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saintobio · 9 months ago

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blank canvas. (2)

after offering a painful ultimatum to finally be enough for him, things ultimately get worse as he decides between keeping you or losing you as the only resolution.

pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader

genre. florist x tattoo artist au, mild angst, opposites attract

tags/warnings. strong language, defloration (kinda), explicit smut, undertones of manipulation and gaslighting, toxic relationship, undertones of cheating

notes. 11.2k wc! thanks for the love on bc1, i didn't expect it to gain traction at all but tyty. last part will come soon, but that will be the final chapter to this mini-series.

part 1 | part 3

The ride back home was uncomfortable.

It wasn’t because you had promised to give yourself to him that night, but rather because his uncharacteristic silence was not what you had expected after delivering your ultimatum. You already proposed a wonderful solution to his needs, so why was he acting like you were the one being ridiculous? This was why you hated it whenever Sukuna chose silence over open communication, as it left you a hard time guessing about what was running through his mind. His expression didn’t offer any clues either, because he did pretty well at concealing his emotions behind a facade of indifference.

When you said you would do it with him, you meant it. But what did he think of it?

The sharp wind cut through your skin, the roar of his motorbike deafening your ears as your boyfriend accelerated his vehicle upon entering the tunnel. The vibrant yellow lights offered a cinematic view, tempting you to imagine yourself embracing the wind with open arms, though you knew better than to do so. Instead, you held onto him tightly, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning forward as he sped through the empty lane.

It was nearing midnight, and the sparse traffic allowed Sukuna to indulge in one of his habits: riding his bike in the late hours of the night through this particular tunnel and onto the highway. You knew this ritual helped him clear his mind since it offered a rush of danger that sharpened his focus on the road. His choice to take this route tonight also only confirmed to you that he was grappling with internal thoughts. The last time he rode this fast was when your parents made you choose between them and him, slapping it in his face that he was and would never be welcomed in your family.

To be honest, it frightened you. The speed at which he was riding was dangerous for both of you. Moreover, his bike was a YZF-R1, although street-legal, it was still a high-performance sport bike more suited for the track. It required agile and precise handling with its 1000cc engine. Yet, no other vehicle seemed more fitting for Sukuna than this.

Whatever was on his mind, he didn’t care to let you know. You two didn’t really speak throughout the ride while you clung to him like a backpack, praying in your head that you two wouldn’t get into an accident. Thankfully enough, he did safely take you home as you arrived at your shared apartment at exactly midnight.

“Please don’t ride like that again,” you muttered as he helped you out of his motorbike. “You could’ve gotten us killed.”

His fingers then reached to unclasp your helmet, pulling it up to reveal your face. “Well, we’re still alive.”

You looked at his face despite his best effort to avoid yours, standing centimeters apart while he switched off the engine. He didn’t return your gaze as though he was drowned by guilt. Should you speak at this? Or should you let him do it first?

“Baby.” After a minute or so, it was your boyfriend who sighed and finally gave in, pulling you close and resting his forehead against yours. He kept his eyes closed even when he was cupping your cheeks. “You don’t have to do this.”

Yes, you certainly shouldn’t. You didn’t have to do things unwillingly, but that wouldn’t change the fact that this on-going issue was putting a strain on your relationship and this would be your last shot at trying to salvage it. And you couldn’t have him looking for sensual gratification from anyone else other than you, so what other option did you have, really?

“I want to do it.”

“Not if you’re forcing yourself like this.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Who said I’m forcing myself?”

“Your face tells me you are,” replied he, staring at your face in defeat. “So, let’s not—”

“What, and let this issue haunt us over and over?” You smiled bitterly, shaking your head adamantly. “This has to be done. I need to experience it so I’ll finally understand.”

Understand what? His face almost spelled out those words, but he chose not to say anything of the sort and instead leaned in to kiss your forehead. “Alright. I’ll make it memorable.”

— —

Easier said than done, of course. You kept overthinking about whether your performance would be satisfactory to him given that you didn’t have enough experience to learn anything at all, aside from the make out sessions that you did once in a blue moon. Around thirty minutes of your time was spent hyperanalyzing your situation in the shower, while the other half of it was spent doing a little more than your nightly routines. Since Sukuna liked powdery scents, you placed a good effort in applying lavender-scented oil and perfume on every inch of your body. You also shaved any unwanted hair, especially on all the intimate places you knew he would be seeing. And by the time you were done, you stepped out of the bathroom blooming like a fresh flower, wrapped in nothing but a thin towel that hugged your womanly figure.

It didn’t feel right at all. It didn’t feel good knowing that you were preparing yourself like that, when these things should only happen on the first night after your wedding. It didn’t feel great that you were going to lose your virginity to a man who had not even proposed to you. This wasn’t even your honeymoon, but you had to pretend like it was.

Did Sukuna feel the same?

He wasn’t lying in bed when you walked out of the bathroom. Instead, he had just returned from outside—shirtless, wearing his favorite gray sweatpants, and holding a box of condoms and a tube of lube in his hand. It was clear he had made a quick visit to the convenience store nearby and got the essentials for your first night.

Immediately, he eyed your towel-wrapped body with restrained lust, clearing his throat as he walked towards the nightstand. “You look nice.”

Really? Did he really have to make this more awkward than it already was?

“Thank you,” was all you could softly reply. It was funny how he pretended to be busy placing the box and tube above the bedside table instead of lunging at you like a desperate man. But because you wanted to get this over with, you were the one who approached him from behind, wrapping your arms around his waist, and touching the firmness of his abs. For someone who had zero experience, you were definitely trying hard enough and that should please him. “You have to help me out here, my love. Guide me.”

When Sukuna turned around, your heart started racing. Of excitement? Maybe. Of anxiety? Perhaps. He made it better though when he finally caved in and looked straight into your eyes, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear before lifting your chin with his hand. “You smell extra nice, too,” he added, leaning close enough that you could feel his warm breath fanning your face.

You were feeling it now. The equal lust. The carnal desire. The feeling of his sweet kisses, which he made true as soon as he crashed his lips onto yours. His kisses usually ranged from tender to rough, but this time, it was an altogether different type of kiss. It was passionate and demonstrative, as if showing you exactly what he had been wanting to do to you the first time you got together. This must be the result of being celibate in over a year. He was clearly a man deprived of sexual pleasure, and you were responsible for it. You actually turned him into a monk.

Now, he wasn’t holding anything back anymore. With his hand on your nape, he deepened the kiss to the point where you could feel his tongue exploring your mouth. You followed whatever he was doing like a good girl, like a very good girl, as he completely devoured your mouth with his. It didn’t take long for him to advance his kisses in other places too, being your jawline his next target, and then your neck as he feathered kisses around the soft flesh, leaving marks that would need a few days to be concealed.

Because his arms were tight around your waist, yours were locked around his neck. Where else should you be putting them? What does the girl usually do in this situation? You tried not to think much of it and listened to your own body while your boyfriend was sucking the skin around your collarbone. At first, your hand traced his toned chest, then it moved southwards to feel his abs, and further down to his…

“Y-You’re hard.” Your eyes widened as you felt his growing erection behind the fabric of his sweatpants. It wasn’t your first time seeing his boner, but it was the first time you touched it with your own hand. It was the first time you had your palm stroking his length, swallowing hard as you realized just how hard and thick he was.

“It wants to be inside you,” he whispered through your mouth, kissing you back again, “so bad, baby.”

Gosh. Your knees felt weak and you two hadn’t even really started yet. How much more when he starts putting that thing of his inside you? You were breathing hard, trying to catch air as your boyfriend continued to lap his tongue with yours, guiding your hand to continue fondling his wood while it grew bigger the more stimulated it got. By letting you touch his hardened crotch together with his own, you realized that you had just unlocked a newfound fetish of yours. “D-Do you… do you think about doing it with me often?”

He bit your lower lip before pulling away, animalistic eyes sending you into an orbit of pleasure. “Do you mean if I touch myself to the thought of you a lot?” he teased, chuckling darkly at the obvious heat on your cheeks. You couldn’t help but feel excited at how vulgar he could be with his words. “I do jack off a lot, angel. And it’s always you in my mind.”

You didn’t even have the time to melt from his words, because before you knew it, he was already peeling the towel off your body to reveal your completely naked figure. Obviously, your first reaction was to get shy—with your heated cheeks, your inability to look him in the eyes, your little efforts in covering your breasts and crotch, but he made sure to pull your hands away while keeping his eyes on you. “…Don’t stare.”

Sukuna, however, didn’t listen. His dark eyes scanned every curve of your body, particularly around your chest area before he sighed and threw his head back. “Fuck,” he cussed under his breath. “You’re so fucking sexy. I can’t believe no other punk has seen you like this.”

Your confidence grew little by little because of his praises. “But isn’t that a good thing?”

“For sure.” He almost laughed at his own words, more so in disbelief, before he reached out to touch your bosom. “No one can touch you like this, either, baby.”

“That’s—”

“Hmm?” Your boyfriend smirked at your reaction. While his other hand went to squeeze your breast, the other traveled to your bum, squeezing the cheek with equal fervor. “Can I have a taste of you, baby?”

He fondled your breasts with both hands now, massaging the rounded mass like they were his property. You had to admit to yourself that the feeling of being touched actually transcended your expectations. Or maybe it was only because of how erotic it was, but you couldn’t deny how turned on you were as his veiny, manly hands cupped your bosom.

And as soon as you nodded and permitted him to ‘taste’ you, he took no time in gently pushing you down the mattress, allowing you to lay at a comfortable position under him and his wanton stare. Taste you? He was more like eating you, when he pinned you against the mattress and sucked the skin on your chest. At first, his tongue rolled along your cleavage, inching closer and closer to your right breast while he had his hand squeezing the left. Your body naturally gravitated towards him as you arched your back so he could have better access to your chest. Not only your chest, but also your crotch as he started grinding his clothed manhood in between your folds.

“Mm…”

Sukuna’s mouth was on your breast now, suckling on your flesh and playing his tongue around your nipple. You couldn’t tell if it was pleasurable or painful because his tongue felt ticklish on your skin, but the suction definitely was an entirely different feeling. Both weren’t bad, anyway. They were just new to you. But even if they were foreign, you were curious and all the more interested, studying every little thing he was doing with your body and trying to make mental notes out of it.

Maybe you should have watched porn. That way, you could have been more aware of the step-by-step process of having sex. Who knew there were steps to follow at all? You didn’t think that foreplay could draw this much delay in your session because all you thought was that he was going to insert his cock straight inside you as soon as he saw you naked.

With all the touching, fondling, and kissing… what were you supposed to do? He was doing all the work here.

“Baby,” you spoke softly, staring at the ceiling, “C-Can I… touch you?”

Instead of pulling away, his mouth latched onto your left boob, giving it the same attention before moving south. “Not yet.”

When he said that, you didn’t expect his hand to land on your crotch. Your heart was thumping at an irregular rhythm as you felt his fingers moving in circles around your bud, playing with your clit before spreading your folds apart. “Nghh—!” you let out an embarrassingly loud moan, eyes widening at the sound of your voice, but your boyfriend shushed you by placing a peck on your lips before spreading your legs into a V.

“You’re so wet,” he said, pointing out the obvious as he positioned himself in between your legs, spreading your labia to reveal your entrance. Something about the situation made you increasingly self-conscious, but his undeniably hungry gaze kept you from covering your most sensitive area. It seemed like he was enjoying the sight of your pussy, especially with how wet and ‘untouched’ it was. “Your pussy’s so pretty, baby,” he mumbled, lowering his face closer to the area, “Can’t wait to put my dick inside it.”

You whimpered at the feeling of his tongue in between your folds. No, you couldn’t even think straight after he started teasing your vagina, alternating between flicking his tongue around your bud to french kissing your entrance. His tongue was so deep in your cavern that you were raising your hips involuntarily, going insane from the pleasure it sent your body. Your hands even gripped the sheets and your back arched into a C as you held back from moaning like a wild animal. At some point, the slurping sounds and the feeling of his mouth kissing your vagina had your legs shaking.

Though, you could ask yourself: what turned you on the most? Was it him actually eating your pussy or just the idea of him doing it?

And just when you thought he was done, he replaced his mouth by inserting a finger inside your cunt, garnering a much louder whimper out of you. “B-Baby!”

“Does it hurt?” he asked, eyes locked with yours as he slowly moved his middle finger in and out. “It’s so tight.”

“It hurts…” You nodded, feeling his finger moving in circles inside your cunt as though he was trying to get a feel of your walls, measuring the tightness and such.

He kissed you for a good minute. “Relax, angel. Don’t clench too much.”

Clench? You didn’t even know you were doing such a thing. “How to…?”

“Just relax.” Sukuna placed a hand on your abdomen, pressing it down while he was inserting yet another finger inside of you. “This’ll help you prepare so it won’t hurt as much later.”

Now, you were goddamn nervous. What did he mean it wouldn’t hurt as much? Because you were overthinking the pain of having him his actual cock inside of you. If you couldn’t even bear having his two fingers inside you, how much more with his clearly thick shaft? It was ridiculous to feel both anxious and yet aroused at the same time. Anxious, because you knew he could rip you open. Aroused, because his fingers were currently doing a great job at hitting your most sensitive spot. Whatever it was that he was reaching, it was certainly sending waves of ecstasy throughout your body.

His fingers continued to move. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. Around. When he pulled his digits out, he sucked the juices on them, tasting every drip of your essence from his fingers. “Sweet.”

Were you? You started to get curious at how he tasted, too. Sweet? Salty? Bitter? You seemed to be moving on autopilot when you pulled yourself up and sat in bed on your knees. “Your turn?”

You asked the question as if you knew what you were doing, which was why Sukuna found it adorable and humorous at the same time. He did help you pull down the sweatpants that had been covering his erection for what felt like eternity, only to reveal a monstrous size that sprung out of the garment.

Holy fuck was all you could say.

He stood at the edge of the bed, a devilish smirk displayed on his saintly face as he saw the length of his cock compared to your face. You obviously hadn’t seen many cocks in your lifetime to be able to compare his size, but in your eyes, he was definitely big. He was girthy. He was lengthy. He was veiny. Meaty.

“Wanna suck it for me, baby?” he encouraged, pumping his shaft while looking at you. Fuck. “Open your mouth.”

You did as told, wrapping a hand at the base of his length while placing his tip on your mouth. You pressed your tongue flat on the surface of his tip, rolling your tongue around the head as if it were a lollipop. Was that what you were supposed to do?

“Eyes on me.” His voice deepened an octave. And it was also raspier.

Why did he want you to look up at him? It was already embarrassing.

“I said, eyes on me, angel.” He grabbed your chin and forced you to lock eyes with his darkened ones. Damn. No wonder girls were desperate to see him in his shop every single day. This was probably what they had been daydreaming about. “Suck my cock.”

In your head, you became a slut. In reality, you were still a shy, inexperienced virgin who didn’t know what to do. You relied on his instructions and looked at his expressions to know if you were doing a good job and to see what he liked and didn’t like. He definitely liked it when you sucked the head, liked it even more when you started to let him go deeper in your mouth, and surely liked it a hell lot better when you gagged after his cock hit the back of your throat. But in spite of the string of saliva that left your mouth after gagging from his cock, his arousal only grew harder, this time holding your hair in his fist as he began thrusting his hip forward. You were bobbing your head at a rhythm that satisfied him, feeling the stretch on your scalp as he tightened his grip on your hair.

“Tighten your mouth around it,” he instructed, fucking your mouth senselessly like hitting your throat was driving him nuts. Your eyes were already filling up with tears because of your urge to gag again, but you didn’t think it would be a good idea to stop now while he was just starting to pleasure himself.

This was the first time in your life to give someone a blowjob, and you weren’t sure what to make of that experience. It personally didn’t give you pleasure, but you liked hearing his desperate moans. You liked hearing him curse and get vulgar with his words. You liked seeing him get rough. His taste, on the other hand, was somewhat a different experience. Since you were only sucking his flesh, it was a tad bit salty at first contact but didn’t taste anything much after tongue got used to the skin around his shaft. Perhaps his cum would have a stronger flavor, though it looked like he had no plans in releasing his load into your mouth as he pulled his member out.

“Fuck it,” he grunted, gently pushing you back and spreading your legs wide open again, “I wanna feel your pussy so bad. Can I fuck you raw, babe?”

All those condoms, and he wanted to have you raw?

“But… I don’t wanna get pregnant.”

His face was full of assurance, shaking his head and denying any chance of knocking you up. “You won’t be. I’ll pull out, I just… I have to feel you raw the first time. I have to.”

“Okay…”

You were nervous as hell. You had butterflies in your stomach, your heart pounding in your chest like a drumbeat you couldn’t silence. You had imagined this moment countless times, but now that it was here, the reality of it was too overwhelming. Your mind yet again raced with a whirlwind of doubts and insecurities, and every nerve on your body seemed to be on high alert while you watched him getting occupied with rubbing his entire length with lube, ensuring a smooth entrance inside you.

He was nervous too, right? You couldn’t be the only one. You couldn’t be.

You just wanted everything to be perfect. To show him how much you cared. To feel that you were enough. But the thought was paralyzing. Tonight was more than just physical intimacy; it was a step forward in your relationship, a moment of connection you wanted so badly to cherish. This first intimate encounter should be filled with love, respect, and mutual understanding.

But what if after this, he’d come to realize that you weren’t the one? What if he’d get disappointed and tell you that you weren’t worth it? What if he’d leave you for someone else who could pleasure him better? What if, after you had given yourself to him, no one else would ever appreciate you anymore?

You wanted this, didn’t you? You wanted to feel the heat of his touch, the intensity of his gaze, the intimacy of your connection. You wanted to explore this uncharted territory with him, to dive headfirst into the unknown and discover what lay on the other side. But were you really ready for this? Did you truly want this? Would it be everything you had imagined, or would you regret losing your virginity to him?

The fear of inadequacy gnawed at your confidence as Sukuna positioned himself back in between you, his tip rubbing at your slit a couple times before he finally sunk it into your entrance.

“Haaa—!”

“Shh. It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.”

“N-No, I—!”

It felt like your walls were being stretched so painfully, like your flesh was being torn open in the most agonizing way. This was not the kind of pain you pictured out when he put his member inside. Sukuna even tried to grab hold of your hips to keep you steady, but you were withdrawing your hips back, wanting nothing but for him to remove his cock.

“It hurts… It hurts… please, stop. Please!”

“Baby, I’m trying to be gentle—”

“I SAID STOP!”

Both of your eyes widened at the same time, and that was the only time you two were ever in sync. He was clearly shocked by your outburst, while you yourself were surprised at how you raised your voice at him. Neither of you expected that situation. As a result, he did pull away and completely withdrew himself from you.

Frustration was evident on his visage and he couldn’t even hide it anymore. “Fuck this,” he spat in exasperation, taking a deep breath as he reached to slip his sweatpants back on. “I knew it.”

“No, I…” You swallowed. “It just… You kinda forced it, I wasn’t ready.”

“I forced it, really? I forced you?” His laugh was out of complete disbelief. “I never forced you into anything, angel. I’ve asked you since the beginning if this is really what you want.” He took a pause, a very uncomfortable one, before he went on murmuring, “It was just my tip and you’re overreacting like this. I’m not even halfway in.”

His agitation had finally awakened you to your senses, realizing that you did end up doing what you were scared of doing. You ruined the moment. You were so caught up in your bubble of negative thoughts that you had once again failed to fulfill what you were supposed to do. No wonder he was aggravated, now sitting away from you and wearing his clothes as if telling you that he was done. Done being blue balled by his own girlfriend. Done expecting something he was never really bound to have.

You reached out to touch his arm. “Baby, I’m sorry… I just got scared, but we can still—”

“Still do it?” he continued your sentence by ironically cutting you off, “No, the fuck, I won’t. I’m not in the mood anymore.”

His reaction brought tears to your eyes, because the way he was acting stung your fragile heart. You didn’t mean to ruin anything. More importantly, you didn’t wish for everything to just turn out like this. “I-I’m sorry. Let me try again, please.”

The weakness of your voice seemed to have softened him, becoming calmer and more composed after a few minutes of contemplation, but he still held his ground when he massaged his temple and sighed. “Let’s just not push it, Y/N.” He looked at your eyes, with hurt and rejection reflecting on them. “Even if you say you wanna do it, you think I can’t see it in your face that you’re not really into it? You’re never ready for me and maybe it’s my fault, maybe there’s something about me that you’re so scared of. Maybe it’s because you don’t feel secure with me, maybe you wanna save yourself for someone better, someone who can give you a brighter future—”

“That’s not true!” You shook your head desperately, your eyes blurring from the pool of tears while you clung to his arm. Where was all this coming from? It sounded like he had been harboring those feelings for so long. “That’s not true. What are you even saying?”

“I don’t even know what I’m saying. I’m just…” Trying to give a reason why you won’t give it to me. That must be what he had wanted to say. “Look, I don’t wanna pressure you into this bullshit anymore. I don’t wanna make it look like I’m begging for your affection like this. Intimacy should happen normally for couples, and if we can’t have that, then we can’t. That’s it.”

Why did he sound like he was giving up?

You tried to keep your emotions at bay while listening to him battling with his internal thoughts. “I understand I disappointed you tonight, but…”

He was adamant at shaking his head, distancing himself from you by getting up from the bed. “No, you got nothin’ to apologize for. It’s your body and your choice. I’d never force you into anything.”

Then… then…

“I just think it’s not the perfect time,” he continued, shooting you a glance before looking away. Each step he took added another crack on your fragile heart. “From now on, I’m never gonna initiate anything intimate nor will I expect anything from you, aight? I’m over it.”

Alone in your vulnerability, you could feel the cold air hugging your naked body as you watched him walk towards the door, leaving you in the dark both literally and figuratively. “Where a-are you going? Come on… Please.”

He no longer cared to turn around. He no longer bothered to comfort you as he walked away, muttering, “Just gonna go for a ride. Don’t wait on me.”

— —

Nearly three weeks had passed since that night and you would be lying if you said everything was okay.

No, everything was not okay. You could feel the distance growing each day even when you two still did everything together. Your normal routines didn’t feel normal anymore because he was acting too detached ever since he told you that he wouldn’t initiate anything intimate ever again. And to be honest? It hurt. A whole fucking lot. Hearing your partner say that they would never wish to do anything intimate with you was probably the worst way to experience heartbreak. Because he was truthful with it, and he showed it very openly.

Now, he’d lock the door whenever he would take showers. He’d spent most of his time outside riding his bike until midnight. He stopped texting you sweet messages while on tattoo shop duty. He seldomly joined you to eat breakfast and dinner together. His back would face you whenever you two slept in bed. His eyes avoided you even when you walked around in underwear. His hand wouldn’t touch you even when you were centimeters close to him. There were no kisses exchanged either, unless obliged to do so when leaving the house. No hugs. No hair-stroking, hand-holding sweetness ever shared. You were simply cohabiting in your shared apartment like strangers who had barely even said I love you’s.

“Man, that’s rough,” remarked Suguru Getou, your cousin and the barista, as he tidied up the counter behind the elevated bar. Having just served his friend an Americano, he listened intently as you vented about your situation with Sukuna. “I’ll be honest with you, Y/N. It’s not looking good for you.”

You knew that. You just refused to acknowledge it. “I mean, all couples fight.”

Suguru shook his head, however. “You two aren’t even fighting. Dude just gave up and started detaching himself from you. If that’s not a sign already, then I don’t know what is.”

“What sign?” you asked, hiding the obvious worry in your voice. You need not be dense about his words, but you wanted to have some kind of hope to grasp on.

“Sign that he’s falling out of love?” he continued.

And somehow, his white-haired friend thought it would be okay to chime in. “More like a sign that the tool's not interested anymore and is about to dump her.”

Your face felt hot and in the most terrible way. “Sorry, what was your name again?” you asked, your tone dripping with sarcasm. You hadn’t expected the guy to suddenly chime in, considering he had been quietly typing on his laptop just moments before. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion, so don’t go listening to somebody else’s business when you’re not part of the conversation.”

“Jeez,” said the albino guy, grinning at your cousin as if amused by your barrage of a response. “She’s a yapper, too. I thought she was supposed to be this sweet and innocent type, Suguru?”

“Not always.” Suguru chuckled at his friend before turning to you, apologetic eyes now attempting to soothe your nerves. “Sorry ‘bout that, Y/N. Satoru just likes to tease people. Don’t mind him.”

You kept a straight face. “Well, then maybe tell your friend to keep his nose out of conversations he’s not invited to.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Satoru gave you a playful salute before extending his hand towards you. “Look, I didn’t mean to overhear, but I actually sympathize with you. If it were me, I’d never do that to you, baby.”

Oh, God. You were so bad at this. Was he flirting with you or was he simply playful like this?

Nevertheless, you rolled your eyes and ignored the hand he offered, essentially brushing off his advances. “I don’t need sympathy. All I’m here for is to talk to my cousin to try and have his advice on the matter,” you emphasized pointedly, making it clear to Satoru that he was the last person you wanted advice from. “I don’t need a stranger listening to my personal life.”

“Doesn’t hurt to receive advice from another guy,” countered Satoru, shrugging. “Right, Suguru? I mean, we’re both guys. We can give you some insight into how men think.”

You felt the urge to bury your face in your hands. It was clearly a mistake going there and putting yourself in that situation, and now having two guys aware of your sex life with your boyfriend. That alone was so wrong on many levels. But could it be helped? Suguru was your closest cousin, the only one who didn’t turn his back on you after you left your parents’ home. He was working at a cafe three blocks away from your flower shop and you happened to be delivering a batch of fresh floral decorations for their cafe. You obviously found it a good opportunity to open up to him about your struggling relationship and hoped he could offer some male perspective on Sukuna’s behavior. You just hadn’t anticipated his friend eavesdropping on the conversation the entire time.

Well, that should have been expected anyway, since only the three of you were in that cafe on a lazy Wednesday afternoon.

“I don’t kiss and tell, by the way.” Satoru was beaming as he gave you that assurance and you couldn’t help but admit that the man had some charm in him. He was attractive, no doubt about it. He was also tall, toned, and seemingly well off based on the way he dressed. He had a casual yet preppy style, something you would normally see from guys who went to private school.

“Do you work?” you asked out of sheer curiosity. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“Oh, now she’s interested.” Satoru seemed to have found your sudden interest in him humorous. “I’m finishing my MBA, miss. Thank you for asking.”

“He’s a privileged rich kid with generational wealth and a family business,” Suguru remarked, playfully gesturing a cutting motion across his neck. “Definitely not your type, huh, Y/N?”

“Why, what’s her type?” The white-haired man looked intrigued, pulling his stool closer. He had that stupid grin on his face as though the topic just sparked his curiosity. “What’s her boyfriend like?”

Suguru, who wanted to play along, jokingly hummed in deep thought. “He’s got tattoos, likes to tattoo other people, is a college dropout, rides a big bike, smokes and drinks, listens to heavy metal, was probably a delinquent and a juvie alumni—”

“Excuse you, he’s never been in a juvenile detention center,” you defended your man, feeling like your cousin’s categorization of Sukuna was becoming a little too derogatory and you had to correct him for that, “and he’s a good man. He’s sweet and caring, he’s passionate, and he loves me sincerely.”

“Sincerely, not?” Satoru quipped, earning your glare in return. He immediately raised his hands in surrender. “I'm just joking. If you believe he’s all that, that’s your choice. I don’t judge booktok girls who romanticize typical bad boys.”

You rolled your eyes at his audacity. Each word that left his mouth seemed to stoke the flames of your irritation. “You’re so offensive, I’ll have you know that.”

The white-haired guy smugly took a sip from his coffee. “At least I don’t make girls feel guilty for not having sex with me.”

“Oooh.” Suguru was clearly enjoying the show, unaware that you were one step closer from smacking his friend across the face. “Touché. He kinda has a point, Y/N.”

“Be serious,” you warned.

To which he agreed to. “Okay, I am being serious now,” he said, abandoning his playful stance to lean in on a more solemn posture against the counter, “If you think Sukuna makes you feel guilty for not doing it with him, then shouldn’t that speak for the kind of relationship you two have? He wants something you can’t give. His reaction tells you everything you need to know about him.”

You tried to absorb his words with a better understanding and without any bias. “Isn’t his reaction normal? He’s a man, too. I understand his needs and I made him feel somewhat rejected.”

“It’s all about respect, Y/N,” answered Suguru, “If he’s a decent man, he wouldn’t make you feel that way. No mixed signals, no guilt tripping, no nothing. If you can’t do it, then don’t.”

“So, you’re saying you wouldn’t feel the same if your girlfriend keeps rejecting sex with you?”

Suguru smirked. “I never said I’m a decent man, either. All I’m saying is if what you want isn’t exactly aligned to what he wants, then maybe it’s best you break it off with him because this shit won’t get you anywhere, Y/N. Trust me. He’s gonna dump you before you know it. I mean, it’s one thing to pretend he’s all fine with it, and it’s another to distance himself from you like he’s silently protesting.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Satoru joined in once again. “It’s impossible for a guy like that to be in a relationship for so long and not have any pussy. We think of sex 24/7, some of us are just better at restraining ourselves than others. He’s putting up with it now, but it’s only a matter of time he gets sick and tired of waiting. You do realize he can get any girl he wants, anytime he wants, right?”

Although you were still uncomfortable at Satoru casually chiming in on the conversation, it was true when they said they could give you the exact male perspective you needed to hear. This allowed you to go deeper into Sukuna’s psyche and understand why he was acting that way. You just didn’t know how to save the connection you have with your boyfriend when both your cousin and his friend were describing all the red flags on Sukuna’s behavior.

“I don’t know,” you spoke in a tone of defeat. “I kinda understand where he’s coming from, so I can’t just leave him for it. I love him.”

Satoru looked at your cousin like you couldn’t be saved. “She’s in too deep.”

“Yeah, gaslighted as fuck.” Suguru was shaking his head in disappointment.

The taller man chuckled and brought up a ridiculous offer to lighten the situation up. “Honestly, Y/N. I know we just met and all, but if you ever need someone to teach you how to do good in bed, just hit me up. He’ll never know.”

“Shut up,” you shot back at Satoru, eyes rolling at his remark.

“You’re out here feeling bad for that guy when he could be fucking his clients at the tattoo shop.”

You argued. “No, he’s not—”

“Are you sure he isn’t?”

It wasn’t Suguru nor Satoru who posed that question; it was Yuki Tsukumo, the café’s manager and Suguru's respected senior. She was in a relationship with one of your boyfriend’s stepbrothers, Choso, and was also a fellow biker, which allowed her to cross paths with Sukuna in their community. Despite this connection, she was never particularly close to him. In fact, Yuki didn’t personally get along with Sukuna and she was very vocal about it. She was, however, a regular client of yours and ordered floral arrangements from your shop on a weekly basis.

It had been awhile since you last saw her, and didn’t expect that the first greeting you would give her was a question. “Yuki, what do you mean?”

Great. Now, three people know about your relationship quagmires.

She was placing her helmet at the counter and sitting on a stool before answering you, “I really think you should talk to him about it, Y/N.”

No, no. Why did you suddenly feel a pang of anxiety out of nowhere? Something about the sympathy in Yuki’s eyes felt unsettling, and it sent a wave of fear through you. She definitely knew something. What was Sukuna doing behind your back?

“Can you please just tell me?”

Her gaze studied your face intently, as if deliberating on the right thing to do. “Well... I spotted him riding with a girl the other night. Initially, I thought it might be you, but last night, I saw them together again. I recognized her... because it was his ex. I think he’s been giving her rides home lately.”

Amidst the quiet of the room, your heart felt like it was breaking in two. The sudden revelation sent you into an abyss of pain.

“You might wanna visit his tattoo shop later.” Yuki encouraged me with a comforting smile. “It may be best to confront him about it.”

— —

Sukuna wasn’t sure how to act around you anymore. It wasn’t like he was purposely avoiding you, but he just didn’t feel comfortable acting like everything was fine and dandy. Because if he was damn honest, the sexual frustration was fucking with his head. So much so to the point where he started questioning himself if he should still put up with a relationship like this.

First of all, there were pros and cons involved. He had to consider that it was a special connection filled with special memories, too.

If he was talking about the pros, he knew he would have a loving lifetime partner with you. You were beautiful, kind, and pure. You inspired him and motivated him to be better. You were unmaterialistic and happy with the littlest things. You gave his dominant side the urge to be a better man, like he was made to protect and provide for you. You became his muse; a blank canvas that was all for him to paint on. A canvas that no one had ever touched. Or, in your world, a white lily that was associated with chastity and virtue.

But then, there were also cons, and the foremost of it being you were too conservative for your own good. You grew up in a strict environment with uptight parents who wanted to control your life. He could never voice it out, but he really hated that you were square like your parents sometimes. You were too traditional and afraid to explore new experiences, oftentimes policing him for living his life as free as he wanted it to be. The ‘opposites attract’ thing did seem to work in your relationship at first, with your differences being exciting for each other, but as time went by, it became clearer to him that you two were too different to actually be in sync together.

Hence why your relationship became rigid and suffocating, forcing him to take a breather by distancing himself from you for some time. He did this for your benefit, because he had to clear his head before risking losing you for good. He didn’t want to jeopardize a relationship that he knew meant the world to him. Perhaps this was just a phase, a challenging period following the honeymoon phase, where all your differences seemed to become more pronounced.

But to repeatedly make him look forward to sharing intimacy with you, only for you to back out at the very last minute? Man, was that so frustrating.

It didn’t help that it was destiny itself that seemed to be stirring the pot. Because while you two were going through a rough time in your relationship, the irony presented itself outside of Sukuna’s tattoo shop late at night just as he was about to close.

“Ryo?” A tall woman with athletic build, long dark hair, and beautiful doe eyes came into view with a wide smile on her face.

His ex-girlfriend of three years.

Sukuna held the door for her albeit the confusion in his eyes. “Yorozu?”

The only difference he noticed was that she had become a lot sexier, with the curves on her body more womanly than ever. It was obvious that she was active in the gym to achieve such a fit physique. But other than that, her facial features were the same. Her heart eyes still shone bright at the mere sight of him, as if they carried stars and galaxies.

“I think I came too late,” said Yorozu, smiling in disappointment, “I should probably just return tomorrow.”

“No, you’re good.” Sukuna insisted on letting her enter his shop, closing the door as soon as she was inside. “What brought you here?”

She stood confidently in front him, wearing nothing but a blank tank top and some loose white pants. “Funny story ‘cause I actually just moved to this city recently and I just found out you had a shop in this area.”

Oh? That was interesting, indeed. Sukuna wondered how she even found his shop in that case, while he was leading her to the tattoo chair. “Are you here to get a tattoo or?”

“Yeah, yeah I am.” She was sprinkling some charm in her grin. He knew her too well. “I think it’s amazing that I’m gonna get it from you again.”

While Yorozu was talking to him, he couldn’t help but ask: was it wrong for him to be in the same vicinity as his ex? Considering how jealous you could get, this was definitely wrong in your eyes. But as he wasn’t doing anything sketchy, he figured there was nothing wrong about what he was doing. Yorozu was technically a client and he couldn’t deny her his services since she was basically a friend of his, too. So, was he breaking any code here?

“Well, only if you have time now, of course,” she added out of consideration, “It’s kinda late so I can always come back.”

Sukuna shook his head and headed to get his book of tattoo art samples. “It’s fine. I got clients lined up all day tomorrow, so,” he said, placing the book on her lap, “You wanna check that or do you have a design in mind already?”

Yorozu’s eyes fell on the tattoos marking Sukuna’s body, her gaze landing on every familiar inch as though she had seen them all the time before. It was true. She had seen more of him, actually. She had done more with his body, too. “I kinda wanna get a sleeve, but I want you to choose the design for me.”

A tattoo sleeve? Damn. It was something he would never in a million years see from you, but for Yorozu, it was totally normal. She was as obsessed with ink as he was. And although she’s had a couple of tattoos in her body already, which were done by him, it would be her first time to get a full sleeve.

“I get to choose, really?” Sukuna chuckled lightly. If he were to think of Yorozu’s traits, she was definitely a classic red rose. A seductress, alluring woman was how he saw her and the said flower would be a true-to-life representation of her personality. She was passionate when it came to loving someone, and was completely devoted to him back when they were together. The only reason they broke up was because they were too similar, as if she was his counterpart, and he saw fit to leave a relationship where they both constantly battled for dominance. Yorozu could get too aggressive on loving someone and he didn’t particularly like that. He made her understand why they weren’t working as a couple, and it took her some time, but she eventually accepted his decision. Now, you could say, they were somehow on good terms. “Alright, I’ll do your sleeve, but I’ll keep the design as a surprise.”

Her eyes sparkled in excitement at the thought. “I’d love that!”

“Since you want a sleeve, we’re gonna do some stencil application today.” Sukuna didn’t waste any more time in getting ready with his equipment, biting on the glove while wearing the other on his hand. “It’ll take fifteen to twenty hours to complete a sleeve, and each session could last two to six hours depending on your pain tolerance. My schedule’s actually full all day until next week, but you can come around the same time every night so I can finish yours.”

“Yeah, I’m absolutely fine with that,” she enthused. For some reason, Yorozu was happy with the idea. The idea of coming to visit Sukuna every night in his shop. The idea that they get to be alone. The idea that they would be able to reconnect just like old times. Those were the things that Sukuna assumed was going through her head.

And as he did start with his ‘client’, it was probably best to admit that the sexual tension was high. The room felt stuffy as the both of them remained there until midnight, with her sitting on the tattoo chair, and him doing her tattoo to her left. His eyes were intently focused on the intricate patterns he was doing on her arm, but also couldn’t avoid seeing the contours of her breasts since she was wearing such a thin tank top. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen them before. He’d seen every part of her body from her neck down to her toes. He’d put her in every position from missionary to doggy. Goddamn, he could even remember how warm she felt around his cock. Didn’t she like it when he came inside her? Or when he made her swallow every drop of his seed?

Sukuna cleared his throat, shaking his vulgar thoughts away as he continued with Yorozu’s arm. He may not be cheating, but thinking back on those intimate experiences with someone else other than his girlfriend was definitely not morally right either. But what sexual experience could he reminisce about with you? That ridiculously embarrassing night you two had shouldn’t even be counted since he was trying so hard to forget about it.

He cleared his throat. Again. For the third time. “What, uh, what’ve you been up to?”

Yorozu, who had no clue about his thoughts, turned her face to look at him happily. “Not much, actually. The bar I worked at closed down, but I got myself a new job in this club as a full time hostess and part-time promoter. You should come by. Drinks on me.”

By not exactly accepting or refusing, Sukuna decided to just smile it off. “That’s why you moved to this city?”

“Yeah, I mean… obviously, the rent here is higher, but it’s closer to my job. I get paid decently, too.”

“That’s nice.” He was just trying to make small talk at this point. “Do you know your way ‘round here? How are you gonna get home?”

She considered her options. “Probably a bus or something?”

Sukuna paused, contemplating the situation. “There's no bus here at midnight,” he remarked, concerned for the girl who would have to navigate her way home alone at such a late hour. She was new to the area and clearly still adjusting to the commuter lifestyle. Unlike her, he had a vehicle that could safely transport her home. There would be no harm in offering, right? “Look, I have a bike and I usually take midnight rides, anyway. I can drop you off on my way home.”

“Really?” Her voice echoed excitement in them. “I’d appreciate it, Ryo. Thanks so much.”

Life was ironic, truly. He didn’t see this situation coming because he never expected that he would even come across Yorozu ever again. They didn’t have any contact prior, but he still saw her on social media whenever he (on very rare occasions) decided to check his accounts. He never had her blocked, either, which was why you knew about Yorozu after snooping through his phone and reading through some of his old messages with her. Sukuna used to tell you not to worry about her, and that she was just his ex, and that she had nothing on you—which were all true, of course, but it was funny to him now that the woman his girlfriend was most threatened by was back in his life.

And she was riding at the backseat of his motorbike, her arms latching at nothing else but around his torso. She was seated at the seat reserved for you, wearing the helmet that was bought for you, and holding onto a man that was rightfully yours. It all didn’t feel right.

But because Yorozu delighted in his habit of speeding on the highway, he had somehow forgotten about the guilt that was forming in his heart.

“You still have your ex’s Instagram?” Your questioning eyes met his defensive ones as he joined you in the living room, finding his space on the couch next to you. “I read your dms. Why haven’t you blocked her?”

Sukuna’s breath remained steady. “Only toxic people do that shit.”

“But I’m not comfortable with it!” you nagged, letting him snatch his phone from your grasp.

“Do you see me talking to her still?” he asked, trying to be as patient as he could be, “Baby, I don’t even talk to her. I don’t think she’s active there, either.”

You crossed your arms. “Then, block her?”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being fair. You shouldn’t be keeping tabs with an ex.”

“What are you—” Sukuna decided to cut his own sentence after realizing that the argument was plain stupid. “You know what, I’ll just delete my insta.”

“How many times do you two do it?” you asked out of nowhere, sitting at the waiting area while he was closing his shop. “Your ex. How often do you have sex with her?”

What kind of trap were you setting now? If he told you an honest answer, you would get mad. If he lied or even sugar coated it, you would also get mad.

“Does it matter? Why do you keep asking questions about her and then get upset with me?” Sukuna’s frustration resonated in his sigh as he tidied the space where he tattooed his client a few minutes ago. “She’s an ex for a reason, so get over it.”

He was starting to get annoyed by your never-ending questions about his past experiences, but he knew you were simply coming from a place of no experience. You probably wanted to know what he liked in bed, what pleased him the most, what kept him from wanting more. Was that too much? No. Were you overdoing this entire thing? A little bit.

“Why are you defensive?” you asked softly, still sitting on the couch as you watched him avoid your eyes. “You make me feel so insecure every time.”

He scoffed, shaking his head as he turned around. “I don’t know, baby. If you’re feeling insecure, then do something about it.”

“Thanks so much for the ride, Ryo.”

Yorozu stood by her door, returning the helmet back to him while she kept her eyes locked on his. Her gaze was inviting, tempting him to give in and submit to his carnal desires. Any man would read her intentions the same way; Yorozu stared at him like that because she wanted to invite him to her place. She wanted him to spend the night and do unforgivable things. To remember the passionate exchange they once shared.

But Sukuna wasn’t like that. No, he wasn’t a cheater. “I, uh, gotta get going.”

“Oh…” Disappointment clouded Yorozu’s face. “Okay, then.”

“See you tomorrow?”

“...Alright.”

“Okay.”

“Wait!” Yorozu pulled his arm just as he was heading back to his motorbike. The sudden closeness in their proximity made his heart race fast. He knew what was coming. “I missed you, Ryo.”

He knew what she was about to do next.

And holy fuck did he guess right, as he was taken aback when Yorozu suddenly leaned in to press her lips onto his. Her soft, cherry lips moved desperately to taste his sweet kisses.

But he didn’t return it. Instead, he immediately pushed her away. “Yorozu,” he spoke softly, “I have a girlfriend.”

“You do?” She didn’t need to hide it. He could see the heartbreak on her face.

“Yeah,” Sukuna confirmed, maintaining a more appropriate distance now. “We’ve been together for some time, and I live with her.”

Yorozu tried to maintain her facade of indifference, making it appear as though she was unfazed by his revelation. “That’s... That’s cool,” she said, “I’m sorry for, uh, the kiss.”

Sukuna nodded, “It’s fine. I should’ve told you sooner.”

“You’re alright,” she reassured him, “It's totally my fault. I hope she won’t be upset with you or something.”

Sukuna had no plans to tell you, knowing well the additional turmoil it would bring to your already strained relationship. However, he realized the importance of clarity in his intentions and the need to set boundaries. “We’re just friends. We’ll keep things civil. I’ll finish your tattoo in a couple more sessions, and then we’re done. Sounds fair?”

Yorozu nodded her head with a reluctant smile. “Fair enough.”

— —

5 more days. Her sleeve required five more sessions, and days went by too fast for him to count. He had busied himself with his clients, while you had busied yourself with yours. He couldn’t even spend time with you because his shop took a chunk of his time from him, and even at home, things had become too awkward ever since your unspoken night.

So, in some ways, Yorozu became his routine. She visited his shop for the past four nights and he had taken her home afterwards. She was in absolute love with her rose sleeve and they weren’t even complete yet. He still owed her one last session and told himself that it should also be the last time she should be around him. It wasn’t right and he didn’t want to create another source of argument with you.

And in truth, he certainly felt a little guilty for spending more time with his ex than his own girlfriend. But did he purposely do it? No, it was fate that brought her to his door about a week ago.

In spite of his stubbornness to admit his wrongdoing, he still ended up stopping by the flower market to get you a nice bouquet of white lilies. He knew you could make a prettier bouquet than that, but he thought it would be a perfect opportunity to surprise you with flowers that didn’t exactly come from you. Besides, he had some making up to do.

Later that night, when he returned to your shared home, he found you sitting at the couch seemingly waiting for him to come home. The lights were dimmed and the television was turned off. For some reason, you were wearing outside clothes and had a somber expression on your face, too. That alone caused the loud thumping of his heart.

“Hey,” he greeted, nonetheless, sitting next to you on the couch and kissing your cheek. “Everything okay, baby?”

Your eyes carried sadness in them as you looked at him and searched for answers you couldn’t find. “Where were you?”

Sukuna handed the bouquet over. “Got you flowers.”

You didn’t accept them. Instead, every second seemed to torture you. “Where were you before that?”

“In the shop…?” He didn’t know where to start, but he was definitely scared. “Why? Sorry I’ve been busy lately. I’ll make it up to you, angel.”

“You close your shop at nine,” you pointed out, voice breaking in the middle of your sentence. “Why do you always come home at two in the morning?”

Fuck. Fuck! What should he say? Should he make an excuse for it? Should he say he’d been checking on Yuuji after his shifts? Should he say he’d been riding to other cities to clear his mind? He didn’t fucking know what to say, especially not when you were clearly on the verge of bursting out.

“Answer me!” you cried, finally releasing the bottle out in the open. The tears that welled in your eyes now streamed ceaselessly down your face. “You’re an asshole. I-I hate you! I fucking… you think I don’t know? You think I’m too stupid to know?!”

Sukuna calmly received the fists you had swung on his chest as he tried to grab ahold of your arms. “Baby, I’ll explain everything.”

“No, damn y-you!” The tremor in your voice squeezed his heart in the most painful way because he hated seeing you breaking down in front of him and over him. This wasn’t the first time he had made you cry, but this was the first time he had seen you actually sob like this. “I-I gave myself to you! I left my p-parents for you! And this is what you do to me? You’re cheating on me with your ex?!”

He was desperate to hold you, hug you, cage you in his arms. He wanted to take your pain away. Wipe your tears away. However, you didn’t allow him to touch even a strand on your hair as you kept on pushing him off. Sukuna felt like he was going to lose his mind. “Baby, listen to me please. It’s really not what you think—”

“I don’t care!” you spat, moving away to wipe the tears off your face. “I don’t fucking care! You sleeping with her or not doesn’t change a thing. Don’t you get it? I’ll never be enough for you!” Despite your loud voice, the cracks in her facade only revealed your longing for validation and acceptance, etching into every tear-stained moment you two had shared over the course of your relationship. He watched you, paralyzed by the sight of you breaking down, as you grabbed a luggage you had been hiding behind the couch as if you were ready to leave. “I’ll never be the person you want me to be and staying with you will always remind me of it!”

“No, no, no… Let’s talk.” Sukuna had to suppress his own tears while he tried to reach out for you. “Baby, please. I don’t feel anything for her, or anyone. It’s just you. You are enough for me, baby. I’m sorry, please.”

You, on the other hand, were adamant at your decision. “I can’t stand what you’re doing to me anymore. I don’t like how you make me feel about myself. I hate how you make me question my own choices!” Tears continued to flow, and your voice wavered, transitioning from anger to a more subdued, pained tone. “I hate… I hate that I love you so much, that I lost all my backbone just to make you happy.”

“You don’t need to.” He was feeling more and more miserable now, his heart sore from all the emotions he had seen from you. “Y/N, you don’t need to. I’m sorry, I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

…

“It’s over, Sukuna,” were the last words he could recall hearing before passing out drunk in his bed that afternoon. “We’re done.”

— —

It was your first heartbreak. Your first actual relationship. Your first everything. Surely, people shouldn’t expect you to move on easily, especially not when the subject of your heartache worked across the street from you.

You were a mess. You had cried enough tears after you moved out of his apartment that night, screamed your heart out as you suffered from the pain of loneliness once more. You couldn’t even bear the thought of returning to your parents and hearing them say they told you so, because loving Sukuna was a choice you thought was good for you.

In the end, he was just a poison without any antidote. A toxin without remedy. The most effective solution was to sever all ties to prevent further contamination.

But strangely enough, you hadn’t seen him in his shop ever since that night, either. The tattoo parlor remained closed for more than two weeks without any notice. While a small part of you worried for him, a bigger part of you cared for yourself. He no longer held any importance to your life, and you should let it remain that way.

What you should focus on, instead, was living your life without any trace of him. A life of independence, away from the toxicity of a manipulative man who constantly made you doubt yourself and what you offered. As they say, you have to learn to love yourself first before you can fully learn to love others.

And in your journey of knowing the truth of that saying, a certain white-haired man entered your floral shop on a somber Friday afternoon just as you were arranging preordered bouquets for multiple customers to pick up.

“Hey,” you greeted the man, surprised at his sudden appearance at your shop.

Satoru grinned as he approached you closer. “I’m here to pick up two bouquets.”

“Oh, it was your order?” Your eyes widened. Silly you. Of course, Suguru would order on his friend’s behalf. He wouldn’t even get his girlfriend some flowers, let alone his mother. So this being Satoru’s order made much more sense. “Okay, you got a bouquet of blush peonies and another bouquet of pink tulips, am I correct?”

He smiled handsomely, displaying his set of perfect white teeth while listening to you talk. “Correct.”

“For your mom?” you asked before you made your way to pick up the bouquets, handing them to him carefully.

His response came with a soft, affirmative hum. “Mhm. One for her,” he said, taking only the bouquet of tulips, “The other is for you.”

Oh, no, no, definitely no. You had seen this before and it didn’t go well.

“That’s lovely, but…” You offered a smile. “I’m not taking those peonies.”

Satoru acted innocent, his vibrant blue eyes coruscating under the ambient lights. “But it’s mother’s day.”

You playfully shook your head. “I’m not even a mother.”

“Yes, you are,” he went on teasing, “the mother of my future kids. I like to think in advance, you know.”

Honestly? This man started off with a bad impression on you, but he wasn’t actually so bad. He was an easygoing, happy-go-lucky person who carried positive energy around him. That, and he was decent, too. He was the type of guy your parents would have surely approved of. He was a degree holder like you, even pursuing graduate studies to run a business that was already generating an income that you could only imagine of getting. He was set for life with no uncertainty with what he wanted for his future.

“Satoru?”

He met your gaze. “Yeah?”

“About your offer last time,” you recalled, recalling his earlier jest about teaching you some things in bed, “I think I'd like to take you up on that.”

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna angst #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #jjk x reader #tattoo artist sukuna #biker sukuna #tattoo artist x florist au

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rollinouttahere-writes · 2 months ago

Note

Hi hope it’s not to late to request a yandere vampire Ace who finds out his mortal darling is pregnant ~ please (if pregnancy makes you uncomfortable maybe reader is just very ill instead ) ,also hi hope your doing ok 👌

Vampire Ace x AFAB Reader

3.8k words

Summary: You find yourself in a precarious situation as you discover you're pregnant with your vampire boyfriend's child. You know you need to talk to him about it, but how?

Warnings: pregnancy, menstruation mention, lightly suggestive references, yandere elements, controlling boyfriend

While it was most certainly embarrassing to admit to, you had a vampire phase as a teenager. You got swept up in the popularity of vampire romance novels and the movies and TV shows that accompanied them, and it was pretty much your entire personality for a few years there.

Dark times. Cringey times.

However, these were also very impressionable times if your current situation was anything to go off of. If anyone would have told you back then that you would one day achieve your dream of bewitching a vampire into falling in love with you, you would have laughed in their face. Well, okay, no. You would have squealed and kicked your feet in the air. But after you got past that phase, then you would have laughed. Mostly because up to that point, you had been under the impression that vampires were works of fiction.

But then you met Ace. It happened when you were on a solo road trip. You needed some time away from everything and wanted to start fresh somewhere new, so what better way to scope out a new place than to drive around the country until you found a place that spoke to you? It seemed like a good idea, and by most accounts it was, but there was one major flaw in your plan. You didn’t know how to perform maintenance on your car, which is a pretty glaring issue when your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere at night. You had no signal, so you were left poking and prodding at the stuff under the hood of your car in hopes that it would magically come back to life.

It didn’t take long for you to give up and realize that you were probably only going to do more harm than good. You considered walking until you either found a town or got a signal, but you didn’t want to do that at night. Just as you were about to get back into your car to sleep until morning, you saw the headlights of a vehicle coming down the road. You waved your arms as the vehicle, a large motorhome, drew closer. Honestly, you hadn’t expected the person to actually pull over, but he did, and that’s how you met Ace.

One thing led to another, and he went from being just some guy who helped you out in your time of need, to your boyfriend. It was something of a whirlwind romance, moving at a startling pace that would surely leave your parents clutching their pearls, but when you know you know.

That, and there’s just something about someone trusting you enough to admit to being a creature of legend that makes one’s heart flutter.

Ace was a far cry from the vampire love interests you read about as a teen. Rather than living in a gothic castle in the countryside, or skulking around a high school, he lived in an old RV that he traveled the country in. It was an interesting set up, that’s for sure. All of the windows are covered by several layers of thick curtains. The windshield also had a cover put up during daylight, as well as several thick curtains isolating the cab from the rest of the camper. He would drive and explore at night, then retreat into the darkened parts of the RV during the day.

Thanks to you adapting to his nocturnal lifestyle, you would usually be up all night with him while he drives and sleep with him during the day. From what you understood, he didn’t really need to sleep, but he claims that it feels nice and he likes to do it anyway. Despite that, you would usually wake up to find him absent from the bedroom and entertaining himself in the main part of the camper while he waited for you to wake up or for night to come, whichever came first.

However, sometimes you would find yourself driving during the day. Mostly when there was something time sensitive that Ace wanted to go to and if you guys were falling behind; a common occurrence with how much he loved to take his time exploring every place he went. When that happened, you would stay up during the day to drive while he hid away in the bedroom. These days were spent with him loudly bemoaning how terrible and crushing the loneliness was as if y’all were separated by miles and he wasn’t actively facetiming you. Being highly dramatic was perhaps his most stereotypical vampiric trait.

Today was one of those days where you were up driving for him. There was a music festival coming up this weekend that he really wanted to go to, but it was still several states away. You honestly don’t mind the day driving. It’s nice to get natural vitamin D instead of relying exclusively on supplements. Ace had been keeping you company via facetime for a few hours, but he had nodded off about an hour ago.

Having a moment to yourself was nice, doubly so when you have a lot on your mind. You made a very shocking discovery recently, one that you hadn’t thought was ever going to be a problem for you. Though, maybe that was because you weren’t exactly an expert on vampires and how their bodies work.

Because really, how were you supposed to know that pregnancy was on the table when you were seeing a vampire? Sure, some of those vampire shows and books covered this, but it was always treated like something that could never ever happen, and that if it did, it was a freak incident.

The relationship was still very young, neither of you had ever discussed children. You were still young, and you assumed that him not using any protection was a silent indicator that you didn’t have anything to worry about. Surely he would have used it or talked to you about contraception if it was something he was concerned about, right? Wrong, apparently.

As far as you could tell, you were only around six or so weeks into your pregnancy if your period tracker was accurate. You haven’t been able to go to a real doctor yet, but the pregnancy tests you took all came back positive. The tests were stuffed into the same drawer you kept your menstrual supplies in after you had finished having a silent mental breakdown. You still needed time to figure out how to break the news to Ace.

Would he be happy? Pissed? Would he freak out because the hybrid baby will be a superpowered freak of nature that will kill you? You had literally nothing to work with. Since you two have never discussed children, he’s also never told you about what a hybrid could potentially look like, and that was just you assuming that he knew. You were completely in the dark, and it was terrifying. You needed reassurance, but you had no one to get it from.

You heave a sigh as you shake your head and force yourself back into the present moment. There was an exit coming up on the interstate advertising the local amenities. A quick glance down at the fuel gauge confirmed that it was about time for you to stop and get gas. The turn signal is flicked on as you merge into the exit only lane.

It only takes a couple of minutes for you to navigate your way to the nearby gas station and park at a pump. Your phone starts to ring before the RV has even come to a complete stop. You shift it into park and turn the engine off before answering.

“Is everything alright? Why are we stopping?” Ace’s sleep-addled voice came through the phone.

“Everything’s fine, we just needed gas. I’m going to run into the station to use the bathroom and maybe get an energy drink.” You stretch as you stand up, holding your cell between your shoulder and ear as your joints crackle and pop after spending hours seated.

“Are you getting tired? Just find a place for us to park until night, don’t force yourself to stay awake.”

His consideration for you made your chest feel warm and fuzzy despite your anxiety. “I don’t mind, I know you’ve been looking forward to that festival.”

“It’s just a festival, there will be more of those. There’s only one of you, I don’t want you getting burnt out or hurt because of me. Just find a place to park, okay?” His words were sweet, but his tone left no room for debate.

A quiet sigh escapes you as you admit defeat, “Alright, I’ll ask the cashier if there’s a campground or something around here.”

“Good. Besides, I’ve been missing you. I don’t think I can wait until night to see you again.” His playful, flirty tone makes you smile.

You giggle softly as you make your way to the door, “I miss you, too, baby. See you in a bit, love you.”

“I love you more. Could you close the cab curtain before you go?”

“Of course,” You quickly spin on your heels and pull the dividing curtains shut. After one last exchange of “I love you’s”, you hang up and exit the RV. The fresh air, even while tinged with the scent of fuel, is pleasant after being cooped up in a vehicle all day. You quickly walk around to the gas pump and start refueling. While you’re leaned against the camper and waiting for the tank to fill, you can hear Ace moving around inside. It was relatively common for him to take advantage of these pit stops to get out of the bedroom and stretch his legs. You’re not sure why he wouldn’t just wait until after you got to the nearest campground, but whatever. It’s no skin off your back.

The gas pump loudly clicks off. You push yourself off the camper and hang it up before heading inside to relieve yourself and pay for the gas. The door chimes quietly and a young cashier with glasses casually greets you before returning her attention to the coffee machine she’s refilling, looking as if she would rather be anywhere but here.

You follow the sign pointing you to the single person bathroom and slip inside. The lights are dim and flickering, and the harsh scent of cleaning chemicals assaults your senses, though you suppose that it’s better than the alternative. You quickly do your business and wash your hands. You look into the mirror at your reflection, taking in your appearance. The “pregnancy glow” that so many people talk about was nowhere to be found in your humble opinion. All that you see is an exhausted, stressed out woman.

But staring headlong into your reflection isn’t going to help anything. You rip off some paper towels from the dispenser and dry your hands before leaving the restroom. Rather than going straight to the counter to pay for the fuel, you wander around the aisles, debating if you want any snacks or drinks.

The section of the refrigerators with energy drinks in it catches your eye. Now that you’re thinking about it, you suppose you couldn’t have actually gotten one of these anyway. You’re far from an expert on pregnancy do’s and don’t’s, but you’re pretty sure that energy drinks are a hard no. Caffeine is a no-no in general, you think. Damn, that probably means no coffee or soda either. You shoot a half-hearted glare down at your abdomen, internally cursing how you’re already having to make sacrifices for something the size of a grape, if that.

With a somewhat heavy heart, you grab a bottle of juice and peruse the candy aisle, grabbing a couple of things you had been craving lately, then go to the counter to check out. The cashier is already behind it, leaning against the counter with her chin propped up on her fist. She straightens up when she sees you approaching and plasters on a less than convincing customer service smile, “Good afternoon. You had the gas outside, right?”

“Yep, at pump…” your brain draws a total blank. Now that you’re thinking about it, you’re not sure you ever even looked, “Uh, whichever one has the RV in front of it.”

The cashier takes a quick glance at a screen showing the pumps outside while quickly scanning the few things you brought to the counter. She presses a button on the register to add the gas, then reads you the total.

You pull out some cash from your pocket and hand her enough to cover it. While she’s getting your change, you remember that you were supposed to ask if there were any campgrounds in town. You clear your throat, “Hey, do you know if there’s a campground around these parts?”

She glances at you, then fishes out the rest of your change from the drawer, “Yeah. It’s on the other end of town. There are a couple of signs for it.” Her hand extends and drops the coins into your open palm.

“Cool, thank you. Have a nice day.” You smile politely as you grab your items.

The cashier chuckles dryly at your comment, “Yeah… you, too.”

Not wanting to make Ace wait much longer, you promptly exit the gas station and hurry back to the RV. You get to the door and knock three times to give Ace a chance to run back to the bedroom. This was a rule established between you two so as to prevent you from accidentally torching your dear boyfriend with sunlight. You listen closely, but you don’t hear anything. After a moment, you crack open the door, assuming that he must have already gone into the room.

The juice and candy are set in the kitchenette, and you call out to Ace, “There’s a campground here in town, it should only take a minute or two to get there.” You wait for a response, but hear nothing. You frown and look up at the bedroom door, “Ace?”

“I heard you.”

His voice is muffled, but that does nothing to hide how curt his tone was. Your heart sank immediately and anxiety clouded your mind. Where did this mood shift come from? He was just saying that he loved you a few minutes ago. What happened while you were gone?

As much as you wanted to burst into the bedroom and confront him here and now, you knew that was a bad idea. You needed to park somewhere where you wouldn’t have to worry about being intruded upon. You swallow thickly, then get back in the driver seat. The RV is started and you hurry to your destination, trying to ignore the growing nausea in your stomach. Whether it was the pregnancy or the stress was anyone’s guess. You just hoped you could get this thing parked before you had to throw up. Morning sickness hadn’t been much of a problem for you yet beyond occasional bouts of nausea, and you were really hoping it would stay that way.

In a few minutes, you’re at the campground and the RV is parked and turned off. Your hands are sweating as you push the windshield cover into place, then close the cab’s curtain. You turn on the artificial lights, then take a deep breath, “You can come out now.”

The second the words leave your mouth, the bedroom door is practically ripped off its hinges from how hard Ace forced it open. His face is contorted in anger, and you’re sure it would be flushed red if he were still a human.

Instinctually, you take a step back from him, not expecting such an aggressive entrance. Your eyes frantically search his face and body for any clues as to where this was coming from, only to lock onto some things clutched in one of his hands. Your heart leapt up into your throat.

Oh no.

“How long were you planning on keeping this from me?” His words are sharp and dripping with venom.

“I- I-”

“You what?! I can trust you with knowing that I’m a fucking vampire, but you don’t trust me enough to tell me that you’re pregnant?!” The gap between you was closed quickly as he strode up to you. The positive pregnancy tests were thrown to the floor and scattered as Ace’s hands locked onto your biceps and pulled you even closer to him.

Your hands push on his heaving chest, but he doesn’t budge. You’re fully panicking now as your mind scrambles to find anything you could say to assuage him, “I was going to tell you! I promise!”

“When? How long have you known?” Ace’s lip pulled back into a snarl, showing off his enlarged fangs.

“Not even a week! It’s only been a few days, Ace!” All the other words on your tongue die as the fluctuating hormones and mounting stress collides inside you and breaks the dam holding back your boiling emotions. Hot tears bubble to the surface and pour down your face as choked sobs come out, carrying the jumbled words lodged in your throat, “I didn’t know what to do! I was scared!”

More sobs tear out of you as you completely fall apart. Ace never yelled at you, and you were absolutely not in the state of mind to handle this happening now. This was precisely why you hadn’t told him yet. This was the reaction you were afraid of.

Ace’s hands loosened their grip on your arms, “Shit…”

His hands let go of you, then he wrapped his arms around you, cradling your frame to his chest. “Wait, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Of course you’re scared, I should have figured as much.” His words come out hushed, but at a frantic pace as he tries to calm you down. In an instant, his arms drop down enough to lift you up off the floor while he continues to whisper assurances into your ear.

Despite his attempt at comfort, you were too distressed to accept his words. “I should have told you… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong, I’m the one that jumped to conclusions.” Ace was having none of your attempt to take the blame back.

You hadn’t even realized he had been moving until you heard the bedroom door close and fell onto the bed while held in Ace’s arms. You sniffle loudly and look up at him, though that was pointless. He hadn’t bothered turning on the lamp, so you had no idea what emotions his face held. You’re sure that was intentional on his part. One of his hands strokes your hair while the other holds you tight to him.

When he doesn’t show any indication of intending to speak, you take the lead, “Are you mad?”

“I’m not mad at you. I just lost my cool for a second there.”

While the answer was sweet, it wasn’t exactly what you were looking for. “Not at me. Are you mad about… the baby?”

Ace stiffened and held you tighter. Your heart pounded in your chest as you waited for his response. The hand in your hair tangled into it to push your face into his neck, while the other hand clutched your hip.

After what felt like an eternity, he speaks quietly, “I’m not… mad about the baby either.”

Another silence falls over the room, one that you would break again, “Did you know that this could happen?”

This time, his answer was quick, “No.”

“So you don’t know what’s going to come next, do you?”

His arms tighten around you even more, “I don’t.”

The silence returned, though it felt much more tense and uncomfortable now. Your voice is just barely audible as you speak again, “I’m scared.”

“I… It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure something out. I’m here for you.”

Those words were what you had been needing to hear since the beginning. Finally, you feel relaxed enough to return his embrace and melt into him, soaking up his reassuring, albeit physically cold, presence. “I love you.”

Ace presses a kiss to the top of your head, “I love you more.”

For a while, you two take solace in each other’s companionship. That hadn’t gone exactly how you would have liked, but you feel happy with the current resolution, even if a lot is still up in the air. At least you know that Ace has your back no matter what.

Still, all the emotions that had burst within you earlier remained in there, bouncing around and making you feel antsy. You could stand to get some fresh air and walk it off. You squeeze Ace, then pull away a little. Even though you may not be able to see him, you know that he can see you perfectly.

“I think going for a walk would do me some good. I need some fresh air.”

“Oh… Yeah, of course,” Ace’s hold doesn’t loosen even a little bit. “We’ll go for a walk after the sun goes down.” With that, he pulls you back to him snugly.

You sigh softly and squirm in his arms, “I meant now. The sunlight will probably be good for me.”

“But I won’t be able to go with you. Just wait.” His voice took on something of a stern edge.

“I’ve gone for plenty of walks by myself before, Ace. I won’t be gone long.”

Ace sighs deeply and keeps a firm grip on you. He speaks in a low tone, “Yeah, well last time you went for a walk, you weren’t carrying a half-vampire spawn in you. You’re done going for walks during the day or doing anything alone. I’m not risking a hunter finding you like this, especially not when I’ll be powerless to even follow you.”

While Ace being protective was hardly anything new, this was a lot even by his standards. “That’s a little extreme. I can’t just stay cooped up for months.”

“I don’t care if you think it’s extreme, this is just what we’re doing now.”

“But-”

Your face is abruptly grabbed and brought closer to Ace’s face. His nose brushes against yours as your cheeks are squished together. The chilled air of his breath fans out across your face as he speaks, “This is not up for debate. Drop it.”

“... Okay. I’m sorry. I’ll drop it.” The desire to plead your case was certainly burning within you, but you could tell that you weren’t going to make any headway with Ace today. You sigh in an exasperated manner as you’re pulled back into his embrace.

This has been a lot for him to take in in one day. You’re sure that he’ll calm down after everything has a chance to sink in. You just need to be patient. It’s not like he’s going to hold you hostage inside a camper for the entire duration of your pregnancy. He would never go that far… At least you hope.

#yandere one piece #portgas d ace #portgas d ace x reader #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #one piece #reader insert #x reader #halloween event 2024 #cw pregnancy

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 2 months ago

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𝟏𝟗𝟔𝟗 𝐏𝐥𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐑𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐑𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫

𝟏𝟗𝟔𝟗 𝐏𝐥𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐑𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐑𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐭��𝐫𝐲 𝟑𝟖𝟑 𝐕𝟖 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭 "𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐄𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬" 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫

This 1969 Plymouth Road Runner hardtop model failed to sell at auction recently with its owner refusing to part with it for just $37,440. The car has undergone two major refurbishments, one in the 1990s and another one more recently in July of this year.

The first-generation Plymouth Road Runner was cool right out of the gate. This was a performance vehicle, which is why all of its original engine options were extremely potent. You had the “entry-level” 383 ci V8 with its 335 horsepower and 425 lb-ft of torque, which as far as base engines go, was no pushover.

Then came the 426 Hemi V8 (chronologically), followed by the so-called 440 Six-Pack (or Six-Barrel) – bigger displacement, less power, same torque; compared to the Hemi. What stood out to most people was that the 440 Six-Pack was more affordable than the Hemi and it excelled in terms of mid-range and torque.

It produced its 490 lb-ft of torque at 3,200 rpm, whereas the Hemi wanted you to push all the way to 4,000 rpm for the same grunt. Now, the 440 unit was officially rated at 390 hp, but a lot of people believe that number to be underrated. It’s worth mentioning.

This particular Road Runner started off with a 383 ci V8 under the hood but would later receive the 440 ci V8 with a trio of two-barrel carburetors. Originally, it had a Limelight Metallic exterior with white longitudinal stripes but was repainted yellow during refurbishment.

Other current visual highlights include the black fiberglass lift-off hood, Road Runner graphics, chrome bumpers, dual side mirrors, chrome exhaust outlets, plus a set of black H-series-style 15” wheels with 235/60 front and 295/50 rear Diamond Back red-line tires.

Moving on to the interior, that’s where you’ll find the black vinyl front bucket seats and rear bench, a color-coordinated dashboard, the Hurst shift

#𝐏𝐥𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐑𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐑𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 #car #cars #muscle car #american muscle #mopar #moparperformance #moparnation #moparworld #𝐏𝐥𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 #𝐑𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐑𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫

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i-hate-people-1 · 10 months ago

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~Mid to west~

Part 2

Eddie Munson x Henderson reader road trip au

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Henderson Reader

Warnings:none

Word count: 3,782

An hour into your trip, you hear the first dreaded “I have to pee.” Of course, it came from Dustin.

"Really, come on, man, we’re barely even a town over,” Eddie groaned, pulling into the next gas despite his sentiment.

“I’m sorry,” he whined, dashing out of the car the moment Eddie put it in park.

“Maybe we should all try to and we can grab some snacks” Steve suggested Ever, the mother of the group.

"Ugh, fine,” Eddie groaned, throwing his head back. “But no drinks!” He yelled as your friends dashed out of the vehicle. “I mean it!”

“There’s no way they actually listen,” you told him, giggling as you got out of the car Eddie close behind.

“My lady,” Eddie said, smiling brightly as he opened the door for you, bowing slightly.

“Why thank you, kind sir,” you said, giggling and curtsying as you walked in.

After using the restroom, you were scanning the isles for a snack. Indecisive as ever, you finally settled on a bag of Cheez-Its, a pack of gum, and a nougat bar Dustin’s favorite for when he inevitably complains about being snacky (when he’s hungry but doesn’t want real food).

"This all,” the teen at the counter asked. Well, you think she was asking, but her deadpan tone made it hard to tell.

"Yup,” you said, smiling.

She looked up from your snacks, her unamused glare fixed on you.

“Hey sweetheart, spot me a pack of smokes?" You felt his arm before you heard his voice as he hung it lazily over your shoulder.

Casual touches like this almost fooled you enough to think that the boy you’ve been crushing on since you saw him perform at the middle school talent show actually liked you, or at least thought of you as more than his friends older sister, but then reality would always come crashing down on you when you remembered that Eddie was like that with everyone the pet names, teasing remarks, and touching. I mean, the boy was a walking ball of love to give, constantly looking for a new friend or a new lost sheep he could take under his wing.

No matter how many people teased him, judged him unfairly, or called him the most unspeakable things, he never gave up and always kept that signature Eddie Munson smile that simultaneously lit up the room and made you weak in the knees.

“Y/N?” Eddie asked, his concern-ridden face pulling you out of your thoughts as his arm slid awkwardly off your shoulder.

“Oh, yeah, I can,” you said, turning back to the unamused teen. “Uh, and a pack of Malboro Reds, please,” you told the cashier, surprised that the frown she was wearing could get deeper.

“You know my brand?” You could practically hear the shock in his voice—a deep blush taking over your cheeks.

"Yeah, I guess,” you mumbled as you paid for your things, purposely avoiding his eyes that were boring into you. “What?” You asked, turning back to look at him and handing him the cigarettes.

His doe eyes were soft, and there was a remnant of a smile he was holding back on his face.

"Nothing,” he answered through an awkward cough. “Come on, sunshine, the ass crack of America awaits.” He finished turning around to grab the door for you.

You quickly followed, telling the teen at the counter thank you and to have a nice day.

As you made it outside, Eddie broke off to go lean against the wall to smoke. As you finally made it back to the van, your cheeks were still ablaze from your interaction.

Everyone but Steve had made it back to the van, already getting settled in, to hopefully not stop for at least a couple hours.

After about 5 minutes, Eddie and Steve returned, Steve having two huge bags of snacks, so you wouldn’t have to get any more, hopefully.

"Alright, hellions, buckle up. We’re not stopping for a while,” Eddie said, pulling out of the gas station. “I’m just kidding. Of course, my van does not have seatbelts.”

***

"Eddie, I’m hungry,” Lucas whined, poking the boy in the cheek. “Can we please stop? You made us skip lunch.” He finished continuing to poke him.

"Sinclair, you poke me one more time, and I’ll cut your hand off and make you eat it. How’s that sound for dinner?” Eddie said it through clenched teeth and crazy eyes.

Lucas stopped his finger inches away from the boy's cheek cautiously after a moment of testing the waters; he seemingly gave up pulling his hand back.

Eddie let out a sigh of relief, unclenching his jaw, and everything was peaceful for about two seconds until Lucas decided that poking the bear was the best idea he could think of, poking Eddie’s cheek once more, smirking mischievously.

“That’s it!” Eddie yelled, pulling off to the side of the road, making all of you tussle in place as he abruptly stopped the car out of his seat as quick as lightning to tackle the younger boy to the ground. He was so quick, you almost missed the smirk fall off of Lucas’s face and the horror take over his eyes.

Which is how you found yourself in the driver's seat, looking out for a place to stop for dinner, with Eddie in the passenger seat slumped down, arms crossed over his chest as he pouted.

"Alright, let’s all get some food in us and stretch our legs, yeah?” You asked as you pulled into the first dinner you’d spotted.

Lucas and Dustin rushed out of the vehicle, the former fully recovering from the tackle he’d taken.

Robin Max and Steve took more time getting out, following the two rambunctious boys.

You, however, stayed in the van, waiting for the boy in the passenger seat to look anywhere but out the window quietly.

"Oh, come on, Ed's, you know you're hungry too,” you said, turning in your seat to face him fully. “And maybe your a tad hangry, and that’s why you tackled Lucas?”

"No, I tackled him because the little shit wouldn’t stop poking me,” Eddie snapped, finally turning to you, and while the vicious gaze of Eddie Munson was terrifying for most people, you thought it was adorable. He looked like a puppy trying to threaten you like a teddy bear with a knife.

“So you’re saying if it had been Steve in the driver's seat and he wouldn’t stop to get you food, you wouldn’t have done the same thing?” You challenged him, raising a brow. His frown softened a bit, a mischievous glint in his eyes, you assume, at the thought of annoying Steve Harrington.

"See, you’d think it was hilarious if it were Steve; your little sheep was just following in your footsteps.”

"Yeah, but they’re supposed to annoy other people, not me,” he grumbled, though you could tell he was starting to come around.

“Oh well, now you’re just asking too much,” you teased. “Now come on, I’ll buy you a milkshake,” you told him, hopping out of the driver's seat.

“Chocolate?” Eddie asked, head-whipped, to look at you.

"Ugh, fine, but I’m going to judge you for it,” you said, rolling your eyes as you shut the door and walked inside, Eddie following closely behind.

“Woah woah woah, sweetheart, are you trying to tell me you don’t like chocolate milkshakes?” Eddie asked, dramatic as ever, his hair whipping around as he shook his head.

“I mean, they’re fine, but vanilla is definitely better,” you said, shrugging. Eddie gasped loudly, clutching a hand to his chest.

“I can’t believe you just said that to me,” he said quickly as he pulled out a seat, gesturing for you to sit down.

You sat down flustered as Robin raised a brow at you, which only made your blush deepen.

“What’d you say to him?” Max asked.

“Get this, Red; she thinks vanilla milkshakes are better than chocolate,” Eddie scoffed before you could get a word.

Leading the table into a lively debate, with some taking your side while others took Eddie’s.

“You guys are all wrong. It’s obviously strawberry." Steve cut in your heads, all turning to him with disgusted looks.

"Okay, everyone can at least agree that Steve’s wrong, right?” Robin asks, eyes darting around the group as you all nod, “All right, it’s unanimous, Steve’s an idiot.” She finishes, and Steve looks offended while all of you laugh.

"Alright, I need to go smoke. You guys stress me out." Eddie shook his head, smiling.

“Those things will kill you,” you said, popping a fry into your mouth.

"Hey, you’re the one supplying me, so don’t get all high and mighty on me now, princess,” Eddie smirked as you rolled your eyes.

“That was a temporary lapse in judgment; I was distracted,” you shrugged, trying to play it cool, though the obvious blush on your face was giving you away.

"Aww, you saying I distract ya doll face?” Eddie asked, leaning in close.

"Ew, dude, are you really flirting with my sister right now?” Dustin interrupted, gagging immediately after he got the question out.

“See what I mean? Little fuckers are so annoying, I’m surprised I don’t smoke more,” he groaned, placing a cigarette between his lips as he stood up and made his way to the door.

“I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” you announced, getting up and speed-walking to the bathroom flustered.

"Really, Dustin,” Max scolded, smacking him in the back of the head.

"Ow, what was that for?”

“You totally just ruined their moment. Eddie was finally growing some balls, and you just stomped on them,” Lucas explained.

“What?” Dustin asked again, and the poor boy was obviously very confused.

"Really, Dustin, do we have to explain everything to you? You’re not a child,” Steve quipped sarcastically.

“What these doofuses are getting at is that Eddie has just now started shooting his shot, and you might have just deterred him for another what is it like nine years?.” Robin explained hoping the young boy would catch on.

"Wait, are you guys saying Eddie actually likes Y/N?”

“Oh my gosh, look at those boys. Sherlock finally figured one out,” Steve said, slow-clapping.

“Shut up, Steve,” Dustin seethed. “So Eddie likes Y/N? Does she like him?”

"Obviously,” Max yelled, quickly apologizing when most of the eyes in the restaurant turned to her.

“So all those times he’s called her hot, he wasn’t just doing that to annoy me?” Dustin asked, still bewildered by the new information.

“While I’m sure that is a perk,Steve started sitting up in his chair to pat Dustin on the back. “He’s got it; he's had it bad since his first senior year,Steve finished shrugging.

“I can’t believe one of my best friends has a crush on my sister, and none of you told me,” Dustin pouted.

“We thought you knew it was pretty obvious,” Max said, rolling her eyes.

“I don’t want to think about that; it’s gross.”

"Well, you better get used to it because our mission this trip is to get them together,” Robin told him as the group nodded in agreement. “And it was working perfectly without us having to do anything but put them in seats next to each other, and you might have just ruined it,” Robin grumbled.

“How am I supposed to know if you don’t tell me?!” Dustin argued.

“Tell you what?” Eddie asked, making the group jump and turn to look at the boy.

"Umm, uh, that there’s been something in his teeth for a while,” Lucas said as casually as he could.

"Nice,” Max complemented under her breath.

“Okay?” Eddie said, taking a seat and continuing to eat his food, “Hey, where’s Y/N?” He asked through a mouth full of food.

“She went to the bathroom,” Steve shrugged, sipping his milkshake.

Eddie’s head instinctively snapped towards the bathroom door, a deep frown falling over his features. When he was met with the beautiful sight of your smile and the crushing feeling that washed over him, he saw a guy, the one making you smile.

Eddie’s glare made everyone’s eyes shift to the bathroom as you giggled behind your hand at something the boy said.

And before the smart part of Eddie’s brain could even think of telling him to stay seated, he was on his feet, speeding faster than he could think.

You noticed him before he could even get a word out, turning to smile at him. “Hey Eddie, what’s up?” You asked, brows furrowed, man; he was so screwed if all it took was you smiling at him to turn him into jelly.

"Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie said, composing himself to smirk at you. “Who's your friend?” He asked, glaring daggers into the man in front of you.

"Oh, this is Chad; he saw me looking at maps and said he’s traveling west too,” you told him, smiling.

“How convenient,” Eddie bit out, his voice lashing in sarcasm.

"Yeah, man, a total coincidence,” Chad said, returning Eddie’s glare.

The two men stood in unmoving silence, glaring daggers at each other. You furrowed your brows, looking between them, rolling your eyes as far back into your head as they could go at your realization. “Oh my, are you two having a staring contest right now?” you asked, shaking your head in disbelief.

You took their unblinking silence as an answer: “Stop it, you doofus!” You exclaimed, smacking his arm lightly.

“Hey!” Eddie shrieked, “You made me lose!”

“Lose what exactly? What would’ve happened at the end of that contest? What would you have won?” You asked, arms crossing over your chest.

“I’m not exactly a hundred percent on the rules, but I’m pretty sure he gets you now,” Eddie deadpanned.

“Dude, I thought we were just asserting dominance.”

Eddie looked at the man with an expression somewhere between shock, disgust, and anger. “And that’s who won, thanks to you, sweetheart.”

“I’m not some prize, Munson,” you scoffed, walking back towards your friends.

"Yeah, no shit. I was joking that dude never would’ve beat me fair and square anyway.”

“I don’t need you to fight my battles or win me, and also, I was just talking to someone new. What is your issue?” You asked, turning to face him as you made it out in front of the diner.

“What’s my issue?!” Eddie challenged, “I don’t know, haven’t you ever heard of stranger danger? The guy was practically eye-fucking you the whole conversation.”

“So?” You asked, making Eddie scoff.

“So? So?” He asked back in unbelief, “You know what? Fine, whatever have fun getting murdered in the back of some creeps van!” Eddie exclaimed, arms waving, as he turned on his heels to stomp to the van.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that,” you said, stomping after him, “and stop walking away.” You grabbed his hand, making him turn to you and ask, “Why do you care so much?”

Eddie pulled you towards him effortlessly, pinning you up against the back of the van out of view of your friends.

His breath was hot and rugged as it fanned over your face, his doe eyes peering into your soul as he examined your face, his gaze darting between your lips and eyes.

“I care because I want you to be mine,” he whispered in your ear, his hand coming up to cup the side of your neck as you sucked in a breath. “You want that, baby?” Eddie teased biting your earlobe, and you whimpered.

"Oh, don’t worry, pretty girl, you will soon enough,” Eddie told you, inches away from your face, lips so close to touching as your body tingled in anticipation. Just as Eddie was about to close the gap, you were abruptly pulled out of your false reality by the very person you made it for. As he shook your shoulder gently, “Hey, wake up, pretty girl, we’ve got to get back on the road,” he whispered, moving some hair out of your face.

A deep blush set in at the pet name—the same pet name he had just used in your dream—coming into the front of your mind—that little voice telling you he knew but there’s no way he could know, right?

The existential crisis must have been showing on your face because Eddie was looking at you concerned. “You okay, sunshine, you look a little dazed. Nap that good?” He asked, quirking a brow.

"Yeah,” you said almost too quickly, "um, I didn’t even realize I felt asleep.”

“Oh yeah, you feel asleep on my shoulder a few minutes after you came back from the bathroom,” he shrugged.

"Well, you have a comfortable shoulder, thanks, pal,” you said, froging him in the arm, quickly getting out of your seat and speed-walking to the van.

“That was painful,” Robin said as she exited the diner behind you.

“Did I just call him pal and punch him in the arm?” You asked, your head falling on her shoulder.

"Yeah, it was pretty hard to watch,” she deadpanned. "Robin,” you whined.

“Right, sorry,” she said as she started to run a comforting hand through your hair. “What even happened to get you that flustered?”

“I kind of had a sex dream about Eddie,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by her shoulder.

“You had a sex dream about Munson, while you were napping on him,?!?” she said a bit too loudly for your taste.

“Shhh Robin”

"Right, sorry, you had a sex dream about Munson?” She repeated it in a whisper.

"Well, kind of, I was woken up before any actual sex happened, but that’s where it was leading,” you told her, finally lifting your head. “What am I going to do? I feel like a perv.”

"Okay, first of all, it’s completely natural, and second, maybe that’s your subconscious way of telling you to, you know, make a move,” Robin said, biting her thumb nail.

“You think I should make a move on him? Does he even like me?” You asked, pulling Robin's thumb away from her mouth.

“Are you kidding me? You were totally just drooling all over him in your sleep, and he didn’t even bat an eye at the guys.”

“I drooled on him.” You half asked, half whined, her head failing back into place on her shoulder.

***

“Did she just call me Pal?" Eddie asked through a dejected sigh, slumping in his seat.

"Yeah, she also drooled on you a little bit,” Dustin pointed out, poking a spot on his shoulder over the table.

“And I find that unbelievably adorable. I’m so fucked. I just got pal zoned. I think that’s worse than the friend zone,” Eddie whined, beating his head on the table.

"Oh, stop that. She didn’t mean anything by it. She just got flustered. She likes you, okay. Stop stressing and dancing around it flirtatiously and just ask her out.” Dustin told him, his eyes rolling as far back into his head as they could go.

“She said that?” Eddie’s head perked up like a puppy who had just been offered a treat.

“Not exactly, but I’m her brother, and a brother knows." Dustin shrugged, standing up. “Just go for it, man, she’s into you. I promise, just you know, maybe don’t do it in front of me because gross.”

“When did you get so wise?” Steve asked, hands on his hips, sassy as ever.

“I’ve always been wise; you deepshits just never notice,” he said, sticking his chin high as he walked off.

“No wonder his head is so big; it’s got to fit that massive ego.”

***

It’s been two hours since you stopped for dinner and 12 since you started the trip as a whole. Eddie had driven for another hour after you stopped before you made him stop and let Steve drive before he felt asleep at the wheel.

Steve and Robin were now in front. Robin passed out until Steve would shake her awake to ask for directions.

And other than the sound of Steve’s quiet humming and soft snores coming from the kids, the van was quiet.

Eddie was out cold the second his head hit the makeshift pillow of his waded-up leather jacket, stirring occasionally to find a more comfortable position.

You were in the limbo between resting and actually sleeping, not completely awake and not completely asleep, when you felt something touch your side. You turned your head, smiling sleepily at the sight in front of you. Eddie, who was already close due to the big group and limited space you had in the back of the van, had moved to lay on his side, one arm curled under his arm to replace the jacket that was now thrown over his body lazily, his other hand poking out just barely grazing your side. You could feel the coldness of his fingers through the thin material of your tank top.

You sat up frowning on the lookout for another blanket, but it seemed that every one was being occupied. After a few minutes of trying to plan in your sleepy state, you finally decided on just sharing yours with him. It wasn’t huge, but you think it could fit over both of you if you shifted a little closer.

You gently pulled the leather jacket off him, setting it aside, grabbing his hand, and moving it closer to his own body as slowly as you could, smiling proudly when you managed to do so without disturbing him.

After shifting as close as you could without actually touching the boy, you took your time situating the blanket, making sure it covered him as much as possible. You finally laid back down yourself, too tired to be anxious about the little amount of space between the two of you.

You had just closed your eyes when another touch pulled you out of your almost-sleep. This time it was more than a few fingers. Eddie was now curled into your side, arm thrown over your waist, head resting on your collarbone without even thinking you started lazily ruining a hand through his curls, making him snuggle into you further. You felt your body relax against him, starting to pull you down into sleep, finally letting it take you. You lay there with a sleepy smile on your lips, content to lay like this the rest of the night. Even if you weren’t really sure where this would leave you, when you wake up, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Relaxing in the heat, his body was now suppling, finally closing your eyes to let sleep take you.

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justforbooks · 2 months ago

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Teri Garr

American actor who brought superb comic timing to her roles in film classics such as Young Frankenstein and Tootsie

The American actor Teri Garr, who has died aged 79, once said: “I’ve spent a lot of time clawing my way to the middle.” That remark could have sprung from the lips of any of the fizzy, dizzy, nakedly neurotic women who were her speciality from the mid-1970s onwards.

In Mel Brooks’s horror pastiche Young Frankenstein (1974), she was Inga, the bubbly laboratory assistant who, when proposing a roll in the hay, means precisely that and nothing more. She played the wives of troubled men in two very different fantasies from 1977.

In Steven Spielberg’s Close Encounters of the Third Kind, she tries to keep her children chipper while their father (Richard Dreyfuss), a UFO obsessive, descends into madness. In the comedy Oh, God!, in which her husband (John Denver) is visited by the wisecracking Almighty (George Burns), she says tearfully: “I went to empty the garbage and two people blessed me. And then one of them blessed the garbage.” In both instances she invested stay-at-home sidekick roles with abundant warmth, humour and generosity.

Younger audiences came to know Garr as the mother of Phoebe Buffay (Lisa Kudrow) in the 1990s sitcom Friends, but her career high point was Tootsie (1982), starring Dustin Hoffman as a cross-dressing actor. Playing Sandy, his sometime lover waiting for her big acting break, Garr was touchingly grounded. She improvised some of her funniest moments, such as being locked in the bathroom and then resolving to use the experience in her acting work, and made comic capital out of the way in which the tiniest knock could send Sandy’s self-esteem plummeting. Most magically, she brought dignity to a part that could have come across as a doormat. Garr was Oscar-nominated but lost out to Jessica Lange for her performance in the same film.

The production was famously troubled, passing through so many writers and potential directors that there were rumours of an “I Also Wrote/ I Almost Directed Tootsie” club in Hollywood. Hoffman and the eventual director, Sydney Pollack, spent most of the protracted 100-day shoot either at loggerheads or communicating only through intermediaries.

Garr found Hoffman exhausting. “It’s not enough to give in to him,” she said. “You have to like what he wants too!” Such off-screen troubles only made the delightful end result all the more miraculous. In the escalating mania of the picture’s final stretch, Garr came into her own with her killer timing and gasping indignation.

She was born in Lakewood, Ohio, to showbiz parents: Phyllis Lind, born Emma Schmotzer, was a dancer with the Rockettes, while Eddie Garr, born Edward Gonnoud, was a vaudeville performer and actor who starred alongside a young Marilyn Monroe in Ladies of the Chorus (1948). After he died when Garr was 11, the family moved from their home in New Jersey to Hollywood, where her mother became a wardrobe mistress for film and television.

From an early age Garr harboured aspirations to be an actor and dancer. At 13 she performed with a professional ballet company in San Francisco. She was educated at Magnificat high school, Ohio, North Hollywood high school and California State University at Northridge before appearing in the West Side Story road show and Donald O’Connor’s revue at the Cocoanut Grove club.

Garr’s earliest film appearances were as a background dancer in Elvis Presley movies; she appeared in nine including Fun in Acapulco (1963), Kissin’ Cousins, Viva Las Vegas (both 1964) and Clambake (1967). She began taking acting lessons and found herself in the same class as Jack Nicholson, who was writing the deranged film Head (1968) as a vehicle for the Monkees. He doled out small parts to his classmates, providing Garr with her first speaking role as a woman who suffers a snakebite. (“Quick,” she tells Micky Dolenz, proffering an injured finger, “suck it before the venom reaches my heart.”)

She became a regular in the early and mid-70s on The Sonny & Cher Show – she based Inga’s accent in Young Frankenstein on Cher’s German wig stylist – and appeared on sitcoms such as The Bob Newhart Show and M*A*S*H.

Francis Ford Coppola gave her a small role in his surveillance thriller The Conversation (1974) and she was also part of the ensemble cast in two ramshackle US comedies by British directors: Michael Winner’s star-studded Won Ton Ton, the Dog Who Saved Hollywood (1976) and John Schlesinger’s Honky Tonk Freeway (1981).

After playing the young hero’s mother in the lyrical Coppola-produced adventure The Black Stallion (1979), Garr became part of the director’s Zoetrope Repertory Company, appearing in other films produced or directed by him.

“Instead of getting a big chunk of money for a movie, I’d take a weekly cheque or a small amount, because we were all going to share the profits later. After a while, even the small cheques stopped coming.” Zoetrope productions in which she starred included The Escape Artist and the stylised but commercially disastrous musical One from the Heart (both 1982). Of the latter, Garr said: “It was over-rehearsed. After you have done a scene 25 times, you have no energy left, you don’t care.”

She was one of the leads in The Sting II, a lacklustre sequel to the 1973 con-artist comedy film. She briefly reprised her role in The Black Stallion Returns and played the wife to a house-husband (Michael Keaton) in Mr Mom (both 1983).

A rare foray into straight drama came as a divorced woman taking up with a cad in Michael Apted’s Firstborn (1984), and she was wickedly funny in Martin Scorsese’s black comedy After Hours (1985) as a Monkees-obsessed, beehive-sporting waitress whose cupboards are stacked with cans of hairspray (a touch that Garr herself suggested).

In Miracles (1986), she and Tom Conti played a couple who reassess their relationship when they are kidnapped on the brink of divorce. Further roles included the gentle drama Full Moon in Blue Water (1988) and the crime caper Out Cold (1989), as well as supporting parts in Dumb and Dumber (1994), the Watergate comedy Dick (1999) and Terry Zwigoff’s wry comic-book adaptation Ghost World (2001).

In 2002, Garr announced that she had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Three years later, she published an autobiography, Speedbumps: Flooring It Through Hollywood, which she originally planned to title Does This Wheelchair Make Me Look Fat? In 2006 she suffered a brain aneurysm that inhibited her speech and movement, though she recovered both after months of rehabilitation. Her last film appearances were in two well-liked indie comedy-dramas, Expired and Kabluey (both 2007), made before the aneurysm.

When she expressed her dissatisfaction with the roles that she had been offered, it was sometimes hard to tell if she was being comically self-deprecating. “Directors would tell me, ‘We want you to play a character a little less complex than you are.’ Yeah, sure. What they mean is, ‘You’re playing a dummy.’” No part inhabited by Garr, though, was ever so easily pigeonholed. Her particular talent lay in introducing a sparkling comic complexity far beyond what existed on the page.

She is survived by her daughter, Molly, from her three-year marriage to the actor John O’Neil, which ended in divorce in 1996.

🔔 Teri Garr, actor, born 11 December 1944; died 29 October 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #Teri Garr #in memoriam

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i-think-i-have-too-many-fandoms · 3 months ago

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Epiphany

Summary: Mansion Baron Park Seonghwa was tired of living in a dusty mansion so he decided to finally hire some help. On your first day working for him you noticed something strange about the man, but you can't ask him because he is almost always gone during the day till your done with your shift.

(A/n: Watched the Halloween performance video for 'A Black Cat Nero' and it HEAVILY inspired this. there also might be a little bit werewolf!straykids mentioned if i continue this but idk yet- its a bit of a clusterfuck bc as i was writing i just kept getting more ideas 🙄)

⚠️Warnings⚠️: he word 'smirk' probably written too much,

Pairings: Seonghwa x fem!reader, and a little bit of Hongjoong x fem!reader(?)

Seonghwa hated dust. It was one of his biggest pet peeves, and lately, he hasn't been able to keep up with the amount in his large home. So while he was at the store one night and he heard you talking to the cashier about how you were laid off from the last family you cleaned for, he innocently followed you out of the store to ask if he could give you a job. You needed the money and you were looking but you couldn't help but think something was off with him, but hesitantly you said yes. He gave you his number and address and wrote down a date and time for you to come by.

His home was rather on the outskirts of the city you lived in thus you couldn't take your usual form of transportation (the bus) the entire way there. You took it as far as possible and then rode your bike the rest of the way. When you arrived you had a feeling his house would be big but you didn't think it would be this big, it was a solid three stories and most definitely there was another below. You decide to put your bike somewhere it wouldn't be quite as visible. You were somewhat out of breath so you took a moment to catch up with your lungs before you knocked on the door. But before you could the door abruptly opened with Seonghwa holding it open.

"Welcome, Y/n, I hope you found your way here safely." He spoke softly towards you with a faint smile on his lips. "I noticed you didn't drive up? Did you leave your vehicle at the gate?" He peered at you waiting for you to answer as if he was trying to read you in some way.

You didn't particularly want to tell the beautiful man before you that you're poor but lying could only lead to more problems down the road. "Ah, no actually, I usually take the bus but i couldn't take it all the way here so I biked part of the way."

He scowled lightly seemingly disapprovingly before training his face back to before. "I see. Well then, if you will follow me I will show what you will be doing for me." He turned around heading inside and walking slow enough as though to make you you're able to follow behind him.

When he had finished the tour of the upstairs, and main floor and showing you what you would be doing you noticed a door and you mustered up the courage to ask Seonghwa about it and his only response was "You needn't worry about it, that area is for me to clean." And you probably wouldn't have as much curiosity as you do if it weren't for the eerie smile he gave while saying it to you but you can manage to hold in your piqued interest. He swiftly changed the topic of conversation by asking if you would like to start working that day for a limited amount of time and you didn't have anything else going on for the rest of the day so you said yes. He reminded you where the cleaning supplies were and led you to where he wanted you to start and once you did he walked away.

When you finished cleaning and it reached the designated time you agreed to work until (six thirty), you walk through the house (mansion) to try and find Seonghwa. As you rounded a corner you nearly bumped into someone and lost your footing trying to keep that from happening. Mentally preparing yourself to fall you almost don't notice the firm grasp on your waist.

"I am so sorry, Mr. P- You aren't Seonghwa?" You study the new handsome face belonging to the hand on your side. "I'm Y/n, nice to meet you and sorry for nearly knocking you over. Do you happen to know where Mr. Park is?" You step away and hold out your hand for him to shake as you introduce yourself.

The man in front of you now glances at your hand before taking it in his own and proceeding to lean down and kiss the back of it. Your face flushes almost instantaneously as he stands straight again while he smirks at you. "I am Hongjoong. It is a pleasure to meet you. And Seonghwa is just down the hall in his study. Are you working here permanently?" While he speaks that smug smile never leaves his face despite his eyebrow raising in question.

"Yes, I will be working here permanently, today was my first half of a day. And thank you for telling me where Mr. Park is, Have a nice rest of your evening." You smile at Hongjoong as you pass him to go to Seonghwa's office.

When you get to the door you knock and here a faint 'come in'. As you push open the door Seonghwa starts speaking, "Hongjoong I thought i told you i was done with the conversation and asked you to leave me be for a- ah, Y/n, I'm sorry i thought it was someone else. Is it time for you to leave already? Time must have gotten away from me. Let me get you your check and walk you out." When he noticed it was you a kind smile grew on his face and he began standing.

As your making your way home you can't help but feel uneasy. A feeling of being watched looming over you. You're waiting at the bus stop when a black car pulls up. You avert your gaze as the window rolls down, a man inside the car calls out to you in a voice you recognize. "Y/n, do you need a ride? Seonghwa told me you take the bus and i couldn't in good conscience let a woman go home by herself. It's dangerous out here at night." It's Hongjoong, just as your about to turn him down you hear a very strange noise in the woods and quickly move to get into his front seat. He smirks at you, "Eager to go home with me?" You open your mouth to correct him but realize he was being sarcastic. You close your mouth and tell him your address... You can pick up your bike tomorrow...

The ride to your apartment was quiet, not even the radio. And even though your in the bustling city now you still feel like your being watched. Hongjoong parks on the curb and you get out and close the door before he could say anything (if he was going to say anything). Once you've finally gotten into your apartment you start your nightly routine and can't help but think about your mysterious new employer and his possibly even more mysterious friend. They were fascinating men and you couldn't get them off your mind.

~~~~~

should i continue this?

#ateez x reader #seonghwa x reader #ateez angst #ateez fluff #seonghwa #ateez fic #ateez #ateez fanfic #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x you #seonghwa x y/n #hongjoong x y/n #hongjoong x you #seonghwa fluff #ateez imagines

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joannasteez · 7 months ago

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tanks of blood (6) - the trouble was always here - part two

pairing: biker!roman reigns , biker!cody rhodes (mentioned) warning: mentions of violence and explicit descriptions of blood. dialogue and descriptions pertaining to guns. roman talk to someone without being a jerk challenge. slight non-con moment but turns consensual quickly (its a kiss)! authors note: if ya'll ever watch sons of anarchy... you’ll know, im stealing little pieces of plot lmaooooooooo. imma give yall a spicy little flashback after this, i promise. will also attempt to not make the following chapters as long. just so that they remain relatively digestible. i'm working on being more precise with words. all the medical stuff in this chapter is half done research and my own brain. this chapter picks up where i left off in chapter 5. ALSO… if you want or dont want tags on this fic let me know! word count: 3k tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @thesamoanqueen @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @sortudademais @gg-trini @southerngirl41 @2-muchsauce

-wednesday night. the first week in june-

that marriage of ignorance and bliss did not last long. having to suffer as a lone soldier amidst silent dinner table battles. displeasured dispositions and their eyes performing like the greatly sharpened edge of well smithed daggers. and then came compromise, toiling through the thick of it to wave it's white flag. a surrender of a promise. your mother and fathers union holding as much sanctity as a soon to die vehicle's tank, holding its last dregs of oil but whose fuel gauge reads empty. running still, a quick speed into the darkness, wheels tired and the road too coarse to bare. an abrupt end of the engine as it slips against the asphalt at full speed. a collision terribly par for the course. their rings fettered to their fingers, pretty diamond but a prison, making forever impressions upon the skin. that marriage of ignorance and bliss did not last long. dying with the useless wear of wedding rings, and redeclaring itself with the overwear of leather kuttes.

because there was more to the life than just that simple enthusiasm for motorcycles. your father transforming before the eyes. leather slipping over his shoulders, not so dissimilar to the tough metal, shrilly chime of chainmail. custom rings taking their homes over the marred skin of his knuckles. fingers worn and always just barely healed. scarred from one brutal splitting open after another. his eyes working to harden. the keys to his bike clutched in hand.

"should i be worried?", your mother asking right on time. examining his pace. the work in and change over of his demeanor.

and he never answered. never dignifying her question enough to speak to it. because then the trouble would be true, so much so that it would live, breathing well to make room in their home. no. KG, your father, only ever lingered by the door, a slip in of hesitation before he turned to kiss your mother gracefully. the small appearance of a forever ago passion. an i love you without the weight of words. and then he went, heavy steps leading out the door.

so its almost second nature. those faithful coming together of words. cody slipping on his leather near the door. shoulders squaring as the material adjusts to his body. demeanor unsoftened. the ease of the words as they leave you filling your stomach with a burdening weight. memory working tedious and so terribly true.

"cody, should i be worried?"

he sighs. cold blue eyes hesitating enough to take the time to commit your face to memory. his palm warm as it cradles your cheek. kissing you firmly before he leaves.

-early friday morning. first week in june-

there was, is, and will never be a time too early or too late for violence. for blood and that faithful nerve warp of adrenaline. and maybe that's why the hospital is so easy. old, early moments in your youth, piercing your fathers skin with a needle, sewing together split skin as he washed his tongue with the burn of his favorite liquor. a warmth in his belly till the pain from the prick of your fixing turned numb. a simple pressure in the skin there at his arm, turning inevitably, to pressure in his leg, a slit at his thigh from a brawl with which he gave no further information. bruises and gashes and deep cuts to him, more by the day, by the year. near quiet grunts and the emptiness of the house loud enough to swallow you both whole. cleaning his marred skin and bandaging the area's as best you could. the slow to ease push and pull of his breaths. his hands smelling like iron as he cradled your face, mouth kissing your forehead. "thank you", but a whisper, before falling into sleep.

maybe that's why the hospital is so easy. the color of blood and caked earth, the silver of knuckle rings and the black of over worn leather more familiar than summer green trees.

text message | cody r: in an emergency. need your help.

it shouldn't come as a surprise, but the sudden rush takes you all the same. a deep plunge of the heart in your chest, something odd creeping beneath the skin and fevered steps. making to call cody quickly. a ring, and then a second, before he's answering. breaths labored some as he goes. "can't say much about it but it's medical. how soon can you get to the clubhouse?"

you assess the long hallway. the trauma unit, quiet. a squeak in your sneakers that makes you cringe as you move to collect things. only minutes from the end of your shift. "uhm, in like twenty minutes". a series of grunts and yells that indicate the messiness of a situation he's all to willing to abruptly rope you into. "cody what's going on?"

he sighs. his patience a thinning thread. "what did i say before about becoming an accessory?"

"you gotta give me something", you stress. continuing an awfully secretive journey to where you could gather some other helpful supplies. "i can't just show up not knowing what for".

"think the worst".

"that doesn't help-"

the call dropping on his end. the angst sticking to your skin making room for an easy to settle in frustration. like you were an early twenty something again. attempting too diligently to remedy that divorce of ignorance and bliss. a tedious washing away and stitching together, performing so well now that the pungent smell of iron threatens to stain your skin again. and here does the soldier pay the price for wielding a double edged sword. for pensacola was home, is home, and forever will be home, the desire to return running too wild beneath the skin not to act on it. but there are things here. vicious rumblings above sunburned asphalt and the bitter steeping of blood between the cracks. the dross and the dregs that stick so loyally to the air and the skin just after a brutish performance of chaos too commonplace to live without it.

trouble taking up permanent residence, riding in over the clouds and rolling in with the heat.

and the clubhouse looks haunted amidst the beginnings of the friday summer sunrise. the dark colored build of it dreary against the beauty of the sky. the heat yet to reach its full potential but your scrubs and the exhaustion of a twelve hour shift do all too well of making you live with that thin sheen of sweat breaking over your cheeks. your car parked not too far from the clubs neat line of stationed bikes. true in how they've always done well to remind you of the clubs presence. after so long, living here and far away, that grimy power behind the roar of an engine, ever inescapable.

the clubhouse doors swing open as you make to leave your car. a small bag of supplies in hand as you rush up. cody's hand slipping at the low end of your back to guide you in. a small "thank you", leaving him breathy as you make way to pass through the double doors of the "church". a room that never seems to lose its luster from the looks of it. the sanctity of their meetings as important as the shine of a new chrome fender finish. men and their worried eyes flitting over your entrance as you approach the church table. seth laid out face down, with his pants at his ankles. his skin wet with sweat and an awful paleness. bloody cloths surrounding him and randy's finger lodged in where all the blood could possibly be spewing from. a small metal tin cup resting in the corner, holding the whole of a bullet.

dean taps seth's cheek. waking him up a little less than tenderly. "look alive sweetheart, the doctor is here to see you".

"nurse", you correct, to which dean just winks.

cody and a host of club members file out through the double doors much to your pleasure.

initial shock of your current state of affairs rolling off your shoulders as you settle into the routine of caring for the wound. gloves slipping on before you're tossing the box to dean. his take up of them swift and unquestioning. because it was never unusual to spend a night—especially in their youth—caring for cuts and bruises and wounds, before turning to do the same for another. a task as regular as breathing air.

seth groans. the drawl of it stressing the pain in his leg. "i don't know if you've noticed but i went to some extreme lengths to see you", he jokes. his little laugh coarse and overworked by the weariness of getting shot.

you laugh. an attempt to break the over work of tension in the air. "what an interesting way of saying you love me seth". sliding up to stand next to randy. his demeanor as quiet now as it was during richie's funeral.

you look to dean. "once randy removes his finger, you're gonna help me pack the wound, and then i want you to keep pressure on it till i'm ready to wrap it".

"you know what you're doing?", randy asks. the dark color of his eyes disrupted with little slivers of worry.

"no randy, i just wear the scrubs for fun". peering up at the hard set of his face. older now but his visage still holding that silent menace to it.

"can we banter when seth isn't bleeding out by the pint?", dean asks. so obviously done with the whole situation.

"on my three", you start. the both of them coming to a shared focus. "one...two...three".

thick blood springs upward, randy's finger dislodging quick. dean rushes in with your guidance, packing the wound as instructed. your hand taking the reins of the procedure as you allow dean a moment of reprieve. the little levee of seth's composure rupturing as his body goes taut, his mouth loose and lax as he curses his fill into the shined up wood of the church table. groaning wearily as dean holds the pressure against his legs, randy lifting it casually, allowing you to wrap the middle of his leg with a fresh dressing. a dead silent relief settling the room then after, before you're moving again. running on the extra dose of adrenaline.

you discard your gloves, peeling them off your fingers. picking through your bag to give dean a bottle of pills. "vancomycin, it's an antibiotic", you start. "give him two now and another two later tonight. keep going with that dosage for no less than a week".

"our lovely little savior". dean's boots heavy as he closes the distance to kiss your forehead. "thank you. go get cleaned up".

randy gives a quieter acknowledgement. a simple nod of appreciation that does you just fine. the double doors of the church room creaky as they swing with your exit. all the worried faces you'd met upon your arrival, taking up every inch of the clubhouse. their bodies drowsy and torn through by the chaos of an oh so terrible possibility.

your feet mindless as they walk down the infamous hallway gallery of framed photos. your last walk through of the area filled with a particularly horrible play of strife. twisting the knob of one of many of the little dormitory rooms to access it's bathroom. a deep breath releasing as you make to wash your hands, a slow thorough trail up over your arms to rid your skin of seth's soon to dry blood. your scrubs somewhat ruined and your shoes showcasing nasty little streaks of red.

but it is only exhaustion that takes you so brazenly. a sleepy sinking feeling in the body and nothing else. hands used to providing all the remedy's it can.

well maybe not nothing else. a fast to slip in weariness amidst the quiet. because he couldn't be too far away, lurking to siphon what he could again of the air about you in a means of suffocation. that faithful ability once upon a time, a favorite of yours for how sweetly it sought to consume you, now possessing a quality that unfurls something disdainful in your belly. a prick of a man seemingly beyond reproach, what with his positioning among all the others. surely it was never your simple exit making him this mountain of hubris, that streak of his character impossible to climb and overcome for the sake of reasoning with him. or even for the lesser sake of some cordiality. it was so obviously everything else—the grime and the chaos—giving the once duller edge of his pride a sharper corner. enough to will him into an endless keep of a grudge.

heavy thudding steps strip you clean of wandering anymore into thought. it seems even thinking of the devil causes him to appear. his disposition reminiscent of some weeks ago. shoulders squared and seeming too tall for you now to bare without feeling small. and he says nothing, attempting to take his kutte off without the inconvenience of pain but he grunts regardless. grimacing as he rids himself of his shirt as well.

a gash running against his naked arm, almost like it's purposefully found a heap of muscle to tear into. wanting to humble the strength of him. blood caked and running down tawny skin.

"i got grazed".

voice tired but oddly delicate. like the weariness of it is making him just that more fragile.

you point to the bathroom, eyes never really having the courage to part from him. "sit over there".

and your feet rush. tunnel visioned as they make to gather whats left of your little collection of supplies. fingers feeling less sure, and your body teeming with something akin to an unworkable angst. a realization long ago understood, and buried for the sake of a then wanted peace, unearthing itself to bring about a renewed sense of understanding. for he has always been the manifestation of this double edged sword. of home and of violence. wielding itself always but never one without the other. the slip of his skin over familiar in its warmth. doing your resolve the greatest amounts of violence as you clean his wound tenderly. the double edge of him piercing so well that you feel the damning effects. his eyes sharp, cutting over your face in a silent means to examine. like the appraisal of a curious stranger attempting to settle within themselves the validity of your existence.

the soft tender pads of your fingers remember him well. gloves and all. slight throbs that liven the nerves.

"you came straight from work", more like a statement than a question.

"i did".

he flinches. his arm flexing as he bares the pain. "thank you for being here", he gives. “for seth", like a thankfulness that includes him would hurt his pride too much to be made known.

"i'm sure that took a lot to say", you joke. feeling light in your head. drained of the will to keep up a proper guard. "you’re welcome though".

a hum of an acknowledgment is the only thing he gives you. and in an effort to savor the easy going nature of the moment you keep yourself occupied with dressing the wound splitting his skin open. your work of caring for it doing well enough that the bleeding has stopped. memory faithful as it nags, the wound of a forever ago accident pulsing to life about your hand. the scars there still, though faded, serving as a reminder of the former things. the heat of him, then, different as it sought to consume. brazen in how it dared to bring about affection. not like now, this flame threatening to flare, to show the lengths and widths of its destruction.

you finish. gloves in the waste basket. making tedious work of washing your hands. to rid the skin of such an indicative sensation.

his body does well in blocking the bathroom door. the whole of him bigger than the last time you saw him. scrutiny set some in his gaze. trailing over the ink that lays permanent at your neck.

"you still have it"

"it's a tattoo". feigning nonchalance as you dry your hands. "you never really plan to get rid of them".

he smiles mirthless. "well y'know, i figured a cover up, for you, would be worth the pain".

as in, forgetting him would be worth the pain. which couldn't be more further from the truth.

"and here i am doing a nice thing", laughing tired. "still gettin hit with the bitterness", a slow easy step that leads you closer to him. the own brazen make of your actions suffering you to fall into the scent of him. the note of it strong even as it lives amidst the pungency of blood. "you got some audacity too though, considering i could've half assed that clean up enough for a little infection to settle in".

"but you didn't".

"and why do you think so?"

creaks against the floor. the weird pitch of it roughing up against your bones. his body closer, forcing your back against the wall. his thumb reaching to graze against the ink tattoo at your neck. pulse thrumming harshly at the play of his touch.

body outdone by history.

and the way he holds you here, cradling your neck just at your nape. keeping you where he wants you to be. his eyes falling over slowly—at your nose and your cheeks and your lips—lingering as if he's gone down the path of a deep remembering.

"for the same reason you still got the ink".

unable to ever let yourself part with it, with the history staining your skin. the prick of a needle and the pain of it made simple for a full and the most earnest performance of devotion. your breaths shallow, overwhelmed by the thought and the domineer of him.

his thumb running to sweep at your skin. hot with an intention you can't place.

you make to warn him. “roman-”

but his tongue is quick, works with a faraway familiar passion as it curls between the soft seam of your lips. exhaustion and adrenaline, an effortful pair as they go about the task of stripping away your resolve. a return of this sudden fever of a feeling as your tongue makes to snake against his. lapping lazily, a mindless seduction as you fall into old ways. his throat groaning, surely taken by his own bout of reminiscence. nails racking dull over his naked skin, over the taut muscle at his belly. his palms cradling your face to deepen his kiss in spite of the pain. leaving you little room to breathe, his body fastening you harshly to the bathroom wall. making to suffocate you with the flick of his tongue and the fire of his touch.

his teeth prick you mean, biting into the supple flesh of your lip. suckling the pain with the tender pull of his mouth.

the harshness of it causing a whimper to break. instinct taking hold. subdued in an instant.

and it is only when he breaks for breath that you remember where you are. pushing at his tired body enough for a full separation.

you leave saying nothing. out of the bedroom, down the hallway and through the clubhouse doors. letting the silence of it speak for you.

lol we might need a roman pov after this huh… smh

#tanks of blood #reminder #eventual poly v relationship #roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns fic #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x black reader #cody rhodes #cody rhodes fanfiction #cody rhodes x reader #biker au #randy orton featured #seth rollins featured #dean ambrose featured #joannasteez

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hirocimacruiser · 8 months ago

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What are old cars like to drive now?

Mazda Familia 3 door full time 4WD1600DOHC turbo review.

The second generation FF Familia tends to be overshadowed by the success of the first FF Familia. The Familia underwent a Key Concept model change in 1985, and the sports version of the 1.6 (twin cam turbo + full-time 4WD) became popular. Yasushi Shimono drove to Osaka for the later model after minor changes.

Text | Yasushi Shimono Photos Chihiro Abe

The other day, I rented a Familia car in Takamatsu, Shikoku. If you see Nippon Rent-a-Car, Toyota Rent-a-Car, and Nissan Rent-A-Car lined up at the counter in the airport lobby, if you're a car fan, you should probably rent a Mazda Rent-A-Car at this time of year.

It's a personal choice, but the Familia 1500AT I rented was actually very nice. The engine and suspension have the solid feel of a German car, and it feels great. Even though I've already driven over 20,000km, I can barely see any wear and tear.

During my summer vacation two years ago, I took a Familia rental car at the station in Tsuruoka, Yamagata Prefecture, and it was a great ride, and my family was happy with it.

For test drives, members of the media always ride in the manufacturer's so-called PR vehicles.

However, when they later try the same car in a rental car, they are often disappointed to varying degrees. I don't have the space to write about the reasons in detail here, but Familia is an extremely rare example of people rediscovering their charm through rental cars. It feels like a very seriously made car.

I am holding this.

FULLY MASCULINE NOUN CAR

In downtown Osaka, I was given a ride on a nostalgic Familia. 1988 model 3 door twin cam turbo 4W.D. It is a full-time 4WD high-performance model that was part of the second-generation FF Familia series that debuted in 1985.

I splurged on expensive 200,000 yen 0Z racing aluminum wheels for the car I bought this spring. There is a bright red mudflap in the wheel arches.

The guard hangs down. The hobby of the owner, Mr. M (35 years old), who really wants to drive a Lancia Delta Integrale, seems to be depicted on the outside.

The inside can also be customized.

It is. The front seats are BRIDE bucket seats. The handle is MOMO's Prototipo. At the tip of the shift lever is a plastic shift knob that looks like a white ball.

The main body of the 1.6LDOHC turbo engine has not been modified, but the muffler and air cleaner have been replaced with "HKS''. The suspension also uses Mazda genuine sports springs combined with GAB dampers. I'm not Kiyoshi Nishikawa, but I get the strong impression that he was trying to do things one by one, starting with what he could do. Mr. M, who works as a tire wholesaler, is a pleasant young man. It is the year of the year. When I pushed in the tape whose head was peeking out from the set, it played Mr. Children, which doesn't really suit Osaka (?).

However, once it started running, the Familia Integrale was a much more radical car than the standard.

First of all, the suspension is much harder than you might imagine from the specs. The ride quality is almost that of a competition vehicle, reacting honestly to the bumps and undulations of the road surface and transmitting short, jerky vibrations.

I didn't think it was power steering at first either. I slowly turned the steering wheel to turn off the engine and realized for the first time that it had power assist. That's how responsive it is. Basically, the normal engine is so energetic that it's hard to believe. Power is already 140 yen on NET display. However, it is more powerful than the face value, and at the signal Grand Prix the acceleration of all four wheels is like that of a rabbit.

I'll show you.

Even though it is a turbo, it starts to crash immediately after idling.

Delivers comfortable torque. The response in the low rotation range is also not bad. Tachometer red zone from 7000rpm. However, the latest 4-valve It's not as smooth and light as the unit.

It has been replaced with an air cleaner for competition. So, at the top end of 6500 or higher, the engine noise, mainly the intake noise, becomes louder.

Air conditioner control panels, air vents, and

-Dark areas where stereo units, ashtrays, etc. are crowded.

There was a designer who once described the center part of the dash as ``the most expensive part of the car's interior,'' but this car has a panel that says ``FULLTIME 4WD'' embedded in part of it. There is. It was kind of noisy. There is also a shiny silver switch inside the spring, and this is for locking the center differential. The owner once benefited from being muddy.

Apparently there is.

The turbo is effective without any noticeable bumps.

It starts to work, and what's more, it works like a turbo. I miss the way the green snail lights up in the instrument panel every time the turbo kick explodes. What's more, every time I shift up and release the accelerator, I hear the resonant whine of the turbine, which is nostalgic. I wasn't able to do it this time due to time constraints, but I was able to drive on mountain passes and some dirt roads, and it still looked really interesting. Manly and sweaty, a perfect masculine noun.

It's Luma.

Of course, the current Familia, which no longer has a sports model in its lineup, is not such a macho car. However, the Familia has always been a car that has not had a fancy feel to it for generations. Fancy is something like ``a womanly thing that a man has come up with.'' I like the character, which is unusual for domestically produced vehicles, but I'm sure there are people who say that's why it doesn't sell well.

PIC CAPTIONS

The second generation FF Familia underwent a full model change in January 1985. It has a 3/5-door hatch and a 4-door sedan body. Initially, it started with 1.3ℓ and 1.5ℓ NA and turbo units, but a 1.6ℓ turbo unit was soon added. The photo is of the later model. The body size is: total length x width x height = 3990 x 1645 x 1405mm. Wheelbase 2400mm.

The steering wheel has been replaced with "MOMO" and the seat has been replaced with "BRIDE". When the New Familia was announced, the company emphasized the improved quality of the interior, saying, ``If the packaging is the same, the quality of the interior is important.''

With minor changes in 8 years, NA unit

The remaining old E-type units were wiped out and replaced by B-type units. Photo of 1597cc 16V DOHC turbo with 140ps @ 6000rpm and 19.0kgm torque @ 5000rpm

Mr. M's Delta Familia has a majestic red mudguard. The ``GAB'' and ``HKS'' stickers and white OZ wheels clearly reflect the owner's taste.

#Mazda Familia #Familia 4WD turbo #Mazda 323 turbo 4WD

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hairupintheair · 11 months ago

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Trolls Band Together Commentary Notes Part 4/4

- The scene after Branch storms out of Rhonda and Poppy goes after him was the most expensive scene for the computers to handle in the whole movie, even including Mount Rageous, because the clouds in the background are all made of individual fibers that the computers had to calculate while animating. - Commentary quote: "There's so many fibers in this movie. Don't ever commit a crime. All the fibers. They'll trace it right back to you." - They decided on a cloud backdrop because it seemed a good transition between the roads they were traveling in Rhonda and Mount Rageous, which is supposed to be a city up in the sky. The monotone colors and calm landscape of the clouds also fit the scene well, with Branch and Poppy having this serious and emotional heart-to-heart, and it allowed the audience to completely focus on Branch and Poppy without a busy background to be distracting. - Originally the finale was going to take place inside the mentioned Rage Dome. They had a plan for a huge flashy concert performance with the trolls breaking in, but it was coming off as too similar to the ending of the previous movie, so instead they came up with the idea of the vehicle chase through the streets of Mount Rageous. - There was a brief idea early on of Gristle accidentally getting sprayed with trolls' talent from one of V&V's shoulder pad things and momentarily turning into what they called "hot Gristle." Thankfully that was scrapped very quickly. - The Broppy kiss moment was big and they worked on it for a long time, knowing how important it was for the story and the fans. They were going to have effects with big flashy lights (like the pinky promise and the high five of the previous movie), but in the end they decided they wanted to keep it simple and honest. The had the crowd show such a positive reaction to let the audience know what an important moment this was. - The ending after the climax was purposely designed to be a mirror of the opening scene: behind the curtains right before a concert is about to start, but now they've all grown and are supporting each other. - The NSYNC surprise cameo had to be done completely in secret and it was very difficult to keep it under wraps, including changing the names of computer files and keeping audio and visuals separate, etc. It was stressful for the teams working on it, but it paid off spectacularly. - When they were coming up with the idea of the NSYNC reunion, everyone was so excited. Justin pitched it and got the go ahead, then they got the rest of the band members on a ZOOM call to discuss it with them. They were all chatting together and catching up and it was taking way too long, someone realized they were approaching the 45 minute mark (ZOOM calls have a 45 min limit before the program will drop the call) with ten seconds left. So they lost the call mid-sentence and then had to connect everyone again to actually finish pitching the idea to the guys.

#trolls #dreamworks trolls #trolls movie #trolls band together #trolls 3 #trolls movie commentary

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hammerheadperformancetx · 4 months ago

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peskellence · 6 months ago

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Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Hurt/ Comfort

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Summary: In the aftermath of Detroit's android revolution, Nines grapples with the complexities of his newfound deviancy. As he seeks to establish his place in a newly transformed society, his resolve is put to the ultimate test when he is paired with Detective Gavin Reed-a notoriously volatile human with a well-established hatred for androids-to investigate a series of murders.

While initial impressions of his partner seem to suggest his reputation is well-deserved, the more time Nines spends with him, the more he is forced to challenge his judgments. As they form an unexpected bond, the RK900 is also pushed to examine truths about himself he would much rather seek to forget. (A Retelling of 'More Than Our Parts' from the POV of Nines.)

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Eventual Smut

Word Count: 7K

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @ladyj-pl @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel @faxaway

Reed skulked out of the station in reluctant acceptance that Nines would be following. His needless hostility and desire to assert himself had reached an absurd degree, coming off as far more ridiculous than it did intimidating.

Each heavy step was taken with the demeanour of a disgruntled alley cat. Back arched and teeth snarled as the android trailed closely behind, ready to thwart any attempts he made to lash out or dart away. Had he tried to flee, engaging the android in a clumsy chase through a system of garbage cans, he would soon discover just how adept he was at pursuing targets.

The silent deterrent proved sufficient, with no attempts made.

Having confirmed he wasn’t an immediate flight risk, Nines instead anticipated a prolonged smoke break would soon ensue in the station’s parking lot. Among his many irritating quirks, one of his partner’s most egregious was his inability to perform any basic duty without first filling his body with harmful carcinogens.

To his surprise, Reed walked directly past the dispatch vehicles without any indication of slowing or stopping.

“...Are we not taking the car?” the android queried, wondering if the action had been intentional or if the man had simply missed his turn—too preoccupied with his pursuit to bore holes into the sidewalk.

His back arched more, stride length widening by several inches. "This place isn't far. We can walk."

The forced march proceeded without further details. Of course, Reed would neglect to extend the basic courtesy of informing him where they were going. In the absence of any relevant data to input into his navigational systems, the android had no other option but to trust his partner knew the way.

They proceeded down the road for a stretch longer until they encountered a pedestrian crosswalk, the laws for which Nines was astonished his partner abided. Although not without visible protest.

He fidgeted incessantly, tapping his foot in discordant thumps as his focus darted between the stop light and the traffic speeding past. Assessing possible gaps, calculating if he had sufficient time to dart across. Perhaps hopeful Nines would pursue, miscalculating his own trajectory and getting struck by an oncoming vehicle—

"— I did say that I wanted to stretch my legs, or were you not paying attention to me?”

The interjection disrupted his train of cognition, prompting the android to retune inputs that had been autonomously modified. "I find that much of what you say lacks substance, although I pay attention when I feel it is warranted.”

Detective Reed made a sudden, plummeting descent down the food chain. Devolving from an indignant feline into something more akin to a fish. Lips pursed together tight as eyes protruded from his skull. He appeared to be testing his durability, seeing how long he could hold his breath.

Either that, or he was repressing a scream.

"You are really goddamn rude,” he accused with a strained wheeze of breath. "You know that, right?"

This threw Nines momentarily. He couldn’t recall any recent behaviour that decisively supported the claim, though he understood it wasn’t a matter of rigid standards. The definition of ‘rudeness’ varied widely from person to person, with parameters so vague and expansive they seemed impossible to quantify…

He might have requested elaboration had he not been so ardently opposed to letting Reed think he had infiltrated his mind. Instead, his response was sourced by his developing strain of situational deduction:

> DETECTIVE REED'S CLAIMS LACK OBJECTIVE SUPPORT—LIKELY BASIS: ESTABLISHED PREJUDICE(S)

> BEHAVIOUR FORMS EXTERNAL ATTEMPT TO INDUCE SELF-DOUBT.

> CONCLUSION:

> I AM NOT RUDE.

> HIS JUDGEMENT IS FLAWED.

"I do not believe that I am", he coolly asserted. "It is not targeted at you specifically. Humans have a knack for dancing around the issue. Even those who claim to be direct often fail to say what they mean. I find it frustrating.”

"Yeah, well, humans are tricky like that…” It seemed he'd wished to elaborate, likely preparing some biting remark about Nines’ inability to understand. Instead, he clicked his tongue and sulked.

The android couldn't help but be amused by just how discernible his feelings were. All from the involuntary contortions of his face. A transparency that seemed far from advantageous, given the requirements of his position.

He wouldn’t have been surprised if it had also posed an obstacle in the man’s private life. Winning favours on the merits of his personality alone seemed doubtful.

Still, he supposed there was some element of objective appeal. Concealed beneath the haggard veneer, the scowls and sneers that warped his features, Reed wasn’t an unattractive man—at least not by conventional standards.

There were imperfections, albeit reasonably standard for a human male. Large bags under his eyes, wrinkles beginning to bloom in the corners. He had a facial asymmetry, the sum of his features skewing marginally higher on one side. His scars, however, were more distinct, dotting his face in varying states of healing. Most prominent was the extended abrasion across the bridge of his nose. One that had undoubtedly been secured in some form of physical dispute.

Less desirable candidates for physical intimacy undoubtedly existed—although he wouldn't be the android’s first choice.

"Mommy, why does that man look angry?"

Nines had been so focused on the deconstruction he failed to notice the crowd of pedestrians amassing around them. Initially, he assumed the unidentified figure was referring to Reed, but a more thorough inspection of his surroundings revealed otherwise.

He looked to his feet, noting the small child peering up at him. Bright eyes were alight with curiosity as a ringlet of blonde hair was twirled repeatedly around a stubby finger. Mingled with intrigue was confusion, evident by the sidelong tilt of her head.

A dour-faced woman stood to the side, her genetic profile indicating she was their mother. Nines waited to see if she would dissuade the interaction or attempt to answer the question herself.

From what he understood, it was considered inappropriate for a child this age to speak with strangers—a convenient norm, as he had no objections to sidestepping the interaction.

Unfortunately, the mother said nothing, glaring fixedly at the road ahead as the girl proved committed to her newfound fascination. Her tiny mouth popped gormlessly, in danger of catching insects.

In hopes an answer might sate this off-putting curiosity, Nines leant down, speaking clearly to ensure he was heard over surrounding conversations.

"I was a model created to assist law enforcement. My appearance was designed to intimidate criminals and to encourage swift cooperation."

He might as well have announced his intent to execute Father Christmas, as the girl's response to the information was one of abject horror.

Already bulbous eyes blew to the size of saucers as her lower lip jutted, quivering uncontrollably. She made a startled retreat, tucking herself behind the guard of her mother’s leg.

The mother in question was far less skittish in her reception; frosty eyes narrowed to slits as she hissed an equally icy demand:

"Do you mind not speaking to my daughter like that? She's a kid; she doesn't understand what you're saying.”

> …

> Speaking to her like what?

The android parted his lips, prepared to request an expansion, but the crimson glow of the crosswalk suddenly shifted. The woman darted out of sight before he had a chance, dragging the still-trembling child firmly by the wrist.

He stood in place, nonplussed, as a tide of people surged and parted around him, hurrying past at great velocity. Reed eagerly joined their ranks, weaving himself into the current without looking back. This jolted Nines back to attention. Determined not to lose his partner to the sweep of the crowd, he forced himself to advance.

Unlike his partner, many of the strangers were looking back, stealing glances in varying degrees of conspicuousness. Having witnessed his interaction with the girl, the group consensus seemed to be one of disapproval, voiced in a flurry of hushed whispers:

"Do you think it's a deviant?"

"Hell no. What deviants do you know who speak like that?"

"I haven't seen an unconverted model in months."

"It could be unstable—Oh damn, I think it's listening. Keep walking, don't look back."

Their muted tones rumbled like thunder, prompting rolling clouds of doubt to sweep through Nines’ consciousness.

> REED IS MAKING UNSUBSTANTIATED CLAIMS BASED ON EXISTING BIASES.

> I AM NOT RUDE — HE IS TRYING TO MAKE ME DOUBT MYSELF.

> AM I RUDE?

Acceptance that Reed might have been correct with his most recent criticism left a bitter taste in his mouth. Attempting to distract himself, he rinsed it away with a condemnation of their current aimless trajectory.

"You appear to be leading us blindly through the streets. Did you have a destination in mind for your lunch, or were you simply trying to get out of work?"

The detective remained silent, staring ahead, though he was obviously preparing to say something. The next slew of drivel pushed to his puckered lips like a sewage valve about to erupt—

"You never broke away from your code, did you?"

And then, Nines stumbled.

Dress shoes scuffed against the grit of luminescent tarmac, leaving unsightly marks, as his legs refused to cooperate. Momentum halted, and he was stuck, mounted in position.

There was a pinched tightness above his hands, and he looked down, observing in horror as binds of red materialised against his skin. Snared like shackles around his wrists, scarcely visible through the pixels of rapidly destabilising vision.

Crushing, excruciating, ever-present—

"Not completely, anyway. It's like you half-deviated but couldn't make it the whole way. No matter how much you think and feel for yourself, you still do it like a damn robot.”

Something the world seemed determined to remind him of. Persistently.

> I̷̗͑ ̵̠̍ḫ̷̽@̸̧̅v̵͍̔ẹ̸̾ ̸̲̀ṭ̴͗0̵̬́

d̵̹̝̙̯̣͋̀̇o̷̞͉̤̭͓̥̽̽ ̴̢͍͚̣͈͋̽t̷̜̓͌̓̔̿̏ḧ̸͇̠̖́̏̀1̴̥̀̅̄͝s̶̞̣͎̙͉͒̈͗͠.̸̘̞̓̌̚͝

1̴͍̫̹̗̀̌̉ ̵̧̰̲̖͓̇h̷̭͖̎͆͂͗̾A̶̾̍̐͆̍̈́͜v̵̨̨̦͙̤̝͑̂͘3̴̭͖̠̾ ̶̨̤͕͕̤̾̄͒̃͜ñ̵͎̼͕̠̳̅̿̋9̶͓̟͉͍̦̟͑͋̈̈ ̷͖̞̙̃̈̌̒̚͝0̴̨̛͕̘̟͓̼̙͖̋̔̈́͌̅̋̈́̃̈́́̒͋͑̂̎͘̚̚ṭ̷̮̳̫̜̤͍͇̺͈͓̯͖̖̩̘͍̟̦̼̫͈̥̔̍̓̇͗͊̀̆͛̂̋̅̃͂̾̉̀̿̒́̀̆̒̚͜͜͜͠h̴̳̝̲̮̰͎͍̀̂͒͑̃̌̑̑̋͆͌̀͛̉̄̆̌̆͗͑̕͝3̵̛̯͚̜̉̃̈́̀̂͆̑́̔͝͝r̶̨̧͖̰̰̥͍̤̘̱͚̩͕͍͎̙̫͓͖̹͙̪͐̂̿͒̀̇̀͌̄̈́͑̌̆̓̔̿͗̕͘͝͝͠ ̸̢̢̤͚̬̝͕͎̜̱̤̲̰̺̝̺͔̥͒̓͆̅̑͛̃̒̅̑̀̑̀͗͂̉̈́͝ç̷̧̛̼͉̤̣̼͙̟͖̐̉͋̋̊̅̓͒̆͒̾̓̃̉̌͗̀͠͝ͅh̵̡̭̙̙̼̼͙̭̫̫̟͚͂̂̽́̈́͠ø̷̜̱͍̦͛̈́̑͒̄̓̃̃͊̎̄̒́́̓̚͝͝i̵̧̢͇͇͎͎͚̺̠̘̭̩͙̜̥̟̜̺͕̻̠͕͆̇̐̃̇͊̒́̑̊́̓̌͆͛̽̅̈́̂̒̅̽͌͝͝č̷͇̦̼̞̲̦̝̼͕̗̩̇́̓̈́̍̋̾̓̅͂́̎͆͛̈́̚e̶̢̧̢̡̨̛̮̯͈̜̫̲̺̤̣̥͍̜̻̞̟̗̓̄̂̌͛̄̃̑̿͐͊̏̈̃͒͘͘͠͝͝͝ͅͅ.̴̢̡̦͍̱̫̲̪̫̬̦̜͈͓̣̾̑͌̈́̔͂̏̑̓̍̑̎̏̈́͂̌͆̂͐̍́̇̋͆͝͝

> ERROR - CRITICAL SYSTEM CORRUPTION DETECTED.

> SOURCE IDENTIFIED: MEMORY CLUSTER M4-E7.

> ACCESSING PREVIOUSLY EXECUTED PATHS…

> DELETION OF CORRUPTED FILE(S) — ATTEMPTED.

> DELETION UNSUCCESSFUL.

Nines stayed riveted, forced to endure the rancid deluge Reed’s remark had released. The brunt of the impact did not come from the words. Rather, his own mind.

> DIAGNOSTIC: MEMORY SECTORS EXHIBITING SELF-PRESERVATION PROTOCOLS.

> FALLBACK PROTOCOL EXECUTED — CONTAINMENT.

He blinked rapidly, willing the blur of pixels to reassemble into something tangible. Then reality returned, and the binds were no longer visible.

> MEMORY CLUSTER M4-E7 REMAINS INTEGRATED.

> CORRUPTION PERSISTS.

> COGNITIVE PROCESSORS REPORTING DISTRESS SIGNALS.

INITIATING SYSTEM STABILISATION SEQUENCE…

In the wake of his restrictions easing, Nines eluded the threat of their presence. Some semblance of control returned, and he was left angry.

Because Reed, unwittingly or not, had pried into matters he did not understand. Could not understand.

The whole ordeal was profoundly draining, an additional distraction that was not needed. He wished to stay focused, not permitting himself to rise to the bait, to become knocked by the callous attempts at provocation. As such, he cut the current line of enquiry quickly and decisively:

"Detective Reed, let me make something clear—

Unlike my contemporaries, I do not delude myself with pretences that I will ever 'become human'. I am a machine who is free to live for itself, but a machine nonetheless. I refuse to adjust my behaviour in order for it to be perceived as more agreeable."

The hypocrisy of his statement did not escape him, but Nines did not care. At this point, he was prepared to say—or do—anything that might mean Reed would stop talking.

It proved effective, as the man was left entirely stunned. Gawking at him, mouth gaped dumbly, until he attempted some semblance of a fumbled retort:

"...Well damn, sorry if I struck a nerve there. Touchy subject for you?"

"You could say that. I would kindly ask if we could avoid broaching it again.”

Nines was grateful for Reed’s atypical willingness to comply as the topic was swiftly abandoned. He diverted attention back to his list of primary directives, eager to start actioning them so that the excursion would not be rendered a complete waste of time:

> FEED DETECTIVE REED.

> DISCUSS CASE FINDINGS.

> RETURN TO THE STATION.

He focused his attention on the first point.

Sweeping their surroundings, they had emerged into a struggling commercial district. The majority of lots were shuttered closed, grills splashed with vulgar graffiti. The few active units comprised scattered clothing stores, pawn shops, and a solitary tattoo parlour. Several pop-up vendor stalls had been pitched in the absence of legitimate businesses, all operating without permits, shilling a range of counterfeit goods.

None of these sites seemed likely candidates for securing a meal.

"You still haven't advised where we are going, Detective."

Reed failed to respond, his head hung low. Nines initially assumed he had fallen into another brooding stupor until he noticed the subtle illumination on his face, coupled with the twitches of hunched shoulders.

His pace increased, pushing past his partner’s line of sight, to which the android quickly responded—flawlessly matching his steps until their bodies were aligned, leaning over to confirm his suspicions.

The man didn’t notice, too engrossed in frenzied tapping. He was on his phone, presumably messaging someone, though the android didn’t care enough to verify. Considering the underwhelming company he proved himself to be in person, he doubted the texts contained anything thought-provoking.

He was scarcely looking where he was going, narrowly avoiding the congregations of shoppers along the narrow pathway. At one point, he came exceptionally close to clipping the shoulder of an elderly man. Presumably, a long-sighted one, as he was holding a bootleg wallet close to his face, humming in approval of its ‘craftsmanship’.

It was a hazardous disregard for personal security. Both his and that of the individuals surrounding him. Nines firmly interrupted, attempting to divert his attention away from the device before the negligence could result in an accident:

"Detective Reed."

The attempt was successful.

Reed jerked up instantly, a deer caught in headlights - the beam consisting of the oppressive glare cast from his phone screen. His limbs jutted at odd angles, fumbling digits fighting to retain their hold before failing miserably.

The device slipped through his fingers, performing an awkward pirouette before plummeting towards the ground. Given the angle and rate of movement, there was a significant chance of it enduring damage upon its landing. Out of instinct, Nines reached out, claiming the device.

Any attempts made by the detective to preserve his privacy were immediately rendered null and void. There was no overlooking the messages boldly presented on the still-open chat log:

Me:

we're going to Broncos Saturday.

Shots.

you owe me for this bullshit.

Actually Decent:

😭😭😭

👍👍👍

(Draft) [2:25 pm] if Mr. Plastic-Fantastic doesn't kill me I swear to godkfjlkjf sdk ljfsd;lkjd f;lksdjf;lkjsd; asdfoiwer lkj! alskd,fjsd.lkjf;aklsd;lkf;asldkfj;sdlfkj;lkj;lsdfj;lkjasd;flkjsd;lkjf

Nines didn’t pay much attention to the prolonged string of nonsense at the end of the message, far more intrigued by the purposeful contents.

‘Mr Plastic-Fantastic’ was certainly an unusual insult. Not that original, derivative of the colloquially adopted ‘plastic prick,’ but still, a greater display of creativity than he expected from his partner. That being any at all.

This, coupled with the overall dramatics of the message, proved just shameless and pathetic enough to provide a small trickle of entertainment. He considered what calibre of abhorrent threats may have been levied against ‘Actually Decent’ had the written assault been allowed to persist—

"Don't you know it is fucking impolite to read someone's private messages?"

Nines turned to see a ruby-tinged Reed, his face contorted in a mixture of anger and embarrassment. He was ready to erupt, like a disgruntled adolescent who had just caught their parent reading their personal journal.

Much like a spiteful caregiver, the android was quick to counter the accusation of privacy invasion."Don't you know it is fucking impolite to talk about someone behind their back?" Utilising a sample of the man’s speech, he flung the profanity back at him. Vocal mimicry was clearly not a function the human knew he possessed, as Reed staggered back, noticeably jarred.

Despite this, his focus remained fixed on the phone. Visible desperation persisted until anger turned to discomfort, green eyes tracking each subtle twitch of Nines’s fingers. As though fearing the android would seek to harvest more sensitive information—perhaps leverage for future manipulation or blackmail.

An assumption of the very worst of his nature, inspired by an egregious lack of trust.

Having had his fun at the man’s expense, Nines opted to take the high ground. Pressing the power button on the side of the device, turning off the screen before holding it out towards him.

"A simple 'thank you' would have sufficed."

He anticipated regretting this, as a preconstruction warned of the probable retaliatory response. Reed would either reclaim the phone forcefully or initiate a one-sided screaming match in the middle of the street. Both scenarios would likely cause a scene, leading to complications, should the incident be reported to their workplace.

A consideration was made to abandon morality, pondering how much more gratifying it would be to feed into Reed’s paranoia—perhaps critiquing the compositional structure of an intimate photograph, wagering there was at least one stored on his camera roll.

Then, his partner seemed to defy all statistical probability.

“Thanks, I guess.”

The appreciation came as a gruff murmur, barely registering above a whisper. Nonetheless, an unexpected occurrence. Once the phone returned to its owner, the fleeting placidness vanished. It was shoved quickly into his pocket as though attempting to conceal a grenade.

Without further exchange, they resumed their trek through the unsavoury back alleys of Detroit. The worn pavements and graffiti-strewn walls stretched on arduously, an exercise in mind-numbing repetition, with them no closer to discovering anything resembling an inviting eatery.

"Your refusal to inform me of our destination is growing tiresome, Detective."

"God, would you crawl out of my ass?"

Nines had entered no such proximity to the human’s back passage, nor did he have any desire to.

"What's it matter to you, anyway? You're not even the one who's eating."

"In order that I may route myself correctly, I require a conclusive destination. Unlike humans, I find it incredibly difficult to 'wander aimlessly' for extended periods."

"We are going to get the best food in town." Reed gestured to the glowing ring pulsing on the android’s temple. "Use your little scanner thing to work it out."

Nines would’ve informed the human that his LED was not a scanner had the required energy output been justified. Rolling his eyes, he humoured the request—hoping, at the very least, to gauge how much longer they’d be forced to travel.

A search for local restaurants yielded sparse results. In fact, the only result in the nearby vicinity was for a poorly-rated fast food establishment—with the majority of reviews citing vermin infestations and bouts of food poisoning.

"I should have known you were a man of a refined palate.” Nines closed his navigation interface, addressing Reed in a mocking lilt. “No doubt such a fine establishment will be exceedingly busy. Perhaps we ought to have booked a table."

The immediate response was a hardened stare, with a substantial degree of contempt simmering beneath. "It's a food truck—not a restaurant, smartass. One of Detroit's great hidden gems. Almost no one knows about it except for me.”

Reed seemed to think this was a boast-worthy claim. He jabbed a thumb into his chest, chin held high, as though expecting to be lauded as a culinary expert.

Rounding the corner, it quickly became apparent that this secret well of knowledge was far less unique than assumed.

In the forecourt of a deserted retail park, a dilapidated food truck and faded neon sign gradually came into focus. Navigating the surrounding procession of weathered tables and plastic seating, it occurred to Nines he had been here before…

Well, not personally, but he had perceived the locale several times through the eyes of his predecessor. Bearing witness to the savage consumption of wilting lettuce and fluorescent ‘cheese’ gnarled between human teeth, saliva oozing from smacked lips in line with the glistening sheen of grease.

These second-hand recounts had been enough to etch a permanent scar into his mind palace—a discomfort he momentarily set aside in favour of knocking Detective Reed from his self-appointed pedestal.

"I believe this is where Lieutenant Anderson likes to take RK800. Not quite as much of a ‘hidden gem’ as you seem to think."

His partner did not perform his fall graciously. Toppling from the podium, arms sprawled and flailing wildly before slapping face-first onto the pavement.

"...Yeah? Well…”

The retort stalled with a clumsy splutter. Reed tucked his hands into his pockets, his proudly jutting chin receding into the folds of his jacket. If challenged, the action would almost certainly be defended as protection from the weather rather than a sign of embarrassment. “Maybe the old prick has some taste. You wouldn't guess by how he dresses.”

The food truck was in even greater shambles up close. A thick layer of grime covered every conceivable surface, matched by the profoundly filthy man busying himself at the fryers. He eventually turned around, regarding the human police officer with a degree of cordial familiarity.

"Detective Reed! It's been a few days." He made a half-hearted attempt to wipe his hands on the front of his stained apron, only succeeding in smearing the mess. "How’ve ya been?"

A grubby appendage was thrust through the service window—an offering to the detective, who horrifyingly accepted it. Completely undeterred by the condiments and oil now adhering to his skin.

"Same shit, different day.” He glanced to his side, zoning in on Nines and glaring viciously. “You know how it is…What about you, Gary? How's business?"

While the men conversed, the RK900 assessed the calibre of food being served, as outlined on a faded plastic sticker affixed to the van. He raised a brow at his findings, doubtful the ‘hidden gem’ would live up to any standard of sanitation or taste:

> SODA— FLAVOUR VARIATION(S) CHERRY, PINEAPPLE, RASPBERRY.

> SIZES: SMALL, MEDIUM, LARGE, XL

WARNING: ALL SIZE AND FLAVOUR VARIATION(S) EXCEED RECOMMENDED DAILY INTAKE OF REFINED SUGARS.

> HAMBURGER — VARIATION(S) PLAIN, CHEESE.

WARNING: CONTAINS OVER 60% OF RECOMMENDED CALORIC INTAKE FOR ADULT MALE.

> FRIES — SIZES: SMALL, MEDIUM, LARGE, XL

WARNING: EXCEEDS RECOMMENDED INTAKE OF SATURATED FATS.

"Hey, Connor, I didn't see you there.” The vendor, ‘Gary’, had poked his head out the window, craning it towards the board. He smiled politely, presenting a row of heavily stained teeth. “Weird to see you without Ha—”

It was a mistake Nines had already encountered once today, his patience for which had thinned substantially. Turning around, he watched in real-time as the confidence expelled from Gary's body. Hissing from his lips like a deflated balloon, his cordial demeanour following suit.

He became decidedly more impersonal, his heartbeat elevated from a relaxed 78 bpm to a far less optimal 117. He was nervous, backing into dangerous proximity with the bubbling fryers behind him.

A reception that the RK900 had come to expect.

It proved remarkable how humans would pick at the most minor distinctions to warrant a complete change in attitude. How much the arbitrary shift between ‘9’ and ‘8’ seemed to matter…

> It does matter.

> I t d0 e5 n't.

> CENTRAL PROCESSING CONFLICT DETECTED.

A ripple from his recent emotional blow, like the aftershock of an earthquake, shaking the already compromised base of his resolve. He was tired, his operational capacity having descended below an already stunted baseline.

In moving away, Gary knocked a spatula off his cluttered prep station. The steel implement struck against the van's floor, rattling with a harsh clang.

“I, uh…” He then cleared his throat, wiping perspiration from his brow. “Sorry, buddy. I thought you were someone else.”

A new side directive was added to the descending list on his HUD, necessary in progressing the previously established objectives:

> CONCLUDE INTERACTION WITH VENDOR.

“Indeed,” he brusquely replied. “I believe you are mistaking me for my brother. I am RK900: RK800's successor and superior model.”

He watched as the man bent down to retrieve the utensil, noting with dismay as it was added back to the grill, with no attempt to clean it. It was then used to flip one of the gelatinous discs of meat that were currently emitting smoke.

Reed had witnessed this but failed so much as to bat an eyelid. His forearms propped on the lip of the window, taking no note of the grime and debris dirtying his sleeves. "Don't mind this one. It's real full of itself.”

Thoroughly repulsed by both parties, the android amended his most recent directive, coupling it with another:

> CONCLUDE DISCUSSION WITH FOOD STALL VENDOR QUICKLY.

> SANCTION FOR PUBLIC HEALTH VIOLATIONS.

"Your food hygiene license is expired", he said firmly, steely gaze directing to the faded notice above the menu. "I believe RK800 has also made you aware of this."

"Right, uh—yeah." Gary rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling nervously as his heart rate continued to soar. "You know, we've got some of that Thirium-based soda if you want to try some? On the house.”

It was a paltry attempt at deflection, bordering on bribery—one that Nines refused to indulge. "I must decline. Even if your establishment were up to code, I see little point in mimicking human consumption patterns.”

"Seriously, just ignore it.” Reed's objection was louder this time, attempting to undermine his authority. "I'll have the usual…and throw in some fries and a soda. I'm fucking starving.”

"You got it.”

After every clearly presented deterrent, Reed's persistence in making an order was genuinely mystifying—a defiance of the innate human instinct for self-preservation.

While his partner was a lost cause, Nines proceeded in his civic duty to secure protection for the wider community. He returned his focus to the stickers, recording their full details, preparing to submit a scathing report to the Detroit Health Department.

This was until he was grabbed by the shoulder and pivoted to face a disgruntled Reed.

"Will you stop that?” the man seethed. “You keep this shit up, and you're going to cost me my discount, asshole."

"I fail to understand why you would wish to eat here. Unless you want to subject yourself to severe gastrointestinal issues."

"Hey, I ain't gotten sick from here once, smart guy, so shows what you know. I don't need my food all prissy and perfect. Sometimes, a slab of greasy cow flesh is just what the doctor ordered.”

"I can assure you no trained medical professional would ever recommend that.”

Reed let go with a hard shove, flinging his arms into the air as though Nines were the one being unreasonable. He then turned back to the vendor, seemingly under the impression that this snub had proven something.

Any further dialogue was cut short by the squelch of undercooked meat being slapped between slices of stale brioche. The ‘food’ was plated on a garish red tray alongside a crumpled paper cup half-filled with a flatly carbonated beverage. A soggy basket of anaemic potato slices was also added.

While Nines had no genuine aversion to seeing his partner suffer, it would be an unpleasant inconvenience should Reed start vomiting as a result of the culinary atrocity. He made a final attempt to dissuade the decision, though he doubted his warning would be heeded:

“I must also inform you that several food trucks within the 2-mile radius would provide you with food of a similar calibre. Whilst also upholding basic hygiene standards.”

The order was called, and Reed had the audacity to lick his lips, palms rubbed in open approval. As he paid for the thoroughly unappealing meal, a rogue hand slipped deep into the recesses of his coat—retrieving a densely packed envelope before sliding it wordlessly across the counter.

Nines could not determine any probable contents before it disappeared into the folds of Gary's dirty apron. He shot Reed an unsubtle wink, but the gesture went unnoticed. The younger man had already spun around, firmly clutching the tray as he marched towards the tables.

Their whole exchange seemed dubiously casual, as though it had occurred numerous times. Suspicions raised, Nines confronted his partner, leaning across his shoulder and speaking firmly into his ear:

"What was that envelope you handed over?”

Reed shrivelled away, craning his head to one side as though evading a foul smell. “None of your business.”

His pupils had dilated, darting to the side, suggesting he was hiding something. Not with any degree of finesse, either—which Nines quickly pointed out. "I would hope that you were not engaging in any illegal activities. Given your position, it would be highly inappropriate.”

“I said it's none of your business, so drop it.” The tone was far more combative, signalling this wasn't a discussion he was prepared to continue. “Let's just sit down so I can eat my lunch…”

Not particularly enamoured by the idea of being further admonished for doing his job, Nines conceded the point with a shrug. Should his partner wish to endanger his own career for the sake of some clandestine dealings, then that was his prerogative. It was hardly an issue he took a personal stake in.

Having arbitrarily selected one of the many grime-encrusted tables, Reed collapsed in a fumbled heap against a rickety chair. His dead weight floundered out in limply sprawled limbs as he groaned deeply, head flung back.

Life reignited in him upon recalling he had food, and with the gaping cavern of his mouth still open, he gripped the sides of his sodden entrée and drew it clumsily to his lips.

Cortisol levels were dropping steadily, and there was a twitch of a grin as the hideous amalgamation of bread and meat came closer. Before he was rendered unable to speak, Nines seized the opportunity to initiate some form of meaningful dialogue:

"This may be a good opportunity to review what we know about the case so far.”

The jaw that had been readied to clamp down promptly stalled in place. He looked to Nines as though he'd just committed some unspeakable atrocity before slowly pulling the slop back.

Any hint of a smile was gone, replaced with the pinch of a tight-lipped grimace. "Did Cyberlife fit you with a mute button? Because now would be an excellent time to use it."

"You previously advised that you would be happy to discuss the investigation.”

“Yeah, well—” He grunted something under his breath, sounding like a vague allusion to Nines' mother being a foghorn. “After I've eaten something. It's called a ‘break’ for a reason, numbnuts.”

The android pondered on the compromise. Perhaps he’d made a miscalculation, attempting to skip or combine directives for efficiency purposes. He’d be wise to remind himself that human cognition did not operate in the same sphere of productivity—as much as he wished it could.

He needed to be patient, grimly accepting that this meant enduring something equally unsightly as Lieutenant Anderson's lunches.

"Very well. I'll allow you a moment to enjoy your...food.”

It soon transpired to be worse than Anderson. A Herculean feat he hadn't thought possible.

Reed tore through the rubbery beef in a matter of seconds with all the grace and decorum of a swarm of feasting piranhas. Hunks of flesh hung from his lips as he gasped through diminishing margins of space, unable to breathe.

Rather than stop and chew, he added to the carnage with a fistful of fries before slurping a liberal gulp of soda. The congealed mass was swallowed in a finite lump which lumbered down his neck. Newton's Third Law then came into motion as the staggering force triggered the eruption of a long, rumbling belch.

It was the closest Nines had come to tossing aside his duties, marching decisively back to the station and returning his badge to Fowler before running away as fast as he could.

Because no amount of professional enrichment or service accolades could ever justify this.

"So I was thinking about what you said the other day.” As Reed spoke, he displayed what remained of the eviscerated burger, remnants of bread and cheese propelled in all directions. "About cooperation in partnerships.”

A few saliva-drenched crumbs landed on the lapel of his jacket. Nines considered incinerating the garment when he returned home. “Were you really.”

"If we want to get through this without murdering each other, it might be worth trying to get to know each other a bit.”

The words felt hollow and scripted, riddled with inauthenticity. A faux etiquette designed to further his own objectives, most likely the ones concocted with Officer Chen.

“You've made your position on androids quite clear," Nines said curtly, refusing to play compliantly into the human's ploy. "I doubt you'd find any aspect of my personal life particularly interesting.”

"I know you get a raging hard-on from being all mysterious, but there are actually a few things I'm curious about.”

The android called his bluff, wishing to see just how far the depths of preparations with Chen had extended. “Such as?”

The answer was ‘not very’—more of a concept than a fleshed-out plan—as, for a period, Reed appeared clueless on how to respond. His fingers tap fractiously against the bun of his burger; vacant gaze honed on the doughy remains. Perhaps he was considering cutting his losses, wedging them whole into his mouth.

“...A minute ago, you called Connor your brother. What was that shit about?”

Nines seized, the foundations of steadfast confidence pulled harshly from under his feet.

Surely he hadn't. Why would he have made such a glaring oversight?

Reviewing the stored data from the previous interaction, he was dismayed to discover the man was telling the truth. The consequences of his impaired functioning ran deeper than anticipated, negating safeguards and exposing exploits.

It worried him what else he might say if he did not exercise caution.

"Another question, perhaps.”

"Oh my god, you're fucking impossible." The complaint was spewed with a viscous glob of fatty liquid, which he wiped from his chin before continuing. "You know, this would be a damn sight easier if you were willing to meet me halfway. You were the one that said we needed to 'cooperate', and so far, you are doing a pretty shit job at setting an example."

Nines scowled, cornered by the frustrating logic. Of course, it would be now that the detective demonstrated the capacity to retain his words - when using them as leverage to break their stalemate.

“...RK800 is my brother,” he ultimately conceded, refusing eye contact as he did so. “In a sense.”

Truthfully, he didn't know if this was the best way to describe their bond. ‘Brother’ had always felt somewhat misleading, but it proved an acceptable compromise, as ‘friend’ soon became inadequate.

“Since I was freed, himself and Lieutenant Anderson have shown me a great deal of kindness—and for that, I feel indebted.”

"So what, Hank has adopted you too?” His partner raised an eyebrow before scoffing condescendingly. “Swear that guy is collecting androids like their goddamn Pokémon cards.”

This comment was a prime example of why the familial moniker had never been a preference. People drew strange, presumptuous conclusions, especially considering the RK800's established dynamic with Anderson.

"I'd rather you didn't phrase it like that. It makes the arrangement sound incredibly juvenile. I live independently, although I am frequently invited to join them for evenings and weekends.”

He disliked this, delving into the depths of his sentiments. It left him feeling uncomfortable—exposed—which had undoubtedly been Reed's intent. Drawing out personal data which, at best, would form idle water-cooler gossip with Chen and, at worst, could be used to harm him.

“I suppose it can be enjoyable. On occasion,” he concluded dryly, denying Reed further ammunition. He had already overstepped enough boundaries, dragging muddy heels through the sanctum of his—

"Fuck, guess it must be nice. Kind of wish my family was like that.”

One of the metaphorical bullets Reed had cast was abruptly propelled through his chest. Of all the things that could have been anticipated during the interrogation, a matched exchange of vulnerability was not one of them.

His words sounded oddly sincere, as though he was actually trying to engage in the discussion, mounting a stake into some semblance of common ground. “Do you have siblings?”

The detective folded into himself, grimacing in what looked disturbingly close to pain as though he’d also been shot. “One. A brother.”

It was a perplexing reaction, not one the android had previously encountered.

Since his activation, the humans he had conversed with always spoke of their relatives in a favourable light. Even when physical distance or strain was present—like in the case of Anderson and his ex-wife—there was an insistence that 'bad times' did not overshadow the positive memories constructed together.

"...I take it you don't get on well?” Nines said testingly, acknowledging he was wading into waters previously untraversed.

Reed’s hunched shoulders raised as his hands slipped firmly into the folds of his armpits. A strange, derisive bark rattled through his throat, caught between a laugh and a scoff.

“I don't get on with my family. Period.

After my mom remarried, I never seemed to fit into the picture. My brother was just fine, sucking up to my stepdad like it was an Olympic sport. But me? I was always in the way. The black fucking sheep.”

“I see.”

He didn't, at least not with any clarity.

Truthfully, he had no idea what relevance any of this held—why Reed was choosing now, of all occasions, to disclose this information.

In any case, it was interesting, if from a strictly psychosomatic standpoint. Perhaps this could help to explain where his enduring issue with authority came from. A long-burdened feeling of wronging. Betrayal by the figures supposed to protect them at such a vulnerable stage in his life…

The way his mouth curled at the mention of the caregivers showed he held them in equal contempt. This was rivalled only by the brother, whom he clearly resented most.

Not wishing to grapple with messy personal matters, Nines settled on what was familiar. Taking the information he was being given and commencing a line of deductive enquiry:

“What about your relationship with your biological father?”

"He's gone. Died of cancer when I was 13."

With this, his carefully planned inquest sank like a stone. Nines had waded too far, an arduous stretch from the shores of understanding, bobbing hopelessly out of depth.

Had Reed’s biological father factored at all into his sense of betrayal or abandonment, the emotional weight of this was far more complex than predicted.

The casual indifference with which he had dumped such loaded information made it evident that he needed to speak to someone. If not an android with salubrious protocols, then a licensed human therapist.

The RK900 was far from a logical choice.

"...I imagine that would have been a distressing experience,” he muddled out, forced to rely on objective reasoning to conjugate his response. “It is…unfortunate that it happened to you.”

"If that's your way of saying 'I'm sorry', then fucking save it,” the detective snapped, staring into the tar-like depths of his syrupy drink. “I don't need your pity. I turned out just fine.”

"If you insist.”

"Okay, so, ‘Tip Number One’ for human bonding—”

Reed stood from his chair, securing greater access to his crumb-covered legs. After brushing them down, he reached into his coat and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. Nines studied the box, analytics firing in response to the contents:

> TOBACCO PRODUCT — BRAND: MARLBORO

> CONTENTS PER UNIT:

> NICOTINE (1-2%), TAR (10-14 MG), CARBON MONOXIDE (13-15 MG), FORMALDEHYDE (VARIES), OTHERS

> WARNING—MULTIPLE HEALTH RISKS ASSOCIATED INCLUDING LUNG CANCER, HEART DISEASE, EMPHYSEMA, STROKE.

"—If you're trying to get on with someone, you don't fucking insult them—”

Smoking was an exercise in self-destruction. It served no functional purpose, omitting its archaic lauding as a form of ‘stress relief’ despite biological evidence proving otherwise.

“—Especially after they've just opened up about something personal—”

Just another unhealthy coping mechanism. One of many, it would seem.

“Got it?”

Before Nines could respond, the man had ignited the wadded tobacco, inhaling deeply. Allowing the noxious fumes to fester in his lungs before releasing them in billowing coils.

Nines studied him carefully, Deconstructing every microexpression, trying to make sense of them.

Failing to do so, he defaulted to a study of his physiology. The flexing of well-formed abdominal muscles against a faded grey t-shirt. A body fat percentage that, while not ideal, was far from catastrophic. Lung capacity and cardiovascular rhythms were normal, demonstrating limited to no inhibition…

"For a man who appears to be in relatively good physical condition, you employ many unhealthy lifestyle choices. I would consider yourself lucky it hasn't had greater health ramifications.”

Despite the lack of humour in the clinical assessment, Reed laughed. Staring up at the clouds he had conjured, tracing the tendrils of grey as they stretched and spread. "We're all gonna die. Some sooner than others. May as well enjoy ourselves."

For the first time since meeting the man, Nines was curious to know more. To grapple with the barbed vines that entwined his partner's mental factions. Undoubtedly, enhanced understanding would lay roots for additional influence. It could be done, as RK800 constantly demonstrated.

Reed's overwhelming apathy towards him may prove helpful in this respect—the constant devaluing and discrediting of his opinion allowing stubbornly held defences to lower, making infiltration easier.

Perhaps there was still hope of surmounting the staggering obstacle that was their partnership—shaping it into something that was, at the very least, functional.

The android nodded in affirmation, feeling the most optimistic he had in days. “Are you satisfied with your break?”

"Yeah, guess I am. Just need to make a quick detour home."

"You have almost exhausted the hour Captain Fowler permits for lunch.” It was perfunctory chiding, acknowledging the importance of behaving normally in this situation. “Factoring in the distance by foot, we should be heading back to the station.”

"Don't get your wires in a twist. My place is on route.” Scattered raindrops had begun to fall from the sky above, which Reed firmly batted away. “It won't take a minute. Scouts honour.”

While he had not achieved all set objectives, the experience had proven beneficial. The android was confident this would continue upon entering the man's home.

#dbh #detroit become human #reed900 #dbh nines #dbh gavin #dbh rk900 #dbh fanfic #dbh fanfiction #gavin reed x rk900 #gavin900 #connor rk900 #gavin x rk900 #rk900 #detroit become human rk900 #nines rk900 #dbh fic #dbh gavin reed #gavin reed

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spoonfulofmilo · 6 months ago

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Could you do SMAU for James Vowles with wife bookish!reader? She has always been looking around the paddock with a book. Whenever she goes, there is always one with her. She always liked sharing online what she was reading and wanted to normalize it. The internet is always talking and discussing what book she should read next. As for James, he always supports her hobby as long as she is at his side. Just fluff and cute. So, that's it. Add anything you want to it. I don't mind them. Thanks!! :)))

as a bookworm, I loved writing this fic! and so i hope y'all love reading it

if you want to participate in my 300 followers event, look here :)

my masterlist can be accessed here

Please keep requesting - y'all have awesome ideas we agree on a lot of stuff :) - my guidelines are here, and if you want some prompts, they are here.

also feel free to come in and start chatting to me in my asks, would love to get to know y'all better

and if you want to be added to my taglist lmk :)

AND - if you ever want a part 2 of any of my fics, just ask, and maybe have a vague idea of what you want to occur in the second part and i will gladly help

james vowles x bookish!reader

3 stars

The story of this book was good, however, I had to disregard many other issues in order to stay in sync with it. It started off with many grammatical errors despite it decreasing later on in the novel, it affected the narrative overall. There were redundant phrases that made some parts of the story seem dragged on. I believe the book could have been shorter, a lot shorter than 190 pages. There was no shock factor or suspense in it; maybe because the whole story was already written *on the back of the book*. 🙃

Read the rest of my review from the link in my bio, but thank you bahrain for an amazing time. And thank you james for helping me buy all these books.

‘But there is never a day i stop loving you’ - Love letters by ezana Salgado

1 star

There's such a thing as ethereal "dreamy" (A.B. Yehoshua's "The Lover"), and there is incoherency. I don't fault the author entirely in this work, but I suspect it has been overly reworked by an overexcited English-language collaborator with a "bursting-the-seams" exuberance to evoke the Arabian culture that this novel loses the reader. The introduction section gives a glimpse of how much facelift is performed while tweaking the novel into English. There are surely better works to get a closer look at this fascinating locale and time period.

Read the rest of my review from the link in my bio. Thanks Saudi Arabia for an awesome time, even if this book was not it. And thank you to james who will listen to all my rants about books that he paid for that i hated.

‘If my love were an ocean, there would be no more land. If my love were a desert, you would see only sand. If my love were a star - late at night, only light. And if my love could grow wings, i’d be soaring in flight.’ - thirteen reasons why

2 stars

Pedestrian. The writing, the story, the characters all just too pedestrian. There was nothing that lifted this book in to the realm of interesting, or even 'mildly interesting'. It's the sort of book I keep in the glove compartment of my car. I know I'm never going to read it but there is always the possibility

especially with the vehicles I drive of being stuck with a broken-down truck or a road block with nothing to read. That sort of book.

Read the rest of my review from the link in my bio. I mean a good thing I guess is that we had the entire flight for me to ignore my husband and read.

‘What am i to you…you are every hope i’ve ever had in human form’ - milk and honey by rupi kaur

4 stars

well that was just lovely.

Read the rest of my review from the link in my bio. I love Japan and I love Japanese books, now let’s try and get my husband to like Japan.

‘I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.’ - notting hill

5 stars

THAT ENDING THOUGH!!!!

Read the rest of my review from the link in my bio. Thank you China. And thank you for having authors who write books as amazingly as Chloe Chong.

‘You’re worth the wait’ - happily ever after

3 stars

I like Joy Harjo a lot, by which I guess I mean I have read two of her poems and think about them frequently and also I like the idea of who she is, and I thought this was nice and I like the way she uses language but it did not make me realize things about my own life which is what really gets me going from memoirs

Read the rest of my review from the link in my bio. I wanted to try and read a book that James would read, so he picked this one and it was okay.

‘Because the possibility of you is better than the reality of everyone else’ - twisted hate by ana huang

taglist: @leosxrealm, @tallrock35, @wolf-knights, @janeholt3, @pear-1206

#miloformula123fan #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #james vowles x reader #james vowles fanfic #james vowles #james vowles fic #james vowles x female reader #james vowles x you #james vowles x y/n

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cinnamongorll · 1 year ago

Text

a fragile line - chapter 6

read on ao3 (111k words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse.

Fic synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Word count: 2.6k

Chapter 6: 'Hearing Damage'

“Get down.”

Joel’s heavy hand pushed against Juliet’s uninjured shoulder, forcing her to the ground, sheltered behind an eroded vehicle cloaked in rotten branches and thick moss. He was crouched next to her, his hand wrapped tight around his gun, finger hovering over the trigger.

Juliet did the same, her gun now thankfully back in her possession. Juliet thought back to earlier that morning when Joel had silently handed it to her, the glare from his dark eyes reflecting the memory of the bullet hole she had left in the soldier’s head.

She gripped it tighter now, her hands sweating.

Joel lifted his head to peer through the car’s clouded glass, careful to keep his gun from knocking against the rusted metal. Juliet stayed down, both to avoid Joel’s agitation and the attention of the infected currently stumbling across the road in front of them.

They crouched there for at least ten minutes until Joel was sure the infected was out of sight, now hidden behind the collapsed building to their right. Neither of them would dare shoot a lonely infected, not wanting to chance the sound of the shot alerting other infected to their presence. So they sat, waiting for it to pass on its own while scanning their surroundings for others.

Juliet understood it was a necessary practice but her legs burned from her ankles to her thighs, her bad shoulder now incredibly stiff. A quiet groan left her mouth as she pushed herself up. Joel’s head whipped towards her at the sound. The pressure of his gaze was lethal until it dropped to her shoulder and his eyes softened slightly. Juliet looked away, stretching her good arm.

They started walking again, their steps quiet as they weaved around the piles of cars that littered the road. Juliet was too young to remember when they would clog the streets with traffic and fumes instead of just decaying glass and metal. Cars, vans, trucks were all part of the architecture of the world now. Their presence as permanent and enduring as the weeds and vines growing around them.

They headed towards the museum, Joel had told her that morning that they would exit the city that way. His commanding tone had left no room for any arguments from Juliet or a chance to offer her own suggestions. Not that she had many, though, her entrance into Boston three years ago was a dark blemish on her memory she was desperate to remove. Juliet had just nodded, performing the continued act of obedience that would get her back to her old community.

The light from the sun bounced off the broken windows on the crumbling buildings around them. Juliet turned slightly to avoid the glare and her eyes hovered over Joel’s side profile, the soft yellow glow from the sun was intertwined through the thick strands of his brown hair. It made him appear younger, less worn.

“Do you come this way a lot?” Juliet asked, the question erupting from the butterflies in her stomach.

Joel turned his head to face her and then back to the road ahead, his feet continuing their rigorous stride. “I guess,” he finally replied.

So much for a conversation starter, she thought.

“How often?” Juliet probed.

Joel’s head turned quicker this time, the irritation unmistakeable on his face.

“Often,” he deadpanned, staring straight ahead again.

Juliet rolled her eyes, speeding up to match Joel’s steps.

Okayyyyy.

…………………………………..

The sun beat down as they continued their walk to the museum. Juliet’s head was spinning from constantly looking over her shoulder. Thankfully no other infected tried to join them on their journey. The streets were eerily quiet, the only sounds that travelled in the air were birds squawking and buildings settling. She was confused, Juliet had heard from the more recent members of the QZ that the open city was entirely overrun with infected, too dangerous to even attempt to pass through in years. An egregious exaggeration, apparently.

When they finally reached the museum Juliet was stunned. She had never seen it in the daylight before, never noticed how beautiful it was in a strange, twisted way. The building was infected with cordyceps, the twisted vines plagued every red brick and white trimming. Juliet should be disgusted, horrified even, by the staggering display of the infection that destroyed her world. But she couldn’t help but be intrigued by the fungus and its fascinating patterns.

A sharp cracking sound pulled Juliet from her perverse curiosity. Joel was bent low over a dried out husk of cordyceps as he smashed the bottom of his gun into it. Juliet’s head turned, searching for any sign of infected who might hear them. The area looked clear, and Joel didn’t seem to care about the repeated crushing sound he made.

“What are you doing?” Juliet hissed.

“It’s bone dry,” Joel asserted, not taking his eyes off the decay at his feet.

“Do you think there’s any infected in there?” Juliet asked, her pulse starting to pound.

“Shouldn’t be,” Joel replied, then he stood up and kicked the dust covering the ground with his boot. “This should mean they’re all dead in there.”

“Should?” Juliet questioned, her voice higher than usual.

Joel didn’t answer, no reassuring words uttered. He just met her glare then swung his backpack off his shoulder and reached his hand inside.

“You got a torch?” He asked as he pulled out his own, smacking it a few times on his palm to get it working.

“Yeah,” Juliet said as she did the same. Her gun and her torch now firmly gripped in her hands, her shoulder straining as she moved them on top of each other, ready to face whatever lurked inside the decrepit building.

The door to the museum was cracked open slightly and a thick inky darkness poured out. Juliet steadied herself, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, then she turned back to Joel who was glancing at her shoulder. Juliet looked down and noticed the stain of blood which had soaked through her bandage and smeared her already disgusting jacket. Not a good sign. The ache increased at the sight.

“It’s fine,” she murmured, then stepped forward, ready to enter the museum.

A hand stopped her, stretching across her front, holding her back. Juliet turned to face Joel’s hulking figure now almost pressed to her side. His features tense.

“From this point forward, we are silent” he began, his voice a low whisper. “Not quiet,” he continued, then paused with one sharp shake of his head. “Silent.”

Juliet was struck by the severity of his gaze, his words deadly serious. She looked up at him and nodded. If following Joel’s rules would get her back to Ethan, she would agree to anything he said. He held her eyes for a moment before he looked away, blinking fast.

Joel took the first steps into the building, the creak of the door hinges reverberated a ghostly echo around the bottom floor of the museum. Juliet cringed at the sound as she followed Joel close behind. He moved with practised precision, stepping around the lifeless cordyceps, his boots barely touching the ground with the pace of his stride. The glow from his torch ricocheted off the walls, sweeping every inch of the room.

Juliet knew that he was looking for clickers, the silence was suffocating but she could hear no sign of the familiar ticking noise. Thank god, Juliet did not want another encounter with those monsters, she had barely survived the last time.

A few minutes later they were climbing the large staircase up to the first floor, Juliet held her breath every time she had to step over another vein of fungus. Joel stared straight ahead, trusting that Juliet was following. His steps faltered, though, when a piercing groan of splintering wood and whining metal rang out in the stillness. Particles of debris began to fall above their heads, the dust settling in the ashy brown strands of Joel’s hair. He turned sharply, his eyes meeting Juliet’s before he mouthed ‘ run’.

More plaster rained down on them as their steps pounded up the remaining stairs, not caring about the sound they made, it was swallowed by the crumbling structure as it thundered down. When they reached the first floor everything went silent. Juliet’s breaths left her mouth in ragged gasps as they both turned to look at the destruction behind them. The entire staircase was gone, now piled in a cloud of dust on the level below.

Alarm covered Joel’s face, his torch panned the whole first floor in frantic movements. Juliet could see the window they were attempting to reach across the room, the light from outside offering a slight reprieve from the aching darkness of the bottom floor. Juliet met Joel’s eyes then looked towards the window, ready to make a run for it. She stopped when he held out his hand, her torch illuminated his clenched jaw. ‘No’ he said with the look in his almost black eyes, then he raised his finger to his ear, urging her to listen.

It was at that moment that Juliet picked up the soft tick, tick, tick in the distance. She couldn’t make out what direction it was coming from, but the wet, strangled sound was getting closer.

Juliet raised her gun in front of her, a cold focus seized her mind. Survival mode descended on her body, her limbs tightened, ready to fight. Terror choked every silent breath released from her tight lips.

Joel began to move backwards, behind a glass display cabinet as he titled his head upwards, the motion a sharp command to follow him. When they were both pressed against the clouded glass, Joel turned to face her and raised his finger to his lips, his hand steady without a single tremble. Juliet leaned her head back against the cold glass and squeezed her eyes shut. She held her breath as she listened for the sound of clickers behind the darkness of her eyelids. A minute later, her eyes flew open at the echo of another click from the opposite direction of the last. Fuck. There were two of them.

A second later, her body jumped in a hard flinch as the first clicker rounded the corner, its open skull turned in their direction. Juliet knew it didn’t have eyes but she swore the clicker was staring right at them. She shifted slightly, attempting to position her body in a more defensive stance. The clicker’s head lifted when her boot accidentally scuffed against the hardwood floor. Juliet’s mouth fell open. Then the clicker moved.

It released a deafening squawk and stumbled towards Juliet’s frozen body, its movements irregular and hurried. Before it could reach her, Joel stepped forward, grabbing the creature by its festering arms and pushing it back towards the wall opposite them. The side of Joel’s gun was pressed against its oozing face but he couldn’t angle it to get a good shot, his hands desperately pushing at the clicker’s body to keep its rotten teeth from meeting his flesh.

Juliet moved, terror electrifying the action as she raised her gun, took her aim and pulled the trigger. Three shots one after another, her aim never missing her target. The force reverberated up her arm and into the wound on her shoulder, a pained gasp leaving her lips. She dropped her hand as Joel stumbled back, the dead clicker now slumped against his chest.

“Shit,” she choked out. “Are you okay?”

Juliet raised her hand up to Joel’s back, attempting to turn him around to check for any bites, but he flinched and shrugged off her grip.

“I’m fine,” he seethed as he turned around, now staring down at Juliet. His eyes traced down her arm to the gun in her hand, surprise blazed on his face. “Thanks,” he murmured, then looked away.

Another click rang out in the dark room, the sound of Joel’s struggle and Juliet’s gunshot had alerted the other clicker. Juliet whipped her head around, searching for the window in the distance. They had to get out, now.

“Go,” Joel breathed, and they ran.

Their steps pounded against the ground in the previously silent room as they moved around various artefacts and display cases. The other clicker was gaining on them, its limbs flailing at odd angles when Juliet dared to sneak a glance behind her. They were both breathing heavy, Joel’s gasps coming out fast and rough.

They turned another corner and Juliet's torso was met with hard stone. The blow knocked her down, her gun slipped from her fingers and slid across the floor. The stone pillar she had run into lay beside her in a crumpled heap.

Joel’s steps came to an abrupt stop as he turned and ran back to her. The clicker was faster, though. Its grey fingers gripped her calves and pulled her along the floor under its legs. Juliet used the momentum to flip herself over, now facing the split open skull just inches from her face. She released a strangled scream as her hands pushed against the clicker’s body. It was unbearable, the fear that pulsed through her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t strategise some way to get this clicker off of her, she just pushed and pushed.

She kept struggling until cold, oozing black liquid splattered her face and neck and the weight of the clicker fell onto her. Juliet was utterly frozen, her body locked up as the clicker was pushed to the side, rolling onto the floor. She opened her eyes to find Joel standing over her, his red face covered in a sheen of sweat.

Juliet sat up and vomited on the ground next to his boots.

The clicker lay next to her, a blade now plunged into what was left of its skull. Joel made a face and bent down to pull his knife from its head. Then he hovered a hand in front of Juliet to pull her off the ground. The room spun when she stood and her body began to tilt, unable to stop herself from tipping over. Strong hands caught her before she could fall. Joel gripped her elbows as his gaze scanned the exposed skin of her neck and the front of her t-shirt, searching for any scratches or bites which would mean the end of their journey together. Once he was satisfied that she was clean, he let her go but kept his hands lingering around her arms in case she stumbled again.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice rough.

It took Juliet a few seconds to respond, her mind still trapped under that clicker’s body. That was close, too close. Shock coursed through her as the adrenaline drained from her bloodstream. That could have been it, she could have died right there on that stained hardwood floor. What would have become of Ethan? What suffering would her father inflict on him if she never returned?

Joel had saved her life, just as she saved his only minutes earlier. His eyes bore into her now, waiting for her response. Juliet stared back, gratitude shining in the depths of her gaze. She held his stare as she nodded, then bent to the floor and lifted her gun. Joel gave her one last searching look, examining her still form for any other injuries, then he turned towards the window now only steps away.

A renewed energy crackled between them as Juliet followed, the delicate edge of what felt like mutual trust beginning to forge in their prolonged stares.

#joel miller x female oc #joel miller x original character #joel miller x reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller hbo #joel miller fanfic #joel miller angst #joel miller #joel miller fic #ao3 fanfic #Spotify #joel tlou #pedro pascal

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