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sp0o0kylights · 1 year

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Steve and Gareth as cousins warm up, part two!

First part is HERE.

Next part is HERE.

Reminder: Someone on Twitter proposed Steve and Gareth as cousins whose family had a major falling out, and then someone else brought it up recently and long story short no idea who to credit the idea too bc you can’t search for SHIT on Twitter but it's theirs not mine.

Warnings: Steve and Robin Get (canon-S3) Drugged.

"I'm just saying the other theater is cheaper." Eddie said around the straw jammed in his mouth.

He carried the largest bucket of popcorn Starcourt’s movie theater offered, alongside the two boxes of candy he'd also demanded Gareth buy him.

"Easier to sneak into, you mean." Gareth corrected, with his significantly smaller bag of popcorn. His, he planned to share with Jeff, Grant having snuck in his own food.

Gareth himself would have snuck in the cheaper (and far larger) snacks, but Eddie had thrown a fit about going to the mall to see a new movie instead of Hawkin’s far older theater.

Of course, the older theater also had several disadvantages, key of which was terrible seating, and so, Gareth had bribed him with whatever treats he wanted.

His wallet took a hit but fuck it, at least they got to actually see the screen.

Not that they even made it into the fucking theater, because someone chose that moment to crash into Eddie.

Popcorn kernels and soda flew everywhere, with Eddie only avoiding it landing on him and Gareth both by years of dealing with this exact bullshit in school. Of course, the mall wasn’t school, and neither of them had their guard up.

"What the hell man--" Eddie spat, immediately on the defense, as they both turned to see what jackass wanted to cause problems this time.

Except Gareth had recognized the person who bumped him.

"Steve?" Gareth asked, causing his cousin to totter around and face him. He was in his Scoops Ahoy uniform, which remained to be absolutely ridiculous, but that hadn't been what had drawn Gareth's attention.

No, that would be the absolute wrecked face staring at him with a doped up grin.

All thoughts of the movie immediately faded away.

"What happened to your face!?" Gareth demanded, immediately stepping up into his cousin's space, eyes darting over the damage.

Recent black eye, split lip, blood splatter all down one side of his neck, nevermind his clothes…

"Robs!" Steve called over his shoulder instead of answering, body moving as if he was walking on a wildly rocking boat and not solid ground. "Come 'ere!"

He beamed, which had the horrific effect of resplitting his lips. "Meet Gareth, my baby cousin!"

"I am two years younger than you." Gareth argued on automatic. He didn’t look to see how Eddie took this little piece of info--he’d figure out what he’d say later, when Steve wasn’t covered in blood.

It did not stop Robin from reaching out to pinch his cheeks.

She too, Gareth realized, was clearly high on something, both of them giggling and weaving on their feet.

At least Robin didn’t appear to be hurt--or at least, not hurt as badly as Steve.

"What the hell did you two take?" Gareth demanded, looking between them as he quickly put his popcorn back off to the side.

"We didn't take anything, dad." Steve said bossily, rolling his eyes. He spoke in a voice so unlike himself that Gareth knew his own face was doing something crazy.

Not that he could stop it because what the hell.

"What my patriotic friend here means is that we don't know." Robin added, smacking a hand onto Steve’s shoulder.

(The entire sentence was slurred and sounded like she'd shoved candy in her mouth before she started talking.)

"You don't know?!” Gareth asked, taking in the way Steve flinched when Robin touched him. Added a mental note to check his cousin's shoulder too. “How do you not know?"

Gareth wasn't panicking, he wasn't, except he absolutely fucking was. Steve's dad was going to kill him, disown him, and throw the body out of his house--in that exact order.

Gareth’s parents wouldn’t take him in, not unless his mom felt she could use it to one up her sister in some way which meant that Gareth was going to have to sneak Steve in and out of the house like he was some--some puppy Gareth was trying to keep and--

"Did someone give you two something?" Eddie asked, interrupting Gareth’s spiraling.

"Give is a very strong word." Steve said with a snicker.

Robin nodded so much she looked like a bobble head. She leaned in, nearly falling into Gareth in the process. “In fact it’s not the word I’d use at all! I’d use…” She trailed off, screwing her eyes up in thought.

“Made us?” Steve suggested as Gareth finally gave in to his instincts and reached out to steady his cousin. “Forced us?”

“Socked it to us!” Robin added with a weird amount of glee, and the two of them once again collapsed into giggles.

Literally, forcing Gareth to try and steady them both.

Which meant Eddie was right--they’d been drugged. It made perfect sense-- Steve wasn’t the kind to experiment with drugs beyond weed. Had in fact, given a very long lecture about how he’d make Gareth go on runs with him if he ever found out Eddie had given him anything stronger than weed.

There was no way he’d change now, and especially not around a jobsite. Particularly one as busy as the mall.

"You can't tell anybody." Robin continued, eyes so wide they were more white than pupils. "But we got truth serumed!"

As if that made any fucking sense.

Gareth turned a half frantic, half disbelieving look to Eddie--whose own face scared him almost as badly as Steve's did.

He was hiding it, and doing a good job of doing so, but Eddie was the one person Gareth knew better than Steve.

Right now? Eddie Munson was furious.

Not mad, or upset, or even as pissed as he had been the time Tommy Hagan had thrown his drug box in the river.

He was enraged.

"Hey." He said, and the only thing more shocking than realizing Eddie was this mad was hearing him talk in a calming, almost playful voice. "Sounds like you two sailors had a pretty rough time. Why don't we go to the bathroom and get you both cleaned up? I bet you'll feel a little better."

It was clearly the right move, because both of them looked downright delighted.

"He thinks we're sailors!" Steve said, cupping a hand around his mouth and leaning to talk in Robin’s ear as if he was whispering. (He wasn’t.)

Robin’s grin grew impossibly wider, before Eddie stepped forward to help Gareth half guide half herd the two into the nearest bathroom.

"I know you." Robin said, squinting dramatically as Eddie opened the door with his regular flair, bellowing for anyone in the place to get out.

It was Steve's turn to nod enthusiastically. "That's Eddie, Robbie." He said.

"I'm honored King Steve knows such a humble peasant's name." Eddie bowed as Gareth finally got both Steve and Robin into the bathroom, trying to get them to sit on the floor before they fell on their asses.

Which just made a hurt expression appear on Steve's face. "’Course I do. You have really pretty hair."

It had the effect of making Eddie look like he’d been punched and Gareth had to quickly turn his bark of laughter into a cough.

"I bet it's soft.” Steve continued, as he pressed his back against the tiled wall and slowly slid down to the floor. “Gare, is it soft?"

"It's very soft." Gareth agreed, trying to wet a paper towel with shaking hands. Finally he gave up entirely, ripping the plaid sweater he had tied around his waist and shoving one of the sleeves into the sink.

“Oh my god.” Robin said abruptly, sitting up from her own slouched spot on the floor as if she’d suddenly been stricken sober. “It’s him! He’s your type!”

“What’s my type?” Steve turned to her, as Eddie leaned his back against the door to the bathroom, blocking anyone else from entering.

“It’s like--like Nancy! But boy Nancy.” Robin seemed to think this made a ton of sense, and given Steve’s immediate groan maybe it did to him, but Gareth was too freaked out to even begin to process what the hell they were on about.

Probably nothing, given they’d been drugged.

Eddie seemed to pick up on his general anxiety and poor attempts at shoving down his own freakout, because he gently called out Gareth’s name.

“I think it’s wet enough.” He added with a raised eyebrow. His eyes drifted purposefully to the sink and with a curse, Gareth snapped shut the water off.

His hands were still shaking.

“Give it to me.” Eddie said gently, moving to take the shirt from Gareth’s hands. “Here, swap me Gare, and guard the door.”

Gareth did, as Eddie knelt down to take Steve’s chin in one hand, and carefully began dapping his wounded face with the wet sleeve.

“May I ask what battles you two sailors have been involved in?” He said, continuing to sound like playful, fun Eddie and not like he was about to murder half the town (which, Gareth could tell by body language alone, is what Eddie actually felt like) “Did you happen to catch a glimpse of the villains who did this?"

“Robin melted into Steve, rubbing her face in his shoulder. “You wouldn’t believe us.”

Eddie smiled his most charming smile, a full blown rouge grin he played up as he continued to wipe and dab at Steve’s wounds. “You’d be surprised at what I believe in, my fair lady.”

Steve tried to talk, but ended up hissing as he ran into Eddie’s fingers.

“Russians.” He managed to get out, when Eddie quickly took the sleeve away so he could talk. “We got kidnapped by fucking Russians. Also we kinda saw some shit and they’re after us. Possibly you now if they saw you with us.”

There was the briefest of pause as Steve and Robin stared at Eddie, as Eddie stared back.

Then Steve and Robin as one started howling with laughter, so hard that Robin’s head ended up in Steve’s lap with Steve’s own head resting on hers.

Eddie turned to give Gareth a pinched look. “Russians.” He said, still calm despite it all. “Right.”

Which had to be the fucking drugs speaking.

Gareth just took a deep breath as Eddie managed to gently prod Steve back into putting his chin in his hand, shaking his head ever so slightly.

He didn’t know who he was going to actually have to murder, but at least Eddie looked to be on board with acting as his backup.

#tw drugs #tw canon bodily injury #Steve Harrington #Robin Buckley #eddie munson #Gareth Emerson #Gareth and Steve as cousins #secret cousins #whose family had a falling out #Eddie is fuckin PISSED #he may be a drug dealer but he is a drug dealer with MORALS #how dare someone drug people in his town!#mind hes thinking Steve somehow took a hit for Robin and then they still got Robin anyways but ya know #Gareth is having a full bore anxiety meltdown #He just wants his older cousin to be okay : ( \

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monstersandmaw · 7 months

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Male kelpie (dad-bod, single father, biker) x plus size f. reader - Part One (sfw)

Background info post on the Full Moon Motorcycles group here Oats Appreciation post here

Featuring a plus-size, bisexual, not very confident reader, and a divorced, Scottish, single-dad, biker kelpie with a soft-dad bod and a heart as big as his bike’s engine (possibly bigger).

CW: there is a very brief moment where a character (not Oats!) insults the reader for her size and uses some fat-phobic language towards and about her, unaware that she can hear him. If you’re sensitive to that, it is brief, but you can skip from “…you caught the conversation drifting over from the other guys who’d arrived just ahead of you.” to the paragraph beginning, “After some deep breaths and a check in the mirror…”. Also, if you squint, there’s a passing moment that could possibly be interpreted as the reader having some potential issues with food, but it’s not intended to be a big deal and it’s only for about two sentences. Still putting it in here too, just in case.

Wordcount: 7562

You pushed open the glass door of Full Moon Motorcycles and willed yourself not to feel self-conscious or out of place.

Having both an older brother and a mother who rode motorbikes had at least given you a fair bit of familiarity with bikes and the general ‘biker culture’, but it was mostly the fact that almost all the ‘biker girls’ you saw posing on social media were slim and toned, which you were decidedly not.

From the utterly foetid takes in the comments section of the one post your brother had shared on his page with you in it, you’d also got the impression that the biker community was not particularly kind to any woman with a waist over 25 inches. It probably wasn’t the case, but your one experience with it had been enough to make you very wary.

And yet, as you made your way towards the bike shop’s counter and the older man with floppy, greying hair and warm brown eyes looked up, you were greeted with an open, welcoming smile.

“Hi there,” he said, standing up with a grunt from the comfy chair where he’d been sitting in the corner near the shop’s antique cash register. “What can I do for you?”

You smiled shyly and glanced along the wooden countertop before returning your gaze to him. “I’m looking for a present for my brother, but I’m kind of on a budget…”

“Gotcha. We’ve got some silly key fobs there,” he said, indicating a rotating display rack at one end of the counter, with mottoes that ranged from funny to explicit, “But if they like working on their bike themselves, you can’t go wrong with some maintenance supplies… Not the most glamorous but I promise they’ll be grateful to you all the same.”

“Could always tie a festive ribbon round it,” you said, and he chuckled and nodded.

“That’s the spirit.”

You eyed the reasonable price of the fobs with some relief, and then followed his gesture towards the various bottles of chain degreaser and the like, and a few other useful tools and kits that were stacked on shelves on the back wall to the right of a door that presumably led into the back and store rooms.

The right hand side of the shop had the counter and some shiny, new bikes that had been parked in a row around the perimeter of the space, and the left hand side was more open with a bench or two against the brick walls, and some red, mechanics’ tool-chests tucked against the back wall. A number of leather two- and one-piece suits hung in racks at the furthest end though, with helmets on shelves and a few rows of t-shirts, jeans, gloves, and boots displayed too. There were oil stains in the centre of the polished concrete floor, and you suspected that tinkering took place there outside of the shop’s usual opening hours.

The whole vibe of Full Moon Motorcycles was friendly and cosy, with a slightly industrial, grungy note for some flavour.

In short, you loved it.

“There are also some fun helmet covers –” the older man chuckled, and added, “A number of the regulars here have them, and there are also some earplugs, or perhaps a tough phone case and mount? A chain care kit? There are some vinyl stickers too, and t-shirts, socks, neck warmers, balaclavas, mugs, helmet care kits, thermals…”

Laughing, you held up your hands for him to stop, and he started to chuckle too.

“I’ll let you browse in peace, sweetheart,” he said, his whisky brown eyes twinkling. Even his un-looked-for endearment came across as kindly instead of creepy, and not many men could pull that off. “You just holler if you have questions and I’ll be happy to –”

The door opened behind you and he broke off as his attention was snagged by the arrival of a heavy-set guy in dark jeans and a softly-worn, black leather jacket. He held a black helmet with a tinted visor in his large hands, and he looked more than a little wind-blown and rumpled.

Incongruous with his rather roguish-dishevelment, a lock of his long, thick, slightly grizzled, black hair was held back by a little hair-clip with a Barbie-pink, fabric bow. It didn’t fit with the dark scruff of stubble on his jaw or the piercing green-blue eyes at all, but he seemed completely unfazed by its presence.

“Oats!” the older man exclaimed with obvious joy, clapping his hands. “It’s been a while, my boy! How was the trip to Scotland? You make it round the NC500 this time?”

The ‘boy’ looked to be in his mid to late thirties…

“Ach, no’ a chance this time, Hank,” the man chuckled with a heavy, Scottish accent lacing his rich, rough baritone. Exactly where in Scotland he was from, you couldn’t tell, but it was lyrical and attractive all the same.

“Ah, next time, next time. And is Natalie well?

“Oh aye, my wee Loch Ness Monster is doing just fine. She’ll be terrorising her mother for the Christmas holidays. I came straight from the road though — clutch started playing up just south of Birmingham.” He grimaced, but even that looked charming somehow. “Sort of hoped you might find a minute to take a look at it for me if I left the Old Girl here. No rush though.”

“No problem, Oats. We’ll get her running properly again in no time. Bet you’re missing little Natalie already,” Hank added sympathetically.

“Ah, you have no idea,” the man, peculiarly-named ‘Oats’, sighed ruefully, shaking his head.

“See she left you with a parting gift though,” Hank snorted, pointing at the bow hair clip.

With a slight frown to his dark eyebrows, Oats reached up and patted at his head until he found it, and then he laughed. It was a loud, delighted, full-bellied sound that reverberated through the space while it lasted, and he left the hair clip where it was with no trace of self-consciousness as he lowered his hand again. “Aye, that she did. Surprised it survived the journey down with my lid on and everything. Oh –” His unusually pale green eyes landed on you, watching him and lurking near the rows of t-shirts on the back wall, and he went still.

Those sea-grey eyes raked you up and down, clearly noting the way your black leggings clung to the curves of your thighs and hips, and the black hoodie, which maybe went some way to hiding the softness of your stomach a bit, and he swallowed visibly. He looked… hungry. That was not the usual reaction you had grown accustomed to from men, and you let the flare of heat lick up your insides for just a moment, daring to hope that maybe he did find you attractive.

“Sorry,” he said in your direction, with a soft, dusky smile. “Didnae mean t’interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” you managed to croak back at him before returning your attention, however reluctantly, to present options for your brother while the older man, Hank, hobbled out around the corner of the wooden counter to chat amicably with the man. You couldn’t hear what was said as the two chatted in lower voices, but it was evident that they were good friends. While they talked, however, you couldn’t help noticing that he stole occasional sidelong glances in your direction, and you felt your face warm pleasantly.

‘Oats’ was certainly an unusual nickname, but then again, almost everyone who rode with your brother also had their own nicknames for one reason or another. As you browsed, you wondered what Oats had done to earn that one. He certainly looked like a snack to you, but you vowed not to let your attraction to the stranger show. Awkward situations (or worse, silences) tended to arise when you let that happen.

He had a tanned, outdoorsy complexion, and longish, black hair that was tied back in a low ponytail that brushed below the collar of his black leather jacket. It looked like it had a tendency to flop into his face when not restrained by that out-of-place pink bow. He filled out the jacket very well, and clearly had a soft paunch, and his thighs looked frankly delectable in those thick, indigo jeans. You prayed you wouldn’t have to see him fully from the back if he turned around, to witness the way he filled out the seat of his jeans too.

Fuck. Concentrate.

Bike gifts for brother, not delicious-looking stranger you’re never going to see again.

“Well, I shouldnae hang about, I suppose.”

Oats’ voice cut through your musings in front of chain degreasers and you jumped a little. Glancing back over at him, you offered him a smile when he too turned to look at you one last time, and a slow, charming smile crept onto his handsome face.

“See you,” he said with a dip of his head. Before he strode from the shop though, he let his eyes roam once more down the length of you and he bit his lower lip, almost regretfully, then turned away abruptly.

Oh yes. He absolutely did fill out the ass of those jeans beautifully.

Quite honestly, you weren’t totally sure what you ended up getting your brother for his birthday. You took whatever it was to the counter in a daze, your mind replaying over and over the way he’d looked at you.

“Must say,” Hank said conspiratorially as he fished your change from the antique cash register and slid it across the polished, wooden counter towards you. “I’ve never seen Oats quite so taken with someone, miss.” He chuckled, his kind, whisky-brown eyes glinting. “You take care now.”

Swallowing, you nodded and left the shop, hoping perhaps to find Oats waiting for you outside on the street, leaning against his motorcycle, but life was not a movie, and wherever he was, he was not lingering in the hopes of seeing you. In fact, the street was completely deserted, so you crossed, clambered into your little hatchback, and drove home with the feeling that you’d let a pivotal moment in your life pass you by.

Your sour mood persisted like a raincloud for the whole week, but by the time you were driving over to your brother’s on Saturday for his birthday ride, you were trying to pull yourself out of it. You had your own helmet with you, secured in the back of the car, and beside it was (now wrapped) the present you’d got him. In fact, it was a chain care kit, and, although you hadn’t noticed at the time, Hank had thrown in a free keychain that said ‘In my defence, I was left unsupervised’ which was very on-brand for your brother. You had planned to go back and thank him for the freebie as soon as you could, but your brother’s birthday ride had been planned for that Saturday, and work had been hell that week, so you’d not had the chance.

Predictably, Alex wasn’t in the house when you rang the doorbell, so you followed the sound of metallic clinking and laughter, and went round the side to find him tinkering with his mad little Honda Grom in the garage, while his two best mates — Eggs and Sparky — were lounging around and either making unhelpful suggestions or lewd comments.

“Yo!” Sparky grinned when he saw you, sitting up straighter and almost falling off the mechanic’s tool chest he was leaning his weight against. At Sparky’s exclamation, your brother sat up and banged his head on the handlebars of the short little Grom with a curse.

“Hey,” you mumbled in Sparky’s general direction. “Happy birthday, Alex.”

Alex scrambled upright and came over to hug you, probably smearing grease and dirt all over your armoured jacket, but since it was black anyway, you didn’t mind too much. Alex was about as opposite to you as it was possible to get — straight up and down like a beanpole, and tall. You took after your mother, inheriting all her thick curves and soft edges. Soft heart too.

“Thought this might come in handy,” you mumbled when Alex released you and you held out the brown paper bag stamped with the logo of Full Moon Motorcycles.

His eyes lit up when he saw the logo, and he tore into it like a chipmunk after a peanut, grinning in delight when he’d dismembered it, and in particular he showed off the keychain to his mates. Eggs snatched it and tried to claim it for himself, but Alex was having none of it, and the three of them scrapped and goofed around while you sat down on an old, metal stool in the corner and waited for the other two of your small party to show up, with a cool, curdling kind of dread in the pit of your stomach when you heard one name in particular. Nooner.

Within an hour though, you were all out on the road.

You took the pillion seat behind Alex, and warded his mates off at red lights when they came for his killswitch to immobilise him. A while later though, Alex zoomed off down the open road that would take you all out of town and towards the somewhat famous biker cafe, ‘Elusive Neutral’, that sat nestled amongst the fragrant heather of the rolling hills surrounding the old market town.

The sky was a gorgeous, autumnal blue and the weather was perfect, neither too hot nor too cold, and as your brother’s Yamaha flew along the winding A-road that was every biker’s dream, you cracked a smile and gently tipped your head back. As much as it had scared you when you’d first ridden behind your mother all those years ago, you did love the feeling of being out on a bike. Not that you were actually brave enough to want to try and learn yourself though. Something always held you back, made you wary and unsure, and then you inevitably felt down about that too. God, you wished you had Alex’s wild confidence.

Nothing good ever seemed to last for you though, and when Alex’s R1 had purred into the car park behind Eggs and Sparky, and you’d hopped off to let him reverse more easily into a space, you caught the conversation drifting over from the other guys who’d arrived just ahead of you.

“…if he didn’t have his fat sister with him, we could have fucking ripped it up along those twisties.” That, of course, had come from Nooner, named for the fact that he rarely stuck to two wheels and always pulled wheelies, or ‘nones’, whenever he got the chance. Out of all of your brother’s friends, he was the one you liked the least, for… obvious reasons.

“Talk about killing the vibes, huh?” Eggs replied, trying to suck up to him, as ever. “More like ‘crushing’!”

The reason Eggs had earned his nickname was that he’d lost a bet and shaved his head when they’d all been about sixteen, and he’d looked like a boiled egg til it grew back. You wished you had the sass to remind him of that every time his spine seemed to crumble in favour of earning a half-hearted snicker out of Nooner.

When Alex joined you, he caught the crestfallen expression on your face and frowned, but you shook your head and walked away from them, heading for the cafe alone.

“Can’t wait to shove some cake in her fat gob already,” Nooner added as an aside to Eggs, and your vision blurred as tears welled along your lashes. Why did people have to be so cruel? To trample all over someone else just to feel a little taller themselves?

You vaguely heard what sounded like Sparky’s voice countering the comment, but you didn't stick around either way. If you mentioned it to your brother again, he’d just say it was banter with the guys and not to take it to heart. Easy for someone who's never been on the end of that kind of comment to shrug it off, after all.

You ducked straight for the toilets when you got inside the airy, modern cafe, not even bothering to look around or find a table first.

After some deep breaths and a check in the mirror to see that you hadn’t turned your eyeliner into a panda cosplay, you headed out again and made for the little bar that doubled as a counter for people who were there solo to sit and eat instead of taking up a whole table to themselves. None of your brother’s friends joined you, and when you glanced back over your shoulder, you saw that they’d settled themselves around a table in the far corner and already had a number for a server to bring their food order over. They hadn’t even waited for you.

“Fuck them,” you hissed through gritted teeth, taking a seat at the bar instead. The stools were made of old tractor seats, and they were surprisingly comfortable, and as you leaned your forearms on the countertop, the young woman behind the counter came over to you with a smile that made you feel a little better.

“Hey,” she said. “What can I get for you?”

You ordered a hot drink, and then took out your phone while you waited for her to make it for you.

For half an hour or so, you sat scrolling through social media and sipping your drink and telling yourself this was your brother’s day and not yours. He did come over a couple of times, but you declined to sit with his friends, and because he’d never had any real reason to doubt you before, he took you at your word when you told him you were happy enough where you were. “I don’t want to get in the way,” you said, and he believed you.

Patting you on the shoulder, he left you for the third time, and you looked down into the dregs of your drink with a heavy sigh. “This sucks.”

Outside, the sound of more bikes arriving made your ears perk up, and you wondered idly what they rode. Elusive Neutral had once been an old cattle barn, but it had been completely redone and the walls on two sides had been replaced with vast picture windows that showed the sweeping expanse of moorland beyond, and a small sliver of the car park at one end. Craning your neck, you saw a group of maybe five or six bikers draw up, some on hipster looking cafe racers and others on racy sports bikes. There was even a Ducati Panigale among them, and behind them followed an old, battered, blue pickup truck.

The door opened a little while later, and you glanced over, eyes drawn instinctively by the movement.

Above the general chatter and merry chinking of china in the room, the energy of the new group of bikers rose like a cloud of dizzy mayflies; buzzing and excited and full of joy. You watched them all with interest from your perch at the counter.

The first through the door was an absolute Amazon of a woman, with her long black hair restrained in a thick braid, and shoulders the width of a barn door. She was lean and tall, and in her biker gear she looked… incredible. Her face was strikingly handsome, but until she glanced down at the woman walking beside her, her features were hard and glowering and unspeakably stern. She held the door open for one of the others to follow her inside, but when she locked eyes again with the brunette by her side, her whole expression melted into unguarded adoration. Your gut twisted briefly with jealousy.

It wouldn’t matter to you who looked at you like that, if only someone would.

You looked away, and by the time you glanced back at the bikers, the whole group had filed in from outside. There was a guy with golden-brown skin and beautiful dark brown eyes who had his arm wrapped possessively around the waist of a pale, skinny guy in black jeans and a moth-eaten, black jumper, with his long hair tied back in a bun, and behind them came a strikingly attractive guy in a manual wheelchair, flanked by a very short biker with slightly anaemic looking skin. You wondered fleetingly if the guy in the wheelchair had ridden a motorbike there, and if so how, before you realised he was probably the most beautiful person you’d ever seen, with long, flowing red hair and dark green eyes, and the kind of mouth that was made for laughing, and for kissing.

Jesus, was it an unwritten rule of being a biker that you had to be unfairly attractive? Even Hank, who you recognised with a start of surprise coming in behind the guy with red hair, wasn’t unattractive, in a bulky, older man kind of way.

The guy walking with him though… he truly made your stomach swoop.

It was Oats.

You looked away before he could spot you, sitting alone at the bar like some pathetic creature waiting for cocktail hour to begin. It was lunchtime on a sunny, autumnal Saturday though, and there you were sitting alone because you didn’t fancy sitting with your brother’s loser mates.

God, the way Oats had looked in his tough-looking leather jacket, with his eyes crinkled mid-laugh at something the guy in the wheelchair had shot back at them over his shoulder… You bit your lip and stared into the bottom of your cold, empty mug like it would divine some kind of solution to your situation for you.

The new group didn’t seem to notice you while they filed up to the counter, jostling and joking, and when they drifted off to another corner of the cafe, you turned back to your phone, trying desperately to resist the almost overwhelming urge to keep turning over your shoulder to watch them.

Before too long however, you startled at a soft tap on your shoulder, and you looked around to find Oats himself stepping back to a polite distance and smiling down at you like he’d found a treasure in an unexpected place.

“Hey there,” he said in that rolling, Scottish accent that did unspeakably indecent things to your insides. “Sorry if I’m intruding, but you were at Full Moon last week, right?”

Mute for a moment, you nodded, and mustered up a slightly dazed smile for him.

“You… here alone?” he asked, eyeing the currently-empty seats to your left and right. In fact, someone had only just gathered up their belongings and left.

“Kind of?” you croaked, letting your eyes slide over to the table where your brother and his friends were hunched over one of their phones, snickering at something. “It’s… It’s my brother’s birthday today. I… tagged along as pillion, but… you know… I’m kind of a spare part really.”

At that, Oats’ dark eyebrows knitted into a scowl and he looked across the room at them before returning his attention to you. Then, his unearthly, almost prismatic, silver-green eyes took in your empty cup and he grinned. “Can I get y’a top up?”

Your instinct was to refuse, but you bit your lip. This didn’t feel real. A cute, handsome, courteous guy was actually taking an interest in you.

“Sure. Thank you.” And the smile that spread itself across your face telegraphed your delight in a way that was impossible to disguise with any kind of suave grace.

Oats, however, seemed equally delighted, and nodded. The barista came back over and he leaned his weight on the counter to talk to her. He seemed to have that enviably easy manner with everybody, and he even charmed a free slice of cake out of her too with what felt like no effort at all.

“Chocolate? Or something else?” he asked you.

“Pardon?”

“Cake.”

“Oh, no, that’s fine,” you said, but he frowned.

“You sure? I’m gonna have a bit of their chocolate cake. It’s so good, it’s practically a sin.”

“I…” you faltered.

He didn’t pressure you though and shrugged easily, turning back to the barista. “Gimme two forks with that, love. Just in case.”

“No problem,” she beamed back while she bustled about, and Oats eyed the empty bar stool next to yours.

“May I?”

You swallowed your nerves and nodded. “Please.” And then, because apparently a demon of confidence had temporarily possessed you, you eyed his slightly helmet-flattened forelock and said, “No pink hair clips today?”

He guffawed loudly enough that your brother actually glanced over and frowned when he saw you talking with a stranger.

Oats snorted and shook his head. “No, not today. My daughter is still up in Scotland with her mother.” He fixed you with a more serious look and said, “She and I divorced, before you get the wrong idea about me flirting like this with a beautiful woman.”

The compliment caught you so off-guard that you just froze for a moment, but when the heat of a blush filled your face, you looked away and he chuckled.

“I’m not normally so forward, but I’ve been kicking myself for not talking to you when I first saw you in Full Moon. Hank was telling me just this morning what a muppet I’d made of myself for walking away like that.”

You looked behind you at the group of his friends and then turned back to him. “Won’t they think you’re being rude, ignoring them like this?”

He shook his head and smiled. “They’re probably all taking bets on how quickly you’ll shoot me down.”

“What? I’d have to be an idiot to do that.”

At that, his face split into a huge, handsome grin and he shook his head just a little. “Lucky me,” he said. “You ride?” he added, eyeing your jacket that was obviously a motorcycle jacket.

You shrugged. “Pillion. I’ve never ridden myself, but my brother lets me come out with him sometimes.”

Oats nodded, and then, as the barista set down his coffee, your top-up, and the plate of decadent chocolate cake with two forks, he said, “I’m Euan, by the way, but everyone calls me Oats.”

You introduced yourself, and then said, “Oats?”

He snorted and nodded. “Not the worst nickname, for sure.”

“Can I ask where it came from?”

Oats nodded and shunted the plate towards you first before leaning his elbow on the bar and watching you while he spoke. “I think it’s because I’m a dad, but I’m always prepared for most situations, and when it comes to my Natalie, she’s always hungry. I’ve usually got about a thousand granola bars stashed away about my person —” he said, cutting himself off to pat conspicuously at his jacket pockets. Pulling a slightly dog-eared crunchy bar from his breast pocket, he wielded it like a magic wand at you and said, “Case in point.”

“Hence, Oats,” you said, eyeing the healthy brand name on the packet.

“Exactly. Like I said, it could be worse. See the tall lass over there with the dangerous scowl?”

You didn't need to turn around to know which of his friends he was talking about, but you did anyway. “Yeah.”

“We call her Pixie.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not,” he chuckled, stowing the granola bar back into his pocket and taking a huge scoop of the chocolate cake with his own fork.

“What do you ride then?” you asked.

“Triumph Bonneville T120,” he said with almost exactly the same intonation and fondness as he’d just said ‘because I’m a dad’, and you couldn’t help smiling. “Can’t be doing with all these glitzy sports bikes and the like,” he added with a laugh, setting his fork down and blinking slowly. His lashes, you noticed, were thick and dark and enticingly long.

Laughing, you smiled. “Don’t say that too loudly — my brother rides an R1.”

“Nice,” Oats grinned back. “But nothing could entice me away from my girl.”

“I’m surprised you’re here, flirting with me then,” you said. Evidently that confidence demon was still lurking.

Again, Oats laughed, though it was more of a low whicker this time, and it rolled right through you and lit you up all over. God, how long had it been since someone had laughed like that for you?

“There are… exceptions,” he said in a rumbling murmur. “Tell me about yourself?” he asked, and you did.

You spent the next hour at least talking in an easy back and forth with him while he charmed a few more refills from the barista and a lot of answers out of you, before one of his friends sidled up shyly and waited for a lull in your conversation.

“Sorry to butt in,” the small, unbelievably beautiful woman said. She was the one who’d been on the receiving end of the adoring look from the Amazon, ‘Pixie’. She had chocolate-brown hair falling in thick ringlets around a gorgeous face, and, you were pleased to note, she had wide hips and a softness to her that a lot of the biker chicks you’d seen online didn’t have.

“Coco,” Oats beamed. “Meet my new friend.” He introduced you by name, and Coco smiled at you, holding out her hand.

When your palms connected, you felt a warmth rush through you and you felt like your heart skipped a beat. The feeling like you could tip forwards and drown in her endless, dark brown eyes almost unseated you, but she let go of you and stepped back with a pretty smile on her Cupid’s-bow lips. “Pleasure to meet you. Just wanted to tell Oats that we’re thinking of heading off soon. Ariel has a photoshoot he wants to get to in an hour or so, and Demon’s keen to get going as well.”

Oats nodded, and you tried not to let your stomach drop down to your boots at the thought of all this coming to such an abrupt end.

Coco turned her head sharply to look at you just as the feeling hit, and she smiled faintly. “You could always stay here though, Oats,” she added with a pretty smile. “We’re only going back to Full Moon, and Demon clearly has no intention of lingering there…” She shot a meaningful glance back at their table. Demon, the guy with dark hair and tanned skin, was seated with the guy he’d entered with now draped in his lap, his skinny legs dangling as he sprawled languidly back against the guy’s muscular chest. Demon whispered something into his ear before he clearly bit the shell of his boyfriend’s ear, which made him sit abruptly upright and flush a vibrant pink.

Oats laughed again and shook his head. “Fuck me,” he chuckled privately. “Never thought I’d see the day. You guys go on. I’m… I’m very much content here.”

“I can see that,” Coco smirked, and walked away.

When she was out of earshot, you turned to Oats with a hot flush of your own in your face and said, “Don’t stay if you don’t want to… I’m sure my brother will be leaving soon anyway…”

Just as you said that, and before Oats could reply, Alex reappeared at your side and jutted his chin in Oats’ direction. “You good?” he chirped at you.

“Fine,” you replied. “This is Oats. I met him at Full Moon Motorcycles when I was buying your birthday present.”

“Oh,” Alex replied, holding out his hand for Oats to shake. “Good to meet you, man. You tell her what to get for me? If you did, it was a good choice.”

“No,” Oats said carefully, his grey-green eyes sliding back to your face even while he shook your brother’s hand amicably. “No, whatever she got you, it was all her.”

“Oh, cool,” Alex said. “Listen, sis, we’re gonna hit the road in a while. Nooner and Eggs want to hit the twisties for a bit, but I can’t really do that with a backpack, so Sparky said he’d give you a ride home, if that’s ok.”

You swallowed. “Um…”

“I can give her a lift,” Oats replied after a swift glance in your direction. “She’s already got her own lid, and there’s room on the Bobber’s double seat for both of us.”

“I don’t know, man,” Alex said with a wary frown.

“Your choice,” Oats shrugged easily, looking at you and holding his hands up just a little.

For a fleeting moment, you weren’t sure, but the idea of wrapping your arms around Oats’ thick middle and sitting astride his gorgeous bike kind of decided it for you. Besides, it was a long time since you’d done anything truly just for yourself; simply because you wanted to. You nodded at your brother. “It’s fine. You go ahead.”

“You sure?”

Nodding to reassure him, you smiled again and Alex backed up a pace. “Cool. Text me later, ok?” he said as he retreated towards his friends, clearly trying to hide his excitement at not having a passenger for the great, twisting section of A-road they were heading for.

“Will do. Have fun, and don’t crash!” you called after him. “Or get a speeding ticket!”

He waved a hand over one shoulder without looking back, and you laughed and returned your attention to Oats. “Brothers.”

“Bikers,” he replied. “You try telling that to any of that lot though —” he gestured towards his own group of friends who were now filtering out of the door. “You ready to head out too or do you want to stay?”

You did want to stay, but the seat wasn’t that comfortable anymore, and you wanted to move around a bit. “No, I’m good to go,” you said and prepared to slide off the stool, but Oats stepped down first and held out his hand to you. You didn't need helping down, and his playful little smirk told you he knew as much, so you rode out the last of that demonic possession and let your fingers slide across his palm and he steadied you off the stool.

“Thank you,” you smiled.

“Pleasure.”

You picked up your helmet from where you’d stowed it on the floor at your feet and straightened to find him waving casually across the room to the good-looking guy with the ethereally pretty boyfriend. Before he stepped away from you and made towards the door though, you cleared your throat and said, “Oats?”

“Mn?” Looking down at you, his entire attention honed in on you, like you were the centre of the universe, and you swallowed back a sudden welling of emotion.

“Listen… Thank you… for… coming over to me today. Like I said, it’s my brother’s birthday, and he was here with his friends, and he only included me so I didn’t feel completely left out, but…” Accursed tears washed over your eyes for a moment but you blinked them away furiously and ploughed on regardless. “I’m really glad I came along today anyway,” you finished rather pathetically.

His full, beautiful lips curled into a gentle smile and he blinked softly and exhaled. When he spoke, his voice was low and his words private, as though you weren’t standing in a busy cafe surrounded by people and the cheerful clatter of coffee cups and laughter. “I’m really glad I did too. I wasn’t going to, you know? I was going to stay at home and edit a boatload of raw photographs for a client, but Demon convinced me to come out. I guess I owe him.”

“‘Demon’? For… For the speed?” you asked, wondering how he came by his nickname.

“For the horns,” Oats replied in deadpan humour. “Have a look if he’s still there when we go outside. You ready?”

You followed him out of the cafe with a nod, and just as you took a deep, indulgent breath of fresh, heathland air, Oats’ group of friends filed out past you on their bikes. The one named Demon was in the lead, and the nickname made immediate sense. Sitting astride a blood-red Panigale, with his boyfriend clinging on behind him like a limpet, the guy had pale, curving horns fixed to the crown of his helmet.

“Yeah, that tracks,” you said, and Oats waggled his dark eyebrows.

The Amazon had a Yamaha R1 like your brother’s, but hers had a pearl-white wrap that made it look almost spectral, and riding out in front of her was Coco on a yellow and black Honda Hornet.

The telltale red plait told you that the guy in the wheelchair was on a modified Kawasaki, with unusual struts at the back that looked like they would come down when he stopped to stabilise him instead of having to take his legs off the foot pegs, where they were currently Velcro-ed in place. Watching the whole group file out was Hank, standing beside a battered old pickup. In the bed of the truck, you could just see that the red-headed biker’s wheelchair secured in place.

Hank waved the last of them off, then glanced over at Oats. The older man lifted his nose just a little, as if he too was enjoying the fresh, moorland wind that whipped across the car park, and he nodded once at Oats, and then at you to your surprise, before clambering stiffly up into his pickup and closing the door. It shut with a raucous yelp of rusty hinges.

You stood there and watched Oats’ friends all file out, all waving at Oats as they passed, before they set off down the road in a roar of revving engines to leave a lonely looking Bonneville waiting patiently near the stone wall of the car park nearby.

“Yours, I presume?” you said, nodding at it.

“Yup.”

“She’s a beauty,” you mumbled, self-consciousness prickling at the sides of your neck for the silly comment.

Oats beamed though, his sea-foam eyes lighting up as the crinkles around his eyes and the slight dimples in his cheeks creased under the force of his obvious pleasure. “Thank you. She’s my pride and joy. You ready? Oh, wait, you should put your address into my phone before we get going,” he laughed.

You nodded, taking the offered phone from him. Your fingers brushed against his warm skin as you took it, and a tiny thrill passed through you that you did your best to quash. With your address plugged in and a route home waiting to be followed, you handed it back to him and looked up into his handsome, rugged face as he smiled.

“Cheers. Let’s go,” he said, and you trailed along beside him over to his bike, heartbeat thudding in your ears with your nerves.

He swung a leg over and turned the key, then pushed the bike upright and nudged the side-stand in with his left foot before flicking the switch and bringing the bike to life. She growled beautifully, the low, thundering rumble of her engine sounding far more visceral and primal than your brother’s sports bike did. Perhaps it was the design of the lower-slung Bonneville, with its visible parts that made you think of a Steampunk aesthetic, but you instantly preferred it. Plus, the double seat looked way more cushioned — and less precarious — than the one you’d perched on to get to the cafe that morning.

Oats got himself comfy while you slid your helmet on, then he looked over his shoulder at you and nodded, so you took that as your cue and got settled on the pillion seat behind him. The footpegs were already down. The pulsing purr of the machine beneath you was almost enough to distract you from the fact that you were entrusting your life to a relative stranger, whom you’d never seen ride before, and as you climbed on and rested your hands politely on his shoulders, you felt a shiver travel through your whole nervous system.

“Do whatever’s comfortable for you, obviously,” Oats said over the noise of his bike, “But if you want to hold my waist — if you can actually get your arms around my middle, that is,” he chuckled self-effacingly, “— feel free. Totally up to you.”

“Thanks,” you yelled back, and, because apparently that pesky demon of confidence was still kicking around, you hugged his torso.

It was wonderful.

Slowly snaking your arms around his middle, you felt your chest press against his back and you caught the way he inhaled slowly and tried not to wonder what it meant. It felt so good to hold him that you had to remind yourself it wasn’t a hug. It was to keep you in place while a gorgeous stranger drove you home on his equally gorgeous bike. With a final thumbs-up to check you were happy, to which you replied with a nod of your head and tried not to clack your helmet against his, he pulled away and your heart leapt for the sheer joy of it.

Where the R1 was built for sleek speed and bursts of power, the Bonneville was build to be enjoyed, and oh gosh, did you enjoy every curve.

And not just the curves in the road, either.

Oats was soft, but he was solid, and the urge to rest one hand on his thick thigh was almost overwhelming, until he took the corners at just the right pace to be exhilarating without you having to worry about your safety, and you clung on instead and laughed behind the safety of your visor.

It was all over way too soon, and as the Bonneville chugged into your road like a steam train and halted outside your poky, terraced house with its quaint little kitchen garden out the front in the postage-stamp of space between the pavement and the house, your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. Please don’t let this be it, you thought desperately.

You went through the motions of getting carefully off the bike without staggering or falling, and again, Oats held out his hand to help steady you. You gripped his fingers gratefully and when you gave an extra little squeeze to his hand at the end, you could have sworn he answered with one of his own and a throaty chuckle.

He dismounted too, which surprised you, and you wondered if you were going to have to ask him inside. As much as you wanted that in principle, you desperately didn’t want it to happen today because the house was a mess: laundry was still hanging up all over the place, and you’d cooked a curry the previous night and it was definitely still lingering in the air.

Oats took off his helmet but left his bike idling, which went a little way to reassuring you, and when you looked more closely at his expression, you thought you saw a hint of something familiar lingering in the corners of his eyes. Was he nervous?

Swallowing thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing behind the thick, 5 o’clock shadow that looked like it lingered pretty constantly no matter the time of day, Oats took a deep breath, held it, and then smiled at you. “Fuck,” he exhaled, and laughed. “I’m… very rusty at all this.” He held his helmet in both hands before him, toying with the strap.

“If I gave you my number, would you maybe like to meet up again?” you asked, taking pity on the man.

“Very much,” he said softly. “Like I said, Natalie is with her mum for the holidays, and apart from a wedding I’m covering next week, this is a pretty slow time of year for me. I’m free… mostly whenever.”

The reminder that he had a daughter with someone else did make you wonder what you were letting yourself in for. Children weren’t really something you had any expense of, since neither you nor your brother had shown any parental inclinations yet, and you weren’t particularly close to your cousins who had small kids.

“Ok, let me give you my number and we can figure something out.”

That done, he slid his phone back into his pocket and zipped it up, biting gently at his lower lip for a moment. “I know it’s bold,” he said, “But may I kiss you?”

Your heart skipped and soared. Breathless, you looked up at him and whispered, “Yes.”

His tiny, gentle, lopsided smile heralded the kiss’ approach, and he took your jaw delicately in one, leather-gloved hand as he leaned down and brushed his lips against yours. They were soft but insistent against yours, and you answered with a little moan as your eyes fluttered shut.

He groaned, pulling you closer with a low growl so that you were pressed flush against him for a moment before he stepped back and exhaled roughly. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Thank you. I’ll… I’ll see you soon?”

You nodded, feeling like you were floating inches above the ground.

You watched him re-mount his bike and adjust himself a little once he was settled, then he revved it playfully for you, and rode away after a final look back at you. He flipped his visor down as he pulled away, and you watched the bike and its rider disappear down the road.

‘Soon’ couldn’t come soon enough…

I really hope you enjoyed this. If you did, please consider showing your support by reblogging. It really is the best (and totally free!) way to help the artists and writers whose work you enjoy.

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#oats the kelpie #monster romance #kelpie #male kelpie x female human #full moon motorcycles #supernatural biker group #plus size female reader #plus size reader #male kelpie x female reader #male monster x female reader #exophilia #monster boyfriend #dadbod monster #dadbod #single father monster #monster dad

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badly-drawn-doflamingo · 6 months

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The Brutality (and some censoring) Of The Rumbar Deaths.

Similar to my piece on Yorki and his lil sickness, this is again just something that haunts me constantly and is honestly something I don’t see anyone else talking about. Maybe this is because I have Rumbar Pirates autism. The deaths of the Rumbar Pirates are often thought to just be the snippet we see during their final moments, however Oda paints a much darker picture, with such dark hues the anime had to censor some of this. More than just Binks Sake happened to these men.

To begin, I am going to introduce you all to a certain Rumbar Pirate. Pirates.

This is Madaisuki! He has a twin brother named Madawadasuki Mizuta!

These Mizuta boys are named this because they are the japanese pun of “I love DOTS!” and “Dots ain’t half bad!” We know they were young, and that they wanted to be just like Brook. (I will go over these statements a bit later.) They wore matching clothing, mirroring one another as some twins do, having a tight bond. We already know their candles were snuffed out too short, but do you know how this happened to each? Madawadasuki is shown in the Bink’s Sake flashback, blood pooling on his temple and matting some of his hair. He looks tired, but with a smile, plays on with the other remaining crew. That is the key word here, remaining. There were hundreds of men on this ship yet THIS is what we see surrounding Brook on the deck? Where are the rest. THAT is where Madaisuki comes in.

Madaisuki does not die on screen, but his body, just the body, is gruesome enough that the anime had to censor it. When we find the young man, he is in one of the off rooms, looks to be the dining area, thrown onto the floor with his arms outstretched, with his hair still attached to the skull.

This is not the reason behind the censoring, no, the reason is the cause of death.

Plunged into his skull and back, pinning his body to the floor with his jaw still open, are his own weapons. His own swords pin his body to the floor, so even if he somehow survived the attack, he could not get up, however with your own blade through your brain case and into the blood spattered floor below you, that is not much of an option. Those swords.. they also are made to mirror YORKI’S. They both wanted to be just like their Captains.

[ more info on Maddy here ]

This leaves a few things open for the reader to take in. Why is he tucked away in an off room like this? Well, it means the battle either continued into these rooms, not just on deck, which is more than likely shown by the shattered mirrors and doors in the bedrooms and hallways we see, or poor Madaisuki was cornered, overpowered, and butchered.

In any case, this means his brother either also saw this and continued to smile and sing for Laboon, or held a hope that somehow, his twin was just somewhere else, tucked away to die in peace. How many other men died this way, for we see bedroom doors torn off hinges and blood spattering the walls.

Time does do that, a butchering does.

This is just one body, one upon hundreds, we know this because of a line Franky states so casually I am unsure if the anime added it; “We could not carry them all, we buried them here. The weight was too much for the Sunny to take.”

The weight was too much for the Sunny to take.

How many men died, because those multiple upon multiple coffins were not filled with bodies, but skulls. Only skulls.

If the ship cannot carry it, how do we expect BROOK?? He must hold grief for he was acting Captian, these things on his head alone, and knowing he failed his partner, my god, that must ache. To know you created widows, fatherless children, families who will never know if their little boys or men or partners or fathers would come home. No closure, only Brook, and the poison that caused the remaining light-hearted musicians to bleed out in their little heap.

When Brook picks up the skull of Madaisuki, a memory comes to mind. Perhaps not a recent one, for he knew them for many years, but one that stood out to him. One Oda chose for us to see as a representation of Brook’s thoughts;

“You’re awesome, Brook! Can you teach me to swordfight like you?”

We see the body, with his own weapons used against him, holding his corpse in place with a hole blasted through his brain. His polka dots he adored are spattered as well, torn where his ribcage was cut open. Brook failed him. He failed them all, in his eyes, not the viewer or actuality. And this breaks my heart.

Update 1.0

Absolutely I think he does have his.. odd crew moments/interactions.

Sanji at the right angle, asking for something and the response is a slip up of “yes, my Captain!” In such a tone that Sanji could mistake himself as more than a crewmate in Brook’s eyes.

Somedays they finds the skeleton speaking to himself, small quolms or questions, asking to an invisible force in silence.

“John, how did you make your coffee again?”

“Madaisuki, how do you do this..?”

Some nights, he’s found over the beds, absent in all human aspects but dead, mute and upsettingly still.

When Usopp asks, after minutes of motionless, creeping anxiety, why does he just stand, why does he watch?

“I want to make sure you’re breathing! It means you’re real.”

#these men had no idea the brutality of pirates #there was no one piece #we are the Rumbar pirates #here to put a smile on every child’s face #they were just sweethearts #and they were GUTTED #one piece #rumbar pirates #brook #calico Yorki #mizuta twins #character analysis #the Rumbar pirates #anime #their Motto was LITERALLY #character death #thriller bark

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noyoyoy · 8 months

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Stormy nights

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Simon “Ghost” Riley X Male reader

Info: Simon’s husband being afraid of thunderstorms. Not only that, but he knew Simon was driving in it.

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It was storming. That scared you. Not the rain or the thunder, not the lighting none of that. It was the fact that Simon was coming home tonight.

You knew he could hold his own. It was some rain, he’s been through way worse, but it wasn’t JUST rain. This was the outskirts of a hurricane that was passing by elsewhere, the winds were strong, rain hitting your window like rocks, thunder and lighting every few seconds, loud enough to shake the whole house. You’ve always been terrified of storms, loud noises really, Simon knew this. It’s why he tried so hard to make as little noise when doing anything when he was home. He knew silence comforted his husband. And right now? He knew his husbands was scared shitless, probably hiding under his covers holding the bear Simon got him for their anniversary.

He was right. M/n was indeed under the covers holding the stuffed bear close, tears on the border of falling down, shaking like the trees outside that hit his window. The lights flickering made him almost cry harder. What if the power went out? He wasn’t scared of the dark perse, but in a storm? That changed his view on everything.

When Simon got to the house the first thing he noticed was the bedroom light on, what he forgot about, was the phone that price was on. Price insisted that he’d be on the phone even in silence to make sure he was okay driving in such weather. The moment his truck came to a stop he grabbed the keys, opened the door, and ran to the front of the house to go inside. Price knew he had made it home and hung up, not seeing the need to intrude any longer when he knew he was safe.

Simon went up the stairs, hearing the soft cry come from his room that just about broke his heart. Opening the bedroom door he saw the blanket with a tent in it that showed where his husband was lying under the covers. “Baby?” He said walking up to the side of the bed and slowly lifting the covers. “Simon!” The other said, getting up on his knees and hugging the taller close, taking in his scent “it’s alright. I’m here now, you’re okay.” Simon said as he took off his boots (he knew M/n would be upset when the rain stopped but he didn’t care) and crawled into the bed with him, moving him over slightly to fit.

At this point he stopped crying, now only sniffling into the man’s chest, he didn’t care he was wet from the rain or that he would have to wash their bedding in the morning. All he cared about was his husband safe in his arms, back home in one piece.

#artists on tumblr #simon riley x male reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #x male reader #ghost x male reader

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cringe-but-proud · 9 months

Note

I was wondering if you can write for Wonka (2023) x reader where reader is a Baker and meets wonka. This can take place after the movie and where both reader and wonka decided to work together to create a pastry that involves chocolate. So they start brainstorming and working in the kitchen and it just ends in a mess where both reader and wonka are cover in dough and flour and ingredients. Like Yk those basic movies scenes where the girl swipes dough onto the man’s face and all over a sudden food fight is what I had in mind 😅

This is so corny, I love it.

Willy Wonka x gn!baker!Reader (Wonka 2023)

A/n: My requests are open (see pinned post for info) 😈

Warnings: None, I think 🤷

After coming to your bakery for the first time, Willy became a big fan. He'd come by at least once a week and insist that you were the best baker in town.

You disagreed. If you really were the best baker in town, people would've noticed already. You were still stuck in your little hole in the wall bakery where you struggled to make enough money to feed yourself.

But, Willy seemed sure of it. So sure of it, that he offered to help grow your business.

"We should team up." He said to you one day while sitting at the counter of your shop.

You furrowed your brows in confusion. "To do what?"

"To promote your bakery!" He beamed. "My chocolate is popular. If you and I teamed up to make... Some chocolate pastry, I could promote it for you, people would come to your bakery, and everyone would realize how amazing you are!"

You paused. "Did you just come up with all of that now?"

"I was up all night brainstorming ideas."

"That's what I thought."

"Well, what do you think? Do you wanna try it?"

You thought about it. It wasn't a bad idea. And it's not like you had any customers to serve right now. "Alright, let's do it."

The two of you decided to make chocolate chip cookies. Simple, but delicious.

The plan was to use your regular cookie recipe, but Willy would be making any of the chocolate that was needed.

As soon as your shop closed, the two of you got to work.

"Alright, you mix the dry ingredients while I cream butter and sugar." You instructed him as you set out all the ingredients.

His job was simple enough, and everything was going smoothly at first.

Key words: At first.

"I'll chop up the chocolate you made, and you can knead the dough." You said as you slid the bowl that the dough was in over to him.

Willy hesitated. "How do I do that?"

You blinked. Had he never made cookies before? That would be a bit surprising considering his love for all things sweet.

"Well, first flour your surface.''

He slowly got some flour, sprinkled it on the counter, and spread it out.

"And now just..." You gently took his hands and guided them as you showed him how to knead the dough. "Like that." You looked up at him to make sure he understood and realized he was already looking at you, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

You returned the slightly flustered look before uttering "Does that make sense?"

He broke out of his daze and nodded. "Yeah, yeah. I get it. Thank you."

You quickly averted your attention away from him, focusing on chopping up the chocolate for the cookies.

Turns out you were a bit too focused on your task, because when you looked back over to Willy, you realized that he'd managed to get flour all over himself. You couldn't help but giggle at how messy he was.

He turned to look at you and smiled. "What is it?"

"You're covered it flour." You informed him.

He chuckled. "I'm trying, alright?"

"I'm not saying you're not trying! I'm saying you look silly!" You laughed.

"Oh, yeah? Well, your hands are covered in chocolate." He pointed out.

You reached up and swiped your thumb down the bridge of his nose, smearing chocolate on to his skin. He retorted by taking some flour and throwing it at you. You gasped and did the same back to him. When he did it again, you retaliated by getting a small piece of the dough and flinging it at him.

One thing led to another, and there was now a full on food fight going on.

You ducked behind the counter and threw a few pieces of chocolate at him. He suddenly ran over holding all of the dough that was left. He raised an arm, about to throw it at you when you screamed. "I surrender! I surrender!" You were laughing so hard you thought you might cry. He put the dough back on the counter and sat next to you. You both caught your breath, occasionally giggling at how messy you both were.

"Sorry we didn't get the cookies finished." He said after a few moments of comfortable silence.

"It's alright." You brushed him off. "We can always try again, right?"

"Right." He nodded as he smiled contently at you.

...

"You're still helping me clean this all up, though."

"Yeah, I know."

#wonka x reader #wonka 2023 x reader #willy wonka x reader #x reader #fanfiction

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 3 months

Text

Deal Breaker

Trans!Santiago Garcia X GN!Reader • Rating: PG Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? • ko-fi • request info •

A/N: Written for @romanarose's Oscar Issac/Pedro Pascal Fan Art and Fiction Pride Event 2024! (Super late, but this is for the 'coming out' theme, thank you for letting me post it so late💚) This is super self-indulgent and just like *dreamy sigh* what would be the nicest reaction someone would have to someone else telling them they're trans.

Summary: Santi has something to tell you.

Warnings: overuse of italics, swearing, Santi being anxious, typos, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 1014

Santi paced back and forth outside of your house, practically wearing a groove into the pavement. (And trying not to walk into the lamp post again.)

He’d been there for over ten minutes, trying his best to work up enough nerve to knock on your door.

You’d been on one date, a chill one. Just a drink and cake at a little coffee shop he’d recommended. (Or, more correctly, Will had recommended and Santi had taken credit for.) You’d both ended up staying there talking for almost four hours.

You've been messaging everyday, joking, sending voice notes, videos and pictures. Everything was going great. He liked you. A lot.

And now he was going to fuck it all up.

“Hi, just wanted to let you know…” He muttered under his breath, repeating what he was going to say, what he needed to say. “I just thought you should know… you know… before this gets any further, not that things have to get further, I mean… I want to say I like you and I’m… I’m…”

“Santi?”

He jumps, visibly jumps, his eyes wide like a rabbit startled by headlights.

You find it quite endearing the way he looks at you, a bright panic. You’d just been grabbing some last minute bits and pieces and your local corner shop for the meal you were making together tonight.

“Trans!” Santi says a little too loud.

“What?”

“Erm…”

“Trains?”

“No.”

“What did you say?”

He pauses, biting his bottom lip. Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck. “Trans.” He says very softly, closing his eyes for a second. This was not how it was meant to go. “I’m… I wanted to tell you before… I really like you and… you should know… I’m, I’m trans. I’m a trans man.”

He looks up at you, ready to see disgust. Rejection.

Instead you smile warmly and nod. “Okay, thank you for telling me.” You point to your front door, “you wanna go inside?”

He pauses, staring at you for a long moment as his brain tries to and two and two together but keeps getting minus seven. “I… erm… inside?”

“For the food, the meal date? We were gonna cook together?” You say politely, mistaking his confusion.

“You, you still want to… go out with me?” He doesn’t mean for the words to come out so softly, so small.

It’s your turn to pause and truly absorb what he said. Your eyes widening as realisation dawns. “Oh, of course! Santi, fuck, sorry,” you put you hand on his arm and squeeze reassuringly. “It’s not a problem for me that you're trans, no problem at all. Doesn’t affect anything. I really like you too.”

He gives you a brilliant smile, all of his nervous energy outpouring as relief washes over.

He nods and walks with you as you both move towards the door, taking your shopping bag for you as you fish out your keys.

“Do you, erm,” he pauses for a second to take off his shoes as you do the same, “do you have any… questions?”

You turn away just to shut the door before you look back at him. “Questions?”

“Yeah… about the trans stuff.” He shakes his head, trying to sound more assertive. Fuck, being shot at was always easier than this. “I mean, me being trans.”

“Do you usually get questions?”

He nods.

You pause, thinking it over for a second. “Do you want me to ask questions?” You say sincerely.

He smiles and rubs the back of his head. “You know, no one's ever asked that before.”

You smile back.

“Erm, yeah, yeah,” he nods, “questions would be good actually. Normal.”

You laugh good naturedly, “kay,” you make your way to the kitchen, pointing out the different rooms as you go.

“Your house is really nice.”

“Thank you.”

“And thank you for, well, being so… for being normal about how I blurted it out outside, usually I’m a bit more together.” He says, a touch of bashfulness in his tone.

“Are people usually not normal? Wait, that’s a numb as fuck question.”

Santi laughs as you pull a face. “A lot of people are very normal about it,” he smiles, “but I don’t tell a lot of people.”

You nod as you start to unpack your bag, Santi jumps in to help. “So, when did you transition?”

“Well,” he takes a deep breath. “I know it’s a cliche but I kind of always knew, you know?”

“Not cliche, just a common experience.” You smile and nudge your shoulder into his.

He grins. “Started ‘dressing like a boy’ when I was 15, but it wasn’t until I was 18 and out of the house that I changed my name and stuff.”

You nod.

“Been on T for a long time now. Managed to get top surgery when I was 24.” He pauses, “sorry, I’m word vomiting all over the place here and-”

“Hey,” you smile warmly, taking his hands, there’s a slight tremor to them. You rub your fingers over his skin reassuringly. “It’s good, great. Not oversharing, thank you for wanting to share with me.”

He returned the expression a little shyly, “thanks, I just…” He screws up his eyes and sighs, “need to overshare one more thing.”

“Go ahead.” You give his hands a soft squeeze.

“I’m, I haven’t had bottom surgery.” He swallows, keeping his eyes closed, “I don’t know if that’s a deal breaker for you, I understand if it is.”

You lean forward and kiss his cheek. “Not a problem.”

He opens his eyes quickly, looking at you like you painted every pink sunset cloud in the sky, before he presses a soft, sweet kiss to your lips. “Thank you.” He mutters, stroking your cheek and kissing you again.

He slowly steps closer, pressing flush against you and snaking his right hand to rest on your hip, giving him all the leverage he needs to gently press you back against the counter top and slip his tongue into your mouth.

It is a long time before the half unpacked groceries are remembered.

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh

@romanarose @strangerhands @saturn-rings-writes @lonelyisamyw-0love @queerponcho

@steven-grants-world @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @lunar-ghoulie

@silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @apesarecuul @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom

@alwaysmicado @mangoslushcrush @marc-spectorr @soft-girl-musings @spxctorsslxt

@novarosewood

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

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seraphont · 2 months

Text

FAQ & Important Info

About me:

bday: march 30th

lgbt?: im bi

What can we call you?

Seraphont is fine, its supposed to be a play on of Seraph and Serif Font, you can call me Seraph!

What pronouns do you use?

I'd prefer They/Them, but you can use She/Her.

Whats your Main blog?

not posting it publically for now.

Dying and Getting Over It (DaGOI au) Related:

Where can I read DaGOI?

It will be uploaded to my Ao3. its currently being written, so there is no link to the fic yet.

When will you post the fic?

short answer: I'm not sure, possibly by early october. its my first time writing a fic, so I ask you to be patient with me! the outline is written and being tweaked, and its going through adjustments now that MD ep 8 is out. Im also moving across the world, so I'm a tad bit busy rn.

Will you include MD ep8 into the canon of your fic?

at first I was on the fence, but its grown on me, its being integrated now.

Will you be drawing all of DaGOI in comic form?

if I was a stronger man I would. I'll mostly be drawing key story moments. making comics is an aid to helping me write. so I'll be making a lot, but I may not be posting them until the chapters start coming out (trying not to spoil everything). to give you an idea, as of writing this, I have 6 comics on the backburner lol.

Art Related:

What art program(s) do you use?

Procreate -Brushes: Shiyoon Kims Wet Brush pack (X) (everything you see on this blog is made with this brushpack) and several Max Packs (X) for procreate

How long have you been drawing?

I've always drawn, but I started getting really serious at 14, around the same time I first made my main blog. I was self taught up until I got into animation school.

What do you do as a career?

I'm currently doing Freelance work for publishers and individuals. I was previously an animator, I'm making the move to storyboarding

Do you take requests/commissions?

I do have commissions open. only lineart, and flat colours are available. if you want a rendered piece: slots are closed, but you can dm me for interest.

Asks and Messaging:

Rules for asks/tagging?

Anyone can send me an Ask, Mutuals, Anons or not!

Dont send discourse or anything explicitly NSFW. you'll be blocked lol. I'd prefer if you didnt send suggestive. if you send me triggering content I’ll mind blast you into dust. (block).

Do not send and DNI's?

Transphobia, Homophobia, Acephobia. All the obvious bigot contenders.

SA, pdfilia and incest are absolute no goes.

are you okay with me direct messaging you?

only if we have spoken before/ you're giving me a headsup about something/ I've prompted you to send me one.

***minors: please refrain from dming me to chit chat, im not down to.***

Why don’t you answer my asks/dms?

my main has 1000+ asks and my other side blog is pushing 250+, sometimes the ask's get lost in the sauce. that being said, some ask's go unaswered because: 1. it might spoil too much if I were to answer. 2. I simply have to think hard to reply. 3. its super nice and im hoarding it all for myself.

Misc

Can you reblog my donation posts?

no. too many scams.

#repurposed this post to be a FAQ #faq page

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starlightsuffered · 2 months

Text

Playing Tag

Info - someone catching you hooking up, broken up couple, hard Dom tim, Dub con, mocking, teasing, degrading, switching pov, biting, unprotected sex, sorta hate fuck

I used the key, hoping she wouldn’t be here. We hadn’t seen much of one another since the break up and she didn’t mind it being that way at all. I minded it. I wanted her back. She knew this, but I think she was enjoying teasing me I think.

I didn’t realise what I was hearing until it was too late. I’d just wanted to grab my favourite hoodie I knew I’d left here. Everything came crumbling down the moment I opened the door to the spare room.

She was stuffed full of some dimwit’s cock. She was moaning, eyes closed. Her hands held his hair like reins as she basked in bliss. Clothing decorated the floor. She was making noises I remembered and treasured. I made a disgusted face.

“Holy shit!” Y/n cried when she saw my face in her doorway.

“I’m here to pick up my stuff,” I said, leaning against the wall with nonchalance.

“Get off, get off Marcus,” she grunted and pushed the man off her. I could tell she was embarrassed even if she’d never admit to it.

“I, um, I’ll go,” the man, Marcus, said awkwardly as he gathered his clothing. He was out of there in no time to my shock.

“You fucking pervert!” She hissed at me.

“I just want my hoodie back,” I snapped.

She wilted a bit. I could see she didn’t want me to take the piece of clothing she liked so much. I knew it had been what she slept in and it comforted her.

Y/n’s pov

“I’ll get it,” I snarled and bustled off to my bedroom. I was so embarrassed that he’d caught me hooking up with someone else.

“Why weren’t you fucking him in YOUR room?” Timothée asked. I rolled my eyes and felt anger roll over me. Of course he would want to know a stupid little detail like that. It was an embarrassing detail.

The bedroom had been a place Timmy and I had, had many precious moments. I didn’t feel like I could bear fucking someone in what I still thought of as “our” bed.

“Don’t worry about it,” I snapped.

I finally found his dumb hoodie. I turned around, still naked from the waist down, and only in a long t-shirt. I threw the piece of clothing at him.

“There you go, now leave,” I said, and crossed my arms.

“I think I will worry about it,” he said smoothly as he approached me. “Was he better than me?”

I scoffed. I couldn’t honestly say that he was. However, I didn’t want Timothée getting a big head. I turned away from him.

“Come on love, you know he couldn’t be better than me,” crooned his tempting voice. His hand cupped my cheek and he turned my face his way. I betrayed my heart as I looked at him. I bit my lip at how gorgeous he was. He made my stomach spin.

“He was,” I lied. I loved how his face fell for a moment.

“He was better! And he made me feel like a goddess. You could never do as well. I’m so glad I’m finally getting some good dick,” I said with a smug smile.

I made to push past him but he grabbed me. He looked in my eyes. He looked furious.

“Say it again, to my face,” he ordered. His eyes scanned my face.

“He’s better than you,” I said slowly.

“Yeah right,” I heard the growled words. Suddenly, he was kissing me. I melted into him just like old times. I hated how addictive he was.

His hands were on my body. The familiar spark was lighting inside me. He was an excellent kisser. I couldn’t help but press myself against him.

“Timothée,” I gasped. I didn’t know how he would read my tone.

“That’s it princess, you wanna change what you said?” He teased.

“No,” I dropped the bomb.

“Excuse me?”

“No, I don’t want to change what I said,” I told him. I wanted to push my luck. I wanted to see what he would do. I liked this. It was like taunting a tiger.

“You fucking-“

He pushed me to the bed. His body rolled against me. He was biting and licking my neck. He was like a ravenous animal. I felt his hardness against me. I felt heat and wetness between my legs.

“You like this don’t you slut? Me being the needy one. You love flipping the script,” he growled in my ear.

“Ah,” I let out a breathy sound.

Before I knew it his pants were around his ankles. He ripped off the only thing I wore. His hands and mouth moved on my sensitive nipples.

“Oh, f-fuck, oh!” I cursed.

“Pretending you don’t fucking want me,” he barked out a laugh. His hand dipped down and he swiped it through my quivering wetness.

“I barely have to do anything,” he chuckled.

He massaged my puffy nipples. My legs spread open further. He groaned as he pressed his tip to my entrance. He pushed the head in and out of me. I was squirming at the teasing.

“Your gushing baby girl,” he crooned.

"you say you don’t love it, and yet you're so wet. I think you just want me to make you scream,” he whispered in my ear.

“Timothée, I-“

He slammed into me balls deep. He was buried to the hilt. I felt almost like I might lose consciousness at how good it felt. He began to thrust and my nails were scrambling for purchase in his back.

“Oh, oh, oh!” I whimpered as he plunged over and over. His full balls slapped me. I was so wet that his balls were as well, creating a mess where they hit my ass.

“Please, please, please!” I wailed. I was wrapped around him. I was addicted and I couldn��t help myself.

“Thaaaaats it,” he groaned. He bit my lip hard enough to break the skin.

“You want it. You fucking love my cock. You’ve never had better than me,” he chuckled. He was an expert. He perfectly massaged my g spot. His hands grabbed handfuls of my tits. He pulled my hair. He was possessing me body and soul. I was cock drunk and I knew I’d do anything in the moment for his cum.

“Mm, uh, uuu, mmmff, ohhh.”

“Listen to the sounds that sloppy cunt's making, you can't tell me no,” he growled and I shuddered all over.

“Timothée,” I screamed.

“Say I win, say I fucking win,” he snarled in my ear. His voice was deep and erotic and he bit into my lobe.

“You win!” I shrieked as the he hit just the right place.

My vision went black as I came. I saw stars that seemed to fall and set my body on fire. I was shaking and gasping as my orgasm overwhelmed me. My needy pussy walls were clenching around his thick cock. He grunted and shoved himself balls deep. He came inside me in hot spurts. I’d work a condom with Marcus but this was pure and bare and the most elite sex I’d ever had.

“Oh f-fuck,” I said helplessly as Timothée’s sweat dripped down on me.

Timothée’s POV

“I- okay, I want you back,” she said in an almost dreamy voice. She looked cum drunk. She was always so nice once she had a good load in her.

“Not so fast princess,” I laughed, nuzzling against her sore ear. I admired the bite marks I had made.

“I think I’ll let you chase me a little longer,” I said in a cocky tone. I knew now that she would.

“Excuse me?” She demanded. Her tone was no longer soft. I sat up and smirked. She did not like being told no. Now she knew that I didn’t either.

“We can play tag a little longer I think,” I winked. She pushed me off the bed.

“While I’m down here, wanna ride my cock?” I asked casually.

“You’re despicable,” she shot back, but she looked intrigued. Tag was my favourite game.

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suashii · 9 months

Text

MEET THE PARENTS

info ⭑ mikage reo x reader ﾉ 0.9k wc ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ reference to reader's parents and family

note ⭑ happy holidays! i think this is my first time writing a solo piece for reo so hopefully it isn't too bad. thanks for reading! ❤︎‬

requested by @yuukimiyas for my winter wonderland event (closed)!

reo is a punctual man—he sticks to a schedule and considers his time valuable. so when he isn’t home on time after practice on the night that you’re hosting your family for dinner, you’re struck with worry. twenty minutes behind isn’t something you’d usually bat your eyes at but you will admit that it’s strange not getting a text or call explaining his absence on the occasion he’s been fretting about all week.

with dinner started on the stove, you wipe your hands on a dish towel before reaching for your phone to figure out what’s keeping reo from home. though, before you can find his contact, the photo you have saved with his name flashes on your screen as the device buzzes with an incoming call from him.

you press the green accept button, wasting no time starting your distressed interrogation. “where are you?”

there’s a laugh from his end of the line and you can hear the faraway honking of horns. his explanation comes easily, as though you should have expected it. “i swung by the florist to pick up a bouquet for your mom.”

reo’s answer doesn’t come as a surprise. in addition to being punctual, reo is chivalrous, too. ever since you told him that your family would be visiting for the holidays, he’s made it his personal mission to make sure that everything is in order—that he’d be leaving a good impression on the ones you love.

if the preparation he’s taken so far is evidence of anything, it’s that he truly has nothing to worry about. maybe you’re a little bit biased, but how could anyone not like reo?

“you know, typically guests bring gifts for the hosts—not the other way around.” the urgency has faded from your voice upon learning the reason behind his not being here, traded in for a more relaxed tone, one with a playful edge.

“no way,” he starts, and you can practically hear the frown in his voice, “it’s their first time at our place and meeting me. i’ve gotta do this right.”

between his actions and his words, it’s clear that reo is taking the one opportunity he has with this first meeting seriously. it’s flattering to see that he cares so much, that he wants those closest to you to like him even a fraction of the way you do. your heart feels like it’s floating in your chest knowing that reo is doing all of this for your sake.

“understood.” you smile with your declaration. “anyways, did you call for something?”

“right, did you need me to pick anything up while i’m out?”

“nope,” you shake your head even though he can’t see you, “just get home safe.”

“sure thing, love you.”

it isn’t long before you hear reo’s key unlocking your front door and his house slippers shuffling down the hallway and into the kitchen. a purple head of hair greets you in the doorway accompanied by pops of red and white from the flower bouquet he’s holding. his violet eyes light up when you turn to meet his gaze and welcome him home.

“hey.” you offer him a wave from the stove before your eyes fall to the flower arrangement in his grasp. “those are pretty.”

he examines them closely, like you’re sure he did while the florist was putting the bouquet together and after he received the flowers. “you think she’ll like them?”

you hum and nod, a smile tugging at your lips upon seeing the relief that colors his face with your approval. he sets the paper-wrapped bouquet on an unoccupied space of the kitchen island before rubbing his hands together and looking to you for direction.

“what can i do?”

there’s an unspoken rule that reo doesn’t cook on special occasions. he can admit that it’s a skill he has yet to master and that the meals of guests are better left out of his hands. with this in mind, you jerk your head toward the cabinets that hold your plates and silverware. “wanna set the table?”

“i can do that,” he agrees.

while you finish up dinner, reo goes between the kitchen and dining room, neatly arranging the dishes on the festive tablecloth you had set out earlier. he kisses you with each trip he makes, first on your forehead, then your nose, and when he’s back in the kitchen for good, he plants one of your lips. the taste of familiar, minty like the gum he chews with a hint of cucumber from his chapstick.

you’re starting to get the feeling that his nerves are calming, that the perfectionist in him is mellowing, but his next question is proof that he’s still a little anxious about the events to come. “do your parents prefer red or white wine?”

you shrug. it’s been a while since you’ve had a meal with them and even then you can’t say that you paid much attention to what they were drinking. “i’m sure they’ll enjoy either.”

he opens his mouth to protest but you shush him by pressing a finger to his lips.

“reo, relax.” you hook your arms under his to rub soothing circles on his shoulder blades. he takes your advice, taking a deep breath in through his nose and letting it leave through his mouth. your lips pull up into a grin as you feel his muscles ease, the tension seeping from his body. “they’re going to love you.”

he nods, a small smile of his own appearing with your reassurance.

only a moment later, the ring of your doorbell sounds throughout the house. you meet reo’s gaze with an encouraging sparkle in your eyes. “it’s go time.”

#[ ❄️ ] — WINTER WONDERLAND !#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: blue lock #reo x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #reo fluff #bllk fluff #blue lock fluff #reo drabble #bllk drabbles #blue lock drabbles

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whateverloomis · 4 months

Note

hihi! could I request poly!ghostface with an idol reader? afab but any/no pronouns works

The reader just enrolled in the school recently, both to be closer to LA and try and keep the public away. Reader isn't world famous or anything, but has a recognizable name. Maybe has been on a talent show and radio station a few times.

Hi! Thank you for your request anon 💖 This was a very interesting one to work with. I did a lil twist with the LA detail. I don't know if you wanted some saucy smut in here so I kept it on the teasy side, (I love this gif set 😭🙈.)

Warnings: Teasing, inappropriate touching, manipulation, alcohol consumption, getting tipsy, cliffhanger (I think?), unedited

Reader: They/Them pronouns in italics. Reader is AFAB fem presenting.

"An independent journalist?" Sidney asked, intrigued and confused all at once.

"Yeah, like. Y'know, the people who go around asking questions about crime cases and other crazy news." Tatum answered, filling the group in with the latest gossip.

"Yeah, I got interviewed yesterday, but apparently it's like a low-key thing. Some kind of personal project that might not go public." Randy added and Sidney nodded, processing all the information.

The press being all over town was bad enough, and now some secret journalist or something? She definitely wanted to avoid anymore questions, so she took note in order to avoid anyone that might've seemed, strange? She didn't really know how to handle the situation.

"Hey, how come I haven't gotten a cool secret interview?" Stu asked, pouting like a little kid.

"I don't think someone low-key like that wants to interview your loud ass." Billy replied and Stu faked being hurt. The rest of the group laughed at the boys usual grumpy commentary.

"Look, that's the journalist." Randy whispered and stared in a -not so subtle- way. Everyone else gave their visual attention to the person and Billy raised an eyebrow in amusement. Then he looked at Stu, who also seemed a bit more interested than usual.

They didn't know what to expect from the title "journalist" when it came to appearance but it definitely wasn't this. They had a short black dress on with a cream colored cardigan sweater. Black combat boots and white knee high leg warmers that completed the casual outfit and gave it a touch of cuteness compared to the little dress that hung dangerously close to their ass, threatening to rise up at any moment.

"Well damn." Stu said in a flirty and amused tone. Tatum glared at him and then the group continued their usual chaotic conversations and speculations about the ghost face murder case.

•

Inside the campus, a memorial for Casey Becker and Steve Orth was placed at the end of the main hallway. YN was looking at every detail and every note the students left close to the couples pictures and took notes in their leather journal. It seemed like a casual thing but Billy and Stu knew what was up.

"You think they might have a lead?" Stu questioned as he and Billy walked along the hallway casually, trying to seem like they were doing anything else other than approaching the journalist.

"I don't know... But we better make sure they don't find any." Billy answered and Stu widened this eyes, excitement radiating off him.

"Hooh, what are you suggesting man? We kill them?" Stu whisper-screamed and Billy hit his friends arm. "Would you shut up? That's not what I'm saying... Maybe, a distraction of some sort... A mislead." Billy answered and Stu got even more excited. It was like a game to them, one they knew how to manipulate however they wanted to.

•

After the last class of the day, YN was ready to go to their small apartment and put the pieces together with the info they gathered about the ghost face case.

As they were putting their books and other things into their shoulder bag, Billy approached them. He seemed mysterious to YN and they instantly grew curious. Maybe he knew something about the case?

"YN, right?" He said, his tone slightly flirty.

"Yes, and you are?" YN asked, mimicking his tone and smiling up at him innocently.

Billy let out a breathy laugh, smirking. "Billy. Billy Loomis. I uh, heard you were investigating the ghost face case or something of that sort?" He said, taking a step forward and placing his hand on YNs desk.

"Words getting around huh? Yes. I'm keeping it low-key though. Not everyone peeks my interest with this." They replied and Billy raised an eyebrow.

"No? Do I seem interesting enough?" He asked, smirking down at YN as they chuckled at his flirting and interest.

"Can't deny that you do, Loomis. We can talk. My place at 7? I'd rather be somewhere comfortable." They said and grabbed Billy's hand softly, writing their phone number and address on the palm of his hand with a marker.

Billy looked at it for a second and smiled at YN, nodding and leaning on the desk. "I have a friend too, he has some pretty interesting info as well. I could bring him over, if you'd like." He added and YN thought about it for a second. Other than receiving what seemed like good insight, if his friend was just as attractive as him, they wouldn't mind that one bit.

"Sure, that's fine with me. See you at 7?" YN checked one last time. "We'll be there." Billy replied and watched as they walked past him towards the exit door of the classroom and the boy couldn't help but scan their gorgeous body from head to toe.

•

"Wine?" YN asked the boys and Billy declined. Stu was about to say yes but Billy kicked him under the table.

"Dude, f- Uh, no I'm good. Thanks-" Stu stumbled on his words and YN giggled, pouring themselves a glass. It was perfect, if YN was tipsy enough the boys would be able to twist and turn their words in order to steer YN into the wrong direction with the case. They could also get information out of them and mess around with it too. Perfect plan.

All three of them conversed easily and it got better once YN started to get affected by the alcohol. They told Billy and Stu about how they lived in LA and how it was too overwhelming to live in. After they heard about the small town of Woodsboro and ghost face it didn't only peak their interest, but it was a perfect excuse for them to move out of LA and transfer into a new college. Have a real change in their lifestyle and pursue their journalism dream.

As the conversation went on YN got more intrigued by the boys and what they were saying.

"The thing is that Sidney's dad is missing. And it happened exactly when the murders took place so, it makes total sense that he'd be the prime suspect." Stu commented and YN wrote every single thing down.

Billy was standing close to YN, leaning against the kitchen counter trying to peak at their notes, but he could barely read anything.

"So what else do you have in there?" Billy asked, not caring about keeping his intentions low-key. He moved towards YN who was sitting on a stool, using the counter as a table.

"Nothing you should be concerned about, Loomis." YN answered and took another sip of their second glass of wine that night.

Stu chuckled and placed his hand on top of YNs. "C'mon, you can tell us, we can provide a lot of info."

"Yeah, we have a friend who's a cop too, so we have good insight." Billy continued and kept walking towards YN, sliding his hand against the counter top.

YN giggled at their attempts to get an insight scoop of what they've collected so far, but maybe the boys were right. I mean, they did have a cop as a friend, so that was definitely a good source.

Billy was a few inches away from YN, leaning against the counter top. "C'mon baby, you can tell us. We can keep a secret or two." He said and placed his hand on YNs left thigh.

They were almost drunk at that point and didn't care what they did or said. They were soaked between their legs because of the alcohol effects, plus Billy and Stu being so flirty and straight forward wasn't helping with their needyness.

Stu walked over to YN and stood right behind them. He placed his hands on their arms and soothed them. "We'll even introduce you to our cop friend, it'll be a perfect link for you." He whispered in their ear and they shivered at the sound of his soft voice.

"Mm... That does sound good... but I have a feeling there's a catch." YN said. Even in their tipsy state, they could reason and detect the boys wanted something in return.

"Now we're talking." Billy said and smirked, running his hand up and down YNs thigh. "We don't want much just..." He paused and stepped between YNs legs, running both his hands up their thighs and lifting their dress up the tiniest bit. "Wanna have a little fun with you, that's all..."

"It'll be good for you babe, you'll get exactly what you want, hm?" Stu said softly and placed his large hands on their waist.

YN was nearly melting at their soft touches and in their lack of sobriety Billy and Stu's offer sounded more than satisfying.

"Mm, you have a deal then." They replied and ran their left hand up Billy's chest.

"That's what I like to hear."

#billy loomis smut #billy loomis x you #scream (1996)#billy loomis x reader #ghostface smut #ghostface x reader #ghostfacesmut #stu macher smut #stu macher x billy loomis #stu matcher x reader

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martini-garnish · 7 months

Text

Sorry not sorry for this one

Told y'all I might make the Vox girlies mad. CW for Valentino being there lmao.

18+ Minors DN fucking I. I already had to block 2 of you for following me I'm serious about this.

So many Vox fics the MC hates Valentino which is like very fair he's very hateable but there's also this pattern of Vox not wanting him anywhere near them and I'm gonna be real with you guys. I don't think he'd be protecting anyone for shit.

If he cared enough about a second situationship to want them to stick around then yea, he would probably try and make sure Val didn't get them under contract, but that's because he wants that position lbr. He would strongly discourage ripping them to pieces like one of Velvette's models, but if they're dumb enough to put themself in the line of fire it really can't be helped. And as I've said he certainly isn't above using either of them to manipulate the other into doing what he wants.

That's not to say he isn't conflicted about anything going on here. On one hand he does want to keep them to himself, Val has dozens of playthings so he should be able to keep this one just for him. But....

More than he'd be willing to admit he also wants them to get along. Probably a little too well. He has never wanted to watch two people fuck this bad in his life or afterlife.

Let's face it the man is an absolute voyeur, watching the people he's usually fucking go at it with eachother would run a close second place to watching Alastor getting his shit kicked in in terms of turning him on.

From another room or, preferably, with a front row seat. Somewhere he can run commentary. About how hot this is, about how he's so hard it hurts, how good this looks, how he wants it burned into his fucking brain and it is because there's no way he's not saving it.

Whether it's rough and violent or painfully, torturously slow depends on if he can convince Val to listen to him, because there's no way he's bottoming for some rando just because they're Vox's second favorite cocksleeve he is still calling some of the shots here- besides, he does want to see exactly what Vox sees in them, who can blame a man for being curious?

It's not a cuck thing as much as Vox can get a little riled up from humiliation this is different, he doesn't know who to focus on and just starts giving demands instructions to both of them about what the other likes. Though, that gets incoherent pretty fast given he's fucking his hand like stopping would kill him.

He also happens to have the restraint of a spoiled child and as much as watching this is driving him insane he very quickly comes to the conclusion that he needs to be in the middle of it. Right The Fuck Now Actually. Preferably inside of one of them with the other inside him (and 9/10 times that turns out in the orderyou would expect, sorry tops). He will Be the fucking get along shirt.

Also Low-key hoping but would never, ever admit that he wants them to get along so they can tag team praising and degrading him. You couldn't torture that info out of him though. Valentino has already tried.

#unsafe for work #vox x reader #valentino x reader #kind of. did not think id be using that tag haha sorry everyone.#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #is this once again based on my horrible little oc scenarios? yeah

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bunni-v1 · 1 year

Note

My request is for riddle x reader where the reader is a very skilled equestrian

Riddle and His Equestrian Partner

TW: My little pony reference; swearing

Info: Riddle x Reader; Horses; Idk shit about horses

🍓This low-key turned into a whole short story in several parts before I remembered these were head cannons and forcefully split it up lol. It’s not too long, because little concepts like this aren’t exactly the easiest to write a multi-page story about, but I try my best. I kinda of just went off on my own though, so I hope this is what you wanted lol. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy it, and sorry about the whole waiting thing only for a mini piece like this.

Riddle

-Ah! Riddle Rosehearts, we meet again.

-Riddle is a proud man. He’s multi-talented, incredibly hardworking, intelligent, and not so much kind, but it's not his fault his mother shoved a stick up his pompous ass.

-He takes great enjoyment in being the best at the things he does, but he fully accepts that… maybe… possibly he won’t always be at the top of the top.

-He does try, though. Very hard, because if he doesn’t his mother will be very cross with him.

-Something he takes greatest pride in is his talent in horseback riding. He’s a very talented equestrian, and he adores his horses. It’s one of the very few hobbies he was pushed into that he genuinely loves.

-He loves it so much that, when he gets accepted to attend NRC, he willingly and excitedly signs up for the equestrian club. In fact — other than his mother forcing the school down his throat — NRC’s equestrian club was one of the main draws of the school to him.

-This is where he meets you, his freshman year of college.

-He walks into the stables, the smell of hay, feed, and mud (and horse shit) filling him with nothing but delight.

-Students are allowed to bring their own horses from home if they’d like, but the school provides a handful of wonderful purebreds for those new to the sport or not willing to transport their own to campus.

-Riddle decided against bringing his old girl the first semester, even though she would be more reliable. He wanted a change, something new and exciting. He was good with horses, so he was sure whichever one he was given would be easy enough to work with and train how he liked.

-While he was looking at the different horses, one in particular caught his eye. A beautiful Appaloosa with a shiny clean coat and pretty braided hair.

-It was love at first sight for him. This was his horse, gaping at it with an open mouth, he looked rather stupid.

-At least, that’s what you thought at least. Stupid and endearing staring at your big baby of a horse like she was the most perfect creature on earth.

-To be fair, she was really pretty, just not… not pretty enough for this reaction, you think.

-“Hey, you okay?” You ask.

“Ah- Uhm, yes. Just… appreciating the horse.”

-Riddle is bright red trying to explain why he felt so… inspired by your horse.

-Surprisingly, however, it goes well, as you very enthusiastically tell him all about Rainbow Dash, “Dashie”, the third.

-You’re his first friend on campus! (Other than Trey).

-However, your name sounds very familiar, and he can’t quite get it out of his head after your first meeting.

-So… he looks you up, and he sees your insanely impressive track record. First-place medals, championship trophies, the whole shebang. You’re far more talented than him, and it almost makes him jealous he wasn’t so incredibly impressed.

-Truly Night Raven College has the most impressive students attending within its walls.

-He would initiate some sort of rivalry, but you’re just so… cool. So relaxed, and confident about your skills. He can’t help but admire you more than he wishes he were you.

-The two of you have very different schedules, so you hardly get to see each other outside of club meetings, your interactions are strictly horse-related.

-However, you hear about his violent temper and you find it kind of funny.

-“You’re like an untrained horse, you need a good rider to reel you in.” You always tease with a wink whenever he gets particularly angry at a match or during practice.

-To everyone’s surprise, he doesn’t blow up at you, just flustered and grumbles like a toddler being scolded by his parent.

-In fact, you’re the only person he really doesn’t blow up at. Your mutual love for horses and hard work in classes make you a nearly unstoppable duo.

-When he gets frustrated training his new horse from the school, you’re there to help cool him down and find a productive way to retrain the horse. When he doesn’t perform well in a match or compares himself to you and your records, you remind him of how different your training was compared to his.

-You two become incredibly close through all of this.

-So it’s no surprise when you both decide to start meeting up outside of class to study together. Then you start meeting up to just hang out in his dorm room. Then you start treating him to sweet treats off campus. Then you start showing up to Heartslabyul’s tea parties.

-It was honestly only a matter of time before the two of you decided to make things official, and when you do, it’s incredibly easy!

-You both plan horse riding dates with each other and spend the majority of your time together talking about training techniques or studying for your upcoming tests.

-Him bringing you home to meet his horse was honestly a bigger deal than meeting his mother.

-He was afraid you wouldn’t find him as beautiful since you own Dashie, but you were absolutely in love with his old girl. She seemed to like you too, given she didn’t try to buck you off the second you claimed onto her back.

-He’s incredibly supportive of you at your own matches and your matches alongside him.

-Now he’s proud of not only his skills, but you and yours as well, and he wouldn’t want it any other way.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #x reader #twst headcanons #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader

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elementalalien27 · 13 days

Text

My MCR5 theory from like July when The Paper Kingdom leak happened

I wrote this when I was half asleep so PLEASE don’t take ANY of this seriously man this is the oddest thing I’ve ever wrote-

~~~

I highlighted and bolded some key information for the fellow skimmers. Also I tried to fix my grammer 4 the most part in this post bcuz this is REAL important.

Firstly, this leak is all so random. I mean, Excalibur has been posting (and I quote;) “leaks” for years now, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he actually had the songs and kept it for himself or (ALLEGEDLY) sold them for money. But no source seems to claim that he actually had the full tracks.

Perhaps he just had those clips he posted to lead everyone on? I’m not too sure. But, if he were to upload the full track “Witch”, he would’ve surely done it under his name, judging by how self respecting this guy seems.

Sadly I didn’t find any info on this ATTAM guy yet, so I’m completely clueless there. My bad. If you know anything about this ATTAM figure (whom I remember hearing only a bit about) that may be important to this theory, plz message me and I'll update this or post something new.

The second thing I have is with the uploader, ReasonableRadish5791. That username is quirky; it’s as if Gerard came up with it. And it’s not like Gerard doesn’t know how to use Reddit, he’s used it multiple times over the past decade for QNA and all that razzmatazz.

And I know, you’re probably like “Asher, why the fuck are you accusing this random stranger on the internet to be Gerard??”, but hear me out.

After stalking their account (I’m sorry btw), I found out that this account was made on July 1st, which was three days before the leak. Isn’t that weird?? It seems like this whole account was made on a whim with the sole purpose of uploading this unreleased / deleted track somewhere it wouldn’t get copyrighted down.

That’s so incredibly odd.. the fact that they seem to know the lyrics too drives me insane. Also, the only other things they’ve done on this account (so far) was post like two things about Hesitant Alien's unseen merch maybe two or so days before they leaked the track, I don’t even know - but then how would they have those too?? They have to have at least SOME relation to Gerard.

That means whoever this person is, is trying to seem less suspicious by having posted two things before the big leak.

That leaves me to further believe that this is one of the members; most likely Frank or Gerard.

Frank because he’s a little gremlin, that dude is literally on the FBI watchlist for Christ’s sake. And Gerard because he confirmed knows how to use Reddit and that witty username, along with the Hesitant Alien posts. Or it could be Frank going undercover as Gerard? Or perhaps them together, knowing how Frank is (I’d assume) staying over at G’s as of right now? The possibilities are endless, as of right now.

The third this is that if it actually WAS some random dude on the internet who somehow managed to get this leak in this scenario, wouldn’t they’ve cleared all this suspicion up already?? You know, like “*so and so* gave me this link and I decided to make this account and upload it bcuz I find this very interesting and Warner is really keen on taking it down on every other sharing platform so Reddit is my final hope to share this neat thing I got my hands on with all you guys” or something like that? They could’ve just done that and as I said earlier, straight up cleared things up.

But they didn’t.

We don’t know this guy. That fact interests me the most. Who is behind that screen? How do they have this access? Who truly are they??? It’s driving me absolutely insane.

And lets say this little teenage piece of emo trash’s theory is somehow correct, what would be the purpose of this leak? This is a deleted album from over a decade ago that all the band members agreed to feeling uncomfortable with the topic, and came to terms of scrapping it for good. Why bring it up again? There’s only one knowledgeable explanation; MCR5.

The band wants - no, NEEDS - to catch our attention in some way, shape, or form. What better way is that then to randomly post songs that weren’t fortunate enough to see the light of day under a secret identity? It all makes sense if you think about it.

They will - and have - successfully catch our attention with those leaks, all as a plan to suddenly (when the time is right) release new songs and most importantly, the long awaited fifth album! And following my later 2 year theory, I wouldn’t be too surprised. Though, I’m honestly shocked that all this is happening, as nothing as big as this happened in 2023. I mean, I didn’t have Tumblr at the time so idk if I missed anything (I probably did but still), but I’m almost 100% certain that this is the biggest thing that happened in the MCRmy since Foundations, Cheerleader Gerard, WWWY 2024, and (I know this isn’t that important but it’s still important) the L.S. Dunes AI drama.

But back to MCR5, all what I know right now is that Mikey is in LA and so is Frank (I dunno about Ray since he’s very private on Social media and I didn’t check yet- 😭), Mikey liked one of Bex’s videos about MCR5 on Insta, Mikey is back in the studio, Frank is presumably chilling at G’s house, Rich G clearly knows something that we don’t, and so does the drummer (I forgot his name sorryyyyy-), Frankie’s fortune cookies post, and probably some more - it’s safe to say that something is definitely up; and my Emo Senses are tingling at an all time high. All of this is heightening my suspicion, it’s kinda starting to make sense in my head.

The fact that the band hasn't yet made a message responding to the situation yet is also oddly suspicious. I kid you not, this leak may actually go into MCR history, and (assuming it's a scandal that they had nothing to do with) they don't say anything?

They would've definitely said something if this wasn't their doing, judging by all the attention it's gathering online.

Now, I don’t really consider myself a full ass MCR CONSPIRACIST, I’m not pulling up the tinfoil hats or anything - and I don’t ever plan to since I’m just doing this bcuz I’m bored - but you have to be honest with me. Something is certainly fishy. Something is happening behind the scenes, and as the secretive and cryptic dorks they are, they’re not letting us know anything. It's up to the chosen Killjoys to crack the codes.

But reminder, I could also be wrong. That ReasonableRadish5791 character could actually be some random dude just chilling on the internet. I could just be overanalysing like the little autistic geek I am. But this seems all too related to be just some random instance.. all of Excalibur’s stuff has watermarks; how is it though that this one suddenly doesn’t? Again, all too coincidental and somewhat staged to be brushed off as some random leak..

If you’re still here, thank you for listening to this little emo teen currently on summer break rant about something as stupid as MCR5 at fucking 12am. Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments or message me if you find out anything new.

Thank you :]

~~~

Okay here it is 😭 I am a changed person I will take this down later plz don’t hold this against me

#mcr5 #mcr5 is real #mcr5 theory #my chemical romance #mcr #Gerard way #mikey way #Frank iero #Ray toro #the paper kingdom #tpk

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overtaken-stream · 17 days

Note

Chrollo Lucilfer.. the devil himself

0bserve And C0nnect

Chrollo Lucilfer x F!Hunter!Reader

I'm truly sorry to the person who requested the plot because I've lost the original request, so I have been going off on this from my memory! I deeply apologize! Also it's been a long time since I have watched hxh so if this seems ooc I'm sorry for that too!

Summary: The man feels both familiar and unknown, as if he exists in the space between memories and the midnight, his effortless charm draws you in so that just a single word from him sends you spiraling into a chasm beyond madness, beyond reason—into a place where no words can truly capture what you feel.

Warnings: incorrect mechanical stuff, mild tempering of memories, untidiness.

The door makes a clicking sound as you jammed the key into the keyway, twisting it and opening the gate to the comfort of your own house. Your legs tremble as you step inside the abandoned apartment. Every breath you take is loud in the stillness of the room, like the melodies of bugs in the company of the midnight sky. The planks creak under your weight as you slowly make your way toward the bedroom, if one might call it that. You don't often see the familiar tears of dull wallpaper. Each room is devoid of a human presence. Your absence let the thin layer of dust cover each surface your eyes can see. It's not your main source of worry. The untidiness does not compare to your most shameful traits.

Quiet drips continue to fall on the metal sink, unbeknownst to your consciousness.

Nudging the door open, you're met with the sight of a mattress tossed on the ground, dented in a place where one might sit, the color worn away, just as you'd left it.

On top of it rests a closed piece of technology, a futile computer and you barely take in the sight of a tiny Ladybug USB tossed unconcernedly, the haze of liqour still in your system. The blanket is on the floor, soaking in the liquid leaking from a place only you could find it. Its clear base covering the wooden floor boards.

To anyone else it's a mess they couldn't find the beggining or the end of, to you it's a masterpiece that ever was.

Countless wires lead from it to a wall opposite the bed, and the quiet hum of hard disks and fans fills the air.

You move to sluggishly grab the USB and then take careful steps towards one of the two brains that the computer holds, remaining mindful of the wires you wouldn't want to pull. You've done this innumerable times, to the point that you can do it with your eyes closed. Perhaps a reason for this habit is the fact that ever since you built it you've never tried to move anything out of place.

No amount of intoxication can make you forget the layout of this room.

The soles of your shoes stick to the ground so everytime you take a step you can't help but grimace at the obnoxious and the disgusting sound of two different surfaces seperating.

Drip.

You get in an awkward crouching position next to the core, sticking the USB between the wall and the massive fan inside, your hands instinctively find the hidden opening.

The design of your masterpiece does not need eyes for the builder to use. The hidden crevices between metal and deadly operating systems are your playground, unlike someone who might try something.

Plugging in the USB, you sigh out the air you were withholding.

Drip.

You slugglishly make your way over to where the makeshift screen is, instructing and letting the information be sucked out and stored in the USB.

All it needs is a minute now.

Drip.

You've always known what led you to work in this profession, work in a field next to Hunters and the bottom of the barrel alike.

Every job has it's pros and cons. It just so happened that the upside to being an info-broken is the financial side, a river of money that never truly slows down and only continues forward, info-brokers such as you have to catch each banknote with a rod and a hook.

If you take a gamble you might even be able to pull out a cash strip if you're lucky.

For some, the risk of losing a livelihood is a horrifying thought, and they can't be blamed for disagreeing with the gray morality and equal exchange of this world. For you, though, the risk and money are different sides of the same golden coin.

So why don't people try their luck for once in their miserable lives?

You can't be intimidated by a couple of eyes that follow and observe your every movement, not now anyway. Years ago, you got used to them pretty quickly, made the uncomfortable gazes your turf. You won't be intimidated.

What you're doing now is just speeding up the job, wishing for it to end quickly before the case got too out of your hands.

Drip.

Many long for your sufforage, however they could never murder a valuable source of information such as you.

Including whoever was it that followed you in the bar an hour or so ago.

Drip.

You never seem ready during these situations.

A soft beep makes you snap out from the screen, making your way over to the side and unplugging the USB you let the red colored technology rest in your palm, your eyes squeezing shut as you tightly grip it's surface. You can only hope that the protection the insect symbolizes graces you and the machine you've built.

Listening to the quiet hum of the machine, mouthing along with its robotic voice as it bids you farewell.

"M. O.

N. S.

T. E.

R. at youur servii-ce."

Multi-brained Omnipresent Network System, your masterpiece.

You need a window for your next step.

(It's tough outpacing polished criminals in this day and age.)

Walking out of the room and into the kitchen, listening to the stomach-twisting noise comings from the sticky oil on your shoes, you grab at the handle, pulling back the glass and setting the tiny machine on the glass.

pressing one of the digits on a singular black dot on the USB, you watch as it snaps its wings out of hiding before softly flying to its destination.

It's only a harmless little Ladybug now.

The tap drips as you drag your feet to a wooden chair, the sound echoing in your mind. Now in an almost sober state, you sit down on it with a groan like that of an elderly man. A sigh leaves your lips as your head tilts back toward the ceiling, where the damp patches are still visible. How is it that the neighbor above still hasn't had their pipes fixed, despite it being the subject of complaints for almost a decade before your visits to this apartment became rare?

You'll have to move soon, judging from how much Jenny's one job can get you—maybe a comfortable three-bedroom apartment for you and all the extra projects you can't bring yourself to deem useless. It would be hell to reconnect MONSTER, or to rebuild it in a different house.

"Such a hassle..." Your eyes remain half-closed, the invisible mist of sleepiness overcomes your being.

(This ordeal is no joke. It would have elicited a reaction from you and left you agasp at the hands of those who watched you today, if only you weren't so drained and surrendered to laziness.)

That is, if your goddess of luck blesses you with another day to live after this encounter... Your choice to bring a double aged sword to a gun fight is a miscalculation that makes you regret ever trying the Hunters exam in the first place.

Drip.

Perhaps this is the worst decision you've made, no this is definitely the worst decision you've made. Letting in an unknown man in your house who claims to be called by your neighbor to check out the broken pipes and practically dig your own grave has never felt this stretched out nor this mentally draining.

(Build Yourself A House Out Of Straw)

You're left to watch his back as he meddles with the pipes under the tap. He's built for agility and strength, muscles showing for moments as he moves his arms and therefore flexes his shoulder. He is no pipefitter.

And you are no fool.

Leaning against the entrance with your arms crossed, you answer any questions he may have, keeping your responses brief and tight-lipped under his hidden sidelong glance. The way he talks is interesting, his expressions are unshackled as he touches on the topic of your neighbor.

"How long has this been going on? The leak is quite bad."

"For a while." You haven't been living here, and there's not a single timeline in this universe where your lazy neighbor actually called someone to fix his pipes, and what are the chances that you happened to be in your house when the plumber knocked on the door. The coincidences aren't believable.

He is natural, a professional at his job. Any unsuspecting prey may fall into his trap without even knowing it was there in the first place. He is ordinary to the point of suspicion. He is unnatural.

Thieves aren't known for their patience; you're dealing with someone worse. There's a chance you've already interacted with him, though your gut tells you that you might not have been on the same side.

Your hooded eyes watch as he stands to his feet, turns toward you, and lets you get a good look at his face. The black eyes and dark hair would do him well to blend in with the shadows. The clothes seem ordinary and well-maintained, the kind that no one truly likes to wear. His facial features are as sharp as his jaw, captivating for maidens such as you.

"Would you mind if I take a look at the bathroom?" You squint at the thick wraps around his forehead. Familiar, very familiar. Attractive too.

"Sure." Was any effort put in a disguise?

You're not sure of the reason he'd want to see your bathroom, but what do you have to lose? That room ain't anything special.

You hear his footsteps following as you turn and lead the way. His lack of reaction to the untidiness is another suspicious behavior.

"Have you not been in the house, miss?" You stop in the hallway, lightly turning your head until his face is visible. The man who gave you the probably-false name remains unbothered, unjudgemental despite his question. He seems to be thinking, eyes pointing downwards as he silently follows.

"No, I haven't." You continue to trudge along the familiar walls. He is as quiet as a cat, his footsteps making no noise, similar to the paws of a calculating feline, his eyes ghost over and soak in everything in view. He remains behind you, out of sight.

The man lowers his gaze to a single door that you didn’t bat an eye at, passing by it without breaking your stride. The smell of oily odor is stronger now that he is closer to the source. It’s incredible how you don’t seem to be in hiding. He quickly returns his gaze to your back, he no longer needs to arouse any more suspicion, so he keeps up with you.

The smell is nostalgic, reminding him of the unpleasantness that clings to him and that place from the past. It seems that you are used to the metallic odor, no doubt, spending time with such technology does that to a person, numbing their valuable senses so these meager details. If you knew him, truly had him memorized, prioritized, you would not have opened the door. You would have slipped through the window and ended up in his hands all the same.

The troupe left no way for you to evade him.

There's only one word to describe a man such as him: beautiful. Beautiful in a way one might consider a dark, chilling forest, or a black-feathered crow that brings a bad omen with the flap of its wings. Similar to a redback spider, his beauty is poisonous. His bite is worse than his bark, his venom makes you sweat at the red wound and spill your pain along with your sanity. He possesses all the charm and resources needed to ensnare his victims, leaving them helpless in his web of deceit.

(Let It Be Blown Away By A Wolf)

His beauty is alluring, much like elements of nature that can captivate yet harm. It makes you salvate, the itch that his unassuming clothes leave is impossible to ignore. On the surface, he is naught but a simple worker, one who wishes to get paid quickly as he twist the pipes and steps away from the source of his curiosity hidden behind a washed down door. You're sure he must have his assumptions, however the man doesn't act on it. It's the only fact that gives you some security under his observing gaze.

He's good at hiding in plain sight.

It's exhausting just waiting for him to come out.

You've never been a good host to the guests anyway.

Thieves can only uphold a half-assed disguise for so long before curiosity will get the best of them.

It's unclear even to you whether you expected to be locked in the bathroom. You know that a thief's fingers are nimble and light, it wouldn't take much for him to lock the door handle behind you and disappear into the smoke. They would buy time for whatever crime they're planning to commit. Besides, it's not like you own anything luxurious, except MONSTER. But even then, its system doesn't have gold and emeralds embedded inside, not to mention that you programmed the network to be understood only by you. Whatever information he might be after won't be found because, first, you haven't gathered it, and second, the network isn't designed to retain any digital information for this exact reason.

(And Watch It Be Burned)

If he's not after any information, well, MONSTER is made of junk from that horrid place. You had to rebuild and redesign any purchased parts to avoid raising suspicion. Overall, MONSTER doesn't cost much (technically, it shouldn't cost any money), but if the man decides to destroy it for whatever reason, you wouldn't be too affected. Its messy blueprints are safe and sound somewhere far from this apartment, the heartache would only come from the time you spent building your masterpiece.

But no, he doesn't make his move yet, only staring and meddling with the pipes present, forcing the stillness and anxious mood onto you.

You try not to look too intensely at his face, half hidden by the hair and the bandages on his forehead. It's quite a ridiculous detail that makes him stand out, it makes you think that maybe you are still somewhat drunk, otherwise why would you want to speak more to this beast in here's den?

"Those bandages." He hums in acknowledgement and you can't hold back your smirk, so instead your hand comes up to hide it away.

"You slipped and hit your head or something?"

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't." His tone was... Unnaturally lighthearted.

Perhaps you were the one who slipped and hit your head, because this is no place for jokes.

Your eyes glance at the forgotten place, swiftly moving to the mirror before the man moves to stand.

You have to give him credit, because in the aftermath that lasted for only a second, the weak shield you've put up shatters as if it never existed.

He holds the door open before lightly bowing.

"Ladies first." And you turn your back to him, there's no going back now.

There's a sense of dread as you wake, your mind immediately going haywire, searching for the last moments as if the memories have slipped through your fingers as you tried to grasp them. An itch crawls beneath your skin, and the goosebumps make it uncomfortable for you to stand on the thick oil coating the floor.

(Into Ashes)

"Are you aware that the neighbors below have been complaining about a mysterious liquid leaking from this room for quite some time?"

No. No, you are not aware, because you haven't been living here.

The man in front of you has his back turned, staring at your masterpiece, captivated by its brilliance. Yet, despite this, his commanding presence holds your attention, stealing the answers from your mind.

"Such work you've put into this. Neither my abilities nor Shalnark have been able to figure it out."

You can’t see clearly through the numb feeling settling in your gut. You can’t tell if he's caressing the screen or even looking at it—his presence in this room is too confusing, almost as if he doesn't belong.

"Tell me how did you do it?" You try not to get hang up on his tone.

You can't help but feel pride at his fascination. After all this time, you finally have the satisfaction of someone else complimenting your life's work. It brings a feeling beyond euphoria—a sensation like standing in the sunset, letting its warmth wash over you before the sunshine disappears for hours. It's the peace of sitting on a balcony after a long day of research, gazing at the hanging constellations in the dark blue sky.

You search for an answer, your tongue swiping across the inside of your cheek. Yet, as his torso turns toward you, your mind fixates on one thing, or maybe a couple of things, the slick dark hair, the orb earrings framing his long face, and the tattoo of a cross—an unusual detail you wouldn’t find on the average person. His sense of fashion isn't impressive, but his captivating physique makes up for it. Lastly, your eyes linger on his mouth, the corners tilted upward in a quiet smile as he waits for your answer. His smile, you'd say, is beautiful.

"How did I do it?" you repeat, but he doesn't confirm.

"... Why don't I..." Your tongue tastes iron as you swallow nervously, flustering you further. Your heartbeat quickens as you open your mouth again.

He seems like the kind of man who would enjoy a cup of tea.

"Inform you of that... on a date?" You can tell he wasn’t expecting it. No normal person would expect such a question at this moment, though he shows no visible surprise.

"I'll tell you everything about it."

You eyes gloss over a crushed red bug held between his middle finger and his thumb.

Covering your red cheeks becomes the priority.

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