#best cheap recreational

[evilkaeya]

pm and ada on truce missions in different cities and they keep coming across restaurants that have signs hanged outside saying "banned for life" with teen skk's faces on them

[attapullman]

The Perfect Pink | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: While bartending for Rolling Acres Retirement's Valentine's Party, you encounter a pink-cheeked man and his cherry-loving cousins.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: all fluff with alcohol mentions

A Note From Mo: Here is my Pink Lady fic for @thedroneranger's Pick Your Poison event to go with this gorg moodboard! As a part-time mixologist and full-time Bob Floyd lover, this was such a fun concept to play around with and has inspired me to come up with more pink drinks. I've never been a Valentine's girly, but I fully believe this pink-cheeked WSO could convince me otherwise. To everyone who reads this, I love you bunches and bunches, all 365 days in the year!

It’s so pink. Horrendously. Abysmally. Pepto-bismally. PINK.

When you agreed to tend the bar in a pinch, a few bundles of carnations and candy pink paper hearts were your guess for the evening’s decorations. But when you showed up to Rolling Acres Retirement's Valentine’s Party holding a crate of soda water and a handful of shakers, your senses flatlined with the amount of pink covering every surface.

Petal pink tablecloths straightened over round tables; a small bouquet of magenta carnations attached to each folding chair and incensing the recreation hall of the retirement home. Heart-covered paper plates and folded napkins set up at each place setting, glittering confetti sprinkled around the tableware. The ceiling isn’t even a reprieve, a rainbow of fuchsia and rose and flamingo and blush balloons filling up every available inch of space.

Suzette on the front desk had complimented your dusky pink sweater - an appropriate choice for the holiday - but set against this backdrop you feel like another decoration. An oversized bauble that also makes cocktails and pours cheap wine.

And now, standing behind this makeshift card-table-turned-bar covered in bubblegum crepe paper, your brain might explode in a cloud of hot pink smoke. Counting out pours and trying not to slice yourself making garnishes is a struggle keeping up with all these orders. While the average age of the party goer may be eighty, they drink more than the 21st birthday bash you bartended last weekend. You’ve been here all of an hour and Mrs. Moscovitz has already downed three fuschia cosmopolitans.

While disappointed you don’t have more romantic Valentine’s Day plans - though, when have you ever had a date on this too pink day? - it’s fun to see who’s turned up to celebrate. White-haired couples are swaying on the makeshift dance floor, every shade of pink and red in their attire. Bridge groups and knitting circles are excitedly chatting at their respective tables, gossiping over who is in attendance and with whom. Even the staff have wide grins splitting their faces, enjoying the festivities that break up the bleak winter. It’s the least you can do to spend the holiday providing beverages for this crowd.

The best part is the families. While romantic love is thick in the air, so is platonic love. Family members of all ages have come out to spend the holiday with the residents. Mr. Gordon’s daughter and her family have driven hours to catch up over pot roast and sparkling cider while his grandson plays trucks over a pile of chocolates he snuck from Suzette.

Orders have slowed down and your eyes keep glancing over to Ms. Floyd’s table. The entire clan has showed up for dinner, dancing, and to take home a batch of her homemade snickerdoodles. Multiple relatives are taking up two entire heart-sprinkled tables. Your focus is mainly on the second table for too far from you, where the grandkids have been relegated to play cards and swap candy hearts to pass the time.

“Why don’t you go ask the pink lady for more cherries.” God, he’s cute. The only guy in this place near your age and his attention is stolen by a pair of toddler girls obsessed with the cherries in their Shirley temples. 

You divert your eyes quickly when you realize he’s talking about you and your pink sweater. The girls giggle shyly, the high pitched squeals of glee as they convince him to go up instead. Fiddling with shakers, wiping down the counter, you try to stay busy as you physically feel him approach the converted bar and your trembling hands.

“Hi!” His smile is thin and nervous and his cheeks are pink, blushing from his little cousins and their antics. Also because you’re much prettier up close and he’s wearing a shirt he’d never normally be caught in if his grandma hadn’t picked it out. 

He’s much cuter at this distance as well. Sandy hair combed neatly, one small strand slipping out behind his ear. Friendly cerulean eyes framed by golden wire spectacles, similar to the ones several of the ex-military men at Rolling Acres are sporting. His thin lips falter slightly as he takes in how well the pink of your sweater compliments your skin. God, he wishes he wasn’t wearing this shirt.

You spring into service mode and grab a fresh cocktail shaker. “What can I do you for?”

“I’m technically up here for some cherries.” You dutifully nod, hoping to hide the fact you’ve been watching him converse with the toddler girls in their matching baby pink dresses most of the night. You make a small dish of cherries up and push it toward him, shaking your head when he attempts to pay. “The thirty-eight cents of cherries is a small expense for a night those two will talk about for weeks. They’re on the house.”

He grabs the dish with a smile, but realizes he now has no excuse to stay by the bar. And while he loves his cousins, he’s on leave for a few more weeks and you’re really pretty. A few extra minutes wouldn’t hurt. He extends his hand with a timid smile. “I’m Bob.”

You reach out and shake his hand back as you introduce yourself, hoping the condensation coating your fingers isn’t too noticeable. He immediately commits your name to memory, happy to replace “The Pink Lady” with a name as fitting to you as yours.

He moves out of the way as a woman in a magenta scarf orders a round for her bingo group. Bob watches as you whir into action, pouring liquors and counting off ounces. The delicate way you garnish each drink so the owner feels special. Your gracious smile when a tip is stuffed into the heart-shaped velvet box provided to you for tips.

When the line at the bar dies down, he sidles back up to your makeshift station. Bob notices the way you eye the decorations warily, still adjusting to the deafening pink of it all. He drums lightly on the blushing pink tablecloth, catching your wide-eyed attention. “Everything all right?”

“Uh, this place is too…pink?” you laugh, gesturing to the overabundance of rosy hues surrounding you. For possibly the first time all night, Bob realizes that while you were the only pink thing that had his attention, it is suffocating in the recreation hall. 

“Yes, yes it is,” he chuckles right back, eyes soaking in the offending decorations. There’s a comfortable air between the two of you, and he decides to push his luck for more time with The Pink Lady.

Bob clears his throat, pulse thrumming through his body. Tonight is his one and only chance to land a date with the pretty bartender.

“So, to go with the theme, what is the pinkest drink you can make me?” He wiggles his eyebrows, his best attempt at flirting. A hint of a giggle escapes as you purse your lips, contemplating his challenge. 

“I can make you a pink lady.” 

He narrows his eyes. “Is that a real drink, or have you named it after yourself?”

“It’s real, I promise.” You’re all smiles at his attention as you combine the gin, applejack, and grenadine with a splash of lemon juice. He really could watch you work for hours.

As you reach for the last ingredient, his eyes bug out. “Is that an egg?” He’s a Navy man, his normal bar only has cocktails with two ingredients. Since when did eggs go in cocktails?

“When you dry shake an egg white it creates this nice foam, adds to the drink.” While he wants to come across as open-minded and cultured, he’s hesitant. “If you don’t like it, I’ll make you something else.”

He’s bewitched as you pour the perfectly pink drink into a plastic coup, the creamy white foam rising to top it off. A cherry balances the rim, one that won’t be stolen by his mischievous cousins. As he looks between the freshly poured drink and you, he swears your cheeks are the same happy pink.

You push the drink toward him, excited to share something new with a customer. Always a gamble as a bartender, but worth it when you expand someone’s palate. He gives you a tentative smile, unsure if he’s going to like it, but he really wants to impress you. In return, you give him an encouraging nod, completely unsure of how this will go. He takes a sip, the frothy mixture coating his tongue.

As far as he’s concerned, the drink is named after you. Not too sweet, not too tart, a divinely balanced combination of flavors in a perfect pink concoction. Bob is convinced you would taste just as good, especially with a cherry. The thought makes his brain blank.

“Do you like it?” Your hopeful eyes are endearing. He wants to brush the strand of hair from your cheek and assure you that he likes it, that he’d like anything you made him because you made it. But you’re practically strangers so he stumbles over his words as he promises it’s delicious. 

The bowl of cherries for his cousins still in his hand, Bob stands to the side of the bar and sips his tartly sweet drink, casually keeping up conversation with you as you serve other patrons. You’re glad for the company, enjoying the way he asks about your technique and mutters out the few things he knows about wine from conversations with his aunt. Despite the fact you’re working, it’s the best Valentine’s Day you’ve had in years with this bespectacled man watching you tend bar.

He’s just so cute, blushing his own special pink hue when your eyes connect while you shake up a few martinis.

“Uncle Bob!” There is no mistaking who is calling him over. Two identical heads pouting as they motion him over. His time with you is up. He gives you a sweet smile, trying to memorize every inch of your face, before motioning his hand filled with cherries in their direction. You bittersweetly grin right back, smile lingering as you start on Mr. Nickerson’s two merlots as you watch his broad shoulders walk away.

Oh, how you wish he would come back.

Because it’s a retirement home and not a frat house, by ten the party is wrapping up. You’ve exchanged shy glances with Bob a handful of times, but his family has taken up most of his attention with Navy questions and inquiring when he’s going to visit next. He barely registers the event is over before he’s rummaging through his mom’s handbag with his last attempt at salvaging the night.

You’re cleaning up your supplies when the Floyd clan walks past, all waving good night to you and the staff, thanking you all for a great Valentine’s night. The girls thank you for their cherries, a stem hanging from one’s lip. 

Staggering at the end of the crowd is Bob, his cheeks flushed and palms tingling. He stands in front of your table, rocking on his heels, working up his courage. You give him a warm smile, thanking him for his company, and he completely melts. As he holds up his occupied hand, he hopes this works.

“Forgot to slip this in earlier.” His smile is tense as he jams a few dollars through the absurdly small hole in your improvised tip box. You thank him before both blurting out awkward goodbyes. As he catches up with his family, a pang rings through your chest. Disappointed he’s gone, never to be seen again. 

Bob Floyd, a Valentine’s mirage you will remember fondly.

Once all your things are packed, you square things up with Suzette with your pay for the event and a promise to stop by to visit the residents later in the month. You schlep everything to the car, a mixture of emotions painting your face in the rearview mirror as you make your way back home. The weight of defeat keeping you from bringing anything inside except for that damn tip box you’re hoping will cover groceries for the week.

You pry open the velvet lid and are met with the best surprise.

There, at the bottom of your substitute tip jar, underneath all the singles the elderly stiffed you with, was a scrap of cheap rosy pink napkin. You unfurl it to see neat chicken scratch handwriting, the pen poking through the fabric in spots as he worked to write out his message with a phone number beneath.

I’m here until the 27th. Drinks on me? - Bob

Now that you think about it, maybe you do like pink.

taglist: @berryvanille @bobgasm @bradshawsbaby @cosmoeticss @creatchie8 @drxgxnslxyer @hangmanapologist @hiireadstuff @jessicab1991 @just-in-case-iloveyou @kmc1989 @maryelizabeth13 @petersunderoos96 @rhettsluvr @roosterforme @seitmai @sweetwhispersofchaos @topherwrites @xoxabs88xox @yuckosworld

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[ahgasegotarmy116]

Just Take It | Jeon Jungkook | Bonus Drabble 5

Summary: Jungkook has treated you like a princess all day for your birthday and it's all lead up to this very special moment (a little glimpse into their future 🤭) Pairing: Inexperienced f!reader x Best Friend's Dad Jungkook (20 year age gap) Word Count: 1.5k~ Warning: Honestly no warnings I think. Just some cute fluff and some suggestive language. Nothing crazy (written very quickly but I hope you guys still like it!) Requested by: 🧜‍♀️ anon 💜 (Happy Late Birthday my love) & another anon from a while back 💜 (sorry I didn't get it out till now 🥺) Start from the beginning

"Can I open my eyes now?" I ask, humoring him in this silly game that he's made of my birthday today. 

"Not yet, just a little closer" he say, guiding me by my hips and I soon feel the ground change from some sort of pavement to that of a stonework pathway. "Careful" he warns as I stumble when my foot gets caught on a rock. "I wouldn't have to be careful if I didn't have to keep my eyes closed" I grumble and he laughs before bringing me to a halt.

I feel him walk around me until he's standing right in front of me and tilts my head up towards him. "You and I both know you would've tripped on that rock anyways" he whispers against my lips causing me to shudder. The intensity of his words and actions mixed with the cool crisp air in this open area giving me goosebumps. 

He places a chased kiss on my pouted lips that try to respond to his but he's pulling back before I can even try to deepen it. "Okay, you can open them" he say, now standing behind me and I once I open my eye my breath is instantly taken away. 

"Jungkook" I whisper, a recreation of a beautiful white gazebo covered in twinkling lights and vines full of white roses accompanied by a table for two is the scene I'm met with. The warm glow scatters across the pathway as he ushers me closer. I turn around to face him once we've taken a closer look and I can see how nervous he looks after having revealed his hard work he had put together for the night. 

"You remembered" I say, blinking back the tears that I feel are no doubt making my eyes gloss over. "Did I do a good job?" he asks while he rubs the back of his neck, a nervous habit of his that always makes this strong confident man turn into a shy teenage boy, melting my heart and making me fall in love with him all over again. 

"It's perfect!" I say, going on my tippy toes and kissing him, hints of how I'll show my appreciation to him when we're alone again lightly laced through it. 

"It's almost as if we're in the actual movie!" I say, walking inside of the gazebo and admiring how much attention to detail he's put into this. "No wonder we've been watching A Cinderella Story so often" I say, now connecting the dots and finally figuring out why he had been so sneaky recently. 

"What? Can't a man just simply like a movie?" he playfully scoffs, walking closer to me and wrapping his arms around my waist to pull me close. "Thank you" I say and he hums in response. "Happy Birthday Darling" he replies, leaning down and rubbing his nose against mine. 

He pulls back and waves someone forward that had been hiding in the shadows and when I turn around I realize he's somehow managed to get a stringed quartette for the night. "Jungkook this is too much" I say, knowing that stuff like this definetly isn't cheap. 

"Don't worry, I only booked them for half an hour" he says making me laugh at his ways of trying to explain away how much he's spent on me the entire day as he's bought me almost everything I've so much glanced at, even when I asked him not to. 

I turn around and take a couple steps closer to the table and see the candles just waiting to be lit accompanied by my drink of choice on ice. 

"You-" I start off, turning around to face him but notice he's holding a white gift box wrapped with a white satin bow. "Jungkook" I scold, remembering how I told him to stop buying things for me already. "This is the last thing I promise" he says and I give him a warning glance before tugging on the ribbon and opening the lid and what I see inside really makes me want to cry this time. 

"I don't deserve all this" I say, tears welling up in my eyes and he panics and places the box on the table. "Please don't cry. I didn't mean to make you cry" he says, pulling me closer and placing a kiss on the crown of my head. 

"You've been treating me like a princess this whole day and then you not only do that but then plan all of this as well? Even down to the smallest details" I say, pulling away from him and reaching back into the box to pull out the beautifully, intricately designed pure white masquerade mask. 

"Well I did want to give you your own Cinderella Story for your birthday since I know it's your comfort movie. You do deserve this darling, and so much more" he say, wiping a stray tear off my cheek. "You even had us get breakfast at a diner this morning too" I chuckle and he does so right along with me. 

"What's wrong with that? Sam worked at a dinner in the movie right?" he asks and I nod my head in confirmation. "I should've known something was up when I saw roller skates" I say, joining along in his laughter. 

"You're just lucky I didn't try to get Hillary Duff over here to take your order" he teases poking me in the side which gains him a wack in the arm that he so dramatically responds to by faking a wince. "I would've preferred Jennifer Coolidge. She was so mean to Sam in that movie I would've loved to see her slip and fall in roller skates again" I wink and he continues laughing at my devious words. 

"You know she's like 60 years old now right? She could fall and break her hip" he says and I wave him off. "She's 62, she's not that old. If you're talking like that about her then you better start counting your years grandpa" I say patting him twice on the same bicep I hit earlier. 

"You're a little trouble maker you know you" he says, and tries to corner me. "Yes, yes I do. Don't get ahead of yourself though Daddy, we have company" I say, nodding towards the four who have been giving us a backing track to our nonsensical interaction. 

"Careful Bunny, you shouldn't be throwing words like that out in the open. I'm not opposed to bending you over that little table" he threatens and I visibly gulp, having forgotten exactly who I'm dealing with. "You know" I squeak out before clearing my throat, "You know you still haven't asked me to dance" I say and he smirks and steps back, giving me some breathing room and grabs the mask. 

"May I" he asks, holding it up so he can put it on me and I respond by turning my back to him so he can tie it. Once he's done his hands trail down my body and rest on my waist while he leans in and places some feather light kisses along my neck.

"Jungkook" I breathe out, trying but failing at adding a sterner tone to it. "Yes darling?" he asks, running his nose along the column of my neck. "A dance, just a dance" I say regrettably, lost in the feeling of him touching me like this but too embarrassed to let any of this go any further. 

He sighs against my skin before placing one more kiss this time under my ear and then twirling me around before dipping me into a low heated kiss. 

He stands back up and steadies me on my feet, still feeling a little woozy from the unexpected motion. He laughs and keeps a hold of my waist so I don't stumble before pulling me close and into that dance that I had mentioned. 

"You still didn't ask me" I grumble and he chuckles before pulling away, doing exactly as Austin Ames had done with his princely bow. "May I have this dance?" he questions and I wait a moment as if contemplating it and when he cocks his brow at me I immediately take his hand and he whisks me off my feet and twirls us about the small space. 

"Jungkook put me down!" I giggle and he slow his turns to a stop and places me back on my feet. "Are you trying to make me sick or something?" I ask in reference to all of the dipping and twirling and his casual efforts that just continue to take my breath away. 

"Not unless it's lovesick" he chuckles, placing a kiss on my forever pouted lips and walking over to pull out my chair. 

We continue the night with a candle lit dinner and his continued efforts to make me laugh and it's at that moment that I truly, with my entire heart hope that we will spend the rest of our lives together... 

And maybe in the next one too if he's lucky. 

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Taglist: @jkslipppiercing @trina864 @kaitieskidmore97 @goddesofimortality @coolbluedude @coralmusicblaze @whoa-jo @00frenchfries00 @pastelpinkjoon @joonwater Taglist continued in reblogs on my second blog @ahgasegotarmy116recs

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[jaylaxies]

hiiii ilysmm!!!!💗💗

wb enha hyung line's reaction on catching you watching porn?

heeseung would probably have a clue and he won’t care much but deep inside, he finds it annoying that you have to resort to porn videos when you’ve got a whole lee heeseung to pleasure your body. he’s gonna use that as an excuse to fuck you, “watching porn? do i not fuck you good enough?” he’d groan, hitting that one good spot that has you rolling your eyes.

jay was caught off guard when he heard moans coming out of your room but when he saw you watching porn straight on tv then he scoffed, because you could have called him to fuck you senseless. punishment? he’d simply gonna watch you rub your cunt while sitting next to you, not once touching you even if you cry. you need to overstimulate yourself and he won’t have it any other way.

jake would take this as an opportunity to propose that you guys watch filthy and cheap porn and get off to it together (he’s also into those milfs being fucked by lanky guys kinda porn) and he would ask you to roleplay or recreate some such scenes, which would get you both off even better than usual, he might also see the girl squirting in the video and then he’d be hellbent on making sure you do the same.

sunghoon is gonna peep in from the slightly ajar door of your room to see you all spread out and naked. he’s been having dreams about fucking you from so long and he takes this as the perfect opportunity to act clueless and stumble into the room, acting best as if he didn’t know what you were up to and then he’s nonchalantly gonna ask if he can join. hint: it’s gonna end up with his cock inside you.

[marigold-hills]

Oh I am so jumping in here.

Can you give us a dreamy summer wolfstar first kiss/get together, but put it in YOUR nostalgic summer. Like whatever that means for you. Where are they? What are they eating/drinking? What is the air like? The lighting? The smells and sounds?

I humbly bow before your altar take my compliments on your prose and pacing and metaphors as my offering 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

Hey! Loved this ask. It completely run away from me. Hope you enjoy it! (Also you said altar and offering and well. Those words clearly stayed with me.)

It’s wine and bread, a fancy cheese selection from Tesco’s. A little plastic pot of olives. No blanket, because they’re not tourists and don’t mind a bit of sand as seasoning.

The storm is coming in.

They can see it, across the vastness of water, darkening the horizon and stretching through the sky like spilled ink.

Recreating exactly how it was the first time, years ago:

Remus had said there’s a storm tonight. We should go and watch it.

On the beach? Sirius had asked, a bit bewildered. The wind was already picking up, and the logistics of sitting out in the open during a downpour didn’t enamour him.

Remus, undeterred, prepared a backpack. I know a place, he said, we’ll be hidden from the rain. Trust me?

And Sirius did: with his life, with his time. Followed him off the main promenade and across the dunes until they reached a hidden spot of sand: a bay, of sorts, with a railway bridge backed into the cliff side. The arches of its support beams only faced open towards the water, secluded otherwise by brick and clay.

“Used to come here with da, when I was a kid,” Remus told him: “there are fossils in the clay if you know where to look. Come out after heavy rain best, maybe we’ll find something tomorrow.”

They set up under one of the arches. Remus built a stone circle at the mouth of it, stacked it with sticks and driftwood he’d collected on their way. Set a crumpled wad of receipts from his pocket on fire and used it as kindling.

“Impressing me with your caveman skills here, Moony.” Sirius had known, of course, that wild streak within Remus, seen it shine through sometimes when he let his guard down, but this was something new. Large hands stoking the flame as it slowly engulfed the given wood, eyes alight with its reflection. Sirius felt a pull at his navel like a fishhook: handle me like this, the pull said.

He’d made a mistake, maybe, following Moony back to his parents’ house for the summer after their graduation. A miscalculation of how much he could stand watching him, in the summer heat, with sea breeze curling his hair.

Red wine, a couple paper cups. Sirius didn’t like it then yet: not like he pretended to, and it was a cheap bottle from the middle shelf. The aftertaste was sharp, it stayed on his tongue and the insides of his cheeks - dry, clinging.

Cheeses Remus had cut into cubes. Pungent Stilton with dark blue veins, Brie, white skin coating the creamy interior, fruity Wensleydale filled with cranberries.

They sat side by side by the fire as the storm hit. The rain a heavy curtain in front of them, the wind making their fire dance erratically. Sirius had never seen it like this, surprised by the intensity of the smell of salt in the air. Despite the cover, a thin mist of spray hit his face when the wind blew just right.

Remus had made him a canapé of sorts, spread a chutney on a finger-torn piece of sourdough and topped it with the Stilton. He ate it in one bite. Asked for another, just like it, the taste round and warming, somehow.

“It’s the chutney,” Remus said. “There’s chilli in it. Try an olive.”

A new thing, this, being presented with food like offerings. Remus watched each bite Sirius took with an intent, as if they were eating something rare and costly. Like this, with the storm above them and the fire in Moony’s eyes, Sirius felt each mouth full was something precious, something to be cherished. A worship, and he wasn’t sure if he was the god being praised or the offering on the altar.

They’d almost finished the bottle when Remus asked want to swim? With such wonderful abandon that Sirius didn’t even hesitate. Yes, he said, and they took off their trousers and shirts and walked hand in hand into the water.

The first crack of thunder rang out when they were knee deep. Remus laughed, free and loud like a curlew, head thrown back into the falling rain. The sky turned white with the lightning and Sirius thought it’s you, that needs to be worshipped.

Moments like this, though, something Sirius didn’t know: it’s too easy, for thoughts to be said aloud.

Remus turned to him like a trap closing. “Is that right?”

“You look like a god of the sea.”

(Another break of thunder, a wave sweeping into them, rough with the storm but soft like a touch.)

Remus took his hand, pulled him further into the water. There were raindrops caught in his eyelashes, and Sirius realised I’m close enough to touch them. He did, shaky fingers, as lighting lit them up. The water made Remus’ curls heavy and darker, sat on his skin in a fine sheen. “I want to lay you out onto the sand,” Sirius thought-said, “trace the path of every raindrop.”

“You’ll be at it for hours.”

“As long as you’ll let me.”

The first time they kissed, Remus tasted like salt.

NOTES:

I feel compelled to point out: everyone. Please don’t drink and swim! Don’t swim in the storm! Especially not in the sea.

I don’t know how I didn’t realise before you’re the person who wrote The Homecoming of Sirius Black??? I LOVED it. Honestly the fact that you enjoy my writing feels like such a massive compliment.

[jumpingjoltiks]

I want sugar daddy submas but a date with emmet. I feel like after a fancy lunch. They went to buy luxury furniture. And emmet asks the reader to decorate their house or room in ways that she wants it to be. And when the reader is choosing what sofa goes best in the living room (or her room) Emmett is just imaging all the kinds of things he can do with you on that sofa (and whether that sofa is good for sexy time.) when looking at all the mirror he just thinks about how he can f you in front of the mirror and see all the angle

Anon, I am so unbelievably sorry that this took so long to answer, but it has been eating at my brain for the entire time it's been sitting in my inbox and I really wanted to get it right. I hope what I finally came up was worth the wait!

Luxuries

Summery: Emmet takes you furniture shopping for the twin's summer house. Certain unspoken presumptions and misunderstandings in your relationship with the twins come to light. A little angst with a happy ending 💕

Pairings: Sugar Daddy!Emmet x Reader (GN), Implied Sugar Daddy!Ingo x Reader

Warnings: 18+ content (Minors Begone!), Sugar Daddy-esque relationship (and the consequences and implications of such), smut, dirty fantasies, personal and financial insecurities.

After a wonderful morning of trying on clothes and being spoiled to death by Ingo, Emmet meets both of you at a small diner. You’ve never even heard of this place but the atmosphere here is incredibly cozy.

The whole interior is a beautiful, solid hardwood, and each covered table is set up against a curtained window that lets in the light. The booths, far from the cheap vinyl you're used to in diners, are instead actual loveseats made with real leather. The tile floor below you is a lovely dark green, which makes the isle in between tables look like an emerald sea.

“I didn’t think you’d like a place like this. It’s very vintage.” And fancy. You think. This is like no diner you've ever been to.

“That’s because it’s been in business for nearly a century.” Ingo says as he takes the seat across from you, “We’ve been coming here since we first started at Gear Station.”

He sets a small bag under the table. It contains a wonderfully soft cardigan you'd found on a sale rack on your way out of the tailor's. Its price tag could have fed you for two weeks, but Ingo insisted on buying it for you anyway.

It's absurd to feel weird over a cardigan, you tell yourself, especially when it was the cheapest thing bought for you today. You put on a brave face at the tailor’s, mostly because there was someone else already there, but you’re really not used to having so much money to use on whatever you want.

Maybe that was it. The rest of the beautiful, beautiful clothes could be excused as a business expense, like a uniform for a job. But the cardigan, that was for you only. There was no getting around that.

Emmet's voice startles you out of your thoughts, and all of a sudden you're back in the diner.

“Yup yup! This building used to be the dining carriage on the luxury cross-regional line.” Emmet explains, sliding in next to you. His whole expression is aglow with happiness. You’ve come to understand that different smiles mean different things with him. This one shines with warmth. “They have done a lot of work to preserve and recreate as much as they can. These are even the same kind of chairs and tables they used back then!”

“I never even knew this was here…” You take a moment to marvel at the intricate wallpaper and polished wooden walls and try very hard not to think about how much has already been spent today.

“It’s a real gem, don’t you think?” Ingo’s eyes are sparkling. He looks so happy just to share this with you. “Everything here is wonderful as well. Please take a look at the menu and order whatever you’d like. It’s on us.”

~~~

If the twin’s choice of lunch surprised you, Emmet’s choice of where to take you on a date shocks you even more.

“Is this… a furniture store?”

“Mhmm!” Emmet watches your expression carefully. “I know it is unusual. But I want your help picking out some pieces for my and Ingo’s summer house. We have to host a bunch of parties this year. You’ll be spending a lot of time there with us and we want you to be comfortable.”

To his credit, Emmet doesn’t mention a thing about wanting to buy furniture for your place. He’s never been inside (truthfully, he doesn’t even know where you live), but judging from what Elesa’s told him about your lifestyle, it could probably use something nicer. And he would love to give it to you.

“But shouldn’t Ingo be here for that too?”

“Hmmmm, no. We have verrry similar tastes. And we both trust your sense of style, so he agreed to let us go together.”

“Oh. Okay then.” You still look unsure, but Emmet doesn’t seem to notice. He takes you by the hand and your heart flutters inside your chest.

“Full steam ahead!”

~~~

Calling the store massive is an understatement. Even in a city like Nimbasa, you've never seen anything like this.

It's like a labyrinth in here. Every way you turn is a new room full of a setup of furniture. Some of them are kitchens with huge sinks and granite countertops. Others are elaborate dining rooms with tables set for fifty. The ones Emmet most wants to explore are the living rooms.

Maybe this can be a good opportunity to get to know him after all. While browsing a whole wall full of chairs, you ask about his decorating style and preferences.

"Ingo and I like a modern look. It fits with our professional image, so it’s good for places we have to host in." His expression seems reserved, despite his smile.

You think back to how much they loved the old, vintage dining car, and wonder if sticking to a modern 'professional image' can be joined with what they actually like in practice.

Your eyes scan over the chairs, and you find a dark brown, almost black leather piece toward the center. It's traditional, in that the upholstery is very classic, but the lines are crisp and sharp, modern. You don't think it would look out of place in either scenario. You point it out.

"What about that one?"

Emmet brings a hand to his chin, considering, silent. You're worried you may have made a mistake until he quite suddenly turns around and marches across the room. He stops in front of a matched pair of very modern, round side tables, one black and one white, accented with marble tops and gold trim.

"A pair of those chairs with these tables could fill a nook by one of the windows." He says. "Verrry nice. An excellent combination!"

"That would be so cozy! It would be a nice place to sit and talk for a while." You say, excited that he's on board. "A rug under them all would help mark the space as its own little area.”

"Yes!" He puts a hand on your shoulder. “Let's mark these down and remember to look at rugs later. For now, couches."

~~~

There are almost as many couches in this place as there are chairs.

At one point, Emmet grabs your hand and pulls you down onto a loveseat with him to test it out. It's very comfy. Comfier still with you cuddled up under his arm.

Across from you both is a mirror on a large wall. It’s beautiful, with golden leaves and flowers surrounding the frame. In it, Emmet can see you curled into his side. He sees your reflection turn and gaze up at him. The look in your eyes is like he hung the stars. He wants you to always look at him like that.

How easy would it be, to turn his head and kiss you? His lips would fit against yours perfectly. He’s thought about it so many times already. In the dead of night. In the quiet morning. In the dull monotony of the work day. He wonders how you would react. Would you swoon against him, melt into him like he was made for you? His hand has already found its way to your waist. One quick tug, and you'd fall right into his lap - where you belong.

You'd sigh as his lips ghost their way down your neck. He'd trail kisses across your shoulders like rain. You’d gasp at the rough texture of his sideburns against your sweet, soft skin. He’d nip, maybe even bite. Ingo had gotten you those clothes in black… he’d have to mark you in other ways. In places only he could see.

Emmet thinks of his hand slipping across your neck to give a gentle squeeze. You’d shudder in his arms and your eyes would slip closed. His hand would slide down across your chest. Lower. Lower. He feels you breathe against him. The fluttering of your heartbeat. Lower. To the waist of your pants. He’d stop, rubbing his thumb against the line where clothing meets skin, until your hand wraps around his and shows him exactly what you want.

He’d look up from where he sucks dark bruises onto your shoulder. Silver eyes blown dark with lust would meet yours through the reflection. You’d watch yourself become the very image of desperation as he worked you. You would see how he took you apart piece by piece and built you back together with only his touch. The jerking of your hips against his hand. The friction driving you to a squirming mess against him. You’d be laid out before him in the mirror like a feast.

"Emmet..." Your voice is like honey to his ears. A voice on the breeze that whispers, begs for more. He’d give you anything. Everything. "Emmet..."

…

"Emmet, are you there?"

He snaps out of his trance. Just like that, the dream is gone. He's back in the furniture store with you sitting next to him.

"I am Emmet. I was lost on a train of thought. What were you saying?"

“This chair is nice, but I don’t know about the color. I wanted to know what you think.”

“I think we should get this mirror.”

“The mirror?” You look baffled, and turn to make a face at your reflection. It doesn’t really seem like his style, “Why?”

“I like the view I’m seeing in it.”

~~~

Emmet circles a huge sectional. It’s been presented with a luxurious, dark grey fabric. His hands sweep across the back and he notes that even the top is cushioned. There’s so much room, he could fuck you in a different position on it every day for a month and still have opportunities for more. The prospect has merit…

He shakes himself out of it. Any more daydreaming, and you’ll start to get worried about him. Besides, as much as he wants it to be, your relationship isn’t like that with them. Not yet.

“What about this couch?” He asks as you take a seat. You bounce as you plop down, and his fingers tighten indistinguishably on the upholstery.

Its humiliating for you to think about how this couch wouldn't even fit in your apartment. It’s lovely, really. And very nice to sit on. It's even softer than your bed! But it’s far too big for your little studio, (if you could even call a space so small a studio. You’re pretty sure Elesa's closet is bigger than your apartment).

“It’s really comfy! Will it work in your summer house?”

“It might be a little small…” He thinks aloud, coming around the side to drop next to you. Emmet leans back, putting his feet up onto the ottoman in front. “We could add a few more sections to it. It would look nice in the conversation pit. Or…”

He turns to you with a look on his face that’s clearly trying to be nonchalant.

“We could always get it for your place.”

You nearly choke. “My place?” You look away, trying to control your expression. There’s no way that would work. It couldn’t even fit it through the door. You try to keep your voice measured, throw in a small laugh, “I don’t know about that…”

“If you do not like it, there are lots of other things here. We could always find something else.”

Emmet says it like buying something like this for you is nothing. And for him, maybe it is. It occurs to you that you don’t really know much about their lives at all, or how well off they actually are. Maybe they really did go through life not even thinking about what it cost them.

Meanwhile, your funds have been so low that you haven’t even thought about replacing the ratty old futon you’ve had since college. There are a million other things that you’re more concerned about than your comfort - like fixing your car, or paying off your school debts, or how until recently, you struggled to afford just surviving from one month to another.

“Um.. maybe. Why don’t we take a look in the next room.”

Anything to get away from this couch.

~~~

Emmet’s warm smile has fallen. His lips are pursed and there’s a furrow in his brow, like how he looks when trying to come up with battle strategies. You pick at your cuticles. Silence stretches out in between you two like an impassible river. Emmet has always been quieter than his brother, but it’s never been like this before.

“You said you have a conversation pit in your summer home?” You ask, trying to kickstart the conversation again. He’d also said you’d be spending time there, so… “When will I get to visit?”

And you pray the answer is still soon.

Some tension seems to leave him as he answers, “We usually host two parties for the season. Ingo and I would love you to be there for both,”

“I’d like that!” You answer, a little too quickly. But he seems to take it well. He almost looks relieved, and that comforts you as well.

Once you’ve broken the ice, conversation flows easily between you two once more. In fact, you’re both doing really well together! Your chatter is lighthearted, sometimes even boldly teasing, and though you have to hustle to keep up with his long legs and purposeful stride, you find he keeps looking toward you, like he wants to make sure you’re still with him. It’s endearing.

Until he tries to buy you another couch. Another wave of shame crests over you – it’s so powerful that you can’t think of what to do or how to save this moment without losing it. And it was going so well, too!

“Emmet, please stop. I’m sorry, but I don’t think you should buy this.”

“What, why?” He seems baffled, like he can’t figure out what you mean, “Is the color wrong? You shouldn’t worry. We can get it redone to fit your tastes.”

“I- no. That’s not- I just wouldn’t be comfortable with it.”

“But… it’s very comfortable?” Emmet looks confused, “The cushions are plenty soft. You just said so.”

“No, no. I mean, I don’t feel comfortable with you buying something like this for me!”

"But that’s why we're here. You deserve to be comfortable."

He pauses for a moment, as if struck by something.

"Are you not comfortable? With Ingo and I buying you things?"

You pause. Today has been a lot, with Ingo taking you to such a fancy, expensive tailor and Emmet wanting to buy you all of this new furniture. It’s so much money. More than you’ve ever had to spend on your own. But truthfully, it’s nice too. To be able to look at something and not have to worry about what it cost. To just decide you can have it, no matter what it was.

And it was nice, SO nice, to have people who wanted to give it to you.

"It's been really nice. But…" You sit down on the nearest couch, eyes facing downward as you try to put together the words to express how you’re feeling without choking.

But at what cost? You’re not naive. You know that this relationship is transactional. Every debt will have to be paid eventually. Once it’s all wrung up, what will the price on your shoulders be?

You’re scared that soon the spell will be broken. The debt collector will come knocking and demand something you can’t give. What will you do then, stuck with a price you can’t bear to pay and no way to back out? It’s terrifying. Would Ingo and Emmet do that to you? You’ve known them long enough to think that they probably wouldn’t, but how can you really be sure? How can you be sure of anything?

Emmet carefully sits across from you, patiently waiting for your next words.

“I don’t know why you’re both… It’s all so much, and I don’t know what you’re expecting from me in exchange for all of this.” Your expression is worried, almost scared.

Emmet feels his veins turn to ice. He suddenly feels like how he did as a child, making a rookie mistake in a battle and finding out how quickly and badly things could backfire on him. This was the last impression he or Ingo ever wanted to give.

"We are not buying you things because we want something from you. We wanted to do this for you because we like seeing you happy. You should have nice things." Your eyes are watery. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and offers it to you. “We only want you to be happy. Is that hard to believe?”

Emmet knows now that the game is almost up. The three of you are going to have to sit down and talk about your relationship – it’s all too quickly growing out of the convenient agreement it started as and into something more. They want to give you more, but Emmet realizes that they shouldn’t have assumed you’d just accept without talking it through first. You were so much more than what you could give to them. Yet somewhere along the way he and Ingo had both failed to consider how you might make assumptions about their intentions.

And then there’s the matter of their attraction to you. Emmet likes you. Wants you. They both do. But they can’t stand the idea of you thinking they’re buying you. Love that is an obligation is not what they want. It is so much more than that for them.

“I am Emmet. And I am sorry. I should have known it was too much to offer.” He says as you wipe your eyes. “I am serious though. Neither Ingo or I would ever expect anything like that.”

“I-” You take a deep breath, “Thank you. I’m sorry too. I should have told you how I was feeling sooner.”

Emmet reaches out and takes your hand in his. This time, you don’t pull away.

“Do you think we could start our date over?” He asks. You look at him and know that if you said no right now, he would take you home and everything would still be okay. “What if we just did something fun together instead? The amusement park is still open.”

You laugh through the last of your tears. “I’d like that. Can we ride the ferris wheel?”

He rubs a thumb over your knuckles.

“That sounds perfect.”

[jinkiezzsstuff]

I absolutely loved the Emily and Charlie ideas you wrote so I was hoping to request another Charlie x male reader with some smut (but not the main focus). Idea being everyone going out for an evening with Charlie staying at the hotel to work, secretly wanting some company but telling everyone to have fun anyway. Reader didn't go out and found her later in the evening (maybe can tell how she's feeling) so offers some company/someone to cuddle. The main smut I'd like to include would be her leaving some scratch or kiss marks and her being quite touchy/hands on.

I’m so glad you enjoyed the others teehee i tried my best with this so i hope you enjoy it but im not too happy with how it turned out tbh, idk why, i guess it could be because i didn’t feel like during the smut scenes i did charlie justice, lmk what you think.

Charlie x male!reader

After Party

warnings: creampie, biting, scratching, kinda rushed smut, angsty charlie, possibly ooc charlie but i can’t tell, charlie n vaggie are friends, im not sure if there’s anything else, oh swearing, NOT PROOFREAD beware of errors.

word count: 2K

Charlie was tired. Between her father disbelieving in her, Alastor picking a fight with him, the failed meeting with Adam, and finding out Vaggie was an angel? She was over and exhausted. She tried to keep up her mood but she just couldn’t stop the spiralling thought process of handling everything on her own. It seemed like every step forward she had to take four steps back, nobody believed or respected her.

“Cmon, we needa little par-tay.” Angel whined pushing himself over the back of the couch dramatically. Charlie hummed, barely listening as the crowd of sinners lingered in the little living room-like area. “We don’t need anymore fuckin parties, spider.” Husk muttered before taking a big swig of his drink. “I don’t know, I think a little bit of recreational activity could really brighten the spirits!” Alastor exclaimed, and as much as Charlie would like to join the fun, if she didn’t finish up the work she had she knew it would only stress her out further, but she knew the others worked hard too and deserved a little treat.

Reaching into her pocket she pulled out some cash and beckoned over Alastor. “Here, why don’t you take everyone out to relax?” She said softly, despite her desire for company and hope that one of the few would stay back to assist. “Aren’tcha comin’ toots?” Angel who jumped up the moment Charlie pulled out money asked, putting one of his hands on her shoulder. “Oh no, i’ve got sooo much to do here, you guys go on without me! Bond a little!” She smiled as brightly as she could, although anyone with a keen eye could tell it was forced. In the back of her mind she was hoping for more punch back, more of her friends to beg her to come out with them, but instead they shrugged her off and left rather quickly.

Sighing Charlie rung her hands together and walked up the stairs slowly, vacant and alone, the hotel now seemed so eerie. She made her way to an office one that had been used by the whole team she had, so herself, Vaggie and Alastor. She plopped herself lazily on the ripped leather office chair, air slowly escaping the cheap foam as she did. Charlie couldn’t help the bitter feelings stirring around in her; she was always happy to help her friends and wanted them to have fun and relax, she just wished maybe they cared a little more about her? It was a confusing sensation, she knew Vaggie cared, but at times she felt more like a personal body guard rather than friend, and Alastor, she knew deep down, didn’t actually care.

Opening her phone she decided to try and ease her mind before sorting out the paperwork she had piling, unfortunately the universe wasn’t kind to her. Opening Sinstagram the first sight she was greeted with was Angels varying posts and stories which included all the crew members piled into a booth enjoying their drink of choice. It made a scorned yucky feeling of jealousy tangle within her stomach. Groaning she pulled open a drawer and stuck her phone in it, slamming it shut after. “It’s better to just work.” The princess mumble pulling the first stack of papers near her; the billing’s for their failed comercial.

After an hour of word Charlie sat back in her seat and messaged her sore neck. Pulling her phone from the drawer she checked the time. 23:48. Having no idea when the others would get back, she shuffled from the office to the second story balcony for some air. “Oh sorry I didn’t know you were here!” Charlie exclaimed, seeing you leant over the balcony railing. Looking over your shoulder you gave the little devil a warm smile. “You can join.” You say beckoning her forward, with a sigh and a forced smile Charlie came up alongside you, mimicking your stance. “What’re you still doing here?” Charlie questioned eyeing you from her peripheral. Your brow quirked and your face turned to confusion, with a quick hum you replied. “Just relaxing..?” The statement came out uncertain and wobbly, but you weren’t quite sure what she meant.

“No, i mean why didn’t you go out with the others?” Your head tilted back as you let out an ‘ah’, now understanding what she meant. “I just, well, this is the only time i get free yknow, always gotta be doing something so it’s nice to be alone, but i also want to have fun with them, but that drains me yknow?” Charlie quickly nodded her head at that completely understanding where you were coming from. “Yeah i know what you mean. I wish somebody stayed back with me.” Nudging yourself lightly into her, she met your eyes with curiosity floating in her own. “Well I stayed back, why don’t we relax together?” You suggest warmly, smiling fondly down at her. Charlie momentarily stuttered, blushing at the way her mind wandered to naughty places.

“Ahem, uh, sure! Yes! Let’s do that!” The princess fumbled, pushing herself away from your hold. You could tell she was flustered as she walked off leading you to whatever part of the hotel she’d choose to relax in, you felt a little voice in the back of your head egging you on to tease her, and who were you to deny your great mind. “Alrighty this it my room! Uhhh, why don’t we watch a movie or something..?” Charlie trailed off leading you into her bedroom.

You took a quick look around enjoying the aesthetic her room held. Charlie kicked her shoes off and pulled her jacket from her shoulders. “You can lounge on the bed if you want, i totally don’t mind!” You grinned and got onto the bed, watching as she frantically ran around “Calm down hun, you look real stressed.” You urged her frantic pacing causing loose hairs to tangle and fly out from her ponytail. “Ugh, i know!” Sighing she finally plopped on the bed beside you and laid back hands folded on her stomach and eyes closed. Leaning over slightly to look down on her, you observed her somewhat relaxed face as you watched her slow her breathing down. Assumably trying to cease the slow crawling panic that was clawing at her. “It may be a little forward but I heard compression and hugs can help stress, you wanna cuddle or some shit?” Your voice came out slightly tight a little unsure of how to go about the request. Charlie’s eyes fluttered opened and blinked toward you, after a moment of silent contemplation Charlie sighed happily opening her arms. With a huff and a smile you scooted down, wrapping your arms around her while laying beside her.

She scooted up into your side, her right hand sliding up your chest and around your shoulder. It sent shivers down your spine, and blood straight to your dick, embarrassingly so. Ignoring the sensation, your hand gently traced shapes into Charlie’s side where your arm was placed. Charlie’s head slowly lifted and shifted from the bed to your chest, tucking herself under your chin. Her hair tickled at your nose and chin, you could smell her shampoo and the perfume she’d used. You tightened your grip subtly, enjoying the warmth she let off, and with a hum she swung one of her legs over your hips, twisting her body entirely against you.

You took a deep breath attempting to calm your heart and the tightening sensation in your pants. Like the devil spawn she is, Charlie began tracing your chest, flattening her palm against your chest and trailing down from your neck, to the hem of your jeans, and back up to your neck again. Taking a deep breath you brought your hand up to you with her hair in attempts to distract you.

“Thanks for this.” She mumbled nuzzling her face further into your chest. You hummed eyes lazily dancing around shapes your eyes made up on the canopy above. “Any time.” You replied after a moment. The two of you laid there silently, softly the two of you let your hands drift across eachother innocently. It wasn’t until charlie’s hand ducted under your shirt to touch your bare chest that the air in the room got thick and heated. Breath hitching you zeroed in on her claws softly scratching down your chest. “Charlie,” You warned as her claw nicked the waistband of your jeans. Charlie knew good and well what she was doing, could you blame her? You’ve always been so attentive to her feelings and emotional state, the first to check on her after a stressful situation and give her the best advice you could.

With sudden need shooting through Charlie she straddled your waist bracing herself against your chest. Your hands reflexively went to her hips, eyes shooting up to meet her own attempting to figure out what the hell she was doing. She traced her claws down your tshirt covered chest, and when she made it to the bottom her hands wiggled underneath the fabric to paw at your warm skin. As she did you traced circles on her hips, and quirked a questioning brow at her. “Whatcha up to princess?” Charlie smiled shyly, trying to hide her face in her shoulder. “I just want to repay you for your kindness towards me.”

Your face twisted with worry, abruptly you sat up, making her gasp and tucked your hands behind her back to keep her from falling. “I don’t want you to feel like you owe me,” You quickly say, however Charlie pushed you back down, shushing you as she did. “It’s more then just that, i think you know they though. Let’s relax, desttress.” With that being said, you tossed aside your tshirt while Charlie eagerly undid your pants, hands shaking as she did. Your hands decided not to diddly saddle and undo her pants simultaneously, needing to feel her speedily.

You were already achingly hard, precum dripping down your shaft as Charlie shakily gripped you giving your head a soft squeeze. Pulling her hand away Charlie kicked off the pants that clung underneath her knees, and readied herself against you. You hummed out in pleasure relaxing into the mattress as she sunk down onto you, above you Charlie whimpered and squeezed her eyes shut, clenching onto every vein and ridge. It was delectable, she couldn’t understand why she’d never gone for this before. Bottoming out, Charlie’s legs shook, her body would involuntarily convulse every now and again as she attempted to adjust to the size of you. Falling forward unable to keep herself up she sunk her nails into your chest making you groan deeply, bucking your hips up into hers.

Nuzzling herself into your neck as you took the reigns, thrusting up into her at a steady pace, she began to leave teeth marks and hickies along your neck, desperate moans broken out between nips and bites. Your arms encased her pulling her near as you roughly fucked up into her at a brutal pace, her juices dripping down you. Erotic, loud slapping noises were all that you could hear in the room accompanied by Charlie’s whimpers and please. “Fuckkk, yknow how long i’ve waited for this? They don’t know what their missing not staying around someone like you.” You say splaying your fingers through her hair as you do, at this point Charlie’s body laid limp atop your own, your knees up and angled to continue your rapid pace.

“Please,” Charlie begged clenching tightly around you, you huffed out a moan that you attempted to cover and slid your hands down to squeeze her ass. Groaning loudly, you pushed her over, still inside you hovered over her, pulling her legs up over your shoulders to gain new access. With this angle you were able to hit different areas making Charlie squeal. “Oh fuck Charlie,” You groaned as your balls slapped against her ass, finally you felt the band snapping and slowly you filled her with cum, pumping all of what you had inside her. Charlie cried out clenching, and convulsing against you. She tried to inch away screaming your name loudly as she road out her high against you. When the two of you had finished, catching your breaths, you laid beside her, pulling her into your chest.

She rolled her head from one side to face you, her eyes glazed over barely seeming like she was there. “Didja mean what you said about wanting this for so long?” You nodded at her, the softness in her voice was music to your ears and made goosebumps crawl against your skin. “Yeah, since i got here, you’ve had my eye.” Humming softly the princess said nothing, but buried her head in your chest.

[yaksha-lover]

I'm not sure if you're still taking requests but if you are, do you think you could write a short drabble about Malleus missing Yuu after they've gone home to the point of feeling haunted? Like the feeling is so immense and overwhelming to him that he feels unwell and everything reminds him of them. Just a lot of angst and stuff lol. I hope this ask was clear enough and thank you for taking the time to read it, I really love your writing!

Malleus dreams of you, most nights.

Sometimes of old memories, sometimes of futures that will never come to pass. It’s bittersweet, if not lovely, to distract himself with an illusion.

Sometimes he dreams the two of you aren’t who you are in this world; that maybe in another life you’re born into the same universe and he isn’t destined to be a king. That the two of you live a normal life together, just like anyone else.

He can’t fool himself for long. Something is always off; the specks of colour in your eyes not quite right or your smile vague. It only adds another layer of agony, forcing him to curse his own fallible memory when he realizes he is beginning to forget what you look like.

When he passes by the bench on campus where he’d told you a joke he’d stolen from Lilia and he realizes he can no longer recall the charming sound of your laughter, making his heart flutter almost painfully.

Even the gargoyles around Ramshackle dorm cannot entice him to walk that path again. It’s too much to see your former home, to let himself forget for a moment and knock on your door before remembering you will never be there to open it again.

Time, Lilia tells him. You will be okay. In time.

Even his guardian seems unconvinced by his own words, doing his best to comfort Malleus. He appreciates the sentiment, but the words are empty to him.

It seems inevitable that there’s something that will never quite be the same again in his world. No one else is you, after all. How can one recreate the exuberant feeling of swimming in the ocean with a mere puddle? The warmth and light of the sun with a campfire? Anything, no, anyone else simply pales in comparison, a cheap imitation which only serves to irritate him.

The others are worried about him, he can tell. Lilia comments when Malleus only picks at his plate during dinner time, trying to joke that he will loose his strength without sustenance. Silver gives his own words of concern, asking Malleus how he is doing. Sebek offers to make him any dish to return his appetite, vowing to do whatever it takes to keep him happy and healthy. For a moment, Malleus thinks of asking if Sebek will bring you home to him.

Sometimes he wonders if he made you up in his head. You were like an angel to him, a being so perfect that he could look at you and spend hours wondering how you were even real. Could it be his lonely imagination conjured some illusion to satiate him? To stop him from falling further and further into the depths of his own mind?

The only ones who seem to share in his grief are Grim and your two Heartslabyul friends. He’d never been the friendliest with them before, beyond basic curtesy, but he sometimes finds himself seeking them out now. It’s a bit comforting for Malleus to see that he is not the only one in the world who remembers you, nor the only one shaken by your absence.

Grim, perhaps, shares in his experience the most. The beast is uncharacteristically solemn, these days. He is the one who answers the door at Ramshackle when Malleus knocks. He supposes they give each other false hope, in that way. Malleus knocks, hoping that you’ll open the door. Grim opens it, hoping it’s you knocking.

He wants to be angry with you. For befriending him, for making him love you, for leaving him behind. But how can he? Falling in love was neither his choice nor your own. As for leaving him…it seems you did not feel the same, and that is not something he can fault you for.

You were his everything, but it seems he was just not worth leaving your own everything behind.

[amyjdewinehouse]

JUST WATCHED THE AMY WINEHOUSE MOVIE

I am going to start by saying that I do NOT think that this movie is made for Amy Winehouse's fans, but rather for people who barely know anything about her life and artistry — and still, the movie falls short in doing Amy even a bit of justice.

Let's start with some of my grievances:

They portray Amy as a very annoying and unlikable person. I think most people are going to leave the theater thinking of how annoying Amy Winehouse was: they portray her as being immature, a homewrecker, not very smart, toxic, disrespectful, and violent. Was Amy like that? Maybe she did have some of those traits (perhaps at the beginning of her career?) but the movie fails miserably in really counterweighting those negative traits with any good ones, making Amy appear so unlikable to the viewer.

The singing is NOT good. Marisa Abela sounds whiny. Some of the songs sound pretty bad, especially "Stronger Than Me," it sounds terrible! The only song that I think sounded pretty decent was Valerie.

Its timeline is very confusing. There are many BIG jumps here. For example, there is only ONE scene between Amy's performance at the Grammys (2008) and hear death (2011). There are three years unaccounted for in Amy's life. They didn't even bother to include Amy's collaboration with Tony Bennett, which was one of Amy's highlights of her career. This is only one example of many confusing jumps throughout the movie. It is very surface level!

Some of the wardrobe is way off. In this movie Amy was wearing Back to Black era clothing during the Frank era. They did a good job of recreating some of her actual dresses, skirts, etc., but implemented them wrong in the movie's timeline. For example, Amy wearing her iconic 2011 Fred Perry argyle long sweater... in 2004?!?! Like, c'mon

There is a nude scene... why?! There is absolutely no reason to have a nude scene in an Amy Winehouse movie. Period.

Now onto the salvageable things about this movie:

I personally think the Glastonbury scene was the best part of this movie. The recreation was quite good and the whole scene added a lot to the movie in terms of showing Amy's feelings towards Blake.

I have very mixed feelings about the last scene because on one hand the end was super rushed. In fact, the entire movie felt rushed but the end, in particular, felt rushed. However, the last scene (hint: Ava flies in paradise) made me quite emotional. I was almost tearing up. I thought it was a beautiful way to the end the movie.

Overall thoughts:

I think this movie shouldn't have been made not because I am opposed to an Amy Winehouse biopic, but because this movie does a disservice to her life and legacy. It is a badly acted and at times it looks cheap. Amy deserved a better dramatization of her life. I hope we'll see that one day in the hands of a good director.

My rating? 3/10

[hajihiko]

What is your favorite Candle scent?

(And also, if it pleases you, what do you HC the Dangans fav scents are?)

HMMM.... been pretty fond of sandalwood recently. I didnt know I liked it because I didnt know it existed with a name, but it reminds me of wood varnish found in stuff like old jewelry cases (or in my case, an old music box)!

Also because I actually wrote and drew something to do with sandalwood scent hehe. But. I dont like it enough yet to post it.

But on that topic;

Hajime doesnt like almost any artificial scent; he can smell the actual chemicals too well, and a lot of it makes him feel kinda gross (cheap perfumes straight up smell like pure alcohol). He likes natural scents, like petrichor or the shore, stuff that changes often and can't possibly be recreated in a lab.

Sonia likes a specific scent for a specific creme from her homeland that can't be found anywhere anymore. When she tries to describe it, it sounds ... weird? But she SWEARS it was great. And of course, she likes book smell. Learns to tolerate the smell of rodent enclosures.

Kazuichi is completely neutral about the smells in his near surroundings (he might smell like oil, grease, gasoline and sweat, but he barely notices (someone ELSE might notice, and even appreciate)). Hes always liked "girly" smells, like floral perfumes or laundry softeners. The smell of car air fresheners (like the little rubber feet) makes him nauseated.

Akane doesn't like any froufrou stuff! She likes the smell of food, exhaust, dirt, forest and sweat. All natural baby. If anything, she's a bit particular to the smell of rubber and leather, since she uses both frequently at her best (in the gym). For some reason, men's cologne makes her feel physically sick.

Fuyuhiko is a traditional dude and likes traditional smell, like incense, oils, and bamboo. Nothing too overpowering. Just plain soap, too. His least favourite smell is not something he'll admit out loud (at worst, he'll seem like he cant handle himself, at best, it's just depressing), and you could never tell anyway.

[random-and-average]

Yandere Miguel O'Hara with a Duplicating!S/O (via Yellow Cosmic Stone)

If anyone has seen that one clip from Kid Cosmic where Papa G is building, then you'll understand why I came up with this idea. Plus, the Papa G Stomp goes hard. On another note, I'm still trying to find a way to make Shadow Wizard Money Gang S/O exist. Shadow Spider Money Gang, perhaps?

TW: mentions of the following: NSFW, stalking, and murder

The mere existence of said stone is enough to give the Spider-Man a migraine

Will it disrupt the canon? Where the hell do they even come from? The fact that it's the yellow cosmic stone instead of the cosmic stone implies that there are multiple in existence, so where are the rest of them? Will those stones disrupt the canon?

After all, if one stone is able to give you the incredibly powerful ability of duplication, who knows what these other stones are capable of!

You will be interrogated about how the stone came into your possession, there's no doubt about that

From then on, Miguel will have two goals: preserve the spider-verse and contain all the stones (as he considers them to be "anomalies")

Lyla will for sure be working day and night to determine the true nature of these cosmic stones

He will try to take the yellow cosmic stone from you as well

Depending on how much you enjoy your power of duplication, he won't be getting it anytime soon though

Now, what he thinks of you depends on your reaction to his affection, so let's get into that!

Against It:

To put it bluntly, you're a pain in Miguel's ass. He still loves you though despite that

You will be kept in his room or be monitored by him or a person he trusts (like Lego Spider-Man)

He'll also look into ways to neutralize your power if he isn't able to take the stone from you

Should you escape from him, he'll order any iteration of you to be brought back to him with minimal damage

(I generally headcanon Miguel to be gentle with his S/O, regardless of their situation, and would only hurt them unless it's absolutely necessary, even then he'll try not to hurt them too much)

Since the guy has "observed" (*cough* *cough* he monitored and stalked you *cough* *cough*) you in the past, it doesn't take long for him to realize the difference between the real you and your clones: the real you wears the stone in the form of a ring

After that revelation, any clones of yours start to serve a different purpose while he and a specific group of Spider-People search for the real you

Should the clone be extremely submissive, Miguel would "experiment" with it before ultimately killing it as humanely as possible

(This is how he discovers his breeding kink as well as how arousing you can be when you're in an apron, among other things)

Should the clone be extremely rebellious, he will rough it up a bit, but not enough to make it disappear, and let it go to deliver a message to you: "Stop being childish and come back to me, mi amor. I only want what's best for you."

However, if the clone strikes a perfect balance between the two, he'll essentially air his grievances onto it and kill it afterwards

"Cariño, why do you do this to me? I love you so much, yet you continually refuse me. Don't you know that I will do anything for you? I will destroy hundreds of universes if it means you will stay with me."

"Uh, excuse me?"

Miguel does not feel any guilt towards killing your clones, by the way

To him, they're just imposters or cheap imitations that can't compare to the real you

Though he will never admit it, he does resent them to an extent

They're your clones, literal duplicates of you, yet they fail to recreate that je ne sais quoi that makes you you and instead dare to degrade your smile and your presence

Miguel only loves you, not some fake

And he doesn't know how long he can last without the true you in his life again.

Fine With It:

You're definitely granted a lot more freedom if you're fine with or reciprocates his love, such as being allowed to roam the base

Although, you're still not allowed to use the stone unless you absolutely have to

However, he'll (begrudgingly) let it slide if you use your duplicates to help around the base or even his dimension

Unknowingly, this makes some other Spider-People, as well as some civilians, yandere for you, but Miguel ensures that they know their place (Plus, that's a story for another time)

Don't think that your good deeds aren't rewarded though since he'll definitely reward you with whatever you want afterwards

However, helping him on missions is a definitive "no," and that's non-negotiable

I think, regardless of what powers you have, Miguel would never put you in danger by having you help on missions

He cannot bear to lose you. He wants you safe and that means staying back in his dimension

[monsterkin-culture-is]

Im not good with asks but please may we have some zombie kin help? I've just been struggling with it grrrr , thank you . -📼

Sorry for the delayed response!

This is my first time doing kin tips so it might be a little hit-or-miss but see if any of these are helpful! I'm assuming this is in the context of ways to combat dysphoria/incorporate your kintype more into your daily life.

Raw Meat Diet: Obviously human flesh and raw meat isn't a viable option here unfortunately. @/forests-creatures created a good list of alternatives: Beef jerky, rare steaks, safe raw salmon & dried fruits. For sweet options, I'd say the red tongue-staining lollipops could work, as well as pink or red chocolate & red popping candy. Please research that what you're eating is safe beforehand! Tumblr is not a reliable resource.

Sunglasses & Sunhats: This tip was inspired by a similar vampires list! I'm not sure if your specific zombie kintype has a sensitivity to sunlight or is associated with the night but if so, incorporating sunglasses or tinted glasses into your day-to-day wardrobe might be an option! Sunhats don't blend in as well in the winter but there are rain & sun hats such as Tilley hats and other alternatives which you could use instead.

SFX Makeup: I used to do a lot of this a few years back! I absolutely encourage you to learn special effects makeup to create wounds or even just look a little more corpse-like. This is definitely not for the day-to-day but it's a fun hobby if you're okay getting a little messy! It can also lead into a potential career path. You can do some pretty effective stuff with some fakeblood, toilet roll, glue & foundation so it doesn't always have to be pricey. It's almost halloween so it should be the best time of year to gather supplies!

Apocalyptic Wardrobe: Ripped jeans are your friend!! I know not everyone loves skinny jeans (I certainly don't) so don't be afraid to find an old/cheap pair of cargos or wide leg trousers and make your own tears with some scissors. I'd recommend arm/leg warmers & fingerless gloves, which shouldn't look out of place now we're coming into autumn. Handkerchiefs can also look a lot like bandages. If you like to present more femininely, then messy ribbons & colourful braids in your hair can give the desired vibe.

Try Meditation: Zombies are sort of known for their head-empty, distant feeling from being undead so a healthy way of manifesting that could be through meditating! It's definitely a challenging skill to build but following a youtube guided meditation is a good place to start. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if there were themed ones! (Maybe that's a new business idea for me... horror meditation...)

Go on a walk/hike: This is a common kin tip via the idea of connecting with nature. However, I think it works especially for zombiekin because you can recreate that feeling of solitude from the apocalypse.

Onto the more generic advice! I always recommend making a moodboard for your kin, which you can then use as the cover for a kin spotify playlist. Watching movies of your kintyoe is a common recommendation. In this instance I'd say include other apocalypse films/tv too!

A generic but less common tip is (if it's your sort of thing) make an oc/kinsona for your kintype and play as them in a game or roleplay as them online.

I hope a couple of those ideas were helpful! Let me know if you try any. Also thank you for your other culture-is submission, I'll add it to the queue!

If I have completely misunderstood your ask please send another one and I'll see how I can help!

[toons-and-doom]

Sprouts twisted form better be terrifying or I quit/j

GLISTEN, imagine his face was shattered and some ichor was leaking out, and if bro could speak he could be slightly heard PANICKING about his appearance and if you get close he’ll yell at your ass saying “DON’T LOOK AT ME” or smth like that. Tryna cover his face and all that.

EXACTLY. I wonder what lil bro is gonna be like.

Hold up Drabble time.

This is most definitely ooc but in my defense glisten isn’t even out yet and he’s not in the right frame of mind (ie, twisted). Also sorry if the writing sucks ass I’m writing because executive dysfunction when it comes to drawing.

Drabble ramble time

Hideous. He was hideous. He needed to fix himself.

Glisten knew that all to well.

A bit of his face falls onto the floor, and he has to bite back a wail. Please don’t break again- not again please- He quickly picks up the fallen peice, reattaching it to his face. He’s momentarily relived when the fragment stays where it’s supposed to. (…he’s pretty sure that’s where that part is supposed to go… he’s been having a hard time thinking clearly…).

The ichor is all that’s keeping his face together now. It flows freely now, dripping down his face and chest onto the floor bellow. Disgusting. It left a faint trail as he wanders out of the kitchen to a sitting area, not daring venture deeper into the kitchen. Glisten was thankful he couldn’t vomit.

He didn’t want to face his other companion(?) in this nightmare he’s found himself in. Razzle and Dazzle, or rather, what was left of them. They were ruined, monstrous. Just like him. They were quite literally half of what they used to be. But there was harmony in their appearance. The two halves made a whole. There was still some beauty in their peaceful face. He HATED that they were so ugly yet so perfect.

He catches a glimpse of himself in the reflection of a machine (…he doesn’t remember why there was so many lying around. Somewhere in his dulled mind he could remember they were important, their purpose was far beyond him now).

Oh god.

It’s worse than he thought.

.

If he were trying to be optimistic he could say he looked like a Picasso painting. A Picasso painting which was thrown in oil and was recreated from memory a cheap copy of the work of art. Features all wrong and misshapen… some completely gone OHGODHOWWASHEGOINGTOFIXTHIS??? ISHEGOINGTOFALLAPART-?!

He immediately turns his head away from the thing staring back at him through his reflection. He just needed to wake up. That’s all. This was all just some sick joke of a dream and he’ll wake up soon! (…the dull ache in his mind, and the ichor occasionally choking him tell him otherwise).

.

.

.

Of course that’s when he hears the elevator doors closing. They aren’t alone anymore.

oh god their going to look at HIM. They’re going to JUDGE him- they’re gonna think he’s a MONSTER.

He could already hear one coming his way.

His hands shoot up to cover his face. His ichor stained hands which will definitely make the state of his face worse. He chokes back sobs. He prays they will just leave.him.alone.

The footsteps stop. A voice. He can recognize it as a poppy’s.

‘ … hey? Are you alright? ‘

Is she blind??? Does he look fine??? Or is she just stupid- why are poppy’s like this?? He wishes he could just…. He doesn’t know-

… poppys did always have such nice bows… such pristine condition despite the situations they rope themselves into… and glisten needed to replace his bow anyways…. And their teeth? Their straight. Glisten would need to replace his all to sharp teeth soon… the best things about poppys are their eyes… so wide and perfectly round… glisten needed to replace a eye anyways- he doubts it will mind.

….The footsteps resume, much slower than glisten hoped. He moves one finger to see the poppy. It was reaching its hand out towards him, perhaps to reassure him. That was fine. All it needed to do was get a little closer…

He removed one hand from his face, partially exposing him to the poppy. He sinks the claws of the aforementioned hand into the ‘skin’ of the poppy… it didn’t really need its skin anyways, right?.

… it looks horrified. It sees him.

Instinct takes over. This poppy needed to die before it could run off and warn the others- before they can all see him- maybe if gets to them- he could use all their wasted bits to fix himself!

…. That sounds… nice.

(I’m not sure how to close this rip-)

[chronically-ghosted]

Bite Me

rating: T

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 1258

summary: before a Halloween party, you and Dieter show off your “communal” costumes.

warnings: bad jokes, some sexy make outs, this is just fluff and two idiots in love, this is not kinktober by any stretch of the imagination

a/n: i really wanted to get something Halloween-ish out before spooky season is over and when I saw that text post go around, I couldn’t not think of Dieter. I apologize deeply to Dan Harmon and the rest of the cast of Community for so shamelessly rifting, and honestly, if you haven’t watched Community, do yourself a favor and get on it. Like, now. Reader’s costume comes from Abed’s costume in season 1 and Dieter dresses like Troy in season 2.

On a different note, my computer’s been acting up so I wrote and posted this on my iPad. So if there’s funky formatting or anything, I apologize!

Happy Halloween!

🤍Masterlist

The tip of your nose itches from where the cheap cotton mask dangles from over your forehead. You adjust yourself on the bed, only to catch the cape under your butt and accidentally choke yourself. Scowling, you lift your hips and twist and yank, opting to toss the cape over your thigh like a sexy blanket. Finally in a good position, you lay down, elbow propping up your head, and you tug at the eyeholes of the mask to get the lycra out of your eyelashes.

“Babe, are you almost ready?” You call out, your gaze fixated on the walk-in closet where your boyfriend disappeared thirty minutes ago. Arguably you had the much more elaborate costume and you still beat him getting dressed. He had yet to see the culmination of two weeks of sewing, stuffing (because of course you had to include the fake muscles), and painting, and you fully intended to seduce him with your TV-accurate recreation of a costume from a truly iconic episode. “Dee, we’re gonna be late.”

“Yeah, and you’re gonna see it’s worth every minute,” came his cryptic reply. You roll your eyes. Although, you should hardly be surprised at his flair for the dramatics. “Alright, feast your eyes, babe.”

Dieter steps out of the closet, make-up brush and tanning powder in hand, grinning from ear to ear. The white toilet guard has been cut to (slightly) resemble a collar — obviously including the word “Dracula” just in case anyone could possibly miss the obvious reference. The toilet paper bracelets are taped down to prevent any further unraveling, but you inwardly cringe at what happened to the rest of the no-doubt wasted toilet paper.

His dark jeans are slung low on his hips, the black belt undone preemptively, but it’s the make up job that really sealed the deal. While having had his ass whooped off the couch for a new role has slimmed his waist, Dieter could hardly hope to obtain Troy-Barnes-level of abs.

So he drew them on himself.

“I gotta call Silvia,” he grins manically, twisting and showing you just how “cut” he is from every angle. “She’s gonna be so proud.”

Referring to his make-up stylist and the hour-long make-up tutorial where he paid her to show him the basics of contours and shading, Dieter seems thrilled to have been finally able to put his knowledge to use.

“You look fucking sexy, babe,” you tell him, sneaker rubbing a suggestive circle on the comforter.

“That’s because I’m a sexy dracula.” He winks with his tongue out and then his eyes snap open. “Oh, fuck, forgot something.”

He sprints back into the closet — you hear something fall over — and he returns, mouth full of . . . something . . .

Dieter spreads his lips and drool slides out the corner of his mouth to reveal off-white, plastic vampire fangs.

“Jush in cath no one geths it.”

You nod, sagely, while trying to fight off a howl of laughter. He slips the dripping teeth out of his mouth and wipes his lips with the back of his arm.

“Show me yours!”

Grinning, you leap up onto your knees, knuckles against your waist in your best superhero pose.

“Crime spits and dances on the grave of justice, to the hot beats and infectious rhythms of all that is wrong,” you quote, your voice deep and gravely. “The night beckons. Its black fingers curl and uncurl going like, ‘hey, come here.’”

“Oh my god, baby, use that voice the next time you peg me.” Dieter’s eyes flutter as he stumbles to the edge of the bed, grabbing your waist and pulling you close. You giggle, trying very carefully not to squish the “collar”.

Dieter taps your too-long bat ears with his palm. “You did such a good fucking job with this. Are you sure you still wanna direct? You could go into costuming.”

You wrinkle your nose. “And develop arthritis before I get my AARP card? No, thank you. My hands and wrists are still sore from all the sewing.”

“Hopefully not too sore.” Dieter raises an eyebrow at you, his hands under your cape and investigating your ass in spandex.

“I’m not getting cum on this black outfit—,”

His mouth bites into yours, cutting you off, as he chuckles. His roving hands drop low on your hips, around your ass, then to the back of your thighs. He squeezes and you both inhale.

“I’ll pay for the dry-cleaning. I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands off you.”

You bite your lip, glancing at the clock over your shoulder. If you left now, you’d get to the party on time, a first for anyone in a fifteen-foot radius of Dieter Bravo, the man whom needs a thirty minute head start for any event—

His lips press warmly into the arch of your neck, teasing up to your jaw, the mask guarding the soft skin below your earlobe that he knows turns you to putty in his hands. His hands, satisfied with their below-the-waist groping, map the curl of your spine, before smoothing over your ribs. He rubs the curve of your breasts with his thumbs and bites gently into the curve of your neck.

“Baby, please tell me this is not a one-piece suit.”

“But we’re going to be late.” Your voice is already a whine, arousal sinking in between your legs. Vaguely, you hope his “abs” haven’t rubbed off on your hips.

“I’m always late,” he murmurs distractedly as his fingers seek out a seam. Dieter Bravo has been, and never will be, above literally tearing your clothes apart to get to what he needs. “It’s bad luck to change tradition.”

His grip more insistent, you fear for the livelihood of your costume so you grab his hand and bring it to a zipper high on your back.

“There’s a clasp—,”

He pulls back, brown eyes heated and sweet. “Yeah? You’re gonna let me fuck you, pretty girl?”

“You’ve made a very compelling case.” You take him by the face and pull him into your mouth, tongue licking his bottom lip at first brush, as he tugs the zipper down your back. “Besides, we’re doing all the Troy and Abed shippers out there a favor right now.”

Dieter’s weight shifts forward as he crawls up the bed, cradling you to his chest with one arm as he lays you down between the pillows, his mouth sucking at yours and settles himself between your legs.

“So you’re saying you want to put this on the internet? You’re so hot,” he breathes on a long inhale.

“I’m saying we’re doing our due diligence to the characters.” He finally pushes that itchy mask over your head and you can feel the static pluck at your hair.

Dieter pauses, blinking, eyes wide and awe-struck.

And then he smiles.

“You make a sexy fucking Batman, you know that?”

With a grin, you rub your fingers against the thin collar.

“You make a pretty good sexy Dracula yourself.” You make a contemplative face. “Batman and Dracula. Bats fucking. There’s gotta be a porno for that.”

Dieter’s grin widens before dipping his head to kiss you again, hips slowly rolling into yours.

Oh yeah, you’re going to be very late to the party.

You lift your shoulder to peel your costume down when Dieter leans back into his knees and pulls something out of his back pocket.

It’s those hideous teeth.

He pops them into his mouth, immediately drooling again.

“The cheap vampire fangth thay ON during thex.”

[soupbabe]

i'm feeling very squishy rn so i'd just like to ask for hcs about avdol, narancia, and speedwagon having a gn s/o who can sew well and makes little plushies. i've found a new hobby and i think it'd be a sweet prompt for some of my favorite characters y'know

JoJo Characters being Given a Handmade Plush!

Featuring: Muhammad Avdol, Narancia Ghirga, Robert EO Speedwagon

This is such a cute request idea!! Best choice of characters too for this omg

Muhammad Avdol

- Omg it's even better if it's made during the events of part 3

- He saw you hand sewing time to time during the journey, and of course he got curious about it

- Though you stayed aloof, only answering with yes and no's, or the answering in full when it wasn't about the project itself

- When you were done, you waited until you were alone with Muhammad in a hotel to gift him a plush of Magician's Red

- It was a bit awkward using what fabric you had with you and having to go off of memory, but his stand looked so huggable you just had to recreate it

- Muhammad is so greatful, he keeps the small plush in an inner pocket of his robe, right up next to him at all times

- He finds your craftsmanship impressive, your admiration of him and his stand is unforgettable!!

- You're sure to leave him breathless and flattered

Narancia Ghirga

- Ever since he found out you could sew plushies he's been asking for one

- "Please Y/n! Can you make me a dog!! A big one too!" "Okay, but it'll cost you." "Nevermind.."

- Yeah he's a little cheap and doesn't fully understand the time and money that goes into these

- But imagine surprising him with a big bulldog plush for his birthday!!

- He's looking back at you and the stuffed animal to see if you're pranking him. That this is a real, free, Y/n-made bulldog.

- Narancia is going to lunge out at you in a hug !! All you hear from him is a string of "thank yous" and "this is so cool"

- Maybe afterwards he might ask you to teach him your ways

- But that dream is killed when he got mad at not knowing how to thread the machine and rage quit

Robert EO Speedwagon

- Great idea: a teddy bear for a teddy bear of a man

- If you give him a hand sewn plush he's going to tear up

- Speedwagon is such a sentimental guy, seeing you spend so much labor on him he needs to put it on a special shelf in his home immediately

- If anything happened to it, he's going to take it personally

- Your gift means the world to him!!

- Brings him back to his own childhood, he didn't get a lot of toys growing up so he latches onto what he's been given

- It's in Speedwagon's nature to repay you in some way

- Whether he buys you a fancy dinner or he cleans your space, Robert refuses to "just accept" a gift. He wants to make you happy too

[sillyrabbit81]

The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood - Part Seventeen

Series Summary: Lori "Babycakes" Tate swore she would never date a biker but when her life is in danger, she is put under the protection of a small club known as The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood. She suddenly finds herself attracted to not one, but five bikers.

A reverse harem, biker AU.

Part Seventeen Summary: Lori finds out more about Jake. Walker finds out about the pact.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC, Walter Marshall x OFC, Mike x OFC, Geralt x OFC, August Walker x OFC

Word Count: Approx. 3.4k

Warnings:

Series Warnings: Reverse harem, age gap (OFC 23, ages range from 23 to mid 40s), oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected p in v sex, anal sex, group sex, masturbation, praise kink, mentions of body fluids, drug use, recreational drinking, sex work, criminal activities, mention of death, violence, use of weapons, mentions of war, mentions of abuse, angst, fluff, probably a lot more that I will add as they come up.

Part Seventeen Warnings: slight angst, violence, mentions of blood, implied smut

Authors Note: Thanks as always to my lovely BBFs (Best Beta's forever) @henryobsessed and @nashibirne .

This chapter is from both Lori and Walker's POVs. I know it's a bit different to how I've been structuring the story, but I felt like it needed to be done this way.

There's more exposition here, but I think that will be all for a while.

Divider made by me. Edited by me, there will be errors.

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part Sixteen Part Eighteen (coming soon)

Lori

“Are you sure you don’t want breakfast first?” Marshall asked as we approached the open door to Walker’s office.

I shook my head. “Let’s get this over with.”

He gave me a brief approving smile before cupping the back of my head and kissing me on the crown.

“Let’s go,” he said.

I took a deep breath to steel myself for what I was about to face and I walked into Walker’s office.

The space was simple enough, basically furnished with a dark, almost black, modern looking desk with a laptop and a number of open files and papers making a mess of the otherwise clean room. There was a matching filing cabinet and a bookshelf, a low modern black leather sofa and four simple chairs pushed against one of the grey walls and the floor was carpeted in a similarly grey rug. The only feature that appeared decorative was an abstract art piece that ran nearly the entire length of the wall.

It immediately caught my eye; it was impossible to ignore. The work was lit by museum style lighting and spread over two canvases. It was mostly white with sometimes wispy, sometimes harsh, feathery slashes of black, grey and brown paint. While there was an obvious darkness to the piece, there was something heartachingly optimistic about it. For some reason I was reminded of being a kid, blowing hard on a dandelion and watching with glee as the pappus floated away on the wind carrying with them the potential for adventure and a new life.

Walker cleared his throat. I glanced at him quickly, he was taking his seat behind the desk and Marshall was carrying over two chairs. I turned back to the painting and tried to reconcile the art with its owner, but couldn’t for the life of me see the connection.

What would a piece like this mean to a man like Walker? If it was simply melancholic and evoked feelings of fear and dread, I could see the attraction for him. However, the undeniable sense of potential hope and happiness born from the darkness had my curiosity piqued. Why would he not only buy it, but give the piece a place of honour, something that no other object in this room seemed to have? It couldn’t have been cheap, the artist was no doubt talented and experienced; it must have cost a fortune.

“Oh,” I mumbled, rolling my eyes. “Of course.”

It was an investment and a way to hide his true net worth from authorities. Granted, it was a high brow, convoluted way of laundering money, but it wasn’t unheard of, especially for international criminal syndicates. It was the only explanation that seemed plausible.

Taking one last look at the painting, I sat down next to Marshall. He pulled out his notebook while Walker selected one of the files scattered over his desk and opened it. He selected a page and showed it to me.

It was a grainy and dark photograph of the interior of a nightclub and appeared to have been lifted from security footage. A number of people were in the shot, mostly holding drinks and standing in groups of twos or threes. At first I didn’t grasp the significance of the picture, then I gasped as I recognised the couple in the middle of the frame.

“Jake,” I whispered. 

“Jacob Owen Wright,” Walker corrected.

Barely able to tear my eyes from the photograph, I looked at the two men, “How did you find him? Just from this picture?”

Marshall looked a little sheepish and glanced at Walker who showed no embarrassment. “I had some associates sweep your apartment for fingerprints and DNA.”

“What?” I asked, my voice hard with anger. “You had no right to do that without asking.”

Walker took out another couple of pages and showed me pictures of what I recognised to be Jake’s apartment only by the kitchen cabinets because the rest of the apartment was completely bare.

“We didn’t have a lot of options. The whole place was scrubbed. Not a single piece of usable evidence was found to start an identification. Your apartment was the only other place we knew for sure that he’d been.”

“You could have asked,” I said, only partly paying attention to what I was saying.

My mind was in a whirl and I found it difficult to pin down any single thought. It was clear that Jake had lied to me about who he was and what his interest in forming a relationship with me was, but this along with the tracking device suggested that a bigger conspiracy was at play.

“So, you found something in my apartment?”

“Not a lot, but enough for an ID. A thumbprint was found on the top edge of the headboard of your bed and further examination found the rest of the prints on the back as if it had been grasped and used for purchase,” Walker informed me blankly.

My cheeks heated as I realised how those prints got there. I remembered when it had happened and remembered looking at the athletic cords of his arm muscles stretching and contracting as he used the bed as an anchor to go harder and deeper. I felt like such a fool. In the back of my mind I must have known there was something off about him, which was probably why I never want the relationship to make the transition from casual fuck buddies to something more serious. I don’t know why I ignored that feeling and let myself be drawn in by a man who had nothing to offer but lies and deception just because he had the veneer of civility. Looking up at Marshall, it struck me that while the Brothers appeared to be lawless and crude, they treated me better than any man I had known other than my father, Nate, and Hustle.

“Prints on file mean a criminal record right?” I asked.

Again the two men exchanged glances and again Walker spoke, “Not necessarily. But in this case, yes. One offence in New Mexico as a youth. While he was born in your home town, it appears as though he moved around a lot. His mother, born Louise Anne Huxley, married several times, however Jacob’s birth certificate lists no father and we haven’t been able to find one. Louise changed her name several times, with each marriage and on a few occasions without a marriage. Jacob’s birth name was Jacob Flynt, but he has also been known as Turner, Johnson and now, Wright.”

I peered at the photo of me and Jake again. He never even mentioned that he had been born in my hometown, only saying he had moved there a few months before we met; he hadn’t even said moved back. He hadn’t been open about himself like Marshall or Sy, or even Mike and I never would have asked him to be. I’d known the Brothers less than a week and I knew more about each of them than I did about Jake. Well, except for Walker.

“Anything else?”

Walker shook his head. “We have more leads to run down, I’ll let you know if we find anything more significant.”

“You’ve had some time to think,” Marshall said, “have you thought of anything else, anything at all that could help with the investigation?”

“No. Nothing I haven’t already told you.” My eyes were drawn back to the canvas. “Have you told my brother? Does he know anything about this?”

“I spoke to Hustle—” Walker started.

“I asked about Nate,” I brought my attention back to Walker whose jaw muscles quivered beneath his stubbled cheek. “Have you spoken to him?”

“No.”

I nodded and swallowed down my fear. Nate must be alright; Hustle would have said if he wasn’t and despite everything, I’m sure Walker would tell me if something had happened to him.

“Is that all? Can I go now?” I asked.

Walker gave me a curt dip of his head, so slight it couldn’t be called a nod.

I stood and turned swiftly on my heels as I headed for the door.

Walker

Marshall gave me a flat, unimpressed stare as he followed Lori out of my office.

“Jesus,” I muttered as I placed the papers and photographs back in the manilla folder. What the hell did I do this time to get her so riled up? 

Sighing, I tapped the file on the desk and glanced up to see Marshall lifting Lori’s chin with a crooked finger in a way that suggested a familiarity that was far too inappropriate for my liking. It was a good thing Sy wasn’t here to witness it; no doubt he’d go completely apeshit. A kiss on the cheek was one thing, even Mike’s game yesterday was basically harmless, but the way Marshall was looking at Lori was absolutely not benign. 

I was sure Marshall would pull away before they actually kissed. I couldn’t blame him for wanting to kiss her; the girl was far too attractive for her appeal to be ignored. She was artlessly beautiful and she had a spark of fiery willfulness that always made my cock ache when I imagined seducing her into submission. But this wasn’t about Lori, I didn’t give two shits if Lori stepped out on Sy, it was about Marshall. Marshall wouldn’t betray Sy, he wouldn’t betray a Brother. Surely he wasn’t going to—

“Holy Shit!”

He did it, he actually kissed her.

My blood ran like napalm through my veins, my sight going red as I lept my desk and letting the uncontrolled rage rush through my system along with the burst of adrenaline, I let it all out in one furious punch squarely in the middle of Marshall's face.

A scream and a warm spray of blood slapped me across the face, quickly sobering me. 

Oh fuck, what have I done?

Marshall held his nose, no doubt busted and Lori was pushing me out of the way as she tried to get Marshall to lower his hands so she could see the damage. Marshall wasn’t having it, stepping around her as he confronted me.

“You deserve that, you know you do,” I said, coolly.

“And why the fuck would I?” Marshall said, blood pooled in his mouth which sprayed out as he spoke.

“You think Sy would have gone easier on you? Should I have just let him deal with this?”

“And why the fuck would you care what Sy would do?”

“I’m not going to let a woman break this club up, I don’t care who the fuck she is.” 

“It’s not what you think Walker,” Lori had the hide to say. I turned on Lori, her face was pale with fear, but she held her chin up as if daring me to hit her too. Fuck, she was killing me.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about Walker,” Marshall added.

“What else could I think? You’re kissing his fucking woman. You think he’s going to shrug and get over it? You’ve put the whole club in jeopardy and—”

“Walker!” Geralt entered my office, planting himself firmly between Marshall and me.

“He was kissing Lori,” I said. Jesus, I sounded like a kid trying to obfuscate responsibility after being busted by their dad. I may as well have pointed at Marshall and cried, he started it.

Geralt didn’t react. Not even a tiny twitch of his eye.

“You knew? You knew and you didn’t think to stop it before he came back? He’s going to fucking kill him.”

Geralt sighed and looked at the grey carpet now decorated with a blood splatter that Dexter Morgan would have been proud of.

“Lori, take him to the kitchen and put some ice on his nose.”

Lori gave me a look of disgust that made my guts twist. Fear, I could deal with; disgust was something else entirely. Marshall still had his eyes trained on me, his eyes darkened with murderous ambition. I readied myself for him to attack, but Lori took his hand, with a gentle tug and he let himself be led away.

I turned my attention back to Geralt as Marshall and Lori disappeared into the hallway.

“You’ve got some explaining to do,” I said to Geralt, turning back to my desk and sitting in my chair.

Stunned, I sat slack jawed as Geralt explained the situation - the pact the others had made - although it sounded too far fetched to be true. But it made a lot of things fall into place and explained what the others had been whispering amongst themselves over the past few days.

How could I have missed this? How could I not have known what was going on. Jesus, what else was going on in the club that I didn’t know about?

“What happens when the job is over?” I asked when he finished talking.

“Same rules as before, she decides what she wants,” Geralt replied.

“What if she wants to go home? Would you go with her?”

Geralt shrugged.

“Jesus. You’d let the club fall because of the whims of some girl?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

“When were you going to tell me? When you were all packed up ready to leave and I’d be stuck here holding my dick,” I seethed through gritted teeth. “I’d expect something like this from Sy, he’s always been a little soft when it comes to women. Or Mike even, he’s a fucking kid. But Marshall? You? No. I thought you knew what we were doing here, what we were working for.”

“I don’t think she will want to leave when this is over, I think she’s found her place here.”

“This is no place for a woman.”

“She knows what she's getting into. She’s not naive.”

Geralt’s nonchalance about this whole situation was doing my head in. There was so much that could go wrong here. We could lose it all because my Brothers couldn’t think with anything but their dicks.

“You don't have to be on the outside looking in,” Geralt said with a sly smirk. “She likes you too, you know.”

I laughed, curling my lip and showing Geralt my teeth. “I saw the look on her face, she’s terrified of me.”

“Not of you, of what you represent.”

“I don't share my toys," I sneered.

Geralt nodded slowly. “It’s your call,” he stood, “I'll go check on Marshall.”

“Tell him…” I ground my teeth, what the fuck do I say?

Geralt paused and waited.

“Nothing.”

I glanced at the painting on my wall. The darkness loomed larger than usual and I turned away again quickly, not daring to hope for some light.

Over the next few days the divide between my Brothers and I widened while the others seemed to draw together as they closed in on Lori. Normally there was a schedule set up for guarding a client, even inside the clubhouse, but Lori didn’t need one; she was never alone. She went from Marshall, to Geralt, to Mike, back to Marshall. I didn’t bother offering to take even an hour of guard duty. I wasn’t asked to anyway.

I dared not ask which of my Brothers she was fucking. Marshall obviously, but had Mike and Geralt gone there too? It didn’t look like it, but I couldn’t be sure. I should have nipped the situation in the bud that first night when I found Sy in bed with her.

Dinners alternated between awkward affairs and actually entertaining. Mike in particular was lively, filling dull moments with jokes and conversation. But usually towards the end of the meal Marshall would look at Lori, and the air in the room became electrified as if statically charged. I would leave the room as soon as possible.

One evening after dinner, I walked into the common room and the four of them were there. Perched on Geralt's knee, it appeared she was playing a card game against Mike and Marshall, a small stack of chips were in front of each of them. Her brows were drawn low in concentration as Geralt whispered in her ear and pointed at her hand.

They all looked up simultaneously. Mike and Marshall dropped their heads back to their cards, Marshall still hadn’t forgiven me for the punch and barely spoke to me during meals. His bruising had faded to a few dark circles under his eyes and he had a small cut on the bridge of his nose. Geralt nodded in greeting but didn’t say anything. 

Lori watched me move around the bar until Mike pulled her attention back to the game.

“It’s your turn Babycakes.”

She peeked over her shoulder at Geralt and pointed at a card. He nodded and grinned. Lori dropped the cards onto the table with a smirk and Mike groaned while Marshall dropped his hand with a disgruntled sigh.

“I won?” Lori asked, grining.

“G won,” Mike grumbled under his breath while Marshall nodded.

She raised her hands into fists above her head and bounced excitedly on Geralt’s knee. I turned my attention to pouring my drink, slamming the glass down angrily on the counter.

“Should we play again?” I heard her ask.

“I’ll deal,” Mike said.

“Walker, do you want in?” Lori asked.

I paused, the bottle of whiskey poised just about to pour.

“On the game,” she added.

Mike snickered.

I started to pour myself a generous amount before raising my head. All four of them were looking expectantly at me. I raised my glass to my lips and had a sip, relishing the sweet burn as it passed my throat and settled in my belly.

“No thanks,” I said, already walking across the room, “some people have to work around here.”

I went back to my office. I didn’t have any work to do, not really. All the leads we had in the investigation into Jake were being handled externally by various contacts who worked for us on occasion and I had decided not to take any more jobs until this one was over. We’d had requests and offers, but after investigating Jake and relaying the information to Hustle, I had a nagging feeling something wasn’t adding up. I think we were going to need everyone on this and Sy’s experience in particular was needed.

I lit a cigar and went to the sofa on the wall. I stared at the painting on the wall as I smoked, and drank, waiting patiently for the heavy buzz that would let me sleep.

I was getting close when the gate alarm went off. I went back to my desk and checked the camera feed and saw Sy rolling the large wire gate shut before riding off to the garage. I sat in the chair and waited.

It wasn’t long before he appeared, bag slung over one shoulder, helmet tucked under his arm.

“Walker,” he said.

“How did it go?”

He placed his helmet carefully on the desk, shrugged then sat. “It was straightforward. No problems. Need a report?”

I shook my head, “Not unless there’s something we should be aware of in future.”

He grimaced, “One or two things, but nothing urgent. I’ll get it to you in a few days.”

“Fine.” 

I expected him to leave but he stayed sitting in the chair. After a few moments he spoke. “How is she?”

“Alive,” I said.

He nodded. Quiet again, he looked all around my office at everything except me then spoke again. “Where is she?”

“I last saw her in the common room with the others. If they aren’t there, then I expect she’s with Marshall,” I paused, trying to figure out what the fuck he was thinking, but he gave nothing away so I added, “Like every other night since we got here.”

He nodded again. Still nothing, his face totally impassive, I couldn’t get a read on him at all.

Sy stood suddenly, “I’ll get that report to you soon.”

I wanted to ask him where he was going to go; his room or Marshall’s? I wanted to ask him why he did it, I wanted to tell him I couldn’t have done what he did, I wanted to punch the shit out of him and tell him he was a fucking idiot. Instead I waited until he left and went back to the sofa and stared at the painting on the wall again until I fell asleep.