#in that i have been paid money to make art before

[twistedbloodstain]

vincent de gramont x historian!reader: spring breaks loose, but so does fear | sweetness and bitterness within

plot: the one where the both of you are within your walls.

warnings: marquis is different here to canon, expect oc behavior but like all fics he’s gonna be cruel museum worker! reader, entitled af french boi, unreliable sibling relationships/dynamics

masterlist

the rain pattered against the glass windows, ringing through the empty halls of the museum. you sat there deep in thought in front of your desk while the storm raged outside. the moon that had look delicately beautiful earlier had disappeared when flashes of lightning and rumbles of thunder replaced the serene scenery, you don’t know how long you’ve been sitting here but surely it hasn’t been that long.

where was he? he should be here by now, you pondered.

a knock snaps you out of your thoughts.

“ma’am?” your assistant calls out as he peeks his head through the door.

you look back at him but your lips stay still, not making a word but silently urging him to continue with the rise of an eyebrow.

“he’s here again, requesting a private viewing,” he informs.

oh. you almost forgot about that.

the constant visitor of the museum for the past few weeks was none other than the eccentric and affluent, marquis de gramont. recently, he frequented the museum for a private viewing for some of the rarest and beautiful pieces of art in french history. not that you’re complaining since he paid good money for his private viewings but his persistent requests to have a historian around him, explaining what the intricate histories and symbols drawn beneath the surface were an inconvenience sometimes.

truthfully, there’s no bad conversation with him. you’re quite eager to answer any additional questions or arguments he imposes upon you but judging by the exhibition of his wealth and power, don’t they teach these things to nobility at a young age?

you pull your feet up and drag them towards the door, your assistant gives you a weary smile knowing how long your discussions with the marquis would usually go, for hours on end. 

the walk to the private room was filled with footsteps, your previous thoughts emerging once again. your brother.

 he was supposed to be here to join you for lunch but he hadn’t shown up. lunches shared with the both of you were also your bonding and catch up time but as of late he missed at least four lunches in six weeks. you could understand that maybe it was just his busy schedule but the fewer times you saw him, he seemed anxious and jumpy with sweat beading on his forehead. as if he was always in a hurry, you consistently persisted in the lunches in an effort to get him to open up his problems with you, after all what are siblings for?

you approach the door cautiously, taking a deep breath to polish your mind before stepping into the role of gracious historian, a person that’s ready to deal with the marquis.

entering the room with an eager smile on your face, you greet the marquis who was sitting on a plush white leather couch, donning another dark blue suit with a jacket and tie to finish the look. he doesn’t offer any greeting in reply and comments on your lateness right away.

“you took a while to get here, mademoiselle.” he mutters, checking his watch.

“i apologize for my tardiness sir, i had matters to attend to.” you force a smile. he stares at you carefully, an amused smirk tugs at the corner of his lips before waving it off.

“let’s get started then.”

the marquis is a difficult person to impress, especially in keeping him engaged in a conversation. more often than not you find yourself exerting a lot of information out of your brain just to keep up with him. you don’t know why you always push yourself to be somewhat superior to him in terms of knowledge but perhaps that’s just what his aura demands of you.

“and that is the final painting for your private viewing today, sir.” you recite familiar lines you’ve been saying for the past six weeks, “are there any questions you have in mind?”

he eyes the painting cryptically before glancing at you and shaking his head, looking somewhat satisfied with the answers you’ve given him. you smile at him once again before speaking.

“if you require any refreshments or desire to make an appointment in the future, enzo will take care of it. thank you for coming to the louvre, sir.” you bow your head before leaving, knowing that the marquis liked to be alone.

once you make it back to the office, you see your phone light up and vibrate. you immediately make a beeline for it and before the ringing ends, unfortunately the call ends before you could answer it but a wave of messages floods your inbox, all from your brother telling you he was at the entrance of the museum.

you hurriedly run out of your office straight to the entrance when you see a faint silhouette by the large doors. you call his name out and he turns to face you, a faint smile on his lips.

”where were you? i’ve been waiting for you the entire day, are you alright?” you immediately assume the worst and begin to fret over your dearest younger brother, gripping his shoulders and checking his face for any possible injuries.

your brother is a good person. you know that. you watched him grow, you watched him become the man he is now but still a small whisper remains in the back of your mind that you are losing him to something , and you can’t do anything to help it.

you can feel it. it  started with the distance and excuses, how every single word that leaves his mouth feels less and less genuine and more like a set of lies meant to calm you down. you want to help him but he won’t let you.

”i’m fine, i just got caught up at work.” he verbally reassures you but pulls away from your touch. you bite your tongue from asking more, afraid of scaring him away. a fight is not what you need right now.

”oh…um” you mumble, taking a small step away from him, feeling your insides crush to the lack of familial warmth from a brother. he stands there unfazed by your movements, the small smile gone in front of you. instead, an uneasiness replaces his eyes and stares at the ground, seemingly too busy to deal with your emotions right now.

“do you want to have dinner together? i know this nice sushi place downtown.” you eagerly offer, his mouth opens to reply but a brief hesitation takes place.

”i can’t.” he replies.

“why?” you ask, annoyance in your tone.

”work, as usual.” he states with a humorless chuckle, worry still present in his face, “i’m here for a favor.”

“what is it? did you get in trouble? you know you can tell me anything right?” you gasp.

“no! no! i just need to borrow some money for this month’s rent. my new job doesn’t pay until the end of the month, my landlord said i’m way overdue for the past three months and he’s gonna kick me out if i don’t pay within this week.”

a silence takes over the conversation as your process the information you are given right now. the excuse feels flimsy and careless.

money isn’t really an issue for you right now. you’re not insanely rich but you are financially stable, yet you feel uncertain about giving your brother money. your brother’s landlord, a strict but yet a sweet old man often texts you whether or not your brother has paid his rent in each month and so far you’ve received no messages from him lately. 

”oh..yeah sure. it’s no problem, i can send it to you later.” you smile for his comfort, making yourself feel approachable to your own blood.

monitoring your sibling’s rent status is definitely odd but with what you’re dealing with right now, to be completely honest you’re just making sure your brother’s alright, there’s nothing wrong with that.

”come on in, it’s raining outside.” you grab his arm and pull him in.

”no, seriously, it's alright. you might have some people inside-“

”it’s closing time, at least sit inside and wait for me, please?” you plead.

”okay, i’ll wait for you.” he smiles.

”good, because if i have to deal with another stubborn asshole under this roof, i’m going to lose my mind.” your brother chuckles and takes a seat by the door.

”dinner’s on me.” he adds, wiping the raindrops gathered on his forehead.

“on you? you can’t even pay your rent!” you jest.

”it was a one time thing!”

the amusement slowly dies down when you hear a large number of footsteps echoing through the halls, the door opens and it reveals the marquis. you immediately straighten up and face his direction, slipping in the professional manner that he is accustomed to.

”good evening, sir.” you greet.

the marquis doesn’t reply but instead whispers an instruction to his guards which they nod to and walk ahead of him. the marquis approaches you carefully, briefly eyeing you before glancing at the person behind you.

”it is quite late, don’t you think?” he starts.

”ah, yes it is. the night staff and i are closing the museum for the night, we were simply waiting for your departure. perhaps, you enjoyed your private viewings much longer than usual, sir.”

”you cannot fault me for that, miss. what hangs on the walls of this establishment is history, glory and beauty wrapped in one.”

”that we agree on.” you reply, “will you be here tomorrow? at the same time?” he looks at you again.

”for what reason are you asking?” he raises an eyebrow.

“so enzo and i can immediately arrange for your appointment and room, sir.” 

he pauses and a silence takes place, his eyes wander all over your face trying to see something through you. you keep your gaze on him, composed and calm. as it should be. you get a feeling he relishes on weakness especially people who have a lower pay grade than him or maybe that’s just how he is with everyone.

narcissism was a major takeaway you observed from the marquis the first time you met him, quite self-centered might you add and somewhat snobbish but then again his attention is not something to be exhilarated about.

”yes, miss. i will be here tomorrow.” a small smirk curves his lips.

”you are quite fond of the art around here.” you start.

”yes, what of it?”

”how come you never bought any of it? i’ve heard from a few auction houses that you have quite the art collection. i’m sure it is much more convenient for you, having the art within the comfort of your home.” you reason to him.

more reason to see him less in your life. you think.

“you are not wrong in that. it would be much more convenient.” he agrees.

so buy it then.

”if that’s the case, i must inform you that there are plans to auction that rembrandt you are so eagerly fond of, perhaps you might be interested in joining?”

”i will have to turn that down, miss. as much as i enjoy the comfort of my home, i appreciate the aura of the louvre, it brings a sense of fulfillment and eagerness to me. i would be a fool to rob myself of that. also, the people around here are not so bad.” his eyes rake over your frame carefully, you wonder if he’s looking at your brother. 

you look back and surprisingly no ones there. you shake it off when you hear a car engine nearby.

”oh, well it doesn’t hurt to try.” you begin to walk towards the door and he follows, outside his car sits with a bodyguard on standby waiting for him.

”i appreciate your service, miss. my private viewings have never been a dull moment during your enlightenments.” you lower you’re head slightly at him with a polite smile.

“i, as well must thank you for your service and approach. i tend to enjoy the art much more than when i am with myself.” the marquis remarks, extending his hand towards you.

”my pleasure, sir.” you respond as you shake his hand.

and it’s warm.

”will you be requiring a ride home? i am more than happy to offer it to you.” he offers when you pull your hand away from him.

”thank you for the offer sir but i will be here for later hours.” you retort.

“i do not mind staying here for a little longer.” he insists, you notice his line of sight eye your hand that shook his hand earlier. the cold rainy breeze must have taken control of the warmth of your palms and the marquis could have noticed the coldness of your hand. the marquis fidgets with his right hand as if it was itching to do something.

”it is not needed sir, i am more than capable of bringing myself home.” you state firmly.

”nonsense. i’ll send a car for you. it would be unfortunate if my favorite art historian was harmed in any possible way, how will i survive my viewings?” he urges with amusement in his tone but once again not wanting to back down.

”i would hate to waste your time and effort sir-“ you politely refuse again.

”it is late and unsafe for a woman of your caliber to be alone in the streets of the city. you will not have a choice in this, mademoiselle.” he states firmly this time as his voice hardens and makes it clear it’s not an offer.

it’s a command.

the marquis’ attention is not to be relished on. in this private viewings, the both of you have always maintained a polite and professional demeanor between client and host although there was some casual conversation here and there but you’ve never outright refused him, desiring to keep his temper from exploding and having his unpredictability in your space.

the marquis always gets his way. having private viewings at any time he desires with whatever piece of art he decides to have his eye on and more importantly taking up your time whenever he comes by at the louvre.

in the recent months you’ve spent with him, compliance is all he knows from you so it’s not unlikely that it’s easy for him to shut you down at the first hint of refusal. not to mention, he does not hesitate at confrontation. any small slight against him is somewhat remembered the next time you meet him.

complaints about making him wait slightly longer than usual for his viewings, comments about the apparently poor maintenance of the paintings  and your tardiness to attend to him are the most prominent experiences you remember from him.

the marquis feels entitled to everything within the walls of the louvre.

and that includes you.

another entitled rich snob that thinks he understands art more than you do is not a first time experience, but his insistence of having you brought home because of him somehow brings a chill to your spine.

entitled rich snobs can come to your work any time and however they like but the moment they try to step into your life, well it’s time to push them back. you have no interest in them unless it’s something to do with your job.

unfortunately, you don’t have the strength to do that right now.

“next time.” you think to yourself, “but never again.”

you back down and thank the marquis for this offer as his body guard opens the door to his vehicle, he flashes a small but pleased smile for your gratitude and bids you a safe trip home.

you return a smile at him and watch him leave until his car disappears from where you stand. exhaustion settles back into your nerves when you realized how late it is again.

oh and your brother.

christ. give me strength to deal with this tomorrow.

you sigh and walk back inside to close up.

later, when you get dropped off by the driver assigned to you, doubt starts to creep into your senses whether or not you told the driver where you live. after thanking him and shutting the door, you tilt your head idly at the car and think deep and hard.

”did you or did you not?” you ponder.

groaning heavily you shake it off as exhaustion for your lack of remembrance.

still weird though.

author’s note: kickstarting another series when i’m still not done with four reqs and one series…anyways enjoy and please feel free to like and reblog!

[wellnoe]

Your passion for art and knowing that it's not even your focus just makes me smile, you put so much into all of your artwork and your pieces are always so stunning and evoke genuine emotions!! And it's all just because you enjoy it!! No obligations!! So thank you so much for sharing your art with us (:

i'm glad the emotions come across <3!!

[jellogram]

Really weird how many of you worship Shane and Ryan so hard that you're like "They have a right to be paid for their art!! Stop being a brat and support them!!"

Like it's not about whether or not I want them to make money. Obviously I do. It's about how they:

teased this as a big exciting update

have been dropping serious amounts of cash on shows that no one asked for

hinted in the video that they are doing this so that they can continue to do the big expensive shit that no one asked for

keep reminding us that Steven drives us a Tesla for some godforsaken reason

are acting like everyone on earth can afford the subscription and that international exchange rates don't exist

skipped over a million other options like patreon shows and ad-supported independent streaming before jumping straight into thinking they deserve a streaming service

Like can you stop being parasocial for one second and realize how fucking terribly this has been handled. They are showing zero respect to their audience both in their decision and how it was presented. Can you not look at that and think "Huh, maybe my guys fucked this one up?"

[sm-baby]

I want to see all the carnival AU bios again, but finding Zooble's is too hard, even when using the search. I hope there's a more organized way to view them.

(Trying to come up with nicknames that said characters would give my characters.)

CARNIVAL AU MASTERPOST + BOUNDARIES

Augh... I never know how to organize stuff! But here is a mini master post of the TADC Info Cards (edited):

The Main Cast (Minus Zooble :C)

Zooble ( Plus Zooble!!! :3)

Shiny Cards ✨

Lesser AI

THE GLOINKS!!!

Level layout

OFFICIAL COMIC:

The Entire Comic has also been dubbed by @volticglitch !! If you're not a reader, You can watch their dubs instead!! Here is the dub

Your best friend!

Jesterly duties

The hallway

Crying

First clue

Special event!

Foul language - a silly

CONCEPT ART:

Characters Relationship Chart ( Bonus, OC relationship Chart!)

The Tent

The Funhouse

Cutscene

Pomni expressions

Character design

Meet Pomni

ALT character skins (Bonus, Maid skins because of course I did)

Pomni expressions AGAIN!!! (and a bonus)

The Jester's Circus tent (and a bonus)

References

Shape language ramble

LOREEE:

Neck pieces

Neck pieces (prt 2)

Neck pieces (prt 3)

Silly Frilly

Toxic Positivity Duo

Quick Ragatha Doodle

The Rabbit

Non-sentient Pomni

Pity Laugh

First act of violence

First and only visit

DOODLE DUMPS:

First look

Meet Jax

Meet Ragatha

Meet Kinger

Meet Able

Zooble's room

Theatre shinanigans

Thanks for listening

Jax Doodles

Ragatha doodles (Feat. Kaufmo)

Caine doodles

Queenie?

Colored doodles

Eye popping

Jax Ko-fi request!

SILLIES:

Final boss Pomni Theory

Ofcourse you would

Shoulder Pads

test

omg showtime teeheeh ehehehe

CUTIES!!!

MORE SHOWTIME (HAVE I REALLY NOT ADDED THIS IN BEFORE??)

Carnival AU meets Original

its ok she's not drowning

The Amazing Digital... Circus???

A Christmas Carol Play!

Carnival Freakshow AU Merge!! (Freakshow AU by @hootbon)

BUZZBUZZ!! Fan character by @awful-little-goose

Whore Pomni Inside joke - more slutshaming

Pomni where yo pants at

shitpost doodles

SCANDAL!!

SCANDAL!! (alt)

Genderbend time!!

Stupid fucking doodles i made at like 11 pm

Stupid fucking doodles i made at like 11 pm (I dont know why I keep making these ToT)

stupid shinanigans involving Pomni's tent (Pomni's tent for context)

POMNI LET GO OF HIM!!!!!!!!

BUBBLE DAMN

Please hear her out guys

Kinger with no robe!!!

Bunnydoll real?!?!!?(Kofi request by amazing people :3)

Genderbend Jax!

Dollar store Carnival AU

Gangle simping over Able slay - Gangle PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER

Carnival GAINE!! - bro's so strong and cool and awesome

Flirty non-sentient pomni Inside joke (TW For suggestive themes): NON-CANON

Start

Context

Flirty non-sentient pomni (shitpost)

Pomni..........

Memory storage restart

the silly!!

no you're not.

oh god

someone paid me 10 bucks

SOMEONE PAID ME MORE MONEY

╔══ ❀•°❀BOUNDERIES/FAQ❀°•❀ ══╗

"Can I make OCs In Carnival?" - Yess!! Multiple people already have and they make me so happy! do whatever, as long as you're happy and having fun!! " Can I make NSFW?" - Yas and slay, just be sure to warn and spoiler it, etc. etc. be responsible when posting NSFW! " Can I make Fanfics?" - Yes and please show me!! that would be lovely!! " Can I dub/voice your stuff?" - Yes but, I have only one rule... show me pleaaasseeee pls pls pls 🥺🙏 " Can I ship the characters/self ships/ OC x Canon?" - Aughh.. this is gonna suck to explain cuz its a lot to ask.. You're allowed to ship any ship! My only boundary is that it doesn't include either Pomni or Caine being with others who are not eachother! For example: Ragatha x Jax ✅ Pomni x Jax❌ Kinger x Queenie✅ Kinger x Caine❌ As long as the ship does not include Pomni or Caine individually, I'm all aboard!! I respect Jax x Pomni shippers, as well as Kinger x caine shippers, I just don't like them myself and don't want to accidentally stumble upon them in the tag! I do apologize if that's a lot, it just makes me uncomfy! Bounderies can be very tight! :')

[genderqueerdykes]

physically disabled schizophrenic homeless trans person about to lose hotel room

hello, i know i have other posts out right now, but i'm in a very terrifying situation right now and i am scared shitless. it is sunday, 2/25/2024. i got a call back from the government waitlist apartment that i've been approved for, and need to Uber over to their office tomorrow morning to sign paperwork to get moved in later this week. they said the absolute earliest they can move me into my unit is tuesday. my hotel stay runs out on tomorrow, monday morning at 11 am and i am currently waiting on my deposits from my art business to hit my account- they take several days to process, and aren't coming in fast enough. the rest of the money i had on my person went to paying for my hotel up until now and my storage unit bill.

i hate to make another post while i have others circulating, but if i do not get at least monday night paid for before 11 am on 2/26, i will be completely without housing right before i'm able to move into my new place. i don't have anywhere else to stay right now and i can't afford any setbacks with this apartment, as i've been working with them since october. i need to be able to afford my current hotel until they are able to move me in, and uber to and from the complex.

my hotel is currently $38/night:

please note these are the only payment gateways that will get to me fast enough so i can book more nights in my hotel & afford an uber to and from my new apartment:

cash App: $glitterGraphix venmo: @ Equinoxian pay pal: glittergraphicnightmare@ gmail.com

thank you to everyone who has already helped- your contributions will be able to go toward getting us moved into our new place, buying necessities like appliances, transportation and more. thank you for all of your help. again, sorry for making another post but we are literally down to the wire and i'm anxious as all hell.

[certified-bi]

Okay all my thoughts because some people have been saying that not supporting this change is not supporting artist and creators and as an artist fuck that.

1. Audiences owe you nothing. You have to convince them to engage with your creation not the other way around. This is something both the nonprofit theatre I work with recognizes and huge companies realize. It's just part of life. There are so many talented people in the world making amazing art, videos, music, writings, and on and on, and there's only so much time in the day. I'm not saying you shouldn't know your worth, just that being flippant about how little you care about those who can't pay isn't a good move. On that note...

2. PR is everything. If you haven't made a visible effort to push patreon, channel memberships or other avenues of making money, don't be suprised that your creation that was previously accessible to those without extra cash and to those who can't support foreign subscriptions due either to conversions or because it simply doesn't work, being made private isn't popular. There's a big leap from "We want to have more artistic control" to "We can't afford to make our content accessible to most of our audience," and people are smart enough to see this. You either have to make budget cuts or give into sponsors. This isn't unique to Watcher, it's part of literally every production from broadway, to Hollywood, to YouTube. Unless you can fund it yourself or get viewers to pay(which given how many are already strapped for cash...) that's life.

Not to mention they simply do not have enough followers to make the switch to a paid only site(dropping the first epsiode only on YouTube isn't going to draw people in, they're just going to say "oh why start if I'm not going to see the rest" and not watch) especially not one that is buggy and a security risk. Even if the switch had been supported its not going to end well. The only reason services like nebula and dropout work is because of the large amount of series and creators and the fact those creators still are partly on YouTube so new people are drawn in.

3. As for the price, 6 dollars a month is a not a good starting price for only their content and that's as someone who pays for nebula. I'd be paying the same amount for a fraction of the access to others work. Actually it'd be twice as much. And before someone says "it's only a coffee-" that's for you. Not everyone has your lifestyle. And with every other patreon and subscription service that says the same thing, it all adds up and I simply don't think 60 dollars for 48 videos a year on a subscription basis where you don't get to keep the videos if your situation changes, some of which don't appeal to every viewer is a good move. If you were able to buy physical copies of your favorite series they've made that'd be different, but that's not what this is.

4. I do believe that the employees deserve a livable wage. I also did not hire them. It is not on the viewers that they hired more people than they could afford to. They can charge that much if they want to to try and balance this out. They also shouldn't be suprised if not many can or will sign up. They also don't have to be based in L.A. L.A has ridiculous costs associated with it, and quite honestly it doesn't really add much to the content. I'm not saying they need to move to the middle of nowhere Kansas. Simply that living and basing your studio in a super expensive city and then being suprised money is tight is just weird.

5. Something that occurs to me is that they might get more views if their playlists were better set up. Only some series are given playlists. It'd be easier to find all of the series and binge them if they didn't just show off their more popular shows. Honestly the only draw the streaming site has to me is that the series are actually labeled well.

Do I think the weird ass energy towards Steven is necessary? No. He's not the only one at the company and they're all adults. I actually liked grocery run and homemade, and like to see them back. The parascoial attachment to Ryan and Shane is annoying in people's criticisms, but that doesn't make them completely wrong. If you're going to brand yourself as the anti capalist underdogs you can't get away with being dismissive of your poorer fans. The dissonance is what is causing this backlash and makes you look like hypocrites. I definitely think Steven is turning into the fall guy which is fucked up, his statement and the fact dish granted is one of those shows that make people uncomfortable about wealth flexs doesn't help matters.

[felmonth]

(Edited and slightly better developed! Will be updated until further notice)

Hey, neighbors! I am alive! XD

AAAAH! I finally managed to finish Tom's sheet, but for Au "Actors," the author of this AU is @frillsand. I've been wanting to create drawings related to this AU for a while now, and there are still comics that I want to share.

Wally won my heart -cries- 😭💘, of course, haha. I'll be sharing with you all the comics that come to mind regarding this AU.

WARNING: Before proceeding, this may contain sensitive content, you have been warned. I hope you enjoy the extended blog and the extra mini-comic to lighten the mood.

Well without anything else to say about it...let's start with Tom Unlucky, the stylist!!

Tom Actor's Story:

In a town called "Titirilquén," Thompson (Tom) Lucky grew up alongside his mother and brother Jack Lucky. They depended on each other for everything. They didn't own a television, but they would find TVs on in stores where mostly there were news and interviews with celebrities. Both of them dreamed of becoming actors inspired by the experiences shared by those celebrities on television. Their school further fueled their interests, as it offered a theater subject and a variety of art-related courses.

At school, Jack exhibited a captivating personality in his school theater performances, earning admiration from everyone. However, Jack felt uncomfortable because nobody paid attention to his brother, who was also improving with each performance and costume. Therefore, Jack decided to involve his brother in everything to make him stand out just like himself...

Over time, the school grants Jack a special scholarship that involves working in one of the largest studios in Titirilquen despite being very young. This news greatly delights Jack, so he mentions it to his brother about this opportunity to become what they wanted to be at that time. Unfortunately, those who gave Jack the opportunity were very disappointed when he brought Tom to work with him, so they reluctantly accepted Tom only because Jack requested it.

When Jack was not around Tom, they assigned him different tasks than what an actor should do, completely deviating from the agenda that Tom had planned for the week. This led him to become overloaded with tasks, but he didn't complain because he thought it had to happen when living the life of an actor.

Jack and Tom were the first young actors in the Titirilquén studio. They initially performed in a few presentations for a museum, and then the director decided to create a program with them. Both did their best until they became somewhat more known thanks to the news in their town, and Tom was no longer as ignored as when he first joined. They reached a broader audience, leading them to want to learn more about the people in their town. So, they started learning sign language and refining their voices for musical sections to begin a small program aimed at families.

Both were directed by the same assistant, "Ron," but due to unforeseen circumstances, he had to retire because he had to move to another country for another job opportunity where he could earn more money to support his family. They had a new assistant, a woman named "Cherry," and from this moment, problems arose. The new assistant was serious and easily stressed when the director had to tell her what to do. As a result, she left the job of directing to the two young actors.

This assistant was starting to have too many problems with the brothers, she envied that both brothers mentioned the previous assistant's actions. However, they did not say this with bad intentions but rather so that he could do his job well, since the director was demanding regarding what should be on the schedule of both brothers. Over time, the work environment between them improved, but something was missing in the assistant's life, the brothers did not say many things to her or chat with her, but instead spoke only among themselves.

One day, Cherry overheard a conversation between the two brothers about the previous assistant. Cherry misinterpreted this as a threat to her job and felt worthless to both brothers. He decided to come up with a plan with his fellow students. The plan was to put one of the brothers in a problematic situation so that she could do something to help them and get recognition for it because according to her, the brothers did not value her.

The chosen target was Tom, as Cherry considered him weak and incapable. After finishing his singing section of the show, Tom left the studio to take a break and have a drink.

He noticed that his co-workers near a restaurant were calling him to chat, Tom without noticing any suspicion in them, approached them with great joy, because he admired what his co-workers were doing in the studio.

And being recognized and starting a conversation by them was a great joy for Tom, since he always lived underestimated as just a simple doll who cannot stand out among humans.

Unfortunately, there were ulterior motives. While they were talking to Tom normally, they took him behind the studio, which looked like an alley, and there a cruel scare developed. These coworkers mentioned negative things when they entered the alley and Tom felt uncomfortable by his coworkers' sudden mood swings. He tried to back away, but was easily caught. While saying negative things, they gradually destroyed parts of his body, including arms, legs, wrists, and fingers. They showed no concern for the little puppet's screams and fear because, to them, he was just a doll that couldn't feel pain, or so they claimed, they made fun of him for being too dramatic when he screamed.

When this situation came to an end, the group of companions left, leaving him alone, Tom remained on the ground, crying without understanding how the situation took such a sudden turn. Just a few moments ago everything was fine and now he was helpless on the ground, motionless. He could only see the cotton sticking out of his body and his limbs outside his body, he could only move his head at the moment, he felt completely useless. He prayed that his brother would find him and help him, but then Cherry appeared, pretending to be worried about Tom. She helped him in this terrible situation and took him to the emergency tailoring service.

Now, with Tom recovered, he was mentally depressed and shattered. He looked at his stitched-up body and felt very insecure about venturing into the streets inhabited by humans. He didn't want to go through a similar situation again, so his only support rested on Cherry.

Tom was immensely grateful to her for helping him in this terrible and stressful situation. After a few long minutes of silence, he told his assistant that he didn't want to continue his acting career. This surprised Cherry, but she said nothing and just listened, offering ideas. She felt quite good about helping Tom in these moments of stress. She informed the director about this decision, and of course, he was very concerned and saddened, especially when Tom requested not to inform his brother.

When Tom was discharged on the same day as the accident, he didn't want to go home because a thought crossed his mind: he had always depended on his brother and was only causing him problems. So, with a heavy heart, he decided to distance himself from his brother. The assistant supported all of Tom's ideas, including the idea of complete separation. She was happy that Tom depended on her, so she found him a job outside the country without consulting him.

From Jack's perspective, after the accident, he found it strange that his brother didn't appear on the show. He asked the director why there were sudden changes in the program and why his brother wasn't there. The director decided to be tough with him, saying they hired him and not his brother. He gave Jack new rules for the new direction of the show. Jack was devastated by this news. He considered quitting his job but thought better of it; he wanted to see his brother at home.

When he arrived home, there were no traces of his brother or his belongings. He tried calling him, but there was no phone coverage. In his desperation, he contacted the authorities to inquire about his brother, but they only started working after at least two days of being missing.

This situation was stressful for Jack and his mother. They were very worried and considered various possibilities of what might have happened. Tom decided not to tell them anything when offered a call by the authorities and declared that he wouldn't return home. His family was concerned because they heard a weak voice through the phone, but it was all they could do as the studio was too secretive with the information.

Both brothers remained separated for a long time. For Jack, nothing was the same without Tom, and the show looked depressing. Despite this, he maintained a forced smile for his audience. Children asked a lot about his brother, leading him into deep depression.

Tom, moved to another country, working in a new studio as a stylist. He adopted a fearful, anxious, and panicked attitude, afraid of everyone. To distract himself, he overloaded himself with work, trying to maintain composure by breathing deeply. He couldn't stop thinking about his family, and he knew what he was doing wasn't healthy, but he wanted to stay away for a while.

Well, that's roughly the story. It's long, but I feel that now it's better understood than before. Thanks for staying to read and loving Tom Actor! -cries-

Curious facts about Titirilquén today:

Lately, I've been hooked on a series called "31 minutos," so I included some things from that series. I highly recommend it, it's in Spanish, but there are English subtitles available. Titirilquén is from that show.

Titirilquén doesn't have hospitals because literally no one gets sick there. However, there are places like Mrs. Juanita's service, who takes care of the damaged puppets in this town.

Titirilquén was a town of only puppets but tired of being anonymous and as an unknown town, they decided to include people in their town, building a civilization, the negative of the town only benefits the humans that its own puppet inhabitants.

Facts about Tom:

(Jack's data was deleted to create his respective sheet)

He is 27 years old now.

He speak spanish but he learned English thanks to Cherry.

He is very naive, and that works against him, as he decides to trust everyone.

He has a puppet friend in this studio and his name is Lulu but he affectionately calls him "Wolfy"

When he first arrived at the studio, the studio people confused him with Wally, so since that day, some just call him "Pink Wally." (This is due to his height, skin tone and hair shape, so Tom changed his look to messier hair to not look like Wally)

Tom is a very good worker, but he always hides after finishing his work and doesn't get distracted by anything while working. If a human talks to him, he ignores them, but if it's a puppet, he takes time to chat.

Despite hiding, he is found by children, most of whom are human.

He misses being an actor but is very afraid.

Alongside his brother, they worked on a children's educational program called "Sing until Counting to 3." They taught children songs that included sign language. However, when they leave, the program is completely forgotten by the director.

Tom and Jack are not the same height, Jack has to bend down to hug and talk to him.

Tom usually wears makeup, always in pink or fuchsia, which is his favorite color.

Tom often sees little due to his poor eyesight, so he sometimes needs glasses to see clearly, but he usually doesn't use them because he finds them unnecessary.

Tom has fallen in love with Cherry due to her concern for him (friend, realize...).

As you can see, Tom is afraid of humans, and you rarely find him crying in studio places where people don't live, or even paranoid. If you find him in this situation, make him feel comfortable because he is completely unstable at that moment.

People consider him strange and curious because he often hides and is fearful, and they don't understand why he behaves like that. (It doesn't mean he avoids bad situations with the studio's humans; some of them respect the puppets, while others decide to hate them.)

Tom in this Au has a human brother, in the style of muppet protagonists. His name is Jack Lucky and they are both very close and have achieved many things together by working as a team. Jack is very attentive to his puppet brother, caring for him and trying to understand him as best he can.

Will Tom manage to become an actor again? Will his life improve? Will his brother Jack locate him after a long time? Will Tom continue to call himself unfortunate? Find out in the next episode... *Felmonth bids farewell to the viewers watching the video.*

NOW, COMIC! YAY!!

Title: "First unlucky day"

Reference movie: "White Chicks"

I don't know what Janet's design is like, I didn't find any reference, so I made it with what I found.

And well that was all, I hope you liked everything, I did the best I could and as always if there are questions ask without problems.

Bye byeeee!

Extra: It is assumed that in this unplanned part, Wally told Tom "Consider yourself unlucky for working with me from now on." (No canon for me xD but extra)

Bye uwu)/💐

[seat-safety-switch]

I've spoken about it many times before, but being a handyperson is a sort of curse. Once you can fix things, then it's hard to give up on fixing things. There are lots of broken objects in my home that would have been better off lining the inside of a dumpster, rather than been blown apart my living quarters for months on end while I traced some ultimately-irredeemable fault that would only fill me with rage when I found it.

Of course, nobody expected that when all the rich people left for the space station, taking capitalism with them, folks down here would just plain ol' stop working. All the factories went dormant as we realized our bosses were powerless without their bosses. Now if something broke, you'd have to come crawling to a local repair person. Can't just go buy something new from the store, where nobody wants to spend their days working so they can show you which box to buy. Nothing on the shelves anyway. Gotta fix what you have. Cruel warlords like myself now held sway over an entire neighbourhood at a time, using our exotic powers of "knowing which way to turn a screwdriver" and "put some grease on it."

Now, I spend all my days fixing other peoples' things, as opposed to before, when I spent all my time fixing my own things. Don't worry, it's not a bad life. I get paid in food, mostly, although some neighbours have offered me now-worthless money and gold bars.

Sometimes I think about heading down to the park, enjoying humanity's first free days since the industrial revolution. Art, poetry, music, free love, hand-churned ice cream: these are all things they took from us. Then I realize that the park rangers expected their sprinkler array fixed a couple weeks ago, and I can't well show my face there if it's still leaking through the improvised cork o-rings I had to make for it.

At night, I look up at the sky and see the exhaust of the space station glowing as it ejects spent rods from the reactor. I think about the mean-time-before-failure statistics of the oxygen scrubber. I wonder if they have anyone good at repairs up there. Probably not, but I'm sure they can tell someone to tell someone to make a new scrubber from the materials they don't have in their superterran prison. More valuable skill, that one.

[kremlin]

"This event ends the moment you write us a check, and it better not bounce, or you're a dead motherfucker" -- Big Bill Hell

There was a time when you'd see little old ladies paying for the groceries with a hand-written personal check, holding up the line, causing an immediately-forgiven slight sense of annoyance with those behind her. Buddy. Those days are over. They've been over. What, did you think you were going to just pop a couple extra zeroes on the end of your paycheck there? Maybe scan your paycheck, open it in photoshop, make a template, print em out all nice? You think you're the first to think of that, dipshit?

It takes the law a long time to catch up with the state of the art. You're reading this on the internet, which means you never use checks. The law has caught up. Your ass will be going to prison immediately and you will see zero return.

You can't even kite checks anymore, and hell, nobody under 40 will even know what that means, due to the blazing fast, two day settlement on all ACH transactions. Let me paint you a picture.

You get paid on Friday, but it is Monday, and bills are due on Tuesday. And you're broke: $0 in the bank. Goose egg. Pop open your checkbook, go to a store, "buy" some things, write a check for the amount. The cashier takes it!

Now take those things you "bought", across town, to another store location, and return them for cold hard cash. Sweet. Bills paid. Friday rolls around, and you just make it to the bank to deposit your paycheck before it closes. After the weekend, the checks you wrote finally post, and they don't bounce! You've kited a check. You've surreptitiously taken a zero-interest loan. And we know your broke ass. The interest rate on that short-term payday loan should have been straight up usurious. We're talking 29%. That makes predatory fuckers like us horny for sex. We're so mad. Now you are going to Federal Prison. For a good minute. Fuckface.

COST: $0.10 (With banks offering free checking accounts + Bic pen)

"Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor sleet, if you fuck with the mail, we'll rip your nuts off" -- Ronald Mail (Inventor of Mail)

Many people have this misnomer that the most powerful people in politics are democratically elected. The president, of the United States, of America, is a stupid cartoon hotdog. All of them, I don't care. Way less clout than you'd think. Brilliantly, it is the people that the hotdog president appoints who are actually doing anything significant. The director of the CIA. The fucking chairman of the Federal Reserve. Probably the, like, most senior, uh, general of the military, and shit too. I don't know, we don't "do" army here at Bloomberg. You probably don't even know their names! I don't! These are the ones you should be seeing in your sleep.

There's another position like that. Appointed directly by the hotdog. The Postmaster General. That's a real title. He's the CEO of the mail, and buddy, what he may lack in political power relative to the director of the CEO, he makes up in raw sexual energy. Total Tom Selleck energy. Like an airline pilot. We're talking Donald Sutherland in Invasion of the Body Snatchers. I'm tentpoling in my black business slacks just writing this, and all my Bloomberg newsroom bros are peering over my shoulder and also tent-poling. We're not gay though, and especially me, I'm probably the least gay, but sometimes I just lay awake for hours at night what that mustache would feel like pressed against my lips, the unbelievable and utter, total sense of security I'd feel burying my head into his hard chest.

You get it. He's your dad. And if you fuck with the mail, you've fucked with the tools in your dad's garage. And dad's been drinking. You're in for it, bucko, you are in trouble. Do you think the United States Postal Service actually makes any money? Hell no. It costs like five bucks to mail a box basically anywhere I can think of and they give you the boxes for free. You can just walk in the post office and take them. I do that, and then just throw them away, I don't know why, some kind of compulsion. Being able to move shit around like this, quickly, cheaply -- Jesus H, I've got a huge amount of money in my bank account, probably tens of trillions of dollars (due to financial knowledge gained from reading Bloomberg articles) and I could probably mail every single person ever something and still come out in the black.

No way pal. They've thought of that already. The Postmaster General is going to know every time, and he's going to grab you by the shirt collar, wearing his cool as fuck hat, and you're going to get your pants pulled down, and your bare ass spanke...I need to go use the restroom real quick.

We rely on the mail system to get important shit done. It's not something to be taken lightly, and it isn't. Trust me. This is why, like almost every other person who receives mail in this year 2023, I just fucking put a wastebasket under my mail slot. I don't even shred that shit anymore. I just burn it. Takes less time.

COST: $0.63 (Postal stamp)

"Can call all you want, but there's no one home // And you're not gonna reach my telephone // Out in the club, and I'm sipping that bubb // And you're not gonna reach my telephone" -- Lady Gaga

I read something wild that the children of today do not know what a dial tone is, because of how fucked up and stupid they are. Isn't that super fucked up?

While it's not really our style, allow me to fill you in on some ancient, arcane knowledge about the telephone. You can turn it on, and then you can punch in numbers. Any numbers. Random ones, or maybe not random ones. If the ten numbers you punch in are the same as the numbers in someone else's telephone number, their phone will ring, and then you are talking to them. This is called "Phreaking".

Here's the kicker: You can tell that jackass anything you want. "Oh, Hi, Yes, I am Reginald Sumpter calling from Avalon Consulting LLC, we are just following up on the invoice we sent you. Please remit to ###### routing ###### account."

BOOM! Your name isn't Reginald whatever and that company doesn't exist, but you just received a deposit. It's fucking beautiful. What have you done wrong? It isn't your responsibility to handle who your business' clients/etc are, it's their's. If they want to just pay you money for no real reason, well, that's kind of on them, isn't it? I haven't stuck a pistol in your face and demanded everything in the register.

Well, it's too clever. It's too slick. This is the United States of America. It's one thing to commit a felony like armed robbery, it's another thing to piss off someone in charge of the accounting division who uses a special bathroom you need a key to get into.

You can do it on the computer too, I use a PC Computer at work and send email, so you can see how it'd work there. You can make a document that is indifferentiable from a real invoice and, straight up, 1/3 of the time they will pay that shit. Lmfao.

It's called wire fraud because, uhh, duhhhh, there's wires. What do you think that thing is strung between the telephone receiver and the dialer? And computers? Give me a break. There's so many wires with those.

COST: $0.25 (Coin for payphone)

"People calculate too much and think too little." -- Charlie Munger

It is insane how dumb the common man can be when it comes to our world of expertise. I hear this same sentiment, like, ALL THE TIME:

"Durr hurr I will buy an insurance policy for my car or house or whatever so that in case something happens to it I will get money". And then that same person proceeds to drive safely or not burn their house down. Dumbest crap imaginable.

Let me break it down for you. Insurance is a two player competitive game. There is a winner and there is a loser. Go take out an expensive insurance policy on your American sports car. Buy a neck brace, a football helmet, and pack that bitch with throw pillows. Then get in the left lane of a major highway at like noonish, let it rip and then SLAM on your brakes. Hit from behind! Your fault! Congratulations. You have won insurance. How this gets past people is beyond me.

You can only do this once or twice before the insurance companies catch on. Then they don't want to fuck with you. It is also..I don't know man...something feels off about taking a car or a house, which like, some guy had to build and just destroying it, but that is only a weird emotional thing, since you're making money, more than whatever the destroyed thing is worth, so in reality you've built that house plus some extra. You've contributed.

COST: $106.00 (Average monthly car insurance payment)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

SUBSCRIBE TO MY WHATEVER FOR PART TWO, COMING SOON. i'll post it later today probably. whatever time frame will juice the numbers. have a sneaky peaky

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[webslinger-holland]

Just A Bartender | Kaz Brekker

Summary: There was nothing special about the head bartender at the Crow Club. For Kaz Brekker, he could list off thirty people who were more valuable assets or investments to him. But there is something about the bartender that ignites a desire to protect her at all costs.

Warning: alcoholic beverages, mentions of gambling, slightly demeaning behavior

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Fem!Reader

Type: Oneshot

Word Count: 4k

The Crow Club had such an enticing ambience filled to the brim with thoughtless pigeons. The Ketterdam tourists didn’t know any better than to visit one of the most well-known clubs in the Barrel. A place where they could put down a couple wages, drink until their hearts content, and get tricked into spending more money than they realize.

It was the perfect trap set by Kaz Brekker himself. The tables and dealers weren’t rigged, but a gambling hall is still a gambling hall. People lose their money at the tables and invest in a couple drinks. Before they know it, all their money is gone and it has all goes right into his pocket.

The Crow Club was never not busy, besides when it was closed in the early hours of the morning. It was Friday, which only meant that it was going to be a busy night and the start of the weekend. The tables were filled with some bystanders even standing on the sidelines awaiting their turn. 

The bouncers guarded the door to monitor the people coming in and out of the club. The waitresses whisked around tables, carrying tray after tray of various alcoholic drinks. All of which were provided and stocked by the head bartender. 

Near the back of the club, Y/N was standing behind the bar counter. She had a pint in her hands and was filling the pint to the brim with rich golden beer. She placed the pint onto a tray that was almost full of other drinks. She quickly pushed the tray into the hands of a waitress, sending the orders out. 

On busy nights like these, Y/N barely had a moment to think to herself. Instead, she opted to bury herself in the work in front of her because she knew how well it paid. She wiped her hands clear of beer on the apron tied around her waist before grabbing a nearby rag to clean the countertop. 

In that given moment, Wylan had returned to the bar with an empty tray in his hands. He slipped behind the bar and began helping by drying some cups with a rag himself. 

Over the past couple weeks, Y/N had been training Wylan in the art of bartending. She had seen firsthand how well he performed when mixing different chemicals to create his signature bombs. She wondered if he would take an interest in bartending since it was somewhat similar. And he most certainly did.

Wylan was a quick learner. Despite still not knowing how to read, Wylan was able to memorize which bottles of alcohol where which by the shape, size, color, and even smell. He always measured out the correct amount for each drink, since precision was insanely important when it comes to pyrotechnics. In no time, Wylan had become well knowledge in how to make certain drinks.

To have a second bartender was very helpful, especially on busy nights like these ones. For the past week, Wylan also doubled as another waiter since one of the girls had called out sick on short notice. He would take orders, return to the bar, create them himself, and then deliver them to the pigeons. 

With Wylan often at the bar, this meant that Jesper spent even less time at the tables. For the majority of the night, Jesper would find himself perched on one of the barstools at the bar; his head perched in the palm of his hand as he stared longingly at the young bartender. This distraction was one that Wylan, Y/N, and Kaz were most thankful for as they knew how bad his gambling problem really was.

“Might I have another refill?” Jesper wondered as he lowered his now empty glass onto the bar counter. He winced at the burning in the back of his throat.

“I think you’ve had enough tonight,” Y/N said warringly as she took his glass away. “Don't want to develop a drinking problem on top of a gambling problem.”

Jesper snorted in response, but nodded his head in agreement. She sent him a warm smile and cheeky wink. He went to push the barstool back, standing to his feet. He stretched his arms over his head.

“Well, then I might head to the tables.” Jesper began. She went to protest, but Wylan beat her to it.

“We’ve talked about this,” Wylan quickly came to stand beside him and took his arm as if to stop him.

“Don’t worry about me. I won’t spend more than an hour at the table,” Jesper claimed. He leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his forehead, burying his nose in the ruff of hair. He quickly pulled away and slipped into the crowd to find an empty table.

Left at the bar, Wylan slumped down in the empty barstool left by Jesper. He breathed a long sigh of defeat. His gaze drifted down to the wet rag in his hands, finding a loose string and pulling on it without thought.

“I’ll send Inej to make sure he leaves the tables after an hour,” Y/N tried to cheer him up. He looked over his shoulder to send her a weak smile, mentally appreciating the effort. He redirected his line of attention to the crowd, spotting his lover situated at one of the tables. 

From across the room, Y/N’s eyes had landed on the dark and looming figure of her boss walking the floor. He was currently being trailed by one of his informants; a pesky man who honestly didn’t know when to stop talking. 

The bartender just knew by the look in his eyes that his patience was already warring thin. His jaw was locked in place and his pace quickened despite the use of his cane. He also had that clear look of annoyance in his eyes. 

In that moment, Y/N began to prepare his usual order, which was a glass of the finest whiskey in Ketterdam. She knew he was gonna need it after that conversation. Sure enough, Kaz spun around on the heels of his feet and said one thing to his informant. Without another word, the short and stout man scurried past him to leave the club. 

Now, Kaz headed straight to the far side of the bar. He stood with his eyes facing the shelf full of the alcoholic beverages. The head bartender placed his usual on the countertop before sending it sliding down the long length of the counter. Without looking, Kaz caught the small glass of whiskey with his leather black glove. He raised the glass to his lips, taking a long sip of the rich liquid and relishing in the burning sensation felt near the back of his throat.

When Y/N turned her head away, Kaz shifted his gaze to stare at her discreetly unbeknownst to her. He remembered the day he hired her, which was only a few days before the club opened. He hired her for one reason and one reason only: if she agreed to not to ask any questions. And she had kept her end of the bargain ever since.

He knew this would be a difficult task for anyone. There was always the mystery behind the black leather gloves he wore and the limp accompanied by the crow cane. The origins of where Kaz Brekker came from. Why he was so ruthless and heartless even as a twenty year old now. But she wasn’t allowed to ask questions.

When Kaz would come back to the Slat bloodied and bruised because he had gotten into a fistfight with a local gang, Y/N couldn’t even ask what happened or who did that to him. She simply sit silently while tending to his cuts with a damp rag.  She never pestered and she never pried.

She wasn’t anything special herself. She wasn’t part of the Six Crows. She didn’t participate in the heist. She didn’t wield any foreign knives, have the heartrending ability, or have a sharpshooter’s eye. She was just simply the bartender. 

She wasn’t part of the fight. She didn’t attend meetings. She brought very little to the table, besides the occasional alcoholic drinks as per requested. 

She played no role. She had no importance. She didn’t have a name for herself. She most certainly was expendable. If she disappeared, nobody would know her or even remember her. Her job could easily be filled by the next person who walked into the room or even Wylan if that was an option. 

She had little value and she knew this.

“Hey lady,” Y/N was pulled from her thoughts by a customer sitting at a table nearby. He raised his empty glass. “Be a sweetheart and get me a refill,” the man grinned wickedly.

Now Kaz’s gaze shifted from the customer to the bartender. He watched carefully. She grabbed a clean empty glass, choosing to fill up the pint without saying anything. She went to hand the glass to Wylan, but the customer stopped her by calling out again.

“Bring it to me yourself, lady.” He almost groaned. He sent a cheeky wink to the other men around the table. They chuckled deeply to themselves. 

With some hesitation, Y/N made her way around the side of the counter with the pint of beer in her hands. She went to approach the table, carefully placing the glass down for the customer. She began taking a single step back, but was stopped when the man gripped her wrist.

Out of instinct, Y/N let out a small gasp of surprise. She clenched her fist tightly and attempted to pull herself out of his tight grasp. She tried to contain herself, in attempts of hiding the clear fear and discomfort she felt. Because she knew that if she showed even an ounce of fear, that they will feed off of that and tear her to pieces. She held her ground.

“Kindly let go,” Y/N demanded firmly but quietly.

“What you gonna do about it, pretty girl?” The man said with a deep chuckle. The beer drenched his long orange beer, dripping onto his fine waistcoat. His breath stank of alcohol and tobacco.

All of the sudden, a loud click of a cane came in contact with the wooden floorboards. The table went silent. Everyone’s heads turned to the source of the sound; their gazes falling on the one who ran the club. 

In all his glory, Kaz Brekker stood facing the table of pigeons. His two gloved hands rested on top of the crow head cane. He said nothing to them, simply staring them down with a hard look in his eyes. 

A little click of a gun caused the men at the table to turn their heads once again. On the other side of the room, Jesper stood with one of his precious pearly guns in his hand. It was already cocked and ready for a fight. He narrowed his eyes at them as if challenging them. Wylan shallowed heavily in fear of the worst happening.

The sound of a knife being pulled out of its sheath could be heard much to everyone’s surprise. They turned their heads one final time to see a dark cloaked figure standing on the other side of the room. She drawn knives glistened in a yellow light of the club. Her face covered by a thin blue cloth. It was the Wraith.

“I’d chose your next step very carefully if I were you,” Kaz threatened darkly.

With little hesitation, the man released his tight grip on the bartender’s wrist. She took a couple steps back in retreat. She pulled her wrist to her chest, rubbing the tingling pain away with her other hand. She wondered if it would bruise tomorrow.

Kaz didn’t say anything. He tipped his head to Jesper as if to say ‘escort this man and his pals out of the place.’ He nodded knowingly before calling over the bouncers. They acted quickly by escorting the whole table out of the club despite their protests that their money was good and they didn’t do anything wrong. 

The owner of the club went to stand in front of his bartender. He kept his eyes on the door of the club as the men were forcefully pushed out of the club. She looked at him expectedly. She half expected him to ask if she was alright, but she should have known better because all he said was:

“My office after work.”

Her shoulders slouched at her sides in defeat. She stared at him with a hint of sadness in her eyes. The pain in her wrist was starting to become more prominent with each passing second. It was bound to bruise at this point. 

“Yes boss,” Y/N accepted. 

With her head hung low, Y/N returned to her rightful place behind the bar to finish out the rest of her shift. She dreaded the conversation that she was expected to have at the end of the night, left expectant in the dark about what their topic would pertain to.

Many hours later, the Crow Club was finally closed. The tables had been cleared. The dealers and bouncers had all gone back to their quarters at the Slat. Even Jesper, Wylan, and Inej had made their way back to the place they called home. All that was left was the bartender.

For starters, Y/N had to walk around the club in order to collect all of the glasses and pints. Many of them were left empty, but some of them still had liquid leftover. She returned to the bar to wash the dishes and dry them with her spare rag. She placed the rest of them upside down on the counter to dry overnight.

Next, Y/N made her way to each table to clean the table tops. She then proceeded to stack the chairs on top of table. This took quite some time as they were a lot of tables in the club. But once the tables and chairs were taken care of, Y/N was able to get out a broom and dustpan.

The pigeons often brought in heaps of dust and dirt from the road, which made the naturally brown floorboards this disgusting black color. It took close to an hour of sweeping the place before she was able to move onto the mopping portion of her tasks. 

By this point, it was close to the early hours of the morning. While the sun wasn’t peeking over the horizon, it was bound to in an hours time. Rather sluggishly, Y/N returned to her place behind the bar. She opened a hidden cupboard to retrieve a single pristine teacup. She filled the teacup with a rich black coffee before placing the cup on a silver tray.

Carefully, so not to spill the cup of coffee, Y/N made her way upstairs to the upper level of the club. She cautiously went to approach the door to her boss’s office. She raised her hand to knock twice.

Even though she heard nothing in response, Y/N was able to open the door and make her way inside. She saw her boss sitting behind his desk, working through some of the books. She strode over to his desk to lower the silver tray on top of it. 

As per request, Kaz liked to have a cup of coffee while working on the books every night before leaving the club. He never took any creamer or sugar with his coffee, opting to drink it straight black. Almost fitting to his persona.

Black gloves. Black coffee. Black soul.

Without taking his eyes away from his work, Kaz’s devilishly long fingers curled round the handle of the teacup. He brought the cup to the seam of his lips, tipping the cup slightly upwards to get a taste of its bitter and strong flavor. 

In the three years of working for Kaz Brekker, Y/N always brought him a cup of coffee at the end of the night. She’d watch him drink his coffee, waiting for her next orders. Sometimes Kaz would ask her to restock the new shipment of vodka that had come in from the harbor. Other times, Kaz would ask her to look over the books for him to make sure he didn’t miss anything.

The longest wait had been over an hour long of her just standing in front of his desk, waiting for a verbal dismissal from him. It was always how she ended her night at the club. Sometimes her dismissal came in the form of a short nod. On rare occasions, Kaz would say something like ‘you may go.’ 

Tonight would be different. A fight had almost broke out in the club. A gun could have been fired by Jesper had his patience run out a minute earlier. Blood could have been shed over a mere bartender.

A few moments passed in utter silence. The only sound was coming from Kaz flipping through some papers and when he lowered his drink back down onto the silver tray.

“I’d like to apologize for tonight--,” Y/N began but was quickly interrupted.

“What for?” Kaz said without drawing his gaze away from his work. She paused for a moment.

“There was almost a fight,” Y/N replied blankly.

“Happens from time to time,” Kaz claimed. He wasn’t wrong. “I just prefer to keep my floors clean of blood.”

She knew this better than anyone. He’d always get so frustrated if someone shot a gun off in his club or if someone ended up dead on his floor. Unbeknownst to her, it was solely because she was the one who always had to clean up the mess. He hated seeing her on her hands and knees, scrubbing the blood out of the floorboards. 

He knew that she’d wake up the next day with sore knees and splinters in her hand. An ache in her back that wouldn’t go away for another week. Her hands stained pink from the blood she washed away with a scrubber and bucket. Her eyes tired from having to stay later.

Kaz Brekker knew well of pain. He was old buddies with him. The effects of firepox had caused an unbearable pain when he was much younger. However, the worst pain that Kaz ever endured was when he was fourteen years old. In which, he jumped off the roof of a bank and broke his right leg. That pain failed to leave his side and still resides with him to his day, hint the cane. 

Kaz Brekker knew well of the pain of others. Often times, Kaz found a somewhat sense of joy upon seeing the look of pain in others faces, particularly other members of rivalry gangs. To see a man writhing in pain due to being shot in the leg or being witness to a solid left hook to a jaw. It was often satisfying to say the least.

However, Kaz Brekker concealed behind all his hard armor, could not stand to see one particular person in pain. It shouldn’t have been an issue, but it had been for the past three years. His bartender of all people was the one person on his mind.

He always knew that he liked to take care of his investments, particularly his crows in which he had invested a lot of his money and time into. His bartender was not much of an investment. He had paid off Inej’s indenture years ago and she worked for him as a spy in disguise. He gave Jesper a line of credit in which he quickly became his right hand man. Even Wylan, whom Kaz had taken under his wing, was part of the crew and was a much more valuable asset than any bartender could be. After all, she was just a bartender.

She brought nothing to the table. No intel. No skill. No muscle. Just the ability to make one hell of a cocktail and the strong sense to not ask any questions.

The investment in her was not one for the books. It wasn’t one of the best choices he’d ever made. She made drinks and kept the place tidy. That was it. She was dispensable.

And yet, for some reason, Kaz protected her. He always protects his investments, but especially the ones he truly cares about. He protects his crows as they are the closest thing he has to a family now. He protects the other members of the Dregs as they are what holds his empire together. And he protects his bartender because...

Kaz lifted his head to finally meet her soft gaze. She offered him a small smile that went away as quickly as it appeared. He found himself standing to his feet with the help of his cane, shifting around the side of his desk. He stood in front of her.

He very slowly lowered himself to perch on the edge of his desk, studying her figure with a blank look on his face. She faltered under his strict gaze, dropped her line of sight to stare at the ground instead. She closed her eyes to calm herself.

Suddenly, Y/N felt the soft pads of two leather fingers touch the underside of her chin. Her head was lifted by those fingers until her gaze met those of her boss’s. She held her breathe as she stared directly into the eyes of the bastard of the barrel. 

He took the time to admire all of her features. Her skin was illuminated by the soft golden glow of the fireplace beside them. Her hair smelt of alcohol from the drinks she had been pouring all night. Her lips so perfect because they had never been tempted once to ask a single question.

“Your wrist...” Kaz said softly. 

His other hand made contact with the wrist that had been clutched tightly that night. He brought her hand up to view himself. He went to push away the sleeve of her blouse, settling his gaze on the small purple bruise that had begun to form around her wrist.

“It’ll heal,” Y/N claimed with a shrug of the shoulders. He cast a glance to her.

“They won’t come near you again. That I can promise,” Kaz gave a nod.

“B-But they bring in money. They meant no harm--,” Y/N tried to reason with him.

“They meant harm,” Kaz said curtly. He lifted his head to stare at her hard, unwavering in his opinion on the matter. He examined her wrist once more. “Those kind always do.”

“It’s only a bruise. Not a break or even a sprain,” Y/N replied. She tried to recapture his attention by lowering her head to insert herself into his line of vision. “I am fine. You don’t have to worry about me,” she claimed.

In that moment, Kaz Brekker could feel the walls around his mind and heart begin to fall away at her words. His mind wasn’t plagued with the fear that someone might overhear their conversation. He always believed attachment meant weakness, but just for a moment, he forgot all about his beliefs.

“I do worry,” Kaz said in a soft whisper. He stared into the depths of her eyes, now taking notice of their proximity to one another. That he was able to feel the soft fanning of her breath against his face. “All the time,” Kaz added.

“W-Why’s that?” Y/N replied, almost baffled by his answer.

“Because...” Kaz couldn’t find the words. He was reminded that if he spoke his mind or showed any sense of vulnerability, that he would be deemed weak in his own eyes. So he changed his answer. “You’re an investment. And I like to protect my investments,” Kaz lied under his tongue.

“I can take care of myself,” Y/N chuckled at his response. She wanted to take a step back and turn away from him entirely, but she was too drawn to him.

“The thing is...you don’t have to,” Kaz responded. He dropped his voice to a low whisper so that they couldn’t be heard by anyone other than themselves. His lips curved into a michevious grin. He was up to something. “I can take care of you for the rest of our lives.”

“How?” Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, knowing this was far beyond a (what she thought was) simple confessor of feelings.

“Found myself another job,” Kaz replied. He smirked at her wickedly. “One that will make us rich beyond our wildest dreams.”

Author’s Note:

IT’S BEEN A WHILE, HASN’T IT? I AM HAPPY TO ANNOUNCE MY RETURN.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Before You Go

Pairing: Dean Winchester x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: Reader is a grad student in college trying to work hard for her degree, but a certain green eyed stranger keeps showing up and turns her life upside down. Will she push him away? Or will she finally realize that he’s not going anywhere? (I’m so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Tropes: Angst, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Age Difference (Reader is early to mid-20's and Dean is probably early 30's)

Word Count: 5.5K (I have an addiction don't judge me)

Warnings: Some swearing (once or twice), mentions of sex (not explicit at all), implied sex, self-deprecating thoughts (Dean),  Dean might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. I’m not going to lie, this one is a little self-indulgent. This is only my second supernatural fic, so please be gentle. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Masterlist

Part 2

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

"Did you understand anything from that lecture?" Tim asks nudging your shoulder.

 The sour smell of beer and sweat fades in and out of your nose as you make your way to the Science building through the mass of students on the way to the football game. It was a Thursday night, Thursday night for everyone else meant tailgating, cheap beer, and face paint, but Thursday night for you meant four hours in the anatomy lab surrounded by the oppressive smell of formaldehyde and bent over a table examining the internal intricacies of the human body.

It wasn’t unwelcome, you knew what you signed up for when you decided to go to medical school, but you still wished that the lab was earlier in the day instead of at 6 pm.

The air is filled with the dull throb of energy, pulsing with the music from speakers all over campus, and through the throngs of people that pass you on the way to the stadium. The buzz of excitement in the air vibrated through your nerve endings. If you paid attention to how well the football team was doing, you would have known that tonight was the championship, but the closest you got to pigskin was the bag of pork rinds in your backpack and the occasional football player that asked you for help finding research materials during your shifts at the library.

"Nope." You reply jostling past a group of guys toting a giant stuffed pig wearing jersey of the school’s rival while they catcall some girls up ahead dressed from head to toe in bright red.

"Then why did you keep nodding?"

"Because Professor Drake was staring right at me!"

"You didn't have to make eye contact."

"It's a little late for that don't you think?" You smile up at him. He's taller than you, with dark hair falling forward into his glasses and a lean build. "But it's alright, I'll just binge watch YouTube videos."

Tim laughs adjusting his backpack over his shoulder. You had been lab partners since your first year, randomly assigned and forced to collaborate, but after many late night study sessions and mental breakdowns, Tim was one of your only friends.

“You seem to spend a lot of time on YouTube." He smiles.

"It's free education."

"Seems ridiculous to pay all this money just to learn it on YouTube."

"If YouTube handed out degrees for watching videos I’d be a doctor by now. I’d probably also have a degree in culinary arts.” You look down to check the watch on your wrist. You were both running late for lab. Dr. Welsh hated it when students were late, in fact, he was notorious for locking the door. Each week there was always some poor soul that banged on the door for entry, but Dr. Welsh knew no mercy. One time, you witnessed another student attempt to sneak in through the window an hour late. Dr. Welsh made them go back out the way they came, despite the lab being on the third floor.

At least the student brought a ladder with him.

“Culinary arts?”

“I like pie. Plus baking helps me cope with my stress.” You knock into his shoulder to shut him up. “What? You don’t watch anything weird on YouTube?”

“I usually start watching videos to understand the lectures and suddenly it’s been 7 hours, it’s 3 am and I’m watching a timelapse of metal rusting.”

“We’ve all been there buddy.”

"Hey doll-face!" You hear from somewhere behind you, but you ignore it, believing it to be another group of guys who splash beer over the sidewalk.

You glance down at your watch again.

"We're not going to be late." Jake says sensing your anxiety. "We've got 5 minutes."

"Early is on time, on time is late, late is inexcusable." You sing-song.

"Dr. Welsh embroider that on a pillow for you?"

"No it’s just-"

Someone grabs your backpack and pulls you back a step. What the- You whirl around prepared to cuss out a drunken frat boy, but you weren't expecting Dean Winchester.

"Dean." You say in surprise.

He looks better than you remember. Dean's wearing a red flannel covered by a black jacket, his hair tousled just the right amount to look effortless, his green eyes crinkled around the edges as his mouth pulls into a smile that makes your knees weak.

Your relationship, if you could even call it that, began your first week of classes, two years ago. You had just moved into your apartment and met your new roommate, but instead of going out to the new student mixer with her, you decided to stay in and unpack. It was past midnight when you heard a commotion in the apartment next door and when you opened your front door to investigate, you found Dean in the hallway leaning against the wall. His clothes were torn, he had a knife in his hand, blood was soaked through the front of his shirt, but when his eyes met yours, you weren't afraid. He looked so broken, so small that you had to help him. So you pulled him into your apartment and stitched him up the best you could, while he tried to lie about how it happened and explain why he looked like he'd been through a blender. Dean had never been good at lying to you, not even then. He was also the biggest baby you had ever met when it came to wound care.

In the months that followed Dean continued to show up, each time with injuries less and less life threatening asking you to help him, until one day he showed up perfectly fine and continued to show up. You would spend every minute together for a few days and then he would leave like nothing happened, only to show up again in a few weeks and it would start all over again.  Sometimes you thought that he wanted more than just a few days together, but then he would just leave, not giving you any other explanation. You hadn't expected to fall for him as hard as you did, but each time he left it broke you. You found yourself hoping each day that he would show up, only to be disappointed when he didn't. Days would drag by fading into shades of gray until finally Dean would show up and everything went back to color, only to sink back into monochrome when he left. The last time you had seen him was a month ago, when you told him that you couldn't do this anymore and told him not to come back.

But now he was here, again.

"Hey Doll-face." Dean smiles wider.

You try to ignore how your heart stutters in your chest when he smiles at you.

"Do you know this guy?" Tim asks you taking a step forward to put himself between Dean and you.

Dean's eyes trace Tim, smile slipping into confident smirk as he sizes him up. He opens his mouth, but you interrupt whatever thought was about to come out.

"Unfortunately I do." You sigh. "Tim can you give us a minute."

"Sure. But-"

"I know." You say, understanding that he was going to remind you what time it was. "We won't be late."

"I'll be over there." Tim puts a healthy distance between the two of you, far enough to give you space, but close enough that he can see you.

Dean is still smirking at him. "Boyfriend?" His eyes flit to yours, amused.

"Lab partner." You adjust your grip on your backpack unsure what to do.

I said everything I needed to say the last time. I thought that was it. Did he think I didn't mean it?

You think about the last time he was here, when you told him that you couldn't do this anymore and when he finally left, how you skipped all your classes and stayed in bed for two days clutching a pillow to your chest and wishing that it was him. It had felt like the end. The end of whatever the hell this had been. Sometimes you wished that you had defined it the first time you slept together, wished that you had told him you didn't do that ever, that you didn't just sleep with people without feelings because you knew sooner or later it would end up like this.

Then again you knew that you always had feelings for him, since the moment you locked eyes with his the night you met.

"He’s cute. If you’re into that geeky kind of thing. Though you could always date Sam-"

"What are you doing here?"

"I was in the neighborhood. Plus I didn’t want to miss the big game.”  Dean's eyes flit to the mass of people swarming around you, shouting and singing as they stumble down the cracked pavement. The dark shadows of the buildings stretch long over campus, illuminated by the lamplights that line the sidewalks.

"You should have called"

"I did. You never pick up" He arches a perfect eyebrow.

"Most would take that as a hint"

"Well Sweetheart given my profession you not picking up made me worry."

By now you knew exactly what he did. Despite Dean not acting like he wanted a relationship, when all was quiet and it was just the two of you laying in bed he confided in you, told you things about his life that made you hold him close and wish that you could make him forget all about it. You loved those soft moments with Dean, when it felt like more and you could imagine that Dean wanted to be as wrapped up in you as you were in him.

Your heart clenches in your chest as you try to forget it all, forget the day he walked into your life, and forget how much you like him.

"I can’t do this with you right now, I’ve got a lab in 3 minutes." You turn towards where Tim is standing, prepared to leave.

"Come on you can blow off one lab.”  Dean grabs your backpack turning you back to face him. “We can go to the big game. You know I can’t say no to free beer-“ The look in his eyes is joking.

He doesn't understand.

You shake him off. "No I can't Dean. This is important to me. This is my life. I can't drop everything just because you show up out of the blue."

"It wouldn't be out of the blue if you picked up your phone." His smile dips into an attractive pout that makes it very difficult to think.

"Dean why are you here?"

"I told you, I was in the neighborhood-"

"We talked about this. I can't do this anymore."

"I remember you talking about it."

"Yes and I remember you leaving." You snap as the memory of the last time you saw him rises in the back of your throat. You think about the days that followed, when you couldn't focus and flunked a test. 

"Y/n-“ Dean sighs.

"Look, I like spending time with you, but I can't keep doing this to myself. You show up, we spend every second together for days, and then you leave. It would be one thing if we were trying to do long distance, but we’re not.  All I get is radio silence for weeks and then you show  up all over again like nothing happened, expecting to pick up right where we left off, and the cycle begins all over again."

"I don't go radio silent for weeks. It’s you that doesn’t pick up your phone or text me back.”

"Yes you do and I can't do it. I won't do it. Because every time you leave I wonder if it's the last time I'll ever see you and-" You take in a breath to stop the ball of emotion that lodges itself in your throat. "It does something to me. And I'm not saying that what you do is any less important than what I'm trying to accomplish here. I’m not telling you to stop hunting. But this is my life Dean, my future. And I don’t want to put that in jeopardy because you show up every few weeks when you’re feeling restless. I want more than a few days every few weeks. I want more and I'm worth more. And if you can't give that to me that's fine, but please stop coming around and so I can find someone else who can."

The expression on Dean's face shifts, it's no longer the playful smirk or attractive pout, it almost looks heartbroken.

But that can't be right. Dean doesn't see me that way.

You look at where Tim is waiting for you to avoid Dean's gaze. He’s looking down at the watch on his wrist and you can feel his apprehension.

"I've got to get to my lab." You turn away from Dean, but stop halfway to Tim. "It was good to see you Dean. I wish you the best."

As Tim and you begin to walk away, you can feel Dean's eyes on you the whole way up the stairs into the science building, but you refuse to turn back.

"Are you okay?" Tim whispers.

"I will be. Let's just go before Dr. Welsh locks the door." You mutter while pushing down the guilt that rose when you thought of how Dean looked when you walked away.

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

Despite Dr. Welsh’s attempts to lock the door, you were far too angry with Dean to let another man stand in your way, so when you and Tim arrived to lab 10 seconds before the clock struck 6, you shoved your boot in the door before Dr. Welsh could shut it. And by some miracle he let you in. Maybe it was the murder in your eyes.

Tim had been stunned, you were usually more reserved, not quick tempered. But everything that happened with Dean rubbed you the wrong way.

You couldn’t decide if you liked him or hated him. Right now the hate was winning.

How dare he? You thought to yourself, hand clenching on the scalpel so tightly that Tim backed up. How dare he just show up again after I told him not to?

“Y/n, are you okay?” Tim had asked.

“I’m fine. Don’t I look fine?” You’d snapped at him.

Even Dr. Welsh had given you a wide berth through lab.

 After you cleaned up everything it was 10:26 pm, which meant you had a little time before your late shift in the library.

“Did you want to go see if that shawarma food truck is still parked around the corner?” Tim asks hesitantly.

“No. I’m just gonna go to the library and study before my shift.” You mumble, shouldering your backpack and ignoring the urge to think about Dean.

Hopefully he took the hint and he’s gone. The thought brought a prick of guilt. Would that be the last time I ever saw him? Would those be the last words I ever said to him? You fight the urge to call him, to apologize, because the one thing you had wanted to say was that you liked him and you didn’t want him to go, you wanted him to stay in your life permanently. Sure long distance was hard, but for him it would be worth it.

“Oh.” Tim pauses for a minute. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Huh?”

“Well that Dean guy. You seemed kinda upset.”

“I was- am. But it’s okay, give me a few hours I’ll be over it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

“Make sure to send the link to that Timelapse of metal rusting.” You try to smile, but the joke falls flat.

“Okay.” Tim watches you go.

The library was only a 9 minute walk from the science building, but it still felt too long. You longed to be lost in your notes, to think of anything else other than Dean, but you couldn’t.

Why did he have to come back? Why couldn’t he have just let it lie? I was doing better- You think about the weeks that followed his last visit, a haze of homework, tests, and work. Well, I was doing okay.

The thrum of music is still in the air, but now less people pass you as you walk down the sidewalk, and the ones that do are holding hands and laughing. Your thoughts shift to Dean again.

I like him, but I have to get over him because it’s not going anywhere. You think about the first time you slept together. Maybe this is my fault, maybe I should have defined this from the beginning. I mean, I know the kind of person he is… That thought makes you pause. Sure the first few times you’d patched his wounds Dean was sexy and flirty, but all the times that followed he seemed, sweet, charming. It wasn’t that you spent every moment in bed, he had taken you out to dinner at the diner down the street, fought with you over the last slice of pie, took you to a bar for drinks  where he shamelessly beat you at pool, other times he waited for you to be done with your classes to make sure that you didn't have to walk home alone at night. You remember how mad he had been when you told him you did that, but gas was so expensive and it was easier to walk the four blocks.

Someone grabs your arm from behind, pulling you out of your memories, and you finally snap. Using the only self defense move you knew, besides S-I-N-G from Miss Congeniality, you knock off the hand and flip the offender over your shoulder prepared to spray them in the face with the mace in your pocket.

But then you realize who it is.

Dean frowns up at you from the ground. “When I taught you that, I didn’t expect you to use it on me.”

“Just be happy that I didn’t pepper spray you.” Your eyes narrow.

 Maybe I should. It would make me feel better.

“Would have been the highlight of my night.” He stands up from the ground brushing off the front of his clothes with a pointed look.

“Dean what are you still doing here?”

“I want to talk.”

“I’ve said all I need to.”

“But I haven’t.”

“I don’t care. You’ve heard what I need to say and I’m sick of you not listening.”

“Y/n-“

“Fine, I’ll say it one more time, but listen this time.  I've never, never depended on anyone else in my life. It's been me, me for a long time.” You poke your finger into his chest to emphasize your point. “Then you just sauntered in and changed everything. You made me care about you, worry about you, and you made me depend on you showing up in my life. Every time you leave it breaks me. Every time I’m in a funk for days. The last time you left, I cried for two days and I didn’t go to any of my classes! I'm trying to be serious about my life. And I can't do that if you show up every few weeks and make me expect something and then leave a few days later and I'm devastated.”

Dean’s eyes widen in surprise. “I didn’t know that.”

“I have to get over you Dean, and I can't do that if you keep showing up. So please just go.” You turn away from him.

His hand comes down on your arm again to turn you back to him. “I don’t want you to get over me.”

“What?”

“Do you think I like leaving you? Do you really think it’s that easy for me?” He looks hurt.

“It certainly seems to be when you walk out after a few days with a smile like it means nothing! Like I mean nothing-“ You fight the tears that burn against your eyes. You wanted to be something for him just as much as he was something for you, but you were afraid. You hadn’t depended on anyone since you graduated and moved away from home. You weren’t used to needing someone in your life this much.

"You mean everything!” Dean shouts grabbing your shoulders. “It’s me that means nothing."

You blink your eyes for a second, not comprehending what he’s trying to say. "Dean what are you talking about?"

"I didn't think you wanted that-" He looks down.

Your eyes trace the slump in his shoulders, the frown on his handsome face, and the way he won’t meet your gaze.

What is he talking about?

You try to think of a time that you’d seen him look so vulnerable, but the only time you imagine was the night you met.

"Wanted what?"

"Me.” Dean’s voice is a whisper.

"I'm confused."

His eyebrows are furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line. “I’m nothing like you.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You’re a little younger than me and you’re smart and you’ve got this bright future ahead of you. You don’t need someone like me dragging you down-“

“Someone like you? Dragging me down? Dean what are you talking about?" You can't comprehend what he's saying. You reach up to cup his cheeks, but Dean pulls back from you, glancing away.

“I didn’t go to a fancy college, I barely finished high school. I’ve spent most of my life in motel rooms  committing credit card fraud and trying not to die.  And then I met you. You’re funny and caring and so smart, and  I just thought that you would like it more if I came by every once in a while to relieve some tension. I didn’t think that you would want me to stay.”

He didn’t think that I would want him? That can't be right. Dean is so confident usually. You search his face and see the genuine vulnerability behind his green eyes.

“Are you serious?” You ask him.

He doesn’t say anything.

“Dean, you are smart-“

“Not the same way you are”

“Dean.” You can’t help but take his hand. Dean’s green eyes focus on yours for a second, wide and open. “You don’t have to go to college to be smart. You’re resourceful and you know more about supernatural creatures than anyone else. Even the top scientists and doctors in the world don’t believe in them and they went to stuffy old colleges and fight with one another over who’s smarter. I don’t care that you didn’t go to a fancy college. What you do is important, probably more important than what I’m going to do. You protect people, you’ve saved the world more than once, and sure maybe it’s not glamorous to some people but it is to me.”

His eyes widen in surprise.

“Have you thought that maybe I like spending time with you because you’re so different than the people I see everyday?” You ask him softly, squeezing his hand.

“No.” Dean mutters.

“I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I don’t have lavish wealthy parents bankrolling me. My dad is a mechanic. I work two jobs and send him money so I don’t have to worry about him. Sometimes I feel like a fraud. But when you show up I don’t feel like a freak. With you I feel like I don’t have to pretend, I can just be me. And I like you, a lot. This has never just been about relieving tension or sex for me. Ever. I mean it’s nice-“

“Just nice?” Dean raises an eyebrow.

You flush bright red. “I like spending time with you without that too. All the times we spent laying in bed or went to a bar or went to get food, and we talked were equally as wonderful for me. I like talking with you. I like hearing about your life. I just assumed that you had someone in every state that you visit when you’re feeling restless and that you didn’t want a relationship.”

“There’s no one else. Hasn’t been since I met you.”

Deans eyes lock with yours as you comprehend what he just confessed.

“Really?” Your voice is only a whisper.

“Fuck I’m not good at this romantic comedy shit-“ He mutters to himself shaking his head. “I like you too. I wish that I could be here all the time. I hate leaving you. It’s too quiet. When I’m not here all I do is think about you, what you’re doing, how your day was.”

Your entire body explodes with his words, heart beating so fast you think it’ll grow wings and take flight.

“When I was younger I used to laugh at Sam because he wanted a normal life, but with you I understand.  You’re so different than anyone I’ve ever met and it hurts me when I’m away from you.” Dean continues with a soft smile that makes you lose all feeling in your legs.

He takes your other hand. “I understand that what you’re doing is important and I’m not asking you to quit school. All I’m asking is that you give me a chance. I want to make this work. I know that long distance isn’t easy, but I want to try.” His eyes search yours, begging for a answer, but you can barely breathe let alone speak. You watch his face fall as he takes your silence as your answer. “But I understand if you don’t want to, because you are worth more. You’re worth more than a few days, than a phone call or a text. You deserve someone who can be here with you all the time. You’re worth more than what I can give you. And you shouldn’t have to settle-“

You grab the front of his flannel because you can’t think of anything to say and pull him down to you for a kiss. Pins and needles trace down your spine as his soft lips move against yours. He smiles against your mouth, folding you into him, his large hand on the small of your back just under your backpack causing warmth to shoot down your spine. You lose yourself in the way his body fits around yours

“I’m not settling.” Your hands cup his cheeks as you look deep into his eyes. “I never want you to feel that way, because you are worth a hundred of any man I have ever met in my life. And if it’s my cross to bear to make you understand that every day of my life, then so be it. Because I would be lucky to spend any amount of time with you. I don’t want anyone else. I just want you, Dean. I’ve wanted you since the day we met and every day after. And I’m yours as long as you want me.”

Dean’s smile breaks open something in the pit of your stomach and goosebumps scorch across your skin. “I can’t imagine not wanting you.” He presses his forehead against yours.

You stand there with his warm hand pressed into your back trying to think of another time that you felt even a fraction of what you feel for him. You think about your high school boyfriend, about a few of the guys you dated in during your undergrad years, but you come up with nothing. Because you can’t compare him to anyone else you’ve ever met. And it hurt you to think that Dean thought so little of himself in the grand scheme of things.

He leans down to kiss you again, pulling you against his chest so tight that everything blissfully falls away.

“Are you hungry?” He whispers against your lips after a minute.

“Yes, but my shift at the library starts soon. I’m there til 2.” You tighten your hands at the back of his neck, not wanting to let him go.

“Okay. I’ll go with you.”

“Dean it’s okay if you just want to go back to my apartment and sleep. I can give you the key-“ You notice the dark circles under his eyes, but you know that Dean wasn’t one to complain about being tired.

“It’s worth being tired if I get to see you.” Dean smiles. “But I’ll go get us some food, because I’m hungry too.”

“Don’t forget the pie.”

“Have I ever?” He brushes his lips to yours one more time, but you don’t remove your arms from around his neck. “You’re going to have to let me go doll.”

“Just 5 more minutes.”

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

You spend the weekend together in your apartment. All those blissful moments together solidify the thought that this is real, that this time it’s going to be different. Every night going to bed with Dean tucking you against him and waking up every morning with your head on his chest feels like a dream, and you never want to wake. Every kiss and intimate moment between you feels like more, and you have to keep reminding yourself that it isn’t just sex, hasn’t ever been just sex. Dean wants to be there with you all the time, hold you close to him and share things with you. And this time you finally understand that you do help him forget and know that you do bring him as much comfort as he brings you.

When Monday comes and Dean has to go, you try not to think of it as the end.

Dean leans back against the door of the Impala, his hands on your hips, green eyes blazing in the sun, but it’s his eyes that warm you more than the sun’s rays.

"Sweetheart-" Dean begins, sensing what you’re thinking. His thumbs rub smooth circles against waist where your t-shirt rests.

"I know." You press your face into his flannel, inhaling the scent you ascribe to Dean. He smells like oil, leather, and the spicy scent of the soap he uses that tickles your nose.

"Hey." His free hand comes under your chin to raise your gaze back to his. "I promise I'm gonna come back. I promise that we're going to make this work. It’s going to be different.” He cups your cheek, eyes soft and understanding.

“I know, but you’re still leaving.” Your tighten your arms around his chest.

“I wish I didn’t have to. But Sam called, he needs me-“

“I know.” You breathe.

You don’t want Dean to feel any worse than he does about leaving, especially when you remember what he said to you a few days ago, about you deserving more and about how he wished he could be more for you. Deep down you know that both of you are determined to make this work, so you put on a smile.

 “It’s okay.” You gently rub his back.   “You’ll be back in 2 weeks and I’ll be on spring break in a month.”

“Does that mean I’ll get to see you in a bikini?” Dean grins.

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

“Hmm. Well until I see you-“ He raises his right hand from where it rests on your hip to remove the large silver ring from his finger. "Don't panic, it's not an engagement ring." Dean's smile breaks you a little.  "Just me promising that I'll come back, that I'll call and text you so much that you'll be sick of me." He slides the ring onto your thumb, the weight comforting.

"I could never be sick of you."

“Just you wait.” He winks, holding your hand to his chest. “I bet I can prove you wrong.”

“I welcome the challenge.”

The kiss goodbye is bittersweet, but you hold yourself together, refusing to cry as Dean gets into his car and leaves. You watch the Impala disappear around the corner, taking your heart with it, but just as it does your phone rings.

“Hello?”

“I miss you.” Dean’s voice fills the line and this time you can’t stop the tears.

“I miss you too.”

“I promise I’ll be back in two weeks.”

“Okay. Please be careful.” You remember all the stories he's told you over the time you’ve known him, all the horrible things that happened to him and Sam. Sometimes you wish he hadn’t, because you can’t help but worry.

“I’m always careful.” You can hear him rolling his eyes.

“As the person who has spent the past 2 years patching you up, I can say with certainty that you are not always careful.”

“Then I promise to be more careful than usual.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” The wind picks up, pulling your hair from the ponytail at the back of your head.

“I’ll call you when I make it back to the bunker.”

“Good.”

“Bye y/n.”

“Bye Dean.”

Your gaze drops to the heavy ring on your thumb and you hold tight to the hope and belief that this time is different, allowing the memories of the past few days to brush away any doubts that threaten the thought of what the future will bring.

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

Thank you so much for reading!  I am considering doing a series with this reader and Dean, but let me know what y’all think!

[punkpandapatrixk]

🍯New Age Money ♦︎ Timeless Pick A Card

‘When I was small, God was around and curiously granted my every wish. Now a grownup, I still believe that miracles do happen and that alone gets me up in the morning with such gladness.

And if I am enveloped by a peaceful sun filtering through the branches as I open my curtains, I am sure, everything before my eyes is a message.

When I was small, God was around and sent Love my way every day. And now, it is time I opened that precious box that’s been forgotten, kept hidden in a corner of my heart.

And if I am enveloped by the soft fragrance of cape jasmine in a garden awash by rain, I am sure, everything before my eyes is a message.’

– When I’m Surrounded by Kindness from Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989)

あなたの特技！Surely everybody was born into this world carrying some precious boxes of God-given talents. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to open those boxes and monetise such talents with Soul?

SONG: Yasashisa ni Tsutsumareta nara by Matsutoya Yumi

MOVIE: Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989)

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 2] [Part 3]

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☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 1 – ‘Harry, you’re a Witch!’

untapped divine talents – Queen of Cups

Hey, magical creature~ You literally possess mystical powers but you probably didn’t even know~! You’re a sensual being, like a siren, who has an innate ability to feel what others can’t easily perceive. Naturally, this translates into your being highly intuitive, empathetic, imaginative—and you might’ve felt like this world wasn’t made for you. Psychics are incredibly sensitive people and you could’ve felt out of place most of your Life, but as the insightful Jiddu Krishnamurti said: sensitivity is the highest form of intelligence. We’re talkin’ EQ here😘

Someone like you was definitely not built for any kind of money-making endeavour that doesn’t allow you to be sensitive to the needs of others. There’s meaning in your being emotionally attuned and imaginative; even if—for example—you feel that your calling is to become an author, even in your writing it’s clear there’s a purpose of healing those who come into contact with your Art. If you’ve chosen this as your main pile, you literally possess some innate ability to heal others and this explains why you’ve always had the urge to make the world a better place🌍

You see, back in those long-gone days, those who were called witches were really scientists, teachers and healers. The word ‘witch’ comes from ‘wicca’ which means the wise one. Wicca (male) and wicce (female) were the knowledgeable ones who sought to apply their wealth of information and perspectives for the betterment of others as that’s how knowledge becomes wisdom. There is an untapped divine talent resting in you and it is your ability to feel through your psychic senses what society is lacking in terms of its maintenance of its own sanity🎭

YOU, literally hold all the ingredients necessary for a once in a lifetime breakthrough that could potentially heal all of Mankind for centuries to come~🌻

karmic/dharmic opportunities – XIII Death

I betcha you have significant Scorpio influences or 8th House placements or a specifically strong Pluto/Neptune presence in your natal chart. It could be that shortly before you were born someone quite spiritual/religious/magickal in your bloodline had passed away and it almost feels like you were born to pick up the pieces they had left. I betcha that some of your innate interests since childhood or pursuits you feel very strongly about that may have developed later in Life were inspired by or related to that relative/ancestor, one way or another. Like you just share similar patterns of behaviour, interests or even thought processes🦜

What you can really take away from all of this is that you have a purpose higher than yourself. That you came with specific blueprints and that your whole Life, your sense of purpose or mission, all of that is a group project you share with many Souls in the Higher Realms. Only high-vibrational peeps will really resonate with this message😊And that in itself is confirmation for you to know you have many opportunities in the healing and creative industries.

Seriously, you needn’t even have to worry about how you’re gonna make money with these opportunities even if they sound out of reach at the moment. Because it is your Destiny to be a cycle breaker—to start something completely new on your own—a path will be made for you just to fulfil your Destiny. And you can wholeheartedly trust in that to save yourself from excessive worry/anxiety🍷

the future of jobs – 5 of Pentacles

In the industry you’re meant to be part of, there will be a lot of chaos right before you make your debut. Like things are just falling apart and many of the players aren’t even sure what they’re there for anymore. There’s a lot of disillusionment that’s needing to be felt to the max until a breakthrough can really have any meaning. Either that, or some of you could be the one creating more chaos in the industry as you enter it LMAO We call you an industry disruptor, alright? You’re that breath of oxygen everybody was needing because they had been suffocating themselves with their own stupidity🍭

If you’ve resonated with this pile thus far, know that you’re meant to bring some healing—even enlightenment to some extent—to whichever industry you feel a calling to. And this is totally not a one-man’s show; you will be meeting a lot of kindred spirits in that industry and others associated with it. You’re meant to have an audience and serve a greater spiritual purpose for all involved. Bring back all those people into OG spirituality. All of this for what? For people’s mental health, obvi~💕

How does every one of these people expect themselves to be truly happy and abundant when their viewpoints are marred by childhood traumas and the excessive need for revenge? You of all people understand the innate darkness of the human psychology and the future of jobs within the industry of your calling is dependent on its people transcending above trauma and lack mentality so that a new, healthier paradigm can be established. Out with addictive behaviours; out with destructive habits; in with purer intents~ That’s the kind of New World you’re meant to be a part of to earn your keep in the most high-vibrational way👒

CURRENTS OF CHI (currency)🔻💛

being of service to Mankind – Gold Physician (Hippocrates)

delights of Life – Priestess of Contemplation

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 2 – Paths Least Travelled Lead to the Greatest Stories

untapped divine talents – 9 of Cups

You…need to go and carve out a LYFE of your own, honey. Since you were quite young, you’ve always had this desire to go explore strange territories and come back to share grand stories only you could tell. A unique Life of your own that sets you apart from your family/community. Try to check what numerology has to say about, for example, your Life Path, Soul Urge, Expression and all that; there may be something there that validates this desire to be unique, to be different, to be a fucking unicorn, and perhaps, to be the FIRST to discover or invent something🦄

You have what it takes to thrive alone, that much I can assure you. Some of you probably even have Jupiter in Pisces/12th House or Neptune/Uranus in 9th House. Whatever it is, your Soul does intend for you to travel paths least travelled and discover magical things only you could have access to. What is this strange narrative for? For discovering your Soul’s heritage. I know it sounds weird. But you’ve come from very distinct bloodlines and I sense many of you have a strong affinity towards the faery realm? There’s a lot of historical truths to uncover as you walk the lonely path of the eccentric hermit🏞

The New Age of Aquarius is changing the way we receive truths. It’s such a glad thing that people are now more open to seeing things for what they truly are no matter how politically ‘incorrect’ or heartbreaking the truths are. Your untapped divine talents will naturally bring you towards avenues where you will arise as some kind of a whistleblower or you will be unearthing ancient esoteric wisdom and sharing it with the public. Your life path is definitely very exciting and will take you to wonderful places and meeting the most unique people in the world!⛵️

karmic/dharmic opportunities – 7 of Wands Rx

In many regards, your life path could even lead you to meeting some of the world’s most distinguished individuals OMO But the path is understandably not easy. This kind of calling will require a great deal of character and tenacity. You will be rocking the yachts of the Devil, right? Your Life Stories could get extra absurd and your discoveries might lead you to some dangerous encounters. Nevertheless, if you are nudged by a sense of being of service to Truth, you will decide it’s all worth it. When we die, our Souls carry only stories and memories of our heroism anyway🧬

You will have friends though. People who share your passion for the real re-education of the people. I see professions in journalism, philosophy, psychology, anthropology, criminology, even celebrity exposé stuff that reveal the scammy behaviours of the evil rich and famous. You could also be drawn intuitively to the studies of the REAL history of Planet Earth, her extraterrestrial history and the truths of the lost civilisations that have shaped the wars of our Time. You could secretly (or not so secretly) be part of the disclosure movement😉

The studies of Astronomy and Astrotheology will benefit you a great deal if you’ve resonated this far with this being your main pile. In everything that you do, there is a panacea for the brokenness of Humanity. Your sharing of outlandish discoveries and suppressed information could be what Humanity needs for it to mature and choose global peace and harmony. It will be a lifelong effort that may not end with your lifetime though. So make sure you leave enough material as your legacy for the next generations to continue on🍁

the future of jobs – King of Cups

I suppose it’s pretty clear to many of us now that the world is run by psychopaths. Indecent human beings with terrible hobbies that hurt others and the sheer disregard for the sustainability of the Planet and the livelihood of her inhabitants. With you, you will see for yourself pretty soon that the world is choosing to move to a more compassionate space, and you will have a role in giving a voice to those whose intentions for their societies are more honourable. You could be one to contribute an invention or two yourself; perhaps an exposé book, perhaps a channel, a website~ Idk, what do you feel called to?🎪

In the future you will be part of, you will see evil leaders getting replaced, thwarted even, by compassionate leaders of the New Age Money. Down to anarchy; we want real peace. Down to young psychopaths rebelling against old psychopaths only to start a new cycle of abuse. The future you will be seeing will see that those with a genuine heart rise to the top and begin taking charge of the wheel of society. Leading with a heart. People before profit. It’s really not that difficult to sow the seeds now~🌱

You yourself, and the people who share the same passion, vision and mission as yourself, you are a bunch of experts who will glue together different factions of society who want to work hand-in-hand to remedy all the destruction caused by the powerful psychopaths. There is diplomacy in what you share with the rest of the populace and there is kindness and grace. People’s mental wellbeing will be put at the forefront before profits are made. And if we really did go into a WWIII…

CURRENTS OF CHI (currency)🔻💜

being of service to Mankind – Red Astronomer (Johannes Kepler)

delights of Life – Priestess of Solitude

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 3 – For You, It’s Never, Ever, Been About the Money

untapped divine talents – Queen of Pentacles Rx

Of all the piles, you’ve always resonated with loving being of service to the world since you were tiny. You could’ve been attracted to the service and hospitality industries since you were quite young, too. You were probably quite social when you were a kid and liked the idea of working jobs that would ensure other people have a good time, have a good experience with excellent customer service—basically, you liked the idea of helping/assisting others. If you could make your own choices, you’d rather have these types of job🩹

Unfortunately, growing up you were told that such jobs had no money or glamour. Some of you reading this could’ve come from a wealthy background in which working to service others is seen as uncool…even low. So this could’ve caused a great deal of psychological conflict in you. What you want and what your society deems worthwhile seemed to be in conflict. But let me tell you that your heart really knows what’s intended for your highest good🦉

From a very young age, you were already able to see that this world is sick and needing a lot of help when it comes to healing and transmuting negative aenergies. Your child brain couldn’t have verbalised that but your higher intuition knew you were put on Earth to tip the scale. You didn’t want to care about money; you wanted to pursue an authentic Life where your existence could be of some use to somebody👑

karmic/dharmic opportunities – III The Empress Rx

Some of you could’ve come from a rather impoverished background. This is easy to deal with. You were born face to face with this Devil called ‘lack’. But some of you could’ve come from a wealthier background or at least you weren’t necessarily starving and your society could’ve expected a lot from you. If the latter is the case with you, at some point in Life your Higher Self and team of Spirit Guides will force you to get down from the high horse of your inauthentic environment and have you experience Life from the perspective of those who haven’t got much in Life🐛

When this happens, your eyes will be opened to what truly matters in Life. That essentially, everybody in this world is sick to the bone because they’re trying to fill a hole in their hearts with weirdass purchases and hobbies. Part of your karmic reason to be born at this passage of time is to help Mankind transmute its unhealthy affinity towards excess indulgence via obtaining things that are truly fleeting. When you learn to overcome your own traumas and addictions, you help the collective conscious of Humanity transcend above that, too. This is very noble and you deserve a big bear hug just for existing in this realm~🧸

Rest assured, it is in your Soul’s blueprint that you must end up abundant yourself when all’s said and done. You’re destined to be very wealthy, from doing things that are high-vibrational and fully in alignment with what your Soul wishes for you to express as a Human being. You’re meant to set an example of what it means to do a job with Love~🎀

the future of jobs – 2 of Pentacles Rx

Many of you grew up in societies that taught you: passion doesn’t put food on the table. And you’ve observed many real examples of those who prioritise good deeds end up not having much money, indeed. And you could’ve believed that Life is about choosing between passion and duty. Bullshit. If people can’t thrive doing what they love, it’s the society that’s broken; how can there be no money to be made in those endeavours that are more exciting, more meaningful? You realise now that the System was designed to depress the common people in the pursuit of serving the Devil😰

You and your kindred spirits are the free spirits that are going to usher in an era of New Age Money where people no longer need to ruminate over sacrificing passion or freedom for a stable income. Back to before Industrial Revolution, maybe? Let’s reset the paradigm so we can recalibrate ourselves towards something more of a Solarpunk Society, or a Steampunk Society, that’s cool, too🍵

For you, it’s never ever been about the money. Career endeavours that would suit you most are whatever you feel an innate calling for. Many of your natural talents you’ve got since birth can be monetised in the service of your community, and better yet, online community. Some of you may feel a calling for being in the hospitality business, engineering, have an online presence or be a social media influencer, and some others may simply work in the aviation or F&B business, while some could want to become an eco-farmer or something. Whichever it may be, know that you have the unique power to elevate many aspects of the industry you are part of~🏹

CURRENTS OF CHI (currency)🔻💚

being of service to Mankind – Silver Astronomer (John Dee)

delights of Life – Priestess of Faith

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 2] [Part 3]

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[shadesofecclescakes]

Are you a big fanfic reader? What have you read lately and what's been your favourite fic so far?

Oh mannnnnnnnn. Why don't you ask me to pick a favourite child while you're at it???

Just kidding. I don't have kids. But I assume having to pick a favourite would be hard if I did.

So, am I a big fanfic reader? YES. And what haven't I read lately? We are lucky enough to have so many talented writers in this fandom that it's possible to subscribe to numerous multi-chapter fics to the point where you're just constantly getting update emails. Which I do. It's great. It gives me something to do at work aside from, y'know, work.

*Me at work being smug about being paid to read porn* (Also I just wanted to look at this gif)

So what is currently on my endless update list? Coming up after the cut!

I am an absolute whore for human AU, so if you like that then you will probably like:

The Cure for a Broken Heart by @rofell

a medical student AU based in the Canadian medical system (I'm a Canadian so I was pretty excited about that). It manages to tackle the continued systemic discrimination of Indigenous people in our medical system (and in general), homophobia and the ensuing trauma from those things all while also being informative, funny, sweet, romantic and hot af. Like. It's so good.

Free by @maaikeatthefullmoon

This is another one with with a heavy topic that also does a great job of making sure to break it up with some excellent fluff, hurt/comfort and humorous moments. And it's handled with the sensitivity and thoughtfulness necessary to write something that takes place in a mental health ward and deals with some intense situations. Definitely make sure to read those author notes before diving in. They lay it out very thoroughly.

The Sincere Way by @tsyvia48

A martial arts AU. Crowley is a karate sensei and Aziraphale is his student. Slow burn that keeps you on the edge. The screams I have scrumt at my screen over this one. Plus you learn a lot about karate (but it never gets boring or over-explainey. Excellently balanced) which is pretty cool. Mostly light (there is some angst. This is the Good Omens fandom. I think we are all sad, wet chihuahuas at heart). Funny and sweet.

Terminus by @emotional-support-demon-crowley

Plus One by @caedmonfaith

Astronaut AU. Aziraphale is an astronaut who meets his mission controller, Crowley, over the comms system when he finds himself in need of assistance.

Super cool concept and really well-done in my opinion. Like, I don't do any space or physics-related work (ok I straight-up failed math 9) but I find it entirely believable. And it's well-written which is the entire point. Cute, funny slow burn with an intriguing mystery happening in the background.

Aziraphale has family money but a shitty family (except for Muriel! Never Muriel!) and his shitty brother Gabriel is getting married to shitty Michael, an Earl's daughter.

Aziraphale's family disproves of his entire life pretty much and he has been lying to them about having a boyfriend. Now they are expecting him to bring said boyfriend to the wedding. His famous footballer friend sets him up with their mechanic, Crowley.

It starts as a slow-burn but becomes a hilarious, smutty romp that just gets more and more insane. The chapter titles alone have made me cackle out loud.

Some older human AUs I'm a huge fan of include Old Vines by @sevdrag. Crowley owns a vineyard and Aziraphale is a wine critic. It is so amazingly written. It makes me think of the author Joanna Harris (Chocolat, The Five Quarters of the Orange) because it's SO beautifully, vividly descriptive that I end up craaaaaving wine. So have a bottle on hand if you're giving this a read.

Also the love story in this. My god. I devoured it. The story and the (many bottles of) wine.

There is also Loosely Ballroom by marginalia_device and mortifyingideal. It's a Strictly Come Dancing (Dancing with the Stars in North America) AU and it is so. Fucking. Good.

But it comes with a disclaimer. It's unfinished and looks likely to stay that way. But honestly? Still worth it. It's nearly finished (I think) so you have most of the story. And it's just SO good. It's been a while since I read it but it was one of the first human AUs I read and what got me hooked on them.

If you're still with me...nice! Just know that was me holding back and that isn't my entire list by a long shot. If you want more recs, feel free to message me and also share your own!

I just finished Slow Show the actor AU by @mia-ugly and yes please.

Some serious angst, pining and hot hot smut.

There is another long-form multi-chapter actor au I loooved but I can't remember the name for the life of me. Just that the show they were on was basically good omens and that they swapped roles with great success (inspired by the whole Michael thinking Neil wanted him to play Crowley when he wanted Aziraphale thing).

Thanks for the ask! That was really fun!

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Sweet Like Sugar (Tattoo Artist!Geto x Black!Bimbo!Reader 18+ One Shot)

Pairing: Geto Suguru x Black!Fem!Reader

Synopsis: In which Geto gets paid a pleasant surprise at his tattoo shop when his favorite, cute little bimbo client comes to visit one night on his birthday to cover her ex's tattoo.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Dom!Geto; sub!Reader; Bimbo!Reader; Reader is Black & Fem; Sexual Tension; Stripping; Oral; Deepthroat; Multiple Positions (Doggystyle, Fucking Standing Up; One Leg Up; Cowgirl); Body Worship; Dick Piercing; Mild Pain Kink; Unprotected PIV; Cum on Ass

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: A very happy birthday to my BABYYYYY!! I wrote this as a quick something to celebrate the special day & because tattoo artist!Geto has been burning a hole in my head AND my p*ssy. Enjoy! -Jazz

*********

It’s his birthday and he’s working late. 

Not that he would’ve chosen differently. Geto doesn’t mind working late. Anything he can do to increase the popularity of his beloved tattoo shop, he’ll do it. He’s had this shop for over six years now ever since he graduated from art school and claims it as the reason for his career. Plus, celebrity popularity. 

Ever since he tattooed Rihanna on one of her world tours, he’s tattooed many other popular figures in music which gained him more traction. He can’t be happier with the booming business, even when it is on his birthday. He’s never been the type to make a big deal about the day he was born, so working on inking up people’s bodies and scheduling appointments never bothered him. It does, however, bother Gojo. 

“C’mooon, Sugu,” he whines, using the nickname he’s called Geto since high school. “You’ve been in this sad little shop since 8 in the morning! Let’s go out for drinks. It’s your birthday, after all.” 

Geto, currently bent over his station cleaning off his ink needles and machinery in time for the next appointment at 8 PM (the shop closes at 9, but he lets the guy squeeze since it means more money), rolls his eyes. “7, actually,” he says. “And you know that the bars are packed tonight, Satoru. It’s Saturday. We can go during the week though.” 

Gojo whines again as he shrugs on his coat and pops on his glasses that Geto thinks make him look like one of the three blind mice. “You’re so boring,” he sighs. “Why do I hang out with you?” 

Shoko exits her post at the front desk, putting on her leather trench to hide one of her arms roped in ink. “Because he gave you a job out of college and lets you smoke weed on your breaks,” she mumbles as she pops an unlit cigarette into her mouth. Gojo glares at her while Geto laughs. He gave Gojo a job as a tattooer, along with Shoko (who is also the receptionist), because of how good their skills are. However, he would do it anyway because of their work ethic and the fact that they’re such good friends. 

“I’ll go with you ‘cause I need a drink,” Shoko huffs as she shimmies between the tattoo stations to the front door.” “We’ll drink in honor of you, Sugu.” Before she leaves, she bends over and pecks Geto on the cheek, leaving a ring of red lipgloss. “Happy birthday,” she chuckles. 

“Thanks,” he chuckles, wiping off her lipstick stain. “Have fun.” Shoko heads out into the chilly night, holding the door so Gojo can hurry up and join her outside. His blue-eyed friend stops and pats Geto on the shoulder, nearly knocking Geto’s cleaning rag and his ink machine out of his hands. “Don’t stay too long, alright? You need to sleep.” 

He gives Geto a serious look as he says this. It’s no secret that his friends think that Geto overworks himself to the point of exhaustion, but when you’re a business owner, you have to make sacrifices. “Satoru, my appointment is only askin’ for an outline,” he chuckles. “Those only take me twenty to thirty minutes, tops. But I appreciate your concern.” He puts a hand on Geto’s, giving him a smile. “As soon as I’m done, I’ll hop on my motorcycle and head out of here, okay?” 

Gojo nods, looking satisfied with that. “And let us know if a hot girl comes in,” he says with a smirk. “Maybe even that sweetheart you’ve got your head in a tizzy over.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at Geto who rolls his eyes, but his body tingles at the mention of you, the “sweetheart” in question. 

“Not head’s not in a tizzy,” he scoffs, standing up from his leather seat to get a drink, but mostly to escape his friend’s teasing. “Whatever the fuck that means. And she hasn’t been here in over two weeks.” Gojo watches Geto’s muscular back as he walks away, the dragon tatted on his back flexing along with his muscles. “You miiiiiss her,” he teasingly sings. 

Geto cuts his eyes sharply at his friend, about to tell him off, but Shoko peeks her head through the front door. “Cut it out,” she criticizes Gojo. “Now let’s go before we can’t find a seat.” She nods at Geto with a smile, giving him a wink. “Take it easy, Suguru.” Geto hums in agreement and waves as he moves behind the front desk to their mini fridge. 

“Remember what I said!” Geto calls as he heads out the door. “Let me know if she comes! I want details!” Then he’s off with Shoko into the city, leaving Geto alone in his shop. “Lock the door on your way out!” Geto calls, but they leave before his order reaches them. Sighing, he takes an ice-cold water bottle out of the fridge and takes a gulp of it before walking over to lock the door. 

Though he loves his friends, he was counting on them leaving tonight since they’re heavy drinkers and Gojo is a partier. It gives him time to be alone with his thoughts and, though he will never admit it, he is hoping to see you tonight. He’s been staying late for just that reason, making the excuse to ink people for later appointments, count cash, and clean up shop. He’s been hoping one day that you’d pop up on his schedule or that you’d call so he can hear your sweet, sexy voice, but to his utter disappointment, you haven’t. 

Ever since you entered his shop a month ago to get your belly button pierced, he hasn’t been able to get you out of his mind. It was a chilly but sunny day when he met you and he had just returned from lunch to get started with his next appointment. Gojo and Choso, one of his other skilled yet young tattooers, were working that day. Geto had walked in, positively pissed, in his wool trench after parking, locking, and hopping off of his motorcycle. 

The bell above the door rang as he stomped in wearing his boots, wanting to stomp someone. “You won’t believe this shit,” he scoffed to no one in particular but knew that his coworkers would listen. “I almost ran over this guy’s dog who ran out into the street without a leash. The dude tried to blame me for it even though he’s an irresponsible dog owner! Then, the idiot was threatening to sue for…” 

He immediately stopped complaining the moment he got a look at you checking in at the front desk along with your friend. 

You turned around at the same time as his coworkers when he stomped through the door, giving him an eyeful of your pretty, brown skin and eyes highlighted by the pink you wore: a pink trench with flurry sleeves and neckline; a pink cropped sweater that exposed your tummy and juicy cleavage held up by your push-up bra; pink nails he wanted to feel wrapped around him; juicy, glossy, pink lips that chewed on some strawberry mint gum he could smell from the door. 

The only things that weren’t pink on you were the black boots that didn’t make him any taller than you and your hip-hugging, low-waist jeans that flared out at the bottom of your ankles and hugged your waist and thighs something wicked. Geto was silenced, his heart thundering in his ears and blood immediately rushing to his cock. He was disgusted at that, but he couldn’t help it! It was like you stepped out of a man’s wettest dream. You were the perfect mix of adorable and sexy. 

Shoko smirked at Gojo from across the room before clearing her throat to fill the awkward silence. “Your 3 PM is here, Geto,” she announced. You gave him a big, blinding, warm smile and he wore he nearly popped a nosebleed. “Hi!” you greeted him. “That’s me! I booked it online on your website.” 

Realizing he looked like an idiot just standing there, Geto quickly recovered and cleared his throat, ignoring Gojo’s soft sniggers. “Uh, yeah,” he said. “Yes, my 3 o’clock. I’m Suguru.” He stuck out his hand to you which you took, your hand so much smaller and softer than his. “I’m Y/N,” you said in that sweet voice. “This is my friend. She introduced me to your shop ‘cause Ariana Grande got her tattoo done here.” 

“Oh, yeah, Ms. Grande!” he chuckled. He had to take a moment to think about that because his brain was too busy focusing on how good you smelled and your pretty smile. “Yeah, she was very nice. Are you here for some ink? I don’t think you said anything about what you wanted for your appointment.” 

You giggled, sheepishly so. “You guys do piercings, right?” you asked, blinking those big, doe-like eyes and doll-like lashes up at him. He nodded, afraid to speak. “I was hoping if maybe I could get a belly button ring. A pink one, please! Or one shaped like a heart!” 

Your friend nudged you the wider and more excited your gorgeous eyes got. “Y/N,” she whined. “Don’t be so pushy.” But Geto chortled to himself, thinking it was adorable. “It’s cool,” he chuckled. “Well, follow me to my station and I can show you what we have.” 

While your friend waited in the waiting area where snacks and drinks sat, you followed Geto to his workstation where a stool for himself, a retractable chair for his clients, and a large mirror plastered against the wall sat. He presented you with a glass case of rings to choose from, each one becoming more expensive due to the kind of metal used and whether the diamond in it is real. “Oooh, I’ll take this one!” you cooed, pointing at the fuschia pink diamond stud with a butterfly charm hanging off of it. “It’s so pretty!” Geto smirked, knowing that you’d pick that. “Lemme just sit up real quick,” he told you and you nodded before shedding your coat. 

When you did, he watched as you bent over to toss the coat over your chair, getting an eyeful of your back and your ass in your jeans. He has never had a client make it so hard to work before. His cock practically became his head, throbbing intensely. He tried to distract himself by putting on his latex clothes and cleaning the piercing needle. Once done, he took out the earring and dangled it in front of you. “You like pink?” he asked, smirking. 

You gave him a sheepish, shy smile. “Is it that obvious?” you giggled. “I just love the color. I think it makes me look cuter.” He didn’t tell you that he agreed. You then began to look around the store aimlessly, gaping at the sketches hanging up behind him. “Wow, did you draw that?” you gasped, pointing at a blue dragon emerging from a bed of water lilies. “That’s sooo beautiful! You design your own stuff?” 

He nodded, flushing at the compliment. “Thank you, and yes, I do. I’m a tattoo artist who just so happens to own their own shop.” He patted the chair, giving you a warm, comforting smile. “Go ahead and get comfortable. Lie back for me.” You did so, sitting down and lying back against the leather cushion, but you looked tense. “How long have you owned your shop for?” you asked. “That’s gotta be hard. I’m going to college now, so I know how it feels to be so overwhelmed. Classes are cool. I hate math classes though. I mean, what do we need to learn calculus for? It’s pointless! I wanna be a teacher, not…” 

You stopped, looking embarrassed. “Sorry. I talk a lot when I’m nervous.” He raised an eyebrow at you as he set out some anti-bacterial wipes and soothing cream. “Nervous?” he asked. “I can see you’ve gotten piercings before though.” He nodded at your ears and diamond nose ring. 

“Yeah, but those weren’t for my body!” you argued. “But then again, I do wanna get my nipples done too, so I guess I’ll have to get used to needles.” 

Geto didn’t tell you how much the idea of you having nipple rings turned him on. Maybe they would be pink too. “I have tattoos too,” you added. He once again quirked an eyebrow at you, happy to get to know you more to ease your nerves…and also because he was so intrigued by you. “Do you now?” he prompted, curious. “Lemme see.” 

You first showed him one––a tiny purple butterfly on your right arm. “I got this one two years ago for my birthday,” you explained. You then rolled down your pants slightly, making Geto blush and think very naughty thoughts, to show him the name inked on your left thigh. “And this one is my boyfriend’s name.” You stated this so proudly. 

Geto tried not to wither at the fact that you were taken. Of course, you would be! You were too damn cute to not be with someone. “Boyfriend, huh?” he asked. “How’d you meet him?” He hated how bitter he sounded, but you didn’t seem to notice. “We go to the same school together. Funny enough, he was my weed plug and he asked me out. We’ve been together for two years now.” 

You gave him a crooked smirk as you pulled your pants back up. “I know it’s silly,” you sighed. “That’s what my friend said: to get a guy’s name tattooed on your body.” Geto felt a pang of guilt because he was thinking it. “I didn’t say that,” he protested. “You’d be surprised how many people come in here wantin’ their significant other’s name tatted on them.” 

“Well, there’s the whole logic behind it that if you break up, you’ll have their name on you forever!” you stated. “But I know that’s not gonna happen. We’re doing great and he’s got my name tatted on him in the same spot!” you sounded so certain that Geto couldn’t dare argue. 

“I’m happy to hear that,” he said, giving you a smile before fetching an alcohol swap. “I’m just gonna clean your belly button first and then you’ll feel a pinch. There will be blood, but not a lot.” 

You nodded and braced yourself by squeezing the chair before he began to wipe at your belly button. “That tickles!” you laughed, endearing, hysterical giggles leaving your mouth as Geto did his thing. He smiled, loving the sound. He wanted to make you laugh always. Once done, he took the needle and gave you a soothing smile. “So tell me what you go to school for.” 

You were happy to tell him and he found that the more he talked to you, the less tense and nervous you were. You talked the whole time he took the needle and pierced your belly button, trying not to laugh at your squeal of pain. You were just the sweetest thing ever. He also found that the more he talked to you, the more he wanted to know you. Once finished and your stomach was clean, you admired your piercing in the mirror. “Thank you so, so much, Suguru!” you squealed. “It’s so, so cute!” 

Geto watched you shake your hips in the mirror, agreeing that the tiny charm looked so damn cute hanging from your belly. He tried not to stare too much, instead, spraying and sanitizing the chair for the next client. “Do you have an IG that I can tag you in?” you asked, taking out your phone with a Hello Kitty case. God, how cuter could you possibly get?! He just wanted to scoop you up and put you in his pocket! 

“Yeah, and I’ll give it to you when I ring you up,” he stated, loving how sweet you were. Once he finished cleaning up and giving you the solution to clean your piercing with, he walked you to the front desk to pay and totaled it, telling you something completely lower than the actual price. “Oh…but that’s not the price on your website,” you stated, confused. 

“I know,” he chuckled, looking down at you adoringly. “A college girl like you needs to save.” Realization flickered in your eyes. “That’s so sweet!” you cooed and, after you finished paying, surprised him by putting $20 in the tip jar. “For doing such a good job on me,” you giggled. “I’ll make sure I visit here again for a tattoo.” 

Geto shared your smile, feeling his heart thud at the thought of you coming back. He wanted you to come back. “I look forward to it, Y/N,” he said, not realizing how deep and sultry your voice sounded. But you did and your friend had to come get you because your legs suddenly forgot how to function. You looked back at him over your shoulder before you finally left, making Geto wonder if he’d see you again. Gojo was more than excited to be nosey and leaned against the front desk while Geto counted change. “What?” he grumbled, not even looking up. 

“Dude, you should’ve copped that,” Gojo sighed. “I would’ve definitely slid that cutie my digits.” 

Geto glared at him as he dropped the coins in the register. “She said she has a boyfriend, in case you’re hard at hearing,” he pointedly said. 

Gojo clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “That don’t matter! You could’ve given her your card for…business purposes.” He smirked suggestively, ever the perv.  “Why would I need to do that if she has my IG?” Geto scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Da fuck I look like givin’ this girl my card with my number on it? She would’ve thought I was trying to pick her up. And besides, she’s probably not even gonna show up again.” 

But you did. You showed up the whole month of January to pick up new solution or to get a cleanup on your butterfly tattoo. Geto always took you and if he wasn’t there to do so, you came back when he was on his shifts which made his heart flutter. You learned more about him and he about you during all of your sessions which became his favorites. You had become his favorite client because of how sweet you were to everyone. Your personality and presence seemed to brighten his shop a little more. He looked forward to the days you’d come in. 

Until suddenly, you stopped. He hasn’t seen you in over a week and though he had your number in the system, he refused to call you. He didn’t want to overstep boundaries, so he just left it be, but he can’t deny that his heart aches every time the bell above the door rings and you’re not standing there. 

After fifteen minutes of cleaning up and humming to the music blasting from his phone, it begins to drizzle outside which means that his appointment may be cancelled. Many clients cancel or don’t show up when the weather is nasty. No more than five minutes later, he gets a call on the shop’s phone which goes right to voicemail. “Hi there!” his appointment, an older man, says. “This message is for Geto Suguru. I apologize, but I have to cancel because of my work hours. I’ll reschedule for an opening next week. Have a good night!” 

“Shit,” Geto cusses, not happy to have wasted his time, but also glad that he’ll be able to go home early and chill on a rainy night. So he busies himself with putting up the closed sign on the door before taking a Clorox wipe and wiping down the front desk. With his back to the door, he hears the bell make its tinkling sound behind him. 

“Hey, sorry, but we’re closed,” he announces without looking behind him. “Oh, sorry!” your sweet, familiar voice says. “I wanted to…” Geto immediately stops cleaning to turn to face you. You stand there frozen with an umbrella dripping in water and wearing a cropped pink tracksuit and matching pants bedazzled with your name on them. You both stare at each other for a minute, completely silent and transfixed, before you manage to smile at him. “Hi,” you greet him. 

God, how he’s missed that smile. “Hi,” he parrots, still in awe. “What brings you here tonight, stranger?” 

Your smile grows wider, a little brighter than before but still slightly…off. You don’t have that light to them. “I had come to get something, but I can come back. I thought y’all closed at 10 PM.” 

“We do,” Geto replies, already putting away the cleaning products, “but my client cancelled, so I was gonna shut down shop early…but I can still take you depending on what you need.” You look relieved at that and he wants to know why. “Thank you, Suguru,” you sigh. “I’m so sorry to interrupt your night.” 

“Nonsense,” he chuckles, walking you over to his work station. “My night was gettin’ boring anyway, so I’m glad you walked in. Hop up.” He pats the seat to which you hop up on, your legs dangling from the seat. The sound of SZA swells around the shop, filling the silence. Usually, you’re so chipper and singing along to the tunes, but tonight, you’re completely quiet. 

“So I’ve got ask,” Geto says, giving you a warm smile. “Where have you been at all this time? I haven’t seen you around the shop lately.” He begins to take the cleaning products for piercings and tattoos out to make it the conversation seem casual, but in reality, he is dying to know where you disappeared to. You shrug, looking everywhere but at him. “Just dealin’ with classes, you know,” you answer softly. “Exams, tests, papers…” He nodded understandably and rolled towards you on his stool. “So what are you lookin’ for tonight?” he asks. 

And he doesn’t know what in that question gets to you, but you immediately burst into tears. A sob-like exhale breaks through that chest and sobs begin to escape those pretty lips as you weep into your hands. Geto is taken aback, not sure what to do. “Uh…did I say something wrong?” he asks. 

You vigorously shake your head, your cheeks now coated in tears. “No, no,” you sniffle. "I’m so sorry, Suguru. I just…” You sigh, shaking your head. “My boyfriend broke up with me,” you confess. “The one whose name I got tattooed on my fucking thigh! TMI, but I caught him fucking another girl in his dorm when I went over to celebrate his birthday with a cake I made.” 

Geto crumbles at the sight of you looking so low; so down; so insecure. He hates seeing you like that and he hates that your bitch ass ex caused this. “I came to get his name covered,” you admit. “Maybe with a flower or another butterfly. Something pretty to cover this ugliness. I’m sorry to spring this on you so late, but–“ 

You abruptly stop because Geto is looking at you in a way that he has never looked at a client. His gaze his hooded but fierce and serious, one of his hands gripping the chair arm and nearly brushing against your arm. “You don’t have to be sorry about a thing, Y/N,” he says in a gentle, sweet voice that soothes you and makes you feel safe. “I’d be happy to do this for you. And if it’s any consolation, a girl as sweet as you deserves much more than someone that hurts you.” 

You stare at him for a moment, your eyes big and glassy from crying. He gives you a smile that you mirror, flashing him something he has been aching to see. “And plus, my birthday couldn’t get more exciting,” he chuckles. At this, you gasp. “It’s your birthday?” you coo. “Oh, that makes me feel even worse!” 

Geto laughs, patting your hand comfortingly, ignoring the sparks that fly as he does. “It’s cool, really. I don’t celebrate my birthday like that.” He goes to roll away so he can get some designs for you, but you stop him by placing a hand on his arm. He turns, finding you staring him down with an unreadable, hot expression. “Well…is there any way I can repay you?” you ask, but there is a purr to it. It is soft and low, but Geto hears it. And suddenly, he feels as if you aren’t just here for the ink. 

The air shifts to something less than professional and friendly. Though Geto should ignore it, he doesn’t, too distracted by your lips and thick thighs in those track pants. “Well, what did you have in mind?” he asks, his voice dipping an octave. To you, it sounds like dripping honey and makes you feel a way that your ex never did. 

You suddenly slip off of the chair and stand in front of him while he sits. He wheels closer to you so you stand between his thick, muscular thighs in his jeans, looking up into your eyes. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” you say, your tone sultry and sweet. "I don’t want you to think you’re rebound ‘cause you’re not. I’ve always liked you, Suguru, but I didn’t want to ruin things with my ex...but now that we’re done, I’d like to take our relationship somewhere else.” You give him a shy smile that nearly makes him bust. “If you’re down for it,” you add, batting those pretty lashes at him. 

Seconds later, his control flying out the fucking window, Geto finds himself snatching you down to kiss him, causing you to fall into his lap. He swallows your surprised mewls and soft moans as he kissed your lips, making his sticky with your gloss. He gives you those moans right back, desperate and yearning, as you straddle him. He can feel how warm you are the more he kisses and touches you, especially between your thighs. You grind against his crotch as your hands stroke up his chest and his squeeze and mold the thick, soft globes of your ass in your tracksuit pants. 

“Finally,” he murmurs through your kiss. “I’ve been wanting you…wanting you for so fuckin’ long.” One hand trails up your back to caress your spine while the other rests on your ass, coaxing you to continue to grind your hips into him. “Me too,” you whimper as he nipples gently on your plump, pillowy-soft bottom lip. “I have too.” 

He smiles through the kiss, happy to know that you’ve been aching for him even when you were with someone already. This is insane! He was so sure he would go home after locking up the shop, take a ride on his motorcycle, and smoke a blunt to end the night off. He doesn’t expect anything that happens tonight to go the way that it does. 

He doesn’t expect to find himself stripping for you while you strip for him, laughing as you help each other with your clothes and steal hot, breathless kisses in between. He snatches down the zipper to your tracksuit while you snatch down your pants, leaving you in just your pink Hello Kitty bra and panties. He laughs at your undies, making you smack his arm. “I think they’re cute,” he coos, pressing a kiss to your lips. 

You strip off his baggy, black sweatshirt while he takes off his tank top underneath, revealing his toned body and tatted arms to you. He never likes to brag about himself, but the way you’re looking at him like he’s a long-haired Adonis makes him want to. 

“You’re so, so pretty, Sugu,” you mewl, dragging your long, pink, pretty nails across his skin. You run your hands over every part of him: his arms; his hips; his chest and pecs; his toned stomach that leads down to his V-line smooth with skin and inked with a lipstick mark. You giggle at the tattoo, running your thumb over it. “It ain’t someone’s lips in particular,” he explains, shivering at your touch. “But I wouldn’t mind if they were yours.” 

“I’d hope you wouldn’t,” you purr before bending down to press your lips to the tattoo, leaving a stain of your gloss there. He returns the same action when he takes down your bra straps to expose your pretty titties and hard, tight, brown nipples to him that he pepper in kisses and suckles that make you moan and toss your head back. 

He doesn't expect you to bend over the chair for him when he demands it: “Bend over for me,” he says in his deep, smooth voice that makes you shiver. You look back at him, presenting your ass to him to take for himself. Geto feels like a wild animal the way he moves your panties down to your knees and stuffs his face in your pussy. His hands mold and smack your ass, loving the way it jiggles and how you gasp every single time his hand comes down to hit one of your jiggly, soft asscheeks. 

He doesn’t expect his lips and tongue to be in your pussy, licking, sucking, and lapping up your juices which you allow by pressing your ass further into him. “Fuck, Sugu!” you moan, moving one arm back to run your fingers through his long, black locks. “You’re so, so good at this!” You make sounds and move in a way that makes him feel as if your ex hasn’t been treating you right. 

He wants to make up for all of it, so he continues to lap at your sweet, pretty little cunt and moan as he does it, drunk off of the taste of you. He’s drunk in love with the way your skin contrasts with his, wanting to see his cum dripping down it; the way your sobs and whines of pleasure bounce off of the walls; the way your nails massaging his scalp as you grip his hair; the way your ass and hips whine and grind into his mouth like a little slut in heat. 

“You’re so good to me, mama,” he murmurs against your clit. “So sweet…like sugar.” You whimper at his words, sneaking your hand down to rub your clit while he tongue-fucks you against the leather chair. 

He doesn’t expect to switch with you and have his long, thick cock wrapped in your soft lips, your tongue lapping at the pre-cum bubbling from the head. He loves the way you ogle his dick once you get his pants off, letting the appendage spring to life. He is thick, veiny, girthy, and has a stud piercing in the bulbous head that makes him blush.

"Aw, baby!" you coo happily, gently poking at the studded earring. "You have a dick piercing! That's so fucking hot." You settle on your knees, naked, your pretty eyes and doll-like lashes staring up at him while you stroke and gag on his cock like it’s your profession.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, tossing his head back at the sensations. He wants so desperately to keep looking at you, but the sight and the feeling is almost too much. 

Your mouth is just so wet and your throat is so tight. When you release him, your mouth and lips are coated in spit and pre-cum, your lash line slightly glittering in tears. “You taste so good, Sugu,” you moan, biting your lower lip as you watch your hand stroke his wet cock up and down. He’s just as hypnotized, loving how your nails look wrapped around his thick, veiny dick. 

“Am I doin’ a good job?” you teasingly ask. “Am I makin’ you feel good?” You dip back down to take him deeper down your throat, gagging and choking along his length. Geto grunts, one hand gripping your hair while the other digs into the leather cushion beneath him. “God, yes!” he moans. “You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me, sugar. Such a good girl for me.” 

You giggle, drunk off of him, and continue to eagerly take him, your soft lips sliding along his shaft as your mouth goes up and down, up and down, giving him throat like he has never experienced in his life…and in his place of business, no less! 

And he certainly doesn’t expect you to be bent over the chair again and him behind you, his hands on your ass and his cock sliding inside of you. Of course, he pauses to ask if this is still okay and that you can say no at any time. But you look back at him with a giddy smile and a need in your eyes that almost makes him cum. “I want this, Sugu,” you softly say, your hand pressing against his stomach just to feel him up. “Please fuck me.” 

And when you toss that ass back into him, he just about loses it. He grips your hips and begins slowly rocking his hips into your wet heat, letting you get used to the feeling. He pays attention to your sounds and the way your body moves, your knees wobbly and body shaking. “You okay?” he asks, comfortingly stroking your back. You nod, panting heavily as his cock internally strokes your clit as it slides in and out of you. “You’re bigger than my ex, is all,” you shakily say. “But I can take it.” 

Geto doesn’t tell you how happy that makes him. It gives him the chance to really fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before. “You’re so tight for me, sugar,” he moans, continuing to give himself to you nice and slow. “So wet too. You must be feening for this dick, aren’t you?” He takes you by the back of the neck and angles himself in a way that makes your moans grow louder when he fucks you. 

“Faster, Sugu!” you beg. “Please fuck this pussy faster! Harder!” He can’t deny the way his cock swells and twitches inside you at the sound of your pleas. 

He grabs your hips and gives you exactly what you want, fucking you so roughly that your knees begin to buckle and your moans echo with the music playing on his phone. His own sounds of pleasure mingle with yours, mixing with the sound of his cock lewdly swirling in your squelching, wet pussy that grips him tighter than a vice. “Take it,” he demands. “Take it like a good girl. You wanted this shit, right?” 

He smacks your ass in time with his thrusts, causing sharp sounds of his hand connecting with your cheeks and your moans to bounce off of the shop’s walls. Your ass is just too perfect and he can't get enough of the way it bounces and jiggles so enticingly against his stomach as he drills you. He wouldn’t mind seeing his name tatted on one of your delectable cheeks or as a tramp stamp across your lower back or even on your thigh. He sees you now as his own. You are his. 

“That feel good, hm?” he teasingly asks, continue to hold your neck as he pistons into you. “You like that, sugar? Y’know, this pussy is almost sweeter than you.” He pauses and slowly holds your leg up, waiting for your consent to continue. You nod, pushing back into him as if you can’t get enough of his cock. 

For a while, he fucks you just like that with one hand holding your leg up and the other gripping your neck, holding you steady as he strokes that G-spot again and again, his heavy balls hitting that clit and making you tingle all over. But he doesn’t just fuck you from behind. He does it in any way you want and are comfortable with doing. 

He turns you around, picks you up, and fucks you stand up, you dangling from his waist. You just about scream and sob with pleasure as his cock pounds into you like a jackhammer, your arms and legs wrapped around him like a koala bear. “F-Fuck, Sugu!” you babble into his neck and hair. “Oh, my God, you’re so fuckin’ good!” He pulls you away to stare at the pleasure in your eyes and then kiss you, moaning hotly into your mouth. It only makes him fuck you harder, making you bounce against his cock. 

When you finally cum is when he lies on his back on the floor and has you ride him. You do so with vigor and eagerness, bouncing up and down on his dick like the cutest little rabbit. He lies under you, his big hands gripping your hips and ass as you do your thing. “God, baby,” he groans. “You’re gonna make me cum soon.” 

He can feel his balls tightening and that knot in his stomach threatening to snap the more your pussy slams down onto him and the more those precious titties jiggle and bounce in front of him. “Cum with me, Sugu!” you beg in that sweet voice, your nails digging into his pecs. “Give it to me please! I’m so close!” Ever the vixen, you randomly slow down and begin to giggle like a damn villain when Geto groans at the edging, your wet walls just too much to not fuck up into. 

And that’s what he does. He takes a hold of you and grips you to him before slamming himself up into you again and again, his moans and grunts of pleasure mixing with yours as your mixed juices drip down his balls, making your cunt wet enough to fuck with vigor. “Cum with me,” he demands as you whine into his ear, his cock too much. “Cum on this dick, baby. Do it! Give it to me!” 

It doesn’t take long for you to cum all over his cock, your pussy squeezing him tight enough where he can hardly move. When you do, it triggers his own orgasm. He quickly pulls out of you and fucks his fist until his cum spurts all over your ass and pussy, drenching you in it. His lips find yours, his moans and heavy pants mixing with yours as your tongues swirl with one another. You giggle into the kiss, causing him to laugh too. “Fuck,” you sigh against his mouth. “That was so good.” 

“Mm,” he hums in agreement. Exhausted, you roll off of him and onto your back to stare up at the ceiling. Beads of sweat roll down Geto’s toned body and forehead as he heavily pants, recovering from the sex. Feeling your hand sneak into his, he smiles and interlaces your fingers. 

“I expect you to be comin’ back regularly now,” he chuckles. 

“If I can look forward to this, sure,” you hum. “That was fantastic! Way better than my bitch ass ex!” Geto turns over to look at you, loving how you look in the afterglow after getting your gorgeous brains fucked out. “Speakin’ of which, you wanna get back to the tattoo or just continue this?” he asks, nodding down at your thigh where your ex’s name still sits. “I'm with either, sugar. It’s all up to you.” 

You look up at him with those eyes and inch closer to his body to wrap your arms around him. “In a bit,” you sigh, making him laugh as you squeeze him to you like a teddy bear. He embraces you back, pressing a kiss to your forehead and breathing in the scents of your sweet-smelling body spray and sex on your skin. He loves how small you are, how warm and soft you feel against him. He feels like you belong there with him and he with you. 

After a couple of minutes of soft kisses and drawing shapes on each other’s naked bodies, you each get dressed and get back to business. After Geto fetches you some water and a snack, yu sit up in the chair and lay back while he puts on some gloves and moves your pants down to show the flesh of your thigh. When he fetches the tattoo gun, your eyes grow wide like a cartoon character’s. 

He snorts at your reaction as he dips the needle in some red for your new tattoo. You chose a nice rose to cover your ex’s name. “Still scared of needles?” he chortles. You nod, focusing on the needle. “Just grab my hand and breathe, okay?” He puts out his hand for you to take, but you stop him from plugging in the gun. 

“Oh, wait!” you exclaim and begin digging in your purse. You then pull out a bedazzled weed pen and take a hit, the smoke billowing from your soft, glossy lips that he wants to kiss again. The way they form an O makes his cock twitch. “Want some?” you ask and he leans in to take a hit. The smoke fills his lungs and he holds it as you lean in, prompting him to blow the smoke into your mouth. 

Once relaxed, you nod, silently telling him to continue. “Here we go, sugar,” he gently announces. He plugs in the gun and it begins to muzzle. “Just breathe.” You do so, holding his hand and looking away as the needle gets closer to your skin. Once the first pricks come, you tense and squeeze his hand, but you still breathe. “Good girl,” he coos. “You're doin’ so, so well for me.” 

You give him a wobbly smile, but the fear in your eyes has wained…mostly because he starts rubbing your clit. “S-Sugu,” you whimper, closing your trembling thighs around his hand. 

“Just focus,” he instructs you as his thick fingers stroke your needy clit. “Focus on my fingers, sugar, okay?” You nod, giving him a cute expression that makes him want to fuck you all over again. 

You do and all that is heard throughout the shop are the buzzing of the tattoo gun, the music, and your sweet moans. 

THE END. 

[inkyvendingmachine]

T'was The Night Before Crisis... Season 4, Episode 1

💀 Call of Cthulhu: Haunted Hijinx Masterpost 💀 Call of Cthulhu Season Four Masterpost (Coming Soon)

Warning: This campaign is an edited version of  a Call of Cthulhu scenario from the Tales of the Crescent City book. While a lot has been changed, there IS spoilers for it throughout these posts.

WE'RE BACK. After over a whole heckin year of 10000 RP logs, we have returned with our final season of Cthulhu! It's been not just a year out of game, but a little over a year worth of in game time has passed too, and they boys are indulging in a chill, at home seasonal celebration... for now! Surely nothing weird will happen, nothing ever does around holidays for these boys obviously.

:)

Happy Holidays!

Art Credit: @inkdemonapologist : sketching + inking @inkyvendingmachine : concept + colouring

A week. Two weeks. A month. A season. A year.

A whole year and a couple of months go by without any crazy outside force trying to rid the boys of… anything really. The time isn't exactly calm or empty… but compared to recent events, for a while, things were… kinda normal?

Well, except for when Joey got Peter to help him meet with Y secretly to prevent the gang from continuing to mess with JDS, or when Sammy and Henry realized mid tennis match that a version of Henry had slashed him right through the center. Or how the Prophet can just pop out now without ink. And how Susie has been brought in on all this, and perhaps brought in on even more than just the supernatural content as her bonds with Sammy and Joey grow tighter. And how Peter is actually moving to New York City now and ends up visiting Jack just as Beans goes missing and now there’s many little Beans kittens. And the summoning spell to ask the spirit that helped them in Haiti what will become of Sammy and Prophet. And the other summoning spell for Prophet to get his instructions from the Masked Messenger. And Sammy still can't tell where he's going half the time after uncovering some of Prophet’s memories. And Joey is still a bit hesitant to leave the studio if not being actively distracted. But other than that! It's been normal!!

And the boys have made it all the way to Christmas. Joey's received some parcels in the mail, from the Fowlers and Nicole. The Fowlers actually sent each of the helpful boys uh… 1000$?? That's a thousand. EACH. IN THE 1930s. For helping out… which I guess if stuck eternally in soul lake hell, wouldn't have that money anyways. But still, that's quite a lot for the time.

Meanwhile, Nicole has had time to move on from her heartbreak, and is ready to start a new chapter in her life, and as thanks, leaves Joey both the keys to her old apartment (the lease being paid up for a few years already) and to her previous car, with a guarantee she's giving these things up for better, not to worry about her. And totally not because maybe all the occult scratches and bullet marks in the wall makes the apartment hard to rent, or the fact that her car is an extremely recognized Mercedes, or that both of these assets were hounded by gangs for a bit after her magical mistakes…

It probably is actually all out of good will and appreciation, and these things will come in useful, especially if they do need to deal with more mafia or what have you. Joey doesn't need them tracking Henry's car home to his family or back to Jack's house.

With those gifts out of the way, the actual holiday is spent in Jack's house, with a big potluck meal. This holiday celebration includes a small group of friends and their families, namely, all the people Jack has befriended and also would be okay with the Lurker partying with em. The event goes well, Sammy gets to play through the night, Henry’s children get to hang out with a real Bendy and also a buncha newly grown-up cats, Henry gets to eat as many cookies as he wants… 

That… slows down when Henry sees a yellow sign in a ribbon. But as soon as he tries to not lose his entire cool and freak out, it disappears… the ribbon was just a ribbon the entire time. Perhaps golden ribbons shouldn't be their normal holiday decor… 

Meanwhile, Peter feels eyes on him and decides to move away from the window maybe, especially because it feels like he suddenly knew exactly which star in the sky holds Carcosa at the same time… surely a fine coincidence to have happened at almost the same time. But nobody else is acting weirdly, sooooo.

The night wraps up, with Susie and Norman heading out first, followed by Henry and his family. Sammy also heads home after being socially exhausted and desperately needing his alone time, and Peter helps Jack clean up some before heading out too. Jack heads to bed, only to find an already asleep Joey with a Spark sprawled on top of him, probably after he “closed his eyes for a moment” a little earlier. 

The next day, there's technically work, but it's a short day because what's actually happening is a charity auction and party. A collection of “originals, signed by the creators” has been donated to help raise money for relief efforts in a few warring European countries, as well as the “entertainment” for the evening (Bendy cartoons, of course), courtesy of JDS, which means of course all the stars who signed the auctioned items were invited to the party as well.

Yes, even Sammy. 

(And also Jack, Henry, Susie, and Joey of course.)

The event is being held at a yacht club, advertised to the wealthies of the city midst the great depression, with live music playing and glittering evening wear, and uh. Denis.

Y'know, Denis?? That rich guy from NOLA who invited us to the masquerade?? That Joey casually name dropped his legal name to in order to keep him from tracing himself and Sammy back to JDS, when they didn't know who or how dangerous their initial information gathering was.

Anyways, a quick little talking him in circles by Joey corrects that past mistake, as well as gets him the information that Denis is actually related to one of the people who put the entire event together. Ha. Good to know.

Of course it's difficult to shake him afterwards, since Joey is one of the few people Denis knows all the way up in New York. At least Joey actually has a fancy car to talk about now.

Meanwhile, in the quietest, emptiest corner he could find, Sammy notices something odd about the song that's currently being played live. It sounds familiar, and while surely there's been some Bendy music played this evening…. This particular song is not that. But it WAS composed by Sammy.

In NOLA.

When he was improvising with some random music on the street while hanging out on the balcony of his and Joey's hotel room. Properly freaked out by having a song from a very scary time literally come back to haunt him, Sammy runs to find someone, (Joey is still busy with Denis), and comes across Jack first. But before he can fully explain, the entire party is interrupted.

Chatter turns into hushed confusion as some pale man up near the front starts speaking in tongues. It's hard to tell if he's trying to perform some ritual or just incoherently rambling, but it doesn't matter! Because very quickly there’s a gunshot!!

And the Prophet? He's awake. He knows what that gunshot was. He's been waiting for this.

It has begun.

Of course the entire party breaks out in panic once the gun goes off. Joey doesn't know what sort of Eldritch nonsense was happening up front, but upon scanning the crowd and noticing Jack and Sammy together, beelines for the snack table to grab Henry and search for Susie.

As everyone is being rushed out, some of the boys manage to notice that not all of the panic is simply from the mad ramblings and sudden bullet, but also we've got some people in the crowd bleeding from their eyes. How festive!

Upon getting outside, the Yacht club is of course already being surrounded by security and the police, as the sudden gun shots quickly alerted locals to the nonsense going on. Nobody is allowed to bolt until an investigation is conducted and people are questioned, but of course Joey managed to sweet talk his way over to a telephone to make a very important quick phone call.

To one Peter Sunstram! 

Turns out, between all their arguments, there are a few things they can agree on, which includes quietly spying on suspicious parties even though they should probably not be doing that if they actually wanna be safe but surely everyone will understand when they find out IT'S FINE.

Anyways Peter’s been keeping an eye on Y, and earlier in the day Y seemed to be performing some ritual before having some kind of … breakthrough? Revelation? Peter had told Joey of it, and in good faith Joey agreed to keep an eye out for WEIRDNESS, hoping that Y was upholding his promise to not be interfering with JDS anymore. But now this episode seems to have specifically happened, right at their exact event for the evening, so Joey does his best to pass along as much info as he can in that moment to Peter. As well as set up a backup plan in case anything else happens to them before they can escape the Yacht Club.

After some interviews with the police though, they’re allowed to go free. Listening to other partygoers' recollections they’re able to pick up a few more names here and there – the one who fired the gun up front by the bandstand is said to be another local gangster by the name of Johnny Nero, and the band playing on that bandstand one Red Leverett and the Jumps – but no evidence that really points the crew in any sort of serious lead. (including more commentary by Denis wHY ARE YOU STILL HERE UR NOT PART OF THE GROUP)

So having managed to collect everyone together, including Prophet returning Sammy to the front for the interview thank the lord (not that one)(not that one either)(maybe that one) the JDS crew head over to their very safe and secure hide away to talk about what just happened: that’s right, they’re going to Peter’s apartment.

And staying there through midnight! Listen, the last time weird shit started happening like this, everything popped off at midnight and there were panics all around. It’d be nice to know where people were this evening. And while they’re all sitting around waiting for that to pass, Henry and Peter can even talk about the really weird things that happened last night! Yknow, where Henry saw the yellow sign for a moment and Peter felt something watching him from space? Those very normal Christmas activities?

The group also gets informed about how Peter maybe has been keeping an eye on the Y that still hangs out in the city, and how Y was excited over some weird ritual. While he goes over that and also Joey and Peter guiltily kinda admit to their secret spying tendencies, Henry gets info from Linda when he calls to explain why he’s not home yet and how he won’t be home for a little while still. She’s remembered some research that crosses over with the prophecies they had gotten a month or so after the last big event like this. And Jack and Sammy bring up how they had been theorizing over who’s and what’s in the prophecies… for instance, that which the Phantom seeks, who bears already the scars of following the Mender’s lead….

Is it Peter? He followed Jack into the weird ghosty world. Is it Joey? He’s followed the Mender in other ways, and also literally bears scars caused from Jack’s healing. Or is it somehow Y?? Who seems… involved in this somehow, despite promising he wouldn’t be fucking around with stuff that might step on JDS’s toes again.

With no real conclusions, but midnight having come and past, people start to head home. Joey has someone drop him off at the studio, as after weirdness happened with any sort of occult stuff he’s interested in checking in on Bendy and the Stone. Since, those tend to be targets for this kinda creepy thing. Bendy is perfectly fine though, and hardly even noticed anything going on… So Joey picks up some of his notes and… finds himself unable to leave the studio. For some reason it just seems like the wrong idea… so he spends all night up researching, unsettled by how many non-leads he has into what will possibly happen next. It’s starting to feel like Haiti again, knowing that something bad is coming but really having no idea where to fortify with this information.

But he does have something new… 

He has plenty of things new now, including his dream spell. 

Peter’s not the only one who can spy, and while Joey is sure he’d hit some kind of barrier trying to peek in on Y’s dreams… just knowing whether the man was still alive, or possessed by some eldritch nonsense seemed like a good place to start. Maybe his excitement at the ritual earlier was coincidental…

The thing is, defying all reason, Joey’s able to step into Y’s dream just fine somehow.

This is probably not something he’ll regret doing later, surely.

[Next Episode] (not yet released)

[evanpeterswhoresblog]

Behind the Crime

Warren Lipka x f!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, oral male receiving, dominate warren, underage drinking, underage smoking, use of marijuana, rough sex, hint of choking, talk of robbery, um yeah i think that’s it

summary: from the moment you were brought into the heist, you knew working with warren was going to be hard…

word count: 3.4k

a/n: sorry for not posting guys i have not been on the grind lately. i watched this movie and omfg evan was so attractive i just needed to write. if you’re the real warren lipka just scroll this is about evan…

~~~

You sit back in your chair, the crew members adjusting your mic. You’re starting to regret doing this interview, but it’s too late to back out now. Everything’s already set up, the camera is about to be rolling. The interviewer is sitting a few feet away from you, notes in his hand. He waits for you to give him the signal that you’re ready. You nod, he begins.

“So, y/n, how did you become involved with the group?” He asks.

“I was first approached by Spencer when I was eating lunch outside one day...”

~~~

You were sitting alone, the cool fall breeze almost too cold to be comforting. You didn’t pay much mind to it though, you were more focussed on your studying. You were flipping through the pages of another history article when suddenly there was a presence beside you. Looking up at them as soon as you noticed, you recognized the boy as someone from your class.

“Can I help you?” You asked, your tone polite.

He looked nervous as if he were about to ask you out. “Hi, uh, I don’t know if you remember my name, I’m Spencer we have Art History together.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve seen you,” you replied. “Do you need help with the homework or something?”

“No, I actually wanted to talk to you about something else, if you’re not busy or anything,” he said, his voice quiet.

You look away for a second before replying. “Sure, sit down if you want I’m not busy.”

He smiled at you before quickly sitting at the spot across from you. He put his bag on the table, you could see him take a deep breath. Was he really going to ask you out? You thought he was cute, but definitely not your type. You started to pray he wouldn’t say anything along those lines.

“I started to ask around a week or two ago about people who are good with computers and stuff, a lot of people told me you were the best person to go to,” he started. He lacked confidence in his voice, you felt bad for the poor guy but paid close attention to his words. “I need some... help with cameras.”

“What kind of cameras?” You asked, intrigued.

What he was saying was true, you were decently good with computers. You mostly would hack into places and disable things you didn’t like, like the cameras on the public library computers. It wasn’t anything illegal, at least you didn’t think it was illegal. It probably was, but you didn’t care.

“Just you know cameras in... semipublic places...”

You raised an eyebrow. “Like what kind though? Phone, laptop, desktop, security?”

“Security,” he answered quietly. “But before you say no listen, how does a couple hundred thousand dollars' worth of payment sound?

“What?”

“I won’t tell you the details till I know you’re on board but let's just say something is going down and we need help with the cameras. The pay would be huge and all you’d have to do is just mess with some cameras for like twenty minutes.”

You only stared at him; your mouth slightly hung open. Was he being serious? Was he really asking you to join him in a potential robbery that would pay hundreds of thousands of dollars? You never would’ve expected to be asked such a question on a cloudy Thursday at lunch. You shut your book completely and look around to make sure nobody is close.

“This money, it’s guaranteed?”

He nods. “As long as we get the job done, you’ll have it.”

You knew it was crazy, you knew whatever was going to happen would either result in you going to prison or having to run off into hiding. But the thought of being able to pay all your student loans off and have extra money to live off of was more appealing. Hacking into cameras wasn’t that hard, and it wasn’t going to hurt anyone. Unless it was.

“If you’re trying to get me to make sure a murder or rape isn’t on camera I’ll snitch,” you warned him.

“Oh no, nothing like that is happening at all. It’s just you know a robbery,” he replied, his expression genuine.

You nodded your head, convinced whatever he was asking couldn’t be that bad. “Okay, yeah, I’ll do it.”

~~~

“What was your first impression of the guys?

You smile. “They were really cool, funny, just overall really fun people to hang out with.”

“Do you remember the first time you met all of them?”

“Of course, like it was yesterday...”

~~~

The house you sat in front of didn’t look like a typical criminal's house. It looked like an average American’s family house actually. You were parked out on the road outside the house Spencer told you to go to, you were meeting the rest of the people involved with the robbery. It had been about ten minutes of you sitting out there debating whether or not to go in before you got a text from Spencer asking where you were. You sighed, praying to God this decision was the right one before getting out of your car.

You knocked on the front door with a shaky fist. You started to regret your decision, you thought about turning around and leaving, but the door was opened before you could act on it. An older woman stood in front of you, she looked to be in her 50s.

“Oh, you’re very pretty,” she said, making your cheeks turn red. “You’re here to see Warren, right?”

You had no idea who Warren was, but you nodded. The lady's smile grew, and she opened the door for you and ushered you inside. She directed you to the basement entrance, asking you a million questions you had no answers to. After those few but excruciating painful minutes though, you walked down the basement stairs and finally caught sight of Spencer.

There were three other guys in the room and all of their eyes were on you. Two, along with Spencer, were sitting on a couch. One of them was skinny with glasses, the other muscular with no glasses. They didn’t grasp your attention though. The last guy who was standing did. He had long dark curly hair, and eyes to match. His eyes met yours before you watched them slowly move up and down your body. You didn’t know how to react.

“Guys, this is y/n,” Spencer said, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“Hello, I’m Eric,” the guy with glasses introduced himself.

“Chas,” the muscular guy spoke, not paying much attention to you. “Are you sure this was a good idea, Spence? How much do we really know about this chick? No offense.”

“Shut up, we agreed,” Spencer hissed. He waved you over and you complied, walking to the couch and sitting on the end beside him.

The standing guy took a step forward and held out his hand to you. You looked up at him before accepting his handshake. His hand was rough, you liked the feeling of it in yours. “I’m Warren and you are our cameraman or woman I guess.”

You laughed. “I guess.”

“How much has Spencer told you?” Warren asked after letting go of your hand and stepping back. It was then you noticed the maps on the wall with drawings all over them, the layout looked familiar.

“Just that I need to hack some cameras and that it’ll pay me a lot,” you answered. “I don’t even know what you guys are stealing.”

“Well y/n, I’m sure you’ve been to your own school's library right?”

You nodded.

“Have you ever taken a tour of the library’s rare book collection?”

You nodded again.

Warren smirked. “Then you know exactly what we’re stealing.”

Your face fell and you immediately looked at Spencer and the rest of the guys. “Are you serious? You guys want to steal historic books?”

“I told you this was a bad idea,” Chas mumbled from his chair.

“Shut up Chas,” Warren quickly snapped. He looked back at you, his dark eyes engulfing yours completely. “We’ve been planning this out for months, and you are the last piece to our puzzle y/n. Think about how much you’ll be earning.”

You didn’t say anything. Maybe it was a bad idea.

~~~

“Chas eventually stopped being cold to me, I actually think in the end he became my closest friend in the group,” you say, finishing your story.

The interviewer gives you a look. “Well, besides Warren right?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you reply, a confused look on your face.

“I have to ask if the stories are true, you know about you and him. The other guys say something changed between the two of you after a party you all attended. I mean, didn’t the police even question if your involvement had a deeper meaning than simply the money?”

You shake your head, giving your best performance. “Me and Warren were only ever best friends, there was never a deeper meaning behind anything.”

~~~

Music was pumping through your body, from the tips of your toes to the top of your head you could feel it. It had been a few weeks since you met the guys, and they all wanted to do something fun before the heist. So, a frat party was naturally the easiest option. That’s where you were now, already two shots and half a joint in. You didn’t know where Spencer, Nick, and Warren were, but Chas was dancing with you.

Though the two of you got off on the wrong foot, you and Chas quickly learned how well you get along. He was a good friend, all of the guys were. You liked how easily they could make you laugh and brighten your mood. They were all good people who you enjoyed being around.

Warren was the only one that you felt different for. You didn’t know why, but from the first day you met you knew your feelings for him would be different than the other three. The way he looked at you alone was completely different than the others. There was always something darker in his eyes, something you knew wasn’t supposed to be there for simply a friend. Every time the two of you looked at each other, your stomach filled with butterflies. You wanted it too. But in those first few weeks, nothing had happened. No matter how much either of you wanted it.

After some minutes of you and Chas dancing, Warren and Spencer appeared. They asked if the two of you wanted to go out and smoke, you both agreed and followed them outside the back. Not too many people were in the backyard, but there were enough for there to be a bonfire going. The four of you found an empty spot near the fire and sat down. Warren took out a joint and lit it before passing it around.

“Where’s Nick?” You asked after taking a hit.

Spencer shrugged. “Probably with the weird kids doing weird stuff.”

“He’s not that weird,” Chas replied. “He’s just awkward.”

You watched as Warren took another long hit of the joint. Because of the weed and alcohol, you found yourself even more attracted to him than when you were sober. You wanted so desperately to run your fingers through his hair, you wanted to hear his voice as you touched him. He suddenly met your gaze, his lips curled up into a mesmerizing smile. You wanted to kiss him. It was too much for you to handle.

You swallowed and stood up, brushing the dirt off your shorts. “I need to um use the bathroom.”

You didn’t wait for any of their replies. Instead, you rushed back into the house straight to the kitchen. You poured yourself a shot, downing it before giving it a second thought. You needed these feelings to go away. How were you supposed to work with Warren if you couldn’t even look at him without thinking about having sex with him? It made you feel awful. A hookup couldn’t be the reason the robbery went bad, you refused to let that happen.

After another shot, you started to forget about your feelings. In fact, you started to forget about Warren completely. All you felt was the burning sensation of the alcohol in your stomach and chest, it felt good. You stumbled out of the kitchen and into the hallway, grabbing the railings of the staircase for support. Suddenly, you felt a presence next to you, their hand on your back.

“Y/N, are you good?” It was Warren.

You turned your head and looked at him, God how could he look even better? “No- I’m not okay.”

“You’re wasted, you need some water,” he said. He moved his hand around your waist and pulled you up straight. You felt like you were on fire. “Come on, back to the kitchen.”

“Why are you here? I just- I just wanna forget about you,” you mumbled.

He started helping you walk back to the kitchen. “What? Why would you want to forget about me?”

“Because... I want you but I can’t have you. I thought you- felt the same that’s why it’s been so hard to resist,” you spoke, stumbling over your words. “I can’t look at you without thinking about you fucking me.”

Even in your drunken state, you could still see the cockiness on Warren’s face. He lifted you up onto the kitchen counter effortlessly before turning and getting you a cup of water. You leaned your head back against one of the cabinets, your head was spinning. You couldn’t think straight.

“Drink,” Warren’s voice filled your ears.

You lifted your head and grabbed the solo cup from his hand, downing the water faster than ever. When you finished, you threw the cup to the floor, your eyes meeting Warren’s once again. He was standing close enough that if you reached, you could touch him.

Perhaps it was because of the alcohol, or perhaps it was because of how long you’d felt the tension between you two, that gave you the courage to gently place your hand on the top of his head. His hair was soft, just like you’d expected it to be. You smiled and played with his curls. He didn’t object, you were glad. You needed this.

“Do you want me?” You asked, your voice barely audible against the loud music.

“What do you think?”

You shrugged. “I thought so, but I could always be wrong.”

“Maybe I should make it clearer,” he said. He grabbed your wrist and pulled your hand off his head before stepping closer to you. “If this house wasn’t crowded, I’d fuck you right here, right now.”

Your heart was racing, your cheeks bright red. You couldn’t believe this was happening. Warren was still holding your wrist, it sent electric shocks throughout your body. His eyes began to shift from your eyes to your lips and so on. You swallowed; a lump had formed in your throat.

“There’s probably an empty room somewhere,” you mentioned. “You could take me to one of them and show me you mean what you say.”

Warren raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know, you’re pretty drunk.”

“I’m not- I swear. I consent, I’ll remember all of this in the morning,” you replied quickly.

“All right.”

Before you could say anything else, Warren scooped you into his arms and began to carry you through the house. You didn’t know whether to pretend you were drunk so it wouldn’t look suspicious or stay awake to also not make it look suspicious. You chose to stay awake and within minutes you and Warren were alone in a bedroom, your lips connected.

The kiss was fast and rough, everything you expected from him. His arms were wrapped around your waist, he towered over you. You wasted no time, immediately kicking off your shoes and pushing Warren back until he fell onto the bed. He pulled you on top of him, guiding your hips in slow motions over his clothed erection. You felt like you were on fire, you needed more.

You broke this kiss and leaned back so you were straddling him. You pulled off your shirt and bra, Warren followed your actions. Once your eyes fell upon his toned abdomen, you audibly moaned. You quickly leaned down again and kissed his chest, beginning a trail down his body. Each breath that left his mouth made your pussy drip even more. And when you reached his navel, his breaths turned into soft whispers.

“Keep going.”

“Please.”

“I’ll do anything.”

When you no longer had any skin left to kiss you looked back up at him, his eyes were already on you. He got your signal and instantly pulled his shorts and boxers off, leaving him completely naked. You weren’t surprised at his size; you had a feeling he’d be big. You started off by slowly stroking him with your hand, the expressions on his face already enough to make you cum.

After a minute or so of that, you bent down and pressed a small kiss to his tip. You loved the way his leg twitched. It made you proud. So, you took him into your mouth. He gasped, one of his hands finding its way to the back of your head. He didn’t push you; he only twirled your hair back into a ponytail-like style and gripped it tight. You moved your head up and down, taking as much of him in your mouth as you could. You were never a fan of giving head to guys, but with Warren, it was a different story.

Not much time passed before Warren pushed you gently, telling you he wasn’t going to last much longer. You didn’t care, you wanted him to finish in your mouth. But he told you he wanted to have sex, so you stopped. You peeled off your shorts and underwear before you climbed back onto him. His naked body against yours felt unreal, you were almost convinced this was all part of your drunken imagination.

However, when Warren pulled your head down and began to kiss your lips again, you knew it had to be real. His hands gripped your ass, kneading and playing with your skin. You positioned his tip at your entrance, you were so wet you didn’t need any lube. You broke the kiss and looked into his eyes, you wanted to know it was okay. He gave you a nod and so you began to push yourself down on him.

He filled you well, just the perfect amount. You had thrown your head back, a moan escaping your lips. You hadn’t had sex in months, and this was the perfect way to break that streak. You started to move your body forward and backward while simultaneously going up and down. Warren’s grip on your ass tightened with each movement you made.

“Fuck baby,” he moaned. “You do it so well.”

Your confidence was boosted; you began to move faster. This only lasted a few minutes though, much to your dismay. You weren’t too athletic; you didn’t have good stamina. Warren noticed this, and without saying anything he flipped your bodies. Once on top of you, he began violent thrusts. You almost screamed from the pleasure; you’d never felt anything remotely close to it in your life. He hit your cervix each time, it made your back arch off the mattress and your nails dig into his back.

“Warren,” you whimpered. “Oh, fuck Warren.”

One of his hands wrapped around your neck. He didn’t squeeze, he just rested it there. You felt the knot in your stomach form at this. It felt so good to be dominated by him. It had been your dream for weeks, and it had finally come true. You closed your eyes and let the feeling of Warren fucking you fill your senses.

When you came, you practically screamed his name. You swore you could see stars. You’d never experienced an orgasm so hard in your life. Warren came a few seconds after you, you felt his dick pulsing inside you. He collapsed on you. You didn’t care about how his weight crushed you, you still held him as the two of you began to come down from your highs.

~~~

As the crew packs up, you remain in your chair, staring blankly out one of your windows. The interviewer is still across from you, but you don’t notice until he speaks.

“Just tell me one thing, off the record,” he says, grabbing your attention. “Did you love him?”

A small smile grows on your lips. “With all my heart.”