#consider it the Exposition chapter | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

adelheidvonschicksal · 2 months

Text

⋆｡°✩ Do Roommates Sleep Together?

“We’d be roommates, much better than neighbors,” you manage to explain, proud when you hold firm, but the delicate foundation you built cracks when his laugh highlights the room. You could nearly melt. “Do roommates sleep together too?”

Synopsis: Your relationship with Xavier is unconventional, skipping and trampling on the many proper steps society deems appropriate. It should take months to form the trust needed to sleep together, and it should take years for you to ask him to move in with you.

Yet, here you are, with more courage to ask him to live with you than to tell him you’re in love with him.

Content Warning: fluff, suggestive dialogue, pining, literal sleeping together, a lot of internal exposition, mild angst, hurt/comfort, acquaintances to friends to lovers, implied soulmate tomfoolery to justify the fast burn, small references to chapter 4 main story, Heartstring Symphony, Nighttime Stroll, Shooting Stars Myth, and Unit 602's Representative Phone Call, Xavier sucks at following the non-interference policy (he tried his best), female reader, 6.5k words, safe for work

A/N: First section before Warm Wishes/Dreams within Reach tender moments and second section after Close Feelings tender moment to give a better timeframe. This is going to be two parts with the second part NSFW.

“Do you want to hang out at my place?”

Your smile begins to flatten as Xavier stares at you from his doorway. There’s a listless energy radiating from him. It’s intimidating even if there’s no anger behind his hooded gaze, the kind of intimidation where you’re afraid he might not be listening to you or even wants to listen to you.

“This new scary movie came out. Tara was supposed to watch with me, but she had a last-minute thing to take care of,” you explain, watching as he yawns and wipes his eyes. “So, I thought that maybe you’d like to watch with me instead. Or, we can do something else. I got games. Monopoly, Phase 10, Kitty Cards.”

Xavier rubs at the back of his neck, refusing to meet your eye. “Are you sure you want it to be just the two of us?”

There are many things to be said about your relationship with Xavier. You’re work partners, neighbors in the same apartment complex, and you consider him your friend. It’s also true that your friendship is young despite the many hours at the arcade together and whatever stories your co-workers like to imagine, making your offer sound more like a date invitation than hanging out. It causes you to go tongue-tied as your innocent mistake blankets you.

“Oh, not in that way! I mean not that it would be a bad thing.” You start to lose your composure when you meet his gaze again. It’s not like you wouldn’t go on a date with him if given the opportunity. He’s tall, soft-spoken, and very handsome. It’s more surprising he doesn't have a girlfriend. “I was thinking it could be a good way to foster friendship between hunters. Yeah, that’s it!”

The truth was that you were looking for something to distract yourself ever since the incident at your grandmother’s house. Tara having to cancel bummed you out more than you wanted to admit, but you didn’t want him to agree because he felt sorry for you.

“I understand,” Xavier cuts in. “I’d be happy to join you…in an hour,” he finishes with another small yawn.

“Great!” you cheer. “See you soon.”

When you make it back to the elevator, you’re taken aback about how happy you are that he agreed. You thought you were simply happy not to have to be alone on your day off, but this was a different kind of satisfaction than when you invited Tara. It was a little strange but you ignored the thought and clicked the button to your floor.

When Xavier arrives, everything goes as planned. You spread out an array of snacks on the table in front of the sofa, which your selection seems to be approved by how quickly he opens the package of chips and hums to himself when he takes a bite.

“This is supposed to be super scary! I read you won’t sleep for days after,” you tell him, grabbing the remote to play the movie.

“For days? Sounds awful,” Xavier mentions between bites, making you chuckle.

“If you get scared, you always have me to protect you.”

“I’m more worried about you than me,” he mouths off. “You always look like a statue when I tell you scary stories.”

“Fake movies and stories based on real places are different!”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he agrees on the surface. You’re not sure how you only make friends with people who love to tease you, but you make no mention of it as the movie finally reaches its opening sequence.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize this movie’s fear factor was greatly over exaggerated. There were monsters, sure, but also one too many jump scares and dark scenes that made it hard to tell what was happening. Fighting wanderers for a living did leave you a bit desensitized as well, you guess.

As you reach to fill in your boredom with more chips, you can’t help but notice how Xavier looks like he’s about to give out any second. His eyes are drooping and his head bobbing to the side. You lose count of how many times he forces his limp body straight and strains to watch the movie playing on the screen, one agonizingly slow blink at a time.

“I’m fine,” he says before you can bring up how tired he looks.

“It’s not a big deal, Xavier. This movie is pretty boring, so if you wanna call it a night, it wouldn’t hurt my feelings.” You don’t want him to leave yet but you don't want to keep him up either. Sighing, you’re frustrated the movie isn’t as exciting as you thought it would be, and it’s difficult to fight the disappointment from showing on your face.

And, well, Xavier…

“It’s alright. It’s honestly not bad, so—”

Xavier doesn’t even finish his sentence before his head hangs over. In hindsight, you start to realize that you must have woken him up earlier, explaining his prior passiveness.

You always wondered what he did on the days he wasn’t working. It should’ve been apparent to you that he spends most of his free time sleeping. No wonder his apartment was always so quiet during the day. You’re thankful he wasn’t actually annoyed at you earlier but guilty for interrupting his rest and decide to grab him a blanket.

You don’t notice him tilting to the side before you have the chance to get up. It’s quick after that. Without warning, he falls into you, his head brushing the side of your shoulder before he collapses on top of your lap.

The situation takes you by surprise, and the world churns to a slow stop. The sounds from the television fade into the background in favor of your heartbeat becoming the thing you’re most aware of when it registers that Xavier, a man you recently can call a friend, has fallen asleep in your lap. You have no idea what to do in a situation like this. It isn’t on purpose, so there’s no need to blow up, but you can’t allow this to continue.

So, you choose to wake him up.

“Xavier,” you call and rock his shoulder. You call his name again, a third time, and finally give up when he doesn’t budge by the fourth. “Would it be too mean to roll him off?” you wonder, grimacing as you imagine him hitting the floor. It would definitely be too mean.

Sighing, you gaze at his face nuzzled too comfortably against your thighs. Xavier looks so incredibly soft like this, bundled in an oversized Blanchi hoodie. It isn’t anything you’re not used to seeing him in. However, this is different. With his hair strewn across his temple and his face so at ease, it reminds you of a big fluffy bunny flopped over for an evening nap. Just like a cuddly bunny, you can’t resist petting him, brushing your fingers across his bangs to fix them. Your heart flutters as you confirm his hair is incredibly soft and his pale eyelashes longer than you ever noticed.

Not able to restrain yourself, you gently poke his cheek, marveling when it’s much chubbier than you imagined. It causes him to moan, his eyes twitching from the intrusion.

“Mm…what?” he groans out.

Swiftly, you pull your hand away, frightened he might have caught you.

“I wasn’t doing anything,” you stammer out, not the best of excuses; but in your defense, he caught you off-guard by waking up from something so small. When he doesn’t respond again, you quickly realize he’s still asleep. “Oh, he sleep talks!”

A mischievous wave washes over you from the new piece of information you acquired. Teasingly, you poke his cheek again, giggling when he shifts to hide his eyes from the light.

“Xavier, I have a question to ask you.” You slide your fingertips along his bangs once more. “Be honest. Are you Lumiere?”

Patiently, you wait for a response. However, nothing comes after several seconds. Just when you’re about to give up hope, you hear him muttering. You lean your head closer, hoping to hear him better.

“Red…” he mumbles.

You repeat after him. “Red?”

“Red…extra spicy.”

You blink at him, knitting your brows. “Extra spicy?”

Oh. The hot pot restaurant.

“Dreaming about food? That tracks.” You shrug. It was worth a shot. “Fine, keep your secrets.”

Choosing to leave him be, you’re about to sit back and continue the movie except you are interrupted by him mumbling again. This time, he whispers your name quietly under his breath causing your undivided attention to fall on him.

“Yes?” you ask.

Xavier sighs softly, peacefully.

“Come home…with me…”

There must be a world record for how fast someone can heat up, and you must have broken it. It’s like someone threw you directly into boiling oil and left you to burn in it. There’s no way you heard him correctly.

Did Xavier really ask you to come home…with him? Is he dreaming about you? If so, in what kind of dream? And why?

These are the questions stumping you. Sure, you consider him your friend, but when did he start to see you as someone close to him?

The more important question is why aren’t you doing anything about it? You aren’t angry about him whispering your name in his sleep nor offended, and it didn’t feel out of place to be close to him, like this, with his head resting in your lap and your hand in his hair. The moment becomes nicer and nicer—treasured—the more times you run it through your head, familiar even, like déjà vu.

There are too many variables for your brain to piece it all together in such a short amount of time. Praying for the tempest battering your emotional insides to reside, you resign yourself to your fate, allowing him to have his peace while your mind completely focuses on the words slipping from his dreams.

When Xavier begins to stir hours later, your movie is long finished, credits rolling as some dramatic music plays in the background. His eyes tighten then relax before he finally opens them, greeting you with hazy blue. He lifts himself into a stretch then rubs his eyes with his wrist. When he finally adjusts to his surroundings, he looks at you with an apologetic sulk.

“Did I…fall asleep on you?” he asks, grogginess still riding his voice.

“Literally or figuratively?” you ask as a joke, but it doesn’t seem to comfort him. Shaking your head, you try to ease the tension—the one known by him and the tension inside of yourself—by laughing. “It was both.”

Xavier blinks a few times, turns his head to the screen to see the credits rolling, and snaps his eyes back on you questioningly. “And you let me for two hours?”

“You looked really tired,” you explain, ignoring how hot your cheeks start to get. You couldn’t tell him you got distracted by his cute face. “I didn’t want to move and wake you.”

“I don’t wake that easily,” he states, proudly even. You almost tell him how well everyone knows he can sleep through a typhoon, but it’s drowned underneath the softness of his smile. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

The look he gives you is so tender, like looking at a fond memory. It brings back the fluttering knots in your stomach from before as you imagine what could be the true reason behind that gaze. What could he possibly be thinking in his waking moments that would make him dream about you?

“Xavier, do you know you talk in your sleep?” The confused and panicked, deer caught in headlights expression, he gives causes you to fidget with your fingers and drop your gaze to your lap where they lay.

His face tinges slightly. “Nothing too embarrassing I hope.”

You bite your bottom lip as his face reddens. He looks so sweetly shy for once, and you’re starting to question if you’re overreacting by confronting him about something as silly as a dream, one that probably didn’t mean much.

“You tried to order food in your sleep!” you tell him with a small laugh, and his shyness melts away.

“I did? What did I get?”

“Red sauce. Extra Spicy.”

“Then, I guess that’s what I’ll get for dinner tonight,” he remarks. He doesn’t laugh but you can see the amusement reflected in blue eyes, which makes you return his happiness. Yet, the calm moment is short-lived as your mind becomes overwhelmed again by questions you were too nervous to ask; and a small piece of you, too afraid to know the answer.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, drawing you out of your rampant, clashing thoughts. “You look sick.”

“I do?”

He nods, his expression softening.

”Are you still thinking about everything?" he pauses, his worry becoming more visible as he looks at you. "It must be difficult.” Your head blanks at his words. You weren’t aware Xavier gave you enough attention to notice your mood was different. You thought you did okay coming to terms with everything at least while at work to where he wouldn’t notice.

“It’s been a pretty rough week, weeks, actually. I haven’t been sleeping well either,” you agree, struggling to keep your mind anywhere else but there. You’re sure you must look exhausted though. Your under eyes have been darker, the days you could convince Jenna you didn’t need any more leave a bit sluggish, and even Zayne warned you not to lose yourself in grief. It’s easier said than done.

What you don’t expect is for Xavier to grab your wrist and pull you closer.

Xavier normally isn’t the one to draw you, or others for that matter, to him. You’re the one who's been taking the steps to get to know more about him. Offering to help him get his plushie, bargaining with him into becoming your partner, asking him to watch movies with you, while he always seems to keep you a little at arms length, not opening up as much as you wish when sharing stories even when sometimes he looks like he desperately wants to before deciding against it.

Your eyes widen when your nose hits the side of his chest. It's strange to have him be the one pulling, failing to keep his boundaries and also testing them. You don’t want to push him away though. You liked this. Maybe because he was handsome. You hear pretty people can get away with anything, but it feels like more than that. Tara might have been right. Maybe you do have a crush on him but you didn’t care the reason right now when it’s so comforting. You can feel his muscles underneath the thick, warm fabric of his hoodie, and the clothing smells so nice. You can’t help thinking he definitely feels like a bunny too.

“Sleeping is much better with someone.”

“How do you know?” you mumble against him.

“Well, I just had the best sleep I’ve had in days thanks to you. So, allow me to return the favor. I’ll be your pillow this time,” he offers; and surprisingly, your eyes do feel oddly heavy when his soothing voice reaches you. “Relax. I promise not to move for at least two hours, but you can take more if you like.”

”How kind,” you say with a smile, and it feels genuine.

Once again, you get the same familiar sensation from before, that same odd suspicion this has happened once before—or rather it’s supposed to happen? You’re too tired to think about it. You close your eyes to the most blissful dreams you’ve had in weeks.

When you wake up again, it’s not by choice. Xavier is looking down at you, his arm gently wrapped around your shoulders as your head lays on his chest. Your mind is still trapped halfway between being awake and asleep when he begins to talk.

“Welcome back. Did you sleep well?”

You nod. “Real well actually."

Xavier says something else but your tired mind misses the majority of it aside from the fact it’s getting late.

“You can spend the night if you want,” you tell him, allowing sleep to win back over as you try to close your eyes again, but he lifts you away from him, your head swaying with the motion until you find a place to prop your forehead on his shoulder. Your mind echoes with the thought of how soft his hoodie is and how you need one like it as you try to drift back off. Xavier is right. Sleeping with someone else is better, and this closeness you’ve been missing since you lost your family makes you needy.

“It probably wouldn’t be appropriate.”

For some reason, it hurts to think he's back to pushing you away. Even though, it shouldn't.

“But you didn’t get a chance to watch the movie,” you reply, looking for an excuse for him not to leave. “It’s a 48-hour rental, so we can try again.”

Xavier shakes his head, gently poking at your forehead to force your head back. “I’m sure it’ll be twice as boring for you the second time.”

“If we watch it together…”

He meets your foggy gaze apologetically. “I don’t think we’d get very far.”

“We won’t know until we try,” you argue drowsily.

“You don’t look like you’d make it another ten minutes. You belong in bed.”

“I can,” you whimper as the too-bright lights of the overhead fan hit you.

“Doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result,” he murmurs softly, almost teasingly until his tone takes on a seriousness you’re too lethargic to grasp, “Isn’t that insanity?”

“I like to call it determination. Who knows? Maybe this will be the time it works,” you joke. Instead of the smile you expected the look on his face is pensive and a little sad, like you touched a delicate spot. The sudden remorse wakes you up almost immediately. “Xavier?”

When he realizes you’re watching him, the longing in his gaze melts into something you can’t describe, other than the fact it makes your heart climb in your throat.

“Alright,” he agrees, much to your surprise and relief. “Let’s try again…but tomorrow.”

Frowning, you avert your gaze, which makes him pet your head.

“Don’t pout. Tonight, I’ll stay until you fall asleep again.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, moving back to rest your head against his chest.

Maybe your grandma wouldn’t have liked you getting so close to a man you didn’t know much about so quickly. Caleb would at least have a few questions, but your intuition tells you that you’re making the right choice when his arm goes back around you. As you start to drift off, you can swear you hear Xavier laughing at you under his breath. “You’re as impossible to say no to as always.”

You’re not entirely sure what time Xavier went back to his apartment that night, but the next morning you wake in your bed, looking forward to seeing him again. You only hope the sweet and confusing fact that you’re in love with him, of the parts he shows you when you’re alone, stays in your dreams the next night and the many nights following that you share with him.

Over the months, as your relationship with Xavier grows stronger, you find it common to share many things with each other. You play online games, house sit for one another, grow strawberries, and usually go home together after your deepspace trials. Most interestingly, you two take naps together on your days off sometimes, nothing sexual about it despite what Tara and her Tarot cards believe. Sure, there might have been questionable situations, but it was all innocent in the end. It's often a short nap in the afternoon after running errands or having lunch together. It's one of those days that you finally build the courage to bring up what's been on your mind for a while now.

It's late when it happens.

The skyscraper lights begin to glow through your balcony door, blinking out the gentle shimmering of distant stars that managed to cut through the trickling rain earlier in the evening. It’s a little disappointing to lose sight of the stars. They’d become a comfort for you in the time you’ve spent with your friend. You'd never given them much thought before then.

The downpour of rain splattering against the glass panels of the balcony makes the city lights milkier to your sight and the steady dripping of water returns some form of calmness when paired with your neighbor’s breathing next to you.

It’s deep and warm, ushering you towards the world of dreams. Everything about Xavier is like a white noise or a desperately needed hug, which is why you’re curled up at his side in this bed that’s too small for the both of you. You didn’t care, and you suspected Xavier didn’t either.

He didn’t mention the smallness of the bed when you offered to take a nap together nor when your head found the bulge of his bicep to use as your pillow. You didn’t give him time to respond when one of your hands slid across his lean chest, reaching for his always subtle pulse. You find the lazy pattering easy to count while the heat in the sheets become much more apparent when you feel the weight of his touch cradle that very same hand to his chest as if promising every beat to you.

Everything about the situation causes your eyes to flutter with tiredness, but you want to savor this moment a little longer. In case this is all an elaborate dream. You hope to death it’s not. So, you force your eyes to remain open, releasing a soft sigh instead as you cuddle into his arm.

Too soon, you feel Xavier slipping further away from you.

You don’t want him to go yet. More than ever, a force inside you needs him to stay tonight, and you lock your grip on the white knit shirt he wears. You tug him back over to you to close this unbearable distance he made. The few little inches he moved were more than enough to cause your heart to yearn.

“Not yet,” you want to plead but make it a soft demand. “I just found the perfect spot.” You muffle the neediness of your requests into his skin, though your head is afraid that somehow he’ll feel it.

“You always use that excuse.”

“And it’s always true. So, no moving,” you order.

Xavier gives in so wonderfully quickly. Your heart is rapidly firing when the corners of his lips turn into his usual waif-like smile. You fail at hiding your satisfaction at his surrender, pressing more of your weight against him, in a sure sign to him that you have no intention of letting him escape any time soon.

“I take this to mean you’re finally admitting it’s your fault we didn’t do our errands today?”

“I never said that,” you disagree half-heartedly. “And don't pretend like you weren't the one who kept saying he didn't feel like getting up earlier.”

“And now that I do, you won’t let me up. Am I right? Why’s that?”

There’s a beat skipping in your chest when he asks. His tone is light and open, easy to treat as a teasing joke but also firm enough to be taken seriously. That was always your trouble with him. You could never quite tell what he was thinking and when he was serious. Xavier is hard to understand sometimes, sometimes vague and sometimes very straightforward in his words; and lately, you think he’s consistently more hot than cold towards you ever since the first time you've slept together.

You like to think this development is a good thing. People who knew you always said you worked a little too hard, a little too observant, overly energetic despite your fragile heart; but with Xavier, you could relax. Moments like these: when his arm was around you and when his breath was at the side of your neck, the soft words he speaks in his sleep dancing in your mind, were the moments when patrolling for wanderers and every loss in your life from your family to your problematic heart dissipated into the back of your mind for a few hours.

It isn’t an exaggeration to believe his influence must have been the cause, at least when it comes to this. But your influence is seeping into him as well. Given his loner habits when you first met and his frequent disappearing acts, you never pictured him as one to be so sweet and considerate and adorably charming in a way.

However, you can’t tell him that you enjoy…sleeping with him. You have a strong feeling he already knows how much you like him. Or, you’d like to think he does with the way he constantly seems to hint at it. He can make you flustered with a few words and easily leave you guessing if you’re reading too much into his actions or if he’s really that good at baiting you. It could also be a little of column A and a little of column B, which somehow makes you more antsy around him. Like how you feel now when his eyes meet yours.

“It’s supposed to be cold tonight,” you whisper. It’s a poor excuse but the only one you can use to defend yourself. “They say the best way to fend off the chill is body heat. Who better for that task than you, dear partner?”

“Many things, I assume, a portable heater comes to mind,” he says, and you don’t need to look at him to know he’s slyly teasing you behind that naive tone.

“Right, right, those things,” you grumble causing him to laugh as you hide your bashful face against him. “So loud, you know?”

“Are they? Alright, then five more minutes should be doable,” he says in the same low voice that makes your insides boil before his arm lowers to curl around your back. “Although, you’re too comfortable.”

His ears tinge in a lovely rose-colored blush, and you shudder when he finally fails to maintain eye contact and quickly scans your body. It’s slow enough for you to catch though. It makes your chest tight as you watch his quiet inhale and the murky flash of want dye his eyes shades darker before they fade back into clear pools of blue, big and pleading as he studies your face.

“I might end up falling asleep here.”

It’s a warning, to make you think about the meaning of your actions, you think. However, this isn’t the first time this has happened nor the first time you spent a rainy day inside with each other; the kitchen counter lined with empty take-out trays, with his body heat radiating into you while a long-forgotten movie plays in the background.

It’ll continue like that until one of you is finally coherent enough after drowsy naps to try to piece together who fell asleep on whom first or who is making the other too hot. Neither of you wants to accept the fault without a lot of bickering; that’s if Xavier doesn’t fall back asleep mid-debate.

Even this time, you’re not sure who managed to drift off to sleep first earlier but neither of you tried to get up, let alone leave the house, until now. Ah, but it was your idea to use the bed this time, wasn’t it?

But it was his choice to agree.

Even now, he looks very peaceful nestled with you, and he still whispers your name in his sleep sometimes, which reminds you of the first time you slept together and he dreamt about wanting you to come home with him.

When you’re like this, you want the same thing. You want him to come home…with you.

“Xavier?” you ask quietly. You wonder if he’s fallen asleep already like he said. Carefully, you free your hand from his hold, slide it up his chest, and begin to draw smooth circles with your pointer finger once you reach his cheek. There’s a soft response from him, barely a moan but it’s enough to know he’s not out of it yet, at least not completely. “I’ve been thinking.”

The air is suddenly stifling when he engulfs the top of your hand with his own, holding it tighter as if he’s upset that you moved it out of his grasp in the first place, but it’s not the case as he affectionately seals your palm against his cheek.

“About what?”

The look he gives you makes it hard not to stumble over your thoughts like a schoolgirl despite being very much an adult.

“Wouldn’t…” You pause to steady your voice; you have to force yourself to not avoid his gaze, but each small movement makes your throat tighten. There’s no doubt you have his full attention now, at least what little remains of it. “Wouldn’t it be easier if we…move in together?”

You’re not sure where the courage to ask him a question like that comes from when you’re too unsure to even confess or to ask what the two of you even are but you didn’t have this fear of rejection until now.

“How would it be easier?”

“Well,” you start, unsure why you’re surprised that he’d want a reason. “We’re always visiting one another, and you made me your representative at the tenant meetings, so everyone already treats us like we’re a combined unit. It would also save me trips on watering your plants when you’re away or when you want to come over to eat. We could save money. Money that could be spent at the arcade or on more hot pot.”

There’s a quiet atmosphere that makes you too uneasy. The thrumming of rain grows louder in it along with the beating in your chest that’s telling you that this was stupid. Is it possible to be drunk on endorphins? Perhaps that’s what gave you the idea to ask something so foolish; you’d have to get Zayne to examine your empty head and tell you.

But then, Xavier smiles.

“Those are good reasons especially more hot pot, and I’m sure all the plushies would feel better if they shared a home again.”

Your anxiety lessens and you share in his smile. Luckily, you managed not to ruin everything it looks like.

“But.” Slowly, the inklings of self-doubt begin to return. A but. There’s always one of those. You should’ve expected as much. “If we move in together then we wouldn’t really be “neighbors” anymore.”

“Oh, um—” You become staggered by his observation, even more so when he interlocks your fingers. It’s another time when you’re not entirely sure if he’s being serious or not. His innocent puppy-eyed expression doesn’t help you differentiate either. It always makes your mind wander to more inappropriate topics—like the fact Xavier told you he didn’t believe that other neighbors acted like you two. The memory nearly makes you squirm. In this position, you decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. “We’d be roommates, much better than neighbors,” you manage to explain, proud when you hold firm, but that delicate foundation cracks when his laugh highlights the room. You could nearly melt.

“Do roommates sleep together too?”

There’s a shine of amusement that makes his face glow and heat claw higher up your neck. You know the question should be taken literally but when he words it like that…with that warm implicative inflection to his voice, you’re unable to think properly, and you realize that maybe you made a mistake. Maybe you shouldn’t have given him the benefit of the doubt this time.

“I’m sure some do,” you answer with some courage, “I’d imagine at least once a week.”

“I believe we’re up to twice a week now. So, if we become roommates, I think we have to do it at least that many times, otherwise I’m afraid I’m going to have to reject your offer.”

“Two times?” you repeat, silently begging the flapping of butterflies in your stomach to calm down at the suggestion, at the implication that he enjoys sleeping with you just as much as you do with him. It makes this strong emotion in your chest blossom even further. “I can manage that.”

“Additional proposal,” he interrupts suddenly. “Perhaps, three times? I can even throw in a pair of those fuzzy socks that I can never manage to find after you visit,” he adds coyly.

“Oh, I’m sure they’re around your apartment somewhere,” you quickly respond before releasing the buildup of nervous air in your lungs. You smile. “Proposal accepted. Shared naps three times a week minimum.”

“In that case,” he breathes in softly, and he slips his hand down releasing all your fingers except for your pinky that he wraps into his own. “I think I would like to be your roommate.”

Inside, there’s unadulterated joy beginning to flood you. You know that this agreement will require a more in-depth discussion that Xavier will probably try to gloss over but this is enough for you right now.

“We should take tonight to practice for our move.”

Confused, you raise your eyebrows. “Practice?”

He nods.

“Sleeping together overnight. We did a few times before, well, only twice in the same bed, once in yours and once in mine,” he explains. You definitely have the clearest memory of that time, of bandaging his wounds, of cluelessly pinning him down shirtless on his bed before he turned the tables on you, and then—you remind yourself to resist going over the details, not with him this close to you. Somehow, Xavier is the one who looks the most insecure between the two of you. Finally, he whispers, “I haven’t forgotten even if it was a long time ago.”

His eyes are half-lidded, cloudy with thought. Something about him looks restrained and longing but it disappears when you finally swallow your swelling emotions and call out his name. There’s a twinkle of adoration that blows away whatever doubt there as he focuses on you again.

“I think about it when I have a hard time sleeping on overnight missions.” Xavier turns and slides his arm from under your head, choosing to lay on his side to face you. “It makes it a lot easier to rest in the hunting zones when you have good memories like that. So, it's nice to have a chance to make more."

“I don’t think I could fall asleep at all if I thought of something like that,” you admit, as close to an admission of your love for him as you could muster without mountains of alcohol. “I’d just think about how much I’d rather be home with them.”

“And now? Are you having trouble sleeping?” he asks huskily, and you have to fight not to keep staring at his lips and the dire need to kiss them as you breathe each other in. You reach out, touching his bare collar then instinctively searching for his slow pulse, counting it to calm yourself from the rush of adrenaline building in you.

You’re not even sure when you breathed out the “yes” that echoes softly from your mouth. His lips are so close to yours that you’re sure he could catch it in his breath if he wanted.

“How about I tell you a story to help you fall asleep?” He sees your hesitation and laughs under his breath. “I promise it’ll be much better than the last one.”

Accepting his offer, you agree to listen to him.

Xavier nods and gently swoops the back of his hand against your forehead and then your cheek before cupping it. There’s a gentle squeeze, and you think you understand why he likes it so much when you do it.

“Once, there was a beautiful queen and a knight,” he begins. “They lived together in a palace far away.”

“And they fall in love and live happily ever after?” you question, too busy in the full and fuzzy sensations filling your being to hold back.

“No, they were separated from each other for a long time,” Xavier corrects but his expression softens at the trickling concern building on your face. “Don’t worry. They meet again and become neighbors.”

“And then?”

“They become roommates,” he states matter-of-factly, which causes you to chuckle at him. You can’t even be bothered to care that he’s poking fun at you.

“Then, happily ever after?”

“I don’t know yet,” he answers, causing you to frown and your face to wrinkle with a sullen expression. His head tilts further into the plush of the pillow. “But you can help me figure out the ending.”

Feeling exhausted from the cathartic flow of emotions from him to you, you wiggle into him and throw your arm across his waist. “There’d probably be a lot of naps and stargazing involved,” you mumble before a tiny yawn.

“Sounds like a happy ending to me. It's good to finally see it,” he agrees, and you sigh when you feel a strong squeeze around your waist. “Although, you forgot to mention the part where the queen promises to not get out of bed without waking him this time.”

You giggle. “She promises not to get up without her knight.”

Content, he hums. "Do you think you'll be able to sleep now?"

"I think so after a story like that," you confess, reaching out to brush his hair back so you can see his eyes more clearly. "Then again, I always sleep good with you."

"You’ll sleep best when we're close, right?"

You gasp when he shifts on top of you. His lips briefly brush your forehead, by accident or not, you can’t tell as he pins you between himself and the bed. With a stutter, you call out his name yet he pays no heed as he nuzzles his head into your hair.

“Good night, roommate.”

“Xav-!” You pout when he instantly slumps against you. There’s no point trying to wake him up now that his five minutes of alertness have long expired.

Settling your chin against the top of his shoulder, you hook your arms under his to hug him against your chest. Your forearms settle at his mid-back as you hold him close so you can gently brush the ends of his hair.

When you ultimately decide to give in minutes after him, it’s to the warmth of his weight on top of you, the tickle of his hair against your forehead, and the increased pulsing of his heart. Xavier was right, this is too comfortable. Letting your eyes fall close, you wonder if three times a week would really be enough to satisfy this strangely familiar craving. You only wish that the two of you could meet in your dreams like he says, but it's enough knowing you'll have each other in the morning and then on.

“…Good night, Xavier. Sweet dreams,” you whisper before you too give into sleep’s spell.

#xavier x reader #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #xavier fluff #xavier

346 notes · View notes

am-i-the-asshole-official · 2 months

Note

WIBTA for studying prose using fanfic?

I (F16) consider myself a mediocre writer. Not the worst, but far from the best. One thing in particular that I struggle with is stringing together moments in time fluidly and creating a natural internal dialogue.

As a fanfic writer myself, I recently realized that there’s a wealth of resources I could use in the form of well-written fics I’ve enjoyed. I wondered if it would be appropriate to study them in order to find out what about the prose works so well, in the hopes that I can apply that knowledge to my own writing.

The process would likely involve printing the fics out (some oneshots, some multi-chaptered fics) and highlighting + penning in different types of sentences (external and internal dialogue, exposition, etc.) in order to get a physical feel for the cadence, the storytelling methods that really stuck out to me, and anything else that catches my eye as an example of excellent writing. I’d then try to use what I’d learned in my own fics to improve.

However, when I raised the idea to my friend, she told me it would be plagiarism and that I could be kicked out of my fandoms if anyone ever found out. Is that true? WIBTA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

267 notes · View notes

linkspooky · 2 months

Text

The Death of Kenjaku

So I was planning to write this meta the week that Kenjaku died, but decided to delay until we got full confirmation of his death. Something I didn't believe in even after Kenjaku passed the merger onto Sukuna. However, watching this video about death in Jujutsu Kaisen inspired me to finish this post. Not because I disagree with anything the YouTuber is saying, but because they can speculate on the meaning of so many deaths in Jujutsu Kaisen but can't find the meaning in Kenjaku's sudden death. This has led me to speculate why Gege made the choice to kill Kenjaku in the way that he did. What meaning is there in Kenjaku's abrupt and unsatisfying death?

Who is Kenjaku?

The first step in understanding Kenjaku's death is of course understanding how he lived. We actually know incredibly little about Kenjaku's character by design. Despite the fact he's literally in Geto's body, he's not meant to have sympathetic or human motivations to his actions (though hold onto that "human motivation" in your head for a moment). No flashback sequence shows the audience why this guy is the way he is, no single event seems to have driven him to do what he did.

This is what we know about Kenjaku in brief. He is a sorcerer who is over a thousand years old who was around in Sukuna's day. He once had a friendship with Tengen, but found her original self boring and unambitious. He also contrasts heavily with Tengen, who lives outside of humanity, because he has lived among humanity for 1,000 years. One of those lifetimes was Noritoshi Kamo who violated a woman and conducted heinous experiments. He produced ten children in his one thousand years, the nine death painting siblings and Yuji Itadori. He considers the first children boring, because human and curse hybrids turned out too normal.

He also partially blames himself for how boring they are, because he can't create anything that will exceed his expectations, the only thing that can exceed his expectations is born in chaos. He spent a thousand years organizing the culling games, and wants to use the games to create a merger, because he thinks creating a merger between Tengen and Humanity will create something entirely new and interesting. He also believes the way towards the future lies in further optimizing cursed energy, not in breaking away from it the way Yuki Tsukumo tried to do and Maki has.

The only people whose word we have on Kenjaku's motivations are Kenjaku himself, and Tengen's word and Tengen themselves who claims to not know what goes on in the human heart.

From all of the above Kenjaku seems to be a shallow character who's motivations can be summed up as "because I can" and "I want to see what happens." This shallowness is intentional however, as Gege who once praised the minimalist storytelling of Nasu and Evangelion likes to pick and choose what crumbs of backstory he gives out for his characters. We've never gotten any exposition on the Gojo clan, but we have an entire chapter about Takaba's failed career as a stand-up comic. This isn't a judgement of good or bad writing, this is just how Gege writes as minimalist as possible. This is in line with how Gege writes the ancient sorcerers as well, they are all much more shallow driven by instinct or Freudian Id (I desire) rather than the higher reasoning of modern-day sorcerers. Takaba uses comedy as a means of communication and bridging the gaps between people, Higuruma's backstory is the critique of the modern day justice system. Ishigori apparently lived a satisfying life where he was succesful and had good women, but that wasn't enough so he wants to get into a fight with Yuta to satisfy his hunger and feel like he's eaten desert.

It sounds shallow when I summarize it in text, but in the context of the fight with Yuta, it's a challenge for Yuta who for the most part only cares about his loved ones and sees the world through his love goggles to be more selfish and fight for his own desires. It's also reflective of a more basic and instinctual kind of thinking, as opposed to the higher reasoning and logic that modern-day sorcerers apply.

I'm keeping most of this first part to text for this reason, like go back and read the fight with Ishigori and Yuta. If I summarize Ishigori's character reasoning out of context it sounds stupid, but read the fight and it works because it's ID (I Desire) vs. Yuta's superego in not only having to collect points to help rescue Tsumiki, find a way to protect all the innocent people in the Culling Games, and also collect enough points to take on Kenjaku himself so Gojo won't have to. Meanwhile Ishigori's just fighting to get some of that sweet desert, the shallow works in contrast to the more layered motivations of our heroes.

Kenjaku is a shallow archetype fighting to satisfy his baser impulses (in his case curiosity) in comparison to the main characters who are fighting for more complicated reasons and often people besides themselves.

The question then becomes what archetype is Kenjaku. In that case answering who Kenjaku is is quite simple.

Kenjaku is a clown.

It might be more accurate to say that Kenjaku embodies what's commonly known as the "trickster archetype" but I'mma go with clown.

The most obvious example of a clown villain is what most consider the joker to be, that is a silly little clown man who challenges the straight faced and grim batman and sews chaos where Batman attempts to establish law and order in Gotham and make the city into a better place.

From the book Batman and Psychology:

More than any other villains, the Joker and Two-face reflect Batman himself as funhouse distortions, converses of who and what he is. The laughing, jesting, brightly colored Joker contrasts with grim, dark Batman. The Joker is the Joker. No alter ego. The film's opening bank robbery shows him wearing a clown mask over clown makeup, Under the surface there's only more Joker. He gives no history except inconsistent lies. When he finally considers the impact of his demand Batman unmask, he retracts the threat and demands that Batman's identity remain undisclosed. He wants a batman who has no other self, a Dark Knight whose only deeper layer is further darkness.

Is there a better descriptor for Kenjaku then these words?

Kenjaku is Kenjaku. No alter ego. A clown mask over clown makeup., Under the surface there's only more Kenjaku.

In other words, what you see is what you get.

Kenjaku even mirrors Joker's opinion of Batman, he thinks people should be more like him, not the other way around. He's not the outlier, he's being true to humanity's basic impulses of curiousity and discovery.

A more apt comparison as a clown though would probably be Loki, one of the most classic examples of clowning in the shared mythology of humanity. The character who challenges the common wisdom of gods like Odin who suspended themselves from the world tree for eleven days in order to gain wisdom. Loki, who through his trickery manages to bring about the events of Ragnarok for no deeper reason than because he can. Everyone swore not to harm Balder and Loki goes to find something that can harm him because BET.

Mythological Loki doesn't need a deeper motivation because what he represents in the mythology is someone who challenges authority and brings about a change, because in Norse Mythology nothing lasts forever and no era is permanent. Jujutsu Kaisen is also a story about how things should not in fact stay the same and tradition is bad sometimes.

When Kenjaku finds Tengen's true body he's curled up in a tree root in the fetal position, and he killed what is basically the all-knowing, all-seeing supposedly immortal sorcerer that maintains the status quo of japan, it's not exactly subtle.

Kenjaku is a clown, and clown's gotta clown. We don't need any more explanation that, it's more about what he does for the story. However, what he represents, the deep intellectual curiosity, and also a drive to disrupt the status quo in an attempt to see something more interesting can also be analyzed more deeply because they are human emotions that motivate us as well. The same way that Mahito is an inhuman monster, but he's created and motivated by the fear of other humans, something all of us have. '

Before moving onto his death though, I wanna hammer in how Kenjaku really is just motivated by these two things, a desire to see something interesting, and intellectual curiosity by comparing him to other characters.

The Clown in Fiction

I've already compared Kenjaku to Loki and the Joker, but when it comes to someone who wants to disrupt the entire order of the world simply because they're bored we've got to go to the original girlboss.

So there are plenty of villains who go "I'm evil because I'm bored" but they usually tend to be pretty shallow, either shallowly written for the lulz evil characters who just exist for shock value or just kinda dull. No one has ever done it as good as Junko Enoshima and no one ever will again.

For those who need context DanganRonpa is a death game series where the main villain basically has caused the apocalypse, wiped out most of humanity, and then induces survivors in a bunker to kill each other in a death game, where if someone commits a succesful murder they can escape the bunker, but if they're caught in a trial they're executed. Also, if they're not convicted in the trial everyone else is killed, motivating the jury to find and execute the guilty murderer.

Junko Enoshima the main villain and orchestrator of this death game ended the world because despair. She wants to inflict despair on everyone because despair. Because hope sucks and despair is where it's at.

It sounds shallow and it is and Kodaka has said in interview he wrote Junko to be a villain character with zero redeeming character traits, and no sympathetic backstory to describe why she is the way she is, but there is still something motivating her.

If you go a bit deeper into the lore and read Dangan Ronpa Zero, there is an entire book which explains the lengths which Junko goes to feel normal human emotions. The thing is much like Kenjaku Junko is too smart for her own good, everything is predictable and therefore everything bores her. Once in an attempt to live normally, she literally lobotomizes herself, makes it so that she can't remember anything and has continual amnesia constantly forgetting what just happened to her, because that's the only way she can live without knowing everything that's going to happen and constantly predicting everyone's actions.

Junko has whatever her universe's version of the six-eyes is, but instead of lording it over other people like Gojo and basking in her superiority she wants to feel normal, and connected to the world. If she can't have that she tries to make the world as unpredictable place as possible so she can experience it the same way that everyone else does.

Hope is harmony. A just heart, moving toward the light. That is all. Despair is hope's polar opposite. It is messy and confusing. It swallows up love, hatred, and everything else. Because not knowing where you will end up is despair. Despair is even what you cannot predict. Only despair's unpredictability can save you from a boring future.

I'm still not describing it properly because I don't want to go into a Danganronpa essay in this post about Jujutsu Kaisen, but one example I always use is two characters from American Dragon Jake Long. They're a pair of twins who see the future, one always sees happy things, and one always sees sad things. The one who has happy visions is a goth who's very depressed and the one who sees disaster is an incredibly peppy girl.

Jake is so confused as to why the twin who always sees good visions is so depressed, and she basically tells him to imagine having every good thing, every small little surprise, every pleasure taken out of life.

Kara: When you only see good things, nothing's special anymore. All the pleasant surprises are taken out of life. Sara: But, when you only see bad stuff, even the smallest bit of good news makes you happy!

All of this to say what Junko feels isn't just boredom, or a desire to commit evil for evil's sake, but also a full on existential crisis where she's simply too smart so she doesn't feel any connection to other people or the world around her. In order to feel that connection, that connection that everyone else has, to feel like she is actually a participant in her life not an observer she's willing to go to extremes to make the world a more interesting place, to therefore make her own life feel satisfying.

Kenjaku vs. The World (Kenjaku Pilgrim's sad little life)

To connect all this back to Kenjaku imagine the profound existential despair of a person who's lived for a thousand years, and felt bored all that time. Sukuna is at least a hedonist, he gets his fun by getting into fights, humans might be bugs to him but they're tasty bugs.

Kenjaku goes to similiar motivations and has similiar extremes, he's uninvested in the world around him, he's lived a thousand years but has no attachment to the world, to life, to the people around him. I said that Junko wants to be a participant in life not an all seeing observer and that was purposeful language because to bring back an old post. I rambled on this post about Gojo that part of Gojo's problem is that he only experiences observer-to-object relationships or I to it.

Ich and Du, translated as I and Thou is a book by philosopher Martin Buber. His two main porositions is that we may address existence in two ways:

The attitude of the “I” towards “it” towards an object that is separate in itself, which we either use or experience.

The attitude of “I” towards “Thou” in a relationship in which the other is not separated by discrete bounds.

In Buber's terms, those who only experience the first type of relationships are only observing the world around them not relating to them. Kenjaku doesn't relate to other human beings because they are objects, he only experiences subject -> object relationships and never subject -> subject.

Buber also goes on to theorize that meaning in our lives comes from subject -> subject relationships we form with other people.

Kenjaku jokingly says that to be his friend you have to never bore him and be his equal, but there's no one considers his equal because he's the subject and everyone else are just objects.

He regrets he can't sit down and talk theories with Tsukumo Yuki because she's one of the few people who think like him.

Kenjaku is a paradox of an incredibly brilliant man who is also shallow as a puddle that you can stand in and not get your socks wet. However, he tragically can't really form a more complex identity because our identities are formed by our relationships to other people and Kenjaku doesn't relate to anybody.

That's basically the theme of the whole Choso and Kenjaku fight, Choso is a weird aborted fetus of a curse who still has a strong identity and is able to feel unconditional love for Yuji because of the connection of family and the ideas of brotherhood that binds the two. Kenjaku is a bad father who abandoned Choso because they were "boring" but also never really gave them a chance to grow up or be interesting, he just dismissed them offhand and moved on to the next weird science project.

However, his reason for dismissing Choso isn't Choso's fault but rather a case of Psychological projection. It's not Choso who is boring, but rather Kenjaku himself, he said so earlier.

"What I can create, does not exceed the bounds of my own potential. The answer is always flickering darkly in chaos."

Kenjaku cannot look within to find anything satisfying abput his life because there's nothing inside of him. He doesn't have a fully formed identiy he's just ID, and because he tramples all over other people to form his desires he also cannot ever form a full ego. Just like Sukuna and most of the ancient sorcerers he's a paradox of being all ego, and yet having an underdeveloped ego with shallow motivators.

Kenjaku cannot look within because he's a boring person, and he cannot look for other people to find worth in his life because they're just objects, so instead he looks into the void, he tries to change the world around him by spreading more chaos hoping that it will make something unpredictable happen in front of his eyes - and that will give him the meaning and investment in his life he's deprived himself of because he refuses to form relationships with other people.

It's the Gojo problem. It's the Kashimo problem. It's not the Sukuna problem, because Sukuna admits he doesn't care about and rejects things like love and meaning.

If Kenjaku makes the world around him a more interesting place, he will be able to live in it. It's the same as Gojo trying to raise people up to his level by creating stronger students.

So after going to great length to demonstrate how powerful and all-consuming Kenjaku's boredom is, and how cut off he is from his own humanity, here's the part where I sort of defend his death.

Wouldn't it be funny if the joke character killed the main villain?

Let's be honest it was Takaba's kill here, Yuta just camped and killstole. I think part of the problem with people not understanding the meaning behind Kenjaku's sudden and unexpected death is attributing the death to Yuta cutting his head off out of nowhere, and not Takaba's thematic victory over Kenjaku.

Takaba represents a blindspot for Kenjaku which is why the main characters use him as a weapon against him, and he also calls out in a fashion Kenjaku's hypocrisy. First and foremost, Kenjaku presents himself as an agent of change, but he actually has no interest in many of the modern sorcerers and holds a bias towards the heian era as the peak of sorcery. He even says that he's going to bring back the Heian Golden Age to Sukuna at the end of Shibuya arc.

Because that's what Chaos is Kenjaku, things being the same as they were 1,000 years ago. Kenjaku is an agent of change and chaos and somehow his definition of change is... resetting things back to the past because the sorcerers of the past were so much better than today.

Kenjaku goes out of his way to awaken hundreds of modern day sorcerers, and then dismisses literally off of them except for Hiromi because they don't have enough potential for him compared to ancient sorcerers. He essentially did the same with the Death Painting Bros, he went through all of the trouble to create them, then dismissed them as not having enough potential BEFORE THEY EVEN GOT THE CHANCE TO GROW UP.

Kenjaku has a habit of just going BORED NOW and leaving before he even gives things the time to impress him. He does the same with the Culling Game, he set up the death game to push sorcerers to fight each other and bring out their powers, but he never actually intended to watch the sorcerers evolve. He just wanted to slaughter everyone inside to start the merger.

He goes through a lot of potential to set up these situations and then abandons them before they have the chance to even evolve, because they do not have enough "potential" in his opinion, but like his opinion is often shown to be wrong. Takaba represents that blindspot because he was one of the modern sorcerers that Kenjaku underestimated and dismissed offhand as boring without giving him a chance to shine.

That is the joke that Takaba introduces himself with "Wouldn't it be funny if a random comic relief side character suddenly defeated the big bad?"

He's immediately pointing out a blindspot, because Kenjaku automatically believes himself to be an important character, he underestimates Takaba because he's a side character, one of the people Kenjaku has dismissed as boring and uninteresting (before they even had a chance to evolve into something else). Like that's the other thing Kenjaku wants things to evolve but he doesn't... let them. He abandoned Choso and the rest before they even grew up, they were literally fetuses and he threw them away. Kenjaku is the protagonist of reality, and Takaba is a side character, and therefore Takaba couldn't possibly harm him because Kenjaku and his boundless curiosity are the center of the world.

It's not just about subverting the audience's expectations to have the main villain die in such an anti-climactic way before the final act even starts, but it's pointing out how narrow Kenjaku's viewpoints really were all along. He wants everything to be surprised but he never lets anything surprise him, because either he gets bored right away, or he looks down on others before giving them the chance to evolve, or the third thing he just straight up has to control everything. He can't let the culling game evolve naturally he's going to slaughter all the players by hand so he can move onto the next part.

It's the contradiction between a schemer who needs to control everything and everyone to bring about his intended result and everything needs to be a part of his big plans, to someone who wants to be surprised by others and have things go off the rails. You can't have both of these things at once, Kenjaku cannot have things surprise him if he rigs everything to go his way with his overly elaborate schemes and his tight-fisted control of everyone in the story.

Like, in comparison to Kenjaku the joker just blows things up and sprays people with laughing gas. They're both playing the same game but the joker is having fun and Kenjaku isn't.

Kenjaku wants an unexpected future, but he doesn't care about any of the modern sorcerers and has a bias towards the heiean era that he considers the height and wants to reset things to bring back the heian era. He wants to be surprised but won't give up control.

Kenjaku's boast is that unlike Tengen he's spent a thousand years living on the ground instead of lording up on them from above like some deity, but is that true? Has Kenjaku lived? Has he engaged with the world? Formed relationships with people? Or does he just sit in the corner rubbing his hands together menacingly and scheming his schemes.

Takaba unironically gives Kenjaku what he wants, something he's never seen before in a thousand years, and it's from a place Kenjaku never expected. Some random guy, who he dismissed as one of the boring modern sorcerers with no potential like Higuruma.

Takaba not only exists in Kenjaku's blindspot, he almost immediately points out Kenjaku's second hypocrisy. If he's willing to resort to mass murder just to feel entertained, then if he found something else to entertain him there'd be no reason to get violent and scheme his schemes.

In other words Kenjaku hasn't really gone looking for other places to try to find what makes life worth living, or at least enertaining, he hasn't really tried any alternatives to finding joy in life because Jujutsu is all he cares about. Takaba says that if he found something else even more entertaining than the merger there'd be no need to go through with the merger, and he turns out to be right. Kenjaku could have found meaning and entertainment with the world someplace else, he was just too narrow minded and never looked anywhere else.

As I said from the beginning Kenjaku's existential crisis comes from his inability to relate to other people and viewing them all as objects, but in Kenjaku's mind of course he can't relate to others they're too boring, so therefore it's the world's fault, and the fault of others and not himself.

However, right away one of those boring people starts relating to Kenjaku.

I joked about how we know nothing about the Gojo clan but Takaba gets an entire backstory chapter about his failed comedy career, but this chapter is plot important because jokes are the way that Takaba relates to and forms relationships with other people. Takaba makes jokes to relate to others but has a fallout with a comedy partner and has never been able to form a lasting relationship with a comedic partner because comedy doesn't mean the same to them as it does to him - because to Takaba comedy is about forming relationships with people. Which is why he thinks he's failed if he's failed to make everyone in the audience laugh because he wants to make comedy that will make other people relate to him and understand him.

However, he almost gives up on comedy because he's afraid that he might fail on that endeavor. He gives up on striving to make everybody in the audience laugh, because of self-affirmation and a desire to protect himself. He didn't want to fail so he started distancing himself from the audience under the excuse "Well, I can't make everyone laugh so it's okay if not everyone understands me."

Takaba at some point gave up on trying to use comedy as a means of understanding and relating to others, because of his fear of failure and at that point he nearly lost - but he rallies himself by saying that he won't give up on making someone like Kenjaku laugh. If his comedy is about connecting to others, about understanding others and having others understand him then he can't just give up on Kenjaku and say it's Kenjaku's fault that Kenjaku can't relate to his sense of humor. He's got to try even harder to make Kenjaku laugh.

This is also pretty much the opposite of Kenjaku's point of view. For Kenjaku it's everyone else's fault for being so boring that's why he can't relate to them. Wheras, Takaba takes personal responsibility, he wasn't funny enough, he has to try harder, he's the one who's going to make Kenjaku laugh by improving himself. Takaba looks inward, and Kenjaku looks outwards because there's nothing inside Kenjaku.

This is a parallel to this.

The difference however, is that Sukuna did not betray his ideology. Sukuna lives for the kicks that battle provides him and wants to face strong opponents so he can eventually devoured them and be momentarily entertained.

Like Sukuna is not bored the way Kenjaku is. The world is his playground. He may refer to living as just killing time until you die, but he also says that there's an infinite variety of humans to entertain yourself with. The world is Sukuna's toybox and he's satisfied with just that. In fact he doesn't even care about the merger, until his frustration with Yuji makes him think a little deeper about himself.

Kenjaku is not the Sukuna in this scene, he's the Gojo. He believed he was above others, only to be reminded suddenly that he was just the same as everyone else and brought back down to humanity. I mean, they even die off panel the same anticlimactic way. Gojo's infinity meant nothing in the face of one surprise attack a world-cleaving slash Gojo didn't see coming. All of Kenjaku's backup plans meant nothing in the face of Yuta camping and kill-stealing.

Kenjaku didn't lose because Yuta's plan of camping and killstealing was simply too brilliant for him to prepare for however, we're given the exact reason kenjaku lost - because he was having too much fun with Takaba.

Which meant what Takaba said earlier was true, if Kenjaku found something funnier, something other than the merger that could make him laugh there'd be no need to go through with the merger to begin with.

Kenjaku loses because all along he could have related to people, formed meaningful relationships with others, looked for meaning in life outside of Jujutsu but just chose not to. Which is also a parallel to this.

Sukuna says that Kashimo and Gojo both lost because they were greedy. They already received love in a way, they had the love of everyone who regarded them as the strongest, they had people who earnestly wanted to challenge them and respected them - which Sukuna sees as a form of love, and yet they still wanted more.

They were the ones who put themselves up on that pedestal and decided to stand above all of humanity, they don't get to whine about being lonely on top of that.

To add my interpretation to Sukuna's speech, what he's outlining is a general conflict in Jujutsu Kaisen, you can choose to be all ego to put personal development above everything else but it comes at the cost of not being able to form relationships. Maki's as powerful as Toji now, but the sister she always wanted to protect is dead and basically committed suicide. Meanwhile Noritoshi Kamo didn't participate in the final battle, but he reconnected with his mother and half-brother.

There are plenty of characters who die and suffer in jujutsu kaisen because they chose to value other people above themselves, because Jujutsu Kaisen rewards selfishness and punishes selflessness / having an underdeveloped sense of self.

I'll pick Mechamaru as my biggest example, he lived to protect Miwa, and not only does he die an unsatisfying death, he also breaks her heart.

However, at least Mechamaru experienced love. His desire to protect Miwa is granted, because Miwa is also out of the final conflict. Mechamaru is one of the most miserable characters in the manga, and yet he experienced love in his life for someone else that made his brief life meaningful. The characters who choose love, and other people over strength tend to get stepped on, but they at least had that love in their life to begin with.

It's a having your cake and eating it too situation. Kashimo chose strength over love, and he got to be so strong he was unbeatable and lived to old age, but not only is he unfulfilled but he whines about being unable to relate to the people around him - you're the one who chose to step on everyone like bugs.

Characters in Jujutsu Kaisen don't just experience death when they try to be selfless however, like yeah there's a disproportionate amont of selfless minor characters who die, but like Yuji is the most selfless character in the manga and he's continually punished for it and yet he's the one referred to as a person with an unbreakable will.

Rather instead of Jujutsu Kiasen preferring the selfish side on the scale of selfishness / selflessness, the kind of messy, deaths that get handed out to people like Mechamaru happen when you betray the ideals you were living for. Whether they were selfish or selfless.

It goes back to Toji's internal monologue. You lose when you lose sight of yourself - like there's some deaths that don't fit the mould but for the most part, Gojo, Kashimo, Toji's and then Kenjaku's deaths all follow this pattern. By coincidence they also all take place offscreen for the most part (I suppose we see Yuta cut off Kenjaku's head but it's quick and unsatisfying compared to all the rest).

Kenjaku died because he betrayed what he was living for and he temporarily lost sight of himself. As I said Kenjaku's airtight principles were that everyone was boring and people weren't worth relating too so the only way to find enertainment in life is to cause chaos - but he found himself relating to some nobody he wrote off as a minor character Takaba and having fun with him. Which meant the belief he was false, he could have tried relating to other people all along he just didn't.

He warped his sense of self to reaffirm his identity. Takaba almost did that too, he tried to blame other people for not finding him funny to protect himself, but he moved past that and redoubled his efforts to make Kenjaku laugh.

There's also the added layer of irony that Kenjaku's sudden death brings about, the person who spent a thousand years trying to make the merger happen doesn't get to see it.

However, here's my assertion on why Kenjaku's death before the merger always had to happen.

Because, even if Kenjaku had seen the merger he still would have been bored.

Literally everything about Kenjaku's character and previous actions shows that even if he made his big scheme come true, he would have gone "meh" and moved onto the next scheme because that's how he always reacts.

He got bored of the death painting siblings, he presumably got bored of Yuji, he got bored of all the ancient sorcerers and new sorcerers he made for the culling game, he worked with the disaster curses and got bored of them and dismissed them as inferior primitive curses, he goes out of the way to engineer these chaotic situations and then never feels any satisfaction from them so why would the Merger be any different?

Not only did Kenjaku die before he saw the merger, he was basically doomed to never see the merger, because it would not have fixed whatever is wrong inside of him.

Because it's not the world that's boring, it's Kenjaku himself.

He gets a brief glimpse of what he could have done in life, that he could have tried to forge connections with the people around him and related to them on a personal level - and then he dies the way he lived, in a kind of boring and unsatisfying way.

It's the narrative punishing him in a way, the same way it punished Gojo, and Kashimo, by not letting him see the big explosion after he went to all the trouble rigging the bombs. It's punishing him for the same reason too - by deviating from his true self and showing what he thought were his reasons were shallow all along. Gojo could have always related to people he just chose to stand on his pedestal alone, and Kenjaku could have always found the world to be more enertaining he was the one dismissing other people as boring without giving them a chance to grow.

Takaba confronted his beliefs and then stayed true to his ideology of making everyone, 100% of the people in the crowd laugh. Kenjaku didn't confront his beliefs, he strayed from them because he didn't have the strength of character to evaluate himself the way Takaba did.

Hence, he's finished off by one of those boring people who used their power in a way he never expected. The main villain is defeated by the comic relief character and it's hilarious.

#jjk meta #kenjaku #fumihiko takaba #ryomen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen theory #jujutsu kaisen analysis #jjk spoiler #jujutsu kaisne spoiler #big spoiler actually

219 notes · View notes

irisintheafterglow · 2 months

Text

HAND ONE - HIGH CARD

summary: in a season where you're determined to fly under the radar, newly-returned crown prince!touya todoroki has other ideas. in this hand, a duel is fought.

wc: 1.7k

cw/tags: royalty!au/regency!au, fem!reader, first meeting, touya's sass need its own warning

note: SURPRISE !! bet iris starting another series wasn't on your 2024 bingo (it wasn't on mine) but here we are! this whole series is based on this little idea from a few months back and will include swordfighting! fake dating! mutual pining! angst! balls! (the royal kind, not,,, yk) oh and many poker metaphors lol. hope you enjoy this first little exposition chapter :))

likes, reblogs, and replies are greatly appreciated <3

You would admire the spectacle of it all, had it not been for the aching pain in your feet.

The hand-me-down heels from your estranged stepmother made it hard to focus on anything but your breathing as you tried to steady yourself against a nearby column in the palace garden. You could practically hear her shrill screaming in your ears for not doing enough to network among the other young nobles, for failing to present yourself as fit for bearing children you didn’t want. As the people you’d grown up with since birth milled about carefully-tended roses and large-bloomed peonies, you couldn’t imagine how they weren’t sweating all their caked-on makeup off in the stifling June heat. Fishing the lacy hand fan from your clutch, you relocate to a shadier side of the column under the stone walkway lining the garden. An aggressive snap echoes off nearby walls when you flick it open and sigh when the air hits your face.

“You stole my spot,” comes a smooth male voice from the other side of the column. You don’t think the person is talking to you, but then you hear an amused snicker and a small thank you to who you assume is a passing servant. It’s awkwardly silent except for faraway conversations and the breeze blown from your fan until the man clears his throat. “I’m holding out a water to you, if you would kindly look over your shoulder.” Slightly irritated by the condescending tone in his voice, you look and, sure enough, there was a cold glass of water in the stranger’s white-gloved hand. You couldn’t see his face, nor the rest of his body, but something in your gut told you that it was safe. And, if it did happen to be poisoned, at least it got you out of another season. Carefully taking the glass from his long fingers, most of the tension in your body leaves after the first few sips slide down your throat. “Refreshing?”

“Very,” you answer cordially, in that airy tone your stepmother taught you. She said it was a fine way to attract suitors, which made you want to drop your voice several octaves whenever a potential husband drew near. “Thank you. That was very kind of you, Mister…?”

“My identity is irrelevant,” he says quickly and you turn your head in his direction, as if to hear him better. “Nor will I ask of yours, so consider this conversation akin to speaking to a wall.”

“From my perspective, I am speaking to a wall,” you point out and the stranger chuckles under his breath. “May I ask why you aren’t socializing with the others?”

“I could ask the same of you, considering that you’re cowering behind a column.” The jab was evident. Your mouth drops in indignancy and, had it not been for heat exhaustion and your nice spot in the shade, you would have decked whoever was on the other side of this conversation.

“I am not cowering,” you huff, taking another sip and willing the temperature to decrease just a few degrees. “I am merely…taking a break.”

“Taking a break where no one else can find you? For ten minutes?”

“A woman values her privacy,” you argue. “And as far as I’m aware, you were able to find me quite easily. Perhaps you were the one trying to hide, and I was the one who stole your spot.”

“So, you do acknowledge that you are stealing from me.”

“Space in this garden is not something to be claimed unless you are of the royal family, dear stranger.” You hope he can hear the smirk in your tone.

“And yet, here you are, stealing what is rightfully mine.”

“And yet, here you are, stealing what is rightfully mine,” you echo in a nasally, mocking voice that would have placed you in major trouble if your parents knew how you were addressing others. “Cease your bratty ramblings as if you own this palace.” The man barks out a laugh, a reaction you didn’t anticipate. It makes your heart race a little faster, in spite of your will to stay casual.

“Have suitors ever told you that you’re quite the firecracker?”

“Bold of you to assume they get as far as to speak with me,” you correct without hesitation. Presentations were one of the stupidest parts of your present society, along with those tiny sandwiches and that tea that tastes like boiled shoes. “If they decide to pursue me, that’s their first mistake.” The stranger hums in a low tone.

“Maybe you haven’t found the right suitor, then,” he muses and, before you can answer, the royal bugles announce the beginning of the duels. Excited cheers and the clicking sound of heels on pavement take over any remaining conversations. You whirl around to the other side of the column, anxious to see the mysterious man you were conversing with, but find the other side as vacant as when you first passed it. Slightly disappointed, you find your place along the perimeter of the circular stone courtyard and wait for the king’s advisor to speak.

“Today is a day of celebration,” he begins, and you mutter the rest of his speech that you’d heard for the past four years under your breath. The hair stands up on the back of your neck and instinct tells you that someone was watching you, but you can’t find who it is among the hundreds of people present. You think you’ve found the culprit when you lock your gaze with a pair of strikingly blue eyes, but they disappear before you can identify the rest of the person. “And, as you are most likely already aware, this year we welcome His Highness Prince Touya Todoroki to the presentation ceremonies. Though he is of a royal family, those that wish to court or be courted by His Highness may present themselves as suitors as they ordinarily would.”

“And will the Prince grace us with his esteemed presence, or is he preoccupied with his ordinarily outlandish activities?” Sneers and snide remarks ripple through the crowd and the advisor struggles to regain their attention. That is, until that same loud barking laugh that you heard from the other side of the column cuts through the murmurs and mutters.

The voice that follows makes your blood run cold in your veins.

“How bold to assume any of you are worthy of breathing in my presence.”

“Your Highness–”

“Shut up,” he spits, shivers spreading over your skin as the crowd splits to reveal an unruly mass of spiked white hair. His eyes are paralyzingly bright, cold and narrow while they scan the vermin before him. The rumors that circulated of his intimidating nature paled in comparison to the man before you, tall and lean and radiating the most dangerous aura you’d ever come across. All the previously gloating eyes became that of rabbits hunted by a wolf when they came under his gaze…except for yours. By some odd stroke of Fate, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d seen the Prince before, even though that was physically impossible. Maybe you’d passed another white-haired asshole in the market. “Well? Are we starting or shall you keep gawking until I staple your jaw shut?” The advisor stumbles, shrinking away like a mouse in a lion’s den.

“Yes, Your Highness. May the first Lady to be courted please step forward!”

As the gowns start to swoop and the swords begin to swing, you’re again reminded of just how unnecessary the spectacle of presentation season always was. One by one, daughters of nobility presented themselves to the suitors, who would then step forward and duel one another for the opportunity to court the Lady. The fights were never to the death, of course, but the shame that came with losing more than one duel was close to it; nothing was more embarrassing, however, than having no suitors step forward when a Lady presented herself. It was your worst fear every season, one that you seemingly didn’t need to worry about this time around.

Still, you were met with the same pasty-faced suitor that had been attempting to win your hand for the past several seasons. He’d accumulated significantly more muscle mass since the previous season, but his hot-headed temper and objectifying tendencies were enough of a turn off to send him packing by the end of the first meeting.

“You have rejected me time and time again, but that only makes you more enticing,” he declares, offering his hand to you while you roll your eyes behind your fan. Ladies who already received their matches swoon at his show of masculinity, but it only makes your stomach turn. “I will win you. That is my promise. And, if not this season, then the next, and I will persevere until the only eyes you look for in a room are mine.”

“The only thing I would be looking for in a room with you is an exit,” you mutter. He doesn’t answer, eyeing you like you were a wise investment. Gross.

“You’d do well to accept me.” Your attention darts upward and you meet his stare, irritated at your lack of a response. The volume of his voice drops so that only you two can hear it as he comes to stand inches away from your face. “It’s not like you have the privilege of other options. Marry me or life as a spinster is your only future.”

“I wouldn’t marry you if the entire kingdom was at stake,” you hiss and his mouth turns up in a snarl, ready to bite out a response when the shing! of a sword being pulled from its sheath echoes through the courtyard. A quiet verbal commotion sets into the crowd, but you’re unable to see anything beyond the asshole before you.

"Your business is with me, not her," warns a dangerously familiar voice and the man in front of you stiffens. "Let's get this over with."

“The…ahem…duel will begin once both suitors are in first positions,” the advisor relays with great hesitation. You’d never experienced a duel for your hand, yet it seemed that another man had been dealt into the game. With his face drained of its remaining color, Pasty-face draws his blade like an inexperienced marionette, clunky and jagged, as he takes his place in the circle, allowing you to catch the eye of his opponent, molten blue eyes that make your knees turn gelatinous. The prince was dueling for your hand.

Prince Touya of the Todoroki family was dueling for your hand.

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#dabi x you #dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #touya todoroki x you #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x y/n #mha x you #mha x reader #mha x y/n #touya x you #touya x reader #touya x y/n #bnha x you #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n

229 notes · View notes

bellaxgiornata · 9 months

Text

You're Safe With Me [Chapter One]

Pairing: Frank Castle x Fem!Reader

Summary: When you accidentally stumble upon something far bigger than the fluff and filler news stories you’ve always covered for WGN News Chicago, you reach out to the Department of Homeland Security and come in contact with Dinah Madani–but that only seals your fate as a target for the Patriot Militia and their wealthy political backers. Determined to root out the culprits deep within the government, Madani tasks an unlikely person to keep you safe while she builds her case. But when the person she expects you to go on the run with is Frank Castle–the Punisher himself–you feel anything but safe.

Warnings: 18+; series contains violence, mentions of mass shootings, angst and comfort, slow burn romance, enemies to lovers, eventual smut

Word Count: 5k

a/n: Sharing the first chapter of this fic! There's a bit of exposition at the beginning, just a heads up, but it's all important information. I'm really excited about this series and feedback is certainly appreciated!! Chapter list can be found here.

Tag List: @lunaticgurly @allaboardthereadingrailroad @linamarr @hollandorks @sleeperthelazy @marcysbear (tagging everyone who initially asked, please let me know if you want to be removed)

Today had started off as almost any normal day at WGN Chicago for you. You'd been at your desk working on piecing together a news segment detailing the upcoming construction in the city this morning, rushing to meet a deadline for Gloria. It was a terribly boring piece, one that had been tossed around the station until it had eventually landed on your desk. Having stared at that filler piece more times than you’d have liked, you had found yourself already on your second cup of coffee for the morning, a headache pounding in your head that you hoped to relieve with the extra caffeine.

But while you had been at your desk working, you'd received a call from a number you hadn't recognized on your phone. Maybe it was foolish that you'd answered that call and talked to whoever it was on the other end of the line, but it wasn't entirely unusual considering your line of work. You often had sources calling you with information about something. But you'd thought that their very enthusiastic invite to a Patriot Militia rally in a small town just outside of the city was incredibly strange. Your curiosity had admittedly been piqued as you jotted down the address, wondering why a group dangerously close to being deemed domestic terrorists had actively sought out attention from WGN News–and from you in particular considering you weren't remotely a big name reporter at the station. After you'd gotten off the phone with whoever it was that had called, you'd made a few calls to verify the rally was legitimate before bringing it to Gloria’s attention.

Of course, like any good boss when it came to covering potentially dangerous stories, she'd instantly rejected the idea. She'd told you it wasn't safe and it smelled like danger– especially because it was being held on private property and because there would definitely be guns present. It was, after all, the Patriot Militia. You had practically begged her to let you head out there this afternoon with just Andrew to film so you could cover whatever it was that was happening with this rally. You figured if someone had gone through the trouble to invite you then there had to be a story there, and you were desperate to make your way out of the filler and fluff pieces. Eventually Gloria had caved and given you permission, but only with the promise that you'd leave if things seemed like they were getting out of hand.

Knowing what you now knew, you wished you wouldn’t have gone at all. You wished you hadn't gotten involved.

Everyone at the rally had been surprisingly friendly to you and Andrew, though. Nothing had seemed remotely suspicious or out of the ordinary, and you were shocked to find that you hadn't felt threatened in the slightest despite the fact that everyone was heavily armed. Even more unexpected than that, considering your presence had apparently been a surprise, even if a welcome one, was that everyone you had interviewed had been willing to make statements to the press for the piece you were putting together.

But what you hadn't expected when Andrew was packing up his camera equipment was that you’d overhear a conversation behind one of the tents as you'd finished getting a last minute statement.

You had almost immediately recognized the voice of Adam Johnson, a Republican running in the upcoming senate elections. Curious, you'd paused and leant up against the tent, pretending to be focused on your notes as you turned the audio recorder in your pocket back on. When you realized exactly what he was discussing with a few other men in hushed voices, your eyes had gone wide.

You worked in the media yourself, even if you weren't much of an investigative reporter at the station quite yet, so of course you’d heard all about the mass shooting at a mall in Schaumburg only days ago. Fifteen injured and three dead. But it wasn’t the police that had arrived on the scene and gotten the situation under control, it had been a civilian with a concealed carry that had stepped up and taken charge. He’d shot the suspect on sight and killed him. It had been all over the news after the fact, and the civilian who'd stepped up and killed the shooter had been touted as a local hero.

But from what you had gathered while you’d stood there silently eavesdropping on the hushed conversation, you’d learned the shooting hadn't been perpetrated by an ordinary young man like the news had been reporting. He'd been a member of the Patriot Militia, one who'd willingly played martyr for the cause. The whole thing had been orchestrated as a way to sway public opinion on guns. And as you continued to eavesdrop, you'd begun to learn what happened in Schaumburg hadn’t been the first time they had done this. The shooting that you’d seen in the news only a month ago out near Columbus, Ohio had been brought up among the group, and they’d also name-dropped a Glen Allen, Virginia, though that name hadn’t rung any bells in your mind for any recent incidents.

From what you’d gathered, it sounded like not only was the Patriot Militia behind these mass shootings where armed civilians had taken out the shooter–who also happened to be a Patriot Militia member–but these attacks had begun to sound far more like terrorist attacks, and it seemed like they were being quietly led by prominent political figures who were proudly anti-gun control across the country.

Clearly you had accidentally stumbled on something you weren’t meant to hear at that rally, and it had made you wonder if the stranger who’d called and invited you out to it that morning had hoped you’d uncover this. Especially since you had been the only member of the press present at the private event.

Your heart had been furiously hammering in your chest when you’d slipped your phone out of your pocket, readying it for a quick, inconspicuous photo. Ducking your head, you’d walked past that tent and snapped a single, quick picture of the group of men you’d been recording, knowing that whatever you'd overheard was proof the Patriot Militia was in fact a domestic terrorist group. News that you needed to take far above WGN and straight to the proper authorities.

You’d thought you’d been in the clear when you and Andrew had left the rally without a single problem, too. You were driving a little faster than usual, trying to rush straight back to the station, your eyes repeatedly flickering to the rearview mirror as you drove. Though no one had followed you from the rally.

Back at the station, you’d immediately sought out Gloria in her office and relayed everything you’d overheard. The two of you had huddled over her desk as you replayed the recording you’d taken, Gloria’s face only looking more and more grim as she listened. Afterwards, you’d pulled up the photo on your phone and–despite the attempt to hide their identities with hats and sunglasses–the pair of you had quickly recognized the politicians Adam Johnson, Eric Bane, and Daniel Carpenter who were speaking to Elijah Wolf–the man who ran the Patriot Militia.

Gloria had immediately retrieved the number for the Department of Homeland Security, which she had scribbled on a piece of paper and slid across her desk to you with a trembling hand. She’d urged you to call them immediately and you had.

That was how you’d been put into contact with an Agent Dinah Madani who seemed quick to act the moment you’d spoken to her and explained what you had uncovered. She’d stayed on the line with you while you uploaded the audio file and the cell phone photo, sending them to the secure email address she’d given you. And then she’d continued to stay on the line with you while she listened to the recording, a nervous churning beginning in your stomach as she did. Afterwards she told you to make a copy of both pieces of evidence and to hold onto it, sit tight, and keep your head down. Before ending the call, she had given you her personal cell phone number in the event anything else came up or in case something more happened.

And, unfortunately, something did.

Sitting at your kitchen table, you’d been quietly eating your reheated leftovers for dinner. Chewing a bite of the pasta, your eyes were meticulously scanning over the news articles from the day on your phone. Nothing in the media had mentioned a single thing about the Patriot Militia rally or a shooting in Glen Allen, Virgina, though. As your eyes continued to skim over the day’s news, your hand absently twirling pasta noodles around your fork, you heard a noise coming from the side of your house.

Your hand froze mid-twirl of the fettuccine noodles, your breath entirely catching in your throat as your eyes widened. Distinctly you could make out the hushed tone of voices just outside. Carefully setting the fork back into your bowl, you rose to your feet and slipped your phone back into your pocket, making your way towards the window above your kitchen sink. Nervously you reached a hand out and peeked through the blinds. Two men dressed in all black, both carrying guns in their hands, were sneaking around by your garbage bins along the side of your house.

Fear struck you like ice in your veins and you quickly lurched backwards, releasing the blinds. Your heart began to beat just as rapidly as it had done earlier this afternoon when you’d snapped that photo and tried to disappear from the rally without raising suspicion.

The men outside had to be related to the Patriot Militia. But why? If they’d known what you’d discovered today–what you’d recorded–why wouldn’t they have done something before you could leave that rally? Why would they show up at your house later at night and have given you all that time to alert the federal authorities about them?

In a panic, you flew from the kitchen as quietly as you could, racing down the hallway and towards your bedroom. Keeping the lights off, you pulled open your closet door before kneeling down and digging around in the corner of it. Eventually your hands landed on the duffle bag you occasionally used as a carry on when you traveled. Barely paying attention to what you grabbed, you began tossing handfuls of clothing into the bag, stuffing a few bras and pairs of underwear from your dresser inside before you snatched your wallet from your purse on the bed. Cautiously tip-toeing back to your dresser, you grabbed the flash drive you had transferred the photo and audio recording to the moment you'd gotten home from off of it, adding that to the few things you’d packed.

The moment you’d finished zipping up your bag, you heard the faint squeak of your back door opening and you stopped, your body becoming completely still. Whoever those men were, they were in your house now. And that had the hairs on your arms raising.

Inhaling a shaky breath, you tried to stay calm. Leaving out your front or back door was no longer an option now that they were in your house–you’d have to pass them to reach one of those exits and that was not something you wanted to do. Eyes darting to your bedroom window above your dresser, you knew you had no other choice.

You reached your hands out, pushing the curtains back as silently as possible. Biting down on your tongue, you unlocked the window latches next before slowly beginning to push the window up. You could make out more hushed voices coming from your living room and you swore you'd stopped breathing while you worked. Continuing to push the window up, you winced when it made a soft noise as it slid upwards, breaking the silence in your bedroom. Thankfully neither of the men came running down the hall to your room at the faint noise, though.

Leaning over your dresser, you peered outside and checked that no one was lingering out front before tossing your bag outside. You heard it land with a soft thud on the grass. Climbing carefully up onto your dresser beneath the window, you thanked whatever higher power existed that the windows in your house were wide enough for you to comfortably climb through right now.

Awkwardly you maneuvered around on top of the dresser, turning and placing your legs out of the window one at a time. Slowly you began to slide your body through it. It wasn’t until you were almost halfway out of the window that you heard the shout, your bedroom lights turning on and taking you by surprise. Looking over your shoulder, you caught sight of one of the men dressed in all black standing there, a black ski mask covering his face and the gun still in his hand. Your stomach felt like it almost flew up out of your mouth at the burst of fear and adrenaline that immediately shot through you.

“She’s climbing out of the window!” the man shouted. “Go out the front!”

Terrified, you’d pushed yourself the rest of the way through, tumbling down the short drop and ungracefully landing on the ground. You scrambled to your feet as fast as you could, grabbing your duffle bag before glancing over your shoulder to be met with the sight of a gun pointed right at you. With a shriek, you darted to the side and took off at a run down the sidewalk, your legs protesting the movement as your lungs began to burn.

You kept on running, adrenaline pushing you forward as you neared the corner of the street. Chancing a look behind you, you spotted both men standing in your driveway staring straight at you. Though neither of them were chasing after you.

You didn’t give yourself time to wonder why as you continued running, trying to make your way back towards the downtown of the suburb you lived in where you hoped you’d be safe among the crowds of people. The moment you were, you’d be calling Agent Madani and praying she had some way to keep you safe.

°•°•°•°•°•°

Leaning an elbow along the bar counter, Frank drank down the cold beer in his hand. His eyes lingered on the country band currently on the stage in the roadhouse, listening to the music they were playing with a faint smile pulling up one corner of his lips. It was the reason he’d meandered his way over here from the motel next door. He’d heard the music on his walk over to the room he’d paid for, having been ready to settle in for the night after the long day of driving he'd been doing. He was exhausted and his body ached from sitting in the van for hours. Inevitably the music pouring out of Lola's Roadhouse next door had drawn him like a moth to a flame before he'd even managed to unlock the door to his room.

The pretty brunette behind the bar counter he'd spotted when he stepped inside was just an added bonus, too. Frank had surprisingly found he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes from her every time he ordered a new beer, though he hadn’t made any attempt to flirt. It was something he’d become aware of lately ever since he’d left New York. He’d been noticing women more–not that he never had before, but ever since–

He drew the beer bottle back up to his lips, taking a long pull. He didn’t want to think about that.

“How’s about I get a pint and one for you, too?”

Frank swallowed down his beer, his eyes still focused straight ahead as he heard yet another inebriated patron hitting on the woman. That was the sixth one he’d heard this evening since he’d stopped in here.

“Thanks man, I’ll grab it later,” the bartender told him.

“Oh come on,” the man behind Frank said, his voice grating on his nerves already, “why not grab it now?”

“I don’t drink when I’m working,” she replied in a clipped tone.

“Well if I’m giving you my eight dollars, I’d at least like you to have a drink with me,” the man continued.

Frank’s hand gripped tighter around the neck of his beer bottle, his jaw clenching as he tried to focus on the music playing. He was not going to get involved. He was laying low and he’d be leaving in the morning. This didn’t concern him.

“And why’s that?” she huffed out.

“I think you’re a good lookin’ woman,” the man replied, trying to sound all charm. “And I want to see how far down those tattoos go.”

Frank’s eyes slowly closed, his teeth grinding against each other. Couldn’t this man take a ‘no’ the first time around? He hated assholes like these.

“Plenty of other women here with tattoos,” she answered, setting what sounded like a glass on the counter behind him.

“Oh come on,” the man pressed.

To Frank’s ears, it sounded like the man had reached across the bar counter when he'd spoken, and when Frank’s head shifted just a bit over his shoulder, he noticed the man indeed had a grip on the brunette’s wrist. Anger slowly began to smolder in Frank’s gut at the sight as the woman tried to pull her arm out of his grip.

“At least give me your name or a number,” the man pushed.

Trying to keep his temper under control, Frank turned and rested his back against the bar counter, knocking a fist against it lightly three times. The gesture caught the man’s attention and Frank’s intrusion quickly cut off whatever the woman had been starting to say, but his focus was on the asshole still grabbing her wrist.

“Hey, the lady is tryin’ to work,” Frank pointed out, trying to keep his tone casual and calm despite the anger he felt begging for a release. “You expect her to keep pourin’ drinks while your holding her arm like that? Let her go.”

The man made a show of releasing her wrist, the brunette shooting Frank a once-over before she walked past him behind the bar to continue pouring beers. Frank muttered an offhand ‘thank you’ to the asshole, trying hard not to cause a problem as he focused back on the band–because he was supposed to be staying out of trouble.

But he could feel the asshole’s eyes still on him.

“What a skank.”

Frank’s eyes narrowed just a bit, his head shifting back towards the man a fraction. “That’s real classy, man,” he shot back.

The inebriated man beside him rose from his bar stool, his eyes still on Frank. “You say something to me?” he asked, trying to sound intimidating as he closed the space between them.

“Yeah,” Frank answered simply, turning further towards him.

The man reached out, placing two fingers against Frank’s chest before he roughly pushed them against him. Frank's eyes lowered to the man's hand, staring at it as the guy used those same two fingers to push against his chest a second time.

"You just made my night, dumbass," the man said, his two fingers pushing against Frank's chest for a third time.

Eyes rising back up towards the man's face, Frank's right hand casually swung up and grabbed the man's fingers in his grip. With a sharp twist he heard the sound of finger bones snapping over the sound of the band playing. Instantly the man cried out, doubling over in pain as Frank tossed the man's hand back at him.

"You sure 'bout that?" Frank asked.

Clutching his injured left hand to his chest, the man straightened and reached out, picking up a beer bottle from the bar counter beside him. In a single, swift movement he'd smashed it against the counter, beer and glass splattering everywhere.

"Come on now," Frank warned him. "Don't do that."

The drunk took one step forward, ready to lunge at Frank with the smashed bottle raised in his hand, but the roadhouse bouncer came up behind him before he could get any further. He grabbed the man's wrist, twisting the broken bottle from his grip before he shoved the man over the bar counter, keeping his good arm trapped behind his back. With the man incapacitated, the bouncer focused on Frank as he spoke.

"You've got two options," he told Frank. "Either you leave, or I kick your ass out with this asshole."

"Hey, Ringo," the brunette behind the bar cut in, her voice briefly catching Frank's attention. "He's good. He was just helping me out."

The bouncer known as Ringo eyed her for a moment longer before Frank saw him give the woman a quick nod. He pulled the man off of the counter, leading him towards the exit without another glance at Frank. Though Frank’s eyes watched as they went, following to make sure the man didn't cause any more trouble as he clutched his injured hand to his chest.

"I deal with assholes like that every damn night," the bartender said.

Frank’s focus shifted from Ringo and the asshole he was dragging outside to the woman eyeing him up on the other side of the counter. Gradually Frank turned fully towards her, resting both of his hands on the bar and contemplating another beer after all of that or whether he should just head back to his motel and call it a night.

"You shouldn't have to," he told her. "'S'not right."

Her eyes lingered on him, a slow smile sliding across her lips. Making a quick decision, he'd been about to ask if he could trouble her for another drink, maybe this time while getting her name, but the phone in his jacket pocket began to vibrate. Brows curiously drawing together, he glanced down towards the noise before reaching a hand inside of his jacket, pulling it out.

Who the hell would've been calling him on this phone? He'd picked it up shortly after he'd left New York. To his knowledge, only two people had the number.

Looking down at the series of numbers on the screen, confusion further spread across his features. It was Agent Madani's number. But why the hell would she be calling him? She'd made it quite clear that if he crossed her path again, she'd be arresting him.

Frank glanced up, about to tell the bartender he needed to take the call, but she'd already wandered off to help another patron. With a sigh he slid his finger across the screen before holding it up to his ear.

"Yeah?" he asked into it.

"Castle, it's Agent Madani," the woman's voice immediately came over the line.

"Figured as much," Frank replied, his focus on the damp bar counter before him. "Wasn't expecting a call from you. Am I already in trouble, Madani?"

"No," she answered him quickly. "I actually need a favor. A…big one."

Frank's eyes narrowed curiously as he heard the tension in her voice. What could a federal Homeland Security agent need from him?

"And what's that?" he asked carefully.

Madani loosed a deep sigh that was loud enough for Frank to catch over the music still playing in the roadhouse. Her apprehension was only increasing his curiosity.

"I need you to protect someone," she said after a moment. "They've…accidentally stumbled on something and now they're in danger."

"You got federal agents for that, Madani," Frank pointed out.

"Yeah, well," she continued slowly, "I don't exactly know who I can trust with this here."

Frank pushed away from the bar counter, maneuvering his way through the crowd of people dancing and enjoying the band. A few of them shot him strange looks as he moved between them but he ignored it. The closer to the roadhouse exit he got, the better he could hear Madani over all the noise.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Frank asked. "And what's that got to do with me?"

"There's a woman who came to me earlier today," Madani explained. "She's a reporter for a news station out in Chicago and she accidentally stumbled on something huge. As in national security huge. It's something that involves high profile politicians–we’re talking wealthy, big names here. It's–it's going to be a massive scandal once this surfaces, but I need to keep her alive. I'm trying to assemble a case but I need her witness testimony with the evidence she brought me."

"Yeah? What's that gotta do with me?" he asked her again.

“She was at a Patriot Militia rally today,” Madani continued. “I don’t have to tell you who they are, do I?”

Frank leant up against the wall near the exit, his eyes on the pretty bartender pouring a beer. “Bunch of crazy activists, yeah?” he asked.

“Putting it simply, yes. This reporter recorded some things. Snapped a photo of these high profile people conversing together. Yet no one paid her any mind when she left that rally–because no one knew she’d done that. Or I think we both know she wouldn’t have been able to just hop into her car and leave.” There was a pause before she continued. “But she called me a few minutes ago. Couple men with guns showed up at her house. Now that has me thinking someone in Homeland caught wind of this and is trying to clean up the mess before anything gets out.”

Frank ran a hand over his chin, the stubble of his beard rasping lightly against his calloused fingers. “So you can’t trust your men but you think you can trust me?”

“I’m hoping I can,” Madani corrected. “I need you, Castle. If anyone is trained enough to keep this woman alive, it’s you.”

“I ain’t no babysitter, Madani,” Frank told her, shaking his head. “That’s not what I do.”

“I can make it worth your while,” she replied quickly. “I’ve talked to my superior Hernandez–the only one I trust on this right now–and he’s said if you help us with this, we’ll clear Frank Castle’s name.”

“Clear my name?” he asked curiously, his hand halting its movement on his chin.

“You won’t have to live as Peter Castiglione,” Madani told him. “You can be Frank Castle. If you help us. But I need her alive , Frank.”

Frank’s attention drew back towards the band that was playing on the stage, his mind racing. The government would clear him? Of all the charges for what he’d done in New York? And all he had to do was keep one woman alive to get that?

“What do you say, Castle?” she asked. “Can I count on you?”

His hand slowly lowering to his side, Frank pushed off of the wall, turning and making his way towards the exit. He pushed the door open, stepping out into the chilly night air.

“Yeah, I’ll do it,” he told her.

“Great,” Madani replied, her tone sounding vastly relieved. “Where are you?”

“Just outside of Detroit,” he answered, making his way back to the motel.

“She’s a bit north of Chicago so that’s perfect,” Madani said, her fingers flying across what sounded like a keyboard rapidly. “I’ll have her meet you halfway–Ruby’s Diner off of I-94. Tomorrow morning at seven sharp. Can you be there?”

“Yeah,” he replied, digging around for the key to his room in his pocket, “I can be there. But how the hell do I know who I’m lookin’ for, Madani?”

Frank’s eyes narrowed as Madani said a name over the line, his hand pausing in his search for the key in his pocket.

“She’s a small time reporter for WGN News out there. Google her,” Madani ordered. “There’s a picture of her on their site. That’s the woman I need alive, Frank. I just need you to hop from town to town and keep her safe. That's it. And I’ll be texting you coordinates for a drop site in a bit. I’ll have someone I trust leave money to help keep you both taken care of on the road while I build this case.”

Frank reached the door to his room, shouldering his phone. He slid the key into the lock, twisting it before opening the door and stepping inside. He turned on the light, closing the door behind himself before locking it.

“Any questions?” she asked him.

“Yeah, just one,” Frank asked, tossing the room key onto a nearby table. “You say you need this woman alive because there’s people with guns tryin’ to kill her, right?”

“Yes,” Madani answered.

“So does that mean I’ve got the U.S. government’s express permission to keep her alive and safe by any means necessary?” he asked, his tone leaving no room for misunderstanding.

There was a long pause over the line at his question. Frank could hear the tapping of something like a pen coming from Madani before he heard her let out a rough breath. The corner of Frank’s lips twitched upwards at the sound.

“Yes, Castle,” she replied. “But no civilian casualties or our deal is over. And if the reporter dies, the deal is over. If you lose her, the deal is over. If–”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, Madani,” Frank cut her off. “Text me the drop site details and I’ll find this woman in the morning. I’ll keep her alive for you, Madani. But I expect you to hold up your end of the deal.”

“I will,” she assured him.

Frank hung up, quickly pulling up the search browser on his phone afterwards. He made his way over to one of the beds in the room, settling down onto the end of the stiff mattress as he typed in the news station's name along with yours. Sure enough, a photo of a smiling woman appeared– your face–and for a moment Frank just sat there studying it.

“So you’re the one who stepped in some shit,” he muttered to the picture. “You definitely look like you’d cause some trouble, that’s for sure.”

He stared at the photo for another moment longer, telling himself it was just because he was trying to memorize your face and not because he liked your smile. Eventually he closed out of the search and rose back to his feet, switching the screen of his phone off. If he needed to be a few hours from here by seven in the morning, he needed to go to sleep now. If he was lucky he'd get four hours of rest before he was back on the road again.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle angst #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle #frank castle fic #the punisher

405 notes · View notes

eosincuffs · 4 months

Text

This drabble is my first writing piece, idk if I’ll make it into a fic. I started writing down some thoughts and an exposition for myself and then I was like, this might make a nice lil prologue. Idk tho im a virgin in this. So if what here’s and obligatory ‘pls leave me be, im learning ;-;’

Dishonourably discharged 141 quartet! (also this is an xReader thought I promise)

0.7k words

Their last mission was an unfortunate, grievous endeavour. A negotiation of high profile hostage releases in an abandoned multi-story factory which turned out to be a trap. Even if it cost the terrorist organisation the lives of extraordinarily important extortion-able victims the notorious 141 needed to be wiped at whatever costs, which meant sacrifices had to be made.

Only no-one, not even himself, expected Price to chuck the bomb-covered man off the ledge, 2 stories down to where the hostages were held. It was a split second decision made to save the lives of his men and deal with the consequences later. And deal with the consequences they did. The explosion ripped apart the lower floor indiscriminate of flesh or rusted steel. The old, battered building caved in on itself momentarily, engulfing everything within into a black hole of scrap, wire and human cadaver.

By some miracle, although festering with wounds and decorated with jutted broken bones like arrows out their skin, the 141 lived to tell the tale. Undoubtedly, this would get them discharged for “on the field injuries”. And yes, they were supposed to be medically discharged . It was disappointing that their military careers (their sole drive in life) was over, but, yes, they were supposed to get a fat pension, full healthcare coverage for immediate family, veteran discounts for everything from groceries to mortgages and awards for their sacrifices. They were supposed to live the rest of their lives relaxing, hunting, pursuing unfinished dreams and/or hobbies.

Except the son of one of the hostages rallied the other victim’s families together and incriminated Price for manslaughter. The boys weren’t about to throw their Captain under the bus, disputed the charge despite Price’s pleading, and got incriminated by association. It wasn’t fair, but they were never going to win a trial against a pack of multi-billionaires, no matter the accusation or its validity. There was one small mercy though; because of their connections in the military they were dishonourably discharged instead of imprisoned (and considering that blood and money turn the world, it would probably been for a lifetime). Their records and achievements were wiped, awards taken away. They were left unfit for any veteran benefits and with chronic pain and injuries as the final nail in the coffin, unwanted souvenirs from that god forsaken mission.

Overtaken with hatred and disappointment from both the traumatic event and the experience of their metaphysical lives ending the men unwillingly closed this chapter: abandoned, empty, changed.

Ghost much like his callsign disappeared in the first week after they split, no contact, no goodbye, no nothing.

Gaz went to live with his relatives, trying to figure out his next step.

Price hunkered down with a former military friend and his family.

Soap moved back into his elderly, struggling mother’s small cottage. It’s the reason he went into the military in the first place, to help support his family.

They all knew these were temporary arrangements. The army was their life; no branch or association would take them now, not with the bold, damning DD stamped on their papers. But very little quality employers wanted mentally traumatised men whose chronic and psychic pain rendered them unable to do blue collar work. Yet, non had the education or the drive to be employable in a more specialised, less physical sector.

Was this the end?

Maybe. But the sun shone on Soap’s meadow, illuminated his life and showed him a new way out. He was at the right place, at the right time and managed to bump into you. You really should have just kept walking. Taking pity on the blue-eyed puppy, kicked in the teeth over and over by life’s unforgiving boot should have been a noble act. But feed a dog once and it will keep coming back, and unfortunately, this one has a rabid pack.

177 notes · View notes

aviscarrentals · 10 days

Text

Yelp • Chapter 1 ls2

masterlist previous chapter next chapter

words: 1.5k

warnings: cursing, implied off"screen" deaths, injury/blood, implied character death

notes: this first chapter is mostly just exposition (and a little sad i know), but at the very end you get a sneak peak of the action before everything turns totally cray. (there will be more defined logan x parker in the future chapters as well.) parker is supposed to be the "reader" character. i decided to use a gender-neutral name instead of y/n because that's not my thing. she/her pronouns and feminine descriptions are used, but her gender is not a major plot point at all, so you can totally still read this imagining parker however you want. i hope you enjoy!

“God, it’s so weird just going right back to school like nothing’s even happened,” Parker started.

“Yeah,” Logan agreed. “Five fucking kids are dead, but science! Calculus! English!” he finished mockingly.

“Well, four,” Oscar corrected him, Lily nodding along.

Logan let out a large exhale and nodded. “Crazy he survived that shit considering how fucked up the rest of them were.”

“Well, you know what they say about quiet kids,” Arthur chimed in. The other five immediately turned to look at him in confusion.

“What?” Fred questioned incredulously.

“What?” Arthur demanded. “They’re like actually really cool and badass and stuff.”

“Huh?” Logan inquired with a furrowed brow. “I thought the thing was that they’re like… kinky and shit.”

“Mate, what the fuck?” Arthur responded defensively. “Why would I say that?”

“Well, that’s like the thing people say,” Logan bickered. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, but I’ve never heard anyone say that in my entire life.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Arthur retorted, making them all burst out into laughter for a brief moment before they all returned to a somber silence when they remembered the conversation that led them here in the first place.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you to class?” Logan pressed, his pleading tone making it obvious that he was asking for his own sake instead of his girlfriend’s.

“No,” Parker laughed him off, pushing his chin off of her shoulder and his arms from around her waist. “The health room is all the way on the other side of the building. You’ll be late. Again.”

“Yeah, well-” Logan began to protest before his newest complaint was interrupted by a loud crack behind him that made the both of them jump. They turned around to see Zhou Guanyu staring back at them guiltily.

“Sorry,” he started to apologize “I just dropped-”

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” Logan interrupted, as Parker reached down to pick up the textbook that fell from his locker.

“Thank you,” he said with a shy smile when she handed it back to him.

“No problem,” she reassured him, returning the expression. “It’s the least I can do, especially considering…” She trailed off, instead gesturing to his left arm which was fully encased in a sling.

After a moment of awkward silence, the girl spoke up again. “Um, what class do you have next? I can help you carry your things,” she offered.

“Bio,” he answered, “but it’s alright,” the boy quickly added. “It’s not far, I wouldn't want you to go out of your way-”

“No, that’s perfect,” she interrupted. “I’ve got psych first period, so I’m headed to the science wing too,” she explained, lifting the heavy load from his hands, right as the morning bell rang.

“Alright,” Logan said, leaning over his girlfriend’s shoulder to give her an instinctual kiss on the cheek. “I better get going. If I’m late to Mrs. K’s class one more time I think she might beat me to death with one of the CPR dummies.”

Parker immediately bore her eyes into her boyfriend’s soul at his word choice, the poor boy not remembering his audience until the words had already left his mouth. Looking like a deer in headlights, he simply turned around and scurried off.

“Sorry,” Parker apologized once she turned back to Zhou, embarrassed.

“It’s okay,” he said, chuckling.

“Shit, we better get going or we’ll be late too.”

“You guys know Zhou, right?” Parker asked the group in front of her as she led the incapacitated boy to her customary lunch spot under the oak trees in the school courtyard. The two were met with a chorus of “yeah”s and welcomes.

“I hope it’s okay that I sit with you guys today,” he asked timidly.

“Yeah, great to have you, man,” Liam assured him as Lily reached across the table to relieve Parker of the extra lunch tray.

“Didn’t we have trig together last year, mate?” Dennis piped up to ask him.

“Um… I’m not sure. I don’t think I would recognize you in class,” the bashful boy responded, leading to a roaring bout of laughter from the crowd.

“Goddamn! He got your ass, Hauger,” Jack said through a fit of childish giggles.

As the conversation continued, Parker couldn’t help but notice that one of the usual members of their crew was missing. “Hey, babe,” she said as she nudged her boyfriend’s rib to get his attention.

“What?”

“Where’s Paul?” she asked, concerned. “He said he was coming to school when I checked in on him yesterday,” the girl recalled.

“Yo, Bearman,” Logan called quietly to the younger boy sitting across from them.

“What’s up?” Ollie questioned, eyebrows raised.

“Have you seen Paul at all today? Did he change his mind about coming in?”

“No, he’s here,” Ollie informed the couple. “I think he probably just wants some time to himself right now. Usually…” he trailed off.

Parker and Logan nodded in understanding. Usually Paul wasn’t the only Aron present at the lunch table.

“How are you holding up?” Parker inquired, giving the boy’s hand a gentle squeeze. Paul had lost a brother, but Ollie had lost the next best thing. His best friend. “I’m alright, thanks for asking,” he replied a little too quickly, flitting his eyes away from the couple before abruptly turning to rejoin the ongoing conversation to his right.

Logan and Parker shared a sad glance, but decided it was better to leave the boy be. Paul probably wasn’t the only one who needed space.

“So,” Arthur’s voice rang out, gathering everyone’s attention. “We’ve got Wednesday off, what say you all we hang at my place tomorrow night.”

“OMG! Sleepover!” Jack shrieked in a high pitched voice, eliciting a few snorts from the kids surrounding him.

“Shut up, Doofus,” Arthur shouted at him playfully.

“That’s not my name, Lecdumbass,” the other boy snapped back, overdramatically rolling his eyes in jest.

“Anyways…” Arthur hollered over his friends’ audible amusement, attempting to gather their attention again. “Is everybody in? You too, Guanyu,” he clarified, to which the meek boy simply nodded, much to the others’ delight. “Awesome!”

As everyone else agreed to the plan, Jack interrupted once again. “Can’t. My parents have been totally freaking out over all this shit. You know how they are. So, unfortunately, the only party I will be attending is Doohan family game night hosted at 15 Fairview Road. Sorry, gang.”

“Well, hope you have fun playing Scrabble with Mummy tonight,” Liam teased.

“Yeah,” Dennis joined in sarcastically, “maybe if you’re lucky she’ll let you have a scoop of chocolate ice cream too. With sprinkles!”

“Alright, fuck you all, I’m out of here,” Jack countered, beginning to gather his things in perfect unison with the end-of-lunch bell.

“Bye-bye, Doofenshmirtz!” Parker called to the boy’s back.

“See ya when Mama Doohan lets you out of your cage again,” her boyfriend added with a big grin, made even wider when Jack simply flipped them off as he continued walking away.

Dennis had worked his ass off all summer. He wanted that spot on the team and he wanted it bad. So, in the month leading up to tryouts, he had to keep up his training. And if Coach saw how dedicated he was maybe that would benefit him too.

After another grueling workout under the hot September sun, Dennis made his way back to the empty locker room. He could smell, see, feel, and taste the sweat on his body, making him strip off his soaked through shirt before the door had even fully closed behind him. He needed a shower ASAP.

All of a sudden, he felt the air knocked out of his lungs as his back hit the ground, letting out a strident wheeze. He laid there for a moment, groaning in pain and sweating even harder than before. Wait, no. That wasn’t sweat…

The boy wearily lifted his head off the ground, still recovering from the harsh impact of his fall, only to see the entire floor of the room flooded.

“What the fuck?” he sighed out with the little breath he was able to collect.

He slowly lifted himself back to his feet, ignoring his spinning head, until he looked down at where he had been only to be greeted by a river of pink floating in the shallow water. He reached his fingers to softly touch the back of his throbbing head and was immediately met with an intense pain and sticky, red blood covering his hand.

The boy sluggishly stumbled forward toward the sinks in order to better assess the situation and clean his open wound. The only sounds he could make out were his laboured breaths and the splashes of his feet meeting the puddles beneath him. Splish. Splash. Splish. Splash. Splish. He paused for a moment as the world spun around him.

Splash.

But the sound of that extra step behind him didn’t register in time for him to save himself.

taglist (if you would like to be added or removed just lmk!): @gaypoetsblog @koris-009 @feralnando @disneyprincemuke @osbuzz @avaayalaa @faithshouseofchaos @thearchieves @scuderia-piastri @lovelytsunoda @localwhoore @foreveralbon @vroomvroomcircuit @mclarengf @lipringlrh

96 notes · View notes

mari-lair · 5 months

Text

Akane is a popular kid, arguably the most popular student outside Aoi and Teru, at least in his own class, so let's talk about it!

In his introduction, we are told the basics: how Akane is a childhood friend of Aoi, dutiful, obsessed with her, and so on. During this exposition, we get this small panel of two guys looking at him with a positive opinion of him:

It's important that the stripped shirt guy is the one who says "Akane is so nice" cause it is implied he has a crush on Aoi, or at the very least, that he considers her really cute, blushing when she is just living her life.

So even people who should consider him one hell of a romantic rival don't think badly of him. I would go as far as to say that they are invested in his obvious crush on Aoi because of the amount of attention he gets after being enchanted by the confession tree.

In an arc where everyone starts to get together, is hard to notice or even care about new couples.

But the whole class stops when Akane and Lemon claim to be dating. They surround the boys and talk about it, openly staring at them. (shout out to @bpzau-d-r-a-w-s for pointing out this crowd)

Which I would have assumed is homophobia if it wasn't for how many guys confess to Teru on the daily without being spared a single thought, or the way no one is trying to comfort Aoi.

If he was only known as 'that dude that follows Aoi' the class reaction should be "Great! Her bodyguard is not in the picture anymore! That's my chance!" but they don't spare Aoi a glance. No one cares that "our calm and composed popular queen is crying in the middle of class." right now. They are just... focused on Akane, too shocked by his change of heart to care about much else.

I know is Akane getting this attention instead of Lemon because the class reacted the same way once Akane started studying like crazy to win 'Teru's challenge' in chapter 59.

People don't dismiss his behavior as "hum, weird, well whatever" like when Nene talks to 'herself '(talk to Hanako) in class, they keep crowding and talking about Akane, they are invested, aware of the context of the situation (so they asked him) and familiar enough to take a guess that his behavior is related to Aoi.

So they care about what this weirdo is doing, he is a soap opera to the class! Just look at how invested people get when he says no to Aoi, even the background crew are open-mouthed or confused.

This idea Akane is a boy people pay attention to is everywhere in the manga.

Even for a class representative/council guy, it is ridiculous the number of people who want his help. He is always surrounded by people wanting his help.

I personally can't see that many people approach someone just to take advantage of them, he makes others go "Oh it's Aoi! I can trust Aoi to be of help :D" but I acknowledge that can be seen as a sign of how incompetent his class is or just people wanting to take advantage of him, so I'll talk about the cases people run to him that are nonrelated to his duties, is just his vibes:

Tiara gets super attached to Akane in no time, literally clinging to him out of everyone in the room, running to his side whenever there is an opportunity for it.

Hanako, who is apathetic towards most humans and supernaturals alike, loves his guts. Even if the admiration is not mutual.

Teru and Aoi are prideful people who have the whole school paying attention to them. They look at Akane the most.

Girls especially seem to like him.

We don't see him interact with many girls considering Aoi's jealous nature, but enough to tell the boys in his class call him 'Aoi', and the girls call him 'Akane-kun.' (shout out to @iamhereinthebg for pointing that out)

I am convinced the reason he doesn't get many confessions is because he brutally shuts down anyone who tries.

He isn't like Teru and Aoi, he does not believe in "I'll let them down gently, give them a cute smile to soothe the pain of rejection" he just crushes their hopes without hesitation and makes it clear they have no chance.

The one girl we explicitly see confess to him only ever hoped Akane would accept her chocolate, having no hopes her feelings would be returned but caring enough to let him know anyway.

And Akane still rejected her chocolates.

He seems to be relatively used to confessions, to the point he panicked when Nene said "I've meant to talk to you for ages" and immediately assumed she wanted to confess to him.

His answer is so quick, almost scripted "My heart belongs to another. I'm sorry." it makes no sense if he isn't at least somewhat used to getting love confessions.

Considering how... Unpleasant confessing to a guy who everyone knows has been madly in love with someone else for more than a decade must be, I am not surprised almost no one is brave enough to even try to pursue him. His blunt, borderline rude, way of expressing that his suitors are not welcome probably doesn't help either.

Bonus:

He is no idol, people do not trip over themselves when they see him like with Aoi and teru, but I do think he is considered a 'pretty boy' in canon.

Maybe I am reaching cause I am biased af, but I do find it wild that he is drawn super pretty in other's people pov when he is being playful or flirty, and the person always blushes about it.

#tbhk #toilet bound hanako kun #aoi akane #akane aoi #jshk #jibaku shounen hanako kun #character analysis #awful trio is also the popular kids trio and I find that beautiful #when i tell you this have been on my draft for MONTHS #only elise know how long i wanted to talk about this

320 notes · View notes

bigtreefest · 2 months

Text

Chapter 1: Breakin’ Up With a Broken Heart

From: Bigger Houses Series

Pairing: (Future) Mountain Ranger! Ari Levinson x Reader, mentions of past ex x reader

Summary: A year after a breakup that left you shattered, you’re ready to start life anew in your secluded Colorado mountain cabin. Just when you swear off love is when a new beast crosses your path.

Word Count: 1,896

Content/Warnings: Mentions of heartbreak, in-depth description of a breakup and feelings regarding that, safe driving in juxtaposition to a reckless person, deep introspection, enjoyment of mountain cabin vibes, lmk if I missed any

Author’s Note: This serves as a lot of exposition for what I hope will be a very lovey story; everyone knows you’ll probably face some heartbreak first. Also, yes, this is heavily based on my first heartbreak. What about it? Anyway, please enjoy the start of this long-anticipated fic. Likes, comments, reblogs, and asks are appreciated more than you know. And in case you didn’t hear it yet today, I love you.

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

I STRONGLY suggest listening to this song, not just because it’ll help get across the vibes I’d like, but also because it’s a really good song.

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Next >

Your break-up

It’s been months since you walked out on him and left town in a cloud of dust. It didn’t end well, but you’d be lying if you said you thought he was right for you.

One year ago

It ended in a text. Nine months gone in a text.

I’m done.

To which you responded: You mean our relationship? Ok.

It was honestly a relief. You had been looking for a way out, but couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Maybe a part of you wondered if someone would ever want you that much again, even though he only ever showed it in words and not action. Your head was okay with the situation, but it seemed your heart didn’t get the memo. Even though it ended by what you considered a mutual agreement (if that’s what you call him dumping you over you not visiting on a weekend you were spending with your family since he didn’t prioritize anyone’s time but his own), it still hurt. Three days later, he posted a pic with a new girl and a new car the same price as the ring you two had looked at.

He was a textbook narcissist with mommy issues, how’d they always find you? It was the kind of relationship where three months in, you should’ve ended it, but stuck around for another six. It was full of late-night calls, but not even the good ones. These were the ones that happened because he never seemed to have time for you during the day. The attention seemed good at first, but the calls would leave you tired the next morning, unable to get up as early as you wanted to so you could be productive. And you couldn’t talk to your mom and sister about it. They hated him. They saw through his selfish behavior before you and you wish you would’ve listened before giving him everything you could, which still wasn’t enough.

He said he wanted to get married hardly a month in because he loved everything about you. At first, you thought it was a joke, but the more he said it, the more you somehow convinced yourself that was what you wanted, too, but it could not have been more far from the truth. You wanted a happy life with a partner, but not like that and not that fast. Well, was it too fast? Or did it just feel that way because it was with the wrong person? Plus, it was less of a partnership, and more of a continuous compromise put on your part. Either way, as time went on, you realized that every small conversation was leading to a fight and your work and other relationships were suffering from the time he expected of you, but never returned. All he did was expect you to give, not holding himself to that same standard, but for some reason, you kept holding on. You had even looked at rings, not committing, though, because he knew you’d want him to speak to your mother first and she would never go for it. So, the relationship continued to drag on until he got upset since you said no to him one too many times.

But that was so long ago now. You did your time crying, listening to all the sad songs, wondering where you could have possibly gone wrong until you had enough. The only thing you really did wrong was not trust your instincts. You went too far following his heart and not far enough with your own mind. Love can be cerebral, right? It should be. There was no reason to feel sorry for yourself, you were better off and doing all the things you wanted that he’d held you back from before. He had very evidently moved on, and so could you. Sick of feeling down in a town that only reminded you of heartbreak, you found what you needed right now: a new job and an open Zillow posting you’d been watching for forever: your ticket out.

You were taking a vacation to your brand new start, tears long gone and dried with the wind that blew through your hair as you drove through the wooded mountainside. The sun was warm on your face, all loneliness was left in the darkness you left behind. Boxes and bags graciously organized by your mom filled the back of your SUV, and her’s sat just as full, driving behind you up the mountain passes. Before you’d gotten up here, the two of you had stopped at the last gas station, filling up your cars, getting a couple snacks, and stretching your legs before the final couple miles upward. Standing outside your cars gassing up, she looked over to you.

“Hey, just a reminder to be careful in the mountains. You don’t know what’s up there. Mountain lions, bears, snakes.”

“Oh my” you said giggling at your own Wizard of Oz reference.

She smiled and rolled her eyes at you “haha, very funny, but I’m serious. Not just about living there, but driving, too. You never know when a deer could jump out.”

You’d heard this a thousand times, being from wooded, albeit less dense, areas before. Plus, your mom was always concerned about you. Perks of growing up with a dad who was never really present. All of her focus could go to you. Never seeing a proper model relationship was probably half of the reason you had gotten into this mess, too, but you’d never blame that. She’d given you all she could and done a darn good job raising a driven, successful daughter (in every aspect except romance). You were eternally grateful for her support of moving where you had always wanted. It was honestly the perfect opportunity. Once the pumps clicked and the gas was finished, you both prepared to hop back into your cars.

“And remember, don’t talk to strangers.”

“Mom, we’re driving. I doubt we’ll run into anyone else up there.”

She shrugged and you responded with a small smirk, shaking your head as you put the keys in the ignition.

Back to driving higher and higher in elevation, you were drumming your fingers on the dashboard to the songs on the radio that you had blasting. Benefit of driving alone: no interrupted music. As you kept going, the road was becoming narrower and windier, pairing with the dimming afternoon sun. As you were rounding a big bend, you saw something step out into the road and you immediately swerved around it to avoid crashing, pulling over onto the side right after. What was that? A bear? A deer? No, not a deer, too tall. Your mom pulled over right behind you and rolled down her window as you got out of the car and walked back to hers to fill her in.

“What happened?”

“Something stepped out into the road. I’m not sure what it was.” A tall man with cascading brown hair and a full, fitting beard stepped into your vision through your mom’s passenger window. “Or should I say someone. I’m gonna go talk to him, make sure he’s okay.”

“Alright, kiddo. Be careful, though. I’ll be right here.”

You stood up from leaning against your mom’s driver side door and made your way around the front of the car, your eyes drifting upwards from the ground to a narrow waist and broad shoulders, chest rising and falling with deep breaths, eventually meeting with the most gorgeous pair of ocean blues. All these features belonged to the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, but that didn’t excuse the fact that he ran out into the middle of the road and could’ve killed either of you.

Caught off guard by the whole situation, your brain defaulted to panic and defensive mode.

“Oh my gosh! I thought you were a bear! I almost hit you!”

The man looked at you with wide eyes and simply blinked, unable to form a response until he stuttered out

“I-it’s really my fault. I’m not sure what I was thinking.”

Even when evidently distracted and out of it, he was still insanely attractive, making you grow more anxious by the second under his intense stare and scrutinization as he continued to stand there, taking you in and then catching himself and looking anywhere else. You were self-conscious of your hair that was tucked under a beanie to combat the cold mountain air and likely disheveled from your long day. He was obviously in a state where arguing wouldn’t benefit either of you, and honestly, you were in the same boat, ready to get to your new home and start unpacking. The sun was starting to set already and you definitely didn’t want to be out after dark, plus you knew the exhaustion from the drive would be catching up soon.

“Um, it’s ok, I just think you need to be more careful next time. Listen, I don’t wanna be pulled over on this stretch of road for too long, God forbid a real bear, or someone without good reflexes comes around, but, I’m glad you’re not hurt. Take care.”

Wanting to avoid any more awkward interactions and the opportunity of embarrassing yourself in front of an adonis, you rushed back to your car and started back up the mountain. You could see the image of the man in your side mirror getting smaller, his gaze still fixed on your car, until you turned and lost sight of him.

Once you pulled into your new home, your mom met you with a suitcase, ready to take the stairs to the entrance.

“Well he was cute, albeit a little reckless. Wonder what was going on”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll ever see him again, though. Maybe that’s for the best. I don’t need to make a habit of almost hitting things when driving around up here.”

You unlocked the door and held it open for your mom as she walked in and turned back to look at you. “Well, by the looks of how small this town is, you might. And once you figure out whatever’s going on in his head, maybe he’ll be a nice new friend to have up here.”

“Um, yeah, I guess. Maybe. After all this time, I think I’ll need a friend. Someone to restore my hope for humanity.”

You tried to lighten the mood regarding your distaste for others that had grown from feeling so deeply betrayed and your mom gave a knowing glance in response. But it seemed there was something more to it. It was knowing in more ways than one, hardly noticeable, as you turned to go get another load to bring in from the trunk.

Your mind raced with thoughts of having to get all of this junk into the house. You stepped out into the crisp mountain air, admiring the deepening blue sky and unobstructed stars, the darkness in contrast to the way your mood had brightened slowly from something similarly dark over the past year, becoming more like the stars that glowed in the beautiful night ski. As you trotted down the stairs, your tried to convince yourself that being here was going to be everything you hoped for yourself and your future ticket to happiness. That the last thing on your mind was love.

Next >

#Ari Levinson #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson x reader #mountain ranger! ari #mountain ranger Ari x reader #mountain ranger! Ari x reader #Red Sea diving resort #Chris Evans #bigger houses #bigger houses series #chapter 1 #bigger houses chapter 1 #bigger houses chapter 1 breaking up with a broken heart #breaking up with a broken heart #Dan and Shay #dan + shay #Spotify #SoundCloud

84 notes · View notes

megamindsecretlair · 4 months

Text

Midnight Sin - Chapter 4

Chapter 3 Chapter 5

Pairing: Vampire!Tyrone x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Long exposition that ends in smut. Oral (fem receiving), fingering (fem receiving) PIV, cursing, AU Tyrone, Toxic Tyrone. Dark fic. Dirty talk. Mentions of blood, overstimulation. The concept of "rolling" is brought up when Tyrone is able to hypnotize reader, but it is consensual.

Summary: A chance meeting at a club introduced you to the enigmatic Tyrone. He was interesting in ways that you weren't expecting. Tyrone gets a visit from his brother and needs to see you to ease a little tension.

Word Count: 8,529k

Midnight Sin Masterlist

A/N: WHEW! Welcome back, ya'll. I ain't forget about our main man. I just got a little distracted. I hope this chapter makes up for the long absence. Thank you SO MUCH for all the love towards this series! It means the world to me! I don't tag ageless blogs. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! Ageless blogs get blocked.

Taglist: @planetblaque @dayjlovesromance @sevikasblackgf @melaninpov @amyhennessyhouse @henneseyhoe @honeyoriginalz @justheretostan @black-fairy3 @superhoeva @jarfulloftears @hereformiles @montysstuffs @westside-rot @blackerthings @blowmymbackout @euphoric05 @miyuhpapayuh @nicolexnight @8ttached @judymfmoody @notapradagurl7 @wakandas-vibranium @soft-persephone @justabovewater20 @mcotton0928 @soapjay @heyauntieeee @theyscreamsannii @mybonafidefeelings @eggnox @honeytoffee @thadelightfulone @tranquilfandomer @kindofaintrovert @l-auteuse @browngirldominion @sunkissedebony97 @lovedlover @issahyland @nerdieforpedro @umber-cinders @longpause-awkwardsmile @insburner @slippinninque @thecookiebratz

Tyrone

Tyrone sat in his office and flipped through his journal from his time in Versailles. He laughed at some of his entries. How young he was. How carefree. It was easier to hide during that time. No one really walked around in the day time except for the upper crust society and that was just to parade around for others.

The real happenings went on inside and in private rooms. There were other entries that he had long forgotten about. The friends he’d made. The loves he’d lost. An ache thumped in his chest and he absently rubbed it while he read.

This was the part he hated. He had loved and lost, loved and lost over the centuries. The loss became so loud that it was easier to forget. Easier to live in the moment. Easier to be a coward and hide.

However, he wrote so much shit down, he had no idea what Fontaine had been talking about. He briefly remembered the woman he shared with his brother. It ought to be criminal to forget someone that meant so much to them both, but when the years began to bleed together, he ejected core memories to stay sane.

A knock tore his thoughts from the memories of his youth. He called for the person to enter.

Slick Charles entered wearing another outfit that made him look like a rent-a-pimp. Thick black turtleneck sweater, overcoat, and boots. It wasn’t even that fucking cold in LA but you’d swear they were in the middle of the arctic with the way he dressed.

He entered with a woman trailing behind him. She looked like a cartoon with exaggerated, doll-like features. A wide smile and puffy, afro-like hair. She was dressed modern with an airy, flowery dress and knee high boots. She clutched a large purse against her body and walked in warily.

“I don’t appreciate being summoned, mu’fucka,” she said.

Tyrone grinned. “Nice to see you too, Yo-Yo,” he said. He gestured for her to sit but she just looked at his chair. So he shrugged and stood up. She moved back a step and he held up his hands.

“I need you to look into something for me,” he said.

“We agreed to leave our shit on the phone. Coming here is risky,” she said.

“Everything worth doing is risky,” Slick Charles said. He looked Yo-Yo over, clearly interested in the woman’s amazing body. Tyrone wasn’t immune to Yo-Yo’s looks, but he knew better than to even sniff in a witch’s direction. Besides, he had you and that was all he wanted.

“I can’t risk this particular thing getting out. I need that confidentiality you’re so fond of,” Tyrone said. He put his hands in his pockets and stared her down, making sure she understood the importance of this meeting.

Slick Charles closed the door and Yo-Yo jumped briefly. Tyrone sniffed but didn’t detect a hint of fear. No, Weavers didn’t fear things that went bump in the night.

“I need to know about any supernatural creatures with blood that particularly calls to vampires,” he said.

“Blood is kind of your thing,” Yo-Yo said. She walked further into the room but didn’t relax an inch. She looked around at his office, decorated in earth tones of brown and green. He had a couch, chairs, and bookshelf in the corner filled with his favorite books.

“I know. This one’s a rare creature. It seems like only I can smell it. And it…makes me want to drain it dry,” Tyrone said.

He didn’t want to admit any kind of weakness, least of all to a Weaver specifically, but he needed to know what you were. Maybe once he figured that out, he’d know how best to hide you. It was a miracle that you were able to survive so long. He wanted to keep it that way.

“You sound like you’re talking about a Bloodsinger,” Yo-Yo said. She laughed and looked at Tyrone and then Slick Charles.

“What’s that?” Tyrone asked.

“It’s a bedtime story for baby vamps and witches to explain why we hate each other,” she said. “But it’s just a story.”

“Tell it to me,” Tyrone said.

Yo-Yo shrugged. “I don’t even remember the shit, that’s how dumb it is. Something about your side used them in our war,” she said, waving her hand.

The name and description didn’t trigger anything in his brain. Then again, he’s lived so many fucking lifetimes, it was a wonder he remembered anything at all. Tyrone bent down and retrieved a briefcase from the side of his desk. He held it out for Slick Charles to take from him.

Slick Charles held it out to Yo-Yo who’s arm dropped when she held it. “This is more than my usual fee,” she said.

“I need this done fast, with discretion. Find out about that bedtime story. Spare no details,” he said.

Yo-Yo raised her eyebrow. “Are you saying you found a Bloodsinger?” She asked.

Tyrone flexed his jaw but smiled. “Call it a passing pet project of mine,” he said. He bared a hint of his fang. She still wasn’t scared but that wasn’t his intention. He just wanted her to know the gravity of the situation. She could not let this get out.

The last thing he needed was his Father catching wind. Yo-Yo nodded and hoisted the purse further on her shoulder.

“A little extra appreciation is a great motivator. Give me some time,” she said.

Tyrone nodded. “Thank you,” he said.

Yo-Yo nodded and casted a glance towards Slick Charles who stared at her like she hung the moon. “Fuck you lookin’ at, nigga?” She asked.

“Yo wig is sliding off,” Slick Charles said with a devious grin.

“Fuck you! Fake ass pimp,” she said. She rolled her eyes and went towards the door, opening it.

Poised to knock on the other side was Fontaine. He looked from Yo-Yo to Tyrone to Slick Charles. His wide nose flared as he scented the air, scenting Yo-Yo as a Weaver. He grinned, showing off his gold grills.

Yo-Yo scoffed. “Move nigga,” she said.

Fontaine made a show of stepping aside and letting her pass. “I’m Fontaine,” he called after her retreating form.

“I don’t give a fuck!” She called back. Her boots clicked away on the linoleum floor. Fontaine turned that grin on Tyrone and he fought a groan. The last thing he needed was Fontaine in his fucking business.

Fontaine stepped inside. He wore dark jeans, a black T-shirt, and a brown jacket. He dug his hands in his pockets, mirroring Tyrone. It was still fuckin’ weird looking at his face on another person. It was why he avoided his other brothers, like Father’s little lap dog Charles.

“Well, well, baby brother. The company you keep,” Fontaine said.

Tyrone glanced at Slick Charles. He got the message and moved towards the door. He left, closing it behind him. It was just Tyrone and his brother. He liked it better when the fucker was overseas.

“What are you doing here, ‘Taine?” Tyrone asked.

“Missed you, baby brother,” Fontaine said. He sat down in the chair across from Tyrone’s desk, making himself comfortable. His smile was smug. Fuck. Was this how he looked when he had the upper hand?

“Why are you really here?”

Fontaine took a deep breath. “I’m looking into what Pops been up to. I’m not sure what his plans are but he started this shit and I’ll end it. Been gone so long, started going around my old haunts. People started to think I was you.”

Shit. Tyrone sighed and sat down in his seat. He settled in since Fontaine was in such a sharing mood. If people thought Fontaine was him, there was no telling how much in his business Fontaine already was. And the nigga hadn’t been here but a half a week. There was no limit to what he’d discover.

“What do you know?”

“Heard someone’s trying to land a big hotel deal. That’d add nicely to your hospitality collection. Collecting them shits like Legos,” Fontaine said. He clasped his hands over his stomach. He was enjoying holding this shit over Tyrone’s head entirely too much.

Tyrone bared his fangs. “Tell me what you trynna say, nigga,” Tyrone said.

“Also heard someone is paying off other interested parties to outbid yo stupid ass,” Fontaine said.

“Who?” Tyrone wracked his brain for his list of enemies. His list of allies was much shorter. He could count that on one hand.

“Tell me what the witch was here for,” Fontaine said.

Tyrone rubbed his head. It took a lot more effort to get a headache as a vampire but Fontaine had an express lane to his last good nerve.

“None of your business,” Tyrone said.

Fontaine clutched his chest in fake outrage. “We used to be so close, brother,” he said. He grinned, betraying his little act.

Fontaine wasn’t going to give an inch so Tyrone sighed deeply. There were worse people to trust. For better or worse, he’d never gone to war with Fontaine over a betrayal. At the end of the day, they were still brothers. They shared the same face. To betray the other was like betraying themselves.

“About what you said about Versailles,” he said.

“Fuck outta here. They’re all dead,” Fontaine grinned and waved away Tyrone’s comments. But when he looked at Tyrone’s face, his grin dropped.

“Word? You found one?” Fontaine asked.

“Maybe. I don’t know what it is,” Tyrone said.

“You don’t remember the bloodlust or what we did?” Fontaine asked.

Tyrone leveled him with a stare and shook his head. “Spit it out, nigga,” Tyrone said.

“I forget what they’re called but they were the witches’ most powerful weapon against us. Creatures created with blood that’s irresistible to vampires. One sniff and we lose our higher functioning. We so busy feeding, the witches would come up behind us and slit our throats. It was a rough fucking few centuries. The Council ordered their executions,” Fontaine explained.

The acrid scent of fear flooded the room and Fontaine’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Tyrone and swore a mile long.

“You fuckin’ one, ain’t you?” Fontaine asked. “On the list of stupid shit, that’s at the top. Father will kill you for this.”

“Only if that nigga find out,” Tyrone said and snapped his eyes to his brother’s. He let his feelings show on his face. The lengths he was willing to go through to protect you.

Fontaine grinned. “Ain’t gon’ hear it from me. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Who’s trying to sabotage my deal?” Tyrone asked. He rubbed his head. He really needed to figure out what Yo-Yo would find out about the Bloodsingers. If Fontaine was right, you were in far more danger than just the wrong vampire scenting you. So far, it seemed like only he and Fontaine could smell you. He wanted to keep it that way.

“Issac,” Fontaine said.

“Fucker,” Tyrone cursed and sighed. He had been having trouble with Isaac running around town acting like big man on campus. The mu’fucka was a hatin’ ass nigga with nothing better to do with eternity.

If Tyrone moved left, Isaac switched lanes. If Tyrone got into real estate, Isaac was running around trying to buy up buildings Tyrone was looking into. Nigga didn’t have an original fuckin’ thought.

Fuck the wrong bitch once and he never forgave Tyrone. It took a weak person to hold a grudge for centuries. But vampires were known for their patience.

“Shoulda known that mu’fucka was on to me. I created a separate company just to get that building,” Tyrone said.

“Nigga got flies in your office. I ain’t know which ones yet. But if you quit all this animosity between us, I can keep an ear out for you,” Fontaine said.

Tyrone sighed. There it was. Fontaine never did anything out of the goodness of his own heart.

“What do you want in exchange?”

Fontaine grinned and seemed to savor the moment. He looked at his fingers. “Back my play to come home,” he said.

“What?”

“Europe is fine but it ain’t like they’re that fuckin’ friendly to niggas that look like me,” he said. He grinned and looked back at Tyrone.

“You want to come home,” Tyrone repeated. He tried to scent any deceit in Fontaine’s body but he didn’t find any. ‘Taine in the same world as him once more? It was dangerous. When they got together, they tended to end empires. Fuck shit up. Rip and run and threaten to expose their existence to humans.

“I do. And I’m tired of being banished for being me,” Fontaine said.

“Being you? You almost exposed all of us!”

Fontaine waved him off. “Maybe we need to stop fuckin’ hiding. That’s beside the point, nigga. I’m gonna find out what dear old Pops is up to and I’m gonna hold it over his head to stay here. ‘Cause whatever he’s fuckin’ up to, he sure as shit ain’t telling the Council.”

Tyrone sat back in his seat, moving side to side while he pondered Fontaine’s request. Their father was the epitome of shady. Whatever his latest scheme was, he could believe that he was doing it behind the Council’s back. All they did over the centuries was play petty games of chess with each other. No one was honest on the Council. Everyone else was just pawns in their game.

“Fine. You get my back, I got yours,” Tyrone agreed. Some part of him, in the further recesses of his cold dead heart, missed having his brother around. He wasn’t sure if they would get back to the camaraderie they had before. If they would be as thick as thieves again, but he could use an ally he fully trusted.

Fontaine smiled. “Thanks, baby brother,” he said.

Tyrone scowled while Fontaine stood up. “Keep your eye on that Isaac mu’fucka. He doing a whole lot to sabotage this deal. What makes this place so special?” Fontaine asked.

“It’s in a prime location in LA. Dead center of the Hills with an incredible view. Lap of luxury. The owner is giving carte blanche to design it according to whoever gets the deal. This type of deal? King maker,” Tyrone explained.

After so many years of living, the only thing that mattered was legacy. No one fuckin’ cared about money when you had more than enough to spend for several lifetimes. Legacy was what mattered. With no one siring natural children, name recognition was currency.

Fontaine nodded. “I’ll keep my ear to the ground. Be ready,” he said.

Tyrone stood up. “One more thing. Stop leaving your food everywhere,” he said.

“Fuck you talkin’ ‘bout?” Fontaine asked.

“You show up and now I got cops calling me about bodies turning up, blood drained. Stop leaving your food around for the humans to find. We don’t need that scrutiny,” Tyrone said.

“That ain’t me, nigga,” Fontaine said with such vehemence, Tyrone had no choice but to believe him.

Tyrone nodded. He’d have Slick Charles look into it then. If he was going to trust Fontaine, he had to take him at his word. He only hoped that it wouldn’t bite him in the ass.

Fontaine left the room, leaving his door open. Tyrone looked down at the mountain of papers he had to get through. He had shell companies on top of shell companies. This business with Yo-Yo and now Fontaine. Plus, he had to keep an eye out for Isaac’s bitch ass.

He needed a fuckin’ break. He needed you. He dialed your number and faced his window. He opened the blinds to show the busy nightlife of downtown LA. Giant neon billboards flashed with the latest bullshit to fleece the poor of the few nickels they could rub together.

You picked up on the second ring. “This is a pleasant surprise,” you answered. Just hearing your voice calmed all his nerves. His worries melted away and he found himself smiling despite himself.

“Let me take you out,” he said.

You giggled. “You don’t even eat regular food though,” you said.

“I like feeding you. Let me take you somewhere I can show yo pretty ass off,” he said.

You giggled. “Everywhere would be booked,” you said. But he could hear you shuffling around. He knew your schedule pretty well by now. You worked from home today and were likely lounging around in them little ass shorts you liked. He ought to reprimand you for keeping your blinds open inside your place. But to do that, he’d have to fess up to practically stalking you.

“Not for me,” he said.

You giggled. “Okay, where you taking me?” You asked.

“Surprise. Dress nice but not super fancy,” he said.

You sighed prettily and he found his blood heading south, remembering how he played with your body. The way you responded to his touch and kisses. He wanted to inhale you and hold you close. He didn’t care if your blood was supposed to call to him. He wanted a taste. Yearned for it.

“See you in an hour?” You asked.

“Less if I can help it,” he said and savored your laugh over the phone.

***

You

You got dressed with excited shivers running down your spine. You ran through your closet trying to find a nice date night outfit. You had plenty of options, options you had bought on shopping trips with your girls even though you had no one to take you out.

Foresight planning was a gift as you had options. You held up certain outfits in the mirrors. LA was still temperate at night, though you were approaching the months where it was hot as sin in the morning and cold as a witch’s titty at night.

You settled on a rich, purple bodysuit and sandals. You threw on a light sweater and did your makeup in the mirror while bouncing with the abject need to see this man. You couldn’t remember the last time you were this excited to see someone.

Was it simply because he was a vampire? You weren’t sure. He genuinely made you laugh and you liked talking to him. It was a different experience talking to someone so worldly. Usually the ones you found were so far up their own ass, they made your pussy drier than the Sahara.

He told you about how things changed from time to time. He literally witnessed the rise and falls of entire kingdoms. There during the most interesting points in history. It was insane. If an historian caught hold of him, you’d never see the man again.

You were fluffing out your hair when your doorbell rang. You practically skipped to the door and looked through the peephole. Tyrone stood there in a gorgeous midnight blue suit. He was thick in all the right places. His shirt bordered on obscene as the top two buttons were left undone.

He rubbed a ring on his finger as he looked you up and down, taking in your outfit. “You are breathtaking,” he said. He held out his hand and you took it. He placed a chaste kiss on your hand and you wondered if he could smell how you melted on the inside.

You hadn’t even gone anywhere yet and you were ready to turn into a puddle at his feet. You smiled and ducked your head. “You clean up pretty well yourself,” you said. He opened his arms and gripped his jacket to open it more, showing off his outfit.

“I can put a little something together,” he said. He held out his arm like an old school gentleman. He was going to kill you. You took his elbow, grabbed your clutch, and closed the door behind you.

Tyrone took you to his car, a sleek Audi Q7 in black that seemed like it was custom built just for him. He held the door open for you and you climbed in. It smelled like it was brand new and you wouldn’t put it past him if he bought the shit earlier in the day. He closed the door softly behind you and then walked around to climb into the driver’s side.

He slipped in and started the car. The display lit up deep orange and you squealed on the inside. This was the nicest car you’d ever been in. Would be the only nice car you ever got to ride in.

He pulled away from the curb and kept one hand on the steering wheel. The other, he slipped into yours and brought it to his lips while he drove. “Tell me about your day,” he said.

“I worked from home today so it was really nice to be in my own space and work at my leisure. I didn’t have to pace myself. Finished my shit by 11 and enjoyed playing hooky a little bit,” you said.

“You have to pace yourself at work?” He asked.

You enjoyed the city at night. The bright street lights washed over the car’s dark interior as he drove deeper into the city. You had no clue where he was taking you. You tried to guess even as you answered him.

“People at work hate to see a good worker succeed. If I do my work well, they want to dump more on me. Fuck that. I make myself look busy so they can leave me the fuck alone,” you said.

“That’s bullshit. You shouldn’t have to do all that,” he said.

“Tell me about it. My boss is cool but fuckin’ clueless. I’m not picking up the slack for slow niggas,” you said.

Tyrone laughed and you watched as his fangs flashed. You rubbed your thighs together, remembering how good it felt to have him bite into you and drink from you. At a red light, his eyes snapped towards yours.

“What you thinkin’ about over there?” He asked. His voice grew deeper, rougher. It only made your pussy throb harder.

“You,” you said coyly.

“What about me?” He glanced at you again before moving forward on a green light.

You were turned around now. You really had no idea where he was taking you. It was as thrilling as it was scary. You knew that he wouldn’t take you anywhere bad, but you hated not knowing. So you had control issues, sue you.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you said.

“I really would,” he said.

You giggled. “Guess you’ll have to find out later,” you sang.

Tyrone sighed deeply. “Mhm, I see I’m going to have to teach you how this gon’ work,” he said. His voice promised all kinds of filthy things and you were tempted to tell him to turn the car around and go back to your place.

You weren’t prepared for him to see your space yet. You wanted to clean up a bit, tidy up other things, and make it look like you were at least a grown adult capable of taking care of yourself.

“Ain’t nobody scared of you,” you said.

Tyrone flashed his fangs. “You should be.”

Tyrone pulled up to a pinkish building that looked like someone transplanted a real Italian building. There was a water fountain with statue angels in front that Tyrone drove around. He pushed on his sunglasses and then stopped the car.

A valet strolled to the car a second later and opened the door for you. You got out and Tyrone came around the car, grabbing your hand from the valet. He handed him the keys and a rolled up bill.

“Look out for it,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” the valet said. He was a youngish man with tanned skin and long brain hair pulled into a neat bun. Wanna-be actor. Weren’t they all?

Tyrone walked you through the front door where you were greeted by a hostess in a subtle, professional black dress that still came across as sexy. She greeted you both, took Tyrone’s reservation, and bid you to follow.

You made sure to keep your face calm, but this restaurant was easily the nicest you’d ever been to. You weren’t a fancy person. You’d happily stroll by In and Out and sit your happy ass at home and enjoy it. But this?

Tyrone was setting the standard for literally any other creature on the planet. No person alive could compete with the way Tyrone treated you. It was almost literally a man in the streets, freak in the sheets situation. Did you even want to entertain someone who couldn’t get a drop of the hat type of reservation?

Inside, the colors were tastefully muted. There was enough light to see in front of you and the person next to you and still have it be intimate. Like a true night somewhere in Rome or Venice.

The hostess brought you to a sectioned off room. She held open the curtain and let you pass through. A separate dining room was back here, devoid of other people. Must be a slow night.

The hostess continued through and your mind spun with wild jokes about putting the Black folk in the back. They’d sit you next to the sink and feed you the cutoff scraps. You stifled a laugh as you continued down a short hall. She stopped near a door that had been left open. The breeze from outside caressed your face and you sighed. She bid you to go ahead and Tyrone’s hand slipped down to your hip.

He held you steady while you walked outside stepping on wide pinkish stones. There was one table set out here with two place settings, a bottle of wine chilling in a bucket, and a tall heater. There was plenty of ambient lighting so you could both see your partner and look out at the incredible view of Los Angeles.

Nothing lit up like Los Angeles when the sun finally went down and all those gold, orange, and white lights lit up the night sky like a beacon. It was the closest you felt to being in a fairytale.

Tyrone held out your chair and you sat down. He helped you scoot in and then finally sat down. A waiter appeared with tanned skin and dark black hair. He nodded to the both of you.

“I will be your server this evening. If there’s anything you need, press this. A light will turn on and I’ll be right there. Would you like a menu?” He asked with a slight Italian accent. You wanted to laugh. They really took a theme to the very end.

Tyrone turned towards you. “Do you want the asshole rich guy routine or the thoughtful one?” Tyrone asked.

You giggled. “The asshole one,” you said. Why not? You were feeling adventurous and dangerous. You were on a date with a vampire.

Since this was LA, you felt like you were in a movie. That you were the femme fatale rival lover who knows Tyrone is a vampire and wants him as is. Except, in your movie, you win in the end and the bland ass protagonist settles for the equally bland best friend and have lovely flour babies.

Tyrone grinned without showing his fangs. “No menu,” he said. He told the waiter that you wanted your favorite pasta, with salad. He guessed the salad dressing correctly. You raised your eyebrows. You weren’t convinced he couldn’t read minds.

He didn’t order anything for himself but the waiter didn’t show any surprise. He only nodded and left the balcony to you and Tyrone.

You looked out over LA and took a deep sigh. “This is insane, Tyrone,” you said.

He shrugged. “It was too late to buy out the whole restaurant, so I hope buying out the private area will have to work,” he said.

You gaped at him while he removed his sunglasses. It was harder to see color with this low light, but there was nothing human about Tyrone. He didn’t seem to mind, even as the waiter came back and poured the glass of wine that was chilling in the bucket.

The waiter left and Tyrone swirled his glass lightly. The red wine smelled heavenly, but that didn’t mean it would be good.

“You did what?” You asked.

Tyrone grinned and took a sip of the wine. He licked his lips and you fought a wave of arousal. Tyrone’s eyes only flickered towards you.

“It’s not fair that you can guess my moods like this,” you said.

“Think of all the possibilities,” he said. He tilted his head. “What if we’re playing hide and seek?”

You clenched your thighs. That…sounded like an excellent idea. “Or when we’re in public and you can’t wait to get home,” you said.

“Tease. Who says I would wait ‘till we got home? I’d fuck you any place and anywhere. I’d fuck you here too and watch you cum beneath these stars,” he said.

You were a puddle. He could probably hear your heartbeat increase too. You took a deep breath as that particular image filled your mind. That was a little too public for your tastes. But the idea had merit.

Tyrone grinned. “We ain’t gon’ get through this dinner,” he said.

You fanned yourself and leaned towards the soft breeze rather than the heat lamp. But the wind was too weak, cut through by all of the LA hills.

“We are. You didn’t spend this money for nothing,” you said.

“I spend money on nothing on the regular. At least with this, I get a beautiful view,” he said, looking at you. You tilted your head at him. He was so damn fine. That hint of a beard, sexy big lips, that wide grin. And those hands…

“No, we’re adults. We can behave ourselves through dinner,” you said.

Tyrone nodded and grinned. Topics moved on to safer and boring subjects. You discussed your respective families. That you had ties to the Caribbean but were a few places removed. Your grandmother had stories of island life from being a little girl, but her family was here in LA.

He told you about some of the lifetimes he’d lived. Some of the famous celebrities through history he’d met, plus some that should have been famous. How he helped steer the course of history in some cases.

Your food came in the middle of it, but your attention was on Tyrone and his stories. He didn’t break stride as the waiter placed your food down. The waiter moved away without another sound.

He hung around many a president trying to get them to abolish slavery or any other atrocity they cooked up. Sometimes they were ignored, sometimes they had to roll a mind, sometimes they had to kill.

“Roll a mind?” You asked.

“We can’t read minds but we are skilled hypnotists. We can make you see or feel all kinds of things,” he said.

“What sorts of things? Have you ever rolled my mind?” You asked.

Tyrone looked you in the eye. “No. I wouldn’t do that without permission,” he said.

“I’m curious about it,” you said. You wondered if he could convince you to do things. Bad things or good things.

Your mind stirred with all kinds of scenarios where you were a vampire. You weren’t entirely squeamish about blood. You’d miss food terribly. But you’d be able to move fast, super strong, more energy. The idea appealed to you strongly. You eyed Tyrone. If you asked, would he turn you into a vampire?

“With your permission, I’d do it,” he said.

“You have my permission,” you said instantly. Tyrone grinned, showing that bit of fang. You couldn’t forget that he was a vampire. In the event that you did, you weren’t stupid. You knew that he was a dangerous creature capable of snapping your neck. But you had been waiting your whole life for something cool to happen. Now that it finally did, you weren’t going to ruin it with logic. You wanted to see all of it.

Tyrone nodded and you expected him to do it then and there. When nothing happened, you smiled. “Did you do it already and I don’t know?” You asked.

You polished off your meal, not able to eat another bite. You sipped on wine.

“That’s later. When I got you spread open before me. Showing that pretty pussy. When you’re so blind with need, you’ll agree to anything. Completely at my mercy,” he said. He pitched his voice lower and you watched his lips.

Your pussy fluttered and he grinned. “You like the dark side of me.”

He didn’t say it as a question but you answered anyway. “I want to know all of it.”

“Even how many I’ve killed?” He asked.

“Have you kept count?” You asked.

He leaned back in his seat and sipped the wine. You mirrored him, finally trying it. Shit. It was delicious! The perfect mix of sweet and dry, exploding with flavor on your tongue.

“Yes. Everyone. That doesn’t bother you?”

You shrugged. “Would I get mad at nature running its course?” You shrugged. You weren’t going to compare him to a dog out loud. But would you get mad at a dog running? A cheetah with spots?

“You think vampires are natural? Not magic?” He asked.

“Isn’t magic natural too? Would it exist if it weren’t?” You asked. You smiled. Tyrone smiled.

“Okay, enough with the philosophy,” he said.

“I don’t know. I’ve always been weird about death and killing. I can remove myself from the bigness of it, if that makes sense? Otherwise it’s all I think about,” You said.

“Have you always been into vampires? Or is it werewolves and witches too?” He asked.

“Are they real too? How can you tell?” You asked.

Tyrone looked at you as if he were asking himself questions and answering them himself. It played out in his eyes. Each answer, he widened his eyes a little wider.

“Do you have magic in your family?” He asked.

You shrugged. “Not really? My grandma believed in a lot of shit,” you said.

He looked at the cityscape and you relaxed into an enjoyable silence. You liked when people could sit in silence sometimes. There was no need to force conversation during a moment of quiet.

“Let’s get out of here. I want to try something,” he said.

He stood up and grabbed your hand, pulling you to stand. He led you to the door and out of the restaurant. With every step out of there, his hand descended lower and low on your ass.

He practically had a handful as you went out the front door. He handed a valet his ticket and his car was pulled around. The valet opened your door and handed Tyrone the keys. Tyrone shook his hand, closed your door, and then climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Want to experience what vampires can really do?” He asked.

“Yes,” you said.

He leaned in conspiratorially and licked his lips. He smelled faintly like the wine you had and you leaned in closer, leaning in for a kiss. He grinned.

“I want you to be sure,” he said.

“I’m sure,” you said. He finally kissed you. You smiled.

So far, he hadn’t shown you anything to truly frighten you. You were sure in your knowledge that he could kill you at any second. And so far, his intentions were only to spend time with you and fuck you silly. And you really did love hopping on his dick.

Tyrone grinned. He put the car in drive but kept his eyes trained on you. He maneuvered the roundabout with ease and went out into traffic with his eyes on you.

You weren’t that cool. You had to glance in front of you to make sure that he wasn’t going to hit anything. He hit untold speeds, flying down the street. Your hand gripped the seat belt around your chest.

Tyrone stopped at a red light and smirked at you. “Want me to stop?” He asked.

“Don’t you dare!” You said and giggled. You heard your heart roaring in your ears. Your hands shook with adrenaline.

Tyrone licked his lips and looked down at your body suit. He reached out with his right hand to curl against your left titty. You always felt that it was your bigger side. He lightly rubbed his thumb over your nipple.

You bit your lip. You didn’t wear a bra underneath so it took no time for your nipple to pebble. He pinched your nipple and you gasped with pleasure.

The light turned green, the color spreading over Tyrone’s face briefly. He didn’t remove his hand from your titty. He was taking sick pleasure in eliciting sounds from you. He sped up, going impossibly fast.

You had no choice but to focus on his hand massaging your breast. It felt so fucking good. You didn’t really think about your boobs while having sex. The guys you dealt with weren’t sure either.

Tyrone seemed to delight in every inch of you. It was so liberating to have more than a few curves and have a man appreciate it. Genuinely appreciate it. There was no guessing his true colors. He just wanted his hands all over you.

He flicked your nipple and you finally broke into tiny, shudders that wracked your body. He breathed deeply and you wondered if he smelled how turned you were. If you were soaking through your panties.

He watched your reactions with a type of focus usually reserved to solving a puzzle. There were no words. Just your eyes on each other while he was driving a car through LA. You were breathless with exhilaration.

You knew that you finally arrived at your destination when Tyrone slowed down into a series of turns. It was an observatory but didn’t seem like Griffith. The road turned a bit rocky as he pulled up towards a cliff edge. The parking lot was empty and there were a few well placed lamps that briefly reached his car.

The jet black interior seemed to melt into the night. There was only the orange-ish light from his car’s dash. He turned the car off and the orange light faded away. The car was charged with the electricity flowing between you.

You couldn’t see him. He could likely see you though. He’d told you about how vampire night vision was basically like seeing in the daylight, except with a faint tint. You looked out of the car’s windshield. You were higher in the hills looking at LA and you sighed. It was so breathtaking.

“Remember when I said I wanted to fuck you beneath some stars?” His soft voice seemed loud in the car.

“Here?” You asked. “What about your car?” You asked.

Tyrone chuckled darkly. “I can get anything cleaned. If not, then replaced. If not, then I’ll buy a fleet of these and let you make a mess over all of them,” he said.

Your pussy clenched hearing that. You were not into other people’s money. You were independent as fuck. However, hearing that he would do such a thing was turning you on. A fleet of cars just for you to cum all over? Where did you sign up for that job?

Tyrone got out of the car. He slammed his car and opened yours a second later. Here, he didn’t have to hide. He could show off his vampire powers, moving at impossible speeds. He pulled you to the edge of the seat. You thought it might be too high but you were angled perfectly.

He faced you. There was a hint of light on his face so you could see that his focused face returned. He pushed your sweater off of your shoulders. You tossed it onto his side of the car.

He grabbed your ankle, held it over his thigh, and started to unsnap your sandals. He still held that one while he picked up the other foot to do the same thing. He tossed those onto the floor.

He grabbed the top of your jumpsuit and rolled it down. Your titties popped out and he licked his lips. The downside to wearing the jumpsuit was that he’d have to peel off the whole thing to get to your panties. Those, he rolled down your legs as well. You were completely exposed to him and the elements while he still wore his dark suit.

There was something so profoundly naughty about that. Tyrone moved forward until you were laying on your back. There was only so far you could go comfortably and not have to rest on the hard armrest. You held yourself up by your elbows while Tyrone spread you further.

He dropped to his knees, kneeling in that expensive suit, so he could bring his mouth to your pussy. He moved your legs to his shoulders. His tongue flattened against your pussy and you moaned. Your back moved off of the seat as he licked and made out with your pussy.

You didn’t stifle your moans. You let him hear how much he was pleasuring you. You let the colder air carry your moans down the mountain where no one would hear. “Oh, fuck!” You moaned.

He groaned while he ate you out. The sound sent shivers down your spine. He flicked his tongue along your seam and you shivered fiercely.

You couldn’t hold this one off. You came with a high-pitched wail. Tyrone kept flicking that sensitive clit until he suddenly withdrew. His fangs sank into your thigh and you screamed with another orgasm. Your thighs slapped against his ears and he continued to suck you through it.

You turned a pinch lightheaded when he stopped. He licked your thigh and you felt your thigh burn as magic knitted your skin together to stop bleeding. The scar would remain so that he would always know where to bite you.

Your teeth chattered as he stood up, kissing your thigh and then your belly. You weren’t cold from the air. You were freezing from him snatching your body warmth with those orgasms.

He kissed up your chest, stopping at the top to spend time licking and sucking on your nipples. His fingers played with the outer edge of your pussy before pushing thick fingers inside you.

“Oue, shit,” you moaned. “Tyrone, I-”

“Yes, you can. You can give me a few more,” he said.

“A few?” You asked.

“Mhm, a few more. You feelin’ how you grippin’ my fingers?” He asked.

“Yes,” you moaned. Heat suffused you. Your pussy throbbed. After cumming, you still gyrated on his fingers while he played with your insides. He began to curl his fingers in a come hither motion, lightly stroking you and you were another incoherent mess under his fingers.

“Don’t that feel much better? Hm, I can’t wait to feel that on this dick,” he said. He kissed up your chest, sinking his teeth into it. He pulled blood out of you, sending sparks down to your pussy.

You gripped his fingers with renewed fervor and he moaned. He pulled his face away slowly, gathering breath as if he had run a mile. He licked away the bite, letting this one completely heal.

“Been missin’ the way this pussy feels,” he said. He pulled you closer, letting half your ass lean out of the car.

He gripped his dick and ran it through your dripping folds. He bit your lip and moaned as he ran across your sensitive dick.

“Pay attention,” he said. His eyes found yours in the dark. His eyes seemed to glow with an inner light. It began to drown out everything around you. You felt like you were falling forward even though you knew you were laying down.

“Pay attention,” he said. His voice echoed in your head. You were no longer falling, you were being pulled into the depths of a red ocean. You couldn’t see to the bottom. You were suddenly in it, splashing about, screaming. Screaming for what?

“Pay attention.” You were pulled under the water. The acrid scent of copper filled your nose and you opened your mouth to scream some more. On the outside, you were quiet and you felt calmer than you ever had.

It was like all of your worries and doubts vanished, leaving your mind pleasantly empty. “Look at the stars,” Tyrone said.

You looked towards the sky and gasped. Each ball of light seemed to be on fire. And closer. Lights dancing in your eyes as if you had taken a swim on the moon with stars as your backdrop. Your vision turned watery as the majesty of it was too much to bear.

Tyrone’s dick circled your clit and you moaned painfully. You were ten times more sensitive. He skittered along nerve endings you didn’t know existed around your pussy. You felt wetter and needier, burning up with the desire to cum. It was like he was a gift from the heavens. A personal vessel for handing out pleasure like candy.

He moved into your view. You could look away from the stars, it wasn’t like his control was absolute. But the stars looked so incredible. You felt like your vision increased. That the stars were close enough to touch.

Tyrone pushed inside and you leaned up, pushing at his clothed chest. He was so damn big. Even with as wet as you were, he still stuffed you completely. You whimpered while he moved his hips, pumping into you.

This was the most intense sex you’d ever had. You’ve had sex while high and while drunk, sometimes crossfaded, and all of it paled in comparison to how sensitive you were right now. It was like you took an aphrodisiac and slowly became a vessel to receive pleasure.

He moved more easily inside of you, pumping you while you looked at the stars. You came once more, huffing and hollering until you were screaming out his name. On the heels of that one, you were screaming from another one.

Each time, the stars seemed to flare to life, growing brighter as your orgasm built inside of you. As the pressure built in your lower belly. As your clit throbbed painfully until you couldn’t take it anymore and were bursting with the power of a million suns.

Your breath was robbed from you as Tyrone leaned down and kissed you. Your lips were sensitive as well. You felt his warm lips press against yours. His hot tongue seeking and playing with yours.

He hiked your legs higher on his hips and pounded into you relentlessly. You gripped the seat cushion for purchase but it was useless. You managed to groan pathetically when he pulled out. When he slammed back in without mercy, you couldn’t breathe.

He used his hands to push your legs backwards, until you were neatly folded. Your pussy gripped him tighter at this angle and he groaned, dropping his head to your shoulder. The wet slap of his dick against you turned you on more.

Everything turned you on. The focused look on his face. Slightly smug like he knew he was killing your shit. The way his fingers gripped your thighs to the point of bruising while he rammed inside of you. You gripped onto his shoulders. Maybe if he held onto you, you wouldn’t get sucked into a black hole of ecstasy.

“Fuck, gripping’ the fuck outta me,” he moaned. The tension you sensed earlier seemed to leak out of him the longer he pounded inside of you. His face grew slack as he groaned low in his throat.

He bared his fangs and you prepared for him to bite you again. But he was content to throw his head back, push forward, and groan out his climax. The feeling of his dick twitching caused you to moan and join him.

You cried, tears running down your cheeks, as your juices mixed with his. You contracted on his dick and he groaned. Your hand dug into his chest, pushing at him, but he only leaned into it. Letting your hand slap at his chest while the pleasure was too much. Entirely too much.

“Squeeze that shit. Let me feel it. Let me feel how I make this pussy feel,” he moaned in your ear.

He nibbled on your ear while your thighs shook with the aftershocks of your orgasm. You couldn’t bear to let another one take you over. You were exhausted and exhilarated at the same time.

He moved his lips to kiss you. It was sloppy and all over the place but it was the best damn kiss of your life. Your toes curled from that alone. It was a mix of hot and sweet. Where he pressed into you as if he wanted to disappear inside of you. But his lips were soft and his tongue playing with yours.

You moaned into the kiss, contracting around him. He echoed your groan and pumped a few more times. He leaned back and spread your legs, watching himself leak out of you. You moaned as you felt his cum sliding out, sliding down your ass, dripping out of you. He licked his lips as if he wanted to soak it all up.

Instead, he pulled you into a sitting position. “Thank you,” he murmured against your lips. He gave you lazy kisses while you calmed down.

“I didn’t do anything,” you said.

“Gettin’ in this pussy is the only solution I need from now on,” he said. He dropped more kisses while running his hands all over your overheated skin. Everywhere he touched, it was like a signal went off in your brain to make you moan. Your nerves were still on fire.

You ran your hands all over his smooth figure. You couldn’t get to his skin, but it was enough to feel the promise of his muscles. You wanted more. You wanted to feel him naked on top of you. You wanted to ride him.

He grinned. “I have to keep remembering you’re human. I don’t want to break my new favorite toy,” he said. He kissed your cheek and you giggled.

“You’re so corny,” you said.

“Want me to stop rolling you?” He asked.

“Not a fucking chance,” you said. “Take me to your place,” you said. You bit your lips seductively, looking from him to where he was standing in front of you. His dick bobbed as you stared at it.

He chuckled. “As the Lady wishes,” he said.

He helped you get dressed. You opted to leave the sandals off. He tucked you neatly into the car, closing the car door. A second later, he climbed into his side. There was no way to clean up from an impromptu session so you had to sit in the evidence of your neediness while Tyrone sped through LA.

The lights whizzed by and you sat and enjoyed it without overthinking. You felt free. Wild, untamed, exotic. You didn’t want this night to end.

Masterlist | Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

92 notes · View notes

writingquestionsanswered · 3 months

Note

I find that I am so focused on narrative that I leave out the creative part, and it's very dry and dull. How do I fix this?

Draft Feels Dull and Dry

Stories are a balance of action (things happening), dialogue (characters speaking/conversing), and exposition (explaining things.)

So, you can't really "focus on the narrative" while leaving out the creative part, because they're all part of the same thing. What you're probably actually doing is focusing more on the action and dialogue and are struggling with the exposition (aka narration or narrative.)

The first step to including exposition is to consider whose point-of-view the story is being told from and who is the narrator. Sometimes these are one and the same.

-- Third-Person Omniscient is a top down view of your story with a narrator who knows all and sees all. While this narrator isn't telling the story from any one character's POV, they do have the ability to communicate what different characters are doing, thinking, and feeling.

-- Third-Person Limited is a narrator that is limited to the POV of one character at a time--usually per scene or chapter. This narrator can only know and see what the current POV character knows and sees.

-- First-Person is when the narrator IS the POV character. Once again, this narrator is limited to their own POV and cannot tell the reader anything they don't know themselves, or show the reader anything they can't see themselves.

Figuring out your narrator/POV characters is essential in helping you understand what the narrator can communicate to the reader and how. For example, if you're using third-person limited or first-person, you know you will describe things like character appearance and scenery as the character observes these other characters and moves through the story.

If you're using a third-person omniscient narrator, you'll describe things that are relevant to what's happening but usually from a more distant/top down perspective. If you're using third-person limited or first-person, you'll describe things from the POV of the POV character.

You can work details in as character thought, internal dialogue, explaining things to the reader, as well as into action and dialogue.

Also: if you're someone who struggles with adding exposition, you might want to let your first draft focus on the action and dialogue, then work the exposition in on the second draft.

Here are some other posts that might help:

Guide: Describing Character Appearance and Clothing Guide: Showing vs Telling Showing a Character’s Feelings The Right Amount of Description (5 Tips!) The 3 Fundamental Truths of Description (And 5 Tips for Cutting Back) Description: Style vs Excess/Deficiency Weaving Details into the Story Writing More Meaningful Prose Horror by Darkness Horror by Daylight Avoiding Cheesy Character Description How to Make Your Description More Vivid Adding Description to Your Writing When “Telling” is Okay Balancing Dialogue with Action and Narrative Exposition, Action, and Dialogue, and How to Pace Your Story

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

LEARN MORE about WQA

SEE MY ask policies

VISIT MY Master List of Top Posts

COFFEE & FEEDBACK COMMISSIONS ko-fi.com/wqa

#wqaadvice

78 notes · View notes

xwitchaestheticx · 4 months

Text

CHAPTER ONE

The Lost Heir • Dev Update! Greetings, Esteemed Heroes! I come bearing thrilling tidings and momentous updates! Firstly, I'm elated to announce the triumphant completion of Chapter One! Hooray! Additionally, brace yourselves for the unveiling of our official character/cover art! 🤭🦋✨ Before delving into the heart of it, I extend my heartfelt gratitude to each of you for embarking on the enthralling journey chronicled within the inaugural chapter of "The Lost Heir"! Within this initial chapter, my aim was to offer a tantalizing peek into the lives of the other intriguing characters. These individuals, newly acquainted with your MC, serve as a window into their diverse personalities and abilities. As you step into this chapter anew, the power rests in your hands—you wield the choice to traverse the path of a character you resonate with. Should you choose to replay the chapter and explore an alternative character, a fresh perspective shall unfold, delving deeper into their essence and unveiling more about their life in this captivating realm! Rest assured, frequent shifts in perspective won't become customary. This narrative choice was made deliberately to provide exposition sans the cliché character introductions. Moreover, it resonates with the personas of Sarosh and Kali, individuals who wouldn't readily unveil the intricacies of their lives to a stranger. The subsequent chapter will return to the familiar format, empowering you to make choices and chart the journey of your own personal MC. This odyssey shall persist, freely accessible with the release of new chapters. However, any support via donations is immeasurably cherished. Should your experience bring you joy, kindly consider sharing it with friends and fellow enthusiasts of Interactive Fiction. Spreading the word shall nurture the vibrant growth of our community.

Play Chapter One Here

If perchance you stumble upon any errors, I humbly beseech you to bring them to my attention. My nocturnal scribblings might occasionally overlook details, and I'd be delighted to rectify them.

#interactive fiction #twine interactive fiction #interactive game #twine game #twine wip #choices #dating sim #interactive play #itch.io #the lost heir #supernatural #original character #romance options #art

88 notes · View notes

theharrowing · 5 months

Text

White Lies 🤍 1: Do not, under any circumstances, become emotionally attached to either of these men

Yoongi is everything you could ask for. He is attractive, confident, and smart. And his partner Taehyung is as possessive as he is beautiful. Too bad a relationship would be a major conflict of interest.

You need to have them, at all costs.

🤍 Yoongi x Female Reader x Taehyung

🤍 word count: 2.9k + screencaps of conversations

🤍 college au, cop au, partial social media au with a lot of written story, strangers to lovers & established relationship, yandere, hurt/comfort, smut, fluff, angst, slash, poly, minor character injury & death, graphic violence, nsfw, 21+.

🤍 warnings: no real warnings. we get some pretty forward flirting out of the gate. it might seem like things are already moving very fast, but...we'll see.

🤍 note: ughhhhhhhhhhhh i was going to hold off on actually starting this fic, but the brainrot was real yesterday, and i spent hours on my couch nursing a hangover and making screencaps. i forgot how tedious this is, but i also had a lot of fun. the character Josie is a real person who i adore very much! everyone say hi to Josie!!! this chapter is exposition heavy but i hope you find it fun!

🤍 this is a sequel to Boy Blue! i highly recommend that you start at the beginning

🤍 written parts beta read by @neoneunnajimin

🤍 posted nov. 2023 | read on ao3

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

Reading through the file that Detective Kim left on your desk, two interesting things pop out at you, the first being that some of the photos of the man called Vante look different than the others. You didn't notice it at first, but upon closer inspection, you realize that photos of him that seem older – ones where he has natural dark brown hair and ones where he has bright red hair – seem personal.

Vante is smiling directly into the camera in these old photos, with an expression that you would describe as being soft – almost loving. His posture is relaxed in each photo, whether sitting at a table at a café or leaning against the side of a car. You wonder if Seokjin took these photos, and if not, how he managed to get his hands on them, because the photos of Vante with blue and blond hair are all surveillance images or those taken from social media profiles that have since been deleted.

The second detail you notice is that in two of the shots where Vante has blue hair, there is a woman with him who shares striking similarities with you. Although you are unable to clearly see her face in the photos, her hair, build, and height all seem to resemble you, and your side profiles are similar to the extent that you wonder if you could convince someone that you are the one pictured with him.

In one of the images containing your doppelgänger, Vante's arm is slung over her shoulder and he is speaking with Min. The three of them are in a crowded bar with what looks like colorful makeup all over their faces, and although you can only see Vante's expression clearly, it seems he is flirting with Min, or at least openly showing an attraction to him.

This detail, paired with Seokjin's not-so-subtle suggestion that you may consider becoming closer than just friends with Min makes you wonder if the two men are an open couple. Especially considering your resemblance to the woman in the photos, you wonder if you were chosen for this mission based on credentials alone, or if your resemblance to someone from their past was partly to blame for your sudden promotion into the Special Investigations Division.

Perhaps it should bother you that you may have advanced partly based on your looks, but this mission is so intriguing that it fills you with excitement to learn more. You wonder if the two of them got married out of love or convenience – a ploy to allow Min to get a work visa and any other benefits that could allow them to more easily escape from whatever they seem to be running from.

Both men are absolutely stunning, and you wonder if that woman pictured ever got to enjoy both of them – together or separately. You wonder what it must have been like for her and where she might be right now. Despite Seokjin's warning not to get close to these two, the urge to know more grows.

How could these two men be so dangerous? What have they done to cause Seokjin to form a super secret, super tight task force to hunt them down? And why is he unwilling to just tail Min and confront Vante, himself?

Quickly, you fire off an email to Min, asking about his tutoring services, posing as a student named Sandra. Then you return to rereading their files and memorizing their faces. Min with his somewhat sleepy, somewhat grumpy expressions that brighten into something soft and inviting when he smiles. Vante with his rectangular smile and piercing eyes that either hide all emotion or express so much that he appears positively captivating.

You read and reread the bullet point list describing these men in an attempt to piece together what kind of people they must present themselves as. You wonder who assisted with creating their profiles, and whether it may have been old friends or even the woman who resembles you.

Both men are dishonest and extremely disloyal; both exhibit an unshakable poker face that even those close to them cannot read.

[Redacted][Code name Min] is soft-spoken and an interesting mix of contemplative and impulsive; does not take no for an answer. [Redacted][Code name Vante] exhibits similar traits but is much more forward and promiscuous, willing to use sex as a weapon.

Both men get what they want with little to no concern for the outcome, even if it means the death or displacement of others.

Both men only seem loyal to one another, but that may also be a façade. [Redacted][Code name Vante] may be the more volatile of the two, should one turn on the other, but it is likely that [Redacted][Code name Min] has a mean streak that few have witnessed firsthand.

[Redacted][Code name Vante] is cold and calculating; always ten steps ahead.

[Redacted][Code name Vante]'s family is well-connected and seem willing to cover up anything he does.

Is it likely that [Redacted][Code name Vante] is the mastermind of all of their schemes and that [Redacted][Code name Min] tags along for one reason or another.

It is possible that [Redacted][Code name Min] has insecurities that [Redacted][Code name Vante] easily controls and manipulates.

Your phone lights up with a notification, pulling you from the paperwork and surprising you with how quickly Min has gotten back to you about tutoring services. And as you open the notification, you realize your seemingly easy mission might just be a little more complicated than you hoped.

Undeterred, you begin to improvise. If Vante uses sex as a weapon, perhaps you can create several Tinder and Hinge accounts and attempt to find him online. One benefit to going undercover is having access to a seemingly endless supply of burner phones.

You have absolutely no doubt that someone like Vante is using hookup apps if his profile depicts him accurately. If he and Min are married for love over convenience, there is a strong chance that he is still willing to be unfaithful. Or, perhaps the two of them are not monogamous, and finding one of them on a hookup app will likely be due to one or both of them looking for a good time.

The prospect of getting to know them this way is risky since they are both gorgeous and apparently too cunning to resist, but it may be faster than waiting a month or more for Min's private lessons to open.

Swiping on dating apps is tedious work, and you almost feel guilty for spending your precious hours this way. Despite it being the weekend, you are paid for your time, and right now your time is spent scouring dating profiles looking for one man.

You swipe with one hand and brush your teeth with the other, eyes barely open and still heavy with sleep. You swipe as soon as you step on line for your favorite macchiato at your favorite little café two blocks from your Chelsea apartment, and you swipe as you sit in your favorite window seat, sipping on the perfectly bittersweet warm drink while the morning sun warms your cheeks.

As you reread the file on Min and Vante over lunch, you take breaks to swipe, and you even find yourself genuinely reading through some Tinder profiles before snapping out of it and ridding yourself of distraction. Sure, you may be single and somewhat curious to mingle, but something tells you that you are going to have your hands absolutely full once you manage to get ahold of one of these men, so adding another person to the equation feels too messy.

Later on, when your best friend Josie convinces you to leave the house because it is Saturday and you need to, as she says, "Unwind and find some cuties to dick you down," you swipe in the cab ride over and resist the urge to swipe while waiting on line for drinks at the bar.

Part of you wonders whether you could run into Min at a place like this. Bright neon lights filling the space with college students scantily clad and alcohol buzzing through them, turning them into horny little monsters. If he is professional – or upholding a façade of professionalism for the sake of his current persona – then it is likely he would not be caught dead in a place like this. You are somewhat certain that Vante likely scours these types of clubs, but alas, he is in Milan.

Some of the photos of Min from their file show him on stage with a band, playing keyboard with a guitar slung over his shoulder, with a face full of glitter and makeup. The vibe of that bar differs from this one, but the rambunctious energy is more similar to what you observe in recent surveillance footage photos. You wonder if any part of that man bleeds through now, or if he only indulges in classically accepted forms of music as a tutor.

Min must be good with his hands – a thought that spirals the more your mind is allowed to wander back to the photos of him playing two very different instruments at once. You need to stop thinking about the beautiful, dangerous men – monsters, as Seokjin put it – and focus on being out with your best friend.

Josie is a bubbly ray of sunlight with a matching warm smile. Purple braids cascade over her shoulders and down her back, she wears a cute little black dress that barely contains her curves, and she stomps and dances excitedly in knee-high black leather boots. Her round cheeks and button nose make Josie the cutest person in all of Manhattan, and pretty shimmery pink and purple makeup stands out against her tan skin, making her dark brown eyes shine.

You are outfitted similarly with a tight black tee tucked into a black denim skirt, cleavage on full display. You wear black combat boots with warm, fuzzy black socks, and enough makeup to make your eyes pop, including a light dusting of pink and purple courtesy of Josie.

"I'm getting fucked!" Josie shouts over the reggaetón track, bouncing her hips to the beat while the two of you lean against the wooden bar top. Her voice is rich and somewhat nasally as she shouts, with a quick lilt to her accent.

"Fucked up?" you shout back, unsure whether you misheard your friend, delighted when her smile widens and she says, "Yeah, that too!"

Being that this is a college bar that happens to throw somewhat over the top ladies night events, you flash your student ID as well as the fake ID that identifies you as a woman named Sandra as soon as the bartender comes by.

You need not do so, however, because the bartender, whose name is Daniel in some circles and Changkyun in others, recognizes you, giving you a slow, hungry once-over with his eyes that makes your heart pound. Then he flashes a pointed smile and leans against the bar top so that he can easily be heard when his soft, deep voice asks, "Ladies, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Before you can open your mouth, Josie leans over the bar and shouts, "Two Long Islands!"

As soon as Daniel nods and turns away to get started on your drinks, Josie hip-checks you, causing you to stumble and turn to her with a wide, curious expression. You know what she is going to say before she even says it – "You need to hook up with him!" – and you are already shaking your head before the words come out.

"He's just doing his job," you argue, because this is not the first time Josie has pointed out the way he looks at you, or how he seems more attentive to you than to literally any other patron. Yes, you are in denial, but now is not the time to get tangled up with the sexy bartender.

"You're full of shit!" Josie manages to shout before Daniel is back.

He sets your drinks down, nodding politely to Josie before fixing you with an intent gaze and giving a shy little smile. "This round is on the house," he says so softly that you don't really hear it, only knowing the words because you have memorized the shape of his lips when he says them.

Daniel has a bit of a baby face, with wide, dark almond eyes and pretty, soft lips. His nose and cheekbones are all hard angles, however, and his short dark hair, which is parted down the middle, falls around his eyes and down to the apples of his cheeks, only accentuating his features more. Much like your targets, he has dual citizenship between the US and Korea, hence having two names that he goes by – something some but not all dual citizens might do.

"Thanks, Danny," you say with a wink, making Daniel's eyes widen before he stands up straight.

"My pleasure, ladies," he responds, looking to Josie and then back at you. The moment he is out of earshot, Josie groans.

"Why don't you make a move on him?" you ask before she has a chance to hound you more. You lift your drink and take the thin black straw between your teeth, chewing lightly on it as you walk away from the bar, through the growing crowd, toward the dancefloor.

"Don't be stupid!" Josie finally responds when you find a place on the outer edge of the dancing mass of bodies. "He looks at you like he wants to eat you. Just let him!"

You roll your eyes and shake your head, chuckling. Around you, college students dance and shout, clearly far too drunk already for how early it is. As you take your first sip of your drink, it rocks through you; even the smallest taste of the Long Island iced tea is strong as hell, making you wince despite its sweetness.

"I don't miss being that young and irresponsible," Josie says, leaning over a tall round table that you have found to perch your elbows against, gazing out at the mass of students.

Josie works in the Forensic Investigation Division. Whenever a crime scene is processed and evidence is gathered, she is the one testing it to match it to information in the various systems in search for DNA, blood type, fingerprints, fibers, and so on. Her work is used in court to solve and defend cases. "It is absolutely bonkers being back in college," you respond, withholding the detail that you are not really a student because Josie is aware of the very basics of your assignment. "Their problems seem so silly compared to the shit we see at work."

Josie nods listlessly as she scans the throng of dancing bodies, more or less distracted from the conversation. And as you follow her gaze, you see who she has zeroed in on.

There is a man on the dancefloor surrounded by a group of friends, and he looks a lot like your superior Seokjin. He is not your superior, of course, but the resemblance is certainly enough to catch your friend's attention, as her crush on your boss is nothing short of sickening.

"Shit," you shout over the raucous music, leaning toward Josie. "I forgot to feed the anaconda before I left."

Josie nods her head in slow, lackadaisical movements, and you shake your head; even complete nonsense won't get her attention when she is this focused, but you continue for fun, anyway.

"There goes all the neighborhood pets! His appetite is insatiable."

A pause follows before Josie, who turns her face toward you but keeps her eyes on the Seokjin lookalike, mutters, "Totally," drawing the word out nice and slow.

Ordinarily, you would lay into your friend a little harder, making your story a little more fantastical, but you take the opportunity to pull out your phone and continue on your mission. Vante is not going to swipe on himself, and now that you have paid for Tinder gold and can see everyone who has swiped right on you, you are certain that your search is only going to get easier.

* * *

It takes around thirty-two hours of frequent swiping with three burner phones all showcasing similar profiles with a similar name to find a man who looks like Vante. And, as Seokjin predicted, he goes by the name V.

It takes four more hours for him to message you. The entire time your hand itches toward your phone, eager to make the first move, but you want to see the way he operates, and you want him to think he has full control.

Just as Seokjin predicted, he is 4,000 miles away – which tracks because he is in Milan until the end of the week – and he is using photos that only show part of his face. Luckily, his mouth is distinguishable.

For your part, on one of the profiles you created, you chose photos that you think resemble the girl in the photos in Vante and Min's case file, also only showing parts of your face. And you are not at all surprised when that particular profile is the one he seems drawn to. It makes you wonder if he saw any of the other profiles that you created or not.

You stare at the screen uncertain whether your flirting is all just part of the plan or if you really would like to find out just how well Vante lives up to his promises of not squandering an opportunity for pleasure. He is extremely forward and, to your surprise, it gives you butterflies.

Ordinarily, men speaking this way moments after you first meet would be a red flag, but for some reason, the assignment of getting close to Vante adds to the intrigue – daresay it excites you a little.

All of this feels dangerous. But you have never been one to turn down the chance to play with fire.

i fake my life like i've lived too much i take whatever you're giving - not enough overground, watch this space i'm open to falling from grace

🎵 visit the playlist!

note: i added this to the master list, but in case it has been missed i just want to add the disclaimer that all detective work and cop jargon in this fic is either made up on the spot or comes from years of watching/listening to true crime media. i have no credentials in this field and i do not claim to know what i am talking about!!! alsoooo lol if your name is Sandra, no it's not. (jkjk hello Sandra! i hope you're having a lovely day!!!)

also!!! some folks seemed confused by Seokjin, so just to clear his involvement up: yes, he was thought to be dead in Boy Blue.

i am thinking about doing little "drabble" chapters where you get to see conversations only between taegi that mc will not be aware of. we'll see how i end up doing it. (is this something you're into or would you prefer 100% of mc's pov like in Boy Blue?)

💙 me sprinkling in the Boy Blue callbacks:

ARE WE HAVING FUN? QUESTIONS??? CONCERNS??? REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE THE LIFEBLOOD OF THIS SITE, BUT LIKES ARE ALSO SUPER APPRECIATED!!! 🤍🤍🤍 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! I LOVE YOU! DRINK SOME WATER AND STRETCH YOUR NECK!!!

tag list: @aidam9911 @bangtan-tee-86 @ffion451 @fluffybuns69 @here4kpopfics @iloverubberduckiez-blog @lovemeforeternity @mgthecat @moonleeai @oceansmerchild @unsureofwhathappens 🤍 visit the master post to read the warnings & request to be tagged!

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

#yoongi x reader #taehyung x reader #taegi x reader #bts poly #bts yandere #bts angst #bts smut #bts social media au #undescribed #undescribed images #fic: white lies

99 notes · View notes

inawearyworld · 4 months

Text

free if you truly wish to be: chapter i

florence fickelgruber, the famed chocolatier's idealistic young wife, ponders her past, her regrets, and her longing for a change. guess what? she finds one.

2023!wonka x oc, this chapter ~1.7k

chapter one is a shit ton of exposition for the character, but i promise you, dear timothee fans, the content you're here for is coming. i tried to capture the dahl style of storytelling (without, yknow, the racism and fatphobia and all that) which was so fun. this character essentially popped into my head last night, and the story will follow her development through the plot of the movie. after i left the theater, i realized i'd painted my nails to match mat’s costumes without realizing, and then suddenly WHOOM there she was. almost like magic. :)

enjoy!!

(also. even if the cartel’s offices don’t actually have balconies, THEY DO NOW.)

part two fic masterlist

"Free if you Truly Wish to Be", or, "the Chronicles of the Songbird", being a Tale of She who is Truly one Wren Matterson, but More Widely Known-at the Start of our Plot-as one Florence Fickelgruber.

Things were…fine.

In a world such as this one, there was very little luxury for a girl such as herself to hatch, nurture, and follow a dream. It would spark up in the purest of fashions and launch onto its way, glittering with promise of a life’s hopes fulfilled, only for the world around it to force it down a path of compromise and disillusionment until the dream’s poor follower found it nearly unrecognizable.

Such was the lot of Mrs. Florence Fickelgruber’s passion for performance. Long before either of these names were attached to her, she knew she longed to spend her life swept up in poetry and music, creating a better world through the arts she loved.

That dream, she often swore to herself, had not died.

It had simply…not turned out as planned.

For now, at least.

For a little over the past two years, more specifically.

It would have been nice to have the means and time to try to make her own fortune, to experience a sweeping romance with someone her own age, to live in a world fair enough that allowed her to both support her now-faraway family and live according to her ideals; it would have been nice indeed.

But for now, life was not quite nice, but fine. The sleekly fonted Fs that monogrammed nearly every surface in the mansion in which she lived had stood during the beginning months for her husband’s, and now her own, alliterative names. Now, she only saw them as golden signifiers of things being nothing more than Fine.

She was currently perched on an emerald-colored fainting couch in her husband’s office that, despite its plush craftsmanship, had lost any semblance of comfort long ago. She sat, and she considered the striking portrait of the two of them that hung over the fireplace, which they’d posed for when she’d still thought this was a good idea: a self-satisfied smirk rested on his face, and her emerald-manicured hand rested on his chest (intended by her to show her devotion, intended by the artist to show her ornate ring). She sat, and she looked into the hall, and she sat, and she stared out the window for a time, and she sat. Eventually, she picked up a set of paper and an emerald-set quill.

“What’s that you’re writing, darling?” came Felix’s voice from across the room, and she nearly sighed in annoyance, a direct contrast to the way her head snapped toward the sound.

There shouldn’t be a melody to that voice, she thought. Not when he only seems to initiate conversation at the exact moments I’ve decided to do something for myself.

“To the opera house,” she responded as he entered the room.

“Again? I thought they’d rejected you.”

“On the grounds that they were scared to hire me, they said, lest they write my role not fully to your liking and lose their concessions wares because of it.”

“Pish, posh.”

“Do you think, my love,” she asked, standing and moving to him, “that…well, would you dictate something I can write here, to reassure them? They’ll take your word over mine.”

“There wouldn’t be a point,” he said flippantly. “Besides, they’re right. Just keep singing for my radio commercials, darling; the customers love it. I can’t imagine you needing anything else. They’re installing our new grand piano next week, you can have all the little fun you’d like on that…”

Throughout this speech, he’d been digging through the pockets of his impeccably tailored blazer, eventually producing a cigarette.

“Give me a light, pet?”

She gritted her teeth as she lit his cigarette, and he brought it to his lips with a smile. She hated when he called her that.

It used to make her feel…wanted, wanted when nobody else did.

Now it just felt…

“I want to share my work,” she said, pushing aside the previous thoughts and pushing forward the previous conversation. “I want to have a genuine impact on the world.”

“And you will, I swear it. Once Fickelgruber Chocolate’s advertisements started using your voice, sales went up nearly twenty percent, and they’re only growing; if that’s not impact, what is?”

With that, he kissed her before she could give an answer-there was a time I would have romanticized that taste of cigarette smoke-took the half-finished letter, folded it so crisply it nearly ripped, and tossed it into the gold-leaf wastebasket.

“Felix-”

“Just wait until the new radio spots are released. It’ll be marvelous, darling.”

She should have known this was how it would be.

It had seemed too good to be true in the moment. To receive, after a performance in her home city, not only the praises of a world-famous chocolatier but also an offer to travel to and perform in his world-famous city, and later a proposal-albeit more businesslike than romantic-to be set for life, to provide for her struggling family; although, she’d come to learn, her husband would have wanted nothing whatsoever to do with her if he had known of her humble origins.

He’d just never bothered to ask.

Well, save for once-

“I assume you come from a good family?”

“Oh, yes, they’re the warmest souls you could ever-”

“Wonderful.”

I grew up nowhere near those obsessions with reputation; how was I to know he meant “good” in that sense?

Before she truly knew him, she had liked him. Felix was undeniably smart, and not unhandsome; she thought him to have a solid wit and an intriguing way of speech, with eyes and hands that would have been attractive on a kinder man. The clean lines and deep green hues that seemed to follow him everywhere suited her well, and she used to have reason to believe that association with him might give her a platform to create positive change, that he saw her as an equal in ambition and intellect.

Once they were married, once she’d seen him with the rest of his Cartel and realized the depth of his disdain, arrogance, classism, and general apathy for anything that was not himself, that reason to believe had dwindled faster than a sweet drop of hot chocolate on a waiting tongue.

…Not to mention that I could practically see him almost rescind his proposal when he learned I’m lactose intolerant.

But she’d suffered through the resulting throataches and occasional days of less-than-stellar singing that came with the barrage of dairy-filled sweets as she was announced to the world as the famed chocolatier’s fiancee, telling their story (which Felix embellished quite often) to the press over and over again.

“Yes, that’s right,” she remembered him saying on the television broadcast that announced the engagement, “my little songbird has finally found her golden cage.”

She had winced, forced to make it seem like a smile in the face of the blinding sea of flashbulbs. That had been the first moment in which she couldn’t ignore the deeper feeling that this was wrong, and she wondered if anyone watching would notice her flash of pain.

What she didn’t know was that, thousands of miles away, in the middle of a far-off ocean, a boy on a ship had been holding a tiny transmission screen (assisted somewhat by magic in order to obtain a stronger signal), eager to see the news about one of his idols, and that, despite his core tendency to give the benefit of the doubt, that idol lost a bit of his respect that day.

I shouldn’t have done this.

But if my family was still starving, all because I wanted to wait for someone kinder, someone who’d support my dreams, I couldn’t forgive myself.

She was startled from her thoughts by a shout calling from below the office, followed by…

A song.

Felix discarded his cigarette and went to the window, posturing into a lean against its frame, and Florence followed. His arm slunk around her waist, so her hand found its way to his chest; it was the portrait pose again, the frozen frame, the unspoken understanding.

I do love acting.

But I don’t know how much longer I can take a life of…offstage performances.

The boy in the center of the Galeria, though, seemed not to be putting on a persona for the crowd, but rather infusing his entire soul into his song to them. He was indeed meaning to sell something, but his passion for it shone brightly in a way she’d never seen from a businessman, present company included. The people that were starting to surround this young man hailed from all walks of life, and he beamed at them all with the same sunlit smile.

With a flourish, he opened the lid of the jar of candy that he held, and-

Oh!-

Each piece of chocolate had flown from its container and flitted into the air, leading to a gasp of delight from the crowd. Florence was able to suppress her own squeal, but couldn’t stop a flex of the hand, involuntarily causing her to grasp her husband’s tie.

“Don’t worry, pet,” Fickelgruber said, clearly misunderstanding his wife’s reaction, and with the tone of his voice clearly opposite of his words. “His charm over them will be…short-lived. Our business is perfectly safe.”

The boy finished his song to rapturous applause, and it took every ounce of Florence’s theatrical training to keep from joining it. She felt a shift next to her, and looked to the side to see her husband making pointed eye contact with his colleagues in their respective offices. The smirk that used to set her soul aflame-before she’d learned what it could mean-formed slowly across his face.

“Florence?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Go home.”

“I-”

“We’ll take care of him. Go home.”

Saying this, he left her side and swiftly went out of the office, presumably to join forces with the rest of the Cartel in terrorizing the poor young man.

The moment Felix’s presence could no longer be felt, Florence let out a breath.

Turning back to the window, she considered the boy, who was wholly wrapped up in the joy of his work having an impact on those who witnessed it.

Tentatively, and with the slight smile of a small rebellion, she turned the window’s handle and stepped out onto the office’s balcony.

She wouldn’t let his light be dimmed in the same way she thought hers was.

And she would certainly not go home.

#wonka 2023 #wonka movie #wonka x reader #willy wonka x reader #wonka #willy wonka #timothee chalamet #timothée chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet fic #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothee x reader #timothée chalamet #mat baynton #mathew baynton #mat baynton x reader #mathew baynton x reader #fiytwtb #wonka fanfiction #wonka fanfic

103 notes · View notes