't—please."

Jason gently laid a hand on your shoulder as you shook so violently it felt like you were falling apart.

"You're not going back there, doll. We're taking you back to ours."

Distantly, you felt like you should protest (you couldn't be a burden, you couldn't be a burden, you couldn't—), but presently you just didn't have the energy to. Numbly, you nodded as your shaking lessened but didn't dissapear. You felt so cold in your drenched clothes.

Wordlessly, Jason took off his maroon leather jacket and draped it over your shivering form. It was a little wet on the outside from the rain but the inside felt so warm since he had just worn it; it smelled of cigarettes, libraries, and something vaguely metallic. It brought a modicum of comfort to you. But you felt so numb that you didn't even notice that Dick had been driving for a while now until the car stopped.

The passenger door on your side opened and a big, warm hand settled on your shoulder. Dick's worried blue eyes looked down on you. You shakily stepped out with his hand on your back, silently supporting you. You gripped Jason's jacket closer to you as the two Wayne brothers flanked you on both sides as they led you into the house.

You had your head bowed as you were gently shephered into the living room where the rest of the Wayne men were anxiously waiting for you.

Dick led you to the cozy arm chair near the fireplace as Damian and Tim immediately stood near your chair like sentries. You couldn't bear to look at them so you let your wet hair to hang limply in front of your face in a weak attempt to hide your face and the bruise on your cheek.

God, you felt so pathetic. How do they see you now?

Suddenly, Mr. Wayne was kneeling in front of your chair peering through the hair that covered and stuck to your wet face. He gently clasped your hands as his steel-grey eyes brimmed with compassion. "What happened? You can talk to us." His voice softened as he said in a reassuring tone, "You're safe here."

You raised your head an inch to meet his eyes as you finally found your voice. "Where do I even start?" Your voice sounded so weak that you doubted he heard you.

It was more of a rhetorical question but Mr. Wayne just squeezed your hands before he answered.

"Start from the beginning."

He let go of your hands but stayed close as the rest of the Waynes seemed to huddle around you in a protective bubble. Your head was still bowed as you reached up to wipe the tears from your face as you slowly gathered your thoughts. It felt like you were majorly overstepping by even contemplating unloading your problems on them but you just felt too empty to care.

All of a sudden, a warm, steaming cup of what smelled like hot chocolate was pushed into your hands. You gave a brief glance at who gave you the cup to see Tim smiling down on you with a tender and inviting smile. You looked around and saw a similar expression of warmth and acceptance mirrored on every Wayne's face. Somehow, it gave you the push to finally talk.

Slowly, in a stilted and hesitant speech, you opened up to them about your problems at home. Like a dam bursting once the flood gates were opened, it felt like the truth spilled endlessly out of you as you shared your pain without divulging the more graphic and horrible details. You didn't feel like you had the right to say it aloud, not yet. You were half-afraid that they'd judge you for blowing up at your stepmom but they only seemed outraged on your behalf and so endlessly considerate and compassionate for your pain.

"I don't have anything more to give." You admitted quietly. Your voice sounded so hollow, even to your own ears. You stared emptily at the warm cup in your hands. It helped chase away the chill a little but you felt so empty and drained that you could do nothing but hold it. "Everything I had, they took, even when there was nothing left to take."

You sank a little lower on the comfortable armchair as you whispered in a broken voice, "It was my only hope. I thought I could get away from them if I worked hard enough. It's the only thing that kept me going." You chuckled bitterly and bowed your head lower. "Guess not."

Gently, as if you'd break otherwise, Dick pulled you into his side from where he was perched on the armrest to your right. His large, calloused hands slowly carded through your hair and you leaned into the tender touch immediately. His touch was so soft that it didn't seem to worsen the pain on your head. You felt pathetic, drained, and desperate for comfort. And these men have always been a haven of warmth and comfort that you had been deprived of your whole life. You secretly craved this but felt too ashamed to ever ask for it from anyone.

God, what were you doing? Now that they knew how fucked up your life is, how lower could you possibly sink in their eyes? You're better than this, you had to get a grip.

You straightened up as you finally met the worried gazes of the family around you. You tried to smile but you just felt so tired. "Don't worry about me, I'll… Be fine. I'd probably be able to save up again, I still have some time before I graduate anyways." You desperately wanted to believe in those words but they sounded like empty consolations, even for you. You had exhausted every other option, what was there left for you?

Their eyes mirrored your sentiment and you couldn't bear the suffocating sense of pity that seemed to emanate from them so you turned your head to the side in shame.

The action moved your hair and you felt a light touch as the limp strands of your hair was brushed away from your face. There was a sharp intake of breath to your left as Damian, who was standing next to the armchair to your left, gently ran the back of his fingers against your cheek, you winced as you felt a slight pain there from where your stepmom had struck you. His green eyes were a storm of emotions that promised danger (but not to you, never you) as he asked you in a low, chilling voice, "who hurt you?"

Immediately, the rest of the Waynes zeroed in on your cheek as you tried to hide it behind your hair again. Too late, Mr. Wayne gently grasped your chin, turned your head forward, and brushed your hair away from your face. Illuminated by the fire, the giant bruise that colored your cheek was stark against your skin. There was a thin line of red that ran horizontally from one corner of the bruise to the other, the wound had already crusted over but the whole injury looked painful and displaced on your face. As if it didn't belong on a person as precious as you.

You felt yourself warm up for the first time since arriving here, but it was from shame. Here was the evidence of a lifetime of pain and suffering and the Waynes, the most wonderful and kindest family that you had the fortune of meeting, were finally privy to it.

Tim was suddenly kneeling in front of you, replacing his father. He didn't touch you but his hands hovered over yours for a second before he settled it on the cushions on either side of your legs, his blue eyes seemed to swim with overwhelming emotions as he took in the shame and defeat writ across your face.

"I know how it feels, I've been there." Your eyes snapped to his, surprised. Him? You would never have thought…

He smiled wryly, as if guessing your thoughts. "Trust me, I know. My life from before wasn't easy." A shadow cast over his eyes but the kindness still shine through as he regarded you with an understanding that spoke bone-deep. "So please, believe me when I say that it isn't hopeless. I'm here for you, we're here for you. You're safe here, with us."

Tears slid down your battered face unbidden. You thought you had already cried enough tears to last a lifetime but the tears felt warm as you bowed your head and let them flow. For once, you felt safe enough to let yourself cry in front of people and it felt good that you wouldn't be punished for it.

Your tears dripped into the cool drink that you still clutched on your lap. Someone plucked it from your trembling hands and you heard hushed voices as they began talking to each other in soft murmurs. You let the soft sounds wash over you as you felt a wave of tiredness sweep you over. Suddenly the pain from all your sounds came back with a vengeance, it seemed that adrenaline had protected you from feeling the worst of it.

You suddenly felt woozy as darkness creeped on the edge of your vision for a second and you tilted forward. Strong arms caught you before you were even aware of it. Dick was staring down at you with worried but alarmed blue eyes.

You tried to smile as your vision swam for a bit. "I think I also have a concussion." You murmured but the words sounded slurred. It was getting harder to think from the heavy pounding pain in your head, it felt like someone was hammering away at your skull. Everything just hurt.

Someone cursed as Dick picked you up as gently as he could. You closed your eyes and let yourself sink into Dick's strong, warm arms that cradled you so tenderly. The others hovered around you and their concern and worry was palpable.

Mr. Wayne's voice was a low, rumble that followed you as Dick began carrying you out of the living room, the others following closely as if gravitated to your side. "Stay here for tonight, we'll fix this in the morning."

You felt soft lips press against your temple and someone murmured against your head the words you've desperately wanted to hear your whole life, "You're safe."

As you slowly lost consciousness; you truly, from the bottom of your weary heart, wanted to believe that.

…

After Alfred had tended to you and you slept soundly in the medical bay, the Wayne men were finally able to leave your side before reconvening in the Batcave. You had suffered a concussion with bruises on your side and face, there was a laceration on the bruice on your face as well. The worst of it were the numerous scars that littered your body—some old, some new—which were usually hidden by your clothes. It was obvious that none of it were self-inflicted.

They were all suited up and standing silently around the batcomputer, as if readying for a mission. The air seemed to buzz from the dangerous aura that emanated from the vigilantes and they had a restless energy as they watched Tim work furiously on the computer. They already made a plan on what they were going to do to the utter scum that had dared to hurt what was theirs. They were just making sure that you'd get out of this situation scot-free.

Once Tim was finally done on the computer, he rose and gave the others a nod. Without a word, they all boarded their vehicles and shot off into the tunnel and into the night. They didn't need to open the tracking device on their equipment, they all knew your address by heart.

The darkness seemed to cling to them as they drove with a single-minded determination.

They knew indeed what evil they intended to do, but stronger than every afterthought was their fury, a fury that brings upon mortals the greatest evil.*

And oh, how they'd let this pathetic family of vermin feel their wrath.

It was their job to rid the world of their kind after all.

…

Aaaand that's part 2! I wrote this out of order and started with the second part before starting on the first but I got carried away with this so y'all can have this as a treat. This was a neat little experiment to test out posting, this is the first time I posted a written work since middle school and that was like a decade ago lmaooo.

This was heavily inspired from @blughxreader their platonic yandere!batfam content and all things batfam related is just top-tier. I lost so much sleep over their blog and I don't regret it. Check out their work if you haven't already!

*and the original quote goes like this btw, "I know indeed what evil I intend to do, but stronger than all my afterthoughts is my fury, fury that brings upon mortals the greatest evils." -Euripides. I felt like it just fit the story hahaha.

Lemme know your thoughts! I didn't really edit this since I got lazy lol. This is officially my offering to the Tumblr overlords as my first post. I'm kinda new to this site and I'm gonna need their blessing and counsel. Wish me luck, babes.

[heartfullofleeches]

Imagine vanilla triplets with a thembo reader who just thinks they're dating one person

So hot-

Days like this you could truly appreciate your partner's frosty exterior. It goes without saying that dating a humanoid made of everyone's favorite frozen treat and the events leading up to your relationship were beyond bizarre, but at this point and heat you didn't really care to ask anymore questions. You laid in bed with your icy lover at your side, their fingers in your mouth and towels placed beneath them - fans centered on the both of you. Like with most things, you didn't question where they managed to find so many devices and simply appreciated their efforts to keep you and themselves warm. They were as sweet as they tasted - when they wanted to be.

With a gentle pat to your jaw, they motion for you to bite down as they sit up - kissing your cheek as their finger is severed; growing back almost immediately. "Those ice packs should be frozen by now. If you still wanna nibble on me it's best if I go grab them.

You lick the ice cream stain in the print of a kiss off your cheek, groaning at the lose of your personal cooler. "Hurry back."

A giggle.

"Cute.. I'll be back before you know it."

You sink into your pillow as they leave. Even with fans surrounding you at full power, life without your creamy companion was agony. Every second that ticked by felt like your skin was melting into your sheets. You'd be a puddle before they returned - which was quite ironic considering their typing. Weight settles at the end of your bed, cool air crawling up your body and skin as the weight shifts upwards. You open your eyes as cream hits your cheek - a snicker painted on your lover's lips as they lower their body to yours.

"Poor babe. Practically wasting away.... Want me to make you feel better?"

You faintly nod, exhausted of all motor functions.

"A "yes please" would've been nice."

Starting at your neck, the ice cream fiend licks up your sweaty skin under their tongue reaches your lips and presses heavy against them - a ring of white coating as the faux slips through. The shutter you feel as they sample your flesh jolts through your teeth, but you could hardly care. You taste the salt of your skin briefly before it melts into their natural flavor. It was different from you remembered. Thicker, more savory and bold with that sweet undertone. You noticed the difference before, but true to your motto you never really brought it up. You really couldn't at the time with their tongue and cream filling your mouth and throat.

You whine as they break. "Don't worry, love. I'll be back shortly with a little surprise. Tell me, cherries or sprinkles?"

"Whatever."

"Got it." With one more sweet kiss, they hop out of bed - skipping out the door. Almost as soon as they leave, the cold metal of spoon hits your bottom lip.

"Y/n? I'm making you a sundae, but I wanted to know if you'd like it before I wasted all the ingredients. Open?"

You do as told. The ice cream, again, has changed consistency. Lighter, and more delicate in flavor - blended with the syrup and natural sweeteners they threw in.

"Do you like it?...."

You raise a thumb. They cover their mouth to muffle their cries of glee.

"Ah! I'm so happy, I could cry... I'll go finish right away!"

Once again - you're alone. The sunlight bleeds through the cracks of the currents and upon your scent body. You cry, "I'm gonna die."

The light fades; the rip of duct tape sealing its fact. Cool air joins your right and you sigh in content - joined by that same air on your left. Soon enough, the cold completely envelopes you as a body settles in your lap - a head on your right arm and hands wrapped around your left.

"Wait a minute-" Your eyes peel open. Three ice cream people. One in your lap and two at your sides. The one sitting on you squeaks at your puzzled expression, hair hiding their frantic eyes and freckles you never noticed until this angle. In actuality, the speckles littered their entire body. The one to your right hand their hair braided down, and the other a wild mane. You for some reason just thought they liked to change their hair style frequently. You look to your left.

"Nilla?"

They shake their head, plucking a cherry stem off their tongue as they point over at your right. "That's Nilla. I'm Vani."

You look up. "You?"

They play with the spoon in the glass they hold. "Bean...."

"So, wait - there's three of you?"

Nilla shrugs. "We were sure you knew considering you didn't bring it up. Is this an issue with you?"

"Not really... if you guys don't have a problem with me not being able to tell the difference between your flavors."

"We're willing to look past it so long as there's no other flavors or humans in your life.

"Don't think we'll have a problem with that first one, and we'll tackle that second thing when I'm not five seconds from death."

Bean offers you their spoon. "P-please don't die! Here, eat this?"

Vani hugs your arm tighter. "I'm sure they'd prefer something more from the heart - or the tongue."

"S-stop being gross.. Y/n, which would you like more?"

Your mouth is to busy nursing another of Nilla's fingers to reply.

"Y/n!"

[stabbyfoxandrew]

Hi again! I'd like to request my weekly dose of arsonist Neil/firefighter Andrew, if you feel up to it of course. I'm really curious to see what happens next.

I hope you have a nice week, sending good thoughts your way <3

WIP Wednesday (9/4) | Arsonist Neil / Firefighter Andrew AU (Part 222)

"As someone who's watched millions of hours of Food Network, I would have to say the obvious choices are salt and pepper. And garlic. Things always need more garlic, I think," Neil answers, picturing Andrew looking through his kitchen to find those ingredients. Of course, he has no idea what Andrew's kitchen looks like so he's sort of just picturing him in a void with cupboards. But still, it's nice to imagine Andrew doing something as simple as making himself dinner.

How much?" Andrew asks a few seconds later.

"Dunno. Until it tastes less like nothing, I guess."

Andrew scoffs. "You're a big help."

"So I've been told." Neil smiles. It falls a second later, when he hears a clattering sound and a curse on Andrew's end of the line. He winces and waits a second for Andrew to say anything else. "Tell me you didn't just cut your finger off."

"It was on purpose actually." Andrew deadpans. Neil knows it’s a joke but he doesn’t laugh.

“What happened?”

“Hm? Oh. The spoon dove off the counter, that's all."

"If it was that desperate to get away, your sauce must be worse than we thought.” Neil tells him, earning a grunt in response.

"Mm, no worries. I have another spoon," Andrew says. Then he mutters something that sounds like, 'Fuck you, suicidal bastard', under his breath as he tosses it into the sink. Neil snickers and takes a sip of his drink.

"Is it any better now?"

Silence. "What?"

"The sauce we're trying to revive. Is it better?"

"Oh," Andrew's quiet for another moment. Then he hums thoughtfully. "Yes. Much better. Thanks."

"Glad to be of service." Neil says as he picks at his stupid McDonald's combo meal— cheeseburger and fries this time. Big surprise. He sort of wishes he could toss this in the trash and invite himself to Andrew's place for garlicky noodles and good company. It's a deranged thought, Neil's fully aware of that. But he likes Italian food. And Andrew.

He'd really like for them to hang out in person. He was surprised the other day when he suggested it to Andrew and wasn't immediately told to fuck off. Andrew had been so angry the last time they tried to meet up and Neil couldn't handle it. Neil was worried he wouldn't be willing to try it again.

As pathetic as it may sound, he's been practicing here and there. It's amazing how much better food tastes when you eat it fresh instead of taking it back to your hotel room. Right now, Neil's sitting in McDonald's. He claimed a booth in the corner so he could watch both EXIT doors and also have eyes on his car, which is parked right outside. Andrew called with the news of his brother's visit just after Neil sat down with his food. His phone startled him so badly he nearly spilled his tray.

And it's sort of hard to eat with one hand holding his phone to his ear, but he's glad he answered. And he's glad he stayed. Even though there's a dozen people in the restaurant, he doesn't feel trapped. Doesn't feel like he's being watched. It helps, having someone to talk to like this. Makes him a bit less nervous knowing Andrew's there even if he isn't here. It also helps that this time, he's not at a fucking cafe where they just yell out the names of horrible, murderous fathers.

Speaking of terrible fathers... Neil takes his phone away from his ear to check the clock and it's later than he realized. He's going to miss TV time if he doesn't hurry up. Their show comes on in twelve fucking minutes. Neil finishes inhaling his food in record time and runs for the car, with Andrew's voice spilling out of his fist.

[sonicasura]

Somehow watching my cats have zoomies translated into Persona 5's Arseńe and by proxy Ren/Joker having them. Just what everyone in Japan needs, a hyper 13ft-ish demonic entity alongside his weird human charge. It ain't normal zoomies either. We got the kleptomaniac who will grab anything that glitters or interesting type.

Poor Sojiro goes to check on Ren just to find a pile of random shiny junk and the teen sitting on his haunches like a gargoyle. Meanwhile half the city have trash cans on their side whilst snobs notice random ass items gone.

Is this weird? Yes. Is this stupid? Yes. Would it happen to someone as dapper like Arseńe and Joker? Fuck yeah since the Persona based on the Legendary Thief hasn't been that active. He gotten another taste at his old life of adventure. An addiction merged with the classic zoomies.

The rest of the group are so confused about this behavior until half their Persona are snickering while the other side are shaking their heads. Imagine the Phantom Thieves' reactions once they're told its kleptomaniac zoomies. Or how normal it seems to the Persona although Ren getting it might be an unexpected side effect.

Plus I couldn't the resist image of Ryuji looking for his friend at night. Only to find Ren and Arseńe hunched other on a building like hyper cats about to crab walk or awkwardly pounce away. The amount of blackmail Futaba got as Ryuji screaming made the scene so much better.

[treason-and-plot]

“Hello, Roy,” says Sonia, sitting up a little straighter and compressing her lips. “Please sit down. Not here. Over there.”

“Roy had a big night,” says Violet. She pauses. “He hasn’t had any sleep. “

“Honestly, Roy,” says Sonia. “When are you going to grow up?”  

“Pfffft. Growing up is for babies,” says Roy. He snickers to himself and sits down on the stone garden seat.  “Where are the kids?”

“Gone to look at the fishpond,” says Sonia. “There’s some important things I have to say and it’s better if they’re not here. It might upset them.”

“Where’s the fishpond?" says Roy.

“Did you hear what I just said?” says Sonia.

Roy winks and smiles at her. It’s a beautiful day, and the surrounding rose bushes fill the air with a sweet and delicate perfume. Not that he can smell too much at the moment, but he can use his imagination. Someone told him once that not everyone has the ability to recall scents, which he found surprising. He can effortlessly remember the scents of all the significant women in his life, for example. Saoirse had a faint peppery scent, Anya smells like sunlight bouncing off the ocean. Sonia smells like linen and warm milk. Sonia is not returning his smile. He can’t quite recall what Violet smells like. He would like to lick her arm to jog his memory. Taste is very strongly intertwined with smell, apparently.

“Roy. I need you to listen to what I’m about to say,” says Sonia.

“Sure, hon,” he says. “I have something very important to say too. But you go first. I’m all ears. You look fucking fantastic, by the way. Doesn’t she, Vi? Obviously whatever treatment you’re having in here is doing wonders. I mean, you’d hope so, for the prices they charge. But who cares about money when it’s my wife’s health and happiness at stake, right?”

“I’m not your wife any more, Roy,” says Sonia. “Which is something that- “

“Slip of the tongue,“ he says. “Heh, you like a bit of tongue slip, don’t you hon? I bet Violet could vouch for that. Sorry. That probably wasn’t appropriate. Okay, I’ll be quiet. Please say what you have to say. Then I’ll say what I have to say. Deal? ”

Sonia briefly closes her eyes. Violet squeezes her hand. Roy sniffs and clears his throat several times.

“I have learnt a lot in my group therapy sessions about the importance of boundaries,” says Sonia. “We set very few boundaries when our marriage ended, Roy, and that’s been hugely detrimental to my emotional well-being. Not having boundaries has meant that I haven’t given myself space to heal.”

“What do you mean, space to heal?” says Roy. “Heal from what?”

“The breakdown of our marriage,” says Sonia. "Obviously."

“Cut to the chase, Sonia. I don't have any tolerance for this therapy-speak bullshit. What are you trying to say?” says Roy. Suddenly there are shadows leaking behind the rose bushes, spreading like spilled ink.

“I need to cut off all contact with you for the sake of my mental health, Roy, ” says Sonia. “That’s what I’m saying.“