All Access, Chapter 2
All Access Masterlist | Ko-Fi | A03 Link
Pairing: 70s rockstar! frankie morales x f! reader
Rating: 18+ (explicit, minors do not interact)
Word Count: 7.4K
Summary: You're officially on the road with Triple Frontier and you try to adapt to a boys club. After Benny makes a misogynistic comment, you lean into the arms of Frankie and things quickly get hot and heavy.
Content: 70s au, drug use, heavy partying, triple frontier as rockstars, vietnam war discussion, misogyny, explicit smut, fingering, p in v sex
Thank you all so much for the love on this and for everyone's continuous help in any beta reading/reblogs. @pedropascal-whore and @nostalxgic thank you so so so much for your continued help!
Please don’t forget to like, comment, reblog!!!
There's a giant doin' cartwheels, a statue wearin' high heels
Look at all the happy creatures dancin' on the lawn
Dinosaur Victrola, listenin' to Buck Owens
Doot, doot, doo, lookin' out my back door
Benny was currently orchestrating a sing-along with everyone on the bus, the radio blasting CCR as you drove past green pastures. Benny loved sing-alongs.
They all loved sing-alongs. That was the first thing you’d noticed when you boarded the tour bus with the guys.
Your roommate had dropped you off, surveying the scene like a mom watching her kid on the first day of school. She asked if you were sure you wanted to do this. So many people had asked this question over the last week, why the hell would you ever say no?
You knew deep down that they had a point. The music industry was a beast with teeth, and being the lone woman on a bus full of rock stars wasn't exactly a walk in the park. You didn't have a lot of experience with men, let alone with famous ones, but there was something about the opportunity to tell their story–their real story–that compelled you. You had a feeling in your gut that this was the path for you, the path to your future.
The guys had also welcomed you with open arms, between the maelstrom of stale cigarette smoke and the musky scent of leather jackets and guitar cases they had given you your own space in the form of a bunk bed.
In the brief time you’ve been on the bus with them, you’ve been able to take out your journal and pen, and jot down observations and thoughts. Every so often, your gaze drifted over to the boys, studying their mannerisms, and the way they interacted with each other.
Santiago was the charmer, flirting with anyone and everyone, including you. His confidence was palpable, but you had a feeling there was more to him than just his cockiness.
Benny was the jokester, always cracking a smile or a bad pun, lightening the mood when it got tense. His playful nature was endearing, and you couldn't help but feel drawn to his warm personality.
Will was the stoic one, never letting his emotions show. You sensed a deeper layer of pain beneath his gruff exterior, and you were determined to uncover what it was.
Frankie, with his soulful eyes and kind smile, was a mystery. There was an unspoken understanding between the two of you, a bond that you couldn't explain. You wanted to know more about him, but you knew he was a man of few words.
With your observations jotted down in your journal, you leaned back in your seat, listening to the low rumble of the bus and watching the landscape pass by.
"Mind if I sit here?" Santiago's voice cut through your thoughts, his voice smooth and inviting.
"Of course," you replied, flashing him a quick smile as you shuffled your belongings to make room. He slid into the seat beside you, his presence immediately commanding, like a spotlight finding its mark on a dimly lit stage.
"Getting some good material for your story?" he asked, nodding towards your journal.
"Always," you said with a small smile, feeling the weight of the assignment on your shoulders. "Got to capture the essence while it's fresh."
Santiago chuckled, a low and raspy sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Well, you're in the right place. This tour is gonna be a wild ride."
"If it's like the other night at the Chateau, I can't even imagine."
He grinned, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Oh, sweetheart, that was just the beginning. You ain't seen nothing yet."
"Fillmore West," you murmured the venue you were on your way to, sketching out the bare bones of the article in your head. The name alone carried weight, history—a legacy of acts that had stood where Triple Frontier would soon take the stage.
"Big shoes to fill," you whispered, more to the passing trees than to anyone on the bus.
"Biggest," Santiago agreed. "But we'll fill 'em."
"Confident," you noted, unable to suppress a smile.
"Realistic," he countered, a spark of humor lighting up his features for a fleeting moment.
"Well, you've certainly got the attitude," you teased.
Santiago shrugged before leaning back in his seat, his long legs sprawled out before him. "I'd prefer to call it passion."
You cocked an eyebrow, "Is that so?"
"Sure," he said, his gaze meeting yours. "When you love something–when it's your whole fucking life–you gotta give it your all, you know? You gotta go balls to the wall, all in. Anything less isn't worth it."
"Interesting," you said, intrigued by his perspective. "So what about the fans, then? Is it the same for them?"
Santiago thought for a moment, his eyes fixed on the passing scenery. "Yeah, I guess so. They're as invested as we are: they show up, scream their lungs out, and buy our records. They're part of the machine, just like us."
"The machine, huh? Do you think it's fair to say that the music industry is a machine? That everyone is just a cog in the wheel, working to keep it running?"
Santiago shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips, "Fuck no. It's a dog-eat-dog world out there. If you want to survive, you gotta be willing to fight for what you believe in. You gotta be hungry, and you gotta be ruthless."
"Ruthless, huh? And that's how you got where you are now?"
"It's how I've survived this long."
You nodded, processing his words.
Santiago leaned in to whisper to you, tapping a rhythm against his thigh. "Speaking of passion, Frankie couldn't stop talking about how passionate you were about your work. ‘Said it was refreshing to see someone so dedicated."
Your heart stumbled over a beat, the mention of Frankie sending a curious warmth radiating through your chest. You turned to Santiago, trying to gauge the sincerity in his words. "He said that?"
"Yep." Santiago gave a nonchalant shrug, but his eyes twinkled with mischief. "Frankie doesn't give out compliments easily. You must've made quite the impression."
An unfamiliar fluttering sensation took residence in your stomach, a mixture of nerves and something elusively akin to excitement. You tucked the feeling away, instead focusing on the story unfolding before you. "Well, impressions are part of the job, aren't they?"
"Sure, but not everyone leaves a lasting one." He watched you for a moment, a knowing look etched onto his face.
"Let's hope I can live up to it then," you quipped, eager to steer the conversation back to safer territory.
"Something tells me you will," Santiago replied. Picking up on your nervousness, he changed the topic. "Just remember, this is a two-way street. We're giving you a glimpse behind the curtain, so you gotta share a bit of yourself, too."
You considered his words, surprised at his openness. "Fair enough. I'll do my best."
He sauntered back to his bandmates, leaving you with a notebook full of scribbles and a mind swirling with possibilities.
Frankie thought you were special.
The idea sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cool breeze sneaking in through the cracks of the bus.
--------------------------------------
The clang of silverware and the chatter of patrons swirled around as you and the band stepped into a modest roadside cafe, the scent of fresh coffee and griddle pancakes saturating the air.
You grabbed a menu, your eyes scanning over the array of sandwiches and salads. "What's good here?" You asked, more to yourself than anyone else.
"Try the turkey club," Frankie suggested, his voice unexpectedly close. "It's pretty solid."
"Thanks," you said, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks at the sudden attention. Your eyes met for an instant—his brown gaze steady, a quiet intensity within their depths that seemed to see right through you. You quickly looked down at the laminated menu, pretending to be engrossed in the sandwich section.
"Ever tried writing about food?" he asked, his tone light, teasing almost.
“Can't say I have," you replied, smiling despite the awkward fluttering in your chest. "My editor would probably have a heart attack if I pitched him a piece on the culinary prowess of roadside diners."
"Shame," Frankie said, chuckling softly. "You might be onto something."
"Maybe in another life," you mused, still avoiding his gaze. You could sense his amusement, and it was oddly comforting. You risked a glance at him, finding his smile genuine, devoid of the usual rock star pretense.
"Turkey club it is then," you declared, setting the menu aside just as Tom approached the two of you before getting sat down by a host. He gestured to you.
"Hey, can I grab you for a sec?" Tom's voice carried the weight of unspoken urgency.
"Sorry to pull you away," Tom began, leading you towards a corner of the café, away from the buzz of lunchtime chatter. His brow was furrowed, the lines etched deeply. "About that conversation you overheard the other night—it wasn't what it seemed."
"Okay," you said as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, your senses heightened to the undercurrent of seriousness in his demeanor, "but managing another band? That's pretty significant, Tom."
"Look," he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck—a gesture you'd come to recognize as Tom grappling with the complexities of his role. "I am fully committed to Triple Frontier–those are my brothers–but this industry... It's relentless. You've got to keep your options open, ‘doesn't mean I'm abandoning ship."
"I get it," you said, not sure if you truly did but were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. "Just trying to stay ahead of the curve, right?"
"Exactly." Tom's lips twitched into a semblance of a smile. "I appreciate your understanding. Now, go enjoy your lunch. And don't forget to try that turkey club."
"Will do," you replied, your mind already spinning.
-------------------------
You had barely finished your first bite of the turkey club when the guys started telling you stories about Vietnam.
"I swear, these fucking rats would've been the death of me," Benny said, shaking his head. "We're talking like the size of a cat or a small dog. Some of 'em were big enough to carry a baby in their mouth."
"That's heavy," you said, fascinated. "So what would you do when you saw them?"
"I'd either try to kick it or shoot at it, sometimes both."
"You didn't do shit," Frankie interjected. "Remember the time that big rat came scurrying across the tent and you jumped up on a crate, screaming like a little girl?"
Benny glared at Frankie, his eyes narrowed. "Fuck you, Morales. I was not scared, just wasn’t in the mood to deal with some mangy rat."
"That was the only thing that scared you the entire time we were over there, hermano." Santiago added.
"You're both full of shit," Benny said, rolling his eyes.
"Are they?" Will asked, "Because I remember when mom asked us to help clean up the garage and a mouse was hiding behind one of the boxes. You screamed like a banshee and ran out of the house, ‘wouldn't go back in until dad caught it."
"Fuck you, too," Benny shot back.
"Language," Santiago said, smirking.
"Oh, shut up," Benny grumbled.
"Don't get mad at me," Santiago replied, his expression feigning innocence. "I wasn't the one who got scared by a rat."
It was clear that more than anything; the guys shared a brotherhood between them. An unbreakable bond.
"You're all terrible," you joked, unable to contain a smile.
"Yeah, yeah," Benny waved his hand dismissively. "But we're also the guys who will protect you from the rats, so you're welcome."
"How valiant," you replied, earning a few snickers. "Between all the rats and Benny's screaming, how did you guys have time to decide you wanted to make music?"
"Oh, that was a no-brainer," Tom piped up, leaning back in his chair. "These guys would play and sing every chance they got. ‘Didn't matter if it was the middle of the night or the ass-crack of dawn, they were always making music."
"We could hear them in the next barracks," Frankie added, his voice softer than the others, his gaze fixed on the table. "Santi and Will would have their guitars out, and they'd just start playing."
"And Benny would be singing along," Santiago added, "Or dancing. Or doing some weird combination of the two."
Benny shrugged, his grin lopsided. "Gotta keep things interesting."
You nodded, taking notes as the conversation flowed, their stories illuminating the early days of Triple Frontier. You could picture them on a rickety wooden stage, surrounded by sweaty bodies and cigarette smoke, their music carrying them into the night.
As the meal wrapped up, you felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that you'd have to eventually write about their military experience, something they clearly were not proud of.
"Guys, I'm going to have to ask a difficult question," you began, swallowing thickly. "But it's necessary for the article."
"I think we know what you're gonna ask," Santiago said, his tone guarded. "And we don't have any regrets about joining the military. It was a hard time for everyone, but we did our best. We served our country."
"I know, and I respect that," you replied, "But you're also a rock band now, and people are interested in what drove you to that point, how you got out."
The silence hung heavy, no one willing to break the tension. Finally, Benny spoke up, his voice uncharacteristically somber.
"It's like I said earlier, we were all looking for an escape. We needed something to believe in, something to help us make sense of everything. Music was that thing for us."
"It became our purpose, our mission," Will continued, his words deliberate. "We knew we had something special, and we weren't going to let anything stand in the way of that. When Nixon sent us home in '70, we decided to pursue our dream, no matter what."
"So, to answer your question," Santiago concluded, "We joined the military because we were desperate, and we got out because we were hungry. Nothing more, nothing less."
"I understand," you nodded, grateful for their honesty. "And thank you for trusting me with your story."
"You're welcome," Frankie said, his voice quiet but his eyes warm.
"Now, let's go rock this show," Benny declared, his energy returning as he jumped out of his seat. "We've got a lot to celebrate."
You nodded, tucking your notebook away. As the group filed out of the café, you couldn't help but linger a moment longer, a strange feeling tugging at your heart.
You glanced back, catching Frankie's gaze, his eyes searching yours. A silent understanding passed between you, a mutual respect and appreciation for the fragility of the moment. You smiled softly, nodding in his direction before heading off to join the others.
-----------------------------
The road to the venue in San Francisco was a blur of green and gray, the hum of the tour bus's engine playing a monotonous backdrop to your thoughts. You were lost in the loop of the group's words at the cafe earlier when Tom's voice cut through, sharp and sudden.
"Alright, you ready for the real rockstar treatment?" Tom asked, eyeing you from across the narrow aisle. His brow was furrowed, a crease of concern marking his usual stoic expression.
"Sure," you laughed, trying to infuse some bravado into my voice. "How bad can it be?"
"Bad? No, not bad. Just... intense." He leaned closer, lowering his voice as if sharing some sacred secret of the trade. "When we open these doors, there's a sea of fans out there. They'll swarm the bus before we even hit the pavement."
"Fans?" You echoed dumbly, clutching your notepad like a shield.
"Like bees to honey," he added, his eyes scanning your face for understanding. "Just stick close to us, okay?"
"Got it." The words tumbled out easier than you felt. The pen in your hand suddenly seemed like a flimsy shield against the onslaught of adoration awaiting the band.
The bus slowed to a halt, and through the tinted windows, you could see a swarm of people pressed against the metal fencing, their faces flushed with excitement. A sea of faces along with a racket of shrieks and chants, banners and signs hoisted high—all for the five guys you'd shared sandwiches with not even two hours ago.
"Here we go." Benny clapped his hands together, grinning ear to ear. "Showtime, boys—and lady."
The door hissed open, and the sound hit you like a physical wave. You instinctively clutched at your bag, holding it close.
Tom went first, striding out to make sure the path was clear. Santiago followed, loose and relaxed. The rest of the band fanned out behind him, their signature swagger dialed up to an eleven. You trailed a few steps behind, feeling like an awkward sixth wheel.
Hands reached out, grasping at any piece of the band they could touch. A security team formed a protective barrier, pushing back the throng as the group made their way towards the stage entrance.
The crowd's chants grew louder, a steady rhythm of "Triple Front-ier! Triple Front-ier!"
It was a strange mix of emotions: awe and intimidation, wonder and apprehension. You felt small, insignificant. But at the same time, a tiny spark of pride flickered within you. It was an honor to be part of that experience.
Someone jostled you from the side, a fan slipping past security to try and touch one of the guys. Off balance, you stumbled, your heart leaping to your throat, instincts screaming that you'd be swallowed whole by this crowd and your rock and roll dreams would be over.
"Hey—watch it!" A familiar voice rose above the chaos, strong and steady.
Frankie.
Before you could fall, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against the solidity of his chest. He was warm and real amidst the surreal whirlwind of bodies and noise.
"Gotcha," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear, giving you a feeling in your core that made you feel even more unstable.
His grip on you tightened, his palm splayed across your stomach. Your own fingers curled around his wrist, the pulse there fluttering under the pad of your thumb.
You reached the safety of the entrance into the Fillmore West, and he let go, the loss of contact almost physically painful.
"You alright?" he asked, his eyes searching yours.
"Y-yeah," you stammered, heat rising to your cheeks. "Thank you. I mean, for catching me. You know."
"No problem," he replied, the corner of his lips quirked up. "Just stay close next time, okay?"
You nodded, trailing behind him as he joined the rest of the group, the adrenaline of the moment still coursing through your veins.
Before you could fully process what had just happened, Tom boomed. "Alright, boys—we're behind schedule. You're on in five - let's get this show on the road!"
The group scattered, each of them heading in a different direction. Frankie cast a glance over his shoulder, his gaze lingering for a moment on you before he turned away, following Tom near the stage.
You took a deep breath, trying to regain your composure. This was your job, after all. You needed to keep your wits about you.
The boys all made their way close to the stage, huddled in a circle as Tom gave them a pep talk. You could tell that the group was amped up, and they were ready to go. They had an energy about them that was contagious, and you could feel the excitement building as the crowd started cheering louder and louder.
Suddenly you heard Santiago's voice over the group, "Stop, hey, what's that sound?"
"Everybody look what's going down!" The boys echoed.
The group then broke apart, and you could see them all getting ready to perform. Benny ran to the stage first to a sea of applause. Tom hovered back, talking with a lighting crew member and giving a thumbs-up to the sound technician.
Santiago grabbed his guitar, checking the tuning as Will and Frankie tuned their bass and guitar. Benny was already behind the drum set, tapping the sticks on the drums.
The crowd was now going wild, and the band seemed ready. Frankie headed out first, then Will, then Santiago.
"What a day, what a crowd," Santiago said, his voice low and gruff into the microphone. "We've come a long way, baby. Thank you."
You watched as the band played the intro to their hit song, "Santa Maria." The crowd went nuts, and you could feel the electricity in the air.
As the song played, the band started getting more and more into it, their energy feeding off the crowd. Santiago and Benny were bouncing around the stage, while Will and Frankie stayed more rooted in place.
You watched as Frankie moved to the center of the stage, his fingers expertly dancing across the fretboard of his bass. He was the epitome of cool and collected, despite the sweat dripping down his forehead, the same broad hands that splayed across your waist earlier playing the guitar with ease.
Your pen couldn't go across the paper fast enough, trying to capture the essence of the concert—the sweat that glistened on Santiago's brow as he sang every lyric, the bass reverberating through Frankie's body as if he were the instrument himself, Will's fingers deftly plucking the strings of his guitar, his hair fluttering wildly around him, Benny's eyes locked on the audience as he slammed the drums, his arms flying furiously.
After an hour and a half, the group played their final encore, bringing the crowd to their feet. Santiago and Will stood back to back, singing the last notes of the song, the rest of the band playing the final chords.
The crowd cheered, the deafening noise drowning out everything else. You watched as the guys made their way off the stage, exhaustion etched on their faces.
You caught Frankie's gaze as he passed by, his eyes locking with yours for a brief moment. He smiled, a lazy, lopsided smile that sent a jolt through your body.
As the boys made their way backstage, they were greeted by a mob of adoring fans. Benny and Santiago were surrounded by a group of girls, their shrill voices echoing through the hallways.
You lingered in the shadows, watching the scene unfold. It was a strange feeling, witnessing the band's transformation from the quiet guys you'd shared sandwiches with just hours ago to these larger-than-life rock stars.
The guys seemed to be used to it, their easygoing nature never faltering. They signed autographs and posed for pictures, their smiles genuine.
But as the crowd dispersed, you saw a rare glimpse of the band's true selves.
"Triple Frontier's not just a band," You penned in a rare moment of stillness. "They're a phenomenon, a revolution. And I'm right here, in the eye of the hurricane."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Drinks on me, folks," Tom declared, his voice hoarse yet triumphant as he claimed a spot at the bar for the band, crew, and you. The band had decided they wanted to celebrate a good show with some drinks.
"Make that a bourbon, neat," You chimed in, slipping onto a stool beside Tom. Your adrenaline still coursed, mingling with anticipation and fatigue.
"Hard day at the office?" Tom joked, his gaze scanning the group to ensure everyone was accounted for and content.
"Something like that," You said, your eyes scanning the room for Frankie. He was somewhere amid the tangle of bodies and laughter, but maddeningly out of reach. You wanted to thank him for earlier.
The bartender slid a glass in front of you, the amber liquid beckoning.
"Bottoms up," Tom said, raising his own drink in a toast. "Here's to the end of a helluva first show on tour with us."
The whiskey was smooth, burning a warm trail down your throat. The buzz was instant, settling into your bones and loosening the knots that had been tying you up since you'd first stepped foot on the bus.
The conversation flowed freely, and you finally got to get acquainted with the roadies, a diverse group of people with varying stories of their own. It was nice, you thought, to be part of a community.
It had been a long time since you'd felt so at ease with a group of people, so included and welcomed. Your job, despite being the closest thing to a rockstar's life you'd ever experienced, had left you somewhat isolated.
And then there was Frankie, his eyes meeting yours across the room as if drawn by some magnetic force. But before your liquid courage could act upon it, Benny came up to you, his voice slurred but his eyes still clear with a mischievous glint.
"The newest girl on the bus, huh?" He said, leaning in close to your ear. His breath was warm and heavy, the smell of beer and cigarettes mixing with the warmth of his skin.
You narrowed your eyes at him, sensing the questionable compliment coming.
"Yeah, Ben," you replied, trying to keep things friendly but also cautious of his intentions.
"Well, you know what they say," he continued, a smirk playing on his lips, "behind every successful man, there's a woman holding down the fort."
You rolled your eyes, trying to laugh it off as you glanced around the bar, looking not only for Frankie amid the crowd this time but for someone to get you out of this.
"Benny, I don't need a man to be successful," you said, feeling a hint of irritation in your tone. "I can be successful on my own, thank you very much."
Benny let out a low chuckle, not treating your words as a serious rebuttal.
"Well, sure, honey, you can be successful without a man," he said, still smirking. "But let's be honest, it's not going to be as easy as if you had one to support you. I mean, think about it. Who's going to iron your clothes, cook your meals, and keep the house tidy when you're out there touring?"
"Benny..." Will had heard part of the conversation, and his face scrunched up in disapproval. "Lay off, man."
But Benny was relentless, "I'm just saying, sweetheart, it's a stark reality. A strong woman like you, you're gonna face a whole lot of challenges out there in the world, and it would sure be a lot easier with a good man on your side. Just remember, a good woman is hard to find these days. Maybe you'll be lucky enough to find one of the roadies to show you the ropes."
You felt the heat of embarrassment rising in your cheeks as you excused yourself from the conversation telling Tom briskly, "I think I'm gonna head back to the hotel, not feeling too well."
You stepped out of the bar, feeling the cool night air on your skin. You knew Benny was a good guy, you had seen it in the countless acts of kindness he showed the crew, but his words stung more than you had anticipated.
You'll never forget the first time someone made you feel invisible because of your gender. It was a sobering reminder that, despite your success, the industry was still a man's world. You were a woman, and women had no place in the rock 'n roll world, especially not as a journalist. You were a novelty, a rarity, an outlier. A pair of tits.
It was a painful realization, and one you had to learn to accept if you were going to make a name for yourself. You were more than just some bozo’s personal maid. You were a sharp mind, a skilled writer, and a tenacious spirit. And you were going to prove every jackass who thought that way including Benny wrong.
"Fuck 'em," you murmured, the alcohol making you bolder as you went into the payphone booth to call a taxi.
You didn't need anyone's approval or permission to do your job, and you damn well knew it.
You dialed the number for the taxi service and they promised a cab within the next 15 minutes. You sighed and leaned against the cool glass of the phone booth, trying to clear your mind. "Hey" a deep voice pulled you out of your thoughts. There was Frankie, leaning against the booth door, his expression unreadable.
"Are you leaving?"
"Yeah," you replied, feeling a twinge of guilt. "I'm sorry, I just-"
"No, I get it," Frankie cut you off, "I saw what happened back there and Will told us that Benny was being an asshole. I'm really sorry about that. He's usually a decent guy, but when he drinks..."
"It's alright. He's not the first asshole I've had to deal with and he won't be the last." You tried to sound more nonchalant than you felt.
Frankie carefully looked at you, you cursed yourself for feeling so exposed in his gaze. “Do you have a ride back to the hotel?”
You nodded, "Yeah, the taxi will be here soon. I should probably go wait for it, I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Frankie said, "If you want some company, I can go back with you. I'm not really in the mood to be around a bunch of drunk assholes, myself."
The offer caught you off guard, but the idea of having Frankie as company seemed comforting. "That would be...nice, actually."
-----------------------------------------------------
You nursed a whiskey, the ice clinking against the glass as you swirled it absentmindedly. The bar at the hotel was dimly lit, casting long shadows over the bottles that lined the shelves and reflected in the mirror behind them. Frankie slid onto the stool beside you, coming back from the bathroom.
"Another round?" he asked, his voice low and rough.
"Let’s do it." You smiled, the corners of your eyes crinkling. Frankie matched your smile and ordered for the both of you. You liked that he knew what you wanted without needing to ask. He sighed, the tension easing from his broad shoulders as he leaned back, resting his elbows on the bar.
"So," he continued, turning towards you, "how's the article coming along?"
"Slowly but surely," you replied, your eyes tracing the edge of your glass. "I feel like I'm still getting used to all of this."
"Honestly?" He looks thoughtful as he takes his hat off and cards through his dark curls. "It's kind of hard for us, too."
You raise your eyebrows at him, curious.
"Yeah," he continues, "I mean, it's been a lot to adjust to. And it's not just the crazy schedule and the traveling, the fans. Trying to fit my daughter into all of this. It's the media and the pressure and all the expectations. It's a lot to take in."
"I bet," you agree, nodding slowly. "But I can see how it would be pretty exciting, too.”
Frankie hums in agreement, "It is. It's just a lot. It's like, this is something we never thought was actually possible and now that it's happening, I don't know, I just never really expected it to be like this."
"Like what?"
He shrugs, "I don't know. So big. So fast. I guess I just always thought we'd have more time to enjoy it, you know? Before it all gets so crazy."
You give him a small smile, "I get that. But nights like tonight, where the whole bar wants to buy you a drink, should be easy to enjoy."
"Yeah," he agrees, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "you're right. Unless your drunk bandmate decides to bother the sweet Rolling Stone reporter to where she wants to leave the party."
You feel the warmth of a blush creeping up your neck, "It wasn't really that bad, I just..."
"You don't have to explain," he interrupts, his voice gentle. "Just because this is your job doesn't mean people can talk to you like that."
You take a sip of your newly placed drink, feeling the burn of the whiskey as it spreads warmth through your body.
"I know," you agree, "but I'm used to it. The industry is a man's world and women, especially journalists, are seen as outsiders. It's just part of the job, I guess."
Frankie lets out a low whistle, "It sounds like a lot of bullshit, honestly. But hey, if you're tough enough to handle all of that, you're tough enough to handle whatever comes your way."
You smile at him, appreciating his support. "Thanks, Frankie. I really appreciate it."
He nods, "Of course. Like I said, if you ever need anything, just know I've got your back."
You take another sip of your drink, feeling the tension of the night begin to fade. The liquor was doing a great job of releasing any inhibitions or shyness you had with Frankie. The two of you talked and laughed about everything.
There was something comforting about his steady presence, his warm laughter resonating with your own. As the night wore on, the bar began to empty out, the loud chatter and clinking glasses giving way to the soft hum of a late-night radio. "My Love" by Paul McCartney & Wings filled the air.
"God, I love this song." You said, leaning against him. “This might be controversial but McCartney is way better than Lennon."
"Lennon has passion, though. He's a rebel," Frankie countered, a smile on his lips.
"I have to say, though, radio never does a song justice," you mused. "You lose the depth—the soul of the vinyl."
"Couldn't agree more." Frankie looked down at you, his eyes softening.
Those damn brown eyes.
"Then maybe..." Frankie began, hesitation making his voice just a bit uneven, but before he could finish his thought, the bartender made an announcement- "Last call!”
You both glanced at your watches, realizing how late it was. Where had the time gone?
“Guess we lost track of time,” you said, a little surprised.
Frankie rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "Yeah," he agreed. “I guess we did.”
The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken thoughts and feelings that neither of you were quite ready to articulate.
"Hey," You perked up. "I brought my Red Rose Speedway vinyl."
He stood up and offered you his hand, "How about we get out of here and give it a proper listen?"
You hesitated for a second before taking it. His hand was warm, fingers firm against your own, and you felt the uninvited familiarity of those damn butterflies.
"I think I'd love that," you answered with a small smile that reflected in his eyes.
You hesitated for a second before taking it. His hand was warm, fingers firm against your own, and you felt the uninvited familiarity of those damn butterflies.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------
You couldn’t believe he was on your hotel room couch.
His large body sprawled out on the floral pattern, elbow resting on the armrest and head propped up by his hand as he watched you rummage through your luggage. The dull light from the lone lamp in the corner of the room cast long shadows across his features, accentuating his strong jawline and nose.
"Got it," you exclaimed, triumphantly holding up the vinyl.
He looked over at you with eager eyes, a smile playing on his lips.
You placed the small record player on the table next to the couch, carefully placing the record on the turntable and lowering the needle. The crackle of anticipation filled the room as the music began to play. You sat down on the couch next to Frankie, his presence a warm and reassuring closeness in the low-lit room. The opening notes of "Big Barn Bed" flooded into the room.
"I can try to skip it to 'My Love' if you want me to." You suggested.
"No, I like it. I like it a lot," he replied, his eyes fixed on you.
The two of you sat in silence as the song played, the air between you thick with tension. As the last notes of the song faded away, you turned to look at Frankie, your eyes meeting his.
"What do you think?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
His gaze remained steady on your face, the corners of his mouth twitching into a soft smile. "I think," he began, his voice matching yours in its whisper-soft delivery, "I think I needed this...a little bit of music, a little bit of normality. And you."
"I needed this too," you admitted softly.
His hand found yours on the couch, fingers entwining with a comforting familiarity. The intimacy of the moment sent a swell of warmth through your body.
Frankie's gaze never left yours as he leaned in closer, his eyes searching yours for permission. You found yourself holding your breath, your heart pounding against your chest as he closed the distance between you.
His lips met yours in a soft, slow kiss that made your head spin.
"Is this okay?" he murmured against your lips, pulling back slightly to study your expression.
"Yes," you wrapped your hands around his neck. "It's more than okay."
Your lips met again, deepening the kiss and asking for more. He tasted like smokey liquor and cigarettes
His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, your bodies molding together on that floral pattern couch.
You moved to straddle him on the couch, the flowing skirt from your mini-dress bunching up around your waist as you moved.
Frankie's hands came to rest on your hips, thumbs tracing small circles through the thin fabric of your dress. Looking into your eyes for permission, he started to slowly lift the hem, his touch on your bare skin.
Your hands drifted to his hair, tangling your fingers in the dark curls and removing his hat. There was an urgency in his movements now, a raw need that echoed your own.
His lips, hot and insistent, traced a path down your neck and you began to move against him, riding out the want building within you.
Without hesitation, he lifted you from the couch and carried you to the spacious bed on the other side of the room. He laid you down gently and you lifted your arms, allowing him to carefully pull the dress over your head and toss it aside. His eyes raked over your bare body, your breasts exposed to his intense gaze.
"Took my damn breath away," he murmured. He removed his clothes except for his underwear, exposing his tanned chest and soft belly.
Then, with a gentle push, he allowed himself to be pulled down onto the bed next to you, both of you inhaling sharply as skin met skin. His hand traced a gentle path from your shoulder down to your waist, ending his trail between your legs.
His thumb found your swollen clit, gently circling it. Your hips bucked in response, a soft moan escaping your lips. His fingers slipped lower, sliding into you with ease. His eyes stayed locked on yours the entire time, drinking in every reaction, every shudder of pleasure that coursed through you.
Your hand found his hard length, trapped in the fabric of his underwear. Without a pause, you slipped your hand within the elastic band and drew him out.
A low, guttural moan came out of him as you stroked his thick cock, pre-cum already beading at the tip.
"You're gonna kill me," he growled, his hips thrusting involuntarily into your touch.
He shallowly thrust his thick fingers inside you, matching the rhythm of your hand on him. Your soft moans filled the room, mingling with the faint strains of the next song on the vinyl.
When you came, his mouth found yours again, swallowing your gasps and moans as he helped you come down. His thumb was still gently circling your clit.
He removed his fingers from you and gripped your wrist, gently but firmly. His eyes searched yours, a silent question written on his features. You nodded, understanding his need.
Your bodies shifted on the soft bed sheets, Frankie positioning himself between your legs. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against yours.
"Tell me you want this," he whispered.
"I want this." Your words were breathless, barely audible.
He slid into you slowly, filling you completely. Your fingers dug into the muscles of his back as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, groaning against your skin.
"Oh fuck," he grunted.
The feeling of him inside you was unreal, his thick length stretching and filling you in ways that nobody had ever done before. He slowly inched himself into you until he bottomed out, and for a moment the two of you just stayed there, breathing each other in; the whiskey, the weed, the road. You both smelled the same but also so different, and you both wanted to know more.
"Fuck, baby." He breathed.
And then he began to move. His hips rocked back and forth in a steady rhythm, his cock gliding in and out of you. You matched his rhythm, wrapping your legs around his waist and urging him deeper.
You both moved together, lost in the sensation of each other's bodies. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the air, mixed with the faint music still drifting in from the record player.
He lifted his head, his gaze fixed on yours as he continued his slow thrusts. His hands roamed your body, squeezing and pinching your breasts and ass, exploring every inch of you.
You gripped the back of his neck, pulling him down into a passionate kiss. His tongue traced your lips before entering your mouth, deepening the kiss.
His pace began to quicken, the friction between you building. His cock filled you completely, hitting all the right spots, and the pleasure was almost overwhelming.
"Fuck, I'm so close." He grunted, his hands gripping your hips as he thrust deeper.
He reached between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit again and applying the perfect amount of pressure.
It was enough to send you over the edge. Your orgasm washed over you in waves, his name tumbling from your lips as you clung to him.
He came a few seconds later, his cock throbbing inside you and spilling his cum into you.
"Fuck." His forehead pressed against yours, his breathing ragged.
He rolled off you and lay down on the bed beside you, the both of you coming down from your high. He pulled you close, your head resting on his chest.
The record was still spinning, the soft crackle of the vinyl the only sound in the room.
"Holy shit." You murmured, trailing your fingers along his chest.
He nodded, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah. Holy shit."
You both laughed, the tension in the air broken by mutual satisfaction, what felt like a great exhale to your tension. You rested your chin on his chest, gazing up at him.
"Thank you," you whispered, suddenly feeling shy.
"For what?" He raised an eyebrow.
"For... well, for everything. For tonight, and for just being you." You smiled at him.
He grinned, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "Thank you, too. This was the best night I've had in a long time."
You leaned into his touch, your eyes closing briefly. "Me, too."
The two of you lay in silence for a while, content to just be close. His arm was wrapped around your shoulders, his fingers idly playing with your hair.
"Frankie..." You whispered.
"Hmm?" He responded, his voice soft.
"If you're tired, you can stay..." You trailed off, suddenly unsure of yourself. Maybe this was all too forward?
He pulled you closer, planting a kiss on the top of your head. "I'd like that," he murmured, his eyes already beginning to droop closed.
You smiled, snuggling closer to him and feeling his heartbeat against your skin. The night had ended up being more than either of you expected, and it seemed the morning would be no different.
The two of you fell asleep, tangled together, as the vinyl record finally stopped spinning and the night came to a quiet end.
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◇ Huge Sukuna headcanon AU ◇ (cuz I'm crazy)
English is not my native language. It was originally written in Russian, so it is very difficult to translate it correctly, since there are a lot of slangs. And I’m also talking damn nonsense, that’s why.
DO NOT TAKE EVERYTHING WRITTEN SERIOUSLY!!! THIS ALL WAS WRITTEN WHEN THE AUTHOR WAS UNDER METH!!!♡♡♡♡♡
I hope you stay alive and read this to the end.
AU! Our time
Well, what... About the base?
◇About 40-45 years old, mentally - all 70.. (he just tired) No wife, no family, everything is according to the canon.
◇It’s worth paying a little attention to his appearance (Kukukhuhuh):
1) I’ve seen a lot of art on AU Sukuna (I’ve seen a lot, a lot...), I really liked the theme with the patch on the right eye, so let’s take note. Most likely, either he has some problems since birth (Ehehe.. Let’s leave the topic of an unwanted child due to a congenital pathology?))), or he successfully lost it in one of the stabbings (that’s how he met Uraume..)
2) Huge bruises under the eyes. With age, wrinkles also appeared there. The eyes are sleepy, sometimes capillaries burst.
3) His skin is rough and rough. A common problem is peeling; in winter it’s completely out of whack.
4) AQUILINE NOSE (big noses, I like big noses..)
5) He is tall. Very. 190+ exactly. But this is not just a cruise ship, it’s a whole tank. The same guy who is the envy of all natural jocks. Something between a mesomorph, and maybe even an endomorph. The fact itself: there is a lot of muscle, but not dry. In all the right places, as they say...Ahhhhh. I won’t write you the muscle mass ratio and fat percentage, sorry. Where did it come from? Well, look at his true uniform. (Moreover, there were jokes on the Internet that he was on a mass gain after the illustration for the exhibition came out. Eh...They just didn’t deserve him, they were jealous) A strong, good man, I give it a like, without a ticket to my bed. You can consider yourself to have won the genetic lottery. Little nasty bug.
6) It’s obvious that in some places there are scars (a scar on the stomach, where his mouth is, according to the canon), burns... There’s all sorts of things there, in fact.
7) Tattoo? YES!
8) I also saw a couple of heads on Sukuna the boxer, he was included in the heavyweight category. I COMPLETELY AGREE, THIS IS A FACT.
9) In general, he is a typical cat-person. Like..he is so tiger 🐅
10) He also squints often. His gaze is empty, but in his head there is a whole construction site.
====
Okay, I didn’t come up with anything else about appearance, you can figure it out for yourself. Let's go big already.
◇Philosophy of life? Sukuna adheres to that same “hedonism”, EGOISM, that everyone somehow misses when they talk about Sukuna’s philosophy. He doesn’t believe in your metaphysics; sometimes nihilistic tendencies slip through.
◇Remember his hobby? FOOD. And this thing has been preserved. He doesn’t deny himself anything, an ever-meat diet. Proper nutrition? Diets? Wtf, what? He don't know what. But he’s also an eater, he won’t eat everything, he’s very selective. High quality, three Michelin stars. (In general, the topic here is this... In the Heian era, he ate people, right? So, he mainly gave preference to the meat of women and children, since their meat is more tender due to a higher percentage of fat than that of men. Juicy, to be honest)
◇Eh...Would he be Hannibal Lector? Would you eat human flesh? Answer this question yourself. But it's interesting.
◇He has a very specific taste in food
◇What does he do in life? OHHOHO, SO. This is where the juice begins.
Please just keep in mind that this is all a fat joke.
◇We all know very well that Sukuna loves battles, fights, fighting, wars... He loves physical contact very much. Because of this, there is a head that Sukuna could have been involved in wrestling, in particular, boxing or jujitsu, but I have an opinion that Sukuna simply would not have lasted long, or would not have started a career at all. Well, how...
1) If we assume that he was actually involved in wrestling at one time, then his “career” ended after the first major championship at the age of about 20-25 years. In short, everything is simple: during the first round he almost killed his opponent (HAHAHAA), it came to resuscitation. Of course, Sukuna is a tough fighter, but no one expected such meanness. How was he even allowed in? Well, we thought about making money, but Sukuna’s adrenaline was stronger. He never returned to the ring. By some miracle he was not convicted (or rather... They wanted to, but Sukuna was faster). By the way, it must be said that this is not the first time Sukuna has smeared someone on the floor. But for some reason he always got away with it. It didn’t work out here... He wasn’t very upset, to be honest.
Did you think that he would receive penalties cards? No. There are 100% problems with the law. I just decided not to do hardcore.
2) From here I could already talk about the second half of his cheerful life, but I must say that Sukuna, I think, would not go into big sports at all, since it requires a lot of organization, and besides, a lot restrictions. Even MMA is NOT fighting without rules. Elementary. Sukuna has very good stamina, as well as willpower, it’s just... He couldn’t get enough of it. He doesn’t chase fame and success, he’d like to get a thrill from a fight. You can’t just leave training, you can’t do this, you can’t do that. He is simply an excellent virtuoso and improviser who adapts perfectly to the situation, BUT! Only if he WANTS it.
There is a very simple formula: "I can, but I don’t want to. I'm lazy, I'm not interested." Sukuna is not an organized person at all, and if he behaves like this, it is clearly not in good deeds.
3) You can skip this part, but I liked this idea. First I came up with it myself, then I also found headcanons with JJK teachers, everything coincided.
◇It seems to me that Sukuna could become an excellent historian, I don’t know why.. The topic is this: as a cover, he could randomly choose a profession (purely because his history was going well, but he had already improved his dorm life, when he was detained in the police stations for several days)
◇He doesn’t believe in God, but God believes in him, so Sukuna passed the exams well. As I say, he very smart and capable, if only I had the desire.
◇ I’ll quickly go over it:
1) I didn’t want to teach at a university, but at a college - why not. He doesn't like teenagers, but he likes to mock them.
2) He is constantly late for lectures. He swore at his directors when they put the history first. As a result, on Thursday the history is only 50 minutes long.
3) We must give him credit, he talks SO INTERESTINGLY, it’s just crazy. Here you will either listen with your mouth open, or fall asleep to his voice (sorry, I couldn’t resist, phew. In this case, he will come up and knock on the head, like “Who’s there?”) 😭😭😭 (AZAHAZPH)
4) He talks like he went to Moscow with Napoleon, then he judged the Decembrists, then he was in Petrograd at the revolution, then he and Stalin thought about how to defeat the browns, and he also sat together with Goering at Nuremberg... I think there’s no need to even mention the process of battles in the Second World War. He wrote everything down in a notebook while he was in the trench. In general, it's tough.
5) Despite all the charm of the above, he has a terrible memory for dates, so even his students don’t bother with it.
6) Do you want a test? Buy him an expensive bottle of red wine, then he MAYBE will consider your offer (yes, of course he will, he’s just showing off, he’s not interested in that at all)
7) After the first month, the students began to suspect something. You know, mysterious, like a perfume set (russian proverb). Like that same physical education teacher who always hangs out in the back room (local joke...). The smart ones guess, but the smartest ones have already made inquiries, they just remain silent, since Sukuna, in fact, is respected and feared by teenagers (in a good way). It’s a pity that the love is not particularly mutual...Uh.
In general, you understand. But what does he do anyway? He became a teacher in order to divert attention from himself. Decent citizen, but is just some kind of grouch <3
It's time for us to go into his natural environment. Crime)
Here everything is based on:
1. Pleasure, risk
2. Money. Just to live large.
It all started with Uraume (here also Uraume is “they”, so you can consider it either a man or a woman. Whatever you want). According to the canon, Uraume is a cook. It’s the same here, but with a surprise.. In general, Uraume “cooks”, and in Russian, he makes interesting preparations...)))(EMHAJAJAJJAAHPA0, WHAT IS THE PLOT OF “BREAKING BAD”, AZAHAHAHCH I’M DEAD Okay, just give me a chance)
◇Sukuna knew his comrades so well that he learned about Ura’s affairs only after 8-9 years of acquaintance (Forgive him).
◇In short, Uraume cooks well, and also studied at the chemistry department. Uraume had a purely monetary question; they didn’t use their own product (and I don’t advise you to, otherwise you’ll later invent such garbage like I did)
◇ – What is this? - What do you think? Sukuna narrowed his eyes. - And you decided not to tell me about it? - And I didn’t hide it. Just why extra attention to yourself? There was silence in the room. - Listen... - Sukuna, don't- - LET ME FINISH. ◇ Uraume had no options.
◇Every drug dealer needs his own "sportik" (This is what we call those who punish or kill people who hide drugs). Well, you understand, right...?
◇Well, that’s how it started to spin and spin. Moreover, it was Sukuna who opened the doors to the darkest places. Accordingly, he himself stood up very quickly, and even the dog would not dare to growl. Hello, black market. The only problem is hiding all this from the police + there is not enough imagination on how to launder the money, but the business itself is going well and wonderful. Sukuna also managed to be a hired killer in the dark spaces. He lives a very happy life, he likes it. Finally able to use fighting skills. Hooray.
◇ Sukuna once even showed interest in “cooking” while watching Uraume. You will be shocked, but he does a great job. Wow.
◇Well, not really. It seems to me that Sukuna is either a pure humanist, or with an admixture of biology and chemistry (everything was reinforced there along the way). But algebra, geometry, physics - well, no. I was ready to fight to the death with one guy from the faculty of Physics and Mathematics, because they stood and proved what is generally more important in life. I think his name was Gojo...I don't know.
◇ The only thing he can do from this is count money and interest.
◇The same person who will walk into the room, be silent for 5 minutes, and then sigh and “I, you know, what I think...”. He will tell you the whole course of philosophy, and then he will also express his opinion. I advise you to remain silent, not breathe loudly and listen carefully.
◇Law of the universe: if Sukuna is nearby, then with a 99% probability something will fall, break... Or maybe someone...
◇ Law of the universe: if Sukuna is nearby, then with a 99% probability something will fall, break, or break. Or maybe someone..
◇MAKE IT TO THE HIGH FASHION! He really knows how to dress with taste. You can’t tell from him, since Sukuna, like Tyler Durden, destroys everything, but he still understands art, aesthetics and style. And you will find out this in a completely unexpected way.
◇“Combining green and yellow in the interior? What squalor...”
“Mmm... Like Baroque”
◇Prefers dark and deep colors: black, burgundy, red, emerald, purple, ocher, etc.
◇ He loves Japanese painting on clothes, although most often he wears plain ones. But he has one or two kimonos. How is this painting technique... Yuzen?
◇Despite the fact that he has large hands and fingers, he has well-developed fine motor skills (a useful skill))
◇Doesn’t go to the GYM and makes fun of those who go there. Real men should knock out brains and teeth! (He just somehow saw that Gojo and Yuji’s change were going to the gym. That’s where it came from)
◇He, of course, could become some kind of powerlifter, since his physical capabilities allows it, but he doesn’t want to. Does he even want anything other than to kill and ruin the lives of others? (NO)
◇He met Kenjaku through Uraume
◇Sukuna calls Kenjaku a freak and a pervert (f*cked, to be more precise) because of his strange humor (Believe me, Sukuna is not far off, like...Kenjaku jokes about necr0philia, and Sukuna about cannibalism)
◇ I sleep and see: two grandfathers are sitting and trying to tell jokes. Only Uraume is unfunny...
◇Sukuna has some problems with sleep, and it doesn’t matter whether he sleeps a lot or a little, 3 hours or 12. He often dozes. (Sleepy kitty)
◇ Head from school: Sukuna had no friends at all before college, and there’s no point in talking about friends. One against all, all against one. In the last year of study, he changed place of study because he almost threw a classmate out of the window, and he also received a concussion.
◇He hated team games. Do you get upset when you are accused of playing poorly and causing your team to lose? Pf. In the first few games, Sukuna deliberately threw the ball anywhere, and he himself took it away from his team, passing it to another. And it makes no difference which team.
◇ He was not respected, he was feared. And rightly so, they were afraid. He could really kill
◇In fact, his social skills are poorly developed, he simply does not consider it necessary. In college, he got involved with Uraume, and that was enough for him. Cosy.
◇By the way, according to the canon there is no wife or children, it’s the same story. We must pay tribute - he did not touch women, unless he killed them when it was necessary for “work”. Sukuna himself is a very attractive man, but 85% of women were afraid of him, the remaining 15% tried to somehow flirt with him, start communicating, but Sukuna 🤨❓️ then showed such contempt that these women developed complexes for the rest of their lives.
◇ He never took call women (prost|tute), he is above that. He generally has the vibe “woman, keep your hands to yourself”, “don’t embarrass yourself” ◇ He can respect you if:
A) You are very smart
B) You are very strong
C) A and B together
He will definitely praise you if he finds you something interesting about you and your business (unless you are Yuji)
◇You can challenge him, just don’t be too stubborn, keep silent again, otherwise your new accessory will become a crutch.
◇I remembered the phrase of one man: “It doesn’t matter whether you are a woman or a man, I will beat you the same way.” This is he.
◇HE DOESN'T CARE ABOUT ANYONE. This is a constant. Will never take responsibility for another person. The only thing he will do is solve Uraume's problems, or just see how people cope. Independence is the key to a good relationship with Sukuna.
◇Content is content, but let's be honest, according to the canon, Sukuna is a very selective frame. This one is boring and not interesting, but this one is weak, and this one is annoying. In general, you won't please. I don't believe that Sukuna could fall in love with someone at all. It's amazing how most of the people here portray him in fanfiction. Well, he wouldn’t start this “subdue and rule” thing, he would immediately take your head off your shoulders. You should be on an equal footing with him, if not superior. Of course, he will fight for dominance, but he definitely values both physical and mental strength. In this regard, absolutely adequate and objective. The most important thing is to have something to praise for. And when someone crawl on their knees in front of him...Why the hell do you doing, you rag? We figured it out.
◇ At one time he used headphones very often, almost 24/7. Moreover, he turned it on purely for the background, without any purpose.
◇In general, he has no goals, only a path. And he does the right thing.
◇Frequent periods of “I don’t want anything, I won’t do anything.”
◇He has 2 states: either he does nothing AT ALL, sits on his ass, or he is a nightmare to everything and everyone.
◇He knows how to speak civilly, but only during some important negotiations. He himself is taciturn, sometimes he makes some obscene remarks. But once every few months he can give out some beautiful poetic remark. You hit the jackpot (“Moonlight helps me to see better how pathetic you are.” Oh, what a romantic)
◇He doesn’t like sweets, but it seems to me that he would like oriental sweets..Turkish delight)
◇A fan of Japanese and Kazakh food
◇He smells of "oldspice", heavy cologne, tobacco and sweat.
◇If he were an animal, he would definitely be a tiger. One big cat. Predatory, but with grace. Just like that.
◇He rarely responds to messages, but if he does, he gives out such a bunch of text, just so that you get tired of reading it all. He writes very quickly. But then again, in real life he's just quiet and grumpy.
◇A bunch of bad habits. It’s just one bad habit (but we’re not going to give it up, right?)
◇Gege Akutami once mentioned that he liked the performance of K-POP group MAMAMOO, in particular, Hwasa was the main shock. In short, if Yuji likes Jennifer Lawrence, then Sukune’s fatal luxury is Hwasa (I just really love this woman myself). He doesn’t listen to K-pop, he just likes her (hips don’t lie, friends..)
◇He would listen to either rock/heavy metal. I can also bet on darkwave, experimental, or maybe something with traditional Japanese motifs. Or maybe even a classic. Who knows..
◇He constantly carries all sorts of chewing gum with him.
◇It seems to me that he is one of those very people to whom you will say: “I went *somewhere*”, will not glance at you, and will remain sitting on the sofa. But after 30 minutes of your journey you will feel that something is wrong..(he is trailing behind you). Cause? He's bored.
◇ His main mission in life is to scare people until their hearts stop. No, just imagine: you’re standing in the kitchen, not bothering anyone, and suddenly a 2-meter big guy squints and slowly picks up a knife. And then he begins to walk towards you with a medium step. Your actions? (Spoiler: subway surf begins) And for realism, it will even leave a cut on your back. <33333 I luv this man sm
◇He clearly has some kind of jokes with physical contact. Pinches, pokes. Bruises are guaranteed.
◇110% organized all sorts of underground fight clubs.
That's all. The fantasy is over. I caught the cringe and laughed. It was fun and enjoyable.
Thanks
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