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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

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Three AI insights for hard-charging, future-oriented smartypantses

MERE HOURS REMAIN for the Kickstarter for the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There’s also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

Living in the age of AI hype makes demands on all of us to come up with smartypants prognostications about how AI is about to change everything forever, and wow, it's pretty amazing, huh?

AI pitchmen don't make it easy. They like to pile on the cognitive dissonance and demand that we all somehow resolve it. This is a thing cult leaders do, too – tell blatant and obvious lies to their followers. When a cult follower repeats the lie to others, they are demonstrating their loyalty, both to the leader and to themselves.

Over and over, the claims of AI pitchmen turn out to be blatant lies. This has been the case since at least the age of the Mechanical Turk, the 18th chess-playing automaton that was actually just a chess player crammed into the base of an elaborate puppet that was exhibited as an autonomous, intelligent robot.

The most prominent Mechanical Turk huckster is Elon Musk, who habitually, blatantly and repeatedly lies about AI. He's been promising "full self driving" Telsas in "one to two years" for more than a decade. Periodically, he'll "demonstrate" a car that's in full-self driving mode – which then turns out to be canned, recorded demo:

https://www.reuters.com/technology/tesla-video-promoting-self-driving-was-staged-engineer-testifies-2023-01-17/

Musk even trotted an autonomous, humanoid robot on-stage at an investor presentation, failing to mention that this mechanical marvel was just a person in a robot suit:

https://www.siliconrepublic.com/machines/elon-musk-tesla-robot-optimus-ai

Now, Musk has announced that his junk-science neural interface company, Neuralink, has made the leap to implanting neural interface chips in a human brain. As Joan Westenberg writes, the press have repeated this claim as presumptively true, despite its wild implausibility:

https://joanwestenberg.com/blog/elon-musk-lies

Neuralink, after all, is a company notorious for mutilating primates in pursuit of showy, meaningless demos:

https://www.wired.com/story/elon-musk-pcrm-neuralink-monkey-deaths/

I'm perfectly willing to believe that Musk would risk someone else's life to help him with this nonsense, because he doesn't see other people as real and deserving of compassion or empathy. But he's also profoundly lazy and is accustomed to a world that unquestioningly swallows his most outlandish pronouncements, so Occam's Razor dictates that the most likely explanation here is that he just made it up.

The odds that there's a human being beta-testing Musk's neural interface with the only brain they will ever have aren't zero. But I give it the same odds as the Raelians' claim to have cloned a human being:

https://edition.cnn.com/2003/ALLPOLITICS/01/03/cf.opinion.rael/

The human-in-a-robot-suit gambit is everywhere in AI hype. Cruise, GM's disgraced "robot taxi" company, had 1.5 remote operators for every one of the cars on the road. They used AI to replace a single, low-waged driver with 1.5 high-waged, specialized technicians. Truly, it was a marvel.

Globalization is key to maintaining the guy-in-a-robot-suit phenomenon. Globalization gives AI pitchmen access to millions of low-waged workers who can pretend to be software programs, allowing us to pretend to have transcended the capitalism's exploitation trap. This is also a very old pattern – just a couple decades after the Mechanical Turk toured Europe, Thomas Jefferson returned from the continent with the dumbwaiter. Jefferson refined and installed these marvels, announcing to his dinner guests that they allowed him to replace his "servants" (that is, his slaves). Dumbwaiters don't replace slaves, of course – they just keep them out of sight:

https://www.stuartmcmillen.com/blog/behind-the-dumbwaiter/

So much AI turns out to be low-waged people in a call center in the Global South pretending to be robots that Indian techies have a joke about it: "AI stands for 'absent Indian'":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/29/pay-no-attention/#to-the-little-man-behind-the-curtain

A reader wrote to me this week. They're a multi-decade veteran of Amazon who had a fascinating tale about the launch of Amazon Go, the "fully automated" Amazon retail outlets that let you wander around, pick up goods and walk out again, while AI-enabled cameras totted up the goods in your basket and charged your card for them.

According to this reader, the AI cameras didn't work any better than Tesla's full-self driving mode, and had to be backstopped by a minimum of three camera operators in an Indian call center, "so that there could be a quorum system for deciding on a customer's activity – three autopilots good, two autopilots bad."

Amazon got a ton of press from the launch of the Amazon Go stores. A lot of it was very favorable, of course: Mister Market is insatiably horny for firing human beings and replacing them with robots, so any announcement that you've got a human-replacing robot is a surefire way to make Line Go Up. But there was also plenty of critical press about this – pieces that took Amazon to task for replacing human beings with robots.

What was missing from the criticism? Articles that said that Amazon was probably lying about its robots, that it had replaced low-waged clerks in the USA with even-lower-waged camera-jockeys in India.

Which is a shame, because that criticism would have hit Amazon where it hurts, right there in the ole Line Go Up. Amazon's stock price boost off the back of the Amazon Go announcements represented the market's bet that Amazon would evert out of cyberspace and fill all of our physical retail corridors with monopolistic robot stores, moated with IP that prevented other retailers from similarly slashing their wage bills. That unbridgeable moat would guarantee Amazon generations of monopoly rents, which it would share with any shareholders who piled into the stock at that moment.

See the difference? Criticize Amazon for its devastatingly effective automation and you help Amazon sell stock to suckers, which makes Amazon executives richer. Criticize Amazon for lying about its automation, and you clobber the personal net worth of the executives who spun up this lie, because their portfolios are full of Amazon stock:

https://sts-news.medium.com/youre-doing-it-wrong-notes-on-criticism-and-technology-hype-18b08b4307e5

Amazon Go didn't go. The hundreds of Amazon Go stores we were promised never materialized. There's an embarrassing rump of 25 of these things still around, which will doubtless be quietly shuttered in the years to come. But Amazon Go wasn't a failure. It allowed its architects to pocket massive capital gains on the way to building generational wealth and establishing a new permanent aristocracy of habitual bullshitters dressed up as high-tech wizards.

"Wizard" is the right word for it. The high-tech sector pretends to be science fiction, but it's usually fantasy. For a generation, America's largest tech firms peddled the dream of imminently establishing colonies on distant worlds or even traveling to other solar systems, something that is still so far in our future that it might well never come to pass:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/09/astrobezzle/#send-robots-instead

During the Space Age, we got the same kind of performative bullshit. On The Well David Gans mentioned hearing a promo on SiriusXM for a radio show with "the first AI co-host." To this, Craig L Maudlin replied, "Reminds me of fins on automobiles."

Yup, that's exactly it. An AI radio co-host is to artificial intelligence as a Cadillac Eldorado Biaritz tail-fin is to interstellar rocketry.

Back the Kickstarter for the audiobook of The Bezzle here!

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/31/neural-interface-beta-tester/#tailfins

#pluralistic #elon musk #neuralink #potemkin ai #neural interface beta-tester #full self driving #mechanical turks #ai #amazon #amazon go #clm #joan westenberg

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p0orbaby · 7 months ago

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Mission Impossible

summary: you’re an agent at the top of your game, until a certain footballer distracts you

warnings: SMUT 18+, semi public (car), fingering, top!leah, dirty talk?

a/n: thanks for the request ! this was super fun to write

word count: 2.2k

“Remember to mute yourself if you go to the toilet, yeah?” your new technician's voice crackles through the earpiece you’d pay your life’s savings not to have to wear.

“You do know who you’re talking to, right?”

“Of course! The female version of double oh seven, duh. This is like, super cool that I’ve been assigned to you, by the way”

You roll your eyes and tap your fingers impatiently against the steering wheel of your car. “It’s my pleasure”

“But seriously, not to tell you what to do or anything but, please mute if you need to go potty. It’s just that I’ve got PTSD from the last agent because they-“

“Can you reroute me? This traffic is starting to piss me off and I’ve got a finite amount of time to, you know, do my job”

“Right, right,” he stammers. You hear the rapid clicking of keys over the comms. “Okay, take the next left and then a right at the lights. Should get you there faster”

“Thanks.” You sigh, flicking on your turn signal. The city lights blur past as you navigate the winding roads, every rev of your engine a reminder of the ticking clock. Or was that your indicator? Who knows, who cares?

“You nervous?” the technician, Mikey? asks, trying to make small talk. “I mean, it’s a big deal, right? Going undercover at something like this?”

“Nervous? No. Anxious to get out of this car? Absolutely,” you reply. The GPS recalculates, leading you into a quieter, more upscale part of the city. The kind of place where people hide secrets behind perfectly manicured lawns and pristine facades.

“Just remember,” he continues, his tone growing serious, “we’re here if you need anything. But you’ve got this. You always do”

“Thanks for the pep talk, Coach,” you say dryly, but there’s a hint of a smile on your lips at his compliment. “I’m pulling up now. Keep the channel clear unless it’s an emergency”

“Roger that. Good luck”

You hated places like this. Sure it’s probably the attendees' tax contributions who pay the bulk of your wages, but still. Everything is always so uptight, stiff, dry as hell.

“Tell me again why I had to wear a fucking dress” you say to yourself really, but you get a response because of you damn earpiece.

“Because as progressive as the world has become, a woman in a suit doesn’t really slide in environments like this”

You scoff, readjusting the strap of your gown. “I might put in a formal complaint. Undue distress in the workplace,” you mutter, weaving through the crowd. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the low hum of forced laughter.

“Just focus on the task at hand,” Mark? reminds you. “You’re looking for a woman in a blue dress, diamond necklace. Shouldn’t be hard to miss”

“Got it,” you reply, scanning the room. You catch glimpses of the high-profile guests, all engaged in their own worlds, oblivious to the undercurrents of deception that flow just beneath the surface.

You make your way to the bar, figuring it’s as good a place as any to start. You signal the bartender for a drink, something that will keep your hands busy without dulling your senses. As you wait, you let your eyes roam, taking in every detail, every potential threat.

“Remember,” Martins’? voice buzzes in your ear, “you’re just here to observe and gather intel. No heroics”

“Yeah, yeah,” you murmur, taking a sip of your drink. “Not my first rodeo, Champ”

What was with this kid?

A flash of blue catches your eye from across the room. You spot her, the woman you’re supposed to meet, gliding through the crowd with a grace that seems almost practiced. She pauses, scanning the room much like you did, and for a moment, her eyes meet yours.

You offer a slight nod, the briefest acknowledgment, before turning your attention back to your drink. No need to rush things. Timing is everything when it comes to these types of things.

“You look as bored as I feel”

A voice, smooth and unexpectedly unpretentious, cuts through your thoughts. You turn to find someone standing next to you, not in a dress, but in a sharp, tailored gray suit that makes her stand out in the sea of gowns and black tuxedos.

You muster a wry smile. “Is it that obvious?”

The blonde laughs softly, the sound genuine and easy. “Maybe just a little”. It’s her turn to gesture to the bartender. What gets placed in front of her is a tumbler of whiskey, dark and golden and a stark contrast to the champagne all the other women seem to be sipping on. “I’m Leah, by the way”

“Olivia,” you reply, shaking the confident hand she has extended for you. “First time at one of these?”

Leah shrugs, a casual gesture that is not encouraged at finishing school. She doesn’t belong here, you deduce. “Not quite. They get less and less interesting every time. You?”

“I’ve been to a few here and there,” you say, taking a sip of your drink. “But really it’s a bit of a social experiment for me”

Leah grins, leaning against the bar. “A social experiment, huh? Sounds like you’re a people-watcher”

“You could say that,” you reply, glancing over the room again. Your blue woman is nowhere to be seen. “You can learn a lot about someone by how they navigate a room like this”

“True enough,” Leah says, her eyes raking over the crowd. “But mostly, you just learn who’s got the best bullshit and who can fake a smile the longest”

You laugh over the rim of your own glass. You’ve gone for vodka on the rocks. Clear liquids are recommended. “You’ve got a point there”

“I’m not just a pretty face”

Maybe she wasn’t, but she did in fact have a pretty face, that much was obvious. Those blue eyes. No, green eyes? Wait, was she talking to you? No, but she is smirking. Smirking at you like she knew all your deepest darkest secrets. Perhaps she did. Perhaps she can see right through you as you stand here staring at her like she’s the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen.

“Y/N, focus”. Your conscience is talking to you again. “You haven’t got all night, remember”

You clear your throat, down your drink and ask for another.

“So, what does Leah do other than being a frequent goer of boring events, and a smart ass?”

She laughs and you feel it fizz through your body. “Oh, you know, a bit of this, a bit of that. Mostly kick a ball across some grass and hope it hits the target”

“Football?”

She nods. “Looks like you’re not just a pretty face either”

You’re about to respond, unsure of what you’re actually going to say as your brain has shortcurited, when a butter knife is tapped against the side of a glass.

“Looks like dinner’s ready” Leah whispers in your ear. “Where are you sitting?”

“Table four” you respond as you watch everyone start to move around the room.

“Well, unfortunately for you you can’t be rid of me just yet”

This doesn’t happen.

You don’t do this.

You’re a professional, the best in the field, so why are you half naked in the back of your car?

“Look at you, look at how wet you are” Leah sighs as she cocks her head, looking at how you’ve exposed yourself to her.

Your mind is gone. Off into the stratosphere never to return. Partly because you broke your very stringent rule of not drinking too much on the job, and partly because you need her to touch you. Now. Which she is not granting you the pleasure of doing.

You whimper pathetically when her palms splay on the inners of your thighs. Warm and large and calloused. She’s not a keeper, you've found out, so you only suspect the coarseness of her skin if from when she grips around weights in the gym.

If her forearms are anything to go by, your suspicions would be correct.

“Leah, please”

“What do you want, hm?” She asks, cocky in a way that heats your skin. “Tell me what you want and I might just give it to you”

She leans forward and presses tortured kisses against your jaw. Bruising you, no doubt. But that is a problem you will deal with later.

“You” you say, strained and desperate as her breath tickles you and forces goosebumps to ripple over your skin.

“You can do better than that” she teases.

Sighing, you muster the strength to speak more than one word at a time. “I want your fingers”

“Fuck, sweetheart” is all she says before she’s peeling herself off of you, rolling her sleeves up further past her elbows, and to your shock, sticking her fingers in her mouth.

The first touch almost has you combusting on the spot. She knows what she’s fucking doing. The suit should’ve been a giveaway. The whiskey a second chance for you to catch on. But you had a job to do, your mind was elsewhere, until it wasn’t.

You did in fact get your intel, and now you’re getting your reward.

Leah works painfully slow. Her experienced fingers rubbing lazy circles against your clit. She’s testing you, or she is making the most of your time together. Whatever she’s doing it’s making you that impatient that your hips buck involuntarily in response.

“You like that? You like it when I touch you?”

“Leah, for the love of god, hurry up”

She laughs then. Soft and sweet as if she’s not got your dress tucked up under your chin, or that a film of her saliva is covering the most intimate parts of you.

“You ready, baby?”

So fucking ready.

You nod, and she smirks again. Smug cow.

Her left hand finds your leg once more, but this time she wraps her fingers around the underside of your knee and pushes. Opening you up and keeping you where she wants you. It’s her right hand that gets to work between your thighs.

She pushes a solitary index finger in first. With little resistance with your own doing and her spit making the job easy enough.

“Oh fuck” you whine. “Jesus fucking Christ”

“Saying the lord's name in vain? I must be doing a good job” she snickers.

“Shut up. Shut the fuck up and make me cum already”

To Leah’s credit, she is very good at fulfilling instructions. At least after a time. You think she’s had enough of toying with you and is actually looking forward to having her way with you now. Which you couldn’t be happier about if you tried.

Her finger slips in and out of you at a pace that has you teetering on the edge. Not quite enough to push you off. Which she must realise by the way your nails dig into the skin of those amazing forearms of hers. She is quick to change tactics.

Two fingers now, and you feel deliciously full. She has perfect fingers, you think behind the haze of your lust. Just the right length to hit that spot within you that has you reeling.

“Keep going” you beg, rolling your hips to meet each thrust. “I’m close”

“Yeah? You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?”

“Uh huh” you breathe, nodding as you feel your insides tense up, the line ready to snap.

Which it does when her thumb finds your neglected clit. And the rest is history.

Your whole body goes up in flames. Seeing stars as your legs shake and the coil in your belly snaps at last.

“You’re so pretty,” Leah says. You think. The sound of blood rushing past your ears makes it hard to distinguish your moans from anything else. “Look at you, does that feel good?”

You can’t nod, you can’t speak. But fuck yes it does. And she knows it because even as you start to come down from the highest of highs, she leans down to capture your cries with her mouth. Keeping them for herself and her fingers curl gently inside you to ease you back to reality.

“You’re amazing,” she whispers, her voice a calming balm in the aftermath of everything. She shifts slightly, withdrawing her fingers carefully and wipes them on the leg of her suit trousers. Just breathe,” she murmurs, her breath tickling your ear. “I’ve got you”

You close your eyes, letting the remnants of your climax pulse through your body as you try to regain your composure. Something that you don’t misplace often.

“That was-“

“Better than the cheese boards they were going to force down our necks? I agree” she finishes for you as she leans back, finds her discarded shout jacket, and uses it to wipe you clean.

“Something like that” you say, your voice rough around the edges.

Leah straightens up, her eyes twinkling with something you can’t quite place. “So, do I get your number, or do I have to crash another shitty event to see you again?”

You chuckle, stretching over to the glovebox. You pull out a sleek, plain business card with just a number printed on it and hand it to her. “Here. Use it wisely”

Leah takes the card, a satisfied grin spreading across her face. She leans in, pressing a dirty, lingering kiss against your lips. “Until next time, Olivia,” she murmurs against your mouth before pulling away and stepping out of the car.

As you watch her walk away, a crackle sounds through straight into your brain, followed by Mitch’s! disgusted voice. “Oh my God, I told you to turn off your fucking earpiece!”

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #awfc #awfc x reader #engwnt #engwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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stuccobaby · 2 years ago

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kahlopatra headcanons? 🙏

bestieeee

these are gonna be random a f

(college au/i aged em up)

Cleopatra runs cold, Frida runs hot. It's perfect.

yes, they both have their tickets for the Barbie movie. Cleopatra has her outfit planned out (pink pink pink everything) and Frida is very excited to be Cleo's Ken.

Frida thought she had a high tolerance for spicy food but Cleopatra is in a different league. Like she could go on Hot Ones and not even flinch.

but Cleo haaaates Tajin. Frida loves it. She puts it on fruit and Cleo couldn't believe her eyes.

Cleopatra has a cat! (i was picturing a siamese) Frida is lowkey allergic, but she can handle it. But if you thought Cleo was snooty...wait till you meet this cat.

Cleopatra snores. Frida thought it would be cute and quiet but it's actually kinda loud. Frida is contemplating ways to bring this up and survive to see another day.

Frida is an Aquarius! Cleopatra is a Scorpio (not to get in my astrology bag but I think she's a scorpio sun, leo rising and gemini moon. venus in leo or taurus. what do yall think about it.)

I wrote a lot hehe woops.

(TW: weed) Cleopatra is like a 'smoke at parties' kinda girl, whereas Frida smokes often for funsies and as a creativity boost.

(TW: weed) They tried to do a 'take an edible and go to an aquarium' date but Cleopatra got too high and freaked out in the shark tunnel. They'll try again but with an arboretum next time.

Frida can play the guitar. Cleopatra goaded her into playing for her once and folded immediately when she started singing. (at one point, Frida looked up and Cleo was taking off her clothes)

Speaking of, Cleopatra told Frida she signed up to be a model for her art class. Frida did not know she was a nude model. Frida should have guessed. damn it was hard to focus on painting that day

Cleopatra is now Frida's personal fashion consultant. She's a (cheerleader, homecoming queen) part-time model, she has a very keen eye for fashion obvi

When it's cold, Frida wears socks to bed and they argue about it all the time. They also argue about what side of the bed to sleep on (they both want the right side smh).

Frida loves going along with Cleo on her many beauty shop appointments (nails, hair, spa, etc) but won't go into any waxing/threading shop because the technicians start getting twitchy just looking at her. She feels like if she fell asleep, she'd wake up tied to the chair with two eyebrows.

They watch a lot of movies. Cleopatra laments how expensive TVs used to be but loves that they're cheap now because a big screen TV still makes her feel rich and luxurious.

Frida will be the first one to say I love you and it will mess Cleo up a little bit. don't worry tho, they'll talk about it! she's just not used to being loved (saad)

Frida is teaching Cleo Spanish, but all she wants to learn is swear words and dirty talk. it's gonna take a while

Cleopatra is a bug killer, Frida tries to trap and release.

Harriet (Frida's roomie in this AU) was extremely suspicious of Cleo at first ("wasn't she like your nemesis?") but she came around eventually ("enemies to lovers is kinda sexy...")

Frida is currently showing Cleo so many Spongebob episodes, she was sick of her constant references going to waste.

yes, they listen to a LOT of new music together. Frida tries to go in chronological order (2004 music, 2005 music etc), so that Cleo could hear the progression of music sound. (i could go on and on about music but these r getting long already)

Cleopatra is a passenger princess, but mostly because everybody is too scared to get in a car with her at the wheel; she drives like she's playing fucking GTA. (Frida thought people were kidding, but after they went soaring over a downhill speed bump one time, Frida politely took the keys forever).

speaking of GTA, that's Cleo's favorite video game. she enjoys mowing people down, blowing things up, and getting cute new outfits. Frida thinks its a good way for her to indulge her sadistic streak.

Mario Kartin': Frida mains an Orange Yoshi, Cleo goes between Peach and Rosalina (she refuses to make a Mii she thinks they're too ugly to represent her).

They become a different couple when they play mario kart. Frida is really fucking good and Cleopatra can't stand that shit eating grin every time she wins. (cleo would be like that tik tok sound: right hand on the bible, god can strike me down if im lying, that motherfucker's cheating!)

-----

I could write more but i wrote way too much already. y'all would have to ask for part 2. Also... may have snuck my next fic in here teehee.

if anybody wants to use these for art or what have you, go for it (but it better be gooood 😜)

tag and credit me tho so i can see it and be overjoyed

THANKS FOR ASKIN BESTIE!

#kahlopatra #clone high frida #clone high cleopatra #thank you for this question bestie hehe #anybody watch mpgis?

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finemealcreates · 7 months ago

Text

S'mores

July 14: Family camping trip | candle

Clark double checks that they have everything packed up. He has all the suitcases, the tents, sleeping bags, flashlights, coolers, food, chairs—

“You’ve already double checked everything twice Dad,” Jon complains from inside the car.

“I just want to be thorough,” Clark replies, placing a third checkmark next to every item on his list.

“There’s being thorough and then there’s being a little obsessive,” Conner mutters from the middle seats, likely knowing Clark would hear it.

“Hey, this is Danny’s first time camping with us. I wanna make sure everything goes well for him,” Clark replies quietly, knowing Danny is in the car and not wanting to embarrass him.

Both his son and brother sigh in the car, but Clark can also practically hear them relenting. They want Danny to have a good time, too.

Only after Clark is satisfied does he enter the car, smiling over at his cousin who has his switch out and is already playing some sort of game.

“Ready Danny?” Clark asks, putting the key in the ignition.

“Been ready to go for the past half hour, Clark,” Danny teases, pausing his game and turning to face Clark more head-on, a grin stretching along his face.

“I just wanted to—”

“Be thorough, yeah yeah,” Danny replies sarcastically, good naturedly rolling his eyes. “You know there is such a thing as over packing and being too thorough, right?”

Clark huffs and rolls his eyes back, grinning.

Then, he begins the drive, turning on the radio to (quietly) play some music for the drive.

“Batman’s rubbed off on him,” Conner whispers to Jon, causing the other boy to laugh.

“Now that’s uncalled for,” Clark huffs under his breath, a smile still on his lips.

“How long until we get to the campsite?” Danny asks, oblivious to the conversation the supers are having near him.

“About an hour or two,” Clark answers happily.

Danny hums while the other two groan.

Usually, when they go camping, they just fly out to the campsite. It’s a secluded enough area that they can get away with not having a car. But since Danny’s coming with them this time, they can’t do that.

Clark is used to long car rides, but the other two never had to deal with them much. They always complain about long car rides, but Clark refuses to budge. He always insists it builds character, but he knows that’s not why he makes them. Sometimes he makes them for appearances, like today. Other times he does it because he misses long car rides, and they’re always more fun with other people in the car with you.

“So how’s your job going?” Clark prompts, hitting his turn signal as he merges onto the street, heading for the highway.

Danny’s entire demeanor lights up as he sits up more in his seat.

“It’s amazing! The Goddard Space Flight Center is such a surreal place to work at. Did you know it’s the largest organization of engineers, scientists, and other technologists who build spacecraft, new technology, and instruments for NASA?” Danny questions, stars practically in his eyes.

Clark smiles. He did know that, but he’s not gonna mention that.

“Really?” Clark prompts. “Can you tell me anything you’re working on right now?”

Danny smiles good naturedly.

“Nothing that you can’t read about in our news articles,” Danny sing-songs.

Clark puffs out his cheeks good-naturedly.

“Dang, was hoping for an inside scoop for the planet,” Clark jokes.

“I know, I know Mr. Reporter. Unfortunately all the NDA’s I signed say I can’t tell you much,” Danny teases.

“Would’ve been nice to hear about all the new things NASA’s cooking from an Engineering Technician,” Clark sighs, winking at Danny.

Danny rolls his eyes, but the grin stays on his face.

“I can tell you that the Hubble has traced dark matter in the Dwarf Galaxy using stellar motions,” Danny offers, a smile wide on his face.

“Oh yeah? How so?” Clark questions.

“Well,” Danny starts, eyes getting sharp and focused, “some of our astronomers have been measuring the movement of stars in the Draco dwarf galaxy over the past 18 years. They’ve finally succeeded in making the currently most accurate three-dimensional understanding of the stars’ movement within that galaxy.”

Clark’s eyebrows raise slightly.

“That’s a long time,” Clark comments.

“Well, learning about space and getting accurate information is a marathon, not a sprint,” Danny replies.

“That’s really cool, Danny,” Clark says with a smile.

“Isn’t it?” Danny asks with amazement and wonder in his entire being. “I know that I don’t work with that directly, but man it’s so cool how we’re all working together to learn more about space and the world overall.”

Clark smiles and hums in agreement. A part of Clark is saddened by the fact that Danny will never be able to go to the stars in the way he wanted to when they were younger. But after the lab incident that hospitalized Danny, his body was never the same. Not fully.

“I think you’re doing great work, Danny. Even if you can’t tell me about it,” Clark states with a smile. “I can’t wait to read about the things you’ve worked on in the future.”

Danny grins brighter under Clark’s gaze, tapping his feet lightly against the floor of the car and simultaneously tapping both knees.

“I can’t wait for you guys to see what we’ve been working on! It’s revolutionary!” Danny admits.

Clark’s grin grows.

Bruce apparently knew what they were working on, which made sense since Wayne Enterprise had teamed up with NASA for this particular project. The man had been tight-lipped about what the project was, but had told the Justice League that if all went well, the Watchtower would be getting some major upgrades.

“I don’t doubt it,” Clark replies.

“But enough about me and space,” Danny dismisses. “Talk to me about what you’ve been working on, Clark? I always read your articles when I get the chance.”

Clark smiles proudly, glad that his cousin is reading the articles he writes. Even if not all the articles are particularly exciting.

“Well, I’m currently working on an article about different businesses in Delaware that have taken to using AI versus ones that haven’t, and its impact on those businesses.”

Danny raises a brow, interest coloring his features.

“Oh?” Danny noises. “And can you tell me anything about what you’ve found?”

Clark gives Danny a sly smile.

“You can read all about it when the article comes out,” Clark teases.

Danny groans good naturedly, rolling his eyes.

“Hardy har har,” Danny responds sarcastically.

“I can tell you that we’re publishing the entries from the contest we hosted,” Clark replies with a proud smile.

“Really?” Danny asks, attention fully grabbed. “Which contest?”

“Delaware Student Articles,” Clark answers. “It was a contest we held where students wrote articles and submitted them to be published. Could be anything from local to world news. We’re publishing the top 10 winners.”

Danny’s eyes widen some more in interest.

“How many submissions did you get?” Danny questions.

“Over twenty-five thousand,” Clark responds.

“That’s amazing!” Danny exclaims, bouncing slightly in his seat.

“Isn’t it?” Clark replies with his own matching smile.

“Really, Clark, I think it’s cool you get to do such an amazing job that you’re so passionate about,” Danny says, serious with joy coloring his tone.

“I’m glad you get to do the same,” Clark returns, honest. “We both got incredibly lucky with our jobs.”

“We did,” Danny agrees, humming slightly. “Enough about work, though. Tell me about Lois, how is my favorite cousin doing?”

Clark rolls his eyes good-naturedly, but goes with the topic change.

The rest of the car ride is filled with conversations about their personal lives, how family is doing, and everything they’ve missed since they last saw each other a few months ago.

Before he knows it, they’re at the campsite. It throws Clark off a little as he didn’t realize they’d been yapping for so long, but good conversation does make the time fly.

“Alright, boys, we’re here!” Clark announces with a smile.

“Finally,” Jon groans, unbuckling and jumping out of the car.

The young boy runs around in a few circles, stretching his legs and getting used to being on two feet again.

“So dramatic,” Conner huffs, unbuckling himself and exiting the car, stretching slightly.

“Don’t you guys go camping semi-often?” Danny questions, unbuckling and opening the car door. “You’d think they hardly ever go on long car rides.”

Clark chuckles, covering the slight nervousness he feels at Danny being so observant.

“They still haven’t adjusted to it. They get too antsy and cramped,” Clark lies smoothly, exiting the car himself.

“Makes sense,” Danny mutters, leaving his things in the car as he begins to help Clark unpack the car.

Together, and with the other two’s help, they get the entire unpacked in record time. Well, in record time for doing it without a ton of use of their powers. Clark gave Jon a Look when he carried more than a normal twelve-year-old would typically be able to.

“I haven’t camped in a while,” Danny admits as he and Clark work on getting the tent set up.

Really, it’s Clark leading the assembly of it and giving Danny directions of where to stand and which pieces to slot together.

“I can’t imagine not camping semi-regularly,” Clark says. “It’s so nice to get away from the hustle-and-bustle every once and a while.”

Danny smiles teasingly at Clark, but Clark can also sense some … tension? Clark resists the urge to frown.

“Can’t imagine why a small town boy like you likes to escape the city for a while,” Danny jokes.

“You say that like you didn’t agree to join us,” Clark shoots back, smiling back at Danny.

Danny shrugs, still smiling.

Clark pretends not to notice the tension in Danny’s frame as they finish getting the tent set up.

“When was the last time you went camping?” Clark inquires as they throw a tarp over the tent, just in case it rains.

“Uh,” Danny starts, frowning as he thinks, “we went camping as a family back when I was a Freshman. It was Jazz’s idea, she thought I was too stressed out.”

Clark’s eyebrows furrow. He wants to ask more questions, but he resists the urge as he takes note of how Danny is hunched in on himself.

“Well, hopefully this is a fun experience for you,” Clark replies with a smile.

Danny grins back.

“If you packed stuff for s’mores, I’m sure it will be,” Danny assures.

Clark laughs as he nods.

“Wouldn’t be camping without ‘em.”

⧍↟☾

After they cook and eat some hot dogs, they begin roasting s’mores. Jon keeps getting too overexcited and burns his marshmallows, but otherwise the marshmallows get turned into a light brown.

“Thank you,” Danny says after everyone has made themselves s’mores.

Clark smiles, looking at Danny confused.

“For what?”

Danny shrugs, offering a shy smile.

“For bringing me with you guys. This is really … nice.”

Clark’s smile softens as he gives his cousin a side hug.

“Of course, Danny. Thank you for joining us,” Clark tells him honestly.

“I’ll have to join you guys again,” Danny comments before taking a bite out of his s’more.

Clark’s smile widens with delight.

“We’d love to have you join us again, any time,” Clark replies.

Danny smiles widely.

“That’d be great,” Danny responds.

Clark feels warmth fill him from the inside. He loves spending time with his family, and looks forward to spending more time with Danny.

#finemeal writes #finemeal fics #dpxdcfamilyweek24 #clark kent #danny fenton #jon kent #conner kent #clark and danny are cousins #camping #i did not edit this #didn't look at it twice #so if you see any mistakes #no you don't #dp x dc

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slash-me-please · 1 year ago

Note

HIHIHI I LOVE YOUR WRITING SM AND I SAW THAT YOUR WILLING TO WRITE FOR AMANDA YOUNG BUT IF YOU DONT FEEL LIKE IT THATS COMPLETELY OKAY ALSO!!

Can you do jealous Amanda x Fem reader? Somewhere around reader and Amanda having a complicated relationship and reader is an apprentice. Another apprentice flirts around with reader and Amanda doesn’t like it at all :$ Also some NSFW but if your not in the mood for it you don’t have to add it!

I hope you have an amazing day 😋😊

I love writing for Amanda!!!! I'm so happy to be getting more fem requests because I am a gay mf. Anyways on with the story.

-In the event that Michael Marks survived, he has became an apprentice. Michael Marks. Yknow, the key in the eyeball guy. So, let's begin.

A Deeper Understanding

Warnings: Literally nobody getting along, Jealous!Amanda, Cursing, Threatening, Fingering, Domish!Amanda, Getting Caught

John Kramer had collected quite the assortment of a team. He hoped at least one of you would continue his legacy perfectly. He'd make sure before he died that he'd live on through the lot of you. You were all currently at the workshop, bullshitting about random tests and other people you were interested in "helping". There was about four of you there, Dr. Gordon couldn't make it, like usual. Michael Marks had been your second choice, Gordon has always been your first.

His eyes traveled down your body, a look that made you feel a certain type of way, not a good way. He was your partner though, so you gave him the benefit of the doubt. "I'm glad everyone is here," John smiled a thin smile, Jill stood across from him, eyes trained on his every move. You knew that it'd been hard on her since his diagnosis. "I need your help with the scalping seat, I'm not sure it'll get done on time." He took a pause, "I've had some other things to tend to, my apologies."

He hadn't been looking at you, you weren't the mechanic of the group. John looked to you for ideas for traps. You had a knack at creating a symbolic test, one which would change the looks of the masses. Michael stepped forwards, eyes lingering on you for too long for someone who had just needed to build a trap. "I used to work as a car technician before Homeward Bound," He said, bending down and looking through the gears. "Unless Hoffman can do better." Hoffman wasn't much for Michael, he stayed silent.

"Nobody wants you to touch anything, you hardly beat your test. I don't know why John even wants you here because you're obviously not even serious about him." Amanda stood from her spot near John, she walked forwards and towered over Michael- only for Michael to size her up. "What are you even talking about?" He barked, his chest puffing. "Amanda calm down, we need to finish this trap. Brenda's test is what matters." John corrected her, his composure was always impenetrable. "No John! Have you seen this guy? He's been eye-fucking Y/N since we got here!"

Amanda's fists clenched as she yelled back at John. She seemed ready to blow a fuse, and you were thankful for it. "As far as I am concerned, He has not said anything to Y/N that has made her uncomfortable." "But-" "No, we'll deal with him later, we have to focus on the contraption now, we'll deal with him later. I need you to act level-headed if you're going to carry out my legacy." Amanda huffed, speeding past the group and into the hallway. "Amanda!" You yelled after her, jumping down from the table and following after her.

You found yourself in a grimy hallway, off to the side was an opening to what you presumed was where Amanda had went off to. You stepped forward, watching as the curtains to the archway swayed back and forth. "Amanda?" You called, and she opened the swaying curtains as you stood in front of them. "Finally got enough of Mr. Fuck-me eyes?" You shook your head. "We're not... doing anything." She nodded, stepping away to move back to a decaying workstation. You saw she had her reverse bear trap on the table, she seemed to be fixing something wrong with it.

"What are you doing to it?" You wondered, she glanced over at you for a moment. "John gave it to me to fix, fucking Hoffman took it somewhere and it broke." She gulped. "I hate this thing, but I'm about finished." Amanda was grumbling as she fixed her trap, she seemed elsewhere and you could tell that this was a coping mechanism for her. "What's wrong?"

She turned to you, and with a sigh she sneered. "I just don't understand why Michael is even here, he hardly completed his test and he's an asshole y'know?" Her voice elevated, and she turned towards you. "He's awful and I just don't understand why he can't leave you alone!" Your cheeks flushed, eyes widening as she stared right at you. "Uh-" But you cut her off, hands coming up to hold her face. It happened to turn out that she would be the one to press forward and kiss you. She only let it escalate from there when her hand moved to reach under your shirt and pull you flush against her chest.

Her nails dug into the plush of your stomach skin when she picked you up and placed you on the workbench, shoving the bear trap off to the side. Amanda placed kisses on your collarbone as you worked to pull your shirt off, and in the heat of the moment she found herself dizzy with lust. She had been dreaming about this moment since you joined the group, and she thought she might've entered her dreamworld when you finally got your shirt off. "You're fucking perfect," She mumbled, the androgynous tang of her voice flowed through your core and straight between your legs. You opened them right up.

Amanda leaned forward, tongue landing flat on your nipple and sucking at it until it pressed hard against the pad of her tongue. With her left hand, she groped you passionately, and she praised how you fit in her hand perfectly. You had leaned forward and pressed a kiss on the top of her head as she pushed your skirt up and over your ass, eager to get where she had wanted to touch most. You blessed her with it, gripping the edge of rotten wood when she hooked her long fingers inside your heat. "Shit..." She mumbled, her left hand dropping your tit to push you back by the stomach. You stumbled back against the wood with a whine, biting onto your left hand as the other gripped her wrist.

Amanda watched with an intense gaze as you moaned into your hand, she was more than interested, her left hand moving to rub circles on your clit as she fingered you. Your hips pushed against her fingers, desperate to feel more of her as she pleasured you- you knew her thoughts of Michael Marks were gone by now, her gaze enraptured by the way your cunt sucked her in. She felt herself becoming devoted as she listened to the gasps and whimpers you released of her name- you felt the same.

She began to kiss your hips as your legs shook around her fingers and your whines became more noticeable. Amanda gathered she had to be doing something right, her ego inflating as you rode her hand. "You're doing so well Y/N," She whispered, the fingers on your clit speeding up. You cried out, "I'm so close..." yelping when she pushed her fingers deeper and shushed you. You felt your insides clench and twitch, legs spreading wider as you held her wrist against your sex- whining out a flurry of "Thank yous," While you finished on her hand.

Finally, you leaned back down, huffing against your hand. You reached out to maybe grab her, and she reached to pull her shirt off. Unluckily, she didn't make it far when you heard Michael open the curtains, halfway through his sentence. "I'm sorry Amanda, I didn't- oh!" His eyes landed on you, and you yelped, flailing to cover your body as he stared.

Amanda's lip twitched in annoyance, pulling your skirt down with a little bit of attitude. You knew it wasn't directed at you though. "If you do not get the fuck out of my office, I will literally blow your brains out Michael."

And he turned around, scurrying down the hallway. Amanda turned back to you, giving you a happy kiss on the lips. "Maybe we can arrange a date this week?"

#Saw x reader #Amanda Young x reader #Amanda Young x reader smut #Saw x reader smut'#horror x reader #horror x reader smut #slasher x reader #slasher x reader smut

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hwaslayer · 1 year ago

Text

project: make you love me (jyh) | six.

♣︎ spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: yunho can’t stand how you’re so wrapped up in the notorious campus fuckboy, park seonghwa. he would gladly love you the way you deserve, despite being shy, awkward and the complete opposite of seonghwa. thus, when he finds himself spending more time with you over literature reviews and random study sessions, he decides to take on the challenge to win you over.

—pairing: jeong yunho x f. reader x park seonghwa

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers/friends to lovers, college au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 3.5k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing, sweet yuyu per usual, seonghwa moment (sorry yes he's back briefly lmao), crying & some overthinking, next few chapters will prob feel like lil filler chapters while things progress between oc x yunho <33 we are almost there yall, promise!!

Yunho parks his car in the driveway, clicking the key fob to make sure his doors are locked after he grabs his things from the trunk. Entering the house, it's a lot quieter than expected— typically, he has family members or close neighbors over even if they're just there to sit in the kitchen and gossip with his aunt and mom.

When he sets his things down and walks further into the house, he realizes why it's so quiet in the house.

"Yunho! Our handsome boy!" His aunt yells from the backyard where she sits with his mom, two neighbors and their two friends. Yunho feels the heat rise to his cheeks because even though this is happens constantly— he's still not used to the praising and babying from his own family members.

"Hi." He gives them a toothless smile and waves, helping himself to a seat right next to his mom. "Miss Universe herself, how are you feeling?" His mom chuckles before playfully hitting his arm.

"I'm doing okay, my love. I missed you."

"I'm here now, right? Did your appointment go okay?" He swings his arm around her chair and focuses all of his attention on her.

"Yeah, it went perfectly fine. I felt a bit tired and weak afterwards, but nothing some good rest and food couldn't fix." Yunho nods.

"Okay, that's good."

"How about you, tell me all about school? I think your mom is missing some details." She says with a small smirk and Yunho can't help but playfully roll his eyes.

"Didn't you wanna go to the grocery store?" He changes the subject, his aunt immediately catching on to the shift in his body language.

"Yunho has a girlfriend, I think." She says to her neighbors while smirking at him. Yunho's mom laughs it off, standing to save her son from the oncoming comments, teasing, etc etc.

"Suho." His mom says in a scolding manner, slight drip of playfulness to it. "Don't you have a list of things we need to get at the grocery store?"

"Oh shit, you're right." She says, hurrying into the kitchen for her list. Yunho laughs and bids farewell to their friends, following his mom and aunt into the kitchen. His mom grabs the list from her sister, asking if she needs anything else or if she wants food from anywhere before they return. She simply says no and says she'll be heading out with her friends soon— that the both of them should just enjoy shopping and eating wherever they'd like.

And so with that, Yunho carefully helps his mom get settled before hopping into the driver's seat. His music is softly playing in the background, while his mom continues to tell him about how her appointments have been and the people she's encountered. He starts to laugh when she mentions one of the technicians at the dialysis center, and how she's bragged about him to her countless times.

"Okay mom, I appreciate it but you don't have to play cupid." He smiles at her before shifting his attention back to the road.

"I know, but sometimes I worry about you." She gently squeezes his bicep. "I can't help it because I'm your mom. You do a great job taking care of everyone else, sometimes I just want someone to help take care of you."

"I'll be okay."

"I know, I know." She lets out a breath before toothlessly smiling at him. "But, you get where I'm coming from."

"I think so."

"What about your friend?"

"What friend?"

"From school? The one you talked about, you know? Helping with her assignments."

"Oh, right." Yunho chuckles. "What about her?"

"Well, what's her name?"

"You're gonna look for her on Facebook."

"I am not." She playfully hits him, making him laugh.

"Her name is Y/N."

"Beautiful name. I'm sure she's very pretty." Yunho shrugs.

"Y-yeah she is. But, we're really just friends. We click pretty easily. Surprisingly."

"What do you mean surprisingly? You're the sweetest and the friendliest boy I know. And I'm not saying that because I'm your mother."

"You're definitely saying that because you're my mother." He laughs.

"Why don't you see where it goes?"

"I never said I wouldn't." He laughs a bit. "I'm also not going to force anything."

"That's fair. She seems to be a good friend, though."

"She is. She's sweet."

♣︎ FLASHBACK

"Yunho!" You happily head down the steps when you see him standing there, patiently waiting for you. He has his hands dug deep into his pockets, hood on his head. A small, tiny smile tugs at the corner of his lips when you finally come face to face and stand in front of his towering figure. "Hey you." You gently poke at his arm.

"What's up?" He starts to lead the way with slow, steady steps— walking down his usual path around the complex.

"Kinda just wanted to take a quick walk."

"Feeling okay?"

"Yeah. Just tired."

"You're telling me. How's practice been?"

"Practice is practice. It's fun to be doing it with friends though." He nods, silently walking alongside of you. "How's Yeosang?" He chuckles.

"Yeosang is Yeosang. Currently still yelling at his screen."

"You guys should game together."

"We do when he decides to play Valorant, but he's more into League." He scratches at his temple. "I must sound very attractive right now." You laugh a bit.

"That sounds very fun. You'll have to teach me one day."

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah, why not. I'd probably have to play on a dummy account or something so I don't ruin your level." You tilt your head in confusion. "Ranks? Whatever they're called." He smiles.

"Fair." You laugh.

"Wow, so you don't believe in my abilities, huh?"

"You said it first."

"Yunho." You whine, making him laugh a little loudly this time.

"I'm kidding. I believe in you. It's really not that bad." You smile, but it quickly fades when you almost bump into Yunho just as he suddenly stops in his tracks. "Look." He looks down at you, then points upwards. "The moon." You stand beside him and look up at the moon.

"It's beautiful."

"Hm, yeah." He snaps a photo. "Sorry, I didn't mean to stop."

"No, please. I like seeing these parts of you." He smiles.

"Yeah?" You nod. "You don't think it's odd?"

"I could never think that way about you, Yunho." You playfully tap his arm. "Seriously. It's nice to see someone appreciate the moon."

"Someone has to." You giggle as you both continue to slowly walk alongside each other, arm brushing against one another.

♣︎ END

"Please don't forget to bring her by one day. I'd still like to meet her."

"Meet her?"

"You've been happier lately, and that's all I could ask for. She sounds lovely."

"Okay." Yunho nods and smiles at her just as he pulls into the lot of the market.

Yunho patiently goes around with his mom, placing every item she needs into the cart while she points out what's needed. They spend a good 45 minutes, close to an hour, just taking their time buying what's needed and other necessities. Afterwards, Yunho takes his mom to her favorite Chinese restaurant. They spend time talking about all things school-related and what his plans might be for the near future.

And Yunho loves being home, don't get him wrong. He'd always spend time with his family over anything. But, he couldn't help but think of you— especially after his mom brought you up.

He hopes you're okay. Maybe he'll check on you tonight.

Tonight, you wrap up your homework and waddle over to the couch— joining Seungmin and Chaery in the living room while they watch their show. Soobin is cooking himself some dinner since he just got back not too long ago from the library.

"Any of you guys want some ramen before I shut this off?"

"Nope!" Seungmin yells loudly even though he's just in the living room.

"Same. Thanks Soobinnie." Chaery says in a sing-song tone. You simply look at Soobin with a small smile, shaking your head before returning your attention to your phone. A text comes in and you're [slightly] surprised at who it is— but, you definitely can't say that it doesn't put a smile on your face.

yunho: take a look at the moon if you haven't yet.

But, your smile instantly fades when you can't respond right away. A call cuts through on your screen, and it's probably the last person you want to speak to right now— even though you know you need to.

"Hello?" You answer nonchalantly, not in the mood to speak to Seonghwa.

"Hey. Are you free right now?" You sigh and look at the clock. 10pm.

"Yeah, I am."

"Can you come down? I'm here in my car."

"For what, Seonghwa?" You hear him sigh heavily on the other line before speaking up again.

"I just want to talk. We haven't talked in days and I'm trying to figure out what's going on between us."

"Seonghwa—"

"Y/N, please. That's all I'm asking for." He says in a serious tone. You roll your eyes and purse your lips together, pausing for a moment before responding.

"Fine. I'll be down in a few."

"Alright." And with that, you end the call— sliding your phone into the pocket of your sweats before forcing yourself off of the couch to grab the nearest jacket.

"My jacket?" Soobin watches as you snatch his jacket off of the dining table chair.

"I just need it for a second. Please?" You pout and he nods.

"Where are you going?" Chaery asks while her and Seungmin continue to watch their show, her eyes fixed on the TV.

"Seonghwa wants to talk."

"Oh, jeez." She says. "Goodluck with that, hun. Call if you need anything."

"Yup!" You slip into your crocs, dragging your feet down the steps and to Seonghwa's car. He's parked by the curb, windows slightly rolled down so you're able to catch a peek of him. He's staring down at the phone near his lap, the light illuminating his face. He texts away even as you approach the door, but chucks it into his middle console after he's sent whatever he needed to send. You plop onto the passenger's seat and avoid eye contact, crossing your arms as you look straight ahead at the car in front of his.

"Hi to you, too." He furrows his brows a bit.

"So, what is it Seonghwa?" You finally turn to him and let out a barely audible sigh.

"Baby, come on." Seonghwa clicks his teeth and pouts a bit. He slips his hand on your thigh and lets it rest there. "I said I was sorry. I know I fucked up majorly, but something just came up and—"

"Something came up? Something always comes up for you. You couldn't even take one second to text me or let me know? It doesn't take much."

"I know, I thought I was going to be able to make it in time."

"Right. I've heard that before."

"I'm sorry." He repeats.

"Heard that before too." You shake your head. "Seonghwa, I think we should just stop doing this, okay? Clearly, you have better things to worry about and I'm just tired."

"W-what?" He looks at you, really looks at you. Almost in disbelief. Probably disbelief. "Baby, I don't wanna do that. I don't wanna lose you."

"It doesn't matter if you do, you always have someone to fall back onto." You shoot back, and he's silent. Of course he is. "I thought so."

"No, you're not giving me time to get my thoughts together." He panics. "Y/N, baby. Please. Hear me out. I don't wanna lose you. I really don't. I know I fucked up time and time again, but I'll do better. It's always been you and—"

"You're only worried about losing the idea of me, someone who will be there as your safety blanket when other shit doesn't pull through for you. You aren't actually worried about me, and you know I'm right." He scoffs and shakes his head, but he doesn't say anything, no. He can't say anything because he knows it's true. He quickly deflects and brings up the one thing that has been running his last nerve lately:

"Why don't you just say that it's Yunho?"

"This has nothing to do with Yunho, Seonghwa! I'm so tired. It's been months of this back and forth bullshit, don't you get it? It's so clear what this means to you, and I don't wanna stick around, waiting for somebody that doesn't even care about me."

"Don't say that I don't care—"

"You don't!" Your tone raises a bit, and this is when it settles that Seonghwa isn't good for you. He will never be good for you, good to you. He will never change, and you will never find an ounce of pure, genuine happiness being stuck here. "You really don't. You can't claim that when I've caught you multiple times doing shit behind my back, let alone left my ass in the cold like I was easily disposable. Multiple times." Tears are pricking your bottom lids and you're not sure if it's because of everything you've been through or if it's because you feel bad for yourself— for settling, for letting him walk over you. You are aware that, however this ends, you'll need to take a moment and say your peace to it. "I'm so done with it, Hwa. I don't need this."

"Wait, Y/N. Please." He says, hand giving your thigh a gentle squeeze so you don't up and leave right away.

"No. We're just going to go in circles and repeat the cycle. This is done—"

"How can I fix this?" You furrow your brows and shake your head, letting out a scoff.

"You really have to ask? If you really wanted to know, you would've asked that question a long time ago." You remove his hand from your thigh.

"So, that's it?" He asks because he doesn't know how else to respond without sounding even more pathetic. "Y/N." Hwa panics again when he sees you swing the door open, stepping out without saying another word to him. Though, he couldn't really tell you why he panicked— perhaps, yeah, it's the thought of losing you, but mainly his image. How he'd look if people ever found out that you left him first.

And you know this already.

In plain words, he's just worried about losing another girl on his list. Especially the one that was always there for him, the one that rarely gave him issues. Didn't get strung up too quickly, didn't really press him for shit over the months.

Damn.

Even though you said it had nothing to do with him, Seonghwa still thinks Yunho played a part in it. And that's fucking annoying.

"Y/N!" You hear him call for you again, even after you've slammed his door and stormed off to your apartment. You feel the tears pricking your lids again, and you're doing your best to hold it in. But eventually, the tears stream down your cheeks; one by one.

This is you saying your peace.

Then, you'll move on. As you should.

"Baby is back!" Chaery cheers but her smile instantly fades when she sees you wiping away at your face. "Aw no, baby. What happened?" You shrug as she comes to you and pulls you into her arms.

"I just ended it with Seonghwa."

"Oh shit, good for you! Finally!" Seungmin is still sitting on the floor, so he flicks her on the leg. "Ow! The heck?"

"What she means to say is that everything's gonna be okay, and that it's okay to cry if you need to." He looks at her and she follows with a slow nod.

"Yes, absolutely." You wipe the remaining stragglers and shake it off, returning Soobin's jacket to the dining chair.

"It's fine, I'll be okay. I needed to do that." You look at them with a reassuring expression. "It's just time to move past this." Chaery rubs your back.

"Do you need anything?" You shake your head.

"No, but I'm going to head into the room and just chill for the night."

"Okay." Chaery gives you a small smile.

"Get some rest." Soobin adds.

"I will." You head off to the bathroom to wash up and get ready for bed. It's still early but you don't think you'll be sleeping anytime soon with the thoughts that are currently bombarding your head. It does suck to finally part from something that no longer serves you, but you know it's for the best.

You were done.

Suddenly, you remember Seonghwa bringing up Yunho and it begins to irritate you. How dare he? He knows nothing about Yunho, and you hate how he's the first one he tries to blame. Shame that he's grown but can't take full responsibility for his actions. Until this day, Seonghwa has yet to fully acknowledge everything he's done.

He still finds a way to beat around the bush, implying that he did no wrong.

You shut off the lights and lay in bed with the mood lamp on, picking up your phone to finally respond to people. You sent your mom and sister a quick text before switching to Yunho's thread— realizing you still haven't responded to his last text.

you: ugh, that picture is perfect. the moon is sooo pretty tonight. 🥺

you: sorry for the late response, kinda got wrapped up with something super last min. how's your weekend going?

yunho: why the sad face? 😣

you: it'd be nice if we could go on a walk and look at the moon together.

yunho: aw yeah, that does sound nice. but, i hope the picture at least put a smile on your face.

yunho: & you don't have to apologize. but, it's been nice being at home and catching up with my family. what about you? everything okay?

you: i don't know? it's okay, i guess. just kinda tired.

yunho: you sure that's it?

you: no. 😕 but, it's nothing really.

yunho: calling you in a few, is that okay?

you: more than okay!

You continue to scroll through your phone for a couple of more minutes before Yunho's name lights up on the screen. A small smile pulls at your lips just as you pick up the call, Yunho rustling around in the background.

"Hi." You hear a bit more rustling before Yunho is letting out a [content] sigh.

"Hey, sorry. Just got in bed."

"That's okay." You chuckle. "I'm also lying down and just being lazy."

"Good, you should just rest." Yunho clears his throat. "You okay?"

"Mm, I don't know. I guess."

"What's going on?"

"I ended things with Seonghwa tonight." He remains silent for a bit before he responds with a—

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Again, just moving on." You chuckle a bit. "I did cry a teensy weensy bit, but I needed to let it out in order to let it go."

"Yeah, totally understandable. You sure you're okay? It's okay if you aren't."

"I am okay. It does suck though, we argued and then I just—" You pause. "I don't know. I guess I realized how this wasn't good for me. Everything came crashing down and I was so over it."

"Mhm." He softly answers, letting you continue on.

"I don't wanna keep being like that, you know? I don't say much, but I always feel anxious and stressed. I always end up thinking about what Seonghwa will do to hurt me next. That sounds so bad, but it's the best way to put it." You sigh. "It's just not good."

"I'm sorry, Y/N. It's not. But, it's okay if you aren't okay right now. Take your time."

"Thanks Yunho. Seriously. I'll be good." You let out a small, breathy laugh. "Just a moment of weakness."

"Not weakness." There's a small pause as you let Yunho's response sink.

"Hey, by the way. We're doing a scary movie night thing at our apartment soon. Do you wanna come over and join us?"

"Hm." He hums, thinking about whether or not he should just do it.

"Come on, it'll be fun."

"Fun for you because I'm sure I'll end up as your punching bag when things get too scary." You chuckle.

"No, not even! Seriously. We'll have lots of food."

"What movie are you planning to put on?"

"Would that be a dealbreaker?" You tease.

"Maybe." He plays along.

"I truly have no idea yet."

"Alright then." He laughs. "Yeah, I'll join." You gasp.

"Really?"

"Yeah." He reiterates.

"Aw, yay! I hope you didn't feel pressured or obligated." Yunho sits on his response for a bit; no, he doesn't feel that way. It might be new hanging out with you and your friends, but he was looking forward to just being in your company.

"Never that."

"I'll text you all the details later." You yawn.

"Sleepy?"

"Kinda. Just exhausted."

"I can go if you—"

"Stay. You're good. Even though I might fall asleep soon." You giggle.

"That's fine." Yunho answers. The two of you continue to talk a bit about how home has been for Yunho and what you had been up to over the weekend. After the cute giggles and playful teasing, there's a nice, comforting silence that falls between you two. Yunho almost believes you've fallen asleep until you sleepily break the silence by calling his name.

"Yunho?" There you go, calling his name like you always do. It's becoming a weakness for him.

"Hm?"

"Thanks for always showing me the moon."

"Course." He matches your tone, and responds close to a whisper. Another silence settles in, but Yunho is positive you've fallen asleep due to the very small and soft snores he hears on the other line. He chuckles to himself before setting his phone aside, keeping the call connected on speaker in case anything went wrong.

He'd be there.

♣︎ taglist: @s-nsanshine @soupbinlily @tyongff-ff @jiminiscricket @g1g1l @staytinyinmybpack @woomyteez @gfksz @bitchwhytho @savluvsmingi @thisisntmyrightera @hyukssunflower @miriamxsworld @tmtxtf @kuromibabe04 @lmnhead @carrietwrites @tournesol155 @persphonesorchid @txt-yaomi @marsattacks @mxnsxngie @h-nji @mundayoonimnida @jalapeno-princess @nakiiko @asjkdk @kunikku @idkwgoh @kyeos4ng @agust-d2 [bold = can’t tag 😭]

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thedaughterofadam · 5 months ago

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@sams-darlin @kxemii as promised

Warning!: Gaslighting, mentions of drugging, Just Quin being himself. This may suck but please try to enjoy

A/N: I am a Darlin' kinnie, no I will not elaborate by saying I put my heart and soul into them.

Halloweek: Darlin' Edition

Darlin x Quin

When Darlin' was younger they loved Halloween. Scaring Milo and Asher with their costumes running a mock with Sweetheart as they emptied out pillowcases of candy. The year they met Quin, they went to a College Halloween party. Some gross drinks made with candy, the hookups in the hallways too strong cologne and perfume mixing together making Darlin' s nose itch. They had dressed up as a car technician repurposing a Michael costume they used to scare Milo, Quin dressed up as a werewolf opposite of what he was.

Darlin was drawn in by the humour, the way he tucked hair behind their ear to look into their eyes was a plus. Instant butterflies trying to keep up a gaurd that had faltered throughout the night. One of the girls they came with gave them a drink and the night got blurry.

Feeling safe as Quin had his arm around their shoulders to keep them steady. Maybe it should have been a red flag that Quin knew where they lived, or the fact he had snuck the key to their apartment off of their person. But what should have gotten his throat torn out was the bite to theirs.

Quin had a way before they had even started dating to make them feel stupid and small. Making them want one more with simple touches, the way his lips curved to smile was addicting. After that night Halloween just wasn't the same.

Their first Halloween together started off normally, the usual good morning text, in between class planning to hangout. Darlin' had reminded Quin from the middle of September throughout each of their plans that the 31st after classes they had to help make a parade float for the schools Halloween parade. Since their phone was dying they sent him a quick text saying They wouldn't answer for a bit.

Covered in paint, small foam bits in their hair, and their hands sore from having to do writing using their paint brushes all they wanted to do when they got home was sleep. Practically forcing themselves up the last step they noticed the door was open to their apartment and Quin had made himself at home.

His piercing gaze fixed on them as they entered their now trashed apartment was something they never wanted. "So what's his name thrall?"

Darlin' dropped their bag, trying to keep it cool, "I told you I wouldn't be able to answer I-", they were cut off to a vas being thrown past them, Quin getting up from his seat. "You couldn't take a break? Couldn't text me back it takes five seconds!"

Darlin' hated when he yelled, or threw things, it reminded them of their parents. Constantly fighting, pointing fingers but never talking. "Don't yell at me, I told you where I was going to be, what I was doing and that I wouldn't text you till later."

Quin looked down at them in contempt and amusement. "You're right."

Darlin' hated those words coming out of his mouth. Venom would always follow after and it felt like they were right back to being a kid and never being good enough.

"I mean look at you, who else would want you?", Quin grabbed their face, forcing them to look him in the eye as her berated their very being.

"You look like a mess half the time, and the other half like a whore.", he laughed letting go. It did a number on Darlin' the state of their home, the frustration from the float and now Quin's words. They had never wanted to hit or bite or scratch anyone that they loved. But one moment of seeing red can cost us our lives and in Darlin' s case it did.

Darlin's claws grew out of their nails, as they slashed Quin across the eye. His scream could be heard from the neighbors next door. One hospital trip and police visit no charges were brought up thanks to Quin. It was his word over theirs and they would be living with that scar and Quin's never ending guilt trip for years to come. His words from that Halloween forever echoing in their brain.

"Looks like I'm your knight in shining armour, but would that make you my damsel or the monster?"

#redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted sam #redacted asher #redacted milo #redacted darlin #redacted audio #redacted david #redacted angst

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itcars · 2 years ago

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First Look: The Hennessey H850 Mustang Dark Horse

Hennessey Performance, the world-renowned Texas-based hypercar manufacturer and high-performance vehicle creator, announces high-performance supercharged upgrades for the all-new, seventh-generation 2024 Ford S650 Mustang Dark Horse. The comprehensive turn-key package dramatically boosts engine output and enhances the appearance of the latest iteration of America's iconic pony car.

Ford's completely redesigned 'S650' Mustang Dark Horse is fitted with Ford's naturally aspirated Gen-4 Coyote 5.0-liter V8. The automaker upgrades the Dark Horse with GT500 connecting rods and a dual throttle body to earn a factory rating of 500 horsepower. The 2024 Dark Horse may be ordered with either a Tremec 6-speed manual (3.73 gears) or with Ford’s 10-speed automatic (3.55 gearing). Regardless of transmission choice, the track-focused Mustang features upgraded multi-piston Brembo performance brakes on both axles.

Hennessey's experienced technicians, who have been 'making fast cars faster' for 32 years, fit the Mustang's V8 with a high-performance supercharger and a high-flow air induction system, upgraded fuel injectors, and a new fuel pump. Calibrated with an HPE Engine Management software upgrade, the ‘H850’ Dark Horse produces 850 horsepower and 650 lb-ft of torque – a 70 percent increase in power!

To complement its potent powerplant, the Hennessey 'H850' Ford Mustang Dark Horse is visually enhanced with a stylish carbon-fiber front splitter, carbon-fiber side skirts, and a carbon-fiber rear spoiler. Completing the exterior cosmetic enhancements are a set of stunning forged aluminum alloy wheels. Hennessey's embroidered head restraints are fitted to the seats, while Hennessey's badging and script adorn the quarter panels and rear fascia. Unique 'Heritage' graphics are optional.

#Hennessey #Hennessey H850 #h850 #cars #tuned #mustang #first look #news #Mustang Dark Horse #ford #tuners #hennessey mustang #Hennessey Performance

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starset21 · 2 months ago

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Cold Front

Standard disclaimer: I do not consent to the posting, translating, or publishing of my work to any 3rd party site, the only place it may currently be found is on tumblr and Wattpad under the name @.itswildflower. This is all fake. It does not reflect real people, real events or their actual actions or relationships.

Warnings: self doubt, slightly mean Max

WC: 4.5k

Summery: Round seven of the 2023 world championships, follow her as the race unfolds and she finds clarity in her instincts and determination, pushing past her doubts.

Looking for more? Chasing the Line series masterlist

The pit lane is a hive of activity as the cars roll in for a brief respite between sessions. Max stands beside the car, arms crossed, watching the technicians move with practiced speed. From a distance, Casey Winters drives her car back to her own garage, her focus fixed ahead as she enters the pit lane. The sound of her engine cuts off, but the uncertainty inside her head doesn’t. Though she’s in the top five, her lap times were inconsistent. She’d hesitated in a few key places, moments when the slightest slip could have cost her dearly. Max, on the other hand, has already posted a blistering time.

As Casey steps out of her car, she notices Max leaning against his garage, his eyes scanning the track while the crew finishes up their work. She knows he’s aware of her. Max's eyes always seemed to find her. But it’s not just him noticing her. It’s the way he notices her that stings. His gaze flickers over to her as she approaches, the faintest curve of a smirk tugging at his lips. He doesn’t greet her, doesn’t make any move to acknowledge her beyond that quick glance. But she feels the judgment in the air. "Nice lap time," Max says, his voice cool, almost dismissive. Casey swallows, her throat tight. "Thanks," she says, trying to sound casual, though she knows he can see the unease in her posture. She doesn’t want to show weakness, but the self-doubt gnawing at her keeps pushing its way to the surface. "I could’ve done better." Max raises an eyebrow, the faint smirk not leaving his face. "Could’ve. But you didn’t." He leans back against the wall, arms still crossed, and watches her. "You always leave something on the table, don’t you?"

Casey flinches, her heart sinking. She’d expected some kind of critique from Max, but not so direct, so cold. She opens her mouth to respond, but the words stick in her throat. Just focus. Don’t let him get to you. "I’m getting better," she says, her voice steadier than she feels. "Every race, I’m improving." Max shrugs, his expression unreadable, but there’s a slight glint in his eyes, a challenge. "Improvement doesn’t mean much if it’s not enough. If you want to keep up with the front, you need to start taking risks. You know that, right?" Her stomach churns at his words. She knows he’s right in some ways. Her hesitation—her reluctance to push the car beyond its limits—is why she’s always a few steps behind.

"You’ll need more than self-doubt if you want to beat the guys at the front." His words sting more than they should. But Casey knows this isn’t about Max, it’s about her own fight. She feels the weight of every mistake she’s ever made, every race where she wasn’t quite fast enough, where she let fear and doubt creep in. She looks at him for a long moment, searching his expression for some sign of respect. But it’s not there. "Right," she finally says, nodding curtly. "I’ll figure it out." Max gives her one last glance before turning his attention back to his own team, dismissing her without a second thought. But as Casey walks back toward her garage, something shifts in her chest. His words, as harsh as they were, make her angrier than she expected. She can feel the fire sparking inside her. Maybe she’s not as bold or reckless as Max. But she’ll find her own way to push through. She’ll prove him wrong.

The sound of the engines blurs into a collective roar as the formation lap of the Spanish GP begins. Casey Winters tightens her grip on the steering wheel, feeling the heat of the moment. She’s in P4, an enviable position, if she holds it or improves it would be her first time in the top 5 this season. Max Verstappen, ahead of her in P1, is a constant reminder of the skill gap she still needs to bridge. His Red Bull is an intimidating presence, a mechanical beast that hums with assured confidence. Casey’s own car feels small in comparison. Focus, she tells herself. Just focus. The countdown begins. “Remember your lines, Casey,” Ken’s voice cuts through the radio. It’s reassuring, but she can hear the underlying hint of caution in his words. “We’ve got the pace. Keep your head cool.” The lights flicker out, and the race begins. Instantly, Max leaps ahead with his trademark lightning start, as if the car and driver are one single, instinctual entity. But Casey doesn’t flinch. Her foot slams down on the accelerator with more force than she’d allowed herself before. She won’t be timid today.

By the first turn, Max has already built a small gap, his rearview mirror filling with the sight of Lewis Hamilton’s car as the two men pull away. But behind them, Casey isn’t letting up. She’s already battling with Carlos, who’s looking to chase her like a hungry shark circling its prey. She manages to build a bit of a gap, her mind is laser-focusing on the car ahead of her, George Russell in the Mercedes, holding on to P3, just within reach. The gap between them fluctuates, but George is quick through the corners, tight on the racing line, and there’s that slight edge in his driving style that demands respect. She can’t afford to back off—if she does, he’ll pull away and that’s the end of it. By Lap 5, the leaders—Max and Lewis Hamilton—have started pulling away slightly, but George is right there in the mix, keeping the pressure on Max. Casey, however, isn’t looking up at the front—she’s looking ahead at George, calculating, watching for his weaknesses. He’s fast, but she knows she can find an opening.

She’s pushing harder now, leaning into every corner with increasing precision. She can feel the car responding, the way the tires grip the tarmac just a little more fiercely. It’s as if every turn, every gear shift, is a small defiance against her own insecurities. I’m not just here to fill space. I’m here to race. On Lap 8, George makes a slight mistake. He brakes a little too late for the hairpin, locking up his front tires just slightly, and Casey catches it immediately. This is my chance. Her heart picks up speed. She doesn’t hesitate—she puts the throttle down, diving for the inside line as they approach the sharp left-hander. George reacts quickly, trying to cover the line, but it’s too late. Casey is already there, inching ahead as the two cars brush past each other, racing side by side. For a moment, they’re both on the same line, but Casey has the tighter angle through the corner. She holds her nerve, refusing to let up. George tries to push, but Casey accelerates faster out of the turn, finding a smooth exit as they head into the long straight. The crowd’s roar echoes in her ears as she positions her car perfectly to block any attempt from George to retake her. The Mercedes driver tries to cut across her, but Casey holds firm. Her heart is pounding in her chest, but her grip on the wheel is steady. She pulls ahead, the gap widening as they break for the next chicane.

As she settles into P3, Casey feels a rush of pride and relief. It’s a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. Her lap times are holding steady, and she’s pushing now—not out of fear, but out of sheer will. One step at a time. One corner at a time. Her focus remains on the road, but her mind drifts for a moment. Max is still in first. He’s always first. She knows she’s not in his league yet, but the gap between her and him is starting to feel a little more achievable. And that thought fills her with something dangerous—ambition. But she’s not going to get distracted by the front runners. Right now, her focus is on holding off George, who’s close behind and fighting for the position she just took. Her tires are holding up well, but it’s only a matter of time before the battle intensifies.

As she heads into Lap 15, Ken’s voice cuts through the radio: “Great job, Casey. Stay focused. You’re holding a solid P3. Keep it steady.” The words are comforting, but she knows she can’t let herself relax. George is there, and he’s not giving up. She glances in her mirrors as the familiar shape of George’s car fills the space behind her. He’s closing the gap, but it’s clear he’s struggling to find a way past. Casey takes a deep breath and positions herself defensively through the next corners, covering the line, refusing to let him through. By Lap 16, Max had extended his lead to a comfortable gap over Hamilton. But the real battle is behind them, where Casey and George are in a fierce tug-of-war. Through Turn 1, Casey holds a defensive line, but George finds a small opening. He dives to the inside, making a bid to retake P3. The two cars are inches apart, racing side by side through the turns. Casey reacts immediately. She covers the line into Turn 2, forcing George wide. It’s a risk—if she overdoes it, he’ll get past—but she holds firm. He tries to get the exit, but she powers out faster. The crowd roars as she keeps the position. Stay calm. Stay aggressive. Now, with George back in her mirrors, Casey knows it’s only a matter of time before she’ll have to make another move—whether it’s defending or attacking. But there’s one thing she knows for sure: she’s not letting up. Not now. George makes a move on lap 24, again into Turn 1, trying to force Casey into a mistake. She can feel his car on her tail, his Mercedes trying to edge past. But Casey’s response is immediate—she defends the line, making sure George can’t squeeze through. “Casey, push,” Ken warns. “Make sure you hold onto this position. We’ve got fresh tires waiting for you.” Casey’s mind races as she watches the laps click by. The tension builds as Carlos Sainz closes the gap, inching ever closer to George, but Casey refuses to let up. She knows what she’s doing. She knows where she’s placing her car. Every turn, every braking zone is measured. “Box. Box,” the order came on lap 27. In a flurry of motion, her tires are swapped—fronts and backs in a flash. She feels the car jolt as the fresh tires are put on, and in a blur of activity, she's back on the track. The time on the stop is crucial. She can’t afford to lose more than a second to the others in the field. Ken’s voice cuts through: “You’re out just behind George. P4. Stay tight!”

Now on fresher tires, Casey quickly starts to close the gap to Russell. She’s aggressive in the corners, using the added grip to get closer, but Russell is no slouch, defending well and maintaining P3. However, with each passing lap, Casey inches closer as Russell’s tires begin to show signs of wear. On Lap 44, George Russell makes his move into the pit lane for a tire change. It’s an expected move—he’s hoping to capitalize on fresh rubber to extend his battle for P3. Casey, now in P3, continues to push hard, setting her sights on the track ahead. She knows that if she can maintain a fast pace and make the most of the gap left by Russell’s pit stop, she can move up the order.

Casey pits again on lap 50 for a fresh set of tires. She dives into the pit lane, confident in her strategy. The crew is ready, and they get to work quickly. Another clean stop—around 2.5 seconds—and Casey exits the pits, aiming to make a big push in the final laps. “Fresh tires, Casey. You’re clear of traffic. Let’s go,” her engineer says. With the fresh rubber, Casey is ready to charge, closing in on Russell. Her pace is relentless, and within a few laps, she’s within 1 second of him. As they hit the DRS zone, Casey uses it to full advantage, getting closer and closer to the Mercedes. Lap 55, Casey is right behind Russell as they head into the final sector. She’s much quicker through the corners, and on the straight, her DRS advantage gives her the edge. She sets up for a pass into Turn 1. Casey finally makes her move. Coming out of Turn 13, she closes the gap to Russell. With DRS wide open, she pulls out of his slipstream, getting a much better exit. Russell tries to defend, but Casey dives to the inside and outbrakes him into Turn 1.

“Casey Winters takes P3 from George Russell. She’s made the move stick and now has a clear track ahead of her!” The announcer cheers. “P3, Casey. Great move. Focus, head down for the final laps,” her engineer says. The crowd roars as Casey moves up to the podium position. But there are still laps to go, and she has to stay focused. She drives defensively but with precision—covering the inside line, braking at the right moments, and making sure to avoid any mistakes that would allow Russell to slip through. Her tire management pays off as the laps wind down. By Lap 63, Russell starts to lose grip, and despite his best efforts, he’s unable to get close enough to attempt a pass. As the final lap of the race begins, Casey knows the podium is within her grasp. Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton are long gone, but Casey Winters is fighting hard to finish in P3. George Russell is still within a few car lengths, but Casey’s pace and defensive driving are enough to keep him behind. She crossed the finish line in P3, securing a hard-earned podium finish after a brilliant strategy, quick pit stops, and a flawless defense against Russell in the final laps.

The heat of the Spanish summer clings to the air as the engines of the cars wind down, their roar fading into the buzz of the paddock. The track, lined with excited fans, seems to hum with energy in anticipation for the podium celebration. Casey sat in the car that she had just guided into place behind the third place pillar. She feels the weight of the race slip off her shoulders as the team’s radio crackles through her helmet. “P3, Casey. P3! Fantastic job!” A rush of relief floods through her. She can't believe it. Third place. It’s surreal. Casey gets out of the car, blinking into the harsh daylight. Her legs feel a little unsteady, but the adrenaline is still pumping through her veins. She congratulates Lewis before running for the red bull team, her side of the garage cheering as she hugs her dad, who had made the trip out to see her race. She receives some helmet pats from her team members before she pulls away, heading to the small station where she could place her helmet once removed and grab some water.

She’s carefully sipping it as she spots Fernando, who has just exited his own car— his head bent as he removes his helmet. Fernando’s car had struggled more than Casey’s, and he’d finished in 7th place, a result that was good but not great for someone like him. He’s already scanning the track, eyes sharp despite the less than ideal result. Then, he sees her. He walks over, a slight smile tugging at his lips as he notices the dazed joy in Casey’s face. “Well, well, look at you. Third place. Not bad for a rookie.” Casey laughs, though there’s a touch of disbelief in her voice. “I didn’t think I’d be here today.” Fernando’s smile softens, his eyes gleaming with something deeper than the usual competitive fire. He looks at her with pride—a rare, almost fatherly pride. “You’ve got the talent. You just needed to trust yourself. That’s what I saw in you the moment I first saw you— before you saw it in yourself. And today? You showed it. You showed everyone.” Casey’s heart swells with something unspoken—gratitude, respect, maybe even awe. She knows the weight of Fernando’s words.

The respect he gives isn’t something he hands out easily, and to have him recognize her achievement means everything. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Fernando. All the advice, all the times you told me to keep pushing—even when I was ready to give up. You made me believe in myself when I didn’t.” Fernando shrugs, a bit of a humble smile forming. “You believed in yourself more than you think. I just reminded you what you already knew. But today, you earned it. You showed everyone what you’re capable of. It’s not just about the race results; it’s about the moments that make you a better driver. You’ve got the heart of a champion. And that... that’s why I’m proud of you.” Casey’s eyes mist over, her throat tightening as she glances down for a moment, taking it all in. “Thank you. Honestly, I don’t even know what to say. I’ve been dreaming of this moment for so long.” Fernando chuckles, his tone light but filled with an undeniable warmth. “Say nothing. Just keep going. This is only the beginning for you. You’ve got a long career ahead, Casey. And if today’s anything to go by, it’s going to be a hell of a ride.” He turns to walk toward his own team, but not without one last look back. “Enjoy the moment, but don’t get too comfortable. The real work starts now.” Casey watches him leave, her pulse still racing, but now not from the excitement of the race. It’s from the weight of his words, the pride in them. She stands there for a moment longer, before she’s pulled away to get weighed.

The roar of the crowd fills the air, a sea of voices and applause echoing through the stadium. The track is bathed in the soft glow of the evening sun, the top three finishers are finally making their way to the podium, each one soaked in sweat, their faces streaked with determination and triumph. The crowd goes wild as Casey steps onto the podium, the third-place finisher of the race. She’s been in this moment before —victories, podiums, celebrations— as a kid in karting but nothing like this. Next up is Lewis Hamilton. The British driver’s presence is magnetic as always. He’s grinning widely, despite the disappointment of losing the race. But Hamilton is a master of handling these moments with grace. He waves to the crowd, acknowledging their cheers with a raised hand. As the anthem ends, he lifts his cap and places it over his heart. The light gleams off the familiar logo on his chest, but today, it’s the smile that stands out. He’s proud of his performance, though it’s clear he’s already thinking ahead to the next race. Max is last out. He strides to the podium with a quiet, confident air, his usual intensity softened by the thrill of another victory. His eyes scan the crowd, but there's no sign of surprise—this is where he's used to being. The Dutch national anthem begins to play, and Max stands tall, hand over his heart. A slight smile touches his lips, though it’s more out of habit than joy.

The presenter, standing just off to the side, hands out the first of the trophies, finally ending with her where she lifts it for the red bull crowd below. As soon as the presenters are out of the way. Max pops his bottle, the spray of bubbles flying high. A victorious smile spreads across his face as he turns to Lewis Hamilton, whose eyes light up with the challenge. He aims the bottle and gives Lewis a good soak, causing the crowd to laugh. Lewis laughs back, wiping the champagne from his face. Casey’s never been one to let the atmosphere take over her, but there's something thrilling about the camaraderie—and rivalry—that fills the air. Max, noticing her quiet presence, turns to her with a half-smile. “Don’t worry, Casey,” he says, offering her a playful wink, “there’s plenty of champagne for everyone.” He then turns his bottle on her.

She raises an eyebrow, lips curling slightly. With a quick flick of her wrist, Casey grabs her own bottle of champagne and pops it. The crowd responds with a fresh wave of applause as she takes a step forward, aiming her bottle toward the two men beside her. Without hesitation, she unleashes a perfect spray. The champagne catches the light as it bursts into the air, raining down on Max and Lewis, who both laugh, raising their own bottles in a mock salute. “Cheers, Casey,” Max says, wiping champagne off his face with a smile that’s almost approving. “Good job today.” Casey flashes him a brief smile, wiping a bit of champagne from her cheek. Lewis nods in agreement. “You’ve earned it, Casey,” he says, his voice sincere. “You were brilliant out there.” The three of them stand there for a moment, the crowd cheering around them, the noise almost deafening.

It’s not just about the champagne or the celebration anymore. It’s about respect. They all fought for the podium today—some harder than others—but they all belong here. Together. The podium photos are snapped, the three of them standing side by side, flashing their best smiles for the cameras. The moment feels endless, a blend of history and competition. Casey feels a surge of pride in her chest as she stands beside Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton, two of the best to ever race in Formula 1. This is her moment. She’s earned it. The crowd’s applause swells once more. The roar of the crowd fades as Casey exits the podium area, still buzzing with adrenaline. The heat of the battle is slowly ebbing, but the weight of the day lingers in her chest. A P3 finish. In only her 7th grand prix. She hadn’t expected it when the race started, but here she is, standing on the podium, her name alongside Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton.

She steps into a quiet hallway, taking a deep breath, the sounds of the race still echoing in her mind. She lets her guard down, just for a moment, and then she hears footsteps behind her. Her heart skips a beat—she recognizes the sound, the heavy, purposeful stride of someone who knows how to command a room. She turns, and there he is. His eyes are unreadable, like always, but there’s something in his gaze that stops her in her tracks. He’s not smiling, but he doesn’t look angry either. Just... present. He’s a few steps away, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. His face is still flushed from the race, and there’s a faint sheen of sweat on his brow. “Nice race,” Max says, his voice low, almost casual, though there's a hint of something sharper beneath the words. "Surprised you held off Russell like that." Casey raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Is that a compliment?” He shrugs, the gesture almost dismissive. “Take it how you want. I wouldn’t have put my money on you for P3 after the first half.” Casey’s lips twitch in a smile, though it’s a tight one.

Max Verstappen doesn’t give compliments easily, but she can tell he’s acknowledging something. “I’m not one to give up easily,” she replies, standing a little taller. “And my tires were in better shape than Russell’s. You know how it is.” Max’s eyes flicker, his posture shifting slightly. “Yeah, I know. But still... you weren’t exactly making any bold moves in the first half, were you?” Casey’s eyes narrow, not liking the implication. She knows what he means: hesitation. It’s something he’s picked up on, pressed her about more than once, and maybe he’s right. She was cautious at the start, maybe more than she needed to be. But now, here she is. Third step on the podium.

“What’s your point, Max?” she asks, her tone sharper now. “I made it work, didn’t I?” Max lets out a breath, his jaw tightening for a moment. He pushes himself off the wall and steps closer, his presence filling the narrow hallway. “No point,” he says, but the edge in his voice is harder to miss. “Just saying, you’ve got potential. You’re good, but you don’t always act like it.” There’s an awkward silence that stretches between them, the air thick with unspoken things. For a moment, it’s just the two of them standing there, two drivers from different worlds, both with something to prove. Casey hesitates, then folds her arms in front of her chest, trying to shake the edge of Max's comment. "I think I proved it today." Max stares at her for a moment, as though considering whether to keep going. He’s never been one to mince words, and even in this quiet space, he doesn't pull back.

“You don’t need to prove anything to me,” he says finally, the words softer, but no less direct. “Just... you should trust your instincts more. You’ve got it. But you play it too safe sometimes.” Casey raises an eyebrow. “And you think that is the secret to beating you? Just go for it, no matter the risk?” Max's lips curl into a half-smile. “Something like that. But you already know how to race smart, don’t you?” He steps back, eyes narrowing slightly. “It’s just... you don’t always show it.” Her eyes flash with something unreadable. She’s not used to being critiqued like this, especially by someone like Max Verstappen. But there’s something else in his words—something like... care? Maybe even a bit of respect, despite the sharp edges.

Casey leans in slightly, her gaze fixed on him. “And you’re one to talk. You make your moves, you take risks, but you’re also cold when you need to be. I know how you operate.” Max meets her gaze, an unspoken challenge flickering between them. "Cold? Maybe. But I know exactly what I want. You’re good, Casey. Maybe better than you think. You just need to trust yourself more." Her pulse picks up slightly, a surge of something fierce rising within her. She’s fought too hard to get where she is to have anyone—especially Max Verstappen—tell her she’s not giving it everything. “I’ll take that into consideration,” she replies, the words a little clipped. “But don’t expect me to change how I race just to make you happy, Max.” He chuckles softly, a hint of amusement finally breaking through his steely expression. “I don’t expect anything from you. But if you’re planning to keep up, you’ll need to.” Casey stares at him for a moment, something like a challenge flickering between them. The rivalry is there, undeniable, but there’s also something else—something that’s not just about racing anymore. “Maybe next time, we’ll see who trusts their instincts more,” she says with a faint smirk, turning to walk away. Max watches her, a knowing look in his eyes. “I’ll be waiting.”

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strawberriemarswrites · 1 year ago

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CHAPTER TWO

Chapter Summary: You go out for drinks with your coworkers, with an ulterior motive to see your neighbor at the same time. Pairing: Bartolomeo x F!Reader Rating: Mature (18+ for the story, SFW chapter) TW: Creepy bar patron, attempted drugging, Barto committing a little violence in your name Ao3 Link: Chapter Two (4,566 words)

Two weeks passed without incident. In fact, your perfume even turned back up. It wasn’t where you normally kept it in the bathroom, but sitting on top of your dresser right in plain sight. Go figure. Bartolomeo hadn’t said anything about any suspicious activity around, either, so maybe you were just being a little extra spacey. After all, you were more accustomed to having a roommate or your parents around to help fill in the gaps, so maybe you just needed to be a bit more mindful while you adjusted to living alone.

(Nevermind that you had looked atop the dresser for that perfume, and it wasn’t there before.)

In that span of two weeks you were able to convince some of your coworkers to try a different bar. More specifically, The Sound Barrier, where Bartolomeo worked. Robin was intrigued by the prospect of somewhere new, and agreed. A fellow archives technician, Nami, also agreed, stating she was eager to con some free drinks out of a different sort of crowd than the usual haunts. You were unsuccessful in convincing Vivi, one of the conservators, but she talked another conservator, Drake, into going. Rebecca, an archives specialist, also declined, apologetic as she already had plans to see her aunt.

Of the usual pay-day drinks crew, three out of five (including yourself) wasn't bad, and the addition of Drake meant there would be an extra bit of robust support, given the unfamiliar territory. Plus, Bartolomeo would be there working, so you'd have more than enough people looking out for you that night.

Still, you couldn’t shake the ominous feeling looming over your head. With both you and Bartolomeo out, that left your apartment unprotected from another break-in, a thought that chilled you down to the bone. You considered asking the neighbors that lived below you if they could keep an eye out, but you weren’t entirely trusting that they wouldn’t already be occupied with their usual bickering. And given you were pretty sure the neighbor below Bartolomeo was a near-sighted old woman, that took her out from the running as well. You could ask the landlord, but he should have already been on the lookout for suspicious activity, so he wasn’t likely to have your best interest at heart, either.

You had to rely on blind luck that your apartment would be safe.

You shook your head, trying not to dwell on the thought for too long. It was supposed to be a fun night, you couldn’t let some hypothetical creep ruin it. With one more look in the mirror, you headed for the door, scooping up your purse on the way and double-checking for your wallet, phone, and keys. Just as you were triple-checking the door was locked, your phone pinged — Robin was outside with Drake and Nami already in the car. You cast one final look at your door, the ominous chill threatening to creep back up your spine, before you shoved the feeling back down and hustled to the elevator.

Everything would be fine. Damn it all, you had to believe that if you wanted to have any fun tonight.

The car that waited outside wasn’t Robin’s, but instead an unfamiliar silver SUV. The backseat window rolled down to reveal her sitting behind the driver, whose silhouette you eventually recognized to be Drake as you approached. Robin smiled and opened the door for you, ushering you in.

“Told you so,” Nami said from the front seat, grinning at Drake smugly.

“I’ll be damned,” he said as you buckled in. “I thought Nami was messing with me when she said you lived here. Didn’t expect it to be —”

“On the shitty side of town?” you interjected.

Drake nodded, pulling away from the curb.

“What’s the name of this place again?” Nami asked.

“The Sound Barrier,” you answered, fidgeting in your seat. “Thanks for taking me up on this one, by the way. I thought maybe we should try something new.”

Robin smiled knowingly. “You’re sure it doesn’t have anything to do with this mysterious neighbor of yours?”

“Uh... well,” you hesitated, scratching the back of your neck. “Maybe a little.”

“He better not say anything if he catches me getting free drinks from one of his regulars,” Nami said, pulling up the map on her phone.

“If he doesn’t, I will.” Drake said.

“What are you, a cop?”

You giggled despite yourself, feeling a little more relaxed. You didn’t know Drake particularly well, so it was a relief to know he was on the sterner side. Even with that reassurance, you must have still looked a bit uneasy, given that Robin leaned a bit closer to you and asked, “Everything all right?”

Her observation skills were both appreciated and unnerving at times, with very little getting past her. She seemed content enough to make it known she was aware something was up, but you didn’t want to worry anyone else with the break-ins, especially with the current lull in occurrences. However, you knew Robin would be suspicious all night if you didn’t say something.

You smiled, trying not to let the twist in your stomach show. “I’ll be fine. Just nervous — I’ve never seen Bartolomeo outside of the apartment building.”

She tilted her head. “You think he might be different in public?”

“It’s more... He’s never seen me outside the apartment, either. So it feels like this is a chance to know more about each other in a different way than we could from just the brief meetings.”

She laughed, putting a hand up in front of her mouth, though her smile was still clearly visible behind it. “Like seeing something in its natural habitat.”

You laughed, too, adding, “I guess I’m also hoping that I’ll live up to whatever expectations he might have in his head.”

“I think you will,” she said, dropping her hand to reveal her still smiling. “If it helps ease your nerves any, it’s likely he could be thinking the same thing of you.”

That did reassure you some, the tension in your shoulders dissipating. You nodded, and switched subjects, chatting with Robin and Nami, with the occasional input from Drake. The worries you’d had in your mind drifted far behind you as you finally felt like you’d be able to enjoy the night ahead.

Act like you always do, Bartolomeo told himself over and over again. Just gotta act natural.

“You gonna wipe down the same spot all night?” a voice called to him over the live band and bar chatter. He looked up to see his coworker and best friend, Gambia, leaning against the register and giving him a gap-toothed grin.

Bartolomeo rolled his eyes and pushed off the bar counter, draping the sanitation rag over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t have to if you did your job right.”

“Whatever you say, man,” Gambia said, pushing off from the register. “Definitely doesn’t have anything to do with that girl you keep talkin’ about, right?”

The lights were dim enough in the bar that Bartolomeo didn’t have to worry about his ears turning pink. “It might. Not like it’s any of your business.”

“It is if it’s bothering you. She break your heart or somethin’?”

“No!” he snapped a little too quickly, then reeled it back in. “She’s coming by tonight. I don’t wanna make a bad impression.”

Gambia snorted, “You? Bein’ worried about what someone thinks? Doesn’t sound like the Barto I know.”

Bartolomeo folded his arms and leaned against the back bar, averting his eyes. “Just what this one thinks.”

“All right, fair enough,” Gambia said and put his hands up defensively. “Just wish you’d said somethin’ sooner — maybe Gramma would’ve let us get out the good stuff.”

Bartolomeo cast a sideways glance to his friend and smirked. “Don’t go tellin’ everyone about it, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, you know me. Don’t let it distract you from doin’ what we’re paid to do.” Gambia nodded toward the door. “Speakin’ of which...”

Bartolomeo turned, feeling his heart skip. There you were, sticking out like a sore thumb in a place like this. You were joined by a dark-haired woman and a redhead, who were both equally gorgeous. Beautiful, even. Any other day he’d gladly let either one step on him. But you were perfect, and the only one he had eyes for. He then noticed that bringing up the rear of your group was a tall man with narrow glasses and a scar on his chin, and Bartolomeo felt something in the back of his mind begin to panic. What the hell was wrong with him? Was it that you hadn’t mentioned one of the drinking friends was a guy? It wasn’t like you couldn’t have guy friends, that’d be ridiculous. You were a grown adult, you could have whatever friends you wanted.

Still, he couldn’t shake the sudden flare up of jealousy that swelled in his chest. He refocused his attention to you. You were conversing with the dark-haired woman, who was slowly surveying the area. Her eyes found Bartolomeo, and an odd, almost shrewd smile graced her features before she leaned a bit closer to you, and immediately you whipped your head toward the bar with a wide grin. You waved as your group ushered you along toward a curved booth, and he waved back, unable to keep from mirroring the grin on your face.

“So that’s him, huh?” Nami said to you as Robin and Drake sat down. “You weren’t kidding when you said he’s kind of scary-looking.”

“I thought he’d be scarier,” Robin giggled. “He looks more like a big cat to me. Or a rooster.”

“More like an Oni,” Drake commented, adjusting his glasses. “Vivi and I finished work with a set of masks a few months ago. He reminds me of one of them.”

You turned pink, fidgeting. “He’s not so bad when you know him.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Nami said with a smirk. “And that judgment will be based on whether or not we get the first round free.”

While your group was settling in and figuring out drink orders, Bartolomeo was resisting the urge to jump over the counter to greet you. Any hope he had of appearing casual amidst his internal struggle was crushed when Gambia nudged him.

“That her?” he asked, as if he couldn’t already tell, a shit-eating grin on his face.

The limited lighting did nothing for the bright red that crept up Bartolomeo’s neck. “The one on the left, yeah.”

“Aw, she’s real cute,” Gambia said and nudged him again. “And you still haven’t asked her out yet?”

Bartolomeo turned even more red.

The blonde sucked his teeth, “Oooh, better do it quick. She looks the type to get snatched out from under ya.”

That statement made Bartolomeo’s stomach churn. He knew Gambia was just talking shit, but something deep inside him fumed at the thought of you with anyone else. He shook his head, pushing down the dark voice in the back of his mind once more. It’d be fine. Sooner or later, either he’d ask you out or you’d beat him to the punch — just not yet. It didn’t feel right yet.

You rushed over ahead of Nami, weaving between other patrons with laser-like focus as you found your way to an empty barstool and hopped up. As Bartolomeo side-stepped to stand opposite you, you grinned and stuck out your tongue. “Told you I’d get them here.”

He grinned back, making your heart skip a beat. “About friggin’ time. I was wondering when they’d give in.”

“You make it sound like I forced them,” you said, putting a hand over your chest in mock-offense. “I’ll have you know, I’m naturally persuasive.”

His grin turned lopsided. “So you’re telling me you didn’t bat those big pretty eyes and beg them to come?”

Your heart skipped another beat. He thinks my eyes are pretty?

Nami approached then, her arms wrapping around your shoulders as she leaned over you with a cheeky grin on her face. “Are you all done catching up? I’m dying for a screwdriver already.”

Bartolomeo’s gaze drifted to the redhead behind you, and you tried not to read too much into it, fully aware that Nami caught the eyes of everyone. Still, you couldn’t stop your chest from tightening. With a sheepish smile, you gestured to her and said, “Nami, Bartolomeo. Do not let her convince you to forget the tab.”

“Oh, you killjoy,” she whined, pouting. “Between you and Drake, how am I supposed to have any fun?”

“I can start you off with that screwdriver,” Bartolomeo said with a smirk, putting both hands on the bar and leaning forward, his arms holding him up like an A-Frame. “Anything else I can get for you pretty ladies?”

Again, your chest tightened. Right, he worked at a bar, it only made sense that he’d probably be turning up the charm as part of his job. His “pretty eyes” comment earlier probably didn't mean much in the grand scheme of things.

Then his gaze met yours, and everything fell away. The dim lighting cast dark shadows over his features that made him look all the more intimidating, his amber eyes practically glowing. Between the broad shoulders, the eyes, and his fangs, for a moment you thought he might lunge forward and bite you, sinking sharp teeth into soft flesh with intent to consume you whole.

And then you thought about how maybe you wouldn't mind that.

It occurred to you that Nami had ordered the other two drinks, and Bartolomeo was waiting on yours. Snapping back into reality, you stuttered, “Whatever hard cider you have on tap.”

He smiled, further evoking the image of a hungry predator, and nodded. “You got it.”

Damn his smile. You probably should not have found that as hot as you did.

As the night progressed, you did your best to balance your attention between your coworkers and Bartolomeo. You felt a touch guilty that the scales weighed so heavily in the latter’s favor, as you really did enjoy chatting away with Robin and Nami as well as learning more about the normally reserved Drake. But you couldn’t help yourself from looking over at the bar to try and catch Bartolomeo’s eye, blushing every time he smiled at you. Eventually, Nami decided it was time to start charming some of the other patrons for free drinks, disappearing into a crowd gathered around the small stage at the back of the establishment.

“You think she’s going for the band?” you asked Robin, catching brief glimpses of red hair weaving and bobbing effortlessly amongst the horde of metal heads and punks.

“That’s likely her end goal,” Robin said, sipping at her Manhattan. “She’s probably scoping them out first.”

“And she does this every night you go out?” Drake asked.

You shook your head. “Not every time. Just when she knows she can get away with it.” Hopefully Bartolomeo doesn’t notice. On reflex, you found yourself once again looking over at the bar, smiling at him. This time he was busy with another customer, but you didn’t miss the way his mouth twitched into a wider smile when his eyes flicked over to yours.

“You can go sit at the bar if you really want to.”

Robin’s voice made you start, and you fidgeted with the napkin under your drink. “But — I’m out with you guys, not him. I don’t want to be rude...”

“You’re not being rude,” she said, nudging you lightly. “You wanted to see him tonight, you can go see him. I’m sure Drake and I can manage.”

Drake nodded. “Just don’t let him give you any trouble. We’re right here if he does.”

Your heart fluttered and you stood up, thanking them both and making your way back to the bar.

Bartolomeo nearly tripped on his way to your seat, shooting a glare at Gambia when he noticed and laughed. If you noticed, too, you didn’t show it, giving him that goddamn gorgeous smile of yours that made his heart race. After ordering another hard cider, he leaned atop the counter, his forearms supporting his weight as he bent at the waist. “So uh, you havin’ fun?”

Smooth. Real smooth.

You nodded as you took a drink, pointing to the band. “Nami’s out there doing her thing. Drake — the guy over there —” you gestured over your shoulder “— he’s never come out with us before. Robin got him talking about reptiles though and they didn’t stop for like twenty minutes.” You propped your chin up in your hands. “So I’m over here to bug you while they talk about fossils. I’m all yours.”

It took a not-inconsiderable amount of effort not to blurt out do you really mean that? However there was no hiding the waver in his voice when he said, “You can come bug me anytime, sweetheart. Dunno that I’ll have anything as interestin’ to talk about, though.”

Shit. Did he just call you “sweetheart” out loud? It just popped out, he couldn’t stop it. But he then saw your cheeks turn a very pretty shade of pink, and he latched onto the nickname, immediately forgetting his panic over using it. He wanted to see that blush more.

You tucked a stray hair behind your ear, switching to resting your cheek in one palm. “Honestly, even if I don’t understand at all what someone’s talking about, just listening to them gush about what they love is fun. Anything can be interesting if it’s talked about with a lot of passion like that.”

Bartolomeo grinned. “So, you’re telling me, if I talked your ear off about baseball, you’d just let me do it? No filter?”

“Pretty much,” you giggled, tracing a finger around the rim of your glass. “I’m surprised baseball’s your topic of choice though. You don’t strike me as the sporty type.” You paused, then giggled again. “Pun not intended.”

“Nah, not particularly. It’s just the first thing that came to mind,” he laughed, standing upright and reaching to his back pocket for his wallet. “I do have this really cool card though that someone left behind one night a few years back. Autographed and everything.”

He showed you the card, depicting a green-haired batter holding three bats — one in each hand, and one between his teeth. You had to admit, it looked cool as hell. “What if someone comes back looking for it?”

“Screw them, finders keepers. And like I said, it’s been a few years. I doubt they’ll come back for it at this point.”

You stifled a snort and took another drink. “So if not sports, what is something you’re really passionate about?”

As he was about to answer, his attention was drawn to the front door, a pair of customers coming in and taking seats at the opposite end of the bar. “Just a sec, sweetheart, I’ll be right back.”

He couldn’t resist dropping the nickname again. The flush in your cheeks was worth it.

Drake kept an eye on you from the booth, still chatting with Robin about this and that. Vivi had convinced him to go on this outing in her stead with the premise of giving him an opportunity to know his coworkers better, but he knew part of it was a concern for the venue. He’d been to plenty of bars in his life, including a fair share of metal and punk ones, and they’d all been about the same as far as rowdiness. Though, in his experience, the grittier places tended to have the better behaved clientele oddly enough, so while he felt Vivi’s concern was a bit misplaced, he didn’t want to offend her, knowing she cared a lot about the safety of her friends.

Admittedly, he’d been a little shocked to find that this neighbor of yours that Nami and Robin had been gossiping about was so rough-looking, considering in comparison you were on the smaller and softer side. But Drake was never one to judge anyone for their tastes, even if he subconsciously found himself a bit more wary than usual. No doubt the girls would both be reporting to Vivi that the rumors of Bartolomeo’s intimidating visage were true, and if they didn’t he certainly would.

It was at that moment, however, when you were left alone, that someone on the other end of the bar sidled up to the empty barstool on your right, a beer glass in hand. Greasy black hair, a thin, wiry mustache that made him look like a catfish, wearing a fedora and cheap dress pants. Drake caught the action in his periphery, watching carefully as the man tried to push for your attention. It was eventually given, and based on the way you cringed away from him, it was definitely not a comfortable exchange.

“Robin,” Drake said, his voice low as he nodded toward your seat. “We need to help her.”

Robin’s eyes narrowed, and with a sigh she stood. “How underhanded. He came up to her while Rooster was distracted.” She gave Drake an almost mischievous smile, putting a finger up to her lips. “I need to run to the ladies room anyway. I’ll go get her so we don’t cause a scene.”

He nodded, trying not to stare at the sway of Robin’s hips as she gracefully moved to the bar to collect you. You looked beyond relieved for the excuse to get away, throwing a quick wave over to Bartolomeo (who was still somewhat occupied with the new customers) as you slid off your barstool, the creep left alone to stew.

And then Drake’s stomach dropped, his nerves on high alert. You left your drink unattended.

Something that Bartolomeo didn’t miss, either. He was watching from his peripherals as well, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end when the creep had approached and started to harass you. He clenched and unclenched his hands, trying to pay attention to the drink orders while keeping an eye on the unsavory intruder. He had relaxed slightly when the dark haired woman came to collect you and you both went off to the restrooms, only to be put on edge again when he saw an all-too-familiar movement.

Something was slipped into your drink.

Oh. Hell no. Bartolomeo finished writing down the new drink orders and moved to the tap, giving the unaware sleazebag a death stare that would have made the grim reaper look away. Thankfully, he was distracted by another patron, and his seat was on the way to the tap.

Drake saw the slip as well, and stood to confront the miscreant. He only made it about two steps however, before he saw Bartolomeo pass, and slyly swap the glasses.

The two men made eye contact, with the sharp-toothed bartender giving Drake a knowing smirk before moving on.

The creep was none the wiser, turning back to “his” drink and taking a long pull.

As you returned to the bar with Robin, you stared at your glass, and your stomach churned. With a curled lip, you pushed it away, looking at Robin over your shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”

Robin leaned over the counter and flagged down the other bartender. “Can we get the tab?”

After the bar had closed, a very, very inebriated man in a fedora and cheap dress pants was stumbling down the back alley. “Stupid stuck-up bitch and her stupid stuck-up friend,” he slurred, one of the few coherent things he had managed to say all night. “Stupid fuckin’. Bartenders and their. Fuckin’ rules.”

He tripped over his own feet and landed on the concrete with a pained shout, nearly biting his tongue. He just wanted to have fun tonight. He hadn’t had fun in a long time. He couldn’t even get a prostitute these days. Probably because all the ones in town knew him by name and knew he always stiffed them on the payment.

With a groan he rolled onto his back, trying to blink away the spots in his eyes. Why were the buildings all warped? Why did he feel like he was going to vomit up his whole stomach? What the hell was that shape looming over him with orange eyes?

“Man,” the shape above him said in a gravelly voice that sounded both too close and a thousand miles away, “you look fuckin’ pathetic.”

The creep writhed on the ground, further proving Bartolomeo’s point, and slurred back, “Nnno, yer prophetic...”

Bartolomeo cocked his head, sneering. All he could think of was how this pig, this scum of the earth, was allowed to keep living for so long. How many other bars had he hit up trying to pull what he nearly did to you? What would have happened if you’d encountered him elsewhere? Your friends looked out for you, sure, but what if you’d been alone?

Bartolomeo would have swapped the drinks even if it hadn’t had been you that was targeted. No one tries to drug someone in his bar and gets away with it. What he couldn’t do was convince himself that if it happened to anyone else, he’d be going as far as he currently was to make sure it never happened again. The creep tried to sit up, and Bartolomeo put one foot on his chest, tilting his head the other way. After another beat he lifted his foot, then slammed it down on one hand with a sickening crack.

This guy picked the wrong place, and he really picked the wrong time.

The creep let out an agonized yell, eyes wide and suddenly alert as he scrabbled at Bartolomeo’s boot. Bartolomeo crouched down, putting more weight on his foot and brandishing a switchblade, pointing it right between the man’s eyes.

“Now that I got your attention,” he drawled, “I’ll speak nice and slow for ya, so maybe it’ll stick in that roofied brain of yours.” He lazily held the blade between his thumb and middle finger, swaying it back and forth. “I ever catch you around here again, you’re gonna lose this hand.”

He put pressure on it for emphasis, drawing forth another pained yell amidst a symphony of crunching bones.

“I ever hear about you trying to dope up anyone else, I’ll take the other one.”

The creep was practically foaming at the mouth, unable to form coherent words between the blinding pain and the drugs in his system. Bartolomeo let the knife slide down, the tip landing right on the bridge of the man’s nose and making him go stock-still.

“If you ever. Ever. Mess with that girl again? With what’s mine?” He bared his fangs in a snarl, “The only drinks you’ll ever get are gonna be through an IV. Get me?”

The man nodded, whimpering feebly.

“Perfect. But, just to make sure you don’t forget...”

Bartolomeo lifted his foot, then slammed the switchblade into the man’s palm. The scream that echoed in the alley made it all the more worth it. He yanked the knife out and wiped the blood off on the man’s shirt before standing, casually nudging him to the side with his boots as he began the walk home. He found himself humming a random tune along the way, satisfaction welling in his chest.

After all, he promised to take care of anyone who dared to mess with you.

#bartolomeo #bartolomeo one piece #bartolomeo the cannibal #bartolomeo x you #one piece x reader #reader insert #yandere!bartolomeo #yandere #i'll fucking digest you one kiss at a time #ifdyokaat #this was a fun one to write #fun fact: i picked drake as a coworker because i realized most of the ones i had in mind were ladies #let me know what you think o3o we don't see him nearly enough until we get to wano so i wanna know if i did him justice #another slightly less fun fact but i think it's funny (and no one on Ao3 has caught it yet):#the creepy patron is vander decken lmao

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autisticlancemcclain · 2 years ago

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wip tease number 7 i think

Keith hates it when Shiro is right. It’s the worst thing in the world. Second only to coming home after a really long day, looking forward to the leftovers you know you have waiting for you in the fridge, only to discover that some asshole ate them and now you have to go to jail for murdering them.

Ugh.

It really does double suck, because working as a ‘lube technician’ — unfortunately the hilarity of that title wore of quick when Keith discovered that it was, in fact, there so the company could justify paying their workers less than what was standard for mechanics — is kind of the worst, and Shiro is too smug about it to feel the appropriate amount of pity for Keith. It means he spends a lot of time in his lonely, boring apartment after work instead of bothering Shiro and Adam (like he is wont to do) because he’s too proud to admit that yeah, maybe he should have done something else with his certification.

“Kogane! Get your ass over to hoist three, there’s a customer waiting!”

Huffing, Keith drags himself to his feet, preparing himself for yet another person who does not understand that no, oil changes cannot be done with the cooking oil you pick up from the store, yes motor oil is expensive, Keith does understand that, and no, he has no control over the prices and if they could just stop throwing a temper tantrum that would be great.

Keith finally makes it over to hoist three, where a beat-to-hell blue Toyota is parked. A lanky guy sits criss-cross-applesauce on the hood. He wiggles his fingers in a little wave.

“You must be Keith? I’m Lance. My car is fucked up.”

Keith can’t help the amused quirk of his lips. “I would imagine it is, yes. Any ideas what’s wrong with it?”

Lance shakes his head. “Nope. Only that it makes this meeeeerfp noise if I start it without saying several decades of the rosary. Abuela says it’s because God is punishing me for making dumbass decisions, but somehow I think it might just be car troubles.”

The stupid joke startles a genuine laugh out of him, which make’s the customer — Lance — grin, brown eyes sparkling.

“If you make that noise for me again, I’ll check it out,” Keith teases.

Lance winks. “If I make it twice, can I watch?”

“Three times and I’ll think about it.”

Lance makes the noise three times without even a second of hesitation, leaning back on his hands and tilting his head slightly.

“That work for you, Greñudo?”

“Nah, I just wanted to see if you’d make a fool of yourself at my command.”

That makes the slightest flush dust Lance’s cheeks. The sight of it makes something flutter in Keith’s belly.

Gods above. Is he flirting? Like, genuinely? And successfully? He’s never done that before. That’s insanity.

“Alright, round to Keith,” Lance concedes. He hops off the car and digs around in his pockets for the keys, handing them to Keith, looking a little apologetic. “And as much as I really would like to watch you do — anything, I gotta get to work. Can I swing by in a few hours to get a diagnostic?”

“Sure thing,” Keith says, schooling his face back into a mask of professionalism. He’s got a job to do, after all, and Lance is just a cute customer. Keith’ll fix whatever needs fixing, and then he’ll never see Lance again.

Shame, though.

“Thanks! See ya.” He does that dorky little wave again as he leaves, humming as he makes his way out of the garage and down the parking lot.

Keith isn’t going to lie — he watches him go.

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carkeylocksmithchicagoil · 4 months ago

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tala-bez-i · 6 months ago

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At first sight II Chapter Two

(m!reader x Bonten!Haruchiyo Sanzu)

Fluff/slash/reader is male/cursing/BontenTimeline/drugs and alcohol mentioned/violence/blood/death

All characters that appeared in the Tokyo Revengers manga and anime belong to Ken Wakui.

Words: 3488

This chapter may not be pleasant to read for some people.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*bzzt, bzzt, bzzt*

...

*bzzt, bzzt, bzzt*

...

You slowly opened your eyes and straightened up with difficulty. You fell asleep on your desk in front of your laptop as you went back to work on the prostitute murder case you were working on, trying to find any new information regarding the potential hideout of the perpetrator. Yuji Yuu L/n.

You thought you heard your phone vibrate, but you heard nothing but silence, so you figured it must have just been your imagination...

*bzzt, bzzt, bzzt*

Or not.

You picked up your phone and your partner's number, Shinji Okumura, appeared, and this at two in the morning didn't bode well...

"This is L/n, what's going on?"

"Sorry to wake you, Y/n... But we have a problem."

"Please don't tell me it's another woman..." You rubbed your eyes with your free hand, removing the remnants of sleep from them.

"Well... Okay. This time it is not a woman." The man said, trying to sound carefree, and then gave you the address. "I'll be waiting here at the place. Kiss Emi for me."

"I'm on my way..." You hung up and turned off your laptop, getting up from the chair. “Fuck…”

You walked into the bedroom, where you could only smell the faint smell of fresh paint and pulled out a fresh shirt and one of the suits you wore to work from the closet. You started getting dressed as quietly as you could, but still, as you were finishing fastening your watch, you heard rustling in the doorway.

You looked over and saw a sleepy Emi, who was wrapping her naked body in her new favorite robe you bought her for her birthday.

“Call?” She asked quietly and you smiled apologetically.

You walked up to her and hugged her gently, placing your lips against her forehead.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She stroked your hair and squeezed your hand. “Be careful, please.”

You nodded and headed to the front door of the apartment to put on your shoes but turned back to the woman halfway there.

“I almost forgot.” You said, leaning in and placing a short kiss on her lips. “Greetings from Shinji.”

“If that's the case, then you should probably kiss me here.” She smiled slightly, placing one finger on her cheek.

“Maybe.” You shrugged. “But I'm the messenger and I decide where my kisses land.”

Emi giggled quietly, a slight blush appearing on her cheeks before she took on a more serious expression.

“Get him finally.”

“We're working on it, honey. Go back to sleep.” You kissed her again, put on your shoes, grabbed your keys from the low cabinet, and left the apartment, heading to the underground garage where your car was parked.

Downstairs, the cold night air hit you, and as soon as you got behind the wheel, your train of thought switched from home mode to work mode. It was funny how you sometimes managed to separate the two environments you had to function in.

Less than 30 minutes later, you arrived at your destination and after parking your car right next to the police car, you were greeted by one of the police officers who recognized you and pointed you to the entrance to the abandoned building where your partner was waiting for you.

As you walked toward the open door, through which several crime scene technicians had passed carrying equipment, you didn't see any suspicious signs. No signs of a struggle, no drops of blood... It was clean.

When you entered the low building, nothing special caught your eye. Just an ordinary room that probably once served as some kind of storage room or kiosk. It was only when you bypassed a row of crumbling shelves that you noticed a body lying on the floor, the sight of which made your heart stop for a moment.

"What do we have?" You asked, putting on the gloves that one of the technicians handed you. You nodded your head in thanks.

"Unidentified male, between 18 and 25 years old." Shinji Okumura, standing nearby, answered. His long fringe fell over his eyebrows, slightly overlapping the man's dark eyes. "No visible signs of struggle, death by strangulation. The perpetrator used a thin scarf, probably belonging to the victim."

You crouched down next to the body and took a closer look. A slightly built young man dressed in women's clothing was lying on his back in a rather strange position, as if his body had been arranged by the murderer, which had never happened in Yuu-related cases before.

The colorful wig that the victim had been wearing had slightly slid back, revealing a mesh that hid the man's natural hair. His white coat was slightly dirty at the lapels and unbuttoned, revealing a colorful top that he was wearing underneath. His frilly skirt was slightly lifted up, revealing his underwear in colorful polka dots.

His slender legs, on which he had long and warm stockings, were slightly spread, including the left leg that was bent more and tilted at the knee. There were still shoes on the victim's feet, short boots with thick high platforms.

You gently lifted the man's hand and saw that two artificial nails were missing, but you hadn't noticed them near the body.

“Do you think they fell off early or was there a fight after all?” Shinji asked, leaning down to take another look at the body.

"It's hard to tell. The nails don't look expensive. Maybe the glue just gave way earlier than the manufacturer promised." You answered calmly, lowering the dead man's hand.

You looked at his neck, which was tied very tightly with an ornate scarf, in which you could see gold-plated threads. From under it flowed a gold chain with a pendant in the shape of a small teddy bear, which held a heart studded with pink crystals in its paws.

“That's interesting.” You said, pointing at the ornament. “That trinket looks pretty expensive, but it wasn't stolen.”

Shinji mumbled under his breath. “Why wasn't it taken?”

“It wasn't a robbery?”

“A sexual motive was made up, but…”

True... It would have been easier for the perpetrator to make up both motives, but did they really have to be related?

“Did he have anything with him?” You asked after a moment.

“Uhh…” Okumura called one of the technicians over, who brought a secured bag in his hands, which resembled a bear's head in shape. “Yes, a bit of white powder and some pills were found inside. We took samples for testing. No documents revealing identity.”

You looked at the object from a distance and pursed your lips. Yes, it was the same bag.

“Okay, thank you.” You nodded and the crime scene technician put the bag in the box with the rest of the evidence that was found at the scene. “So we can assume we have a personal motive, but the perpetrator wanted us to think it was something else…”

“You think... You know…” Shinji shrugged. “Maybe a jealous lover...?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

“He wasn’t exposed, and his face wasn’t covered.” You bit the inside of your cheek. “Maybe it was a robbery, but the perpetrator wanted the contents of the victim's purse.”

“Yeah, I think that powder is drugs too.” The man sighed and clicked his tongue. “We’ll take him away and do an autopsy. Maybe he was under the influence of something himself…”

“Wait.” You leaned forward slightly and gently slid one finger under the victim’s scarf.

“Did you see anything?”

“Shinji…” You looked at your partner. “Our victim wasn’t strangled.”

“Huh? What are you talking about, Y/n?”

You pulled the material back, revealing a fragment of a deep cut on the deceased's neck. "Someone slit his throat."

The room fell silent, and the technicians present looked in your direction.

"If that's the case... Where's the blood?" Shinji asked.

"At the actual crime scene." You replied shortly, standing up from your crouch and making room for the technicians who began taking new photos. "That's not him."

"If it's not Yuu... Then who?"

“Very good question. And a damn good one at that.”

“I don’t like it.” Shinji said, offering you cigarettes as you stood by your car and watched the victim’s body being wheeled out in a black bag on a stretcher.

“Me neither. There’s no shortage of murderers in this city, and they’re keeping us busy.”

“He wasn’t ugly, was he?” He asked after a moment, and you gave him a quick look. “I mean… I’ve seen a lot of guys dress up as girls, but in this case, I could fall for it.”

“Shinji...”

“Do you think he was walking around town at night or was someone driving him?” Good question. “Wasn’t he afraid his balls would freeze?”

“Don’t be interested in his private parts.” You said quietly, carefully scanning the area around you.

“I know, I know. I’m not interested. I have a wife.” He replied, taking a deep drag on the smoke.

“He had bigger ones.”

“What?”

“He had bigger ones than you.” You said in an indifferent tone.

“Pardon?” The man was slightly indignant. “How could you possibly know that, huh?”

“I saw yours during our trips to the onsen.” Shinji snorted at your words.

“You haven't seen his. He wasn’t naked.”

“But his skirt was lifted. That was enough.” You pursed your lips slightly, looking at the glowing end of the cigarette.

“Fuck you.” Shinji grumbled and snorted slightly amused. “You’re a disgusting pervert, you know that, L/n?”

“Yes, my girlfriend reminds me of that often.” You took another drag on your cigarette and looked after the departing car, in which the victim’s body was being taken away for an autopsy. “Did you come alone?”

“No, my wife took the car. I was stuck in a taxi.”

You opened the passenger door and waved him off. “Get in, we’re going to the police station.”

“The police chief will be furious…” Shinji said, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Hey, do you think this could have something to do with a gang?”

“You mean Bonten?” You asked, fastening your seatbelt.

“Fuck, no…” You gave him a questioning look. “They don’t fuck around like that. The guy’s body was clearly washed. I’d be surprised if we find any biological traces on him that don’t belong to the victim himself.”

He was right. Bonten was feeling way too confident to mess around with destroying evidence like that.

“Do you think we’ll identify him by his fingerprints? If he was dealing… That’s what we think, right? Maybe we caught him sometime?”

“I’d remember a colorful flea like that.”

“A colorful flea? How endearing…”

“Forget it, Shinji.”

“Okay... Let's focus on what we have, right?” Your partner pulled out his small notebook and began to flip through the pages. “A young man, slight build. He liked to dress up in women's clothes and rather act like a woman.” He muttered under his breath. “Or, rather, like a young girl, judging by his purse and underwear...”

“Uh-huh.”

“He must have been in possession of drugs... Which were probably stolen along with his ID, if it was actually in his purse...”

“Uh-huh.”

“But the pendant wasn't stolen, although it looked and is certainly expensive.”

“So?” You asked as you drove your car into the parking lot of the police station whose building you had just arrived at.

“I'm betting on another drug dealer taking revenge.” Shinji said and shrugged. “Maybe the guy stole the goods or the money for the sales...”

“Once we determine the identity of the victim and the actual cause of death, maybe that will give us more information.”

“And the real crime scene.” You got out of the car and headed towards the entrance of the building. “We can read a lot from that too.”

You nodded as you walked up the stairs to the door where you greeted the other coworkers, and Okumura lightly nudged you in the shoulder.

“I’m going to get some coffee from the vending machine, do you want some?”

“Yes, thank you.” The man nodded and walked away from you, leaving you alone in the hallway.

You stood there for a moment, staring at his back, and finally moved further down the hallway, heading to the elevator, which took you to the appropriate floor and continued towards the room where there were several desks belonging to investigators from the Criminal Investigation Department 1, including yours and Okumura's.

You knew from the first moment who the victim was, but due to the fact that you weren't really dealing with a man in this timeline, you remained silent.

He hadn't changed much. His style remained the same and just thinking about him made you feel a little sad. Jun Takenaka, or as you first knew him, Junko Yoshioka, was 24 years old and if nothing had changed, he was associated with the Bonten drug business.

You were curious if his partner was Jin Nagasawa. It would be worth taking a closer look...

As soon as you opened the door to the room, you saw a woman sitting at one of the desks, accompanied by a young detective officer. They looked in your direction from their computer, surprised, but greeted you politely.

“You had a call too?” The man asked, if you remembered your new colleague correctly, his last name was Shimizu.

"Unfortunately. Murder of a young man. The place where the body was found was not the crime scene."

“I sympathize.” The woman, Shimada, grimaced slightly. “We had another break-in and robbery. The victim insisted that we show up as soon as possible.”

“Why?” You sat down at your desk and turned on your computer.

“Because his wife had a habit of cleaning first thing in the morning and nothing could stop her from doing so.” Your friend sighed. “The guy was afraid that she would cover up the burglars’ tracks.”

You grimaced, understanding the situation and began to look through your mailbox for any news from the crime lab regarding the samples submitted last week. There were still no concrete results and you were starting to worry a little.

“Do you know anything about the results of the chemical composition of the agent used at the crime scene last week?” You asked without taking your eyes off the monitor.

“The appraisal might take longer.” The woman replied and you looked at her questioningly. “One of the three samples was contaminated and the other one went missing.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Hey, do you think Bonten has some kind of cleaning company under them?” Shimizu asked.

“That would be very convenient for them.” You nodded, leaning back in your chair. “If they wanted to cover up some crime…”

“But they rarely do…” Shimada smiled crookedly as she gathered her things from her desk. “Time for me to go. I have a medical exam today and I need to get some more sleep.”

“Take care of yourself.” You waved her off and looked pointedly at her partner, who looked at you for a moment before widening his eyes and jumping up from his chair.

“Ah, Shimada! Wait! I'll take you home!” He said quickly following the woman out.

It wasn't long before Okumura entered the room, carrying a canned coffee in each hand and grinning at you.

“Do you think she'll leave our team for a while?”

“She could use some.” You replied, taking your can. “How long has she been trying to have a baby? Three years? Four?”

“Three and a half. Fuck, she's a good investigator, but I hate it when she starts freaking out because of the hormones she's taking.”

Shinji sat back in his seat and took a big sip of his drink. “I just don't understand one thing, why did she have to choose Shimizu?”

You let out a short laugh. “Don't tell me you want to be a donor, Okumura.”

“Only during the natural method.” He smirked, but quickly turned serious. “Just don't tell my wife.”

You made a gesture that you'd keep it a secret and went back to work. It would be better to write up a report on today's call before your boss showed up and started asking uncomfortable questions.

Junko. You wondered what events led Takenaka to such a sad end. Was Bonten really involved or was it something completely different.

The method of murder excluded Yuu's involvement, because not only was the victim's gender inconsistent, but also the method of ending the unfortunate man's life. Yuji strangled and hung women's bodies. It happened once that he immediately hanged one of the victims, but he never used sharp objects. He even tried not to beat the victims, unless they happened to share all the characteristics of your own mother.

The man was mentally ill and had his delusions, which all the investigators involved in the case knew.

At first, the case of the prostitute murders was assigned to only one investigator, but later, when five other women died in the same way and the only thing that connected them was the appearance of the victims and the manner of their death, they were linked to Yuji Yuu L/n. The problem grew and now most of the investigators were tasked with catching the guy, solving other cases along the way.

An article appeared on social media some time ago that the mysterious murders of women were starting to distract attention from the crimes and antics of the syndicate, to which the gangsters responded with a series of serious robberies and beatings and shootings in nightclubs.

You guessed who the mastermind was and you weren't happy about it.

"Hey, partner."

You raised your eyes to look at the man. "What's up?"

"This is going to be a busy day."

"Uh-huh..."

"Maybe you'll even make it."

"I'll make it, huh? Like what?"

“Not going to dinner with the future in-laws.”

You were speechless. You liked the idea and for a moment you felt ashamed. But only for a moment.

“A tempting thought.” You smiled lazily.

“Emi is a sweet girl, but her parents are scary.”

“She once told me that I was the first guy they didn’t like, but she was going to win them over.”

“Hmm... I’ll do some research on our victim. Maybe we have fingerprints or something in our files...”

“Yeah, good idea. I’ll give you a report to sign when I’m done.”

You knew that Emi would understand if you couldn't meet her parents today, even though deep down she would be disappointed. She seemed to really want to improve things between you, but every time you saw less and less sense in it. Today would be the first time you couldn't attend the meeting and honestly, you didn't feel too bad about it.

The woman's parents were the first people who didn't really like how your mother raised you and you didn't understand why. You took care of their daughter as best you could. She was safe with you, developing her career, in which you supported her, believing in her skills and strength. You admired Emi's ambition and her parents knew all about it.

The most hostility was shown to you when your girlfriend's father asked you if you were planning to live in an apartment building or buy a house. Of course, you would choose the house option, which you told him, but since Emi prefers apartment buildings and being surrounded by closer neighbors...

The man didn't like it and you didn't understand why. Was it that you gave in to a woman's whim or something?

"Is something wrong, Y/n?" You heard Shinji's voice.

"You've known Emi longer than I have, right?"

"Yeah, right... Is something wrong?"

"Why does she prefer apartment buildings to houses?"

"She doesn't." He replied calmly, glancing at you every now and then. "She always dreamed of having a family home."

"So, why did she insist on buying an apartment?"

The man shrugged. “To spite her mother. She wanted you to buy an apartment, yes, but in a different place.” He sighed as he saw you waiting for further explanation. “I know neither of her parents are fond of you. Her mother likes to rule, and she didn’t like the fact that you tried to force your will to own a house on Emi…”

“But her father…”

“Old Nakayabashi doesn’t like you because he sees himself in you.” He smirked. “He’s an old henpecked man and as he gets older he gets more and more frustrated that he can’t stand up to his wife. He sees the same in you and takes all his anger out on you.”

“I’m not henpecked.” You huffed as you reached for your coffee.

“Then why didn’t you buy the house like you wanted? Why did you paint the walls white instead of ivory?”

“Fuck…”

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x y/n #male reader #tokyo revengers haruchiyo sanzu #haruchiyo sanzu #haruchiyo sanzu x reader

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