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thepascalofus · 1 year ago

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First Date

AO3

Pre-outbreak/No-outbreak!Joel Miller x Home Depot Worker!f!Reader

Word Count: 5.5k

Summary: Working at Home Depot was lack-luster. The paint department brought in a variety of customers, the majority of them just buying their paint and leaving. Then Joel Miller comes in--looking to repaint his daughters bedroom.

Content Warnings/Tags: Pre-outbreak/No-outbreak, reader works at Home Depot, fluff, meet-cute, rude customer, Joel defends you, eventual smut (next part), eventual first date, no descriptions for reader, no y/n.

A/N: Got this as a request! There will be another part with smut.

“More saving. More doing. That’s the power of the Home Depot.”

The wannabe gruff voice of the Home Depot narrator echoed throughout the large cement warehouse. It was Sunday, only two hours until close, and the store was virtually dead.

A large rectangular box of a warehouse was your place of employment for the time being. Orange decorated aisle after aisle, and employee after employee. Some employees decorated their aprons in paint and pins, showing their years of employment and dedication to their jobs. Others simply had their name written on their apron, just like how they simply showed up to work and left.

After moving out of the house you shared with your ex and into your own place, you needed the extra income to supplement your new rent and the remaining rent you owed on your shared lease.

Home Depot was hiring—and was desperate—because you got employed in the paint department.

Making paint wasn’t hard at all. It was the shitty customers that ruined it. Customers would demand to see a manager after you told them their paint wasn’t ready—even though they asked for three five-gallon buckets, and ten single gallons, fifteen minutes ago. People would order the same amount in a color they swore they would love, and then attempted to return it the next day, even though NO REFUNDS was printed in bold on the Home Depot paint sticker.

But, working behind the paint counter had its perks. You could stay in one place in the store, telling customers who needed help with complicated items that you, “had to stay and watch the desk.” Plus the desk had a phone, which allowed you to call any department, so your more knowledgeable coworkers could take over tough questions.

The only types of customers left at this hour were those that had emergencies, and those that liked to put things off until the last minute.

Getting tired of sitting behind the desk’s computer on your phone, you got up and walked the three aisles that made up the department. Your footsteps lightly tapped against the gray concrete of the floor. With each step, you scanned the shelves and the floor for anything out of place. Returning misplaced items was an easy task that helped you eat away at the remaining time of your shift.

A tube of caulk was placed right in the middle of the gallons of wood stain—classic. You reached downwards to retrieve the tube and stood back up, pacing down the shelves of orange towards the caulking aisle. The music over the loudspeakers was just quiet enough to hear the surrounding conversations in the other aisles.

One voice echoed to you louder than the rest. Randy’s voice.

Randy was a retired mechanic. Most of his skills were applicable to the questions customers often had. The man had wiry, white hair that peaked out from this Home Depot baseball cap he wore everyday. His apron was covered in various stains of grease and dirt, his name scrawled in Sharpie on the upper right corner of the orange fabric.

From a couple aisles over, his gruff voice made its way towards you, “Ah! Paint for a bedroom…Well let’s see, is this a kids bedroom?”

A deep, Texan drawl replied to Randy, “It is, ��s fer my daughter. She wan’ed her room repainted for her birthday. She’s turnin’ thirteen. Says she needs to get rid’a the ‘baby colors’ from when she was lil’.”

Randy let out a hearty laugh, followed by a muted smack, likely from giving the man a pat on the back, “I know how that feels,” Randy paused to let out another laugh, “My daughter is in her twenties now, but she was the same way as yours. Thirteen hit and she insisted she was allll grown up.”

You retreated to the paint desk with a small smile on your face, it was nice that the man wanted to repaint for his daughter. Your watch told you it was an hour and thirty until close. This customer just had to wait until the last minute, though.

The unknown man let out a chuckle at Randy’s anecdote. Slow, muted steps from both men made their way towards the paint department’s aisles. One of the men let out a deep sigh.

“Thing is, I dunno a single thing ‘bout what colors’ll look nice together.”

The footsteps came closer and the two men appeared in your vision. One central aisle lined up with the paint desk, making somewhat of a runway for customers to walk on to come and request paint. Randy looked down the aisle and his gaze met yours, “Oh! There she is,” Randy said your name to the man, “she knows a ton about colors, I’m sure she could help ya more than I can.”

Randy truly was a nice man. He helped you deal with rude customers. Showed you basic tips and tricks. Ate with you in the break room on occasion.

But, c’mon Randy.

The old man continued walking towards the break room and left the man standing at the end of the aisle. You looked down, pretending you didn’t hear the majority of their conversation. Organizing the paint samples became a very consuming task. Heavy steps made their way closer and closer until your peripheries were consumed with the navy blue color of the Texan’s shirt.

His large hands rested on the desk’s countertop. Thick digits were covered in calluses. Before you could observe his fingers more, he cleared his throat.

“‘Scuse me, miss. S’wondering if you could help me w’ somethin’,” the man drawled out.

Your eyes looked up from the desk, and they widened in surprise. The front of his shirt had orange letters displayed on the front: MILLER CONTRACTING LLC.

Most contractors that ventured into the paint department weren’t as…put together as this man was. The usual paint covered pants and shirt weren’t present on this contractor. The navy blue of his work shirt spanned across his wide chest and even wider shoulders. Sleeves hugged his biceps deliciously. If he moved his arms any more you were worried the sleeves would rip. Not that you’d complain.

Then you looked up to meet his eyes.

His eyes.

Brown irises held eye contact with you. They were deep, warm. Inviting. The color made you think of a teddy bear. Soft and comforting. Brown hair on his head and face matched his eyes. The hair on his head consisted of messy waves combed to one general side, probably from a sweep of his fingers. Short, dark brown hairs made up his beard and mustache. Each facial hair component framed handsome features. A strong jaw was framed by his beard, and plush lips were framed by the ‘stache.

The same lips were forming a smile spanning across his face. His eyes crinkled and displayed slight lines near the corners. Lines developed from years of laughter and smiles.

Realizing you looked at him blankly for a second too long, you snapped out of your trance, “O-of course! What do you need help with?”

His hands came up off of the counter and rested on his hips. “Well, y’see, it’s my daughters thirteenth birthday comin’ up. She’s had this yellow color in ‘er room since she was a baby,” he let out a small sigh, as if he was reminiscing, “an’ she wants ‘er room repainted.”

You heard the conversation he had with Randy before, but you didn’t want to come off as a creep for eavesdropping. “Ah, ok! That’s nice of you, and seems easy enough! Do you know what color she wants?”

He let out another sigh. His eyes met yours. The man looked like a sad, lost puppy. “I know her favorite colors, pink and purple, but there’s just so many options,” he turned and gestured with a broad hand towards the rainbow wall of paint swatches. “An’ darlin’, I tried to do m’own research, watchin’ some Martha Stewart shows, but then Martha started talkin’ about warm colors and cool colors,” he let out a chuckle accompanied by a broad smile, raising his hands in front of his chest, “and then she lost me.”

Darlin’.

Other customers called you that condescendingly. When you didn’t know the difference between one screw and another. But the man’s endearing use of the word made your heart melt.

You smile back at him and lean forward on the counter. “Well, I think the first step is just the color. After that, we can worry about warm tones and cool tones,” you gave him a playful smirk.

He chuckled once more. “Sounds like a plan t’me,” he started walking towards the paint swatches. You snuck out from behind the counter and followed him to the pinks and purples.

“So I was thinkin’ of doin’ both pink and purple, but I dunno what looks good together.” The man started reaching for a card of pink. You took the moment to admire his forearms. Thin, dark hairs covered the surface of his tan skin. Muscles flexed on the front of his arm, displaying the years of manual labor the man has endured.

A pink swatch, Valentine, appeared in front of your face, accompanied by a lavender swatch, Kiss and Tell.

Valentine was bright, Barbie pink. Kiss and Tell was a light purple, the color the wax of a lavender candle would be. You admired his dedication to doing both of his daughter’s favorite colors, but the pair didn’t look too great together. The corner of your mouth perked up, displaying the thought you were putting into the pairing.

“No?” The man asked, a tinge of disappointment in his voice. His brows slanted downwards and his eyes resembled those of a lost puppy.

“Hmmm. Does she usually wear lighter colors,” you pointed towards the lavender swatch, “or brighter colors?” You gestured to the pink swatch.

He looked down at the swatches and his brow furrowed. The man was standing so close, you could smell cedar and musk from his cologne. His large biceps slightly brushed your upper arms as he turned to face you, “I reckon she likes the lighter colors.”

You took the lavender swatch, Kiss and Tell, from the man. Your fingers brushed against his thick, calloused ones as the card came into your possession. “Ok, so we’ll stick with the light purple! Let’s find a pink to match this one,” you smiled at him and he returned the expression.

Turning your body slightly towards the pinks, you started picking swatch after swatch off of the wall. Out of the corner of your eye you saw the man watching you in awe. Once several pink cards were in your hands, you went back to the paint desk.

You laid the cards out on a blank, white piece of paper. Five pink swatches were in a row on the paper with the lavender swatch below them. The man stood next to you and leaned over your shoulder to get a better look. A husky voice drawled in your ear, “So which one d’ya think, darlin’?”

You bit your lip at the warmth in his tone. A small shiver traveled up and down your spine, leaving a tingling in its wake. His tone was warm, and so was his upper arm. It grazed against your arm and left it warm and fuzzy. Brown eyes scanned over the options and then locked with yours.

His gaze was incredibly soft. He looked desperate. The image of a lost puppy crossed your mind yet again. A small smile was spread on his face, roping you further into your tiny crush on the customer.

You give him a small smile, which his eyes crinkled further at, and you inform him, “Unfortunately, I can only give you my opinion. I can’t make the decision for you.” One of the man’s eyebrows raised and he gave you a slight frown. “Why’s that?” His voice lilted in question.

Giving him a slight shrug, you explain, “Well, I’ve made decisions for people before, and sometimes they come back and blame me for ‘ruining their walls’. I can tell you what I think looks good! Buuut I’m not going to decide for you,” you gave him a sweet smile.

Cedar and musk filled your nose again as he leaned closer. Your gaze dipped downard and followed one of his large hands. The calloused fingertips on his thick digits gripped the paper, and dragged in between the two of you.

His opposite hand was set next to yours. A strong arm brushed against you. The hand holding onto the paper spanned across the page, “Well, tell me what’cha think, hon’?”

Hon’.

The feeling was quick, but intense. It washed over you like a soothing, warm bath. Ease seeped into your bones and then crept up into your cheeks. Your face felt hot at the term of endearment. Turning back towards the swatches, your lip found its way behind your front teeth once more.

You went through the details of each potential pairing. Telling him which ones you thought were too warm, too muted, or too cool. The best pairing was with a light, baby pink. The swatch read:

First Date

Reading the color name, of course Behr had a weird color name for a damn light pink, your face got even hotter. Your hands collected the other pinks and set the light pink and light purple next to each other.

The man picked the two cards and held them up to each other in front of his face. His gaze scanned the names of the two cards. “Kiss and Tell,” he softly muttered, his eyes gliding across the other name, “First Date,” he gave a slight smirk. It was as if he read your mind, he bit his lip, then released it. His tongue darted out to soothe the pinch on his bottom lip.

“Ok darlin’,” he started, “how much paint do I need for a ten by ten room?”

“Well, a gallon covers three hundred to four hundred square feet,” you trailed off, “depending on how many coats you want to do, you’ll need one to two gallons.”

His mouth scrunched up to one side and he hummed, “How much is a gallon?”

Your mouth slanted in thought, “Well, it depends on what type of paint you’re looking to get.”

He smiled and tilted his head at your words, “Typa paint? Darlin’, I thought there was just paint,” he softly chuckled out, “an’ I usually make my brother do the paint shoppin’.” His confession brought a smile to your face. It wasn’t uncommon. Whenever people bought paint, they were slightly taken aback at how many questions you needed to ask them.

You started to walk to the left, towards a mat laid out on the paint desk counter. The brown mat displayed different qualities and brands of paint, which increased in price as you looked towards the right end of the lineup. You took a breath to start your usual line of questions, “Okay, so how many coats of paint are you looking to do? These paints,” you slid your finger to the more expensive end of the lineup, “have more primer in them, so they’re thicker. The thicker the paint, the fewer coats you have to do. Some paints have a one coat guarantee,” you finished and looked to his eyes to read his expression.

His mouth repeated its action from earlier, scrunching to the side, “Hmmm, I s’pose one coat would be less work…” He went silent for a moment as he thought. You could almost see him running the numbers in his head. “Alrigh’, I think I’ll go with two gallons of the one coat,” he finished by placing one of his hands down next to yours on the mat. The man’s eyes twinkled as he looked into yours and gave you a soft smile.

The smile he gave you was returned with your own, “Okay! So what sheen do you want the paint to be?” His smile shifted into confusion once more. Lines on his forehead deepened due to his perplexed look. “Sheen?” He asked.

You gave him a soft giggle. Reaching across him and towards a board of wooden paint swatches, you gave him a small, “‘Scuse me,” and his cologne filled your nose once more. Your shoulder brushed against his arm on your way back to your original positioning.

Facing the swatches towards him, you explained, “So sheens are how shiny the paint is once it dries. You can have no shine, which is a flat sheen, and you can go all the way up to very shiny, which is a high gloss. Usually bedrooms are eggshell or satin,” you pointed to the corresponding wood pieces. Tapping one of the shinier samples, you added, “And the shinier the finish, the more durable it is, and the easier it is to wipe, if you wanted to clean the wall.”

You leaned towards him, pointing at one specific wood sample block, “If your daughter likes to draw on the walls, I’d get satin, or even a semi-gloss.”

He huffed in amusement at your suggestion. “Guess I forgot kids draw on walls,” he chuckled, “Sarah’s ‘n angel, she prefers paper instead of drywall.” His wholesome anecdote made you giggle and look into his eyes.

The man gave you a small wink in response to your laughter. Taking a breath in, he pointed to a wooden sample a few spaces above the one you pointed at, “Lets go w’ eggshell.” His finger dwarfed the block of wood as he gave the material two light taps with his fingertip. Gazing at his hands, they were calloused, but also well kept. Fingernails at the ends of his thick digits were trimmed short, utilitarian.

You smiled at his decision, “Okay! Well, I’m going to go make labels for these two gallons and then I’ll mix ‘em up for you!” He beamed at your words and leaned against the counter, “Sounds good t’me, sweetheart.”

Your face flushed with heat at his response, and you hurriedly went to the other side of the counter to enter the two gallons into the computer. A white screen filled your vision as you tapped the different buttons to narrow down which type of paint the computer needed to calculate formulas for.

As you tapped one button, the computer froze for a couple seconds. You frowned, “It always does this,” you thought. Not having to focus on the options on the screen, your vision instead focused on the reflection displaying what was behind you. Your eyes landed on the Texan man.

And his eyes were on you.

You watched as he bit the inside of his cheek, his mind lost in his thoughts. His gaze remained on you until he nodded to himself and looked down. Though he wasn’t observing the different paints on the mat, he was reaching into his pocket.

One of his hands sprawled out on the counter as he held down one of the paint samples and began to write on the paper in black sharpie, the item he retrieved from his jeans. The computer wasn’t too far from the counter, and you were semi-able to see what he was writing.

It was a phone number.

Your eyes widened and you returned your focus to the computer's screen. It definitely loaded a while ago and you hadn’t noticed. You pressed the, “PRINT LABELS” button and tore the stickers from the printer. Not making eye contact with him—still panicking over what you witnessed—you made your way down the center aisle and found the cans needed for the paint colors.

But your lazy coworkers haven’t been downstocking the cans, so they were just out of reach when you were on your tip-toes. You sprawled your fingers up towards the top of the can, hoping to find the handle with your finger tips.

Then heavy steps made their way over to you. The Texan’s signature cologne wafted towards you, “Lemme help ya’ with that, darlin’.” Before you could answer him, he reached and grabbed two gallons down from the just-out-of-reach shelf. He lifted them up so you could see the faces of the can, his face framed by two paint cans, “Are these the right ones?” You nodded, and he made his way back to the paint counter with them. Internally swooning at his help, you followed behind him, but returned to the opposite side of the counter as him.

He set the cans down with a, thunk, thunk, and smiled at you. You gave him a smile as you took the cans, “Thank you,” you said to him. His smile broadened, “‘Course.”

You brought the open gallons underneath the tint dispensers, each gallon getting a small amount of tint. Hammering echoed throughout the store as you closed each gallon, then put them in the paint shakers to mix.

Looking up from the floor, where the paint shakers were, back to the counter, you saw the man’s thick fingers tapping on the surface of it. Your eyes traveled from his fingers to his face. His gaze met yours and his lips parted, “What’cha got goin’ on for the rest of the night?”

You had to force your mouth to not smile too wide as you answered him with a sigh, “Just finishing up my shift, then going home,” you paused to think about what else to say, “I’m just glad I don’t have to work for the next two days,” you chuckled out.

His face and shoulders fell playfully, “Oh, I’m jealous,” he shook his head, “I’ve gotta work the next four days, n’ then I’m off for two.” He shook his head even more. Your lips slanted in sympathy and you were about to offer it, but the man continued, “Never become a contractor hon’,” he let out a breath, “I’s shitty hours ‘n shitty clients.”

Brown eyes widened and then looked at you, he placed a wide palm over his chest, “Sorry sweetheart,” he chuckled, “Jus’ had a long day.”

You laughed at his apologetic behavior, it was endearing, “You don’t have to be sorry!” You continued to laugh, but then lowered your voice. Leaning towards him, you murmured, “Home Depot has shitty hours and shitty clients too,” you winked at him.

His teeth shined in the broad smile he displayed for you. A series of laughs left his chest. Two large hands both rested on the surface of the counter as he looked down and, more quietly, continued his chuckling. After a couple seconds, brown eyes peered back up into yours. The twinkles in his irises matched his smile.

“Hope I’m not a shitty client,” he joked, but his eyebrows faltered in sincerity.

Your head tilted at him with soft eyes. Scrunching your lips to one side, you decided to be somewhat bold, “I think you’re one of the best I’ve had in a while.”

His face relaxed and his soft smile returned. The lines between his eyebrows became more prominent as he gave you those brown, puppy-dog eyes. “Well thank ya’, darlin’,” he drawled. You held his eye contact until you caught movement in your peripheral—his thumb brushed against the light pink paint sample. The dark mustache above his lip twitched as he bit the inside of his cheek again.

Click. Click.

The sounds indicated the timers on the paint shakers were up. And the gallons were done mixing. Breaking eye contact, you bent down to retrieve the gallons from the machines. Opening them up, you put your finger into each can and dotted the color on the top of the can. They were closed once more and you slid them over to the man across the counter.

He looked down at them, and then his face lit up. “Oh! D’ya mind puttin’ these colors on my account?” You were equally lit up at his request, as customers usually didn’t care about the paint accounts they could make to save their paint colors.

Using the computer closest to him, you tapped a few buttons and a series of fields popped up. You pressed on the field for a phone number, “What’s your phone number?” You asked him. Your face heated up at the meaning of the words in a different context.

He told you and you typed them in, pressing enter on your keyboard. One account popped up: JOEL MILLER. “He definitely looked like a Joel,” you thought to yourself. “Joel?” You asked out loud to confirm it was his account. His name tumbling from your lips made his face light up. A charming smile was framed by a dark beard and ‘stache. “That’s me,” he replied.

You clicked on the account and entered the colors under, “Sarah’s Room,” Joel told you. The information was saved after a press of the “SAVE” button. His hands came up to grip the thin, metal handles of the paint gallons. Sliding them off the counter, his mouth opened and then closed again. He bit his lip, then looked at you, “Thank you darlin’, have a good night.”

Your brow dropped a bit, expecting for him to give you his number—for different reasons this time. Before he got too far, you replied, “Of course! Have a good night, Joel!” He threw you a wide, toothed smile over his shoulder. Joel’s smile was wide, but his eyes lacked the same enthusiasm.

—

No one else approached the counter after a couple minutes, so you retreated to the computer to “do your training”. You sat on your phone, letting the training video play in the background—this video was literally anti-union propaganda. Mindlessly scrolling on social media, your thoughts wandered.

You felt dumb for expecting him to give you his number. He could’ve just written something else down on the card. Sighing, you turned and meandered the paint aisles to keep yourself busy. With slow steps you wandered past can after can. You made it to the third aisle, and a man stood at the end of it.

He had dark brown hair, wore a navy t shirt, and was built like Joel. Your footsteps became faster to greet him, but then the man turned and looked at you—it was not Joel.

The man sighed and rolled his eyes, “Finally, I’ve been waiting here for five minutes looking for one of you.”

Your eyes widened, the tone of this customer sharply contrasted the one of your last. Joel’s kind eyes and comforting drawl made this man’s voice compare to nails on a chalkboard. Staring at him, you realized he didn’t look like Joel at all. The rude man’s facial hair was unkempt and scraggly. His teeth must have had the same maintenance as this beard, as they were begging for a trip to the dentist. His hair had no style, not even a brushing of it in a general direction.

The awful whiny, rasp of his voice only heightened your disgust, “I’ve been looking for this thing,” he held his phone out and pointed at his screen, “it says you have it in stock in this aisle but I can’t find it.”

You hummed in response. After asking him to scroll down to view the products information, you typed the SKU for the item into your phone. The Home Depot app on your phone was the only way you could help people, otherwise you'd be lost. You typed the SKU into the app and made sure the app filtered for items in your store, not just the available items online.

OUT OF STOCK displayed under a picture of the item, next to your store name. You sighed, “I’m sorry sir, but it looks like we did have this item, but it's out of stock right now.”

The man’s eyebrows knitted together and he looked at you in shock, “What?” The word shot into your chest. Shit. You thought back to what you said to Joel earlier, “Home Depot has shitty hours and shitty clients too.”

You sighed, “Do you have the right store listed on your phone?” The man snapped his eyes to his screen confusedly. After a moment he held it back out for you to see, “I don’t know, you tell me,” he sneered.

Reading the “130 IN STOCK” on his screen, your vision trailed to the store next to it. That store was in a completely different area. Clearing your throat, you informed him, “Sir, that’s a store one hundred miles from here.” You braced for his reaction.

His screen faced him and he grumbled. “Well why doesn’t your damn app update the location when I search?” He rudely asked. Your breath caught in your throat at his harshness. “Can’t you look in the back if you have it?” He stated, like he worked here.

Another deep breath, “We don’t have a back sir, we do overhead stocking,” you looked up, “and I don’t see the item you’re looking for up there,” you swallowed. Heat flushed into your face in anxiety at the customer’s attitude.

“Fuckin’ useless,” the man spat under his breath at his phone, peering up at you. “Can’t even find a damn item,” he trailed off. Your throat clenched at his words. A shaky breath left your nose.

Heavy footsteps came from behind you and a wave of distaste washed through your bones. You swore if it was another entitled customer, you were going to go insane. Probably cry. Maybe scream. Definitely asking to go home early.

Someone cleared their throat behind you, “You’re bein’ quite harsh to ‘er for somethin’ that ain’t ‘er fault,” a Texan drawl announced. Recognizing the voice, you turned to see Joel’s built figure make its way over to you and the shitty client. A huff from the rude, scraggly man came from your left, “This ain’t any of your business, buddy.”

Your head snapped towards Joel to see his response, “The hell it ain’t,” his voice got slightly louder, “You’re the dumbass that can’t jus’ say you were lookin’ at the wrong goddamn store.” Eyes wide, your gaze shifted from one man to the other. Joel stood tall, brows furrowed, and muscles bulging in the sleeves of his t-shirt.

Scraggly man must have decided the argument wasn’t worth it, as he just grumbled and took his cart down the aisle and away from both of you. Joel sighed beside you, “‘M sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart. I knew ya coulda handled that, but he shouldn’t have been so rude to ya. Especially over his own damn mistake.”

Relief flooded your body in the absence of the shitty client. Warmth from Joel’s presence began to fill the rest of the space that the relief couldn’t. Then you started thinking, “How’d you know he put the wrong store in the app?” You asked Joel.

The contractor froze. Eyes wide. Brows towards the ceiling. Lips pinched together. He looked down at the cement floor and then back up to you, “I may have been eavesdropping from the aisle over.” He cocked his head towards the aisle he came from.

Joel took a deep breath and then cleared his throat. The same brown, puppy-dog eyes from earlier met your irises. He dug his hand into his front jeans pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. Unfolding it, a light pink—First Date—sample card had a number in black sharpie scrawled across the color. “I came back to give ya this,” he held the paper out for you to take, and you took it from his large digits.

You stared at the card in shock. Okay. So he did plan on giving it to you.

He sighed and rubbed a broad palm over the back of his neck, “I was gonna give it to ya’ earlier but I got nervous,” he chuckled, “I, uh, I jus’ thought, uh, I think, that you’re very pretty, and funny.” He cleared his throat once more and continued, and you tore your gaze away from the paper to meet his eyes, “An’ I’d like to take ya’ out on a date sometime.” A heavy breath left his lungs.

A moment passed before you grinned at him and gave him a little chuckle, “I’d go on a date with you, Joel.” Broad shoulders covered in navy fabric slumped in relief. He grinned at you and his face flushed—he was blushing.

He checked his watch and muttered, “Shit.” Looking at you, his brows furrowed, “Sorry, darlin’, I’ve gotta run. Havin’ family dinner tonight.” Your heart throbbed at the care he had towards his family.

You waved a hand at him, heat rising towards your face at the loose plans you two had, “Well, don’t let me make you late!” He nodded at you, “Have a good night, sweetheart,” he said before slowly walking backwards down the aisle and away from you. “You too, Joel!” You replied before he turned the corner.

About to turn the corner, he shot you a grin with a wink.

Okay. Maybe working at Home Depot did have its perks.

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ryanclaremont · 2 months ago

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‘tis the season.

It snows in Briarwood. The first true snowfall of the season and it leaves the town blanketed in white, fluffy snow— that kind that sparkles in the morning sun. It cements the holiday season and while sometimes inconvinent, it does seem to put everyone is the spirit of the season. Ryan knows for herself that it means a whole day of decorating or having a rotation of movies, today it’s both. They’ve slowly started to put up things around the apartment, a wreath on the door, some lights and so on.

Ryan’s not sure where she’s got the idea to DIY a garland for around the windows but she does it. She sits in the middle of the living room with a glue gun, thread and needles, and a bunch of items she got from the craft store. There’s ribbon and bells, mini baubles and other decorative pieces that she lays out to create something full and nice. White Christmas plays on the TV as she sits on the floor with her art project, petting Moon every now and again.

The apartment smells like coffee and a candle called marshmallow fireside, so it’s pretty perfect. “I’m play with those,” she tells Moon and snags a small bundle of ribbon away from the cat. Ryan twists her hair into an oversized claw clip and returns to making bows out of the ribbon.

#da para14: tis the season

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nonsensical-pixels · 1 year ago

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hello everyone! today i am back with a request for another one of @syboubou's sets to be converted for ts2, this time from @tete-sims: their in construction cc set! this contains 10 decorative items (actually, 9 decors and 1 surface, shh) that you can use to clutter up 'work in progress' lots! 🚧

it's not the whole set; a lot of it was just too beyond my skillset, i'm afraid. i did manage to convert a good chunk of it, though, and the scaffolding even has edited slots! if you'd like to know more, do check the readme i included in the download, or peek below the cut for extra info! also, as per usual, there's a collection file for ease of browsing the catalogue.

DOWNLOAD: SFS | MF 👷🏽‍♀️

credits go to @syboubou (aka syboulette) for the lovely original ts4 meshes & textures 💕

Things to Note

There are 10 items in total, all found under the Decor -> Miscellaneous section, except the scaffolding, which is found under Surfaces -> Miscellaneous. It is not the entire set; I left out the Build Mode stuff like doors and windows.

Items Included

Cement Bag Pile -> 724 polys Cement Mixer -> 1720 polys Cinder Block Pile V1 -> 1944 polys Cinder Block Pile V2 -> 972 polys Cone -> 320 polys Construction Permit -> 348 polys Pallets Pile -> 816 polys Planks Pile -> 430 polys Scaffolding -> 656 polys

if there are any issues that you find with this set, please don't be afraid to let me know! happy simming, and when you download this, do keep in mind,

( @4t2ccdatabase )

#sims 2 download #the sims 2 cc #ts2cc #s2cc #sims 2 cc #the sims 2 #sims 2 #4t2 #4t2 conversion #4t2 buy #requests #sims 2 requests

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s1ater · 2 years ago

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boy in the rain.

pairings. matt sturniolo x fem!reader

about. one simple offer of a ride home in the rain turns into an unforgettable relationship and sad ending.

warnings. death, swearing, and unedited

ricky rocks. this might be a hit or miss, so don't dawg on me too hard.

pictures of him were plastered everywhere.

your heart was buried deep in your stomach from the moment you saw it and it only sunk deeper and deeper the more the hours past, the voices that rung through your ears, and the solumn feeling that colored the hallways.

dead. he's dead.

believe it, don't believe it, you still searched for his face as each person passed you, in each class that you entered; looked for any sign of him.

but he was dead.

you stood beneath the awning of the gas station, gazing out at the summer rain looking to pour itself onto anything and everything unprotected. you frowned hard as you observed, not expecting your walk for a slushy to be intruded on, especially this abruptly. it was a humid night and therefore even more horrendous that such heavy rainfall came to clash.

you sighed, making a move to go back into the grimy gas station when he called out.

“hey, you need a ride?”

you stopped, turning toward the direction of the only car inhabiting the gas stations parking lot, squinting, and indicating a boy in the front driver's seat. he wore a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over his head, squinting back at you due to the rain spitting in his face from his rolled down window.

you knew him.

"are you serious?"

you can barely hear his laugh, but it was there, and you almost melted right there to the cement, "yes. c'mon, I won't leave you stranded."

the ten feet you had to walk to his car was horrible, so you were immediately thankful for the offer the moment you slung yourself into his car. he must have been able to tell too by the way his laugh once again rung through your ears, watching you attempt to catch your breath in his passenger seat.

"I'm matt," he smiled from ear to ear in amusement, offering his hand to you as you clutched your sopping wet body.

"I know," you chattered through your teeth, no longer suffering from the everlasting summer heat from outside, but the air conditioner blasting in matt's car. "sturniolo."

"oh, you know," he was still highly entertained by whatever this situation he put himself in, especially by the way you side eyed his hand still waiting for yours. "you cold?"

"no," you lied through your teeth, still shaking.

he smiles, turning the ac off and switching the heat on low, "right. what's your name?"

you felt a sudden chest pain at the question. you had been going to school with matt since the 7th grade. you had classes with him, had seen him outside of school at parties, hangouts. you knew who he was, so why didn't he know who you were?

your frown was obvious, and he couldn't help but have felt that he fucked up, like his question was preposterous and insulting, "moe."

a lie, again. and just like the first, he could tell it was one, once again.

"you go to mountainview, right?"

"yeah."

he nods, and the previous amused smile is gone and a narrowed stare is there to replace it. he's unsure why you lied and why you were suddenly so upset.

"shit, I'm getting your seats wet," you suddenly became hyperaware of your drenched self pressed into his leather seats.

"you're good," he glanced to your lap suddenly, watching you squirm, as if attempting to reposition yourself in some way where you weren't soaking his seats, but you only made yourself look like a fool. "I wouldn't have asked you in the car if I cared so much about my seats."

you smiled sympathetically.

"so, moe, where to?"

his locker was heavily decorated. flowers, hearts, cards, pictures of him with friends, pictures of just him. you stood across from it, staring at each individual item that was taped down to show love and sympathy and hope. you glanced down to the palm of your hand, clutching the necklace you held tightly before bringing it right in front of you.

the necklace, or rather locket, swayed back and forth with the golden heart weighing it down.

it was no longer meant to be yours.

"how'd you get that?"

your head cranked to the left where a boy stared you down, his cheeks flushed but vision narrowed down on you, "huh?" you quickly dropped your arm down, shoving the piece into your pocket.

"where'd you get that?"

your eyes widen, realizing this was an exact replica of matt storming toward you, but with longer hair; chris. you felt your heart push up into your throat, feeling yourself backing on your feet the closer he got.

"answer me."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," you swing around, marching away from him the best you could as he still tried to trail behind you.

"that's matty's."

"this rain is going to kill me," you watch his knuckles flex over the railing as he grasped it tightly, leaning over the edge, gazing into the pitch dark. it had been weeks since matt had first picked you up in a rain storm at that gas station, and ironically, once again he had found you.

the two of you now sat in a watchtower in the middle of town that you had taken him to the first night, gazing out at the building lights being blurred by the rain that hadn’t let up in days. matt was impatient by this, you didn’t have to know him well or see him more than a minute to know this.

“why don’t you like the rain?” you laughed silently at him as you watched him grit his teeth, turning back around to face you.

he suddenly looks sad.

you regret asking the question.

"I just lost someone really special to me," his eyes strayed from yours, meeting the wall of rain behind you, "and the day it happened... all it did was rain."

you watch him carefully. his tone was steady but you could tell it took a lot in him to keep it that way.

"I-" his hand reaches for the chain around his neck out of sudden instinct, wrapping his fingers around the golden material. "I can't stand rain, not after that. it makes me feel sick to my stomach. it's all I think about and it's like it's following me."

you feel a sudden push on your body, like a force guiding you to him, "oh, matt-"

"y/n-"

"I'm sorry," you ignore the short sound of protest, finding yourself attaching to him with your arms wrapped around his neck. "I'm sorry."

his body is stiff and cold and you can tell that everything in him is trying to resist the warmth of your own. he wants to not want it, but he fails the resistance and every voice in his head telling him he was fine and the hug was a ridiculous gesture. he fails, allowing the barrier of your warmth to immerse into him, accepting the hug that was really far from ridiculous, but needed.

you weren't going to go.

after your small encounter with chris, you were practically setting yourself up by attending matt's funeral. but you couldn't not go, not after everything.

that morning it had rained.

that had been a first since one of the last days of summer. the rain had glistened everything, made everything seem so renewed and bright and so fresh for a november evening.

it took a lot for you to walk through those doors, walk up those stairs, and even sit down to watch the service. you could barely sit there for a second before walking right back out onto the front steps.

you feel suffocated. you claw at your chest, digging your fingers against your skin before they find the locket--looping your fingers against the golden chain out of instinct—like he did. you dip your head backwards, inhaling strongly, trying to breathe the images of matt away from your mind.

bad idea.

especially when you realize you're not the only one on the front steps.

“you’re moe, aren’t you?”

you look down and the feeling in your chest becomes worse.

chris stares up at you from where he sits on the cement steps. you can't tell what the look in his eyes are, but it's nothing you find enjoyment in--especially when they mirror matt's exact pupils, his exact iris', his exact color...

you feel deeply disturbed that he looks at you with something that matt never did.

“yeah…”

he scoffs, running his hand down his mouth, "yeah... great."

"how'd you know?"

"that's our mother's chain, y/n," he looks back around and ahead of him, but still mindlessly points back at the golden locket around your neck. "she gave it to matt before she passed."

oh.

oh. oh. oh god.

"but I'm sure he told you if he gave it to you."

no, he didn't.

"how'd you know I was moe?"

he laughs a little, genuine as he digs the heel of his palm into his eyes, "moe; 'heaven', 'rain', and 'sky' from burmese origins. he knew you were lying the moment you told him that, but he didn't know why or even why 'moe'?" you smiled to yourself. "had us up all night looking up the meaning of 'moe' and decided it had to be that. met in the rain, name means rain."

"clever," you whispered, slowly taking a seat next to chris. "couldn't keep anything anyway from him."

"yeah or you're just shit at lying," he scoffs, glancing at you. "but it's funny you tried."

"funny I tried," you mumbled to yourself, shaking your head, as if laughing at yourself.

you knew about chris and you knew about nick, just like you had known matt before you actually knew him. but getting to know matt, was also like getting to know his two other triplets. he told you everything.

and because of that, he told you about chris.

"I should give this to you," you find yourself reaching behind your neck, unclasping the locket from your neck. "it belongs to you."

he told you how chris never took anything seriously, he told you how chris was really good at brightening a room because of it, and he told you how angry chris was when matt was the one given the locket and not him.

it made a lot more sense now that that friend was actually their mother.

chris glanced at you before doing a double take, realizing what you were doing. his eyes softened fast at the sight of the heart swinging back and forth between the two of you. he didn't take it. you were both sitting there, watching the priceless piece hold there for the taking, and he still didn't take it.

"y/n," his voice is soft and almost sympathetic, but his eyes are still trained tightly on the piece of jewelry. "that's-that's, I can't take that."

but no matter how angry chris was about the locket, he accepted it wasn't his. and what wasn't his, he wouldn't take.

"what do you mean?"

"matty gave that to you. it's yours."

"but I don't deserve it."

"y/n," he shakes his head, pushing the necklace back to you. "it's yours now, okay? there's a reason matt was given that locket and there's a reason it was given to you, okay? I don't need it," he shakes his head, his eyes wide and red. "I don't need it."

you feel your eyes burn. the desperate sound of chris' voice makes you want to burst out into tears. you don't know what to do, and he can tell. he takes the locket, but not for reasons you want.

"here," you watch chris dig into his suit before pulling out an envelope. "before... everything," he coughs a little, beginning to feel his throat closing up. "matt wrote you something."

all icy provision from before has melted. his whole body is turned all the way to face you now, no longer to you as a stranger, but someone he understands.

"take it," he paired the envelope with the necklace before pushing it to you. "read it when it rains."

"you ever get sick of me?"

it was a month and half into the school year and what you thought was only going to be a summer friendship, blossomed into something else.

your question made matt arch a brow, questioning if you were being serious, "what?"

"I mean day and night, we're the only people that see each other. how do your friends not hate you?"

it was true. you rarely ever saw matt at school unless in the halls or even on small occasions of going to lunch together, but it was like every time after that, he was at your house. matt valued his time and when it was open and free, he always spent it with you.

you had had this conversation before, multiple times. you were always the one who started them.

"I could never get sick of you."

the only reason you questioned it so often was because of how different you and matt were. the two of you becoming friends and being as close as you were was the most unlikely thing you could ever think of. the two of you had no connections what so ever in friends, hobbies, or even classes. your lives rarely ever crossed beyond in the hallways or parties.

"you act like we're not friends," he crashes onto your living room couch, slightly amused. "you're my best friend."

you feel your face burn at the comment. it paralyzes you more than it should. you also considered matt to be your best friend, but it still catches you off guard hearing the words aloud. you're not sure what to say.

"im not yours?"

"you are."

"I figured," he's grinning now, "just making sure."

it's silent.

"I value our time a lot, you know that," you've heard this a million times, but you could never get sick of it. "we don't know how much time we get with someone, so it's important to me to fill my time with someone I care about."

you finally take a seat next to him, watching him with a ghost of a smile on your face as he speaks.

we don't know how much time we get with someone.

"I want to give you this."

you watch as matt brings his hands behind his neck, unclasping the chain that you had became so accustomed to seeing around his neck.

your mouth slightly opens, "what?"

"I want you to-"

"matt, that's-" you shake your head, cutting yourself off. you couldn't even process this gesture. "I can't take that from you."

"you can."

you really couldn't. the first time you had seen the locket was the first time he had told you about why he didn't like the rain. he had clutched onto it like a safety net. after that, that necklace was all you could see on him half the time. it took him two months for him to tell you what it was and that was exactly why you couldn't take it from him.

"I can't, matty."

"why?"

"because it's yours and I can't take something that was given to you--especially if it was by someone who mattered a lot to you."

he looks as if he thinks about it, his eyes lowering down, looking to the gold heart, before back up to you, "yeah..."

even if you were right, he didn't care. the piece was always significant to him, but there was a point in time where he was ready to let it go--hence why he left it on your kitchen counter without your knowledge.

moe,

I know you're already laughing at me, wondering why you're reading something I could easily say over the phone. but I know you’ll eat this up, even if you like to think it's corny.

you were never someone I thought I needed. from the moment I received that locket from my mother, was the moment I was ready to give up. my mother was my best friend and someone who taught me everything that matters.

you remind me of her--in the least weirdest way possible. you made me what I missed, you were exactly what I needed and wanted.

you keep me sane and well structured. I used to hate getting up in the morning, but after that moment, in the watch tower, when you hugged me even as we were strangers, I couldn't wait to wake up to see your face again.

I felt like a fool. I felt like how chris probably feels everyday. it's a feeling I hope I never forget or never leaves me.

you are special. you are worth all the time in the world. the day I forget that or the day I forget my priorities is a day i'm dead.

I hope to never lose you or whatever it is we have, and if I do, moe, my sweet, sweet moe, I'll find you in the rain.

matty.

#matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #fanfiction #fluff

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simmillercc · 6 months ago

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NOW AVAILABLE FOR EVERYONE! - be sure to go to the project page to see all the pics! This is a big set :D

SIMS 4 - GOTHIC ELEGANCE COLLECTION - BASE GAME

I bring to you, The Gothic Elegance Collection.

There are 39 packages, including an easel, multiple floors, multiple walls, 3 living chair patterns in separate packages, a loveseat, a sofa, 8 painting sets, and 3 rugs.

This set will pair well with a lot of other Gothic decor out there, so, please, give it a try!

SWATCHES

Painting Easel - 7

Sofa (Damask) - 42

Loveseat (Plain) - 23

Living Chair

- Plain - 23

- Damask - 15

- Roses - 10

Rugs

- 4X4 - 22

- 4X3 - 14

- 4X2 - 53

Paintings

- Gothic Elegance - 48

- The Wise Old Owl - 30

- The Gothic Outdoors - 45

- The Chandelier - 20

- The Moth - 15

- Mortals - 60

- The Garden Gate - 42

- Dark Elegance - 66

- Black Roses - 48

- White Gold - 30

Floors

- Gothic Cement Floor Tiles Small - 4

- Gothic Cement Floor Tiles - 4

- Victorian Gothic Herringbone Wood Floor - 10

- Victorian Gothic Stone Floor - 7

- Victorian Gothic Floor Tiles Small - 4

- Victorian Gothic Floor Tiles - 4

Walls

- Gothic Elegance with and without molding - 53

- Coffins with and without molding - 14

- Skulls with and without molding - 14

- Wings with and without molding - 20

- Mr. Crow with and without molding - 18

- Vintage Ornate with and without molding - 14

- Plain with and without molding - 27

CATALOG INFO

Custom thumbnails for everything.

All in game names begin with GE and the item type, so they are easy to find.

For example: GE Wallpaper - Wings, GE Sofa Damask, etc.

All Walls cost 8 Simoleons per panel and are found in the Wallpaper section.

This set began with the walls simply entitled Gothic Elegance, and I put the darkest black plain wall swatch in with it, so it's easy to match with the rest of the patterns in the set, all with the same black colour. The other plain wall colours are in their own packages.

All walls come in full wallpaper, and wallpaper with black molding versions.

The sofa comes in a damask pattern with black wood accents, and costs 1200 Simoleons.

The loveseat comes in a plain version with black wood accents, and costs 1100 Simoleons.

There are 3 living chair packages, all with black wood accents: Damask, Plain, and Roses. They all cost 410 Simoleons.

There are 6 packages for floors, all costing 8 Simoleons:

Tiles x2 - regular and small pattern, found in Tiles and Linoleum

Cement x2 - regular and small pattern, found in Tiles and Masonry

Stone - found in Stone

Herringbone Wood - found in Wood

The Easel is found in Activities/Creative, costs 900 Simoleons, and is an altered base game mesh. New Polygons:

LOD0 1064

LOD1 866

Shadow LOD0 1040

Shadow LOD1 842

There are 10 packages for paintings, and all are found in Decorations>Paintings and Posters. 6 are an altered mesh of a base game item, simply reduced in size. The mesh is in one of the painting sets, the others are recolours. Therefore, the one with the mesh is required for the others to work in game. See below:

Mortals - 2150 Simoleons - CONTAINS THE MESH

Dark Elegance - 2150 Simoleons - Recolour of altered mesh

The Chandelier - 2150 Simoleons - Recolour of altered mesh

The Gothic Outdoors - 2150 Simoleons - Recolour altered my mesh

The Wise Old Owl - 2150 Simoleons - Recolour of altered mesh

the Moth - 2150 Simoleons - Recolour of altered mesh

White Gold - 650 Simoleons

The Garden Gate - 650 Simoleons

Black Roses - 650 Simoleons

Gothic Elegance - 950 Simoleons

Rugs are found in Decorations>Rugs:

4X4 - 750 Simoleons - Damask pattern

4X2 - 650 Simoleons - All 4 Gothic Elegance patterns from the Gothic Elegance wallpaper

4X3 - 650 Simoleons - 1 Gothic Elegance pattern from the Gothic Elegance wallpaper

PATREON https://www.patreon.com/posts/110601626

CURSEFORGE https://www.curseforge.com/.../gothic-elegance-collection

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nervousd · 2 years ago

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Side story— Unexpected

→ Infatuation | m.list

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

#SYNOPSIS- an unexpected outcome happens

#WARNING(S)— This is a dark fic, implications of babytrapping, talks of abortion, implications of noncon/dubcon, unwanted pregnancy, talks of miscarriage, implications of physical abuse, talks of death(?), older man/younger woman, obsession, possessive, yandere, implications of platonic yandere

#CHARACTER(S)— Colonel Miles Quaritch

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

❝ Fuck— Fuck! ❞ countless items were scattered across the floor, you threw everything that was near— a vase with nice decorated flowers gifted by the man that had brought you down to situation. Clothes that were gifted by him— accessories that he gifted you. Your voice grew louder, pulse racing and breath labored— your muscles were tensed as you could feel your blood boiling. With nothing else near your reach you were left restlessly

Your fingers fidgeted, restless to distract your attention somewhere else. The taunting thin blue lines however seemed to be mocking you. Numerous pregnancy test were scattered across the floor, they weren’t easy to get either— your fingers crept up towards your hair pulling at the rots. You aren’t ready to be a mother— to have a child. Tears welled up in frustration— this wasn’t possible. You were careful— you were sure of it. Had taken the morning after pill religiously— even if you were reassured that a condom would be used. An ugly expression crept up your face, your fingers balled into a fist and slammed them down on the cement.

A profanity of curses escaped past your lips, ❝ That damn dog— That Bastard! ❞ it was no secret who the father of your unborn child is— or rather clump of cells. There was still time— to get rid of it. As cruel as it sounds it was reasonable wasn’t it? How can you bring a child into such a cruel world? This was no life and neither was earth. How can you even be pregnant? As much as you wanted to delude yourself into thinking all the pregnancy test were false there was no denying the truth. The morning sickness and lack of period was enough confirmation for you.

But even then— none of this made sense. You couldn’t be pregnant, you were careful— too careful. Hell maybe you could even call yourself paranoid. The Colonel— no Miles had done something. He had begun to act oddly one day. You knew him well— too well. He was up to something— at one point you had devised a plan to find out. Much to your horror— Miles had began dreaming of building a family with you. He whispered his desires and dreams when he thought you were asleep, hand caressing your stomach. You laid wide awake that night, unable to sleep. And now here you are pregnant— what a fuckin coincidence isn’t it? He did something— he is the reason why you were pregnant.

You held no feelings for this man— couldn’t even bear to think of having a child with him. You despised him— but there was a perk to this unique relationship with him. You would use his affections not only for you benefit but for the avatar program as well. If all you had to do was batt your eyelashes at him or whispering sweet nothings into his ear, you can get him to consent to a small favor for you— of course they were never small. There were even talks of regaining peace with the na’vi when the destruction and attacks were cut down by the RDA. So what if you were using him? In the end you were that one that was fulfilling his never ending lust.

You had relatively managed to clam yourself down, the pregnancy test weren’t false nor were they wrong. You were pregnant— that is a fact. Not once had you missed taking the pill— so how could this happen? Unless the pills were fake. You scrambled towards your room, searching aimlessly for the bottle of pills. Popping the cap bottle, the pills scattered across the floor. You analyzed each of the pills, nothing seemed wrong with them. Until the sweet sugary smell met your nose— they were placebos. They didn’t crumble with the slightest touch of pressure unless there was force applied. Sugar pills— they were sugar pills. You’ve been eating sugar pills for months.

Anger bubbled within your chest, how have you not noticed you’ve been eating sugar pills for months? You were an idiot— a fool— You had asked Miles for the pills seeing as you had no other way to get them. But for how long have you been a fool in his eyes? You trusted him— you never thought he would do something as vile as this. Either way, what’s done is done. There is no way to get out of this situation. It would be impossible to terminate this pregnancy— sure there were doctors stationed here in Pandora but they weren’t the type of doctor you needed. God knows they don’t have the necessary equipment either. Abortion isn’t possible— a miscarriage is possible but even than such a feat would be dangerous.

Tears blurred your vision, there was no way out of this scenario. You were stuck— and you refused to even entertain the thought of going to Miles. If anything he would be ecstatic of the news. It’s what he wanted— and he got it. He wanted a family and it’s now possible— he wants to be father. He is going to be father. But you can rob him of that experience— you can rob him of being present. And with that in mind you had decided there and than you would leave.

It wasn’t going to be easy— not with soldiers stationed at every corner of the building, being kept under his watchful eye was difficult to get out of. But that wouldn’t stop you from packing your bags. With your mind made up you had decided to flee— Grace was going to meet you at Site 26. But to get there you would need a chopper. Thankfully— Trudy had taken pity on your situation. She was someone you often confided in and was quick to realize the true colors of your relationship with the Colonel. Often— she would help in hiding you; away from his leering gaze. You were grateful for her help— knowing once the colonel caught wind of what you had done— and what she had done a punishment would be laid out for her ‘ insubordination ‘

Grace had welcomed you with open arms, ushering you inside as she rambled about her latest data collection. The place was in shambles to say the least— papers scattered across the floor and counters— it was Grace’s way of coping through her grief. Her wound was still fresh— unable to accepted what happened— the school was attacked by the RDA— ultimately resulting in the death of na’vi children. It was a difficult time for Grace— while you held no bonds with the na’vi you were still sympathetic towards them. But alas earth was dying and in need of resources fast— it was crue but it was to be done.

You settled down rather quickly, enjoying the beautiful scenery and the comforting presence Grace offered. You told her of your troubles; finding it difficult to keep it a secret. She was furious to say the least— insulted him with every curse she knew. A part of you was was overjoyed to see you weren’t alone in this situation; you had someone by your side — a part of you resented her for it after all none of this would of happened if it wasn’t for her

And she knew that— why else would she be so kind? The days had gone by quick— they were peaceful on your part. Morning sickness was a pain to get through— it left you exhausted and unable to cope with any other type of food that had a strong odor.

—

But the peace wouldn’t last for long— a chopper had landed near the site, a group of soldiers came rushing in with none other than Colonel Miles Quaritch leading his group of men. He had a mean look on his face, he stormed in; slamming doors against the walls. Grace was quick to stand up to your defense, a bubble of anger churning in her stomach. She despised him— oh how she hated him. She didn’t hold back on her curses, calling him every single profanity she could. She did anything to distract him from you— it’s the least she could

She was detained by his group of men, yelling her to calm down as she struggled against their cuffs. They dragged her off towards the chopper claiming Parker wanted to have a word with her due to her ‘ negligence’ You were alone now— with no one to protect you from the terrifying beast. A brief silence washed over, he kissed his teeth in annoyance ❝Found you— had me runnin’ around the base lookin for you ❞ his voice drawled out ❝— so, you what? Decided to run? Didn’t exactly think this through did you, Princess? ❞ his steps were menacing as he loomed over you. He cupped your cheek, thumb stroking your cheekbone— an act of affection you were familiarized with. He gently coaxed your eyes to look up and meet his own— he looked relieved.

His other palm slid up your waist tugging you towards him. He tucked you underneath his chin, pressing against you— as if he was trying to mold your body to his. He relaxes for a brief moment of time, only able to calm himself feeling your warmth pressed up against his chest. His muscles loosen, eyes hazing; he wonders how things came to be like this— how he became like this. If you weren’t so supple and sweet— if you didn’t fit perfectly against him and make the prettiest of sounds for him— it wouldn’t of come to this. For a long time, there was a silence between you two. Then, he smiled, pearly white teeth shown, ❝ You know, for a while I thought it wasn’t gonna take, seeing as how many times my seed never took— but imagine my surprise when I find out you’re expecting— expecting my kid. My son— you didn’t exactly make it hard to find out ❞

His fingers pressed against your skin— bruising, almost, ❝you’re being an irresponsible mother to our son ❞ he hissed through his clenched teeth. ❝ Taken my son away from me— from his father ❞ You’re body trembled beneath his brushing holding, Miles notices it immediately; eyes softening in response. He releases a sigh; wary and tired— exhausted. A remorseful look crossed his face— but only a second; back to a stern cold look. He directly looks toward your protruding belly, his hand caresses your small bump— you have the urge to slap his hand away; to scream and yell. Do anything in your power to cause him harm, ❝ Things are going to change— starting with your attitude ❞

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━━━ : © NERVOUS.D

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angelsworks · 2 years ago

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Happy Birthday Klaus Mikaelson x Pinkie Pie! Reader

Type: Challenge One shot

Challenge Masterlist -> Here

Summary: You celebrate Klaus’ birthday, much to his displeasure.

Warnings: Nothing really , mentions of violence

If you could do anything for anyone it would be making them feel special. In a world practically bursting with people, it’s easy for some to fall through the cracks. Into the lonely abyss of forgotten. While you enjoy time to yourself, sometimes it’s too much.

The feeling of not being connected to anyone had deeply upset you since you were young. Maybe it was friends never trying with your relationship, or busy parents or teachers never bothering to learn your name because of your quiet nature. All of it combined really brought you down.

Until it didn’t and it instead pissed you off. You channeled how you felt to become more sociable in high school, using it as your chance to start again. You spoke with everyone no matter the clique or social status. Determined that no one in your reach would feel like you.

Naturally this filtered into celebrating birthdays. Whether it was bringing in presents or cards to any and everyone you’d spoken to. People in your class, in your after school groups, on your street. By sophomore year you’d cemented your position as the peppy party planner who was always the life of the party.

You’d kept that up all the way till senior year. Happy to make others happy. You kept a list of everyone birthday. Always staying on top of them. So why did everyone expect you to exclude Klaus Mikaelson from your list?

“I just don’t get it, how do you even know his birthday?” Caroline asked, before stabbing a piece of cake on her paper plate.

You smile as you pack away some blue solo cups, “I know everyone’s birthday.”

The blonde gives you a questioning look.

You laugh, “Maybe I’ve got some Bennet blood in my veins and I’m psychic.” You muse.

Caroline rolls her eyes, “When you can light candles with your mind let me know.”

“If I could, I still wouldn’t be able to put enough candles on Klaus’ cake.” The party had been for one of the girls in your art class. She’d asked if you’d help make it a memorable birthday and you could do nothing but deliver.

“I just don’t know if it’s a good idea. There’s all that stuff that happened with him and what if he like, I dunno, kills you?”

Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes at your friend. “That was ages ago. Now him and Elena are practically on speaking terms. Rebekah had no problem when I brought her a cake.”

Caroline chokes on the freshly frosted piece of blue birthday cake. One you’d made especially for Emily. From the rest of the decorations and the dress code, anyone could tell that was her favourite colour.

“Rebekah Mikaelson? She’s crazy. The amount of times she’s tried to kill me, to kill Elena.” She starts to rant.

It was true the Mikaelsons had brought trouble into town with them. Klaus was desperate for Elena’s blood, ready to kill anyone who stopped him. He and his family often clashed with Caroline and her friends. Occasionally you too, yet you tried to stay out of it.

After all parties had gotten what they wanted, with much mediation on Elijah’s part and changing of the a spell on Bonnie’s, they managed to reach an agreement.

“It was all smoother over, what it not?” You ask her, still busy packing away decorations. “Aren’t you meeting Elena today?”

Caroline raises her eyebrows in shock and practically throws her cake down. She takes a napkin to wipe her face, then starts to collect her stuff.

“You are totally right. Elena wants me to help Jenna pick out an outfit for her and Ricks anniversary.” She tells you.

“Thank you so much for this. Just be safe with Klaus okay. Don’t do anything reckless.” You wave her off, finally being able to stack boxes of party supplies together.

You say your goodbyes and watch the blonde hurry off. It doesn’t take long to pack all the items away. You see Emily before you leave. She’s clearly having a good time, with more than juice in her solo cup. She slurs her goodbye and thanks you extensively, at one point wrapping her arms around you in a jumble of a hug.

For Klaus’ cake you decided to go simple. Well simple ish. It was a plain enough cake that said happy birthday in white buttercream. It was covered in a blue fondant. When you finish you realise how boring it looks. While you don’t want to push your limits with this cake, you also want to go above and beyond for Klaus.

You’d heard of his tales, of what he’d done in the past. You’d also seen him around town. Always alone. It seemed he didn’t have all that many friends, outside of his siblings. Even they didn’t act like friends.

It reminded you of how you felt all those years ago. Alone and sad. Lonely in a town so small you’d bump into teachers all the time. Sometimes in the most inconvenient locations.

So you added extra details. You fashioned a brush and paint pallet out of fondant. Arranging it carefully on top of the cake. When you were satisfied with your work you put the cake in the box and in the fridge.

You wrote out a card and packed his present in a small bag. The present in question was a pack of small canvases and brushes. You knew he liked to paint. Once you’d seen his work on the wall of the Mikaelsons house. It was a large piece, portraying a field of flowers and a serene sky filled with the colours of a sunset. It was truly marvellous.

Yet it got you thinking, what about little canvases? Little piece of work that wouldn’t be as large a project, but could require just as much detail and precision for the small space.

Eyes wide and lips pulled up to smile brightly, you walked through the door of the bar. It was a little difficult with the large cake in your hands and present and card bag dangling from your arm, but your managed. You searched for Klaus, finding the man in a booth in a the corner of the bar. He sat alone of course, nursing a glass of scotch.

He didn’t look up when you walked towards his table. The bar was fairly empty and he was clearly in his own world.

You place the cake down on the table, then pulled the bag of your arm, placing it down next to it. Then you sit opposite him in the booth, moving the items on the table aside slightly so you can see Klaus.

Klaus’ eyebrows knit together in confusion. He knew you of course. Noticed you at his family’s ball and around town. He’d heard Rebekah gushing about you to Elijah. Talking about how happy she’d been when you brought her a cake and made her feel special.

“What all this Love?” He asks. You try not to let the pet name mean anything. While Klaus is an extremely attractive person you’re here for a purpose.

“Happy birthday!” You smile wildly then pull out a party blower from your pocket, giving it a blow. Much to the other patrons (not that there are many) displeasure.

He lets a small smile grow on his face, “Sorry love, but I think birthdays stop counting after you move into a four digits age.”

You shake your head, “No way. If you’re immortal then so is your birthday buddy.”

“Buddy?” He asks incredulous.

You push the bag towards him. To which he cautiously peels back the the tissue paper and pulls out the contents.

“They’re mini canvases.” You tell him. Then explain how you’ve see his work - which you think was really beautiful - and how you though painting a smaller canvas would be a different challenge and a change for him. He nods along. Almost entranced by what you’re saying.

“That’s really thoughtful, love. Thank you. I can’t remember the last time anyone celebrated my birthday.” He told you earnestly. Genuinely so appreciative of your kind gesture.

“Well that’s a real shame Klaus.” For a moment your eyes connect and you feel rooted in place. You try not to blush so instead move on to remove the cover of his cake.

“Now don’t get too upset, but there aren’t any candles on your cake. I think it would be a little difficult to fit over 1000 candles on there.” He laughs. Eyes move to appraise the cake. They widen in surprise at the detail on the cake and the paint pallet and paintbrush you’ve created.

“This looks amazing love. Thank you.” It’s the first time you’ve seen Klaus Mikaelson smile. It’s genuine and lights his face. For a moment he doesn’t look like some scary vampire. He looks like a man enjoying his birthday.

“Happy Birthday Klaus Mikaelson. Have a great day.” You say, reaching a hand out to his own.

Time seems to slow as you stare into his eyes. Your hands entwine and your heart skips a beat. You notice how there’s some green in his dark blue eyes. For a moment they shine gold.

It’s enough to bring you out of your daze. You move to stand only for Klaus to stop you.

“Aren’t you staying for a piece?”

#angelsworks post #klaus mikaelson headcanon #TVD #klaus x reader #mlp au #mlp challenge #klaus Mikaelson x reader #tvd oneshot #klaus mikaelson one shot

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blueiscoool · 2 years ago

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2,000-Year-Old Roman Mausoleum Unearthed Near London Bridge

No burial artifacts were recovered from the structure itself, but the surrounding area yielded over 80 Roman burials containing copper bracelets, coins, glass beads and a bone comb.

A "completely unique," 2,000-year-old Roman mausoleum that has emerged from the rubble of a development site in central London is the most intact ever discovered in the U.K.

The monumental tomb — of which low walls, entrance steps and interior flooring remain — is bejeweled with two mosaics composed of small red tiles, each featuring a flower enclosed in concentric circles. More than 100 coins were also strewn across the tomb's floor.

Archeologists only found the second mosaic when they dug beneath the first one. This indicates the mausoleum floor was raised at least once while it was still being used for burials, they said.

The discovery, which is nestled within the city's central Southwark area, "provides a fascinating window into the living conditions and lifestyle in this part of the city in the Roman period," Antonietta Lerz, a senior archeologist at The Museum of London Archeology (MOLA), said in a statement.

Roman invaders under Emperor Claudius founded London, or Londinium, around 47 A.D. and ruled the city through to the early fifth century, when dwindling military resources and incursions across the rest of the empire forced their withdrawal from Britain.

The recent excavation bears the marks of this decline. "This relatively small site in Southwark is a microcosm for the changing fortunes of Roman London — from the early phase of the site where London expands and the area has lavishly decorated Roman buildings, all the way through to the later Roman period when the settlement shrinks and it becomes a more quiet space where people remember their dead," Lerz said.

The mausoleum would have originally housed coffins and other burial artifacts, according to the statement, but none were recovered from the structure itself. However, the excavation site around the monument yielded Roman-era items belonging to more than 80 burials, including copper bracelets, glass beads, pottery and a bone comb.

Archeologists will now examine these recovered items to better understand central London's Roman past.

Only the wealthier members of society would have had access to the mausoleum, which may have been used as a family tomb or belonged to a "burial club," requiring a monthly fee to secure a future grave, according to the statement.

What remains of the structure indicates that it was a two-story building with large buttresses in the corners for support. The high walls were probably dismantled for reuse elsewhere during the medieval period. Inside, a raised platform cemented with pink mortar containing crushed bits of pottery and brick — a widely used Roman building material known as "opus signinum" — designates where the burials would have taken place around three sides of the mausoleum.

The discovery follows that of a 26 foot (eight meter) long Roman mosaic — the largest unearthed in London for more than 50 years — in February 2022. The newly excavated mausoleum will be put on public display once construction has concluded, according to the statement.

By Sascha Pare.

#2000-Year-Old Roman Mausoleum Unearthed Near London Bridge #roman mosaic #ancient grave #ancient tomb #ancient mausoleum #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #roman history #roman empire

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hongcherry · 2 years ago

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seeking trouble || p.sh (m)

"Seonghwa entertains your need for a late-night rendezvous despite his better judgment."

🏍 Pairing: biker!Seonghwa x richGirl!Reader (afab)

🏍 Rating/Genres/AUs: M(18+); Smut, angst; light fluff; Bad boy/rich girl au, friends to lovers

🏍 Warnings: Reader referred to as "girl", pet names (pretty girl, princess, whore, baby), #teamseonghwa.... you'll see why 😪 | [smut] dirty talk, unprotected sex on his bike, one spank lol, 5 seconds of summer choking, creampie, orgasm denial, fingering, oral (f. rec.), degradation, seonghwa's gets a lil mean 🥹...lmk if i missed anything! ^-^

🏍 Word Count: 3.5k

🏍 Author's Note: I am shamelessly contributing to the biker!hwa agenda 🫡 And ofc for research purposes, I stared at the gif for a long while. Curse you Park Seonghwa *shakes fists in the air*

part two

ateez masterlist | main masterlist

The flickering street lamp casts an eerie glow on the man in the distance.

He sits half on his motorbike as he slips on a black glove. He pays no attention to the sounds your feet are making on the rough cement. He only looks up when you’re a foot away.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he smiles, leaning back slightly. The chains resting around his neck greet you with tinkling winks under the light.

“Hi, handsome,” you reply cheerfully.

Seonghwa drinks in your appearance. Your bright clothes are the polar opposite of his and the scenery around you. However, he expects nothing less from you.

His eyes lower until they spot your platform heels with fuzzy decor across the toe straps.

Seonghwa lets out a silent huff of air in amusement, one corner of his mouth lifting in a lopsided grin. He blinks once then his eyes are suddenly on you.

The action has you shifting your weight.

“Interesting choice,” he comments. They’re a little odd, but they’re growing on him as the seconds tick by.

“Cute, huh?” you ask, angling your foot to show off your shoe.

“Perhaps,” he murmurs, then picks up a spare jacket from the back of his motorbike. “But I’m not sure they’re appropriate for tonight.”

Seonghwa tosses you the jacket, and you catch it with ease. It’s similar to his, but the reddish-orange accent color swirls in a different pattern.

You put on the item as you reply, “I didn’t have enough time to change.”

“Your date lasted that long?”

“It wasn’t a date,” you sigh at having to repeat yourself from previous conversations.

“You got all dolled up for dinner with a man. Sounds like a date to me,” he explains.

You shake your head, walking toward his bike and gesturing for him to get on. He obeys languidly.

“I’m about to go for a late-night drive with a man. Is this a date then?” you ask and swing a leg over the seat.

Seonghwa hands you a helmet before putting his own on.

“You didn’t get dressed up for me,” he states while you slip on the helmet.

You don’t have time to reply because Seonghwa has revved up his bike. Seconds later, he is driving out of the abandoned parking lot.

You wrap your arms around his waist, the familiar feeling bringing comfort. You can smell his strong cologne and resist the urge to take a deep whiff.

Riding on Seonghwa’s motorbike has your heart soaring with happiness.

Your eyes close as you embrace the wind rushing past your body. The graceful way he swerves through traffic makes you feel like you’re dancing.

You’re tempted to outstretch your arms, but you recall Seonghwa’s nagging voice from the one time you did it in the past. You don’t know why he cared so much, but you figured he just didn’t want to be reliable for murdering the mayor’s daughter.

That definitely wouldn’t end well for him.

Thirty minutes pass until you reach your destination.

Seonghwa’s first to climb off his bike. He sets his helmet down before reaching out for your hands. He helps you off of the bike carefully, watching as you stumble and feeling you squeeze his hands.

Normally after rides, your legs feel a little like jelly. It’s become a habit for Seonghwa to hold you for support afterward.

“’m good now,” you giggle after a moment.

Seonghwa drops your hands and then takes a few steps to overlook the town. You quickly set your helmet by his before turning to watch him.

The area is just outside your town on top of a hill. You and Seonghwa had stumbled across the spot by accident a month ago, and it’s become your regular hang-out ever since.

The freedom you feel from being away from town makes you feel weightless. You’re not the mayor’s daughter here. You’re not required to go on “dates” to uphold your family’s reputation. You’re not told who you can and can’t see.

It’s liberating.

And addicting.

You step next to Seonghwa silently. The town’s lights look more beautiful from a distance. If you didn’t know better, you’d want to go back. But you know what awaits you at home.

“You ever have to sit in a car with a guy who smells like rotten fish?” you ask out of the blue.

Seonghwa’s not affected by your sudden outburst. He simply slides off his jacket before laying it on the ground. You expect him to sit on it, but he sits next to it.

You open your mouth to question him; however, when he gestures to the item, you understand.

You slowly lower yourself onto his jacket.

Seonghwa leans back on his hands, legs straight in front of him. He’s wearing a simple black tank top in the chilly night, but he’s not shivering.

“No, because he would’ve been kicked out,” he belatedly answers.

You smile and avert your gaze from him to the town.

“If only I could’ve done that,” you sigh.

“So, who was he this time?”

You groan at the memory. “One of the council’s sons. He’s, like, seven years younger, but of course, Daddy wants me to befriend all his friend's children.”

“Aren’t you a good little girl,” Seonghwa teases in a sing-song manner, coming close to your ear.

You scoff and shove at him. “I don’t want to be.”

“Hm,” he pauses in thought.

Seonghwa brings a hand to your chin, angling your face so you’re looking at him. You’re thankful for the moon that allows you to see his handsome features.

His voice drops an octave when he says, “You want to be a bad girl?”

Your heart races at his words. He somehow always has a way to get your blood pumping and mind whirling.

“Aren’t I always when I’m with you?” you reply with a subtle smirk.

Seonghwa chuckles lowly.

“Sneaking out, hanging around someone like me, engaging in inappropriate behavior,” he trails off, slowly leaning in until he’s guiding you back on the ground.

“Definitely a bad girl,” he concludes.

His lips are centimeters away from yours. He’s staring at you with an intensity only Seonghwa can create. It causes your insides to do somersaults; your heart beating irregularly.

You don’t like the feeling.

Needing some form of control, you push against his chest. He pulls away, but instead of leaving him be, you sit up with him and climb into his lap.

Seonghwa’s hands rest on your hips.

“Only for you,” you smile sweetly.

He raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s true, princess.”

“Why is that?” you wonder, trailing your hands up his arms until they’re around his neck, inching yourself closer.

“You’ll crawl to anyone who gets you away from that town,” he replies. His hands rise to apply pressure against your lower back, pressing your chest against his. “I bet if you met Jongho before me, he’d be here with you instead.”

There’s truth to his answer.

Seonghwa’s your key to freedom. Without him, you’d be stuck in your overly big mansion—alone and unhappy.

But even though you saw him as a way to spread your wings at first, you started to want to spend nights with him for different reasons. Reasons you’ve been pushing down for a few weeks now. Reasons you’ll never admit to.

Reasons you want to forget.

“Then aren’t you lucky you paid for my meal when I forgot my money?” you say, leaning down to peck his pretty lips.

“Maybe you’re the lucky one since you followed me out like a lost puppy,” he grins. He glides his hands up and down your body lazily.

“I just wanted to thank you,” you argue.

“Wanna know what I think?”

“Trick question.”

“I think you thought I looked like trouble,” he answers anyway.

“Well, aren’t you?”

“If I wasn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Enough talking, Hwa,” you sigh. “Let’s get into that trouble I’m looking for.”

“Don’t we always,” he murmurs before crashing his lips on yours.

You instantly swipe your tongue along his lower lip, encouraging him to deepen the kiss.

Seonghwa’s no stranger to your quick antics, so he moves his tongue to meet yours without hesitation. His hands trail to squeeze your breasts through your blouse, eliciting an approving hum from you.

Your back arches in his hands as you begin to roll your hips. Seonghwa’s deft fingers pinch your nipples through your shirt, and it’s not long until his mouth is peppering kisses along the swells of your breasts.

When you start sliding off the jacket you’re wearing, he stops you.

“Leave that on,” he instructs before lifting your top and pulling down one of your bra cups. His mouth connects with your nipple, giving it a few flicks of his tongue.

“It’d be easier if you let me take it off,” you say between moans.

Seonghwa pulls away from your chest; he stares at you while he thinks.

“Fine,” he agrees and helps you remove the item.

You’re quick to remove your blouse and bra completely. Goosebumps litter your body from the cold night, but you’re sure you won’t be chilly for long.

You’re about to remove Seonghwa’s top, but he grabs one of your hands to halt your movements. He retrieves the jacket and guides your arm through a sleeve. Your eyes narrow at him as you slip the clothing back over your body.

“Something about leather on me excites you?” you tease.

“It’s not the leather,” he murmurs.

You hope he’ll explain, but he simply kisses your breasts again.

He’s scattering kisses all over your skin, occasionally nipping it. While he picks up where he left off, you do the same.

Your hips begin to grind against his, basking in the feeling of your clit being brushed against his hardening cock. Your fingers find purchase in his hair as he switches to your other breast. When he grazes his teeth against your pebbled nipple, you tug on his hair and pull him away.

Your lips find his before he can speak a word. The kiss is brisk, mouths moving with feverish haste. You could kiss him all night if you could, but you want to spend your time doing something else.

Too eager to undress Seonghwa’s upper half, your hands unbuckle his belt. You break the kiss with heavy breaths and climb off his lap.

Both of you strip yourselves of your pants and underwear.

“You ever fuck someone on your bike?” you ask once you’re completely bare—except for Seonghwa’s jacket and your heels.

“No,” he answers simply.

“Can I be your first?” you smile and stand next to it.

“What makes you think I want you to contaminate my bike?”

You roll your eyes. “Haven’t you ever wanted to? Come on, Hwa. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of it.”

“And how exactly are you going to balance on it?”

“Like this,” you instruct and slowly bend over it.

You keep your feet planted on the ground, hands gripping the side of the seat. You spread your legs slightly and wiggle your hips at him.

Seonghwa’s eyes are cast down between your legs. He can see how wet and ready you are.

Fuck.

He admits he has thought of it before…

“Stop thinking and just fuck me,” you sigh when he doesn’t move.

“I ought to gag you,” he growls as he comes up behind you. He removes his gloves and tosses them with the rest of the clothes on the ground.

“As if,” you smirk. “You love when I moan your name.”

Seonghwa doesn’t reply and instead lowers his mouth to your cunt.

You gasp when his tongue licks up your folds. He repeats himself a few times before diving his tongue in your core.

One of his hands wraps around your thigh to keep you balanced while the other toys with your clit.

Your body jerks at his touches. You rest the side of your face against the cushion seat, his name spilling from your parted lips.

“You’re right,” Seonghwa mumbles against your slickened folds. “I love hearing my name coming from your mouth.”

As if wishing to hear it again, he slides two fingers inside you.

“Fuck, Hwa,” you whimper at the way his digits stretch you out. Your hands clutch onto the seat as he pumps his fingers quickly.

You’re withering against his motorbike as he plays with your cunt. Your climax is building, but you don’t want to come around his fingers.

“Need your cock, Hwa,” you cry.

Seonghwa slows his movements.

“Need?” he chuckles. “My fingers aren’t enough for you, princess?”

You shake your head, trying to focus on his words rather than the slow glide of his fingers still inside you.

“Need my cock to stretch you out more?”

“Wanna be full of you. Please,” you whine.

Seonghwa scoffs and pulls his fingers away. He stands and presses himself against you. The feel of his heavy cock against your ass has you squeezing your legs.

He leans down so his face is closer to yours. The silver chains around his neck dangle downward, causing you to shiver at the feel of the cool metal. You angle your face slightly to see his eyes.

“Such a greedy little whore,” he chides.

His words should offend you, though all it does is turn you on more.

There’s a sassy comeback somewhere within you, but it doesn’t come to you quickly enough.

Seonghwa pulls away slightly and then slides into your drenched hole.

A gasp falls from your lips.

Seonghwa stills for a few seconds before moving in and out at a pace that’s not too slow, yet not too fast.

“You feel so good, baby,” he groans, thrusting roughly once before going back to his normal speed.

The sudden action has you cursing while you hold onto the bike as you’re lurched forward.

“Like that, Hwa,” you instruct.

Seonghwa smirks, running a hand down your spine before reeling it back and connecting it with your ass.

“You like being stuffed and taking it rough, hm? What else do you like?” he wonders. He pulls out until just the tip remains.

“When you do as you’re told without smart remarks like those,” you groan, sticking your ass out to push him back in. You’re buzzing with need and just need Seonghwa to give you what you want.

Seonghwa’s silent for a moment.

You begin to turn around, but he grabs your wrists and pulls you up. A hand snakes around to your throat while the other holds you tight around your tummy.

You moan when his cock slides all the way in due to his actions.

“Just for that,” he hisses in your ear, tightening his hold on your throat. “You don’t get to come.”

You don’t have a chance to argue with him before he starts snapping his hips.

Loud mewls, squelching, and skin slapping skin fill the empty area.

Your arms are trapped under his, though you’re still able to raise your hands to grab his forearm around your body. His grip around your throat loosens, but he keeps his hand there.

Seonghwa’s using your body like you’re nothing but his toy, slamming his cock deep into your walls and hitting that spot that makes you weak in the knees. His grunts behind you are low and guttural, making you even wetter.

His thrusts become sloppier as time goes on, and you know he’s not far from coming.

Seonghwa can also tell you’re close to your own release by the way you’re clenching around him. Usually, he’d go back on his words and let you dive into your pleasure, but he’s not feeling too nice tonight. Not when he knows he’s just a warm body for you to use to escape your wealthy world. Not when he knows he’s replaceable.

Not when his feelings are on the line.

So, instead of being a gentleman, he slams into you roughly—forcing you to bend over the bike as his cum shoots deep in your cunt.

Instead, he pulls out and starts to get dressed despite your pleas and whines.

Seonghwa watches you with heavy breaths. There’s a moral debate roaring inside him. Part of him wants to fall to his knees and devour you until you come on his tongue. The other part wants to leave you like that. Desperate and needing him to help you.

Desperate.

Needing him.

“You can’t be serious,” you whine, eyes wide in disbelief and fear that he might actually leave you like this.

He picks up his jacket, shaking off debris before shrugging it on.

“Get dressed or make yourself come,” he orders.

Your mouth drops open.

Never in your time knowing Seonghwa has he been this cruel. You know he’s not the most upright citizen, but this?

This is too much.

And you hate him for it.

Too close to your orgasm, you roll your eyes and start to prop a leg up when Seonghwa touches your back.

You eye him with the hope that he’s changed his mind; however, he simply pulls your back against his chest and hooks an arm under your knee. His other grips your hip—not even close to where you need him.

“Can’t send you back with bruises when you inevitably lose your balance,” he explains. “Go on, princess. Show me just how badly you wanted to come on my cock.”

You groan, wanting to pull away but knowing trying to balance yourself on his stupid bike would be a bad idea.

You reach back to grab his arm to steady yourself before you bring your other hand to circle your clit.

Your head lolls back against Seonghwa as you touch your aching pussy. Your fingers glide between your folds, silently cursing the man behind you when you feel his cum coat your digits.

His cum makes it easy for you to slip your fingers in your heat, and you close your eyes as you imagine it’s his fingers instead. The feeling isn’t nearly as satisfying as his fingers or cock, but you make it work.

Your body squirms as you finally orgasm, slumping against Seonghwa while you catch your breath.

Seonghwa smiles. “Feel good?”

“Fuck you,” you curse weakly.

“At least I gave you the opportunity to get yourself off here. I could’ve made you wait until you got home,” he says.

He doesn’t make an effort to move you—letting you regain your energy. At least, he’s not a complete asshole.

“Whatever,” you grumble.

You stay leaning against Seonghwa for a minute before moving away and getting dressed.

Seonghwa finishes getting dressed and is leaning against his bike when you’re done.

“Do you hate me or something?” you ask as you stand before him.

He tilts his head in confusion. “No?”

“Then why did you do that?” you scoff.

Seonghwa chuckles. “Because you should learn that your naughty mouth has consequences.”

He pushes away the underlying emotions that caused him to act like that. That’s something he can ponder over with a drink.

“You could’ve like,” you pause in thought, “given me the silent treatment instead.”

He smiles at you, finding your idea of punishment cute.

“The point of a punishment is for you to learn your lesson,” he explains.

Even though he’s right, you still pout.

“Come on, princess. We gotta get you home before—”

“Your bike turns into a pumpkin?”

“What?”

Seonghwa shakes his head, a small grin on his lips, and then offers you a helmet.

“You hungry?” he asks while you swing a leg over.

“A little,” you answer.

“Okay. I’ll stop by that one place before dropping you off,” he says.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

Nearly an hour later, you’re sneaking into your room, a takeout bag in hand.

You’re thankful your family members are deep sleepers. You’re not in the mood to confess all your sins to them at two in the morning.

As you’re munching on the food Seonghwa bought you, your mind wanders to the future.

At some point, you know something is going to have to change—whether that be by force or by choice.

Your family will never approve of Seonghwa. Sure, they may end up tolerating him, but that will take years, and even then, they’ll never truly accept him. Hell, they may even pay him to go away. That brings another thought to mind.

How much would it take for Seonghwa to leave you? Would it take much? Would it even be monetary?

You would hope he’d stick with you regardless of what they’d offer him, but you’re not sure.

Even with the looming possibility of your family discovering your secret rendezvous, there’s another issue at hand. One that’s more internal than the former.

One that involves your heart.

There’s only so much you can do and tell yourself that holds Seonghwa at arm's length. His world is so different from yours. Even if you could be with him, could you really handle it? You’ve never had to worry about money, a job, or chores. Being part of both worlds would be ideal, but you’re sure your family would disown you if you dated Seonghwa. Could you leave it all behind for something that may not last?

Both scenarios result in bad outcomes.

Although one of them is bound to happen, you don’t know which will come first.

A/N: Not sure if I wanna make a part two or let y'all use your imagination... 🤔

Edit: Here's part two 🤣

For my “shy/silent” readers, I’ve created a feedback form where you can share your thoughts on my fics in a more anonymous and private way. ^-^

©️hongcherry // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

#ateez smut #seonghwa smut #atz smut #seonghwa x reader #ateez angst #seonghwa angst #biker seonghwa #atz angst #biker hwa #seonghwa fanfic #ateez fanfic #atz fanfic #ateez x you #seonghwa x you #park seonghwa smut #kdiarynet #pirateeznet #ateezlovenet

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my-own-walker · 2 years ago

Note

Jpm x reader who find the hidden hallways and rooms and takes the chance to murder a hobo, James (whether they are close or not) catches her and she replies 'Just a hobo, do you disprove' just like he did with the countess

A Well-Respected Man

note: been so busy recently. i still luv u all! taking liberties with this request (aka i know you didn't ask for smut but i wanna write it)

warnings: quick sm*t, wall f*cking, murder, violence, blood, stabbing, misogynistic stuff

+++

I floated through the halls of the third floor in a dream. I couldn't tell if I liked being dead yet. There were no more consequences to my actions. I didn't have to choose to live every day. The lavishly decorated hallway felt different now.

When you're alive, you rush. You want to experience as much as possible before your time runs out. Eternal life in death is far different. I walked slowly through the hallway, examining each and every door, bumps in the carpet, and water stains on the ceiling.

I ran my hand along the wall and felt the texture of the orate wallpaper. The patterns were raised and felt rough against my fingertips.

Out of sheer curiosity, I began trying doorknobs. The doors were not locked. Each one opened with ease and to my surprise, led nowhere. I raised an eyebrow at the revelation. I suppose one doesn't usually try the doors to suites in a hotel out of respect for other guests, hence the lack of regard for locking these decoys.

One door stood out to me, nestled quietly at the very end of the hallway. The others were outset from the wall, accented by wood molding around their edges. This door was flush with the wall. A feeble attempt at hiding it in plain sight. I tried the knob and it was, in fact, locked.

Fuck, I said inwardly. Under the impression that my exploration has been thwarted, I spun on my heel and began walking away. It hadn't yet dawned on me that being a ghost meant locked doors and keys had become antiquated items.

It took my inclination to simply appear upstairs, rather than take the elevator, to remind me of my new abilities. Within a moment, I was standing in front of the enticing door, ready to see what was inside.

Behind its decorative facade, the entrance housed a dreary, dark hallway. One that led back in the direction from which I came. This was what those pointless doors were hiding. I wandered down the corridor. It was cold and unwelcoming. It sounded as if the hotel's pipes ran through along the ceiling. Sounds of rushing water washed over my head sporadically.

At the very end of the long passage was something in the wall akin to a trash or laundry chute. I opened the metal door and soft light came streaming through. It was jarring to be afforded that much visibility so unexpectedly. I squinted and peered through, finding it was a multi-story drop down to what looked like a basement.

The cement floor was spattered with what I could only assume was blood, and I thought I could spot a body part of some sort. It was a body chute. I shrugged and closed the opening, bored with my attempt at exploration.

Days later, my need for fun had not been satisfied. Being a ghost was frankly, a bore. The building was full of secret passageways and doors, all of which led to essentially nothing. I was hoping to find cult activities or a blood sacrifice within these hidden places, not empty hallways.

James was giving me space and time to adjust, but instead, I simply felt insane boredom. On this particular day, I spent my time in the bar overlooking the lobby, trying to spot any new blood that took the misstep of entering The Cortez. It seemed on this day, the hotel was not going to provide me with entertainment.

That was, until, I heard a male voice speaking loudly in the empty, near-silent lobby. I hopped down from my bar stool and rushed to the railing of the balcony, hanging over it to see what the commotion was about.

'Careful, Y/N, you could fall,' Liz quipped with a wink. 'You wouldn't want to get hurt.' I looked back at her over my shoulder and smiled. She thought she was oh-so-funny.

'Hello?' the male voice shouted. I turned my head once again in the direction of the sound.

'Oh, just go down there,' Liz sighed. 'I don't feel like dealing with that.'

With her permission, I practically flew down to the lobby and across its geometric carpeting. A man with long, stringy grey hair and a dirty beard stood just in front of the hotel's entrance. He stood hunched, wearing a large coat, stained jeans, and a tattered backpack. he stared off at one of the art pieces we had hanging on the wall.

I cleared my throat to announce my presence. 'Can I help you?' I asked politely.

'I don't know, can you?' the man replied sarcastically.

'Do you need a room?' I tried.

'Only if it's free,' he laughed, looking right through me. 'I obviously can't afford to pay.' He gestured grandly at his appearance.

'We don't do free rooms,' I replied bluntly.

'Can I at least get something to eat?' he questioned with an impatient tone.

'You'll have to go somewhere else, sir. We don't do charity here,' I crossed my arms and popped my hip.

'Excuse me?'

'You heard me. No handouts,' I stated.

'Well then, I'll stand here until someone more qualified comes to talk to me,' he huffed. 'Preferably a man.'

'A man?' I scoffed.

'You women have no understanding of how things work. Get me your superior,' he declared. I chewed my lip in annoyance. How dare he insult my gender? How dare he be picky when he so obviously needed help?

'You know what,' I began, 'I do believe we have somewhere you can stay.'

'Don't be fucking with me, girl,' he spat.

'Follow me,' I instructed. He did as told, remaining on my heels as I passed over to reception, grabbing the key to a special room on the third floor from the hook behind the desk. I also made sure to slide Iris' emergency switchblade she kept under the desk into my sleeve.

The man and I took the elevator to the third floor, standing in awkward silence as we went up. The ornate hallways of the third floor flew by in a wash, my periphery blurred by blind rage toward this person. He walked behind me down the long hallway, all the way to the inset locked door. I slid the key into the lock slowly and turned it.

Just as the lock clicked open, though, the man broke the silence. 'Anyone tell you you got a tight ass?' he remarked as his open palm smacked my rear end.

'What?' I replied, shocked, contorting my expression to one of disgust.

'Hey, don't act all grossed out,' he asserted, throwing his hands up. 'You're asking for it, dressed like that and all.' I practically kicked the door open and gestured for the man to enter. He sauntered past me cockily and paused at the entrance. 'It's dark in here.'

I pushed his back with force, causing him to stumble further into the darkness. I slammed the door behind me and rounded on him.

'Hey, what the fuck?' he shouted, panic creeping into his tone. I pushed him again, knocking him onto his ass. 'Hey! Stop!'

'Not so cocky now, huh?' I teased. He scrambled backward down the corridor, trying to make it back up onto his feet. I kicked his chest, causing him to crash down onto his back. 'Fucking apologize.'

'F-for what?' the man stammered, panting in fear. I pulled the switchblade out of my sleeve and flicked it open. Its sharp edge glinted beautifully.

'You fucking pig,' I spat. He began to scream in terror, still trying to clamor away from me.

'Help!' he screamed, still unable to make it onto his feet. I continued to back him toward the end of the corridor. 'HELP!'

'You can scream as loud as you want. In fact, I prefer it,' I smiled. 'Beg for your life.'

'P-please! Let me go! I'm sorry!' he pleaded. I stooped down to his level and grabbed his shirt collar, holding him firmly in place. I pressed the blade to his neck and smirked.

'Too late,' I whispered. I slid the cold metal across his flesh and watched as dark red blood spilled out. It was much more blood than I was expecting. For fun, I continued stabbing the man. I slashed at his skin repeatedly, grunting and screaming as I went. His blood spattered all over my body. I reveled in how it felt.

When I was sure he was gone, I grabbed the hood of his thick coat and began pulling his body to the chute. Unfortunately for me, it didn't occur to me that this man would be heavy and that his dead weight would be nearly impossible to move. I tugged and pulled, moving him only slightly with each exertion.

'Fuck!' I yelled. 'You're even more fucking annoying when you're dead!'

'Darling?' a familiar voice spoke. I nearly jumped out of my skin. I spun on my heel to find James suddenly behind me. It must have been quite a sight to take in. 'Who is that?'

'Just a homeless man,' I said plainly. James took a moment to process, smoothing his mustache with two fingers. 'Do you disapprove?'

'No, no,' James contended. 'I've just, never seen you like this.' He took my cheek in his hand and gave me a kiss on the forehead. I sighed in relief at the gesture.

'Can you give me a hand, then?' I asked. laughing a bit.

'Gladly, my little hummingbird,' he cooed. We both worked to hoist the man up and through the chute. His body landed with a sickening smack on the concrete below. I hopped to the front of the door to look down at the carnage. James' arms snaked around me, one hand resting on my chest, the other on my tummy.

'Thank you,' I breathed, resting my head back on his body. 'He was a piece of shit.'

'Mmm?' James vocalized into my ear. 'How so?'

'He assaulted me as I was doing him a kindness. Smacked my backside,' I answered. James spun me around and held me by my shoulders.

'A well-respected man would never treat a woman like that,' he gasped. 'You did the world a service in killing that animal.'

'I know,' I grinned.

'A well-respected man treats women like this,' James said lowly, pulling me in close. His lips met mine tenderly. I backed up to rest my body on the wall. We made out passionately. With his body pressed up against mine, I could feel a bulge grow in his trousers. He peppered his lips along my collarbones and breasts. I shrugged the cardigan I was wearing off my arms.

While James continued to kiss every square inch of exposed skin on my upper body, my hands wandered to the hook and zipper on his pants. I undid each and let the fabric slide smoothly off his legs. His briefs exposed just how turned on he was. I tugged his underpants off, letting his erection spring loose.

He wasted no time and tore my panties off from under my skirt, then proceeded to hoist me up the wall. He sat me on his dick. The length went in roughly. I gasped at how deep it truly went. His strong arms held me against the cold wall as he fucked me senseless.

James came inside me within minutes. My back arched as I felt his hot load spill into me. He grunted and whimpered, breathing raggedly. He slid out of me and guided me back onto the ground carefully, before tugging his pants back on. I smoothed my skirt down and cleared my throat.

'You have no idea how much of a revelation that was, Y/N. My little hummingbird...killing people.' James grabbed my face in both of his hands. 'Now, that was just the appetizer,' he growled. 'We must venture upstairs for the main course.'

+++

I'm watching Hotel right now and man I missed James so much. That sexy bastard.

#evan peters #evan peters fic #ahs #evan peters x female reader #evan peters x reader #evan peters oneshot #james patrick march #jpm #james patrick march x reader #james patrick march x you #James Patrick march smut #ahs hotel

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bardic-tales · 3 months ago

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In Fantasy Worlds Collide, every item that Bianca has carries a profound meaning, reflecting upon her identity, her relationships, and the powerful forces that shaped her journey. I try to make each item tell a story of her love, struggle, and transformation. This is the case of the collar she wears, which symbolizes her bond with Sephiroth.

With that in mind, this article will explore that collar and the themes of sub and dom dynamics in a healthy BDSM relationship.

Content Warning: BDSM, Dominance and Submission, Graphic Relationships, Kinks, Power Dynamics, Psychological Trauma, Sensitive Relationships, Sexual Themes, Symbolism of Ownership Vulnerability.

The collar Bianca created holds deep symbolic significance, reflecting the core elements of her identity, values, and her relationship with Sephiroth. Crafted from black leather with a chrome heart, the design design symbolizes the duality within Bianca, the darkness she has embrace through her fall from grace and the enduring, vulnerable love she actually has for Sephiroth. The chrome heart at the center is supposed to represent the elemental core of their connection. On the outside, their connection may resemble their power and ambition, but their love still remains very personal and tender. This mixture of strength and vulnerability mirrors Bianca’s celestial and demonic heritage.

The black leather of the collar embodies Bianca’s embrace of her darker, more chaotic side, reflecting her willingness to navigate her identity and desires. As part of their BDSM dynamic, the material signifies strength, control, and submission — key elements of their relationship. It represents Bia’s acknowledgment of Sephiroth’s dominance while highlighting her own resilience and autonomy within their relationship. By choosing to wear it and creating it herself, she reaffirms her place in their power dynamic and her unwavering loyalty, showcasing how submission can be from a place of trust and empowerment.

The chrome heart signifies the emotional intimacy that is the undercurrent of their relationship. Sephiroth’s love languages — quality time, acts of service, and physical touch (personal headcanons) — are contained within this heart, as the collar becomes a constant and tangible reminder of his devotion and protection. It symbolic Bianca’s own need for words of affirmation, as it is always a reminder that despite everything that has and will happen to them that they love each other. The heart’s polished surface is supposed to mirror the purity of their bond, even as they embrace the darker aspects of their existence.

In their BDSM relationship, the collar becomes a symbol of Bianca’s submission and Sephiroth’s care. It illustrates teh dynamic where boundaries are respected, reinforcing their partnership’s healthy foundation. Sephiroth’s confidence in their relationship is seen through his tempered jealousy and trust in Bianca. It does become a mark of ownership, not just in a physical sense but emotionally and spiritually, as well, cementing their bond as mirrored souls (twin flames) who have chosen each other against all odds.

Ultimately, the collar is an extension of their shared ambition and destiny. It is not merely a decorative accessory but a powerful symbol of her identity, her acceptance of Sephiroth’s dominance, and their mutual pursuit of power. Worn alongside the white ribbon that Sephiroth left her hours before he burnt down Nibelheim, it reflects her complex nature — the capacity for both darkness and love — and serves as a constant reminder of their unbreakable connection they share.

tagging some fellow mutuals: @themaradwrites @littleshopofchaos @serenofroses @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@nightingaleflow @prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap @glbettwrites

@seastarblue

#oc: bianca moore - ff #characters: fwc #characters: fwc: ff #my ocs #ff vii oc #cd: symbolic items or artifacts #fantasy worlds collide #fwc: ff #gif #otp: bianca / sephiroth #sephiroth x oc #oc x canon #au: canon divergence

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simmerkate · 1 year ago

Text

Fall Decor

Hey, I hope your all having a lovely october, this month is my favourite time of the year as its autumn and halloween lol so I just had to create a fall set. This set includes:

Bouquet of Sunflowers

Cement Bag Planter

Fall Candles

Pumpkin Shaped Soup Cup

Pumpkin plushy use testing cheats and [ or ] to scale up and down

Please be careful if your using a low end pc as some of the items ARE high poly :) Public Release - 17th of November

Follow me on insta @SimmerKatex

Patreon (xx) ad-free

#ts4 #the sims 4 #ts4cc #the sims 4 cc #the sims cc #skcc #thesims4 #thesims4cc #ccfinds

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gatalentan · 2 years ago

Note

can u actually go over the significance of the sunflowers on the work wives’ table again? I think I missed it the first time and it sounds interesting

You have activated my trap card. Here is my thesis on the Work Wives Sunflowers.

Ok, I want to preface this by saying this is totally just a little bit of fun, and I am not totally deluded as to think this is A Thing. I have no expectations about this ship being canon, or there being Secret Meanings. It's more spotting a pattern and running with it. However, similarly - there is symbolism in this show in terms of costuming and set design, such as Janine's "love" necklace appearing and disappearing during story beats, writing on the teachers' boards being plot-relevant, etc, so it's not me being totally outlandish! For nearly 30 consecutive there hasn't been any decorations on the table, only practical items like salt, pepper, a basket of leaflets/condiments, a napkin holder etc (with the exception of Pilot, where the tables were in a different configuration, the WW are at a different table and all the tables have a little plant). For eg, here is all of S1:

In Fire, the table was damaged during a lapse of Barbara's mental health, where she became very insular with her own internal pain and didn't reach out to Melissa about it. It goes without saying that in the WW lore this table is basically a second home. The only time either of them sits anywhere else is when they fight, when Melissa ends up "sleeping on the couch" (other tables). This table getting damaged was a huge deal to Barbara and an inciting incident in her finally telling Melissa about Gerald's health problems and how it was upsetting her.

The table obviously had to be replaced after the fire damage, and was. In Teacher Conference, there is a new table, and a little bouquet has appeared, which stays through the next episode Mural Arts, squirreled away behind all the dinner paraphernalia.

But in Teacher Appreciation, the sunflowers appeared, huge and bright, two of them, a centrepiece, right there from the cold open.

An episode which, as we know, was a massive turning point in their relationship, where they fought, traded some really, really low blows that cut deep, but this time apologised on screen and reconciled - and one in which Barbara is wearing bright yellow when they do.

Immediately my squirrelly little brain started making connections about this, because they're SO bright and LARGE and PROMINENT and there wasn't any prominent decoration on the table before. My initial thought was oh, it's teacher appreciation day, this can be dismissed easily as just a gift from one of the kids. But we saw a lot of gifts being given to them all in this ep, and the flowers aren't among them. It was @cdyssey who made the stitch for me that this is probably Barbara christening/homecoming the table/the physical manifestation of their friendship/relationship after her lapse damaged it in an episode which re-cements their connection after the events of Fire, and in an episode where their bond is tested. Flowers are her thing. It has to be Barbara.

We also haven't seen any other gift that was given become a recurring feature. They are always facing the wide-angle camera, two bright faces for the two of them in the configuration they always sit in, side by side. Barbara Howard, who loves flowers, no doubt has read up on flower language before. Sunflowers are representative of "silent love, loyalty, admiration, arrogance and unspoken love". This was, without a doubt, a deliberate choice, and so, so thematically relevant for not only the unspoken but incredibly strong bonds of their relationship (platonic, romantic or otherwise), but also the arrogance for which Barbara (and Melissa) took their relationship (and the symbolism of their shared table) for granted in the episode where they appeared, and in Fire where she didn't open up to Melissa and share her pain.

The sunflowers are a physical manifestation of what Barbara feels about her relationship with Melissa, and the sanctuary that is their second home: the table. A safety and enduring loyalty that has lasted decades and seen countless other colleagues and friendships and even Melissa's marriage come and go. For each other, they are a reliable, ever-present constant, a beam of sunlight no matter what they are weathering together. The sunflowers stayed on the table for the following episode, disappeared 2x20 when Melissa was sat at the table alone (and was stressed and unmoored the whole episode), and the reappeared in 2x21, when the WW returned to the table again. And not only reappearing, but reappearing in a yellow outfit.

This cements to me that this is Barbara bringing them in each Monday - when she doesn't come into the lounge, the flowers aren't there.

As an addendum, I haven't re-checked the full series proper, but another time sunflowers have appeared in relation to WW is during another turning-point scene in 1x06, the "maybe this is it for me" scene with Barbara, Melissa & Gerald eating lunch that leads to Barbara encouraging Melissa to date again... but which also contains this look, where Barbara's mask nearly, fully slips one of the most significant times in the whole series and is a foundational moment in WW ship lore. Again, there are two sunflowers in this scene.

Yes, this whole thing is me being a delulu girl. Yes, it's me making tenuous connections for a non-canon ship and making a meal out of scraps. Yes, I fully enjoy this little theory and subscribe to it, and welcome anyone else to play around in the mud with me, too. If you wanna take this idea for fic etc, GO GO GO!

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

#work wives #melissa x barbara #barlissa #chatalentan

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cupidologys · 2 years ago

Text

trojan horse - dazai

+ dazai x reader (fantasy au)

+ this is ch. two of all that glitters is not gold (the prologue)

ch. one is here: dissonance

ch. three: in reverence

Golden armadas decorate the sea like jewels fastened upon a crystal hand, dotted plains of might and power—all at the behest of your nation’s adversary. The kingdom’s greatest foe… Prince Dazai Osamu.

Princeling, as you used to call him. A nickname borne of affection and sullied by betrayal.

Tonight, the royal fleet departs for its homeland with jewels, satins, and you aboard. In less than four hours, your vows will be cemented into your country’s history and the war shall halt—on paper, that is. The mere thought makes your head throb.

Waving the useless deliberations away, you turn away from the window. A sweeping glance across the space before you elicits a tingle of discomfort that crawls up your spine and burrows its way into the back of your throat. Wooden chests and velvet cases filled with your most prized material possessions line the north-facing wall. The furniture, stripped of any and all embellishments, look like skeletons. Your room seems infinitely more spacious now that everything is packed up. Barren of comfort, you swallow at the sight.

It is almost as if you are a stranger in your own home.

“Is everything ready?” You ask.

“Yes, your highness. As you requested, I have packed up all of the items written on your list,” the man behind you replies.

“Including…?”

“Yes,” he hesitates. “Although, if I may speak, your highness…”

You turn towards the large window, gaze drifting across the sparkling cityscape wrought with peachy hues and sharp outlines. “You always do Chuuya. Go on, say what you intend.”

Chuuya runs a hand through his hair, huffing in irritation. “This is dangerous… foolish. Even for you.”

You crack a small smile at his bluntness. It is a comfort. “Did you just call me a fool?”

You’re teasing him. Just like you always have. Just like you did back when titles did not matter and your loved ones were not handpicked in favour of court politics. Back when things were much, much simpler.

Chuuya only scoffs. “You had to hear it. It may as well be from your childhood friend.”

You level your gaze at the ginger-haired man, the face you have known since birth only stares back at you, unfazed. “Ah, so you’re speaking as my friend, then? Not my personal aide?”

“And if I am?” He asks.

“Then I appreciate your concern. But I will be fine. I have gone through much worse than that of a wedding, remember?” You raise a brow when he rolls his eyes so dramatically you fear they’ll fall out of that thick skull of his. When he doesn’t speak, you continue on, “I can handle this. I can handle him.”

“He is not the person we used to know! He never was,” Chuuya protests.

A shooting star falls across the sky, leaving a glowing path in its wake. You make a silent wish and pray the heavens hear you. “I understand.”

“Do you really?” Skepticism coats his every word.

You turn your head slightly, just enough so you can see him from the corner of your eye. Chuuya crosses his arms, impatiently tapping his fingers against his bicep as he expresses his disdain.

“Yes.”

Your answer only irritates him further. “If that was the case, you wouldn’t be packing belladonna in your bags and strapping daggers to your legs! If you insist on going down this path, Y/N, you could–”

“Die?”

You are well aware of the consequences of your plans, death included. But if the cost of revenge is your life, you will gladly pay that price.

Chuuya realizes this and his irritation fades to something softer. Something sadder—more fearful. “Yes. Precisely that. You could die.”

You step down from your windowside and make your way to Chuuya's side. Luggage litters the marble floor, causing a misstep or two. In what feels like a mere moment, the dying sunset casts the already lustrous room in a gorgeous light. Warm orange tones pour into the room like a golden tide, flooding out any and all dullness.

You nudge his shoulder with your own, hoping to lighten the atmosphere. Chuuya looks like he’s about to go and strangle Dazai himself just to keep you from coming to harm. “You don’t believe I can do this? That I can hurt him? Bring him to his knees?”

Chuuya shuffles so that he is facing you, still scowling, still with arms crossed. “You know it’s not about that. He… Dazai is out of his mind. Who knows what he’ll do to you if he uncovers your true intentions.”

Chuuya says his name with such scorn you almost feel bad for Dazai. Almost.

“Do you really think that I’m unaware of how… cruel he is?” You pause, a distant memory floats around the back of your mind; a painful past you can never outrun, “I experienced that inhumanity firsthand, Chuuya… watched as it destroyed my family, and nearly my empire as well. I couldn’t burn the image out of my mind if I tried.”

Your best friend falls silent. You do for a second as well, resolve hardening in the process.

“For that, he will pay. By no one’s hand but my own,” you vow.

A hand that you have trained for years, all for the sole purpose of hurting him. To be able to bear the heavy weight of a blade—to lift it and apply just enough pressure that you are able to draw fear from his eyes and a line of red across his throat. The thought of having that much power over Dazai… it is addicting. Exhilarating. Terrifying.

Chuuya stares at you in both irritation and concern, his nerves firing at every end as he paces the length of the room, muttering as he does so. “So damned stubborn… Cannot believe… Just like when…”

“Are you done cursing under your breath? I do still require your help with preparing for the ceremony,” you comment, rolling your eyes as his grumbles get louder.

Chuuya practically stomps his way back to you, huffing in defiance. “If there ever was a record, let it be shown that I am vehemently against this moronic plan.”

You make a noise of agreement. “Duly noted. If that is all, will you come help me with my cosmetics now?”

You stroll over to the cushioned seat tucked under the shimmering vanity hidden away in the corner of your room. A round mirror pebbled with milky pearls and brushed with diamond powder sits atop a glossy desk surface. The ornate piece was gifted by your father for your birthday many years before. For a second, you are glad for the marriage. For as long as it lasts, you will never have to see that sickening thing again—never to be done up on the whims of the Emperor.

You sit down. The chair is soft—too soft—and you sink further into the cushion than desired.

Chuuya grabs a few elaborate accessories, powders, and a shockingly large pile of fabric from the drawers and closet next to you. He drops them unceremoniously onto your empty bed and shifts through the mess before he finds what he is searching for; a small pot of safflower lotion.

“Yeah, yeah. I still don’t understand the reasoning behind all this dress-up,” he mutters. He hands you the lotion and busies himself with the mountain of clothing on the bed.

“It is something I hope you never come to understand, my dear friend,” you sigh.

After all, there is no worth in a canvas without paint, much less a doll bare of face.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 　

Four days and four nights. That is how long you have been at sea, a prisoner of your father’s accord on the enemy prince’s ship—No Longer Human. You find the name a bit morose for your liking, but there’s no accounting for taste, you suppose. The others following aren’t much better. You spared the various liners a glance before boarding the capital ship. From memory, there was one called Twin Dark, and another painted with swirling red letters of: The Crystal Rose. You’d much prefer being on the latter—roses are your favourite flower. They have been ever since childhood.

You wonder…

No. You shake the inkling of a thought out of your head. The chance that that man would remember something so obscure about someone he so despises… laughable.

But you don’t laugh. You don’t do much at all. You stare out of the floor-to-ceiling glass that is more akin to a wall than a window. Vast ocean greets you, sparkling like a veil of crushed gems under the setting sun, sitting snug below an infinite sky.

Someone knocks on your door—three quick raps. You make a noise of confirmation and the door quietly opens to reveal a stranger. The man who walks into your room is tall and lean, with thin wired frames resting on the sharp bridge of his nose. His hair, long and so blonde it almost glows, falls across his shoulders and ends at the small of his back. There is a sternness to his expression—humourless and collected, but not cold. In fact, there isn’t anything antagonistic about him.

Under normal circumstances, you would give him a friendly smile, say hello, maybe even compliment him on his clothes. Today is not a normal circumstance. He wears garments stitched of a gorgeous blue silk, reminiscent of the midnight sky. Layers of fabric pool off of him, white and grey, all covered by a traditional robe. The robe is lined with silver edges and tied together at his front with a matching sash. The patterns on the outerwear swirl together, falling lotus petals that almost come to life with his movements. From the looks of it, he must be a high-ranking official in Dazai’s court.

The blonde man pushes his glasses up with his left hand and adjusts the box he holds in his right. It doesn’t exactly look impressive, a rectangular package wrapped in silver paper. It’s the size of a large book. The only thing out of the ordinary is the black lettering on the surface; a phrase written in glittering cursive. Your name.

The blond man bows. “I greet Your Highness, heir to the Northern Empire. I am Doppo Kunikida, Chief Minister and personal aide to His Majesty.”

“His Majesty?” You raise a brow. Last you heard, which was only three days ago at your marriage ceremony, Dazai was only a prince.

“Yes,” Kunikida says.

You wait. The Chief Minister stays silent, something you are sure he does quite often.

“I am in no mood for games,” you state plainly.

Kunikida straightens and nods his head almost imperceptibly at your thinly-veiled irritation. “Apologies. His Majesty, Dazai Osamu, has succeeded the throne as of two nights ago. The formal coronation is set for three days' time, the evening after our arrival.”

You blink. Dazai is… king? The little boy who used to pick out flowers and break down sobbing when a thorn pricked him is now the leader of an entire kingdom? The leader of the enemy kingdom, you remind yourself. As the king, his power has risen considerably, along with the stakes of your position and plans of revenge.

Guess you really can't call him Princeling anymore.

You swallow down the uneasiness in your throat and turn your attention to the silver box, hoping Kunikida doesn’t pick up on your anxiety.

“What is it?”

Kunikida hands it to you before taking a step back. “A gift.”

“Let me guess, a gift from His Majesty?”

If Kunikida notices the sarcasm in your tone (and it is quite difficult to not notice it), he doesn’t show it nor comment on it. “A wedding present, he said. A small offering of peace.”

You want to shove the new King of Yokohama’s peace offering down his throat until he takes the shape of a rectangle. Sadly, Dazai isn’t here for you to do so, and it would be quite the scandal; ‘Royal marriage ends after three days due to newly appointed King Dazai’s death by cardboard box.’’

You thank Kunikida for the gift and he quietly leaves with another bow. It might be your imagination, but the stony-faced Chief Minister seems relieved to be dismissed. You hadn’t let your annoyance show that clearly, had you?

The box isn’t very heavy. You set it on the large four-poster bed in the center of the room.

You haven’t seen Dazai since the wedding—if you can even call such a stifling event that. He disappeared right after and left you in the care of the soldiers and attendants of Yokohama Kingdom. They are the ones who brought you aboard the ship and showed you to your cabin. Though “cabin” isn’t quite the accurate description for your quarters. Aside from the huge bed laden with piles of silk and cotton and the seemingly never-ending glass wall to your left, the room has everything and anything you can possibly think of.

The marbled tiles under your feet are cold to the touch, and the deep blue reminds you of the midnight sea. Rows and rows of clothing, shoes, and accessories line the walk-in closet in the back, right next to the silver-gilded fireplace that lights up the room with warmth. Across from it sits a large loveseat tufted with silk and made of black velvet.

And yet… despite the glamour and luxury of your accommodations, the only thing that catches your attention right now is the gift. You pick it up and stare at the shining letters. You should throw it into the fireplace. Let it burn to ashes. Better yet, you should chuck it off the side of the ship and pray a shark eats it.

Your fingers twitch.

About all of three seconds pass before you rip open the outer wrapping of the package and uncover it. There is a folded note sitting atop a gently folded bundle of satin—a stunning article of clothing. The garment is noticeably traditional wear, and very formal. It shimmers with every little touch, every little breath. It is coloured a deep red, a shade not unlike blood, that is beyond flattering against your complexion.

The sight of it makes you want to hurl. First it was your father, now it's Dazai who thinks he has the right to dress you up… to show you off like some sort of war prize.

You won’t let him have the satisfaction. You toss the clothing aside and reach for the envelope that came with it. You open up the folded paper and immediately recognize Dazai’s handwriting. It hasn't changed much since he was young. Slightly more polished, and definitely less chicken-scratchy.

Y/N,

I have drafted letters like this one every single night for the past ten years, only to throw them all into the fireplace out of frustration. Or perhaps it was out of cowardice and shame. Even now, I am nervous—no—terrified at the notion of you reading this. Even now, you have such a startling effect on me.

You must hate me. I understand. Anyone would feel the same in your shoes. Although…regrettably, I cannot say the same for myself. But that is an indication of my own weak constitution more than anything else.

No matter. You hate me and that is that. But we are married now and I am set to change things. Our countries require our amicability, despite any personal feelings you may harbour. I will not force you to care for me—but I will try, for as long as I am able.

Please join me for dinner service tonight. In three hours time; southern side of the upper deck.

We have much to discuss.

P.S. After much deliberation and many sleepless hours, I decided that red would look best on you. Though I fear even a paper sack would leave me quite speechless as long as you were the one wearing it.

Your (beloved) husband,

Dazai Osamu

Your first thought is to punch a wall. Your second thought is to punch a certain king right in his smug face. After so many years, he is still pretending to be on your side. Still pretending that there is anything left between you that isn’t the shattered remnants of a tragic history best left in the past.

The fireplace flares as it swallows up the last of the note and garment, leaving nothing behind but charcoal dust and a soft warmth that rolls over the room. You sigh, both satisfied and exhausted; completely drained from the emotional turmoil of the past week.

The sun is long gone underneath the waves, dark midnight now settled in its place. The moon, in all its glory, lights up a path across the sea for the ship to follow and casts a silver sheen over your room. There is not a speck of land in sight. It is as if the world had been swallowed by the sea, with only the stars as companions. The sight makes you sleepy… and just a little bit homesick, which surprises you.

Kunikida shows up a short time later, ready to bring you to Dazai. You insist on taking your dinner in your quarters, much to Kunikida’s protests, and lock the door behind the maid that brings it. Just in case. Though the lock didn’t do much to block the incessant knocking on your door that sounds just as you are about to fall asleep.

Peeved and a little puzzled, you stumble out of bed in a daze, making your way to the door that is currently taking a beating from the other side.

Is it Kunikida? The maid from earlier? Who the hell could need you at this ungodly hour?

The answer comes in the form of Dazai Osamu. His hair is tangled and sticking in all directions, like he was tossing and turning. His clothes are nothing but a cream cotton robe covering a pair of loose matching bottoms, wrinkled and creased. He is still as beautiful as ever.

You slam the door in his face. Or at least, you try to, but Dazai anticipates it and sticks a foot out to block it. He winces, ever slightly, but gives no other indication of discomfort.

You are positively irked.

Before you are able to cuss him out and physically push him away, he speaks up.

“Apologies. I couldn’t sleep. It seems that even in the dreamland, you manage to plague my every thought,” he says with a slight frown.

Confusion and irritation swirl in your chest as you take in… everything. Is he out of his damn mind? More than usual?

You narrow your eyes at him, not buying this innocent act of his for even a moment. “What, pray tell, am I supposed to do with that information? You act as if this problem is one I can, or even want, to help you solve. Though I assure you that is not the case. Unless there is an emergency—a real one—leave me be, Your Majesty. You and I have nothing to speak of.”

His frown deepens. “Who…You don’t need to call me that.”

Your left eye twitches. “What?”

Dazai swallows, an air of nervous energy pours out from him, along with annoyance. That just makes you even more mad—if anyone should be annoyed, it should be you. It also puts you on edge—Dazai is rarely nervous.

“There is no reason for you to call me by a title. My name—it is yours to use freely,” he says.

“I disagree. Now, Your Majesty, why are you here?” You reject him flatly.

Dazai is clearly unsatisfied with your decision but decides to drop it. For now. He clears his throat. “You didn’t come to dinner.”

“I didn’t want to.”

If your reply hurts him, he doesn’t show it. He just nods like he expected that answer from you. “Right. Is it because of the clothes? Kunikida said that it would be a nice gesture, a way to show goodwill, and I thought it would look—”

“No, not because of the clothes,” you interject. Is he messing with you right now?

“So it was because of me.”

You cock your head. Your mind is on overdrive trying to work out his motive for being here—for bringing up all these strange, irrelevant things. “If you knew that, why come here at all?”

He smiles sadly. “Wishful thinking on my part. I thought…” He hesitates, clearly unsure if he should voice his feelings out loud. He tries anyway, “Well, let’s just say it is a treacherous thing to be stuck in a past that no longer exists. I was feeling… nostalgic. It will not happen again.”

A small lump forms in your throat at the finality in his tone. You swallow it down and make a noise of agreement. “A wise decision.”

You expect him to leave, but Dazai lingers at the doorway. This entire time he has been nothing more than a foot away from you, yet the distance between you continues to grow into an insurmountable gap. You wonder how you ever loved him; how you ever looked at him and felt something other than heartache and hostility. Those memories feel like a mere figment of your imagination nowadays. Perhaps they are.

After a moment of silence, he says: “It was never my intention to hurt you, you must believe me on that.”

Your knuckles turn white from how hard you clench the doorknob. It takes all your willpower and patience not to put a blade through his head, right then and there.

Not his intention to hurt you? Believe him? Such pretty words undeserving of being spoken by such an ugly liar.

“It's a shame I am not the naive little kid that you used to know. Because if I was…” You lean into him, until your mouth is right next to his ear.

Dazai stills.

“I might actually believe you,” you hiss.

You pull back and ignore his stricken expression.

Dazai shakes the shock away and nods. He takes a step back, understanding his cue to leave. He turns and takes a few steps before stopping and looking back at you.

“Good night, Y/N,” he softly whispers.

You shut the door without another word.

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