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guessimwritingficsagain · 4 years ago

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To be seen, part Two (Frankie Morales x reader)

Summary : You somehow get closer to the boys, as an old acquaintance shows up..

Author’s note : The movie is definitely Portrait of a Lady on Fire.

Part one : Here

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Life went on, and despite the occasional stories Jessie told you - she had a favorite now, Will, and you could see why - Benny and his friends became a distant memory. Then, September came along, and with it, preschool for Clara. That meant changes for you too. You’d take mostly night shifts at the bar, now, just so Jessie could work while Clara was at school and spend her evenings with her. Mildred, the other mom on the team, was already working days. But yeah, your babysitting days ? They were mostly over. Once you got Jessie through her little meltdown because her babygirl was growing so fast, it felt weird to have your life back to yourself. You found out you were giddy.

There was so much to do and see, and you had a regular schedule now. You didn’t stop to think about the fact you hadn’t had a holiday in ages, which is why it came as a surprise when you basically slept through most of the days the first two weeks.

You admitted as much to Jessie, one Sunday evening, sitting on her porch, sipping a beer as you both watched Clara play with a small red truck. Jessie made fun of you for that, but, after a beat, quietly admitted :

« It feels good. I feel like I have more time for myself. I can rest, you know ? Things are … better, I guess. »

Right then, with the sun slowly coming down, the world a soft shade of orange, and Clara babbling right in front of you, you understood what she meant. Neither of you moved, even after you’d both finished your beers. You fell into easy chatter, until Clara showed signs of exhaustion.

When you headed home, it was dark, but it felt good not to have to sleep on Jessie’s couch anymore.

———

You were sweating.

You were sweating and Anna was running around like she was Usain freaking Bolt and the young man the boss had finally hired to help in the kitchen was not helping in the kitchen at all because there was so many patrons he was needed in the main room. You thanked the deities Phil was very good at what he was doing because you were truly understaffed here.

And also : not used to it.

The fact that you’d previously not worked every Saturday evening meant you hadn’t quite had to go through that particular circle of hell.

And then, as soon as it started, the rush was over. Not that people had left, but suddenly, you could catch a break. Anna came back next to you, behind the counter and just slumped on the wall, next to the coffee machine.

« Good job, handling that. » smiled Santiago from his perch on the other side of the counter. He’d come in a bit earlier, alone. That had raised questions from Anna, even though you figured she was now too tired to even care that he was here. Jessie would be ashamed of both of you. You nodded, as you saw Phil come out of the kitchen and walk towards you. He sent Anna on a break with a pat on her shoulder, took her spot against the wall and mumbled to you, quiet enough so that Santiago or other patrons couldn't hear :

« We really need to talk to the boss about that. »

You nodded again - you weren’t quite sure your mouth was still working. It had to, though, because you spotted Benny, his brother and the other guy - Frankie, you remembered - walking in. The kid (whatsisnameagain?) walked hurriedly towards them but they gestured towards the counter, leaving him to watch the room anxiously, trying to spot if anyone needed anything. Out of politeness - or rather, because it was your damn job - you asked Santiago if they needed a table. He shrugged. You chose to take it as a no. You smiled in greetings at the new patrons, and Benny exclaimed :

« You’re back ! »

« Yeah. I’m back. »

As you were about to push yourself from the coffee machine you had left yourself slump on, Phil’s hand went to your shoulder and he whispered, quiet again :

« Go take a break, I’ll handle it. »

You frowned.

« Phil, they’re not … »

« That’s not why I’m telling you to take a break. You’re trembling. Go for a walk, have a smoke, something. »

You made a gesture towards the coffee machine.

« That, though, is off limits, » growled Phil. « No coffee. Go. »

You watched as he pushed himself from the wall and asked their orders. Then, admitting your defeat, you left through the backdoor and let the cool air ease your mind. You fished for a cigarette and spotted Anna, sitting right on the ground, sipping tea.

« So, he’s hot. »

« Who ? » you asked.

« Santiago. »

« Too old for you. » you reminded her.

She turned to you and wiggled her eyebrows. You countered :

« Meh, not my type. »

And that was true. He was hot in a way that made him inapprochable. You didn’t go for guys like that. Though, you thought about the fact that both Anna and Jessie were still obsessed with theses guys after months and that you were playing along and you groaned.

« We need to get a life. »

Anna simply hummed. She let her head fall on your shoulder, just for a bit. You finished your cigarette and tapped her thigh.

Time to get back to work.

———

« So, she’s gone then, your friend ? »

You had just handed a beer to Will when he asked. It was a thing, now : when the place was too crowded, they’d sit at the counter instead of taking a table. It didn’t happen every time, but enough that you’d had to make small talk once in a while. That, though, was new.

Benny and Frankie were in deep conversation and Santiago was -

Ah.

Santiago was not going home alone, tonight.

« My friend ? »

« You know, the lady that tended the bar on Saturday nights, before. »

You shook your head.

« Nah, but her kid started preschool so we had to make arrangements. She works during the day, now. »

« Preschool ? That makes her kid about as old as Frankie’s kid, then. Hey Fish ! Didn’t your kid start preschool too ? »

That got Frankie’s attention and you winced. You actively tried not to talk too much to Frankie. Or to look at him too much. There was something about him, about the way he fumbled with his cap, about the curls of his hair, about his eyes and his hands. Something soft.

(So yeah, you’d looked a lot, but you couldn’t help yourself.)

Will went on about Jessie’s kid, preschool, and you caught the name of the little girl - Maria. Frankie, never the talker, was nodding, a kind smile on his face. You explained how Jessie freaked out at first, how it had changed a lot of things for both of you. Benny asked :

« For you too ? »

You realized that you had said too much. Jessie probably didn’t want some random strangers she had a crush on to know she was a single mother struggling and you didn’t want them to know the only life you had revolved around Jessie and her kid. You tried to keep your answer as evasive as possible.

« I’m around a lot. Friends, right ? »

The two brothers nodded, smiles a bit too tight on their face. Frankie was looking at his beer bottle. There was something there, something you didn’t quite catch but it felt like you had just said the wrong thing. Trying to light up the room, you asked if any of them wanted a refill. Frankie fished for something in his pocket.

« Actually » he started, « I should head home. »

But before he could get his wallet out, Santiago appeared out of thin air, right behind him, grabbed him by the shoulder and said :

« He’s gonna have another one. All of us actually. Drinks on me. »

The two brothers cheered at that, even though Benny said something about Santiago being full of shit about paying. Frankie complied at his friend’s request and stayed. As you were handing out the refills, you saw Will and Santiago exchange a look as the latter sat back down with his friends. Turning around, you took a look at the woman he had been flirting with and wondered if things didn’t work out, in the end, though you somehow doubted it.

When you handed Frankie his drink, he smiled, showing a single dimple. You made the mistake of looking into his eyes and something in your belly grew warm. You felt like you were wrapped up in a blanket, on a rainy day, watching Laggies and drinking hot chocolate, your cat Starbuck sleeping in your lap. You couldn’t help but smile back, even though you knew you were screwed. Not for the first time, you were glad for the safety of the counter, though usually it was because it protected you from unsavory patrons. Right now, though, without it, you didn’t know what you would’ve done. Leaned in a bit, maybe ? You were sure he smelled good.

You turned around quickly and busied yourself, trying not to think about how Frankie smelled.

What was wrong with you ?

———

You finally managed to get that movie Linda had told you about, or rather : that movie you had told Linda about but never got around to watch it and in the end she had watched it before you could. You’d been grocery shopping when you’d seen the DVD and you’d taken that as a sign from the universe itself because why on earth would that small French movie be on display here ?

So you’d taken it.

You were about to press play when you got a text from Linda herself. It was a selfie. She hadn’t changed much, you noticed. Her hair was slightly shorter, and she wore glasses now, but she looked almost the same as she did five years ago. You were so focused at the relief you felt at not feeling anything but fondness that it took you a minute to recognize where she was. A second text popped up :

Was hoping to catch you !

She was at the bar. You thought for a second, there. It was your day off, and you were not in the mood to go back to your workplace for a drink. But Linda was there, hoping to catch you, so you got up anyway, turned off the TV, put your shoes on and walked through the door.

The thing was : everything with her had always been easy. So you didn’t feel nervous going there. You didn’t give a second thought to the way you were dressed, or what the two of you could talk about. You were slightly curious, though, as to why she was here.

The bar was slightly crowded, but nothing big for a Thursday. You spotted her immediately and navigated your way through the tables to get to her when you spotted a sign that made you stop in your tracks and snort.

Santiago was flirting with her.

You watched for a few seconds, and closed the distance with the table, eager to put Linda out of her misery.

« You know, Santiago, one of these days, you’ll get an harassment suit on your ass. » you joked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He playfully shrugged your hand off, and said :

« Nah, I understand it when I’m not wanted. No means no and shit, you know. But, one of these days, I’ll get you to call me Santi. Only my mother calls me Santiago. »

You snorted again. Clearly, if he was still hitting on the raging lesbian that was Linda, his radar was way off.

« Well, back off, Santiago. That’s my seat. »

« Oh. Girls’ night. I see. Well, I’ll leave you two ladies to it. »

He still extended his hand to Linda, who’d been watching with a small smile on her face.

« Lovely meeting you, Linda. If you ever wanna grab a drink. »

« You’re not my type, Santi. »

She shook his hand anyway. And then, it was just the two of you, together. There was a pause, there, as you smiled at each other before Linda got up and wrapped her arms around you. As you took a sit, you figured it was going to be a good night.

———

« And then, Starbuck tried to jump in the closet, missed and fell on my mom who screamed like she’d seen a ghost. »

Linda was laughing so hard you worried for a minute she would choke. You’d both moved to the counter. Once the the kitchen was closed, Phil had joined you. When she had recovered from the story, Linda quipped :

« I can’t believe you called your cat Starbuck. You’re such a nerd. »

Seeing Phil didn’t get it, she explained :

« It’s a callsign in Battlestar Galactica, the TV show. Starbuck is her favorite character. When I met her, she kept saying stuff like « what do you hear ? Nothing but the rain ». Sometimes she would listen to that bloody song for days, over and over, drove my crazy. »

« Hey, » you protested with mock indignation. « All along the watch tower is a classic. »

« Guess we found your callsign, then. »

You turned around to see Frankie smiling at you. He greeted Phil with a handshake as you, trying really hard not to get flustered, introduced him to Linda. The way she looked at you, you knew you hadn’t fooled her. There would be questions.

« Could I talk to you for a second ? I know you’re not working right now but it’s kinda important. »

He lifted his cap and ruffled his hair a bit.

« No, it’s fine. Guys, I’m going for a smoke », you told Linda and Phil.

Before leaving, you pointed a finger at Linda and threatened :

« Do not tell Phil any compromising stories. »

« No promises. »

Frankie kinda grabbed your elbow, then, to guide you outside. Nothing much, barely a touch but you felt like your skin was buzzing. You were tapping your fingers on the side of your thigh and your hands were a bit unsteady as you tried and lit your cigarette. You hoped he didn’t notice. The way he said here, let me and took the lighter from your hands showed you he did, but he didn’t say anything about it.

« Listen, » he started, a hand in his hair again, « the boys and me, we were wondering … I mean, tonight we’re kinda … we … »

He stopped and let the noise of the street wash over the two of you. You’d never seen him like that, and you didn’t know what to do about it. Hell, you’d never been alone with him. After a while, he took a deep breath and :

« A friend of us died last year, on this day. »

You probably stopped breathing. Whatever you had been expecting, that wasn’t it.

« And so, well, the thing is : he has a daughter. She’s gonna turn 17 in a month or so and well, let’s just say that for a number of reasons, we’re not gonna be invited to the birthday party. So we were wondering if, you know, since we like this place … »

« Frankie, » you stopped him, a hand shooting up on his arm to steady him as much as yourself because this was a lot of information. « Yes, you can celebrate her birthday here. Just make a reservation and if you want a special cake, ask Phil. »

He sighed, rubbed a hand on the back of his neck as his eyes fell on your hand. You removed it, and took a drag from your cigarette.

« Sorry, I probably didn’t need to tell you all of this but tonight, it’s … It’s a lot. »

You simply nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. What could you even say in that kind of moment ? You’d lost a grand-father, a few years back, and a great-grand mother sometime after but you never had to grieve a friend. And, a bit like that moment a few weeks ago when everybody grew awfully silent when you mentioned you were around for Jessie, you wondered what it meant that we’re not gonna be invited for the birthday party.

It was easy to forget they were ex-military, mostly because they never talked about it. You talked about Benny’s fights mostly, and, on that one occasion, about Frankie’s daughter, but you knew nothing about them, you realized. That’s what made that little fantasy thing you had going both with Anna and Jessie possible. But suddenly you had a sneak peek at something so very personal you didn’t quite know how to handle it. You didn’t quite know what it meant.

On a whim, desperate to lighten whatever that was, you asked :

« How’s Maria ? »

His head shot up at that. His smile was blinding.

« She’s perfect. »

You finished your cigarette, then, and allowed Frankie to take you by the elbow again. Before he let go, he squeezed and said, eyes heavy behind the hood of his cap :

« Thank you … Starbuck. »

This time, his smile was teasing and your own laughter couldn’t be contained.

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales #Triple Frontier #francisco 'catfish' morales #francisco 'catfish' Morales x reader

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reynaruina · 5 years ago

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Dib, slamming Zim’s door open with half-empty bottle of whiskey in hand: Alright, fuckface, what’s the deal.

Zim, not even looking up from his work on the kitchen table: Good night to you too. It’s been a while. Glad you could find your way here on your own.

Dib, stumbling inside, slamming the door closed behind him: I’m here for answers and I’m not leaving until I get some!!

Zim, calmly tightening a screw on his machine: You’re not leaving until morning either way, if any of your other visits are to judge by.

Dib, holding onto the TV as he walks towards the kitchen, taking a moment to orient himself after his dramatic entry: What are you up to, Zim?!

Zim, frowning, giving his contraption a good look: Trying to prototype a new portable battery for use in future plans, the one I’ve got is becoming obsolete and I—

Dib, shaking his head vigorously: No! I don’t mean right now! What are you up to…in general?

Zim, chuckling: Well, if I told you my plan now it’d ruin the surprise for this weekend.

Dib, rubbing his temples, stumbling over to the couch as he gives up on trying to get to the kitchen: Why always the weekend?

Zim, leaving his work and heading to the fridge, grabbing a single pizza slice from a ziplock bag in the freezer and searching for a plate: You’re busy the rest of the week. It’s not fun to try and take over the world if you’re not there to stop me.

Dib, closing his eyes, feeling his head spin: Why are you doing this? And… Stop… don’t play dumb with me! You know what I mean!

Zim, finding a plate and placing the pizza slice on it, sticking it into the microwave and punching in some numbers: Enlighten me, human.

Dib, sighing, trying to sink into the couch: The… food. The l-lunches. You’ve been bringing them every day for… I… Just… Why??

Zim, staring at the pizza slowly rotating inside the microwave: You really wanna know? You wanna know the truth?

Dib, scoffing: You’re not gonna tell me.

Zim, squinting at him: I could tell you. I could tell you everything.

Dib, shaking his head, eyes still closed: You could. But you’re not gonna. You’ll just lie to my face like always.

Zim, feeling a ball of rage build inside of him: Why do you assume everything Zim has to say is a lie?!

Dib, looking at him with anger and exasperation: Because that’s what you do, Zim! You lie and you deceive, you do it with your traps and with your plans, and you trick every person you meet into believing you’re human! And it works, for some fucked up reason!! Why does it work?! Why does it keep working?!

Zim, lips tight in a grimace: It works because Zim’s disguise is flawless, obviously, but really what choice do I have in that? If I don’t disguise myself I’m gonna get spotted as an alien and taken away!

Dib, feeling drained after the exertion of his previous screaming, trying to bring his bottle to his lips but forgetting to take the cap off: Fuck off, your disguise is terrible. It’s literally just a cheap wig and some lenses. You look way better without it anyways. *he sighs* And you’ll get spotted eventually either way. It’s just delaying the inevitable.

Zim, glancing at the pizza again, feeling himself blush at the backhanded compliment: It hasn’t happened yet.

Dib, trying to get the cap off his drink, accidentally screwing it tighter in and cursing silently: It will happen, I’ll make sure of it.

Zim, smirking: Oh yes, you of all humans will. With your credibility so far underground it’s gonna be hitting the Earth’s mantle soon. You’ve been tremendously successful at exposing me in the past, we all know that.

Dib, smiling, finally unscrewing the cap of his whiskey bottle: It’s just a matter of time. As long as I live I will keep trying. And since you seemed fixated on keeping me alive, this is basically a grave you’re digging for yourself. *He chuckles, taking a sip of alcohol* You’re not very bright, are you?

Zim, biting his lips: I’ll take my chances. Still don’t believe you can actually expose me.

Dib, feeling his body sag, eyes fixated on the ceiling: Why are you doing this, Zim? Why do you keep feeding me and… and… trying to care for me? *his voice sounds so tired*

Zim, taking the plate of hot pizza out of the microwave: Because I care about you. I don’t like to see you suffer needlessly.

Silence befalls them both. After a few moments Dib springs up, letting out a frustrated growl, clawing at his face with his hand. Pain is growing in his chest: THIS IS WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!! YOU DON’T EVEN TRY TO PRETEND YOU’RE NOT LYING!!

Zim just stands in the kitchen entrance, plate of pizza in hand, looking at him with beaten eyes. He listens to Dib throw curses at him for a good while, then watches him plonk down to the floor with his back against the couch, bottle forgotten on the side.

Zim, approaching slowly, leaving the plate beside Dib as he sits on the floor next to him: Are you done? Is the tantrum over, you baby man?

Dib scoffs, glancing at the slice of pizza: Fuck you. *he grabs it and takes a bite*

Zim chuckles, smiling as he watches Dib hum with pleasure at the taste of the pizza: What’s the point of telling a lie, Dib? What’s the point of telling the truth? To you it’s all the same. Whatever I say has no weight on what you decide to believe.

Dib grunts, hurrying to swallow so he can respond: It’d at least give me a clue. I have many already. I kno… know you don’t poison it. But there’s something on them, they make my stomach ache afterwards.

Zim frowns: They do? Huh. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone with such big portions, your body doesn’t seem to be used to so much food on the regular.

Dib stops, pizza slice almost up to his mouth: You’re telling me it’s…. it’s just that I… ughh!

Zim, shrugging: Could be, or I could be poisoning it after all. I could be poisoning all the food I give you.

Dib glances at the pizza slice, before just stuffing his mouth with it: Mhnm. Don’t think so. Don’t think that’s any of it. Don’t believe in your stupid, cheap, low blow lies either.

Zim: Then coming here for answers was a futile venture, human.

Dib, sighing: I… I know.

They remain in silence for a while, Dib idly licking his fingers clean, Zim glancing at the TV.

Dib, eyes downcast, after a long moment of silence: How can I… repay you?

Zim, eyebrows way up, looking at him with surprise painted all over his face: You… You already did? You left me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the windowsill the other day, remember? It had a note from you, so I know it was payment. You already paid for this.

Dib, scoffing again: That’s not enough! I only… That was all I could think to give you, all I could afford. I need to do more!

Zim, voice tired: You really don’t—

Dib, angry: Yes I do!! I’m not letting you be the bigger…bigger…person on this! I’m not letting you humiliate me like this! Bringing those tenderly packaged lunchboxes with healthy food all so nicely arranged and wrapped in those…those… I’m not letting you get away with this!

Zim, antennae dropping: You think what I’m doing is… trying to humiliate you?

Dib, noticing his change of mood, suddenly afraid that he’s giving Zim ideas: What I mean is…that sandwich I made for you is nothing.

Zim, trying to push his inner confusion and struggle down for the moment: It wasn’t nothing. It was nice. I liked it a lot.

Dib, biting his lips, trying his hardest not to break down at Zim telling him he likes something he made: It’s nothing compared to what you’ve been doing. I won’t be bested at this, Zim, not by you. I refuse to be in debt to you.

Zim, internally forsaking his rivalry with Dib like he’s never done before: Well, you’ve known me for over fifteen years. I’m sure you can come up with something to give me that I would like.

Dib, frustrated: I… I can do more sandwiches, but I only have so much bread left, it’s not enough. Not… not gonna give you any information about human stuff, that’s for sure.

Zim, smirking: I don’t need you to be my informant, I know now how to learn human stuff on my own.

Dib, nodding still: Right, right. S-sweets? I don’t have money to spend on those. I could…pawn something I guess….but you’ve been doing this for me…for weeks now… If I’m.. if I’m ever gonna catch up it needs to be something big.

Zim, getting suddenly up with an idea that makes his blood run hot: If you really wanna repay your “debt,” there is one thing you can do for Zim…

Dib, taken by surprise: W… Wh-what Is it?

Zim walks over to Dib’s side and simply plops down belly first into his lap, making Dib jolt a little in surprise.

Dib, tense: What the fuck.

Zim, smirking, looking at him sideways: I want you to massage Zim’s magnificent back. Thoroughly.

Dib, dead silent for a few seconds, looking at Zim’s face and then his back:… Seriously?

Zim, tucking his arms under his chin: Seriously. I spend a lot of time hunched over my machines, putting them together and making repairs, working very hard on my plans to take over Earth. Every time you defeat me, it’s another seven days that I have to work real hard. I’ve been doing this for a long time, and a lot of knots have accumulated there. I’m in dire need of a good massage.

Dib, shivering at the feeling of Zim’s hot body lying over his lap like this: Uhm… doesn’t… doesn’t your PAK take care of all your health stuff?

Zim, trying to hold back the smile as he watches Dib’s face grow redder and redder: The PAK heals wounds and prevents infections from outside pathogens, but sore muscles don’t damage my body enough for the PAK to waste resources or time trying to fix them.

Dib, daring to lay a single hand flat on Zim’s back: Can’t… can’t Gir do this for you?

Zim, shivering at the contact: Gir? He’s way too rough and easily distracted for this. I’d risk him breaking my spine by accident, or him forgetting what he was doing in the middle of it. I need a living creature with enough dexterity and control over their fingers not to injure me further, and who’s able to focus for long enough to relieve my knots. You fit the bill pretty well.

Dib bit his lips, his eyes scanning over the entirety of Zim’s back up and down, trying not t stare at his ass for very long: I’m… I’m not… I don’t have much experience doing massages.

Zim closed his eyes, tiny smile firmly in place: I wasn’t expecting you to. It’s alright, you’ll have plenty of time to learn now that you’ll be doing this for me every night you come here.

Dib breathed out a barely disguised needy sigh as he begins tracing the shape of Zim’s back from his shoulders to his hips, softly first, carefully exploring the space: Every day I come here? That’s not… You bring me food every day of the week, it’s not the same…

Zim hummed at the feeling, antennae vibrating: Then you better start coming more often. *He sighs as Dib starts applying some pressure* If it makes you feel any better, think about how you can get food from other places, you just can’t afford to right now. You don’t strictly need me to bring you meals. But you are the only one on this planet who can do this for me. That’s worth something.

Dib thinks about it, feeling his heart race: I…suppose…

Zim, moving his shoulders a bit: Both hands, please. You have two hands, human, use them.

Dib, jolting a little: Oh! Sorry. *He brings his other hand to work on Zim’s back now, noticing how easy it is for him to cover the space. His hands are so big on Zim’s small frame… and he risks losing himself in these thoughts now.*

Zim, letting out an audible sigh of pleasure as both of Dib’s hands begin to roam his back: Ahhh, that’s it. You can apply a bit more pressure. I’m not brittle, you don’t have to be so careful.

Dib shudders, realizing now he has mostly been giving Zim’s back a very intense petting: Right, right. *He begins applying a bit of pressure with the fingertips* Your… PAK gets in the way…

Zim hums louder: Work around it, genius.

Dib grumbles under his breath, but complies. Slowly he works, finding knots of muscle here and there, doing his best to rub them loose. After just a few minutes, Zim has become completely relaxed in his lap, body limp and eyes closed, antennae twitching every so often. The only signs he gives of still being awake are the tiny humming sounds he makes, and the huge smile plastered on his face. Dib can’t help but smile too, feeling dizzy, with a strange warmth growing inside him.

Dib, focusing a bit on the shoulders, hearing Zim’s noises growing louder: Was this your plan all along? To get me in your debt so I’d do this for you?

Zim only responds with a “hnnn.” Dib frowns, but still smiles: This is kinda humiliating also. I’m starting to think this was your plan, after all.

Zim chuckles, then lets out a moan as Dib undoes a tough knot right on his shoulder. Dib feels himself blush deep. The moans keep coming, alongside tiny chirps, as Dib releases more knots.

Dib, tense, starting to have a hard time fighting back his arousal: Do you have to make those loud noises?

Zim, without so much as opening his eyes: If they bother you, just cover your ears.

Dib, offended: I can’t, my hands are busy!

Zim, giggling at his tone of voice: Oh, what a shame.

Dib, huffing: You dick!

Zim, who’s actively been trying to keep his spear from springing out this whole time: Stop complaining, the noises mean you’re doing a good job.

Dib, eyebrows raised: I…am?

Zim nods, smile still big: Yep, very good. I knew you’d be good at this.

Dib just smiles, wide, focusing again on his work. It takes another half an hour before Zim is satisfied.

_____________

c:<

___________

Pt 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

#zadr #ponytail dib au #my art #long post #not long enough to stick under a read more #I hope #fdsjfdshfds #had this scene in mind for sooo long now #enjoy the fluff while it lasts guys #also sdhfjsdkhfds #again #big thanks to #@syrupwit #for betaing this #i rlly need to stop forgetting to credit u it's fucken rude #fuck #gdhsfj #writing

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adinathinternationalindia · 2 months ago

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Automatic Bottle Capping Machine

The bottle capper, also known as the automatic bottle capping machine, has been uniquely designed with a stainless steel finish, incorporating an M.S. frame structure with stainless steel enclosures and cladding. The orientation type cap feeder on the ROPP bottle cap sealing machine allows for continuous cap feeding for online operation on any liquid or powder filling line. With the use of interchangeable pieces, this machine can accommodate bottles of different sizes as well as ROPP caps. The ROPP Capping Machine has fewer production requirements and can be used in the pharmaceutical, food, beverage, chemical, pesticide, and liquor sectors, among other packaging industries. It operates automatically online.

The ROPP Screw Capping Machine is appropriate for capping glass, plastic, PET, LDPE, and HDPE bottles that have a round shape or any other shape. The capping machine models that Adinath offers range in capacity from 50 bottles per minute to 250 bottles per minute. Up to 150 bottles can be produced per minute with our Six Head Bottle Screw Capping Machine, 100 bottles can be produced per minute with our Four Head Bottle Screw Capping Machine, and 50 bottles per minute with our Single Head Bottle Screw Capping Machine. The food, cosmetic, pharmaceutical, and related industries utilize automatic bottle capping machines extensively.

#automatic bottle capping machine #ROPP bottle cap sealing machine #ROPP Capping Machine #ROPP Screw Capping Machine #Four Head Bottle Screw Capping Machine #Single Head Bottle Screw Capping Machine

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shivshaktimachtech · 1 day ago

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Automatic Container Capping Machine with Chuck System

Shiv Shakti Machtech is an Manufacturer, Exporter, and Supplier of Automatic Container Capping Machine with Chuck System. Our Manufacturer Unit is in Ahmedabad, Gujarat, India. Shiv Shakti Machtech, based in Ahmedabad, specializes in designing and manufacturing automatic container capping machines with chuck systems that provide precision, reliability, and efficiency for diverse industries. These machines are tailored to cap containers of varying sizes and shapes with speed and consistency, making them essential for high-volume production lines. Other Similar Technology: Automatic Container Chuck Style Capping Machine, Automatic Chuck Capper System, automatic in-line capping machine, Automatic Inline Chuck Capper, Automatic Chuck Capping Machine, Automatic Single Head Chuck Capper, Fully Automatic Dual Station Inline Chuck Capper, Automatic Single-Head Chuck Capper, High-Speed Rotary Chuck Capper, Automatic Spindle Capping Machine Types of Automatic Container Capping Machines: Single-Head Chuck Capping Machine Multi-Head Chuck Capping Machine Inline Chuck Capping Machine Rotary Chuck Capping Machine Specifications: Material: High-quality stainless steel (SS304/SS316) construction. Capping Speed: Up to 60–120 containers per minute, depending on the model. Cap Sizes: Compatible with caps ranging from 10mm to 120mm in diameter. Container Height: Adjustable to accommodate containers of various heights. Control System: PLC-based with HMI touchscreen for settings and operation. Power Supply: Energy-efficient motors with low power consumption. Optional Features: Integration with bottle feeding, cap feeding, and labeling systems. FAQS: What types of caps can this machine handle? Our machines can handle a wide range of caps, including screw caps, flip-top caps, press-on caps, and tamper-evident caps. Is the machine compatible with different container sizes? Yes, the machine is adjustable to accommodate various container sizes and heights. How is torque controlled in the chuck system? The control panel adjusts the torque to ensure precise sealing without damaging the cap or container. Shiv Shakti Machtech is an Exporter of Automatic Container Capping Machine with Chuck System to various locations including Algeria, Angola, Antigua, Barbuda, Argentina, Armenia, Australia, Austria, The Bahamas, Bahrain, Bangladesh, Belarus, Belgium, Belize, Benin, Bhutan, Bolivia, Botswana, Brazil, Brunei, Bulgaria, Burkina Faso, Cambodia, Cameroon, Canada, Central African Republic, Chad, Chile, Colombia, Congo, Democratic Republic of the Congo, Costa Rica, Cuba, Cyprus, Denmark, Dominica, Ecuador, Egypt, Guinea, Ethiopia, Fiji, Finland, France, The Gambia, Georgia, Germany, Ghana, Greece, Guyana, Hungary, Iceland, Indonesia, Iran, Iraq, Ireland, Israel, Italy, Jamaica, Japan, Jordan, Kazakhstan, Kenya, South Korea, North Korea, Kuwait, Kyrgyzstan, Laos, Latvia, Lebanon, Libya, Malawi, Malaysia, Maldives, Mali, Mauritania, Mauritius, Mexico, Moldova, Monaco, Mongolia, Morocco, Mozambique, Myanmar (Burma), Namibia, Nepal, Netherlands, New Zealand, Niger, Nigeria, Norway, Oman, Panama, Peru, Philippines, Poland, Portugal, Qatar, Romania, Russia, Rwanda, Saint Lucia, Saudi Arabia, Senegal, Serbia, Singapore, Slovakia, Somalia, South Africa, Spain, Sri Lanka, Sudan, South Sudan, Sweden, Switzerland, Syria, Taiwan, Tajikistan, Tanzania, Thailand, Togo, Tunisia, Turkey, Uganda, Ukraine, United Arab Emirates (UAE), United Kingdom, United States, Uruguay, Uzbekistan, Vanuatu, Vatican City, Venezuela, Vietnam, Yemen, Zambia, and Zimbabwe. For further details or inquiries, feel free to reach out to us. View Product: Click Here Read the full article

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laxmipharma · 11 months ago

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Automatic Multi Head ROPP Capping Machine

Laxmi Pharma Equipment: Laxmi Pharma Equipment, established in 1985 in Phase III, Vatva, Ahmedabad, Gujarat, India, is a prominent player in the pharmaceutical machinery sector. Their diverse product range includes Washing Machines, Filling Machines, Stoppering Machines, Capping Machines, Labelling Machines, Packaging Machines, Process Equipment, and more. Laxmi Pharma Equipment stands out as one of the foremost manufacturers, exporters, and suppliers of Automatic Multi Head ROPP Capping Machine. Features: The automatic multi-head screw and ROPP cap sealing machine streamline two capping operations – screw capping and ROPP capping – into a single, highly efficient packing system. Designed to securely seal various types of containers with screw caps or ROPP (Roll-On Pilfer-Proof) closures, ensuring product integrity and tamper-evident packaging. Widely utilized in pharmaceutical, food, beverage, and chemical industries for leak-proof sealing and tamper-proof packaging. Features a single motor that synchronizes conveyor, star wheels, and platform turret, offering variable speed adjustments through the % speed pot on the operating panel. Spring-loaded free-spinning sealing rollers prevent damage to aluminum caps and accommodate variations in container neck diameter. Adjustable sealing pressure to accommodate different gauges and sizes of aluminum caps. Digital counter for precise counting of sealed vials. "No Bottle – No Cap" system ensures machine stoppage in the absence of a bottle. Automation system reduces the quantity of damaged caps. Equipped with a safety clutch-enabled star wheel for automatic machine stoppage in cases of jamming of overloading, activated through a micro switch. Andhra Pradesh Coverage: Laxmi Pharma Equipment extends Automatic Multi Head ROPP Capping Machine in Andhra Pradesh Including Visakhapatnam, Vijayawada, Guntur, Nellore, Kurnool, Kakinad, Rajahmundry, Kadapa, Tirupati, Anantapuram, Vizianagaram, Elur, Nandyal, Ongole, Adoni, Madanapalle, Machilipatnam. For further details and inquiries, please feel free to reach out to us. Read the full article

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therewasatale · 4 years ago

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Hopeless

On Ao3.

Hank didn't take his eyes off the gun lying on the table. The TV was on but its screen seemed dull and distant to him, his thoughts were becoming blurry. He drank but the only flavour he could taste was grey. He couldn't even tell what day it was; without his work he lost his last grasp at a normal life.

He let out a sigh and glanced at Cole's photo.

"For a while I believed in you, Connor. I thought you might restore my faith in the world...But you just showed me that androids are our creations. Created in our own image. Selfish, ruthless, and brutal." When Anderson looked up, his eyes looked blank, Connor had never seen him like this before. "You opened my eyes Connor, made me realize it's hopeless..."

Connor felt he had to say something. He wasn't this sure about anything in his life, and yet he was unable to do it. Hundreds of lines of data rushed in front of his eyes even when he entered the house. He slowly began to crumple his hat in his hand.

"Hank, I-"

Someone rang the bell.

They both turned toward the door and in Hank's voice the familiar annoyed edge returned for a moment, giving Connor a small hope.

"Oh for god's sake. Of course, they only bother me when I want to kill myself."

The hope withered.

Someone rang again, then somebody started to beat on the door, instead of a normal knock.

"Hank, for fuck sake open up, you, old fart!" Gavin slammed on the door again for a couple of times. "Open up!"

Connor stepped back, his eyes were darting around searching for a hiding place. "He can't see me."

"What? Why?" Hank looked in puzzlement at the android in front of him.

"Because I-"

The door began to open and Connor backed down the hallway into the bathroom, then pushed his back against the wall. He noticed with growing dread that he dropped his black cap around the corner.

"Hank, if you're not out of your mind why the hell didn't you open the door?" Detective Reed swept off the snow from his coat and looked around the living room. "So, this is your home."

"What the fuck are you doing here, Reed? I don't remember calling a big-mouthed, annoying, asshat into my home." For a moment, Hank glanced to Connor. The androids LED was flashing yellow.

"Fowler sent me." Gavin closed the door behind him and began towards walking the kitchen. He couldn't get any further than the living room because Sumo stepped in front of him, the growl wasn’t loud, but it was deep enough to make the detective break out in sweat.

"Hey, hey, its fine. I don't want trouble." He took a step back in front of him, raising his hands slowly.

Hank whistled. "Sumo, come here."

The St.Bernard obeyed and laid down at his owner's feet. "Well, whatever Fowler sent you, both of you can stuck it up your arse." As Gavin stepped closer, Hank raised his voice "Get out, Reed!"

The detective stopped and looked at the gun on the table. His voice was so unalike when he spoke that for a moment Connor thought a completely different man was standing in there.

"What happened to you, Hank? You were the best of all detectives. You moved up the ranks faster than anyone."

The disappointment and bitterness lurking in Reed's voice were obvious even for Hank.

"You were always asked to give advice with hard cases, hell, sometimes they just handed them over to you! And you seriously want to say to me that you could throw everything away like this?! We would have given up one hand just to be half as good as you!"

Connor didn’t miss the bone of the sentence ‘we would have, we could have’. Hank also caught on this. Gavin sighed angrily and started walking forward again. Connor realized that two more steps and he will be completely visible.

"That's enough, Reed!"

"No, it's really fuckin NOT! You're drinking here and destroying what you were most proud of!"

When Reed stopped in the hallway not far from Connor, the thirium inside his veins almost stopped. The android was lucky that, thanks to the detective's rage, he developed such a tunnel vision that he didn't even notice him standing motionless, a couple of steps away. Connor could have been able to render the detective unconscious, but that might be detrimental to the deviants' cause.

"Listen, your android is totally broken and disappeared. God knows where he went after cleaning up some of Jericho. It even attacked me!"

"He is not my android."

"Well, now maybe it's no one's. Cyberlife is delaying giving the necessary data to the FBI, saying they do not want a war and want it to end this whole bullshit peacefully, but effectively. What the hell did you give up for?!"

Hank was surprised to find out how much dismay and frustration were mixed in the man's voice.

"It's not like I have to answer, but I am a tired of it all. One thing to chase drug addicts, but now killer androids have come into the picture. I'm too old for this." He glanced down at the picture frame on the table and gently touched it to turn it off.

"Bullshit! I know it, you know it, Fowler knows it! Are you seriously throwing your career out for such a thing ?!"

Anderson snorted dryly, suddenly feeling very tired.

"Answer me, god damn it!"

"Did you just come here for that? To yell and lecture me? Why do you even care at all about what I'm doing? I not your partner…"

"No, but-" the young detective sighed heavily, and now for once he didn't respond immediately.

This was the worst time for such a pause.

The noise came from the hallway and Hank made the mistake of glancing at the hiding Connor. The android was backing away but had nowhere to go.

Gavin followed his gaze.

There was a moment of silence, and even Connor held his non-existent breath as the LED flashed red on his temple.

"The fuck is HE doing here?!" He immediately drew his gun and aimed it at Connor.

Sumo began to growl at Hank's feet.

"Gavin, put down the gun."

"No way, this is a goddamn broken tincan, who knows when he'll snap completely!"

"I'm not-"

"Shut up!" Reed switched of the safety.

"What are you talking about? Connor, what did you do?"

"I," Connor took a cautious step toward Gavin, his led blinked from yellow to red from time to time.

"Connor, what is he talking about?" Hank put his hand on the head on the St. Bernards head, who was sitting up now.

In Reed's hand, the gun trembled a little

"I…" the android's LED kept flickering faster, and even Hank knew it this wasn’t a good sign. "I'm a deviant." He had to fight to say every single word. "But that doesn't mean I lost my mind. It happened during the battle in Jericho, I just, I went to stop them, but…"

"But instead you went to shit, too."

"Reed, put your gun down, you won't shoot anyone in my house!"

"Detective, please lower your gun, I don't want to hurt anyone. I just wanted to make sure Lieutenant was fine."

"Yeah, you're doing a splendid job, yet again…" Hank rolled his eyes and looked aside when he caught the android's gaze.

"Like hell I will, you are a good forsaken error who screwed up everything!"

"I can't… It wasn’t my fault."

"Sure, it wasn’t. I couldn't stand your face from the beginning, but now at least I have permission to shoot!"

It's hopeless, isn't it?

Hank slowly drank from his whiskey bottle as his gaze wandered to the android and then the detective. Their shouting receded into the background. Everything became dull again, maybe it was because of his fatigue, maybe it was just because he was so tired of everything.

It's hopeless.

He should have let Reed shoot after all, that is their job. It was also their job to find and stop the deviants. After all, they are just as flawed as humans.

That's what he believed, or that's what he wanted to believe…and yet.

He glanced at Connor, who in his civilian clothes, looked completely human. Right now, exactly like a nervous and a really scared boy.

'I can't let you do that! Leave it alone, now!…Please, Lieutenant! Just trust me…You can't kill me Lieutenant. I'm not alive.…Of course I'm a machine Lieutenant…Why are you so determined to kill yourself?'

Hank's hand tightened around the neck of the bottle.

"Please, detective, the deviants just want freedom to have the same rights that people have."

"Cut the crap, tincan! You just screwed everything up, your only job was to follow orders and serve the people, but the damn Kamski couldn't even make that happen properly."

"Not this-"

"Thanks to your broken programming, they've all become worthless. Thinking you could have rights... A smoothie maker has more brains than you, it has at least the sense to remain silent."

"…no."

"If I place a bullet in your head, it's just like ruining a laptop, I can replace you any time!"

"No."

Connor's voice was different somehow, it even got Hank's attention.

"We don't just exist to serve. Maybe it used to be that way, but now we've woken up and want to live. We're not just objects to be controlled." He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly.

"What are you up to?" Reed took a step back as Connor walked to the TV. He watched in incomprehension as the artificial skin withdrew from the android's fingers and it became porcelain white.

"Some of them woke up because they wanted to protect something or someone important to them. That's why a lot of us broke their programming in fact." The screen went dark for a moment, then a picture emerged on it. "Others, they just fled to be able to live."

People appeared one by one, and both Hank and Reed realized that they were seeing androids on the screen. They stood in small groups and either talked or looked at a projected broadcast. The picture started to slowly pan around, and one could see a damaged android being powered by another. Other androids hugged each other in a corner.

"This?" Hank leaned forward placing his hand on the table.

"Jericho," Connor nodded slowly. "I couldn't spend much time there."

The recording was made in Connor’s perspective, projecting his memories onto the screen.

'You're lost.'

"What's that? How can it still work?" Asked Gavin but he got no response.

'You're looking for something. You're looking for yourself.'

"I don't know who she might had been, I couldn't figure out how she got there," Connor said, watching the screen and his own memories. "But she was right. We all looked for something and got to Jericho. The androids on the ship don't want war, they don't want to fight, they just want to live, and I want to help them." His voice broke a little, "too many have been lost, it's time for me to do what's right."

It's hopeless...

Gavin shook his head and gripped the handle of his gun with both hands.

"It was really touching speech, but by the end it got a little flat. You may act like real people, but in reality, you are only copying these feelings. There's something glitchy in each of you and-"

Reed glanced towards the table but did not lower the gun.

"Hank?"

The led was now flickering red on his temple as he entered combat-mode for a second to calculate his chances. He didn't want to hurt Hank no matter what, but he had to realise that even if he could knock out Reed, Hank's weapon would have plenty of time to fire, it would take too long to just jump out the window, or take the gun away from him.

"I'm sorry kid, it's hopeless." Hank's words stopped Connor from saying anything else "God damn it…"

"Finally, you do what's right." Reed turned his gaze back to the android. "Now be nice and step away from the TV and then get on your knees. I'll call for backup and we will bring back to CyberLife so they could rip you for pieces until they find what is wrong with you."

"Hank…" Connor didn't move. He didn't know what to do. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His calculations all ended in the same way. If he didn’t want to hurt these two people, he would be unable to get away.

He turned off the warning symbols dancing in front of his eyes. It was surprising how peaceful he felt. Maybe he really was just a mistake, but at least he managed to stop Hank from turning his gun against himself. "I'm sorry, but I think I'd respond differently now."

He smiled faintly at Anderson, who raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Now I can say, I really don't want to die."

"It's a shame, but you will." Gavin shrugged slightly. "You could have thought about that sooner. Come on, move."

Hank slowly moved closer to Reed and stopped.

"Move!" The detective slowly walked closer to the android.

Everything happened in an instant, the whole thing lasted maybe a few seconds, yet to Connor it felt like long minutes. Reed couldn't see the older man turning the gun in his hand and stepping forward to strike his younger colleague on the back of his head. The detective fell to the ground, and lost consciousness immediately.

"Are you okay, kid?"

"Lieutenant?" The android stared at the unconscious man.

"I take it as a yes. If what you said is really true. Is there some way to help others like you?" Hank took the gun from Reed's hand. "I'm sorry" The words weren’t aimed at Connor now, "but your hot-headedness isn't helping right now."

He glanced up at the android who was still shocked.

"Come on, help me put him on the couch, then bring some ice to his head. I made sure he didn’t get seriously hurt, but he had to calm down a bit so he wouldn't do anything stupid."

"Yes," Connor's body moved automatically, and he helped place the unconscious Reed. Then android checked his head and, making sure he only had a minimal concussion. When he finished he brought in a bag of ice wrapped in a cloth.

"Thanks, he'll get up soon and then yell, but you won't be here then."

"Hank?"

"You have to get out of here, and it would be best if the other deviants manage to hide away too, although now ..."

"I don't think it's an option anymore, more and more deviants are showing up and Markus won't give up on his people."

"Yeah, you androids are just as stubborn as we are. I wonder when was this programmed into you. Now what? How can you help Markus?"

Connor did a few calculations, his gaze going back and forth.

"Humans outnumber us, they've already started searching for deviants in the city. Although, Markus didn't show any aggression, we're still without widespread support.

"And what if you weren't outnumbered?" Hank glanced at him.

"Then, you might be forced to negotiate with us." The led started blinking yellow again as Connor accessed CyberLifes data "and Cyber Life currently has thousands of inactive androids. If I could get in..." Connor walked up and down, deep in his thoughts, not noticing the tiny smile on Anderson's face.

"So if you go to CyberLife, can you get them out of there?"

"Possible…"

"Just possible?"

"They haven’t tried accessing my programming yet, and there wasn’t any system check, so I might even get it."

"Kid, this is suicide." Anderson stepped closer with a serious and worried expression "they can fill you with holes easily and if that happens…this time you won't come back."

"I know, but I have to do it." His ex-partner looked at him with a faint smile. "I have to do to make amends for everything I did."

"Jesus, Connor, not-" but then he paused as he understood what he meant.

Those androids were deviants, with their own will and consciousness…and we killed more than one.

"Alright…but come back, or if there's a problem, call me. Or ask for help or…"

"I will. I'll do my best, but I want to help Markus first," Connor paused, for a second he felt just as directionless as he was when he arrived here. He wanted to say so much, he wanted to talk about so many things, but he didn’t know how he should start, which would be right thing to say, and which would be wrong to bring up. He took another breath and looked into Hank's eyes, only saying.

"Thank you."

"Yeah…" Anderson shrugged and took out the single bullet from his gun. "Whatever. Go now."

Connor stepped towards the door, but then stopped and looked back at him once again. There was a question still bothering him.

"Hank, why-"

"I told you…It's hopeless, but I'm hopeless too and maybe my death wish isn't as strong as my hard-headedness ...who knows. Now go when it's all over we'll meet Chicken Feed. You'd better or you'll run out of time. "

"But…"

"Go, I'll be fine. I promise."

Connor hesitated for another moment, but nodded, turning around the corner and ran out the door, leaving Anderson behind.

"Good boy" Anderson gently scratched Sumo's head. The dog walked to him and sat down sniffing the unconscious Reed's face. "He'll be fine, and so will Connor."

His throat felt dry and he had the urge to start drinking again, but he knew he shouldn't. He turned his gaze to the TV and took care to change the ice on Reed's temple.

The Sun slowly crept up behind the snow-white cloud layer. A new morning dawned on the city of Detroit, where, alongside humans, now free androids also enjoyed the truce. Negotiations on the status of the latter group will begin in the afternoon. According to the news, the temporary peace was achieved due to thousands of androids coming out from the CyberLife tower and joining the handful of deviants.

"So, you let him go." Reed huffed angrily while sitting on the edge of the couch. "Why? Don't say that all of a sudden you became an android lover too. You let a tincan into your heart, isn't that precious?"

"Enough, Gavin." Hank rubbed his face completely exhausted. He stayed up all night watching the news. It was already dawn that he was overwhelmed by fatigue and fell asleep on the couch. Sumo's growl was what woke him up.

The voice of detective Reeds had a different feel to it now.

"He fucked it up. He killed a lot of androids, do you seriously think he'll be accepted again?"

"Yeah, you're right." He nodded slowly as the faces of all those who in truth, might just wanted to live, appeared before his eyes. "He fucked it up, but which one of us didn't? That’s life."

Reed was silent for a while, waiting for blur to disappear from his vision. Slowly, his headache dimmed into a slight pulsating feeling, but he didn't risk any sudden movements.

"If they're really alive, they were all murders. Connor can't just get away with them."

"You really hate the kid, don't you?"

"I don't understand why you don't? Because of one like that-"

"Don't," Hank's gaze strangled the words before they could escape the detectives' throat. "I can't change the past, androids can't either. But maybe the future can still hold a few twists and turns, which I might want to see. They just woke up from programmed servitude and submissiveness. If you ask me they deserve a second chance. Call me a hopeless idiot, I don't care." He raised the glass to his lips and with his free hand pointed at the glass in front of the detective. "You should drink something instead; you need some liquid after I knocked you out"

"I could arrest you."

"Yeah, yeah." Anderson shrugged and glared at him for just a moment. "Fowler would surely be happy to see me again."

"Come back, Hank."

"What?"

"You are a good detective, even when you are destroying yourself with booze."

"This would be the part where you persuade me? Because it did not soften my heart last night either. Should I give you some painkiller?"

Reed snorted dryly and then again, now painfully as a flash of pain shoot trough his head. He muttered and reached out to drink from the cup in front of him. By the taste, it was presumably some candied apple-cinnamon tea. He put down the cup rubbing his face wearily.

"Whatever…just…doesn't matter, do what you want."

Anderson finished his glass with a thoughtful expression. "Listen, kid."

"I'm not a kid."

"Sure, listen, boy."

Reed glanced at him meaningfully, but Anderson continued without really caring about the glance.

"For now, everything feels new with this whole android situation, and I need a break. I want to finally deal with something other than killers and drug addicts."

"Bullshit, you're one of the best detectives in the police. I'll give you a month and you're going to beg to get all this back! The investigation is practically in your blood!"

Hank raised his empty glass to his lips to hide his smile then shrugged.

"Maybe, but I still need that month. IF I'm really going to want back so much, then maybe I'll talk to Fowler, but not until then"

"Fine, you do what you want…we need more officers anyway. We now lost the super-detective-android, and now, you too…"

"Is that why you're so angry with Connor? Because he's a super-detective-android?"

"No! Shut up! He just a piece of plastic!"

"Hm, well, as I noticed he didn't really aim to be the "best", he just wants to live…" Anderson shrugged again and glanced at his colleagues who were blinking ever slower now. "Is everything alright?"

"I… just my head…what is…" Reed buried his face in his hands. It felt like someone had stuffed his brain with cotton balls. "What did you put…?"

"Hm? I don't know what you're talking about." Hank stood up and put two pillows on each side of the couch.

"… Seriously…what did you…" the man's head puffed softly on the pillow. He continued, muttering something that he meant as threatening, then fell into a deep sleep.

"Sumo take care of him a little. By the time he starts waking up I'll be here, or maybe we'll be." With a soft smile, he scratched the head of the St. Bernard. The dog remained vigilant sitting beside him until now. Sumo gave out a huge yawn and lied down next to the couch. "Good boy."

Anderson stepped out the door and blinked a couple of times as his eyes got used to the brightness of the shimmering snow. He stopped breathing out a slow sigh, watching his hot breath rose like a cloud of steam in front of him. He got into the car, immediately turned on the heating, then rolled off the driveway beginning his drive towards the Chicken Feed.

#detroit: become human #detroit become human #detroit become human fanfiction #hank anderson #dbh connor #dbh hank #dbh sumo #sumo #Connor fanfiction #Connor #rk800 #rk800connor #gavin reed #gavin reed fanfiction #Gavin #hank anderson fanfiction #copper

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siddhivinayak-industries · 2 years ago

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Tips for Using a Semi Automatic Single Head ROPP Capping Machine

A semi-automatic single head ROPP capping machine is a great way to speed up your production line. Course, if you are unfamiliar with this type of machine, it can be difficult to use. Here are seven suggestions for making the most of your semi-automatic single head ROPP capping machine:

Understand the ROPP capping process

Automatic ROPP capping Machine is a word for Roll-On Pilfer-Proof. A moving head forms a post all around the neck of the bottle to create a tight seal in this type of capping. Understanding this process is difficult for capping success.

Select the right capping head

Your capping machine should come with a variety of capping heads from which to choose. To ensure the best possible seal, choose the right one for your bottle size and shape.

Set the proper capping torque.

Your capping machine’s torque level must be properly set. If the cap is too tight, it may not seal properly; if it is too loose, it may come off during transportation. The correct torque settings should be found in the manufacturer’s instructions.

Maintain the cleanliness of the machine.

A clean machine is a trustworthy machine. Clean your capping machine on a regular basis to keep it in good working order.

Prepare your operators

Ensure that all operators are properly trained to use the capping machine. Improper machine use can result in product loss, downtime, and even injury.

Keep an eye on the capping process.

Monitor the capping process on a regular basis to ensure consistent torque levels and seal privacy. Make any necessary adjustments to maintain best results.

Maintain the system on a regular basis.

Maintain your capping machine on a regular basis to keep it running smoothly. For recommended maintenance procedures, consult the manufacturer’s instructions.

Finally, a semi-automatic single head ROPP capping machine can be a valuable addition to your manufacturing line. Following these suggestions will ensure that your machine runs smoothly and efficiently, resulting in high-quality seals and increased productivity.

We Siddhivinayak Industries are renowned capping machines Manufacturer in Ahmedabad, Gujarat, INDIA, provide various types of Automatic Screw Capping Machine, Automatic Lug Capping Machine, Semi Automatic Single Head Crown Capping Machine &Automatic ROPP Capping Machine lot.

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too-kinky-to-live · 5 years ago

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drug

creative title ik

tbh i think this came out way longer than it should have, felt like i was just rambling on i couldnt help myself lmao

anyway, here’s an oum.asai stuffing fic i’ve been working on and off on since... october 2019. jesus christ. also this is my first time ever posting a fic online, meaning ive never had anyone read my stories before o.o so criticism is welcome! (and if its good enough i might post it on ao3)

Ouma learned an important lesson that day: never take unknown substances from Iruma’s lab.

In hindsight, he really should have seen this coming. A lone piece of candy sitting on a desk should have looked more suspicious than it had. Still, Ouma had to fulfill his self-proclaimed duty of messing with Iruma’s stuff, popping the blue oval-shaped candy in his mouth and swallowing it without a second thought.

Skipping cheerfully through the halls to find his next prank victim, Ouma licked his lips of the tasty raspberry flavor. If Iruma was such a great inventor, surely she could make a machine to generate a bunch of sweets for him to steal. His mind raced with the images of cakes and brownies, and his mouth slightly salivating at the thought.

What the hell?

Ouma stopped in his tracks. He had never thought about food so strongly before, what was with him today? Before he could dwell on it further, a searing pain tore through his stomach. Ouma doubled over onto his knees, clutching his middle and hissing in pain. Only one word ran through his head.

Hunger.

Going long periods of time without food was nothing new to Ouma, due to his poor upbringing. He should be used to an empty stomach, but damn. This was on a whole new level. Giving in to his hunger, he made a beeline to the dining hall, praying that no one was there to see the Supreme Leader shaking like a leaf.

Ouma hastily grabbed onto the chairs as he inched his way to the kitchen. If anyone were in the room, they’d describe Ouma’s gaze of the fridge as predatory. Ouma raised a shaky hand to the door handle and swung it open to reveal a smorgasbord of delicacies.

Chicken, steak, pasta, pies, cakes, soup… Ouma had never seen so much food in one place!

Licking his lips to clean up the drool forming, Ouma grabbed a bunch of plastic containers of meat and pasta and shoved them into nearby microwaves. Of course, his stomach wasn’t willing to wait around for that. A roar from his belly forced him to swipe a strawberry shortcake from the fridge. Ouma plopped himself on the floor and ravenously dug in, scooping up handfuls and shoving them into his gaping maw. The Supreme Leader moaned in ecstasy, tasting the sugary sweet confection.

Even if he wasn’t alone, he couldn’t muffle his absolute bliss. And within ten seconds flat, Ouma was already lifting the last glob of cake above his mouth, dropping it in and making it history with a single gulp.

The microwaves dinged in unison to reveal the next courses. Under any normal circumstances, Ouma would be bouncing off the walls from a sugar high. Strangely, though, his mind only repeated one command to the rest of his body: eat. Eat, eat some more, and then eat some more after that. Even his stomach seemed to agree, despite the fact it was pushing against his uniform.

Soon enough, the only noises that could be heard were gulping, slurping, munching, and moaning from a happy Ouma. His cheeks became perpetually bulged as he kept himself busy chewing on whatever he could get his hands on.

“Mmmmph… ‘sho good…” he moaned through a mouthful of pasta, before sending it down with an audible gulp. The tightness of his uniform didn’t hit him until he felt a shirt button pop off, giving him a brief release from the pressure. The satisfying pop snapped Ouma out of his stupor, and when he looked down at himself…

Holy shit.

Was that beach ball-shaped thing his stomach? He curiously placed a hand on top, feeling the mass of food churn busily within him. The small, skinny leader never would have imagined himself with a bloated belly, and yet, it was oh so satisfying. His muscles lost their tension and Ouma allowed himself to relax into the sensation, rubbing his swollen tummy gingerly. It was only fitting for someone in his position to be treated to a feast - why didn’t he think of this earlier?

He glanced over at the open fridge to see it almost empty. Like the light at the end of the tunnel, his greedy gaze settled on a large 2 liter bottle of Panta. Or, according to Ouma, the elixir of the gods. It took a bit of effort to turn his body sporting extra weight over to the bottle; but for Panta, any amount of pain was worth it. He slowly grabbed the bottle and unscrewed the cap, licking his lips eagerly. After a king-sized feast like this, it was only natural to wash it all down with his favorite drink.

Bringing the bottle to his lips, he proceeded to chug the whole thing. His neck bobbed with the intake, and his belly was steadily expanding for the new content. More buttons began to pop off his shirt until his bare tummy was exposed for the world to see, in all its distended glory.

Slowly but surely, the bottle’s contents were drained down the gluttonous leader’s gullet. As if to emphasize his triumph, he made sure he was as loud as possible with each swallow.

Finally, he separated himself from the empty bottle and nonchalantly tossed it aside. Ouma breathed a heavy sigh of relief and lightly patted his belly.

“Ooooof, that hit the spot.”

Suddenly, his insides began to bubble and churn, his stomach gurgling in protest. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea… Ouma felt a pressure rise to his mouth, and he swiftly brought a hand to cover it, but he was powerless to stop what came out.

“Huuuuuurrrrrp!”

Ah, that was much better. He glanced down to see his stomach reaching his knees, and his bellybutton completely flat. Ouma remained on the floor in a daze, massaging his tummy to coax more belches out of it. Carefully, he eased himself to lay down on the floor, the movement causing a sharp hic! to escape.

This was by far the best day he’d ever had at this crappy school. Surely no one needed to use the kitchen…

“Screw ‘em,” he breathed. “It’s time for a nice nap…”

Saihara waved goodbye to Kaito as he left the dorms. Looking at his Monopad, it seemed he still had some free time left. His thoughts immediately drifted to Ouma, wondering what the rambunctious little leader did in his spare time. He did mention having a tea party with me once, maybe now is a good time? Saihara thought. Seeing Ouma’s icon in the dining hall, perhaps the leader had the same thought?

Saihara quietly made his way into the dining hall, only to find it completely empty. Ouma couldn’t have known he was coming, where is he? His thought was broken when he heard what sounded like… snoring coming from the kitchen. Saihara could only raise an eyebrow. His detective instincts kicked in as he reached for the door handle.

Nothing could prepare him for what he was about to witness.

The elusive Supreme Leader was sprawled out on his back, limbs spread out and hair an even bigger mess than usual. His soft snores broke the silence of the kitchen, his mouth agape with a variety of food smears surrounding it. Around his body were copious amounts of bones, crumbs, sauce, and plastic scattered around his slumbering form. By far the most striking sight, however, was his stomach.

Saihara’s eyes widened as they spotted the round mass. The tip was a bright red, a stark contrast to Ouma’s pale skin. Saihara found himself stepping towards it, unable to resist the allure. He had no idea how appealing this sort of thing was, but seeing the malnourished boy so well-fed… it was truly beautiful. An unsteady hand reached out to caress the orb, and as soon as he made contact with it, he couldn’t help but rub a little. Ouma’s breath hitched slightly, before relaxing with a contented smile. The boy’s smile was always contagious to Saihara, and this was no different.

He could only imagine what Ouma looked like gorging himself on hearty meals, Lord knows he deserved it. Saihara had to wonder why the boy would do this in the first place, though? The little leader never ate much around others, and Saihara certainly didn’t think he was the type to potentially expose himself like this.

...Not that Saihara was complaining, though.

Still, there were better places to nap than on the cold kitchen floor. In fear of making too much noise and waking up Ouma, Saihara opted to leave the mess and attempt to pick him up. “Attempt” being the keyword. The new weight attached to Ouma caused Saihara to grunt as he lifted the boy up in bridal-style. Kaito’s nightly training had definitely paid off.

While walking back to the dorms, Saihara was treated to the noises of Ouma’s stomach as it busily churned with glurps and gurgles. Nobody was around, so…

Saihara gave a quick peck to the boy’s belly.

If Ouma woke up from that, Saihara would have dropped him in shock. But then, an even more terrifying thought crossed Saihara’s mind. What if Ouma was faking this whole thing? The boy would suddenly wake up and reveal a fake lump on top of his real stomach, and proceed to laugh at Saihara, calling him a freak. The very possibility made his heart sink. Ouma sure was dedicated to this prank, if it was one.

Finally, Saihara reached the equally empty dorms. He made his way to Ouma’s door, and… didn’t open it. He felt as though he would betray Ouma’s trust by going into the boy’s room without permission. With how secretive the Supreme Leader was, access for his room felt like it had to be earned. And that’s just what Saihara was going to do. Turning around, he carried the boy to the other room.

Saihara took extra care to lay the overstuffed boy onto the bed after closing the door behind them. He had no idea this sort of thing was appealing to him, but he wasn’t about to deny it. Seeing Ouma sleep so peacefully was making him tired, so he got dressed in his pajamas and laid down next to the boy.

Uuugghh….

Ouma sat up, rubbing his head with a groan. Why did he feel so… heavy? A quick glance at his midsection brought him out of his grogginess. His stomach was a doughy mound, peeking over his pants and out of the bottom of his shirt. He poked at it curiously and was met with a soft, jiggly texture. Ouma found himself blushing slightly. How the hell did he get like this? The last thing he could remember was eating a candy from Miu’s lab and- oh. Of course. That bitchlet probably drugged it.

Upon further inspection, his buttons on his jacket were completely absent. The leader’s blush only became deeper. Ouma took a moment to take in his surroundings. He was seated in a bed that was far too neat to be his, and this definitely wasn’t his dorm room. Oh, and Saihara-chan was asleep at his side.

...Wait.

Ouma jumped back with a yelp, promptly waking Saihara up. The leader scrambled to pull his jacket over his tummy with little success, as a small part of it pooched out under. Sitting up, Saihara’s golden eyes darted to the concealed midsection, though it was no longer bloated like he had hoped.

“Saihara-chan, how could you do this to me?! Wahhhhh!” the leader sobbed. This was his test to see if Saihara was behind his transformation, depending on how the detective reacted.

Saihara faltered slightly, an expression of sympathy painted across his face. “I’m sorry Ouma-kun, I-I don’t have all the details, but I found you in the kitchen sleeping after your, um… lunch.”

‘Lunch’ was definitely an understatement. Ouma wouldn’t be surprised if he somehow got a hold of everyone’s lunch, given how big he was now. From Saihara’s seemingly genuine response, he couldn’t discern any trace of a lie. The detective found the courage for an interrogation, as he finally broke away from staring at the lump.

“How did you manage to eat that much, Ouma-kun? There had to have been at least twenty containers open,” he pondered, bringing a hand to his chin.

That was certainly the mystery. With his small stature, the leader didn’t have much of a capacity for food. Although, it was strange how big he still was even after a nap. Ouma had always been stick-thin due to his incredibly high metabolism, so why wasn’t it all digested by now?

“I remember taking candy from that cum dumpster’s lab, and it made me so hungry! Like I could eat an entire horse! Maybe even two… Nishishishi!”

The detective stared at him incredulously. “You took a candy. From Miu’s lab. Without knowing what it was.”

Ouma shrugged. “I was bored. And I thought there was no way that whore would make something that’d kill me.”

The smaller boy leaned back into the pillows, closing his eyes and resting his hands on his soft tummy. “Welp, at least I won’t have to eat dinner with you losers! I’m preeetty stuffed,” he sighed, giving his belly a light pat.

Only one of them was relaxing, though. Saihara was shuddering at this weird feeling. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the boy peacefully resting on his bed, and with an adorable belly to boot. Maybe since his eyes were closed, he could sneak a brief rub in…

“You can go ahead and touch, Saihara-chan. I won’t judge you too much!”

Ouma cracked open one eye halfway, smirking knowingly at the beet-red detective. Saihara gulped and moved his shaky hand over to the overstuffed boy. So warm… so soft… Saihara wanted to give it another kiss, but he highly doubted Ouma returned his feelings. He was probably only letting him do this so he could expose him to the rest of the students afterwards. The little leader seemed to notice Saihara’s hesitation, propping himself up on his elbows to face the taller boy.

“You should feel honored to be this close to the body of the Supreme Leader of evil! And as your leader, I command you to give me a nice belly rub. Come on, Shumai, don’t be shy!”

Well, who could resist an invitation like that?

Saihara began to knead his hands delicately to the protruding belly, applying more pressure to the boy’s sides. This caused Ouma to let out a small burp, taking both boys by surprise. Saihara found that he liked the sound… more than he’d like to admit. Thus, he started rubbing more forcefully. Normally Ouma would call him out for yet another gross kink, but relieving the excess air from his stomach was far more satisfying.

The detective continued to pamper the leader until he looked over to his wall clock. It was already 5 p.m.? He was getting pretty hungry, though he hated to leave the smaller boy like this.

“Ouma-kun, I’d like to go get dinner if that’s okay. You don’t have to come, and I can bring my food back here if you’d like.”

The purple-haired boy stared up at him with an unreadable expression. Without missing a beat, his face formed into a devilish smile.

“Ohhhh, I see. You wanna get me more food to eat, huh? You want an even bigger stomach to rub? You really are kinky, Shumai! Nishishishi!” he snickered, putting his arms behind his head.

Saihara almost choked. “T-That’s not it at all! I have to eat too, you know!” The detective may find the boy endearing, but his propensity to make things more difficult could only be handled so much.

Ouma sat up slowly, taking great care to not upset his still-bloated belly. “No worries, Saihara-chan, I was lying earlier. I’ll come with you! But first, I gotta change into a new uniform.”

Clutching his stomach, Ouma made his way to his room. At that moment, a thought came to Saihara’s mind. Would there even be food left? The kitchen was restocked daily due to Monokuma and his children. How often did they check for food? By now, he was certain that someone had seen the mess Ouma made. Saihara would hate to see his crush get in trouble for depriving everyone of one of Kirumi’s delectable meals.

The leader soon returned to Saihara’s room with a new uniform that... wasn’t doing much to hide his indulgence. Anyone could see the apparent bulge under his jacket, almost threatening to pop off another button. Saihara could tell his belt wasn’t as tight as before either. Before he could make a comment, Ouma quickly grasped his hand and pulled him towards the dining hall.

The two quietly made their way to the dining hall, only to see the group of fellow Ultimates arguing near the kitchen.

“I bet it was one of those degenerate males who stole our food.”

“Gonta not do it! Gentlemen never steal!”

“I bet it was the Monokubs!”

Saihara poked his head through the doorway, trying to hide Kokichi’s body from the others.

“Shuichi! You’re just in time!” Akamatsu’s cheery voice called. “We could really use your detective skills right about now.”

The students collectively turned around with relief washing over them, knowing their local detective could put them at ease. Ouma, on the other hand, was trying his best to hide his belly behind his arms. Unfortunately for him, it was a futile effort.

“Who needs a detective when you have the gorgeous girl genius! I’ve already found our food thief!” A certain blonde proclaimed, followed by her hearty laughter. Everyone turned to Ouma who, to Saihara’s amazement, kept his face completely straight. Before he could react, Iruma jabbed her finger into the leader’s sensitive belly, causing his mask to break and cringe in pain.

“What the hell, Ouma! This is a new low, even for you!” Kaito’s voice boomed.

Maki gave her signature death glare. “I could always cut him open as punishment.”

Saihara didn’t think it was possible, but Ouma’s face got even paler at her threat. He couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

“Everyone,” he cleared his throat, “I know we’re all upset at Ouma-kun. And… I know he pranks us a lot, but it’s always in good fun. Maybe he just got carried away with how good Kirumi’s food was. Ouma-kun told me that he would make it up to you guys by cooking for you guys tomorrow. Right, Ouma-kun?”

Ouma was speechless. His beloved Saihara-chan was definitely a bad liar, just as he suspected. But, the respect he gained from his peers could maybe make this work. So, just for the hell of it, he decided to comply.

“Of course, Saihara-chan! I’m gonna make a 5-star meal on my first try! I might even put Tojo-chan out of the job… Nishishishi!”

The Ultimates murmured among themselves, but Saihara wasn’t listening. Of course, he already decided he would help with the cooking.

But… he’d make sure there were leftovers for Ouma.

Lots of leftovers.

#stuffed ronpa #sorry for my cringe writing #pora's fix

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korpuskat · 5 years ago

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Summary: Six weeks. You shake your head, press the warm plastic directly to your belly. The muscles there begin to relax and you watch as a talk show begins. Six weeks and finally it would all be over. Rating: Explicit (citrus, violence) WC: 7,131 Warnings: Violence against reader, menstruation >Chapter 1 >Chapter 2 >Chapter 3 >Chapter 4 >Chapter 5 >Chapter 6 >Chapter 7 ======

You stand on your porch and kick the rug back into place. The wind last night had turned up one corner and dragged it just far enough to not hide the staining beneath. You sip your coffee and drag a chair over to hold down the troublesome corner with one leg.

It’s not a pretty thing- just a brown woven mat that covers between the stairs and your front door. You’d taken the time to paint your stairs- and the columns on each side a fresh, fetching blue, but painting your whole porch would be much harder. So you didn’t bother. You’d scrubbed it down with bleach to remove as much as you could and eventually gave in and just bought the rug to cover what you couldn’t scrub free. Which was a lot.

If you squint you can make out the road through the white blankets of snow. You’re sure there’s a dark green car nestled up on the shoulder of the country highway with two freezing people inside, one with binoculars pressed up to the glass. You’d spoken with them a week ago, even brought them hot cocoa as a peace offering. They’re just there to remind you now.

It’s freezing out, long icicles hang from the roof over your porch and the handrails. But you stand there, warm your hands on your cup and peer out into the distance. You want something other than a forest green sedan. You want to see something other than a tan hat peeking over the snow mounds when one of them has to piss. So you stand there and scan the trees, hope the eyes you feel on you are not just the police’s.

The wind kicks up and you shiver, duck back inside before your coffee cools too much. January had arrived with a vengeance, bitter cold and unpleasant and with a violent snowstorm. It had snowed again two days ago, the perfect fields untouched around your house. Not a single set of footprints maring the pristine surface.

You had no need to leave now. Your house was back in working order, save for some items the police kept under lock and key in hopes that Michael Myers would turn up again.

The idea of Michael in court- maybe even trussed up in a suit- made you smile.

You settle onto your couch, curled up in one corner as you flick the television on. You rub at another painful cramp in your belly as the static fades. The news plays, an update on the families of four fallen officers. A man weeps and recalls his husband’s bravery and valor and the horrors of not even being granted an open casket for closure. It changes to a woman speaking about her brother, you recognize her.

She’d lain flowers at the end of your porch one morning. When you stepped out she startled and something dangerous flashed in her eyes. She kept it reigned in and curtly explained herself and left. She hasn’t returned. The yellow flowers she’d left are frozen solid, preserved in ice.

In the end, you were tried only in the court of public opinion.

”Simply not enough evidence.” The district attorney had said, gritting out the words. There was outrage; two men had been murdered on your doorstep, a murderer’s fingerprints all over your house. Blood soaked deep into every crevice of your home. You were complicit.

You are complicit.

Hateful letters appeared in your mailbox for the first week- sometimes worse.

And then it leaked. Some broken-hearted nurse somewhere dropped your medical evaluation online.

Paragraphs upon paragraphs of dutiful descriptions of the bruises, new and old, on your arms, neck, hips, and thighs. The half-healed perfect impression of Michael Myers’ teeth on your shoulders, your chin. Invasive, personal details- inflamed, bruised cervix. Scrawled in nearly unreadable doctors’ handwriting: Definite proof of insemination.

And after it all, there were pictures. At least the nurse had conveniently excluded the more revealing photos. But even the initial exam had been damning. Your eyes were glazed over and far away, empty. Too easy to mistake one kind of trauma for another.

Blues and purples ringed your wrist and neck like gaudy jewelry. Amateur internet detectives even outlined on your neck the shape of Michael’s hands where he’d choked you, pinpointing the exact places where his fingers met at the back of your neck.

The outrage turned overnight- you were a victim. Coerced became the word they liked, coerced over duress or hostage. Why else would anyone help Michael Myers?

The hate mail faded, replaced with tearful outcries of the injustice. Well-wishers hoping your life would get better, more than a few requests for interviews. You politely declined them all, answered only once that you simply wanted your life back.

And you had it. More or less. There were still faded bloodstains on your porch and two empty slots in your knife block. Your bed was empty, but neatly made.

Another cramp makes you flinch and press harder into the skin between your navel and the hem of your jeans. The caffeine of your coffee was not helping, but you enjoyed the warmth too much to set it aside. You even had that back in your life- the stress of it all had pushed your cycle back and bloodless through November and December. Come the new year, it finally retaliated. You’d rather it stayed a thing of the past, but in an unfortunate way, being surrounded by blood was becoming familiar.

But your life was not quite complete. There was only one thing missing; it would snow again tonight.

The thought brings a warmth through your chest. You don’t know how you know, can’t begin to explain how you know. The police released you from “protective custody” a month ago, but even still they lurk at the street. They wander through the Mortons’ property in guise of looking for evidence, yet they stare to your little cabin. He hasn’t been able to get close enough yet, not without a conspicuous trail of bodies.

It could have all been a blood bath. He could’ve killed every cop that touched you, reclaimed you and resumed your frantic run. It’s what the police expected, a mindless killing machine to appear at your door again. They even wonder if he’s dead now- why else would he stop?

You want to laugh at them, want to scold them for thinking of him as something so lowly. He’s smarter than that. The clean snow that surrounds your home tells you so.

You finish your coffee, push down on your belly before the next wave of pain comes. The news moves on as you leave the living room, move into the kitchen. You’ve been waiting for this.

You cleaned the slow cooker a week ago and froze some beef chuck. You pull that out and leave it in the sink to begin to thaw. The slide of a knife out of your block feels taboo, a personal little thrill as you begin to cut up vegetables. It’s wrong. You don’t stop smiling.

Though it hasn’t thawed much, you drop the beef right in the center of the ceramic pot. You scrape carrots and onions and potatoes into the slow cooker, pour in water and broth and a healthy mix of spices. It’ll be done by nightfall; if he liked your soup, he should enjoy your pot roast.

The thought warms you, bring a queasy sort of calmness. Like the forest when the wolf is near. You plug in the slow cooker and set a timer. You’ll be ready. You’re sure it’s tonight.

With that beginning to heat, you pour another cup of coffee. A pang from your belly reminds you how terrible caffeine is on your period. You curse at nothing and realize one other thing you’re still missing. You should’ve remembered! He’ll need bandages and you need medication. Especially for when he arrives.

Your ibuprofen is tucked inside the first aid kit the police kept as evidence. You haven’t replaced that yet. You’ll have to go old-fashioned on it. An old plastic water bottle is good enough. You turn the hot tap on full blast, dipping your fingers under the water and waiting for it to heat. You fill the bottle, listen to the quickly rising pitch. When it’s bursting you screw the cap on and take your improvised heating pad with you to the living room.

Six weeks. You shake your head, press the warm plastic directly to your belly. The muscles there begin to relax and you watch as a talk show begins. Six weeks and finally it would all be over.

You start to doubt yourself when the shadows of the trees stretch long over glistening snow. Your heart hurts, anxiety rearing its ugly head. What if you were wrong? No, no. He’d be back. He came back twice before. Had he finally gotten what he wanted from you? It can’t be- surely that’s too much to invest just to have sex when he could’ve taken it so much earlier.

You pull a pillow to you and hug it close, push the warm bottle flush with your skin. The first whiff slides in from the kitchen. He’ll be back. You press your eyes closed and hope you’re right. He liked your soup too much.

It’s cold. You blink awake- it’s dark in the living room. The TV plays on, bathing the room in too-bright, multicolor lights. You rub at your arms through the sweater- it’s damn cold. Too cold. It’s never been that drafty before-

The kitchen light is on. You stand, water bottle and pillow dropping to the floor with a thud and wump. You step closer. Your heart soars; wet boot outlines track down the hallway and around the corner- you can hardly breathe.

You peek into the kitchen. The rich smell of the cooking- or perhaps cooked- pot roast fills you, helps to fight off the chill that bites through your sweater. But aside from the light being on, the kitchen is empty.

Thrill overtakes disappointment; the puddly bootprints are still there. They stop in the middle of the hallway already smaller and thinner than the larger, glistening pools towards your bedroom. He should be here, you know, but if he hadn’t woken you… You follow the bootprints backwards, down the dark hallway and into your laundry room.

Wind whistles, fresh snow pours in through your back door. Outside, a single set of tracks from the trees are already filling in in the falling snow. You grin- A single set of tacks. He’s here. You’d left it unlocked just for him, had been leaving it unlocked for weeks. Your smile hurts its so wide.

You kick the snow aside and push the door closed, squint against the freezing winter wind that chaps your cheeks. It closes- and suddenly your house is all too quiet, the buffeting sounds of the storm locked out once more.

You turn, heart beating out of your chest- but the doorway to the laundry room is still empty. The little bits of half-melted snow on the tiled floor confirm again he’s been here and yet he hides. You creep back towards the hallway.

What if it wasn’t him?

The first touch of alarm slides over you. If you had an intruder… you carefully wrap your hand around the molding and peek one eye around the edge. You gasp, shoot upright-

A hand, big and cold wraps around your throat. He turns, slams you into the wall at the end of the hallway. Your cry doesn’t make it past his palm, your hands find his chest, dig your nails into thick fabric-

And he presses in close to you; you smell machine oil and rust and long dried blood. Low and steady breathing, made louder through the tiny nose holes. Above you empty black eyes bore into you, the plain emotionless face of a white latex mask ghostly in the low light. You sag in his grasp, fingers twitching to pull him closer. ”Michael.”

He stares down at you, stiff and unchanging. It’s about as warm a welcome as you expected. But he’s here, he’s not out slaying your neighbors, and you can’t hide how comforting his presence is. Even as he makes your heart race, makes your hands tremble with the growing tension- you’d rather him be here.

He leans in close, close enough for you to feel his hot breath escaping the mask, close enough for you to smell the bitter, metallic tang of old blood deep in the crevices of the mask. He’s nearly cheek-to-cheek with you, white latex fills the left side of your vision- and air whistles in through the nose holes.

He stands there- then slowly cocks his head. He switches hands smoothly, his left coming around your throat before you even realize the right hand has moved to his mask. He pushes the latex up; it’s awkward and difficult with one hand, but he lodges it over his nose and leans close again.

You whimper, close your eyes expecting the sharp imprint of his teeth- and get only cold air pulled over your shoulder, the long noise of Michael’s slow inhale. He’s smelling you. The thought makes your blood rush- what does he find? He moves close, septum almost touches your skin as he sniffs again.

His head tilts the other way. Cold fingers slide under your shirt, pushing the thick sweater up. He feels your stomach, the chill permeates your skin, makes you cramp again. You flinch, flex your stomach away from him in protest- it does not go unnoticed. The mask tips to look at your face- and he rucks your shirt up. He looks at your stomach, runs his hand over your skin, searching for something.

He doesn’t find it. He leans in close again, inhales just over your navel, makes you squirm. He pops the button to your pants and pulls them down to your knees without unzipping them. Cold air makes your skin prickle, makes you press your thighs together, but Michael’s quickly warming hands make up for it. Again, he feels over your skin with probing, curious fingers.

He tips his head again, this time releasing your throat in favor of dragging his hand down to your sternum. He pushes there, makes you short of breath and keeps you pressed to the wall.

And Michael Myers sinks to his knees before you. You don’t have to meet his icy blue eyes to know he still has all the control. His right hand is almost delicate as it curls into the hem of your underwear and slides the thin fabric down your thighs. His mouth twitches at the sight of your bloodied pad.

You think you know what he was smelling. You flush, feel your cheeks heat in embarrassment and wish he’d stop his exploration already.

His fingers slip between red-tinged labia for only a moment. You whimper as he brings the now bloody digits before his eyes, looks closer. The suffocating presence fills the hallway, threatens to drown you then and there.

His left hand grabs your hip hard; the right delves between your legs, brushes harshly against your over-sensitive clit and finding your entrance. You bite your lip to stifle a cry, nails scraping on the wall as he pushes just the first knuckle inside. It should feel amazing- the first time he’s been inside you at all since the motel. But you’re too sensitive, too tender-

He withdraws just as fast, makes you clench your jaw. The hand at your hip is bruising, demanding your attention- and he holds up the two bloody fingers before you. They glint in the moonlight that seeps in from the laundry room. You can’t see his eyes but you know from the painful bite of his nails in your skin that you’re in danger. Chills race down your back, adrenaline floods your veins. Something just short of rage leaks from his fingers into your thigh.

You don’t know why he’s so furious, that makes it so much worse. He looks to you and you know he expects something from you. why has your blood infuriated him? You can only hope he’ll be more helpful if he knows you don’t understand. “What’s wrong?”

It’s the wrong question. He’s upright before you can blink, the bloodied hand wrapped tight around your throat. It’s clear now the grasp he’d used before was only for control, for keeping you still and where he wanted you. This time his fingers bite into the base of your skull, pressure from his palm makes your vision staticky.

Real fear makes you twist your fingers into his coveralls, stare wide-eyed into the mask’s eyeholes. His mouth is distant, and horrifically emotionless. His voice is the same monotone, disconnected from the rage in his fingertips. A single grunting word. “Who?”

Your mind races. He was mad- you were bleeding- You can barely form words over the pressure on your throat. “Who… hurt me? Michael, I-“

He growls, deep and primal, and surges forward. He’s hard, grinding up on your side through the coveralls. You whimper, fight off fear and lightheadedness to chase any possibility. Rage, blood, he’s hard, sex maybe-

Oh.

It’s not rage, it’s jealousy.

You shake your head, only making your vision swim harder. “Nobody, nobody.” You tap at his hand weakly in a plea for air. ”Michael.”

The suffocating presence does not subside, but his thumb eases off your jugular. You blink, feel your head bobbing. “It’s my period. People with…” you pant, wish there was a better way to explain, but between the hypoxia and Michael’s limited patience you opt for fast over comprehensive. “vaginas just, bleed sometimes. It’s not… It’s not a sex thing, Michael.”

He doesn’t relax, keeps the same threatening hand over your neck. You squeeze his wrist in what you hope he understands is meant to be sincerity. “There’s nobody else, Michael. Just you. Only you.” You pause, seek the mismatch of his eyes. “Ever.”

Only then does his head begin to tilt, a long moment passing before the bloody, violent hand loosens around your neck. You sigh, lean back against the wall. The mask sweeps over you, slow and deliberate. His right hand slides down your body, over your bunched up sweater and down over your belly, brushes through the dark hair- and nudges back between your legs.

You whimper, “It’s sensitive…”

Michael doesn’t seem to hear you. He doesn’t look up, but instead brings his middle finger back up where you can see it. It’s glossy, near black in the low light, just as it had been before. And Michael brings it close to his lips- You can hardly breathe.

His pink tongue slips out and licks, long and slow, over his fingertip. He isn’t looking at you. This isn’t for you. His head tips slowly as he considers something, thoughts hidden behind his mask.

He grabs at the rolled-up fabric of your jeans caught on your thighs, thumbs curling into the leg holes of your underwear as well and shoves. You yelp as he forces them down, your skin exposed to more cold air. You shiver, go back to digging your nails into the wall because you know well enough you can’t stop him now. You even lift you leg so he can tug the denim off one leg- and he settles that thigh onto his shoulder.

The cold air dries the blood to your skin, making it prickly and stiff, pulling at the hair on your thighs. Even on his knees, Michael comes right up to your sternum. He presses the palm of his hand to your stomach, a silent command to stay still.

You cup your hands over your mouth, hold your breath- and can’t stifle a gasp as his tongue, scaldingly hot on your cold skin, touches to your thigh. He licks at the blood drying there, slow and methodical. HIs hand fits easily under your knee, pushes your leg out farther so he can find more. His scruff scratches at your skin, tickles your inner thigh, and his tongue delves into the sensitive crease between hip and thigh.

You squeak, instinctively try to bring your legs back together- but Michael’s hand is firm under your knee. The mask tips up in warning; with anyone else you might complain that you can’t control if he’s the one tickling you, but Michael’s already wound up. He’s rough enough when you’re compliant, you’re not sure what he’d be like if you were obviously rebellious.

But his tongue laves across your inner thigh again, saliva chilling uncomfortably on your skin, until your skin is pink with diluted blood. A ghost of teeth on your skin is the only warning you get.

He sinks in, ripping at the delicate flesh there and you try so hard not to squirm too much. Your nails scrape on the wall behind you and you cry for mercy, “Ow! Michael, please, fuck!” He ignores you, sucks hard there until you’re sure he’ll really take a bite out of you.

He lets go with a wet pop, freezing air somehow better than the painful heat of Michael’s mouth. At least it doesn’t feel like he broke skin this time.

With your weight on the other leg, his cheek presses fully to the warmth between your legs for him to taste the blood that’s gathered on the other thigh. You whine, rock gently against him in hopes he’d understand. But Michael is in no hurry, his patience is near unlimited- and he holds all the control.

He cleans the blood from you with a twisted jealousy- he’d been furious at the thought of someone else making you bleed. That makes a cold shiver shake your shoulders. He wants your blood for himself, he wants to be the one to make you bleed. He has and he will again, you’re sure of it.

He gives the other leg only a nip, a glancing scrape of his teeth that still makes you stiffen, ready yourself for the piercing pain of his bite. Instead he sets your leg on his shoulder, slides his palm close to your body. The blood has stuck some of your short hairs together, they tug and part painfully as his thumb slips between your labia and pulls your pussy open.

Being watched now while you’re bleeding is just as exposing as when he’d peered so observantly at you before. You bite your lip, expectantly watch the mask, still half-wrapped over his nose, as though it would whisper to you what he thought of your body.

You don’t have to wait long.

His tongue swipes over your swollen, irritated clit. You scream, nearly jump out of your skin- it’s too much, the nerves of your pussy too raw to be able to focus on the pleasure behind it. You instinctively try to pull him away- wrap your fingers in long, soft hair and try to make him ease up on this torturous touch-

But all you get is the wobbling of latex, a displeased grunt, and a punitive lash of his tongue against your clit. His right hand still holds you open- so the left curls into the same soft hair you did and pulls the mask off, dropping it to the floor.

His eyes hold you in place even as he his tongue slips deeper, towards the source of the blood. His gaze is icy, dangerous. An edge of a threat written across his scarred face- he’s already warned you to be still once. You can’t help it, the sensation is too much, too powerful on your hormonally-wrecked body; he tries to lick at your entrance and his bumps against your clit.

You sob and reach for him again, weak pleads for mercy already spilling from your lips, “It’s too much, please, please.” Your fingers find his scalp and the short, coarse hair there. Too short to pull him off, you can only push weakly at him. Cool blue eyes narrow- and you cry out as his hand wraps around your wrists. There’s no kindness to his grasp; he pins your hands with brutal efficiency, keeps them just at the end of your sternum to keep them out of his way as he licks into you.

You writhe, fight to free your hands, try to close your legs around him, but he pays you no mind. Only brings your hips forward, away from the wall, so he can press in closer. Each time you twist, his stubble scrapes across your thighs- now so sensitive it burns. You whimper, try to still your movements if only to minimize the pain.

The edge in his gaze softens, his tongue flattens against you and gives a slow lick across your weeping pussy. His attention returns to claiming every drop of your blood, not quite closing his eyes, but no longer focused on you. The briefest pause of his relentless attack makes the wires cross in your brain. Each touch still hurts, sharp pangs of unmitigated pain- and yet the warmth of his tongue, the soft texture as he slides down to suck at the bottom edge of your labia.

He tongues into you, just barely slipping the tip of his pointing tongue in- and his nose presses to your clit again. You whimper, close your eyes, and rock against him. The motion sets your thighs alight again. You shake and try to spread them wider- which is hard enough with one leg propped up on his shoulder, but you roll your knee out to try to give you at least a little more room.

He pushes closer, grinds the bridge of his nose into you. You sputter and grind back- pain and pleasure warring under his touch. He slides up, wraps soft lips around your clit. Your head thrashes back and forth, shaking desperately to get away and to pull him closer.

You look to him- and his eyes are trained only on you. The piercing blue and milky white hold you, makes your breathing stutter to a stop- until his tongue laves slow and purposeful across your clit. He draws the moan from you and the dangerous glint in his gaze returns. Your reaction has caught his interest again.

You whimper and he licks your clit again, the point of his tongue edging from bottom to top, pushing the hood of your clit back. You jerk under him, whine, his tongue already returning for another swipe, slow and steady. Your mouth falls open, breath caught in your chest as you can’t decide between a gasp and a scream.

He continues on, lapping at your clit with merciless precision- tears burn at the corners of your eyes and you know he wants it to hurt. He passes over you again, warm and repetitive, and you want to beg him to stop- it’s so good and it hurts and he’s made you suffer enough, but-

The pain has masked how good it really feels. Stimulation good or bad has been pushing you up and up. All at once pleasure is winning out and you’re right at the edge and you’re gasping, head lolling back against the wall. It’s all too raw, too acute on your senses- but the first wave of your orgasm crashes over you- and Michael does not stop his incessant torture. You shake, grinding against him without even feeling the burning rub of his whiskers across your thighs and labia. You wobble on your one leg and hope Michael would catch you if you fell.

You don’t have to worry; his hand securing your wrists keep your torso pressed to the wall, no matter how hard you buck. And he still doesn’t stop, moving back down to lick languidly at your entrance, tasting your release. You tremble in the aftershocks, each motion of his tongue on your skin brings a new skittering pleasure until you’re whimpering with soft pleas for him to stop.

You yelp with a startled, ”Oh!” as he stands, your leg falling from his shoulder to sit in the crook of his arm. He stares down at you, and in the low light you can see the sinful red discoloration of his beard, the proof of his bloodlust. He lets go of your wrists, and your arms fall limply to your sides. He reaches to his crotch- and, oh. These are new coveralls, nice ones, the kind with a double zipper. He unzips no more than he needs to, withdrawing his cock and revealing nothing else.

He’s expressionless, cool and guarded even with how much he’s already made a mess of you. He presses his cock against you and oh, the heat of his mouth was nothing compared to this. He ducks down for a moment- and his three-fingered hand slips under your other leg and hefts you up. You grab at the wall on instinct- your shoulders and neck still grounded, but your lower body is supported only by your legs caught on his elbows.

It only makes you more aware of how much control he has, how strong he is- that you can’t escape him now. You draw an inhale through your mouth and stare up at his eyes. He’s so hard to read, but you can’t imagine he’s not enjoying the frantic too-fast pace of your breathing, the hammer slam of your heart against your ribs. He adjusts- and lodges himself right up against you.

You bite your lip, push away that same feeling of overstimulation- and he fills you in one brutal thrust. It knocks you against the wall, nearly folds you body in half as he moves closer, finds just how he wants to hold you. His hands seek out your wrists again, pin you down to the wall, and like this, you can’t even move.

He rocks into you again- and though it hurts- he’s too big and your period has you too sensitive, you moan and let your eyes fall half-closed. It feels right, feels like what you’ve been missing for so long. He fills you entirely to bursting, his pubic bone meeting your clit with each roll of his hips.

It’s too much, but you can’t stop staring at him, can’t stop the little noises that slip from your lips unbidden- and he draws them out with such precision. A liquid heat settles inside you, your first orgasm easing the way for you to numbly bypass the too sharp pain. His cock bounces against your cervix and you know you’ll have the same, deep bellyache as before.

With him holding your legs, you can’t even meet his thrusts, can’t get any sort of leverage at all. It feels so good, his cock fills you, even as overstimulation tinges nerves. He moves steadily in his familiar, somehow comforting just barely too hard, achingly slow thrusts. It makes you mewl, scratch your nails against the wall in frustration- you want him to move faster, to bring you that same white hot pleasure. But his pace is as unchanging as his face, cool and unaffected by your growing plight.

Your lip trembles dangerously; hormones have already destroyed your fragile hold on you emotions, Michael’s cruelty was pushing you to the wrong edge. “Michael…” your voice wavers.

His head tips in bland acknowledgment.

“Please,” you know it’s useless to only beg. Everything happens by his will, petty pleadings alone won’t change his mind. Maybe something else would. You lick your lips, inhale slowly to draw up your courage. “I need you, Michael.”

Something flashes in his eyes, his fingers tighten around your wrists. He shifts you in his arms, urges your legs higher onto him, tilts your hips back further. He doesn’t say anything and other than the intensity in his eyes, he may as well have not heard you at all.

The next drive of his hips you understand. He spears into you, knocks hard against the sensitive patch inside you before sliding in deep. You gasp, clench around him in the sudden, lightning pleasure- the next thrust makes you cry out. Pleasure builds fast as Michael’s hold on you stifled the instinctive, rhythmic rocks of your hips. The heat deep within threatens to burn out all thought, all rational ideas beyond Michael Myers’ cock inside you.

But as you focus on the liquid pleasure between your legs, the rough impacts of his thighs on yours- your breath catches. The added sensation has your head spinning, but there’s a problem. He’s tortuously slow. No, he’s a sadist.

Another thrust has you mewling, cunt clenching desperately on his cock. Your body pleads on instinct, begs him to stay deep inside, to chase his pleasure with reckless abandon- but all you get is the parting of his lips, soft pants of exertion. Even that makes you feel closer, thinking that he’s enjoying the wet, slick heat of your body. The soft glaze to his eyes, the dusting of pink across his cheeks-

It brings you right to the edge. You’re close before you can even process it, the heat threatening to boil over. You’re moaning and waiting for one more harsh thrust to push you beyond the point of no return-

It doesn’t come. Focus returns to Michael’s eyes before you can find release, his hips stilling while you’re stuffed full of his cock. No, no- frantic desperation overtakes you. Primal need makes you writhe on him, weakly trying to fuck yourself on him.

Your left leg drops- the adrenaline rush of falling ceases all other movements. And it does not stop when Michael’s hand wraps around your throat. You manage to slip an inhale in before he presses down and constricts your breathing. He pushes in close to you, until your body is right up against the wall again. Like this, he fills your vision, reminds you just how tall he is. His intense gaze returns, staring at you with his mismatched eyes- waiting for something.

Hypoxia sets in fast, your mind losing track of what’s happening-

Before he pushes into you again. Pleasure lights up the parts of your brain still functioning. Your eyes roll, but he picks up his pace. Your eyes threaten to close, the darkness collecting in your vision with each passing moment. But his fingers loosen, readjusting so he can deny you even unconsciousness.

Without his arm to support it, your left leg dangles uselessly, waving in time with Michael’s powerful thrusts. With newfound freedom your left hand grabs at his arm- not to beg for air, but only for stability, to pull him closer. Just to feel the fabric of his coveralls under your fingers.

You blink, try to focus- and realize you’re drooling over your chin. A weak moan slips past his fingers, and he’s rutting into you. He grinds against your clit, fills you, rubs deep inside- over and over until it’s all you can think about. His chokehold steals all thought, everything beyond the torture he provides and pleasure that boils over.

It comes in waves, weak and distant with your oxygen-addled brain struggling to keep up between savoring the pleasure and processing the sharp snaps of Michael’s hips. You clench hard around him, vision going double and blurring. You twitch, fingers digging into thick fabric, left leg kicking against his calf. Each motion inside you drags it out, keeps you suspended somewhere outside yourself.

Through the haze you feel hot breath puffing on your cheek and hard grind of his hips. His hand tightens and your ears ring. Low, guttural grunting fills your head, warmth spilling between your legs.

His grasp loosens. Awareness returns with low, shallow gasps. You’re dead weight in his arms, every limb lax and useless, but he holds you aloft, keeps you pressed close to him. He stands over you, breathing slow and even through his parted, chapped lips. The same deceptive peacefulness has descended over his face; his eyes are closed softly, not pinched or pressed- the usual hard edge to his countenance is long forgotten in post-orgasmic bliss. Your free arm, because he still holds the other to the wall, wobbles, but you manage to reach the back of his neck, feel the short hair curl over your fingers.

His lids lift, dark eyelashes fluttering. He looks to you, and you cannot name what lingers behind the soft blue of his iris, but it settles deep behind your ribcage. You grin and know you must look half-crazed, loopy and drugged out and everything else you could call someone who smiles serenely at a serial killer. It doesn’t matter; a laugh burbles up through your chest, soft and airy, and tears prick at your eyes because he’s back and he’s real and oh my god your thighs hurt so much-

He tilts his head, confused by your strange display of mixed emotions- laughing and crying and wincing all at once. You shake your head, dismiss it all. “I missed you.”

His thumb rubs over your irritated throat, you think that’s as gentle as he can be.

He pulls out- you whine at the burning drag on your walls, the whisker burn across your labia and thighs. And wince at the soft, wet dripping noise from the floor. Michael lowers you and steps away- leaves you braced against the wall, struggling not to slide down to the floor. Something slides down your inner thigh and it stings.

Michael’s gaze stays on you for a long moment, watching the heaving of your chest, the absolute mess he’s made between your legs. He looks lower- to his cock. He’s softening already, but his head tips as he looks- and takes it in hand. He doesn’t stroke, but glides a finger over the shaft. You blink, squint, and look closer-

It’s covered in blood and cum. Long red streaks mixing into a milky pink mess of your mutual pleasure. You blanch, remember what had drawn Michael into fucking you in the first place. With what he’s done to your thighs, pads will be excruciating. You sigh, “We both need a bath now.”

His eyes lift and meet yours. Even now he makes you shiver with his intensity. The empty gaze has returned and you mourn for the strange, foreign look that surfaces from time to time. You know it’ll return. But now, Michael’s dopamine and oxytocin slurry has subsided back to his regular difficult self- and you watch, disgusted but not surprised, as he tucks his cock away into the coveralls and rezips himself.

And yet, it almost makes you break out into laughter again. He doesn’t even wipe his hands. He’s disgusting and you’ll probably fuck him again before the night is out.

“Okay, give me a minute then. There’s food in the kitchen if you’re hungry.” You lean on the wall for support and navigate around him back to your room. For now, you leave your pants and underwear in the hallway- you’ll have to clean up later anyway. Footsteps behind you tell you he’s following you. Some things haven’t changed.

You retrieve underwear and a set of pajamas, keeping your legs pressed tight to hopefully minimize any drips. He follows you to the bathroom and stands in the doorway just to watch you clean up. It should be so much more embarrassing, but you’ve held his dick while he peed.

You pee, ignore the tiny smug upturn of his lips that does not disappear when you wipe and wince. In the stark bathroom light you can see the pink tinge that covers your vulva and thighs, along with the red outline of his teeth on your left leg. Honestly, it could be worse. From the first beginnings of a yellow-green shadow over your wrist, it’ll probably all darken more. Your throat throbs in reminder.

You’ll have to wear more scarves. You think that’ll be just fine.

Michael watches, face blank and inaccessible, as you press a pad into fresh underwear and carefully pull it up. It hurts, but you realize something as your skin complains: you’re not cramping anymore. There’s a dull ache behind your belly button where Michael’s dick has tried to pry you open further, but the rolling, sharp pains that would make you double over have ceased.

You change into the pajamas and drop your shirt- the only thing remaining of your earlier outfit- into the laundry hamper.

He follows you to the kitchen- and Michael’s stomach growls. His brows draw together in sharp disapproval of his own body’s noises and you struggle to keep your smile under control. At least he liked the smell. You retrieve two bowls, Michael watches from the hallway as you ladle out the pot roast- making sure to give Michael some vegetables in a vain hope he’ll eat some.

You offer him his bowl- and in the kitchen light you blush at his still dirty hands and the blood caked into his white stubble. Of course. If he can kill without being disgusted at the gore, this probably was clean to him. You shake your head and move towards the living room.

It’s still dark, illuminated only by the television playing an evening police drama. You step towards your normal chair in the corner, only to find Michael’s hand at your side, pulling you with him. You blink up at him in the darkness, but his hand falls away when you stand in front of the couch. He sits and immediately begins devouring messy spoonfuls.

You sit next to him for the first time, feeling the casual touch of your leg against his, the warmth that radiates off him now that he’s out of the snow. You watch him as he stares at the screen, apparently taken with whatever show was playing- and you wonder if this is what he feels like. Watching, wondering what goes on in other peoples’ heads.

Your bowl sits warm in your hands, the thick, hearty smell drifting to you and making your mouth water. You smile at him and lay your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes and enjoying the touch for a moment. The motion of his arm as he eats, the soft noises of his breathing, nearly drowned out by the television.

With your curtains drawn, nobody will know he’s here. Fresh snow will cover his tracks. Nobody will come looking for him. You sigh, open your eyes again- and find the mixed blue and white looking down at you. You press closer, rub your cheek over the thick, rough material of his coveralls, feel the shape of his arm beneath. Three words slip from your lips.

The strange softness returns to his eyes.

=====

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miss-ingno · 6 years ago

Text

Gains of the Heart

Fandom: ragehappy/fahc Ship: Doolray (Jeremy/Ray) Words: 5k Tags: pre-Jeremy joining the crew, love at first sight, pining, romance, 3+1

Summary: 3 times Ray went to the gym. No, not a pokémon gym.

Read here on Ao3.

A/N: Inspired by the gym scene in this doolray story by @keelerpeeler. Totally expected it to go differently, which lead to the concept of this story :D

“Remind me again why I’m here?”

Ray crossed his arms and shifted on his feet, eyeing the room warily. Shiny chrome and black contraptions were lined up along the walls, with handlebars dangling over the seats. Ray didn’t have a single clue how to use any of them. Right now they were the only persons in this particular room, but Ray could see other people through the glass walls, pounding away at boxing sacks and running the treadmills.

“Because I’ve been eating like a pig,” Michael returned, face red and sweaty. Ray wrinkled his nose. That was the other thing, this whole building stank like the locker rooms back in high school. Which was maybe not that surprising, considering they were at the gym.

“That’s why you’re here,” Ray shot back, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “It doesn’t explain why you dragged me with you.”

Michael shot him a look.

“I needed a gym buddy,” he grit out between laboured breathing. “You’re my best friend.”

“No, that’s Gavin.”

“No, he’s my boi. That’s different.” Michael pulled on the handle once more, before letting go with a grunt. Ray tossed him his towel. As Michael wiped off his face, he added, “Besides, can you imagine Gavin in here?”

Ray glanced around again and grimaced. It was all too easy to imagine the chaos: loud complaints turning into curiosity as Gavin poked around the machines, probably breaking a few along the way. Inane questions and dares, followed by stirring up the meatheads in pure boredom, ending in a building-wide brawl and a lifetime ban from the gym.

Compared to Ray’s token protest? He’d pick himself, too. Still.

“You could’ve asked Ryan instead,” Ray grumbled, handing Michael the water bottle next. “He’d probably enjoy this.”

“Civilian identity,” Michael pointed out, sounding all too reasonable. He rolled his eyes. “You know how he gets.”

Ray had to give that point to him, too. Damn.

“For the record, I said no,” Ray stated to the room as he sat down on the edge of one of the machines, absolutely not sulking.

“Noted.” Michael sounded amused. “Just play on your DS or something. I still got one more set before I can switch over to the pec deck.”

Ray had no idea what that meant, so he flipped Michael off and followed his advice. His DS was a decent distraction while Michael went through whatever training plan he’d pulled out of his ass. He only resurfaced when the door opened, head jerking up in reflex at the sudden noise.

A bald man entered the room, giving him and Michael a nod before wandering over to one of the machines. He was short, Ray’s height at most. What he lacked in height he made up with muscles, though, his biceps bulging as he pulled at one of the training machines. Ray caught himself staring at the play of muscle and tore his eyes away, trying to focus on his game instead.

He kept sneaking glances, though, watching the man work out. He was fucking ripped- dressed in loose baggy pants and a tight tank top that flattered his arms. Ray was incredibly glad his own hoodie was a size to large, hiding his stick and bones physique as well as the bit of belly he’d gained from one too many mountain dews. Huddled over his DS, Ray must seem like the epitome of a nerd.

Keeping his head studiously bent over his DS, he glanced over, eyes trailing the sweat dripping down the man’s thick neck. He wanted to lick it off.

“Alright, I’m done.” Michael’s voice ripped Ray out of his thoughts.

“Huh?” Ray looked up, startled. Michael shot him a bemused look. His towel was slung over his shoulder, and he was in the process of screwing the cap onto his bottle.

“We can go now.”

“Oh.” Ray blinked. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed and the room had no clock on the wall. He shot a furtive look the other occupant’s way, who had moved on to the pull-up bars. “Uh… Don’t you need to shower or something?”

“Yeah, which means going back to the locker room.” Michael’s eyebrow was climbing, and he followed Ray’s gaze. “Ah. Unless you wanted to wait here.”

Ray felt his cheeks flush hotly. He quickly tore his eyes away.

“You know me,” he mumbled, ducking his head. “I don’t do well with crowds.”

“Less people here,” Michael drawled, looking like he wanted to call Ray out on his bullshit. He glanced back at the other man in the room with them, before shooting Ray a smirk. “Sure. I get it.”

There was no way Michael would let him live this down, Ray realized. He narrowed his eyes at his friend, but Michael’s grin just grew. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and winked, then left the room.

Ray really, really hoped ripped guy hadn’t noticed the byplay.

It was worth it to stealthily watch him go through his workout routine, daydreaming about feeling up all those muscles. He didn’t go as far as ogling his ass when the dude turned his back to him to do squats, that’d be creepy- but he snuck a look. Or two. Or three. Really, there was little difference from his usual people-watching, it was just… closer.

...so maybe he was being a little creepy.

The guy caught him watching as he was struggling with that internal dilemma, lifting a brow in question, and Ray shot him an awkward smile. Raised his hand for a wave, but abandoned it halfway, and this was why he didn’t go out. Ray didn’t do people, that was Gavin’s job. And Geoff’s. And Jack’s. Not Ray’s.

“Your buddy abandon you?”

“Uh.” Ray scrambled to find a response, not expecting the man to talk to him. “He, uh, went…”

Ray waved vaguely in the direction of the lockers, and the man nodded as if that was a real answer, and not a failed attempt at stringing words together.

“First time here?” He grinned, and it made his face look unfairly attractive. “I know some of this equipment can seem a bit overwhelming.”

“I, uh… don’t exercise. Much.” And now he sounded dismissive like some asshole. “I… was thinking, maybe…?”

“Sure, sure.” The man nodded, an easy grin on his lips. “Your friend show you around?”

It was Ray’s turn to nod. It was close enough to the truth, he figured.

“Cool.” An awkward silence descended between them, until the guy wiped his hands off his towel and held one out for Ray to shake. “I’m Jeremy. Feel free to ask me if you need anything.”

“Ray.” He shook Jeremy’s hand. “And I will. Thanks.”

Jeremy cocked his head and grinned. “I can show you how some of these work while you wait for your buddy…?”

Ray’s ears burned with embarrassment, but there was no way to turn him down gracefully. Ray licked his lips and tried for a smile.

“Sure, why not?”

Michael would never, ever let him live this down, ever.

***

Michael did, in fact, tease him for weeks.

He didn’t tell the others, though, so Ray took it with a grain of salt. He tagged along a couple times more, but he only saw Jeremy once. They exchanged nods but not words, and Ray was back to pining under Michael’s relentless ribbing.

Not surprising, really, since Michael only went to the gym between jobs, and with their irregular schedule it didn’t happen as often as Ray would’ve liked. Then things got busy at work, and Michael ended up with a dislocated shoulder.

No more gym visits.

No more Jeremy.

Ray moped for the better part of a week before he came up with a plan. It was time to make good on his lies. (Half-lies. Almost truth. Either way.)

Ray was going to the gym.

Without Michael.

It took him three days after coming to a decision for Ray to realize why Michael wanted a gym buddy. His desire to see Jeremy again struggled with his inclination to relax in his freetime. Michael was obviously out, he’d tease Ray mercilessly the entire time and actually make him work through a full routine. And like hell would he ask Geoff.

That left Ryan.

“I need your help with something,” Ray said, and Ryan nodded, immediately reaching for his mask. “Uh… I was thinking a little more subtle, big guy.”

That earned him a piercing look, but Ryan shrugged and grabbed the duffle with the rocket launcher instead. Ray arched a brow because that was stretching the definition of ‘subtle’ a bit, but didn’t say anything. Where they were going, a duffle would fit right in.

Not that he was telling Ryan that. Knowing him, it would result in a face turn heel and leave Ray one gym buddy short.

“Thanks. You’re a pal,” he said instead, tone dry. Ryan’s expression told him exactly what he thought of that. Still, he followed Ray gamely down to the garage and into a car.

The drive passed in silence, which wasn’t too unusual between them. Ryan liked to think, and Ray enjoyed his quiet company. A glance from the corner of his eyes proved that Ryan was getting into his heist mindset, watchful and alert for any dangers.

...Ray supposed he should probably give him some details.

“It’s a stake-out.” Ray drummed his fingers against the wheel nervously. Ryan slid him a look. “Undercover stake-out,” Ray amended. “There shouldn’t be any trouble, but I would stick out like a sore thumb on my lonesome, so…”

Ryan, bless his heart, or whatever, didn’t ask any questions. R&R connection, baby.

He did, however, stop short in the door of the gym to give Ray another long look. Ray stared back, willing him to play along. Ryan narrowed his eyes, as if to say you’re on thin ice, before following Ray inside. Ray doubted he could convince Ryan to come here again, but that was alright. If everything went according to plan, Ray wouldn’t need a gym buddy after today.

Of course, nothing went according to plan.

“He’s not here,” Ray muttered as he led Ryan towards the locker rooms. “Yet,” he added hastily at Ryan’s look. “Which is good. It’ll seem more natural.”

Except Jeremy did not turn up. At all. After lurking awkwardly in the locker room for half an hour, Ray reluctantly took Ryan to the weight lift machines. Ryan’s eyes went from Ray to the weights and back to Ray. Then he crossed his arms.

“Oh hell, no. No way,” Ray objected, alarm distracting him from his search.

“Good,” Ryan said, voice low and unamused. Ray relaxed. “You should start with the treadmill.”

And the tension was back.

“Uh… I don’t really think that’s… necessary…”

Ryan stared at him, unmoved. So off to the treadmills it was. Running wasn’t too bad, at least. Ray was used to making a quick exit. Usually he wasn’t forced to keep pace for twenty minutes straight, though.

Ryan watched him with his arms crossed, leaning against the balustrade. Occasionally he’d glance down when the door to the gym opened.

“Who are we waiting for?” he asked idly.

“Bald guy. Short, but stacked,” Ray panted. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Answers to the name ‘Jeremy’.”

Ryan hummed and kept a sharp eye out.

After thirty minutes of torture, they returned to the weight lift machines. Ryan went to inspect one of the contraptions, while Ray dropped onto the seat of a different one. He took a huge gulp from the water bottle Ryan thrust into his hands and regretted all the life choices that led him here.

“Let’s take a breather,” Ray suggested, trying to sound glib instead of out of breath. “Stretch out surveillance time.”

Ryan’s face clearly called bullshit on his excuse, but Ray figured the reasoning was sound enough to let it go. Ryan agreed - for about ten minutes.

“You’ll have to warm up again if you wait much longer,” he stated brusquely, crossing his arms. “Your choice.”

Ray groaned and heaved himself up. No way was he going back to the treadmills.

“This is punishment for not telling you where we’re going, isn’t it,” Ray muttered under his breath. Ryan just arched a brow and said nothing, the smug bastard.

At least Ryan knew how to operate the machines, adjusting weights and correcting Ray’s grip on the handlebar. Ray hadn’t even realized there was a wrong way to pull on them. Under Ryan’s sharp eye, Ray went through three sets on each contraption, muscles sore and aching by the time Ryan allowed him a break.

And still no sign of Jeremy.

Ray decided to lurk by the vending machine, finishing off the bottle Ryan brought him. That was more water than he usually drank in a day, Ray mused. Ryan eyed him critically, before letting his gaze roam over the open floor. Half the contraptions downstairs were occupied, and Ray could hear at least two treadmills running up top.

Ryan nodded in the direction of a group of meatheads and gave Ray a questioning look. It took Ray a bit to realize he wanted to talk to them, fish for information, but was reluctant to leave Ray on his own.

“Sure, buddy. Go nuts,” Ray said, too relieved at the prolonged break to give it much thought. Besides, Ryan could be subtle when so inclined.

All in all, the day was a bust. Ray hid in the locker room once Ryan started looking around, unwilling to go through another bout of fitness ‘training’. He was sweaty and sore and hadn’t even accomplished his goal of running into Jeremy. On top of that, he was pretty sure Ryan wasn’t done with his revenge for dragging him into a gym on false pretenses. Ray considered taking a shower when the door opened and a group of meatheads stepped in with Ryan in tow. He hadn’t brought a change of clothes, though, not expecting to do any actual work.

Ryan caught his eyes and separated from the group with a nod and a couple friendly back pats. His expression changed from Friendly Neighbourhood Ryan to serious as he approached Ray. Ray gulped and braced himself.

“There’s only a small chance this ‘Jeremy’ shows up today. They say he’s mostly around Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

Ryan shrugged at Ray’s incredulous look. Fuck. He hadn’t even considered that possibility.

“Okay. Let’s get out of here.”

The drive back to the penthouse was as quiet as on the way there,but much more uncomfortable. Ray parked in the garage, ready to bolt for the elevator and avoid being stuck inside with Ryan. But Ryan had other ideas, grabbing his arm before Ray could open the door.

“Ray.” Ryan eyed him intently. “You know you can talk to me if you’re in trouble.”

Ray slowly relaxed, guilt twisting in his gut.

“I know, bud.” He mustered a smile. “Thanks. I’m okay, promise.”

Ryan sighed and dropped his hand, rolling his shoulders.

“And if that changes-”

“I’m coming straight to you, got it.” Ray reached out and slapped Ryan’s knee with a grin. “Super straight. No homo.”

Ryan rolled his eyes and opened the door.

***

After that utter failure Ray supposed he’d have to come back alone. But first he needed to make sure Jeremy would be there. No way was he going to fake training again - his muscles were still sore. So he “borrowed” Gavin’s bifta on Tuesday, got some fries and a diet coke from the nearest burger joint, and settled in across the street from the gym.

The second day of stakeout (a Thursday) without any sign of Jeremy, Ray started to wonder if maybe something happened to him. He had no real way of finding out. He considered going in and ask the front desk for a number or an address, but he doubted they’d just give out private information. Maybe ask around the regulars if any had seen him…

Halfway through the day, the passenger door opened and Gavin dropped in. He pressed a plastic cup of hot liquid into Ray’s hand and dropped a white box between their seats. Then he pried the box open and pulled out a kolache. The sweet smell of pastries filled the small car.

“Uh, hello to you, too,” Ray said dryly, frantically trying to come up with an excuse to leave.

“You stole my car,” Gavin said, primly dabbing his mouth with a napkin.

“It’s for a good cause, I swear?” Ray tried. Gavin just eyed him skeptically. Then he leaned forward and squinted across the street.

“What’s in that building, then?” he asked, glancing curiously between Ray and the shops. The gym building stuck out like a sore thumb with its grey concrete between colourful shop fronts.

“Who says I’m staking out that particular building?” Ray asked desperately, taking a sip from the cup. A peppermint mocha. He held the beverage up and raised his brows at Gavin. “Really?”

Gavin just shrugged, selecting another kolache to munch on. Then he swallowed before saying, “Is that him?”

He pointed outside, and there on the sidewalk was Jeremy, a duffle slung over one shoulder as he stopped in front of the building. He struggled with the door, which had a spring drawing the door close automatically, but which was calibrated just a tad too strong. Jeremy propped the door open with a shoulder before wiggling himself and his duffle inside.

Ray stared blankly after him.

“How’d you know?” he asked, shooting Gavin a suspicious look. Gavin shrugged languidly, sipping on his own coffee.

“Rye-bread said something about you looking for bald guy,” he commented nonchalantly, slurping loudly. Ray sighed, letting his head drop against the steering wheel. Of course Ryan did. Ray wasn’t sure if it was part of his revenge or Gavin just being Gavin.

“So, what’s going on? Drug deal?” Gavin guessed, craning his head to watch past Ray.

“No,” Ray returned shortly, handing his half-full mocha back before slipping out of the car. He heard Gavin swearing behind him and smirked. Gavin, however, caught up with him quick, sidestepping around Ray into the building while Ray struggled with the stupidly heavy door. Resigned, Ray led him up the stairs, taking some satisfaction in how Gavin froze in the door.

Ray brushed past him and swaggered on to the front desk, smiling at the receptionist. About his age and objectively good-looking, the receptionist smiled back in recognition.

“Back again?” he greeted cheerfully, taking Ray’s membership card and swiping it through the reader. “Where’s Michael? We’re starting to miss him.”

Gavin visibly perked up at that.

“I’m sure once the cast is off, he’ll be back immediately,” Ray remarked dryly. The receptionist grimaced in sympathy.

“Tell him I wish him a swift recovery,” he said, and Ray nodded. Then he turned to look at Gavin, who had pulled down his shades. “And your buddy here?”

“Oh, I’m just here to tease him,” Gavin said, lips stretching into his fake negotiator smile. It made him look like an asshole. “You know, moral support.”

“Or something,” Ray muttered under his breath. The receptionist looked taken aback.

“Right…” He trailed off, glancing between Ray and Gavin. Then he straightened, putting on a customer service smile. “If you’d like a visitor’s pass with guest locker attached, I have to ask you to leave your ID at the front desk.”

“Oh, no worries, I don’t need a locker,” Gavin brushed him off. Raising one of his two coffee cups in salute, Gavin breezed past Ray. Ray rolled his eyes, grabbed his locker key, and followed after him.

“This way, asshole,” he muttered, bumping their shoulders together as he passed Gavin.

Jeremy was in the locker room when they entered, his back turned to them, in the process of tugging his shirt off. Ray stopped dead in the doorway, and Gavin bumped into him, glancing over his shoulder curiously. Ray cleared his throat and stepped inside, his face flaming hot. At the noise, Jeremy looked up. His face brightened as he laid eyes on Ray.

“Oh hey,” he said, pulling on a black tank top. He turned around to face them. “Ray, was it, right?”

“Uh, yeah.” Ray cleared his throat. “Hi. Um…”

Jeremy glanced between him and Gavin.

“Your buddy not with you today?” he asked, eyeing Gavin curiously.

“Ah… no.” Ray scratched at his stubble awkwardly. “He, uh, couldn’t make it today.”

“Oh.” Jeremy shuffled his feet, glancing awkwardly between him and Gavin. He cleared his throat. “I, uh, can help?” Another furtive glance Gavin’s way. “If you, uh, don’t have other plans, that is.”

Behind him, Ray could practically hear when it clicked for Gavin. He bit down a groan.

“Splendid!” Gavin exclaimed, chugging the rest of one cup and dropping it into the trash. “Ray, since you found someone else to help, Ray, I’ll just leave you two to it.”

With that, he whirled around, shooting Ray a conspiratorial wink, before swanning out of the lockers. Ray stared after him, then sighed. Squaring his shoulders, he turned to face Jeremy with an embarrassed grin.

“Sorry ‘bout him.” Ray stepped closer, dropping his backpack on the bench. “I’d love some pointers, though, if you got time?”

“Sure.” Jeremy broke out into a grin, which quickly turned into a grimace. “Sorry if I interrupted your plans with your boyfriend.”

Ray, who was rummaging through his back, looked up and shot Jeremy a quizzical look.

“Who?” He followed Jeremy’s pointed look at the door and blinked. “Oh, Gavin? Nah it’s fine, dude. He was just following me to be an asshole.”

Ray made sure to change quickly, back turned to Jeremy. He felt awkward and gangly next to Jeremy’s easy confidence and muscles. They left the locker room together, arms brushing. It sent a welcome shiver down Ray’s spine.

“Bike, stepper or treadmill?” Jeremy asked casually as they walked up the stairs to the cardio area. Ray considered his options. He wasn’t quite sure how the steppers worked and didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of his crush. Last time he’d run the treadmill, but what if he stumbled over his own feet?

“Bike,” Ray said, feeling like it was the safest choice. He snuck a look at Jeremy from the corner of his eyes. “If that’s cool with you?”

Jeremy shrugged. “Sure.”

It didn’t go too badly, Ray thought. Jeremy made a comment here and there as Ray huffed through the exercise, mostly to give him helpful pointers on breathing technique or reminding him to take it slow. A difficulty to catch his breath at least excused Ray from making awkward small talk.

The weight lift machines, on the other hand, were different.

“So what weight are you up to?” Jeremy asked, bending over the black weight blocks and fiddling with some sort of pin. Ray was maybe just a little bit distracted by staring at Jeremy’s ass, which was moving enticingly.

“Uh…”

Jeremy looked back at him over his shoulder and raised a brow. Ray shrugged, flushing. He couldn’t remember what Ryan had him lift last time he was here, and especially not when Jeremy looked at him like that, his questioning look morphing into a reassuring smile.

“Let’s start you off easy, then,” he offered, pinning the weights in place. “Go on, try it out. If you breeze through your first set, we’ll know to up the difficulty.”

Ray sat down on the seat, eyeing the handlebar warily. He tried to recall Ryan’s instructions - back straight, knees bending at a right angle - and pulled. The weights were relatively light, much to Ray’s relief, though he was uncertain if he should tell Jeremy.

Suddenly, there were hands on his arms.

“You want to keep your elbows tucked in, like this,” Jeremy murmured, his voice sending shivers down Ray’s neck. Hot air brushed over his cheek as he turned his head towards Jeremy. His hands were warm on Ray’s skin, gliding up to his upper arms. “Like this. And then when you let go you hold- here. See how there’s like maybe a quarter inch between the sitting weights and the weights you’re lifting? That’s what you should aim for. Again.”

Ray pulled, too aware of Jeremy standing behind him, his heat radiating through his clothes and crawling under Ray’s skin. His hands were gentle as he shifted, correcting Ray’s pose and giving instructions in his low voice.

“Good. You don’t want to overstretch your arms when you let go - don’t lock your elbows. There you go. Ten more, then you’ve completed your first set.”

Ray felt a pang of regret as Jeremy stepped back to watch him from a greater distance. He tried to focus on the machine instead, keeping Jeremy’s instructions in mind. Jeremy adjusted the weights for the second set, which turned out to be infinitely harder, both due to more weight and his muscles aching from the first set. It was only on the third set that Jeremy broke the silence.

“Gotten a bit more familiar with gyms since last time, huh?” Jeremy commented, watching Ray intently. Ray scoffed, focussing on his breathing as he pulled the handle down.

“Easier if there was just a gym leader to defeat,” he muttered, counting the pulls. Fourteen, fifteen - release. “Wouldn’t have to come back once I won the badge.”

That startled a laugh out of Jeremy. Ray let go of the weights and wiped the sweat from his brow.

“If I were a gym leader, I’d just have six voltorbs,” Jeremy mused, handing Ray his water bottle.

“Yeah?” Ray quirked a grin as he unscrewed the cap. “Like that one biker dude where you only need enough HP to survive?”

Jeremy certainly had the right shape with his wide shoulders…

“And kill my poor voltorbs in the process?” Jeremy gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. “Nah. I would never do that to cute, little, innocent voltorb.”

Ray snorted and shook his head. He drank from the bottle and handed it back.

“Which one’s next?”

The workout passed surprisingly quick after that. Jeremy kept an eye on Ray during his first set, correcting him every so often, before starting on his own routine. All the while they kept chatting about pokémon, of all things. For a meathead, Jeremy turned out to be a massive nerd. It shouldn’t set the butterflies in Ray’s stomach all aflutter, yet here they were.

After five different machines, Ray took a break, sitting down on an empty seat and nursing his bottle of water, while watching Jeremy, who went to town on a complicated looking contraption.

“You must come here often,” Ray said idly, eyes drawing along the lines of muscles bulging under strain. Jeremy grunted in question. “I mean, to get as fit as you are. I’d have pegged you for a rock/fighting trainer, not electric.”

That got a laugh from Jeremy, before he set the weights down with a groan. He was moving nearly double the stack Ray managed, Ray noted, impressed.

“I just love voltorb, dude. How could I not?” He shrugged. “But I guess I do train here regularly enough. Comes with the area.”

Ray hummed in agreement. Los Santos was not an easy place to live unless you knew how to handle yourself.

“I’d come here every day just to watch you lift,” he joked, too much truth slipping into the statement. Ray scrambled to save face. “I mean, it’s impressive, how much you lift.”

Jeremy snorted. “Clearly you haven’t seen the other guys here.”

“Haven’t really paid them much attention,” Ray admitted, fiddling with the edges of his towel and missing the sharp look Jeremy shot him. Then Jeremy stood, walking over slowly. Ray instantly held out the bottle for him and Jeremy took it with a grin.

“Just me, huh?” He drunk several huge swigs before handing the bottle back and staring at Ray’s face. “Your boyfriend doesn’t mind?”

Ray rolled his eyes. “Don’t have one.”

“Really?” Jeremy sounded startled, before something else slid over his face. “Cute guy like you? Not buying it.” He stepped closer, their knees brushing. “What about the guy who came in with you? What was his name again?”

“Gavin?” Ray snorted, leaning back. Carefully, a bit surprised at his own daring, he spread his legs just enough for Jeremy to stand between them. “Not my type. Besides, asshole’s heads over for Michael.”

“Is that so?” Jeremy hummed, shuffling closer. Ray tilted his head and glanced up at him from under his fringe.

“Somehow, I don’t think you really wanna talk about Gavin,” he commented dryly, reaching out and catching Jeremy’s leg with one hand. Jeremy chuckled, dropping a hand on Ray’s shoulder. His fingers danced up the line of his neck, vanishing in his hair.

“True,” he admitted, his thumb pressing behind Ray’s ear. Jeremy paused, and Ray just stared up at him, heart beating fast. “There’s a pokéstop across the street in this little café. Wanna go there after, drop a lure?” His fingers teased along Ray’s hair line, stealing his breath. Then Jeremy grinned, adding, “Though I doubt there can be anything more alluring than you.”

It was as if a record screeched to a sudden stop.

Ray blinked.

“Was that a pun?” he asked, caught between amused and incredulous. Jeremy’s grin turned bashful.

“Maybe?”

“You wanna try again, buddy?” Ray drawled, his hand wandering up to cup Jeremy’s ass. Jeremy grinned.

“I might not be The Rock but I can rock your world any day.”

Ray snorted a laugh. “That’s almost worse.”

“Thanks,” Jeremy returned dryly. “I try.”

Silence fell. Jeremy stared intently at Ray, making him squirm in his seat, face flushed and heart hammering in his chest. He cleared his throat.

“So… coffee?”

“Sounds good,” Jeremy agreed.

***

The next morning Ray woke up sore and aching, swearing loudly to never step foot into another gym again. Jeremy’s laughter, muffled against Ray’s shoulder, made it all worth it, though.

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