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ihopeinevergetsoberr · 10 months ago

Text

the counterpart

• chapter 1 — a welcome threatening stir

rating: explicit. please don’t skip straight to (future) smut parts though, i’m currently learning chess just for this fic /hj

word count: 4,5k

pairing: viktor x fem!reader (no use of ‘y/n’)

cw: alcohol, occasional cussing, reader is a smoker (she plays chess and lives in the 90s, how do you expect her to have healthy lungs in these conditions?). a LOT of tension, viktor is a certified brat tamer. i think that’s it — please come yell at me if i missed anything. basically just a silly little chess rivals (sort of) au.

i am finally writing this multichapter and i hope it will be a fun read for you and an excellent torture for me. i have a vision but i don’t know how to make shit perfectly executed. we’ll see how this goes. an ao3 link will be added later. any feedback is highly appreciated.

part 2

⸻

You weren’t obsessed with him.

Nor with the way his tongue would click against his teeth so astutely irritating — a gesture you grew to define as some brief foreplay before said appendage touched his palate precisely one torturous time, whispering a victorious ‘check’. Nor with the crease dissecting his forehead — a rare occasion you managed to grasp only twice: the first time being your failed attempt to capture his queen, and the second — a recent one, at that — being the foolish way you’ve lost a freshly promoted rook: concurrently the most humiliating way to jeopardize an intellectual sparring.

You weren’t obsessed with his bizarre contemplative humming, nor with his Czech last name — needless to mention the disheveled mayhem of dark hair: Viktor was just a mere enigma you fancied to occasionally demerge — sneakily, patiently, with a positive passion to it. Habitually in a private ambiance of either his or your dorm room, though actually more commonly his — something about it simply screamed peace, as contradictory as that sounds. Sweetly quiet, relatively neat, with a never properly made bed being the only truly concerning mess in it.

That apartment was the embodiment of a grandmaster’s mind, and it certainly had all the chances of belonging to one at some point: if only he kept up with the meticulous tactics you were (secretly) so jealous of.

“Envy is a waste of time,” he unkindly reminded you one particularly languid evening, “you should pursue ways to expand your knowledge — not to contract them with such trivialities.”

That reproach got into your ambitious head. Call it a reality check or a simple first impression — since that encounter was also the first one you two had ever shared.

Though could someone really blame you? You didn’t need humbling. Well, not any more of that crude one, at the very least — a local college chess club had more than enough of it to offer. You could consume their disdain for weeks and it still wouldn’t make them run out of it — they had plenty in stock specifically for women. That much was obvious the second you appeared before those arrogant, prejudiced fools. You stepped in there innocently hoping to enroll, but stormed off with a genuine intention to commit homicide — a manslaughter, to be precise, and god weren’t you going to be merciful.

‘You can’t enroll without a rating,’ hissed that bespectacled, caricaturely tall boy — all heavily starched collar, stupid chequered tie and a handful of dirty blonde hair plastered across his forehead.

Bullshit, you thought, gathering every last ounce of your forced politeness, who needs a rating to enroll into a college fucking chess club?

‘We don’t accept amateurs,’ assented his not any less grimy interlocutor, his expression a tad bit more bearable. ‘Please, leave,’ he demanded, lancing your face with his hostile eyes.

Well, it’s a good thing you accept ill-mannered bastards, you almost muttered, fists clenching hard into a white-knuckled disaster.

And perhaps you were even willing to negotiate, to have their best players all lined up in front of you — each waiting for a turn to be relentlessly put in his place by you; and you would certainly show them — quick, efficient and dangerous. You would force them into submission — professionally so, in a way that would make them all wonder whether the next Judit Poglar has decided to bless them with her presence.

Because, sure; you were certainly many things — an excellent mind, a trickster, a fanatic, but that list never included an amateur. The mere fact someone even dared to insult you in such a way — and without even sparing you one game of chess — was, frankly, deeply humiliating.

So you decided to let your pride win. Walked out of that damned club with an ostentatious huff, heels clacking loud enough to muffle their demeaningly misogynistic brouhaha — a tacit protest, an addendum to your passive-aggressive ‘good luck, gentlemen’.

They didn’t want you — fine, whatever, you didn’t want them either. You’ll find yourself a counterpart soon — not any less intelligent, and, most importantly, respectful. They’ll come crawling back to you once you gain a rating, mourning their loss and pathetically begging for sweet mercy. You could already imagine the holes rubbed through the nice fabric of their dress pants from all the kneeling you’ll make them do.

Besides, Jayce had already promised to introduce you to someone decent. ‘He’s sweet,’ he assured you, a friendly arm wrapped around your tense shoulder. ‘Incredibly smart,’ he proceeded with his wholehearted praise, proud grin so wide the corners of his mouth were definitely hurting. ‘Somewhat awkward,’ he mused, raising one eyebrow in consideration, ‘though I’m not entirely sure it’s awkwardness, per se, Viktor is simply… pensive.’

Viktor. Your eyes squeezed shut, offering the restless imagination a brief opportunity to brainstorm. A competent, pensive and sweet chess lover: what would his temper turn out to be like? Does he have a rating yet? What if he’s already playing professionally? Perhaps he even has a title?

Jayce’s next comment didn’t offer you much help though.

‘He’s handsome too,’ he whispered, a shit-eating smirk wiped instantly off his pleased physiognomy. Elbows become offensive weapons between the ribs of unfortunate matchmakers, you see.

Either way: the deal was sealed. You were going to meet Viktor the next chance you get, and Jayce’s upcoming birthday has provided you with precisely that convenience.

It still happened rather spontaneously — you can’t mentally prepare yourself for an encounter you don’t quite know what to expect of. Sure, Jayce’s complaisant flattery was still at your service — a source not exactly reliable, yet somewhat welcomed nonetheless: though only because you lacked any other information about this Viktor persona.

But you decided not to upset a dear friend on his birthday. Acting like Jayce was bearable to be around was a part of your gift, after all.

Unfortunately, the fact he was born on an awfully steamy July day wasn’t helping you accomplish that; you squinted, drowning a glass of that disgustingly warm bourbon, a couple of melted ice cubes in it slightly diluting the once-rich taste of liquor. The man of the hour had quickly dissolved into a mess of infuriatingly noisy people after only reserving you a quick hello, shiny eyes already evidently tipsy — either from all the attention or the contentious quality of the booze this bar had to offer.

You didn’t dare to complain. The tab was on a birthday boy, and you knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Knew better, yet still stared right at Jayce’s laughing physiognomy, grin so blindingly toothy it had you regretting ever sojourning this feast of life. Not that you had anything against attending birthday celebrations; but a cramped bar, a cheap drink and not a single minute spent with a man you came here for weren’t exactly your ideal perception of said… festivity. Not to mention that Viktor was terribly late — though your darling mutual acquaintance was in no state to properly introduce you to him anyway. You slipped out of your bar stool, rubbing an erratic little pattern into the weary skin of each heavy eyelid — but the sleepiness didn’t magically dissolve under the persistent pressure of your fingers. If there existed a thing you hated more than cocky men and bad booze — then it certainly had to be feeling hot, and this awful place has kindly reminded you of precisely that long forgotten loathing; air so sticky it was melting your brain into a tired, dysfunctional mush.

Somehow you managed to find an exit before the headache became borderline unbearable, letting the evening greet you with a chilly slap on precisely that slick place where a damp blouse kept clinging onto your sweaty back. Summer sure was relentless this year — the outdoors didn’t offer you much of that crispy gentle breeze, but it was still not nearly as suffocatingly hot as inside that grimy shelter for drunks.

Shaky hands slid inside the pocket of your pants, fumbling frantically with the contents of it: glistening candy wrappers, ringing keys and a handful of coins. Took you long enough to finally feel the shape of an old lighter, the spark wheel of it so terribly rusty the callus on your thumb started stinging as soon as you laid it on that rough little bump.

With a sigh, you fetched a folded pack of Camel out of the same stuffed sack, the state of said poor thing utterly matching its owner’s — all ruffled, messy, with the bottom of it barely still intact. Well, fine, perhaps that last trait was not precisely pertinent to you, but your rear was hurting quite palpably after an hour spent sitting on that awfully uncomfortable stool — which meant that relating to your poor box of cancer sticks was inevitable.

The spark wheel gave in after a few insistent pushes, and within seconds you were taking your first greedy drag, back pressed tightly against the cool wall; providing you much needed support for taming a headache with a smoke break that would undoubtedly cause a new one in an instant. The filth filled your lungs with sweet relief, and you let the sedation run slowly through your veins, squeezing the filter in an affectionate little embrace of trembling index and middle fingers.

And then your private moment was ruined. But not abruptly in the slightest, with just one simple call of your name – the most careful of all interventions, surprisingly quizzical and polite, heavily accented at the edge of the very last syllable. Still had you choking ungracefully on your tiny nicotine snack, filling the silence with awfully inelegant coughing.

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you,” spoke your pensive intruder, causing you to sharply turn around, back clinging off the wall in one unsubtle movement.

That’s how all meaningful formal meetings happen. Unfailingly when you least expect them, or, even worse — when you stop expecting them at all, with every thought banished from your utterly relaxed mind. They sneak up on you under shitty bars, giving you a slight vertigo and then offering a polite smile to make amends, gripping the handles of their canes with pent up awkwardness. And god were they peculiar intrusions — matching your silly, much too improper manner to wear corporate clothes for a night out, with just a few buttons of their tight vest undone; limbs lanky, but not inept, eyes brimming with pretty copper right onto your astonished frame. Made you randomly embarrassed about your chipped nail polish and messy hair with just a mere presence of their flawlessness: you knew you were facing a tease before you even managed to acknowledge his appearance, brow raising curiously in a cautious attempt of a greeting.

“Well, you did startle me,” was the first thing to leave your mouth after the coughing assault had ended, lips stretching lazily into an involuntary grin. “How do you know my name?”

His eyes — oh those big shiny tormentors — widened in surprise, and one sinewy hand crawled somewhat haphazardly up his chest, fingers catching the knot of a red tie to pull on it firmly. To either adjust it or to make the clearing of a tender throat easier — you couldn’t quite place it, yet still watched him in silent astonishment, tasting the bitterish taste of tobacco on the tip of your tongue.

“Well,” he parroted your tone with sharp accuracy and proceeded with distinguished sass, “I believe a certain someone has introduced us to each other… in absentia, so to speak.”

Oh. So that was your new charming counterpart? Bravo, Jayce — there was actually something truthful about your flattering for the first time.

“For I am Viktor, in case you’re still confused,” he obligingly reminded, abandoning the brief fidgeting with his tie to offer you a handshake.

You gulped, almost extending a dominant arm to accept it, but some weird foreboding had once convinced you that to twine your still smelling of cigarettes fingers with a stranger would be somehow perceived as crude — and so you clumsily caught his palm with your other, less nimble limb. Let the heat of his touch engrave into your hand, eyes swirling the tiny mole above that defined cupid’s bow, making you feel stupid for stealing that innocent of a peek. Had you forgetting about the still stuffed into your mouth cigarette as it fell open in oblivious awe, almost dropping a decent bridge of ashes onto his pretty shoes.

Regaining the lost composure, you managed to introduce yourself in a manner similar to his — not that it was necessary since he seemed to remember what to call you exactly, but the gesture still felt right — you’d vowed to treat people with politeness and liked to think that it was going quite well for you.

“So,” he uttered somewhat approbatory, withdrawing his hand from your tender clasp, “normally I don’t… tutor. But Jayce was rather insistent I try — and he’d also assured me that you’re quite passionate about the subject.”

You huffed, letting out an undefinable sound of confusion. Not without a mixture of evident irritation to it, if you were to be frank — but that was entirely justified. A tutor? Is that how Jayce really took it?

“I’m not looking for a tutor,” you sassed matter-of-factly, angrily inhaling from your cigarette. “I’m looking for a counterpart. What makes you think that you’re competent enough to teach me anything at all?” you inquired with candid hostility, watching him go limp in silent panic.

You’d vowed to treat people with politeness and didn’t care if it wasn’t going well for you anymore. Quite a drastic change of plans, to be frank.

“Oh, I am not claiming that,” Viktor rushed to object, and the way a few strands of hair started shaking treacherously as he wagged his head had almost caused you to crack a pretentious smirk. But he quickly soothed the unkempt curl and proceeded with his explanation, “I was simply told you might need some help. Why the unnecessary attitude?”

“Because you were told wrong,” you practically spat the smoke into his face, lips smacking together with an audible pop. It made his textured nose wrinkle with a fed up sigh, entertaining you with an ungainly attempt of waving that livid cloud away.

“And that’s my fault… how, exactly?” he mumbled with an utterly puzzled glare, and you scoffed in silent rejoicement, leaning slightly closer to divert yourself with more of his emotiveness.

“You should have paid more attention to what Jayce told you,” you jumped over his rhetorical question paying it no mind whatsoever. Though, as you were reminiscing on the events of this exact conversation — your own audacity made you wonder how Viktor managed to refrain from slapping you across the face that very instant. The shitty booze must have turned out not so shitty after all — it sure gave you the nerve, and you were holding onto it a tad bit too tightly.

But your new companion didn’t take that well. His thick eyebrow protruded into a furious arc, lids twitching slightly at the outburst you were so pathetically proud about. Both hands returned to the handle of his cane, as if getting ready to transform it into a weapon — and he leaned his whole body weight on it with a displeased gasp, accented voice obtaining a lower, more threatening edge to it.

He’s sweet, you scoffed, ready to press your forehead against his like an uncivilized animal. It’s not like you were acting much better than that anyway.

Well, at least Jayce didn’t lie about the handsome part.

“I’ll have you know that I was, indeed, paying attention,” he hissed through gritted teeth, “and if you wish to quibble over the words that do not even belong to me — then fine: be my absolute guest, but do not except me to align with your enthusiasm and partake in useless insults.”

He cleared his throat again, evidently reluctant to indulge in whatever spectacle you were so clearly asking for. That man didn’t deserve your resentment, but now you certainly deserved his, and so you backed off, fingers twitching haphazardly as they curdled around your cigarette for one last awkward drag, lashes fluttering with palpable nervousness.

“I was told you needed a tutor — and I sincerely apologize if your request was miscomprehended,” Viktor sighed, and you blinked at him in baffled reverence. Wishing oh so desperately to burn your always looking for trouble tongue with that still somewhat smoldering tobacco stick.

“No, I…” you gasped in response, but Viktor held a soothing hand up, stopping you from puking out more of that guilty incoherent nonsense.

“Please, allow me to finish,” he demanded, and you obeyed — a mere culpable inch away from accidentally swallowing the filter still filling your mouth with a sharp savour of smoke.

And your submission was appreciated right away.

“So, as I was saying,” Viktor returned to his lecture with a distinguished cough, “I’m sorry if your request was miscomprehended. But it certainly wasn’t miscomprehended by me, which makes your reaction somewhat… unfair, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” you yielded, nodding in weak agreement. “Yes, totally unfair.”

“To say the least,” he was quick to add, emphasizing the last word especially heavy.

“To say the least,” you parroted in response — just like a tamed misbehaving brat. And that’s precisely what you were — humbled, put in your place and sorry. You were sorry, and it made you quiver as you timidly chewed on the inside of an already half-eaten cheek, frantically counting the numerous scratches on your shoes. Doing anything to escape the gentle orbs undressing you off your very flesh in an attempt to find something even you doubted was still there: some prudence.

“So, with that being said,” Viktor summarized, and you heard a resonant click of his cane against the concrete, “I suggest you take out your anger on someone who’s responsible for the incorrect wording.”

You dared to abandon your defeated position, head tilting slightly upwards to witness his departure — just as languid as this completely disastrous evening; no offense to Jayce and his special day, of course.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” he smiled, politely nodding at the establishment before you two, “I still ought to wish that someone a happy birthday.”

So that’s how you lose both a battle and a war. He’d just taught you a valuable lesson — and here you were, so appalled to the idea of being tutored. Oh how the tables have turned.

You reached out a hand for him, preliminarily putting out that damned cigarette to the sole of your messy shoe in a chaotic rush. Grazed his shoulder with a fleeting touch — so cowardly unsure if you were even allowed to pamper such luxury in these conditions. But he showed you some mercy — allowed it to linger there, slightly dipped into the curvature of his clavicle, awaiting your next move with a didactic frown.

A look of a man who’d put you in a checkmate before even pulling out a chess board.

“Viktor, I’m sorry,” you muttered with the most sincere remorseful look your face could even master, “I’m terribly sorry, actually. I shouldn’t have—“ but he interrupted you, eyes drifting playfully to the hand still invading his precious privacy.

“Oh, shit,” you cussed under your breath, hastily pulling it back as if it was leprotic, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—“

“Please, continue,” he insisted softly. Gave you a few seconds to finish crumbling into stupid tipsy pieces and stepped back, all of his attention centered precisely on your earnest apology.

Oh, nevermind, someone please scratch the ‘showed you some mercy’ part.

“I was rude,” you confessed (as if it wasn’t obvious enough already). “Unacceptably so. I’m not exactly… good with social cues — but it’s no excuse, I should never have said that. Especially within the first five minutes of meeting you,” the words were flowing out of your mouth so naturally — surprisingly smooth for someone who’d normally take three to five business days to come up with a proper atonement (or even consider the necessity of one whatsoever).

“Do you think I could somehow… make it up to you?” you hit him with your most pitiable arrow, the one you were saving up for special occasions when you really did mean to somehow atone for all the damage, eyes two pretty things seeking his forgiveness with a sporadic, perplexed blink. But they saw none — he’d frowned, hummed in consideration, and then tormented you with silence for just a few more everlasting seconds, making you sink your lips softly into the edge of your nail and scrape some polish off of it. Squinting instantly at the awful, chemical taste — and Viktor finally gave up.

You’d realized it was your first time hearing him laugh much later. It was, indeed, a thing to remember — all raspy, strangely domestic, not malicious or willing to destroy you any further. And yes — technically, he was laughing at you, but if that’s what you’d get every time this man filled the air with that soft laughter — then you may as well become a circus employee just to figure out how to make him emit more of it.

“All is forgiven,” he assured you, shaking his head, “the second you made that face, actually. But no more of that, please. If that’s how you plead — then I’m afraid I might someday forgive you something utterly unacceptable.”

He’s sweet, you sighed, an unsure smile returning plastered across your face once again.

Perhaps you should start listening to Jayce more often.

“But back to your request,” Viktor was quick not to let you turn into a puddle on that still scorched by the sun ground, “a counterpart — is that what you need? Why not join a chess club, then?”

His question didn’t mean any harm, and he obviously just asked it out of sheer curiosity — yet it still made you feel a tad bit demeaned. Not by him, of course, just by the fact those arrogant fucks still dared to coexist without you.

Perhaps they would be willing to reconsider if they saw your behavior tonight?

You sighed, shrugging off his query. “I tried to. They didn’t let me because I don’t have a rating.”

“Really? Well that’s just strange — since when does one need a rating for it?” his confusion was genuine, eyes widened drastically as if he’d just heard the biggest absurdity of his entire life.

“That’s what I said,” you whined in a tone of a natural gossip-girl, almost ready to chain-smoke the entire rest of your pack now that you were reminded of your misery.

“I see,” Viktor hummed, stroking a thumb over the line of his sharp chin in deep scrutiny, “hm, I’m certain I’ve never heard them demand a rating for enrollment before. A club is not a tournament, after all.”

“Wait, are you a member of our chess club?” the realization quickly absorbed you, but Viktor didn’t quite catch on to your astonishment.

“Yes,” he dryly confirmed, “yes, I am. Not that I spend much time there though — those gentlemen are simply… how do I put it politely? Mediocre. Incompetent. I don’t like careless opponents — what’s the point in playing them if you can picture how exactly you can win within seconds?”

Within seconds. You froze in apparent disbelief, trying to figure out whether he’s bluffing or actually being serious, awaiting tensely on something — anything — that might indicate a joke. But not a single muscle on his pale face twitched into a smile — he’d responded with a look as awfully inquisitive as yours, unsure of what exactly you expect him to do.

So he does mean it. In that case, he’s either very full of himself — or these boys are, in fact, that hopeless in chess. And something kept telling you that it most likely was the ladder.

“I’m jealous then, I suppose,” you offered him a safe answer, toying thoughtlessly with your poor, rusty lighter.

“Please don’t be,” he protested with a careful plea. “Envy is a waste of time. You should pursue ways to expand your knowledge — not to contract them with such trivialities.”

Bold of him to assume you might envy his skills. Well, yes — you were definitely beaming with envy, but he didn’t need to know that just yet.

You snorted, almost letting that toxic conceit take over whatever pieces of common sense Viktor had just punched back into you — and his words dwelled, slinking through your skull, filling you not with thirst for vengeance, but with inspiration. It gave you some time to form a decent comeback, so you used it wisely: by delivering precisely that kind of answer, eyes rolling playfully at his discreet lecture.

“I don’t envy your tactics,” you informed him, gracefully holding your head up, “I envy the fact you have someone to show them to.”

And that boy smiled again, forcing your light vertigo to return — but not out of tipsiness or so-called ‘arrogance poisoning’.

“So do you,” he whispered, and watched you derail with the most victorious countenance known to a man. Reminding you nonchalantly that he doesn’t need a single chess piece to have you in a stalemate.

That muggy bar might’ve offered you an experience of being trapped in a figurative, impossibly narrow coffin, but Viktor’s presence was the thing that truly made you feel like an actual cadaver — all empty thoughts, and stiffness, and skipped heartbeats.

But Jayce forgot to mention that your new competitor was also deeply laconic.

“Meet me in the library next… Friday, if you’re available?” he wasn’t generous enough to award you with any more seconds to recover from this exchange, impatiently expecting a confirmation. You could only manage a non-verbal one, nodding weakly at his offer.

“Say… somewhere around noon?” he mused, and you instantly nodded again, waiting obligingly for his next suggestion. What a pleasure it is to do business with you!

“Perfect,” he snatched the words out of your mouth, already half-turned to the bar entrance, “please bring a board, and I shall bring the clocks… Yes, the library should suffice — it’s not like a game of chess requires much conversation either way. Now, please do excuse me — I really need to steal Jayce away for a minute.”

You watched him vanish into that devilish, so utterly unfitting for a man of his kind place; eyes nailed into his back as the crowd of feasting people swallowed your new interlocutor. Letting an excited little breath slip past your open mouth, escorting him with an uncoordinated wave of a shaky hand — a rather silly, excessive gesture since he wasn’t able to see it, and yet it still felt right — like a perfect little farewell to strengthen this newfound friendship with.

That’s how you met your counterpart — or, perhaps, that’s what you used to see in him once.

What you were still oblivious about — is that this man will conquer you in much more capacities than just the game that brought you two together.

⸻

tags (please let me know if you’d like to be added to them) : @zaunitearchives @blissfulip

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x f!reader #arcane fanfic #viktor smut #*throws this thing at you and vanishes*#the cunterpart

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darlingshane · 1 year ago

Text

Salt of the Earth ~ Part 2

Pairing: Michael Berzatto x OFC

Summary: She was Carmy's best friend growing up, and Michael never looked at her as anything other than that until years later when she comes back to Chicago to start over. In the process, she turns his sorry excuse of a life upside down.

Content/Warnings: 18+. Explicit, Friends to lovers, Fluff, Heavy Angst, Smut, HJ, Fingering, P in V, Family Drama, Dysfunctional relationships, Addiction, Alcohol, Hangover, Pets, Pet names, Dialogue heavy, Undisclosed age gap.

Word Count: 7.5k // Chapters 5-7 // AO3 Link.

— Part 1 (Chapters 1-4)

Chapter 5: Eat Humble Pie

One more mistake turns into a lesson learned for Maya.

She climbs into her car before breaking in front of him and drives back home after the party to dwell in her misery.

It was silly of her to make herself available for someone who doesn't take her seriously half of the time. She should have seen it earlier that he's just an asshole, but being blindsided by guys like him is one of her many flaws.

Against her better judgment, she put herself out there for the first time in a long time. He knew that was a huge step for her, and he just had the nerve to dismiss her feelings.

She's not the one to play games with. If Michael can admit that there's something between them, then she's not going to invest more time on this or push for something he doesn't want. Maybe she’s being a little arrogant, it wouldn't be the first time someone told her that, but this wasn’t a one-sided thing. He’s been definitely reeling her in just as much. She felt that every morning she went into the beef before work, every time they went out for drinks, every time he came over, every call, every text… He initiated a lot of those. Who does he think he is to make her feel like she's crazy? Like she made that up in her head? It could be possible, she tries to internalize. Perhaps she latched onto Michael so desperately because he was the only person that made her feel welcomed. It was strange for a long time being back in Chicago and being with him felt like being home.

Her mind jumps back and forth, trying to find a logical explanation. She doesn't find any, but she's sure he has his reasons.

Trying to forget all that and more, it’s not easy.

A week after his birthday, there’s still a part of her that keeps holding onto all those moments and memories they’ve made together. From painting her room, to the day she took care of him when he got his wisdom teeth removed. To all the many nicknames he gave her. And that time, he dog-sat for Coco when Maya went out of town for a couple of days. He’d just sent pics and videos of them playing, so she wouldn’t worry. It’s still fresh in her memory the day he invited her to his Sunday Braciole tradition. They weren’t as frequent as they used to be since Carmy left, but at least two Sundays a month they got together to cook and eat, and just have a good time with friends and family. For the past two months, she never missed one of those Sundays, but it was a hard pass this week. She got a text from Natalie asking if she was okay, that they missed her and Coco, but she was far from okay. Maya just replied with some bullshit about coming down with something.

Many times she’s found herself wanting to pick up the phone and call him as she used to. She willingly had to fight that need every day until it disappeared.

One evening, when she comes home after work, pulling up on the driveway, she spots Michael sitting on her front stoop, having a smoke under the light of the porch. It’s dark and cold and the last thing she wants to do right now is face him, but there’s no way around it.

“Hey,” She mutters, walking up to the door as he puts out his cigarette and stands up.

“Hey, can we talk?” His breath manifests in the air, as he exhales that last puff he took.

“Depends on what you have to say,” Maya crosses her arms against her chest.

“Just wanted to say I’m sorry for being an asshole the other night. I never got to say thank you for the party. That was really nice of you.”

“That's fine, Michael. I'm over it. I got the message,” she says dryly.

“This isn't as easy as you think it is.”

“I think it is. Either you want me or you don't. But you can't string someone along for months, and then make them feel like shit for wanting something more. It's fucked up.”

“Yeah, I agree it's fucked up. I'm… fucked up.”

“I'd say.”

“Hey, you're no picnic either, sweetheart.”

“You're right, I'm not. But at least I'm honest about it. I admit that I can be a little intense and inconsiderate, but I don't try to hide it. You on the other hand hide behind layers and layers of fake smiles and charms and bullshit stories, cause if people were to look closer, they'd see the real Michael. The one that I see.”

“You're also unbelievably obnoxious, did you know that? You don't know shit about me.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Have you even considered my part in all this, huh? You're Carmy's best friend. I knew you as a kid. How am I supposed to look him in the eye when he comes back in a few weeks and say – hey, by the way, I've been seeing Maya… Your Maya. What do you think he’s going to say? He's gonna hate the both of us.”

It's good to know he's considered all those things that didn't cross her mind. Yes, it'd hurt her to know that Carmy could potentially be affected by this. She wouldn't want that either, but no matter what, someone is getting hurt here.

“Well, I haven't thought about it that way, but I was never his to begin with. I’m my own person. I get to decide who I want. Not you, not him, not anyone. And even if something happened between you and me, it’s not like I’d rub it on his face.”

“Maya… You don't understand. You were everything to him.”

“Were. You’ve just said it. It's been a long time since high school, do you really believe that he's still hung up on me?”

“What if he is? What if you two were meant to be together?”

“Saying that out loud over and over won't make it come true. This isn't a fairy tale. And you should know that I haven't really talked to him, not one real conversation, since last year. Last time I heard from him was a text telling me he got the job at Noma. I said hey, congratulations, I'm proud of you… And he never spoke to me again. Told him I was moving back here, and crickets. And you know what? I still love him cause he's Carmy, but I'm not in love with him. I wish it was that easy. It'd be great if people could fall in love with the person they were supposed to be with. But it doesn't work that way, Michael.”

“Look, I know it's hard to understand, but I'm not the right guy for you. I'll never be. I thought we could be friends, but I can tell that's not enough for you, is it?”

“No, it isn't. If you feel that way, you should just go. It’s cold. I’m tired. And I should…” Defeated, she vaguely gestures at the front door before climbing the porch's steps.

“It hurts for me too, you know?” He mumbles as she unlocks the door.

“How’s that my problem?” She scoffs, incredulous at the gall he has of driving up there just to cause her more grief, and guilt-trip her. At least that is how it seems right now to her. “You’re the one that is too scared to feel anything real. I told you how I feel. I kissed you, for Christ’s sake! Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”

“Maybe if you had stayed away from me, this would have never happened.”

“Are fucking serious right now?” she glances over her shoulder, letting her blood instantly come to a boiling point. “You gonna put this on me? This is just as much of your fault as it is mine. You knew that I was having a hard time adjusting, that I missed my friends, that I couldn't even turn to my family, and you took advantage of that. Go fuck yourself, Michael! Take your damn pills and go get high like you do every night to forget you're a fucking loser!”

Maya doesn't give him a chance to respond. She slams the door shut, turns on the light, and closes her eyes for a second as Coco comes out of her room to welcome her. The dog whines, happily wagging her tail, circling around Maya's boots.

Leaning down to pet her dog, she places her bag down on the floor. Coco lowers her ears as Maya holds her head and scratches her head.

“I'm so sorry I yelled, baby. C’mere,” she hugs her neck tight, taking some extra comfort from her pup cuddles and kisses for a moment until they both hear a shy knock on the door.

Hoping he’d just leave, she closes her eyes again and ignores it.

It’s worthless.

He knocks twice again.

And again.

“Maya? Open the door… Please. I’m… I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m a fucking loser. Let me try again… Please, I didn’t mean…”

“What do you say, should we open?” She asks Coco as she tilts her head to the door.

“Maybird. Mayhem. Can you hear me? Maya Papaya?”

It’s crazy to even consider going for round two, but she’s like a moth to a flame, unable to escape the appeal of that alluring heat.

Drawing a fortifying breath, she stands up and hesitantly unlocks the door.

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”

“I'm a lost cause. Can I come in?”

“Are you going to behave?”

“I promise.”

She lets him set foot inside to be warmly welcomed by Coco hoisting her front paws up to his chest, wagging her tail, sticking her head out to lick his face.

“Hey, Coco girl. Have you missed me?” He pets her fondly.

“Coco, get down. He doesn't deserve kisses right now,” Maya sighs, gesturing at the dog, and she begrudgingly obeys, getting down and finding her bed in the corner of the living room. “Okay, say what you gotta say? You have one minute.”

“That's not a lot.”

“You're wasting time.”

“Straight up. Alright… I came here to apologize, and I blew it cause you're right I'm a loser. I uh… I thought that by pushing you away was doing you a favor, but I can see now that's not how it works.”

“No, it doesn't,” Maya says firmly.

“Truth is that I don't know what I’m doing… I thought that if I came here and gave you some closure, we could just move on. But I'm looking at you right now, and I don't think I'll be able to do that. It'll be pretty hard to forget about you after everything…”

“Stop trying to sabotage yourself. Live a little. Isn't that what you told me that day when you helped me unpack? Why don't you take that advice for yourself?”

“Because I'm a piece of shit and I don't deserve you.”

“That's not true.”

“It is. You said outside… For the longest time I've been pretending to be something I'm not, that I'm not sure who I am anymore. I thought you fell for that version of me that isn't real. But you didn't, you saw through all my bullshit, and you fell for me anyway… Why?”

“Why? Because I'm probably out of my mind.” She can't help but scoff a little. “I keep falling for all the wrong guys. But believe it or not, you're not the worst I’ve dealt with, Michael. You're not perfect. Nobody is. You say you’re pretending you’re something you’re not… that must be exhausting. I can see it's catching up with you already…”

“It is exhausting.”

“So stop doing that.”

“It's not that simple. I'm not you.”

“The best things in life are hardly simple, hon. It'll hurt like a motherfucker to undo all the damage, but once you make it to the other side, it'll be worth it. I've been there. I’m not perfect, either.”

“I think you're pretty perfect to be honest.”

“I've done plenty of shit that says otherwise.”

“Yeah, but you admit it. You're not afraid of putting it out there, even if people don't like it. That takes guts.”

“Well, I've realized that you can't please everyone all the time.”

“You should have been a shrink, you know that?”

“No, I'm not very patient with people. That's why I work with animals, remember?”

“You've been with me. It's been over a minute, and you haven't thrown me out yet.”

“Cause I'm a sucker. And beyond all reason, I believe everything you've just said.”

“So, what do we do now?”

“You're asking me?”

“Yeah, you're the one with all the insight.”

“Whatever happens now it's up to you, Michael. I’ve already forgiven you. You say you don’t wanna be with me but refuse to leave, and come in here for an encore. What did you expect from me?”

“I guess I keep hoping you’d change your mind about me. It’d be easier to leave if you hated me.”

“Do you want me to lie to you and say that I despise you?”

“No, unless you do.”

“Well, prepare to stay here all night, cause as much as I want to, I'd never hate you. So, it's just a matter of, do you wanna stay or go?”

He takes a deep breath and surrenders, “I… I think I wanna stay. If that’s okay.”

“That’s okay,” she exhales softly, echoing his words.

Neither of them are sure how to go on from there.

They’ve said so much, and yet there is still so much left unsaid. But the fact that he’s stopped letting that inner turmoil of shame and guilt keep him from her is a big step in the right direction. It grounds him, and gives him some peace of mind knowing that she’s looked him in the eye, and said — yes, I know everything about you, and I still want you.

Maya accepts who he is with an open heart, mind, and arms. She doesn’t seem fazed by it because she’s the most powerful force he’s ever encountered. He’s finally willing to give into what was meant to happen all along. He's tired of fighting himself. And if someone like her can find something redeeming about him, maybe he can try to be better for her.

“Can I…” hesitant, he takes a step closer. “Can I kiss you?”

“Only if you want to.”

“I wanna,” he barely mumbles below the sound of a breath. “I shouldn't have pulled away the other night. I understand if you-”

“Shh, just kiss me,” Maya's cuts him out. “Don't overthink it, Berzatto.”

“Okay.”

Drawing a shy smile, his head leans forward, as one of his hands cup her jaw.

“God, forgive me. You're so beautiful, Maybird,” he utters an inch away from her lips before sealing them shut.

This time, he closes his eyes, quiets the voices in his head, the ones that tell him he doesn't deserve her. In between the cracks of the walls he's put up, something else emerges. The relentless desire that comes with the same force of a waterfall. He lets it take the wheel as he savors the thrill that are her plump lips. Tenderly she kisses him back. Links her hands to his neck, begging him to keep kissing her, to consume her, to take her last breath. And he does. He delves deeper. Sends his tongue to soothe that aching that made a home in his chest. He's never felt his heart beat louder than now. It's like he's been dead for years, and she's bringing him alive kiss after kiss after kiss after kiss…

Chapter 6: Life is a bowl of cherries

Like most things in his life, Michael has a tendency to sabotage his relationships right before things start to get serious. He never follows through, a lot of people would agree. Perhaps, it isn't as much of a tendency but a result from his dependency to something else entirely.

The commitment to his work, the pressure to provide for his family has driven him to a very dangerous path. It’s never been more clear as it is now. His eyes are wide open. Forcefully. And for the first time ever, he’s willing to admit he has a problem that he can’t solve on his own.

It’s way past time to face the music, and he’s scared shitless to put that into words. Once the truth comes out, everyone will know how much of a failure he is.

He and Maya still haven't tackled that issue. She's not oblivious to it. She's the first one who saw that something wasn't right. She called him out on it and felt like a dagger laced in shame poked into his heart. Like most addicts, he never thought anyone would notice, he believed he was going so careful. But Maya Silva is not just anyone. She's insightful as she is sharp. She could spot his bullshit from miles away if she wanted to.

Having someone putting that into words was probably one of the hardest truths he had to hear about himself. He didn't realize it was getting out of hand until she verbalized that. They didn't touch it beyond that. While she's not a stranger to challenges, this is out of her depth. As much as it is for him.

While he got rid of a handful of demons, there are still hundreds that haunt him. They make all his fears come true the day after their kiss…

In an attempt to make a better man out of himself for her by breaking the habit, he tries to go just one day without the comfort of reaching to his hidden stash. He manages to go a few hours in the morning without it, but eventually, it becomes harder to go through the day to stay sober. He takes a lower dose, which is an achievement on its own, but it only shows how much he was relying on that.

Michael desperately wants to follow through for once, and makes the executive decision of not using while he’s with her. He’s aware that trading one addiction for another is not the best way to deal with it, but when they're together, it's easy to forget and ignore all those demons making noise in his head. It's when he's alone that he feels that devious hand trying to pull him into the dark well of desperation that his name carved on the walls.

At this moment, there's another different hand, a cold one, holding his own as they walk between rows of Christmas trees while Maya surveys each of them to choose one to bring home.

It’s the first week of December. They’ve easily slipped back to hanging out as much as they used to. And officially, they’ve been out a handful of times since that night he showed up at her door. They've been talking a lot and taking it slow, which feels nice for a change. Sometimes he wishes he could rush through all this part to see what the future holds for them. Thinking about the future in general has always been scary. However, thinking about a future with her gives him just a sliver of hope that things will get better.

Lacing his fingers with hers, he captures the glimpse of a smile as she keeps hauling his ass deeper into the tree farm. They had driven here, an hour out of the city, so she could cut her own tree, cause she read it was better for the environment. There’s no more fight left in him to chase away this overwhelming warmth, and new kind of love that envelops him. If she’d ask him to fly up to Mars, he’d do it.

His other hand is occupied by the end of Coco's leash that walks by his other side. The dog stops as Maya comes to halt to point at the chosen tree.

“This one.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. This one will fit perfectly in the living room without taking too much space.”

“Alright. Let’s haul it out.”

With the help of a saw they carefully cut the trunk at the base and then, aided by one of the farmers, then sleeve it in a net and load it into the truck.

It's a nice drive with his two favorite girls. Coco sits between Maya's feet and props her head on her thigh while she's pampered with lots of caresses and ear scratches. The dog quickly falls asleep like a baby and doesn't open her eyes until the truck has pulled up on the driveway.

They bring Coco inside, unload the tree, and put it on the stand. As Michael busies himself whipping out something for dinner, Maya brings the decorations she bought earlier and starts hanging them on the tree.

It's a pretty damn picture of the two of them, sitting on the couch, sharing food in front of the fire. He wishes he could frame that moment when she glances at him with that vivid glint in her eye that makes his heart melt.

Maya climbs onto his lap after putting the dishes away. Sitting sideways, her head pillows his shoulder, while his arm curls around her waist. One of her hands holds his bearded jaw, having her fingers softly petting his hairs.

“Thanks for helping me today,” she utters, enjoying his embrace and the cozy decorated room.

“Anytime, Maybird,” his palm slides over her legging-covered thigh.

Maya lifts her head and presses her curved lips sweetly on his cheek.

“We should go on a drive sometime again. It was nice.”

“Yeah, it was. Maybe for New Year's.”

“It's a date,” Michael squeezes her knee as her head leans to the side to capture his eyes.

Maya throws one of those disarming smiles that drives completely out of his mind. He holds the back of her head and seizes the temptation of her lips he’s come to know so well in a matter of days. He revels in the way their mouths fit together like two puzzle pieces.

They lose track of time while their tongues swirl slowly to the same cadence, savoring every second of it as if it was the last. Their arms are loosely locked around the other when Maya swifts her position to straddle his thighs instead. Her body dangerously rezones, sitting over his crotch. His adventurous hands travel to her ass, while the lock of their lips remains strong. He can’t help but pull her hips flush against his as the kiss heats up.

They've never gone further than second base until this point. Though they agreed not to rush into anything, tonight might be the day. He wants to. And so does she. But there's still that part of him that's holding him back from crossing that line with her. Maya's special. He's known her for so long, he wouldn't forgive himself from ever hurting her.

“I thought we were taking it slow.” At the most inconvenient moment, he breaks the kiss and takes his hands away from her when his body demands more of her.

“We’re making out… slowly.”

“Not anymore.”

“Do you have a problem with that?” A sly grin flashes across her face as one of her eyebrows arch.

“Don't look at me like that, Maybird.” He throws his head back on the edge of the couch.

“Like what? I’m not doing anything,” she laughs and leans her face closer to his. “Is it that bad to want you? Don’t you want me?”

“Of course I want you, sweetheart.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that doing this with you feels pretty fucking weird.”

“Why?”

“Because I knew you as a kid. You were practically a baby when we met.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said, Bear. First, stop thinking about me as a kid. That's creepy. Second, you aren't much older than me, Mister. And third, do I look like a fucking baby to you now? Or… Do I look like a babe?”

“A babe. Definitely a babe,” he emphasizes, lifting his head and running his tongue across his lips, letting his eyes roam the beautiful curves of her body hugged in a tight t-shirt and a pair of leggings.

“So treat me like a babe. Fuck going slow. Kiss me like you mean it, goddammit! Stake your claim. Grab me. Touch me like the world is about to end and the last thing you wanna do is spend your last dying moments with me.” She demands so passionately, it sends a chill through his body.

He swallows, as his eyes become glossy in lust. Michael grabs her chin to keep her face still. Chasing that desire, he ravages her mouth like he’s never done before. Drinking her in, letting his tongue run wild as his hands go down to grip at the curve of her hips. He unabashedly handles her body to press harder on him, over his growing bulge, that makes her moan into his mouth every time it hits the right spot.

Maya is beyond pleased to have him finally give in to that shared crave that only grows bigger by the second. He grows bigger even quicker once he’s jumped over that line.

Without breaking from his eager kiss, Maya stops moving on his lap and sends her hands to undo the fly of his jeans. Beneath the denim fabric, she can tell how his erection strains, begging to be released by the kindness of her hand. He groans a couple of curses into her mouth when she peels back his underwear.

Maya doesn’t have to look down to know how big he is. Her palm curves around his swollen cock. It fills up both her fists as she stacks one on top of the other. There’s some wetness already that she spreads down to the underside that helps her jerk him off nicely.

Michael loses momentarily his ability to breath and parts from her lips to draw some air. He captures her eyes that hold a darker shade as both of her fists tighten around him. After a moment, he glances at her diligent, handy work that might have him come earlier than he’d want to. Michael hasn’t been touched like this in a long time. At least not with someone he had a connection as deep as this.

“Does it feel good?” Asks Maya with a grin splitting her face, as she shifts on his thighs to straddle just one and rub herself against the toned muscles of his leg.

“So fucking good,” he says under his breath as his head falls back, clutching his fingers to her moving waist. “I… fuck… fuck me… Are you riding my leg?”

“Uh-huh. Do you want me to stop?”

“Hell no. That’s…” his breathing keeps faltering as she picks up the pace. “You getting all wet for me?”

“You have no idea, Bear,” she purrs over his lips.

All his blood flows down to fire consuming his center, letting him dangle from one lousy thread.

“Don't have to hold it. It's okay if you wanna come.”

“It's just… I don't want you to think…”

“Shh. There's nothing to prove. Just close your eyes, and relax. Let me give this to you.”

Following her guidance, his mind clears completely as he closes his eyes and stops clenching every muscle of his body to let her bring him to ecstasy. His hips buck up a few times. And in just a few more pumps, his cock twitches in her hold before covering her hands in the warm spill of his orgasm.

Maya’s hips come to a halt. She tenderly kisses his exposed Adam's apple without letting go of his hardness that still throbs for a moment as the orgasm ebbs. Then she wipes her hands on her leggings while his mouth finds hers. He presses a couple of soft kisses at the corner of her mouth as his breathing recovers.

Michael cradles the back of her head and pulls it down to his shoulder. He plays with her hair, while she listens to his heartbeat as it evens.

“I’m gonna make it up to you,” he says under a breath.

“You don’t gotta.”

“I wanna. Just need a sec.”

“Okay.” She smiles to herself, hugging his chest as he descends from his high.

Once his strength returns, he’s seizing her lips again at a gentle pace. His tongue swims in that endless well of affection she offers freely.

When he's ready, he picks Maya up and carries her to the bedroom to finish what she's started. Clothes are quickly discarded in the dim lit room they both painted together. When he frees her from her leggings and underwear, she's still wet.

He's dumbstruck by the beauty of all her, all bare just for him, laying as the most precious offering.

Smiling bashfully, he props one elbow on the bed, and lies by her side. His fingers gently slide across the surface of her inner thigh. Her skin forms goosebumps beneath his palm as they ascend closer to her groin.

Aiming for that sweet spot between her legs, he locks eyes with her and watches her expression as they land on her folds. Drawing a breath, her chest swells as he tenderly craws circles around her clit. The arousal wrapping around his fingers and the sighted moans he coaxes out of her mouth makes his cock harden again.

“A little harder,” she demands between pants, placing her hand on top of his to show him exactly how hard he can go.

“Like that?”

Maya nods and then holds his bearded jaw with both hands, pulling his face closer to capture his mouth, while his fingers move quicker. She jolts at the sensation of two of them suddenly slipping into her opening. He keeps his thumb steady massaging her clit at the same time. The delicious mixture of movement makes her core thread in a tight knot of pleasure that begs to be untied.

“Michael, baby… I'm almost…” His name has never sounded as good as the way she cries to it the closer she gets to the edge.

“I know, sweetheart. Come for me, beautiful.”

His fingers slip in and out gradually faster until her body is left shuddering by the final impact of that sweet orgasm. The soft fabric of her skin buzzes beneath his palm as she rides that wave of pleasure that takes her to a higher plane. All her muscles seize up for a split second, and then her body becomes jelly.

Inhaling a long breath, Maya turns to the side and curls against him, hugging his torso.

They stay in comfortable silence for a long moment, enjoying the calmness of being wrapped around the other.

Maya kisses his neck softly while his fingers run up and down her spine.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you are like this?” He whispers.

“Yeah, I think you did,” her head tilts up to look at him.

One of his fingers draws her jaw, “I mean, you’ve always been stunning, but I’ve never seen you glow like this. It's like staring into the sun.”

“You're so fucking corny.” She smiles shyly before pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “You look different, too. More relaxed.”

“The power of orgasm.”

“That must be it. When was the last time you had sex?” She blurts out, and regrets immediately after seeing his eyes slightly widen. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Sweetheart, you can ask me anything now. I mean, we’re both fucking naked. It can’t get more intimate than this.”

“That’s true.”

“To answer your question… the last time I had sex was a few months ago. It wasn’t anything serious. There was this girl in my building, we used to hang out sometimes. And then… then there was you, and I couldn’t…” he doesn’t have to finish for her to grasp the concept that he couldn’t be with anyone else but her.

“Well… If you’re up for it, we could go all the way.”

“I suppose we could. We’ve come this far… Why stop now, right? It’s the end of the world, after all.”

“Right,” she laughs, pressing her lips to his shoulder.

Feeling more energized, she guides him to lay on his back, stretches his arms above his head while she mounts his hips. Leaning over, she nibbles his bottom lip as her ass rotates over his dick, getting it to become hard-rock again with such little friction.

“Are you clean, you know, STI wise?” she mumbles over his mouth.

“That is the sexiest thing anyone has ever asked me.”

“So, are you?”

“I am. You?”

“Clean and safe, if you’re wondering. That’s sexy to me.”

“Bet it is,” he chuckles, grabbing her ass and pressing her harder against his building erection.

She moves like an enchantress, cursing every inch of his body with her charms to use for her pleasure. He welcomes it. He’s never felt this excited in years, and that’s all she is. Her impulsivity, her passion, her vitality… It's the perfect cocktail. She adds all of her to it, doesn’t leave behind an ounce of anything. It’s all or nothing. That’s why he easily falls in love with her more every day. He wants to drink her all in, absorb every drop until she becomes part of him.

When she sinks onto his cock for the first time, he’s mesmerized by the way she looks at him with nothing but radiant warmth and lust. Her hands brace his chest, as she slowly takes him all the way down. It feels like his world spins on its axis as she experiments with her hips. First, waving gently, then when she’s used to being filled with him, she starts bouncing on top of him.

Nothing ever felt more right than having her like this. Her skin melts beneath his palms, and all he wants to do is explore every corner of her body. She throws her head back and moans at the air as her hips go back to rocking back and forth when they get tired.

Michael slings an arm around her waist, pulls her down against his chest, and gingerly swifts her body around to be on top. His thrusts suddenly come sharp and measured, hitting all the right spots within her tender walls, earning a few good cries mixed with his name. He holds one of her breasts in his palm, as he madly makes love to her. He feels her nails scratching roughly along his back as they both swim closer to the edge. There’s a force taking over his hips that pushes him to his limit as if it was a matter of life or death. It is. At this moment, nothing matters more than chasing that ultimate reward. He makes it his life mission. It consumes everything in the room, makes his whole body tremble in ecstasy as he ascends with her closer to that pinnacle.

He doesn’t stop until she’s left breathless with her body shaking underneath him. And this time, he can hold on for just one more second till she comes apart to let go and have all his seed spilled inside her.

This becomes their most memorable night to date. That room becomes their safe haven to explore and love each other in ways they haven’t done before. They disappear into a daze of sleeping, fucking, and repeat. It becomes primordial and sacred. He finds new ways to worship her body. She finds new ways to reach into his soul, carve herself deeper.

Chapter 7: That's the way the cookie crumbles

Michael is sitting on the couch, absentmindedly surfing between channels on Maya's TV when Coco sprints down the staircase, anxiously whining after hearing a string of loud popping sounds outside. The dog hops onto his lap with her tail between her legs. She lowers her head, tucking it beneath his arm, trying to make herself as small as possible. He glances out the window to see a few kids playing with novelty fireworks across the street.

“Are you scared of fireworks, Coco girl?” He pets her head softly. “Shh, It's okay, baby.”

Maya's out tonight with some of her coworkers she's made friends with, and he's decided to stay with Coco. She doesn't need babysitting, but he likes staying here. To be honest, he's been sleeping at Maya's most nights since they started having sex.

He soothes the dog with lots of cuddles and a couple of treats until the kids go back home and the big scaredy-cat pit bull finally stops trembling.

They both doze off for a while, and he's awakened by the ringtone of his phone when Maya calls him to ask to be picked up. She said she had a few drinks and didn't want to drive. So, he takes Coco with him and drives to a bar that is only a few blocks away from his own apartment.

Maya is more wasted than she sounded on the phone. Her friends are only halfway there. He makes sure that all her friends have someone to give them a ride before taking Maya home. Instead of driving back to Oak Park, he decides to take her to his apartment.

It concerns him to see her in this state. She barely mumbles a word, but he can clearly see that there's something going on that she can't bring herself to say. Michael shouldn't judge. God knows how many times he's drowned his sorrows in a bottle, but this doesn't seem like her at all. She was so excited earlier to go out and now there's nothing but sadness plastered all over her face.

Upon their arrival, she vomits everything she had drank earlier and some more. Michael holds her hair and soothes her back while she leans over the toilet until there's nothing more left in her. He dutifully takes care of Maya and brings her some juice to settle her stomach after getting her to lay down on his bed.

In the morning, he quietly slips out of bed, takes Coco out on a walk and feeds her before Maya even wakes up. By the time they return, Maya is already up. She's taken a shower, and now she's just sitting on the couch, wearing one of his shirts, sulking and eating some crackers she found in the kitchen cabinets.

“Morning, sweetheart.” He kisses the top of her head while Coco goes around the couch, wagging her tail, demanding some attention.

“Hey,” Maya greets back, glancing at him while holding the dog's face and kissing her nose. “Was she good last night?”

“Yeah, she's the best.” Michael sits down on the coffee table and pats the dog's spine as she lays down on the floor. “Did you know she's scared of fireworks?”

“Yeah, she's not a fan.”

Maya tucks a knee to her chest, catching Michael's vexed look that creases his brow as he props his elbows on his knees and tensely links his fingers together.

“What?” She asks dryly.

“I didn't say anything.”

“There's clearly something in your mind. I can tell.”

“Of course you do.”

“C'mon. Out with it, Berzatto. What is it?”

“Nothing. I just… I'm worried about you. You didn't seem like yourself last night.”

“Bear, you don’t have to worry about me. I just took a few more shots than I should have.” She shrugs it off with little importance. “But I'm fine… Well, you know, besides the killing headache and the hangover. I shouldn’t have drank that much.”

“Then, why did you?”

“I don't know… Why does anyone drink at all?” She annoyingly deflects.

“You seemed okay when you called. But when I picked you up… You could barely stand.”

“Look, I'm sorry that I called you. I'll think twice next time.”

“It's not that, sweetheart. I loved that you called… I'm just trying to understand what happened.”

“People drink. Big deal. I went out with some friends and had fun. That's it. Why are you grilling me about this? It's a little hypocritical coming from you, don't you think?”

“I'm not grilling you. I'm trying to figure out what happened. It’s obvious you're trying to hide something.”

“Yeah? Tell that to your stash drawer. You wanna lecture me about drinking? Start explaining why you need that many pills.”

“You went through my drawers?”

“I was looking for a shirt.”

“You know what? It doesn't matter, cause we're not talking about me right now.”

“How convenient. You're the one that has a real problem. I was upset last night and I got wasted. The end. I'm not going to drink tonight or tomorrow or the day after that, and probably it won't happen again, cause I know my limits. Do you know yours?” She jabs sharply, meaner than he's ever heard her.

Michael hangs his head down, shame washing all over him, stares at the floor for a long moment before answering.

“I wasn't trying to start a fight or lecture you. I just wanted to know if there was something bothering you– I guess it was just a matter of time before you found… You're right… I'm… I have a problem. But I don't use when I'm with you… I…”

Maya stands up and faces the window. Looking outside, she comes to realize how tactless that was on her part. Tears slip out of the corner of her eye. She never wanted to confront Michael like this. Let alone let her own insecurities get the best of her.

“I'm sorry. I didn’t mean…” She wipes her tears, and picks up the phone from the table.

She unlocks it and presses play and speaker for him to listen to a voice message she received yesterday. In it, the voice of her sister suggests that Maya should consider not attending Christmas dinner to avoid upsetting their mother like the year before. The message goes on about their-sister-in-law being pregnant, about to give birth around the holidays, and that she doesn’t need that added stress to that night, since they’re the ones hosting this year somewhere in bumfuck, Utah. She babbles for a while about how Maya has made her situation even worse for herself when she decided to move back to Chicago and hide it for months; along with a string of excuses that she's heard many times before.

They've always been subtle with their dismissal, saying it was fine if she had other plans. But that call is the first time they've openly asked her to refrain from attending a family function.

“I got it during dinner and I just… I don’t know, it’s like a switch flipped in my head, and I started throwing back shots to forget… I wasn’t trying to hide it. I just didn’t want to talk about it or think about it right now.” She explains, placing the phone, and then paces the length of the living room a couple of times.

“I get it,” Michael sighs and stands up, running his palm over his beard, putting a stop to her feet.

“I’m sorry that I went through your stuff and that I used that against you… I shouldn’t have. That was a low blow.”

“Guess we're both kinda messed up. I wasn't trying to hide it, either. You already know that I'm fucked up. It's just… We've been in this bubble and I wanted to enjoy that for a little longer before having to deal with all that, y'know?”

“I know,” her hand gently cups his bearded jaw. “When you're ready to talk about it… I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. Bubble or not. I… I've never been happier with anyone, Michael. It might be incredibly naive and idealistic of me to say this, but I feel like if we're honest with each other, there's nothing we can't face.”

“I feel that too, Maybird.”

Michael holds that same hand that's placed over his beard and prints a soft kiss on her palm, tickling her skin.

Then, he releases it and perches his hands on her waist as Maya links her arms around his neck.

“What are you going to do with the whole don't come home for Christmas thing?”

“I don't know. Part of me just wanna show up and ruin their night. But I know if I stay, they'll see that they're just as miserable with or without me. They just need someone to blame for their misfortunes, and I’m it.”

“Hey, maybe you could come have dinner with us like you used to.”

“Christmas at the Berzattos? I'm not sure which one is worse.”

“C'mon, they both suck. It's our first Holiday since we started this, it'd be nice to spend it together, don't you think?”

“I guess… I could think about it.”

#jon bernthal #michael berzatto #michael berzatto x ofc #the bear #the bear fanfiction #jon bernthal fanfiction #michael berzatto x reader #fanfiction #darlingwrites #salt of the earth

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voxasks · 7 months ago

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( i desperately need to say this here because i doubt the folks back at my main will understand the pain, but ; if vox ends up just being a privileged, spoiled, unredeemable brat for the whole of hazbin and didn’t actually come from humble beginnings and doesn’t actually work hard for his company i am quitting / hj because like … why would you throw away the potential to make a zuko 2.0 out of this man like he has all the makings of quite possibly the best redemption arc for a businessman ever … )

#vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #vox hazbin #hazbin vox #vox headcanons #hazbin hotel #hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel 2024 #hazbin fandom #hazbin hotel fandom #.( voxasks ) ooc

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bugsysaboy · 1 year ago

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Kite Headcanons <3

ALRIGHT THIS ONE IS FOR MY FELLOW KITE STANS!!! all 5 of us!!!!

No content warnings, sfw

-has the worst appetite known to man /hj

-he usually just eats soup

-he can easily be thrown off by the texture of certain foods (certified jello hater!)

-although, honestly, if he's hungry enough he'll eat anything.

-autism be damned, my boy can work a grill campfire.

-anxious as FUCK in restaurants. He's too awkward to order and will just s t a r e for too long unintentionally at the waitstaff.

-also will be awkward about starting his meal and will just hork it down when no one is looking. (Look, he grew up on the streets, eating fast so no one takes his food is just a hold over.)

-REALLY GOOD CANDID PHOTOS BUT DO NOT ASK THIS MAN TO POSE! HE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT HE'S DOING!

-you know that meme that's the person doing the half a heart with their hand and the other person has a thumbs up? ...yeah.

-ACTUALLY THAT BEING SAID he's really handsome when caught off guard, but when he's actually engaging in conversation with someone he's kinda funny looking? Like he'll suddenly be aware of how he's carrying himself and maintaining eye contact and he will over correct.

-This man has no game!!! This man can neither pull nor flirt! 29 years old and even the idea of holding hands gets him flustered.

-on top of this if he's romantically interested in someone he's really prone to just avoiding them.

-KITE AND CRAZY SLOTS IS JUST MANZAI! KITE IS THE STRAIGHT MAN AND CRAZY SLOTS IS THE FUNNY MAN! KITE SAYING "ah, bad roll" AND GRIPING ABOUT CRAZY SLOTS IS JUST A BIT TO HIM! HE THINKS IT'S HILARIOUS BUT NOBODY SEES THIS.

-dad jokes and puns all day everyday

-also he can actually be pretty chatty, like don't get me wrong when he's really focused he'll probably just shut up but during downtime? Around a campfire? He loves to spin a yarn or talk about his work.

-He also loves to hear about what others are passionate about!

-gets a general feel for people really quickly- he'll open up to people he gets good vibes off of pretty fast, but others he's more iffy on he may keep things cordial. This can, however, lead to snap judgements about people that might not be always correct.

-excellent pickpocket, now that he has a stable income through being a hunter he won't use this ability often...

-okay might do it to prank someone

-...or humble them.

-Met Ging when he was 15 and Ging was 18

-if he sets an alarm he somehow always manages to wake up just before it goes off

-hammock conoisseur 😌

-if he was in the real world he'd be Russian. (This is literally just based off of vibes and some edit an artist made of Kite running to Russian hardbass.)

-thinks it's really funny to say "have you considered..." to someone and when they ask him to elaborate he just says "...just... have you considered."

-loves sunflowers, loves sunflower seeds

-likes to keep a spare scarf handy in case someone needs it

-makes the crazy slots noise when he's really trying to concentrate

-favorite candy is saltwater taffy

-I like to imagine that he got the idea for crazy slots because of a boardwalk carnival in the town he grew up in. The carnies knew that Kite could win any of the games they had, no matter how rigged, it was uncanny.

-...probably used the plushies he won as pillows, maybe with the smaller ones he'd let his dogs play with.

-AND YES, HIS DOGS ALL HAD NAMES. ALEXEI, BORIS, SERGEI, PUSHKIN, FYODOR JUST TO NAME A FEW

-Favorite author is Dovstoevsky

-legitimately does not remember where he got his hat from, it's just kinda always been there, you know?

-he's not super focused on material goods and he doesnt really like receiving gifts (exceptions are made for anything handmade or a really cool rock.)

-...call him pretty and he'll fold

#hxh headcanons #kite hxh #hxh kite #hxh kite headcanons #hunter x hunter #hxh #hxh kaito #kaito hxh #hunter x hunter headcanons

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starseungs · 2 years ago

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➳ this is how to be in love with you. hjs

pairing — han jisung x gn!reader

synopsis — dating han jisung was something you had never expected to happen, but now you wouldn't have it any other way.

genre/s — fluff. and i actually mean it this time. (a pinch of angst at the start but its over quick) • 2.1k words

warning/s — cursing, mentions of drinking

note — tbh i wrote this with a fever and dont know wth im writing aside from the fact that im so in love with han jisung it physically hurts

It was almost frightening how easy it was to fall in love with Han Jisung.

Who would've thought that the cute part-timer at the convenience store across from your apartment building would have such a huge impact on your relatively boring life? You certainly didn't, and yet his presence alone still hit you hard like a truck.

Everything started on one particularly hard day that ended with you fighting back salty tears in the midst of your dimly lit room. It was not the best sight, nor will it ever be, despite the shimmery streaks of moonlight seeping into the space in a pathetic attempt to provide lighting around you. The clear night sky would've been beautiful to gaze at if only it didn't remind you that your day would be ending soon without a single positive thing happening in the entirety of its hours. You were so so tired and wanted nothing more than to sleep until the sun rose for another day—a fresh new start for you to leave the past behind like you've done just this morning. But it seemed like fate had other plans that prompted you to storm out of your apartment in spite-filled rage.

Admittedly, you didn't have a plan at that time—only knowing you'd be damned if you continued to swallow your frustration alone. The weather outside was average at best; there was nothing too special going on. However, it was for that exact reason that the fluorescent "open" sign of the humble convenience store right across the street seemed to attract your eyes more than it ever did before. And who were you to say no to its obvious invitation? Beggars couldn't be choosers, after all, and you desperately needed something, anything, to distract you until the day officially came to an end.

So here you were, curiously slipping inside the store to find anything that might interest you. You faintly registered the chime of the door when you stepped inside and the polite greeting of whoever was behind the cashier at the back of your mind as your sight immediately zeroed on those eye-catchingly green bottles of fun.

It was just what you needed.

You hurriedly snatched a few bottles of soju with childish glee, already thinking about how perfect this was to end your less than ideal day. Maybe you could still sneak in some enjoyment in the remaining minutes until midnight—not that you thought drinking your problems away was exactly good, but it was certainly better than bottling up your sadness when you could open another type of bottle instead. It was an okay plan, or at least in your books, it was.

"That's quite a few bottles you've got there."

The sudden voice startled your train of thought, bringing your focus back to the real world. "Wait, shit, sorry if I scared you," the voice continued in a panic. "I didn't mean to, I swear. Damn, I'm not even supposed to comment on a customer's purchase."

You blinked dazedly at the person standing in front of you. When you raised your head to find a face to connect the voice with, you didn't know, but you quickly found yourself wishing you had done so earlier.

Because, wow. That face was very attractive.

"Oh, uh—it's fine," you shook your head lightly in an attempt to stop blatantly ogling at the guy. "You're good."

Unfortunately, that only seemed to send him into another spiral of misplaced guilt since he threw out a sudden offer of, "I'll give you a discount."

Your eyes practically bulged out of their sockets at the sentence that came out of his mouth. "What? No! You don't have to, really!" was your hasty reply, to which the guy only hummed as if it were no big deal.

"Would you let me do it if I say it's because I find you cute?"

"I'm sorry, come again?"

You watched as his eyes widened comically, almost like he didn't expect those words to be said out loud—and if you were to say, that might actually be the case. "Okay, yeah, that totally backfired," he exhaled shakily; you could almost hear him screaming internally. Honestly, you couldn't blame him. You would too. "This must be so creepy—I'll place these in a bag and get out of your hair in a moment."

After a few more seconds, the situation finally dawned on you. "Hold on," you wheezed like you just heard the funniest shit ever. "Are you seriously hitting on me right now?"

"No! I mean, yes? Kind of?" The guy ended up groaning in embarrassment at his own answer, running a hand through his hair while awkwardly avoiding your eyes. His actions were oddly charming, forming an unconscious grin on your face. "I meant it when I said I find you cute. You don't have to say anything, though. Just take it as a compliment or something."

"Why thank you, kind sir," was your amused response before composing yourself and giving him a genuine smile. "I needed that."

He snorts at that. "With five bottles of soju? Who would've guessed?"

"I suppose you're not wrong," you went along with his observation, eyes trailing along the bottles he had just finished placing in a plastic bag. "Also, what the hell was I thinking? I can't finish all of this tonight."

"You can give some of them to me if you want. I'll pay you back the amount."

You quirked an eyebrow at him as you handed over your payment. Thankfully, you had half the mind to bring money with you when you stormed out earlier. "Is that really fine with you?"

"My shift is almost over, anyway. A drink after would be nice," he shrugs nonchalantly. The information had you thinking. You'd hate to be drinking alone right now, so perhaps having him as a companion for a while wouldn't be too bad.

You bit your lip lightly before asking, "Do you want to drink a bit with me?"

"Oh," he reacts blankly at first, clearly not expecting the offer. His face revealed his thought process like a window, the gears turning in his head as he tried to piece together what you had just said. It wasn't long until he caught up, though, and with a shy grin he finally answered, "Sure."

You beamed brightly for the first time that day. "Sweet. I'm Y/N, by the way."

"Jisung. Han Jisung."

And the clock strikes twelve.

Just like Cinderella, everything started changing after that night. You had gained a new friend—or at least that was what you called him for now, even if you damn well knew friends certainly did not feel this kind of attraction towards each other. It was almost embarrassing to admit how much your heart leapt in happiness whenever you two were together, and you swore that if it continued any longer, you'd end up floating amongst the clouds. His gaze alone already sent a buzzing shiver all throughout your body, your mind going into overdrive at the sheer amount of emotion Jisung was able to pull out of you with somewhat concerning ease. He could melt you to a puddle on the ground with a single word, no questions asked. Maybe it was his frustratingly smooth voice, but the guy charmed his way into your heart in a matter of literal days. Either he knew what he was doing or you were just a hopeless simp—and no, you refused to ever admit the latter out loud.

So it was to no one's surprise when you agreed to his request to take you out on a date. And after the first one, more followed. Jisung's plans were, as one would say, straight out of fiction. Stuff that you knew existed in real life but never thought would have the same spark as its literary counterpart. Well, you really should have expected it, but Jisung certainly proved you wrong. The guy was an absolute romantic, and that translated well into everything he did between you two. Though you found out through your talks that he had a big love for the angsty stuff—to which you could only wish you wouldn't find yourself in that situation too soon. It was only when you felt a warm hand casually slipping into yours with a reassuring gentle squeeze that you realized.

God, you may have already fallen for Han Jisung.

There was no doubting it. When the night sky you had just cursed out weeks ago for reminding you of the dragging day you had was replaced with waves of affection and happiness, you knew there was no way you could doubt it even if you wanted to. That whenever you closed your eyes to rest, the darkness only brought images of you and Jisung screaming each other's name into the distance in an attempt to replicate a cliched scene of professing one's love during one of your many nightly picnic dates. Joyful laughter echoed under the stars as hands held each other's, a silent promise that didn't need to be said out loud for you to know what it meant. The moon was a witness to the blooming portrait of memories being painted at the very moment when you two had made it official.

You also particularly loved the moments that you shared indoors, where it was just you and Jisung. The comfort of being alone together was one of the things that came more naturally, especially with him leaning on the introverted side. This was where you found him thriving best, and it warmed your chest to see him so in his element. Whether it was his place or yours, there was never a dull moment, even if you two weren't doing anything. Then there were also the times where you did do something—quickly developing a soft spot for your domestic activities with Jisung. The sound of the oven working its magic was faintly heard in the background while he danced you slowly in the flour-covered kitchen from your earlier baking shenanigans.

Loving Jisung felt like second nature to you, as if you'd been doing it for years. Perhaps you did. The concept of soulmates wasn't new to you; only that you hadn't given it any more attention than mere acknowledgement. Yet, something about Jisung made you feel like changing your stance on the matter. Slowly but surely, he had taken over you.

And you didn't fight it one bit.

His lips were an inviting shade of pink as he went on about his newest interest. You really didn't mean to stare, but he made it a challenge for you to not have your full attention on him alone. To the point that you hung onto every word he said, whatever topic he brought up, you made a mental note of it to bring up at other times when it might be appropriate. Oh, how you wanted to stop time and just continue to admire the man Han Jisung is.

Sometimes you couldn't even believe he was yours. You knew your eyes dripped with love every time you had your gaze fixed on him, but it always caught you off guard when you noticed the same look in his eyes—and it was directed towards you. They always shone with tender gratitude and warmth mixed with fondness, making your breath hitch at the sheer intensity. If this was all a dream, you hope you'd never wake up.

"Hey now," you heard Jisung's voice call out to you softly. Warm hands cupped your face gently to ground you back to reality. "What's with that look, baby?"

You sighed dreamily, leaning in more towards his touch. "How are you real?"

"This again?" Jisung chuckles at your misty gaze pinned at him as if he could disappear in the blink of an eye. "I am. And I'm right in front of you."

"You're so good to me," you mumbled in a quiet whisper, starting to feel drowsy from the comfort he provided you at the moment. You could hear Jisung's heart flip at your honest words.

"Which is what you deserve," he leans in closer to press a light but passionate kiss on your lips before pulling away to stare at you with eyes containing hundreds of unsaid dedication. "I love you."

"I love you more."

Dating Han Jisung was something you had never expected to happen, but now you wouldn't have it any other way.

mastertag 🔖— send in an ask if you want to be added ! 🫶

@tyuniiz @lhskokoro @bookishcalls @comet-falls @starlostseungmin @ameliesaysshoo @jeonginwrld

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informl-onthings · 2 months ago

Note

OKAY last ooc question for now but do you have any tips for like acting as Light? I know this is an L blog but you are a genius and I trust your intuition cause you're doing so well at playing L! I'm planning on making a Light blog purely because death note is a current obsession and even though I hate him lovingly I would love to play as him too but I need TIPS cause this bastard has too many facades and stuff >:( - Misa (I promise I only get more annoying from here on/hj)

OOC: DON'T WORRY ABOUT BEING A BOTHER! I'm very talkative when stuff I'm into is talked about, so send an ask whenever!

I'm no genius but thank you so much for the compliments! I don't have much experience playing these characters but their psyche and reactions are so interesting that I can't help but go mental over them; none of these goofs can be labeled as one-dimensional because, although they do stem from character archetypes, each one brings something new to it, without being a copypaste of the genre. My relationship with Light is very similar to yours lol, I hate him but he's such a great character that I appreciate his complexity.

Therefore I can't guarantee that I'm the best person to ask for this, but here are my thoughts anyway!

Light's character keeps the 'model student' trait up until the second half of the show, it's an asset that is extremely useful to him as both a cover and advantage in terms of gaining trust/information easily; this doesn't get to his head unlike the DN, despite how many times he uses it, it's all that it is to him, a title. He weaponizes it but doesn't view it as an achievement, it's more like a standard that he has to live up to; a "normal" person would jump of joy or at least be happy to be the number one student nationwide, to be praised no matter where they go, but he doesn't care, ergo: he's not a bragger. Sure, he utilizes his high intelligence to get his way, acknowledges his superiority to others in intellect, but he never outworldly brags about, he rejects it. On the outside he is moderately humble and denies/gently pushes away the flattery he's given, even though he knows it's true; the same goes for women, he knows he's popular and uses that, the only time he's proud of it is when he's talking to Ryuk about, which sounds like explaining attraction to an aromantic or science to a philosopher.

One common misconception that has been floating around for decades about his character is his personality pre-death note, which I am very against; the statement that Light without the Death Note would have been a wonderful guy who’s modest and kind is so fundamentally wrong that it’s jarring to me. It’s so reflective of the treatment of serial killers in real life that I can’t not mention it; if the person who committed the crime was “good” or performed good actions, then something turned them into a monster or drove them to do whatever crime they did. While they can be conditioned/solicited by outside sources, saying it happened out of the blue is erroneous; I can understand why people would think that, even more so if they were someone they trusted or saw in a good light, because believing otherwise would crush them. No one does things that major without reason, yes they can be pushed to do it, but the intent is there, it has been, it doesn’t appear out of thin air, take this as an example; when you cry while laughing, it’s because you laughed too hard, when you unintentionally leave the light on it’s because you forgot about it, when you miscalculated it’s because you weren’t paying attention to your calculations etc…

How does this have anything to do with Light? People seem to believe that he’s ‘innocent’ or wouldn’t have become a mass murder if he hadn’t found the note; this is mainly the Yotsuba Arc’s fault, which led to misinterpretations of his character, it’s true that Light feels horror at the sight of these killings because of the sheer brutality, but he’s not completely against them either. In that same scene, Light is contemplating if he could really fit the profile of a merciless serial killer, subsequently reiterating his possible motive for doing something so cruel; eradicating evil. He admits that and we hear it, yet his innocuous behavior is the only aspect the fandom highlights, not his self awareness or the re-affirmation of his established morals. This conveys the message that it’s all the DN’s doing, and while all of this mess wouldn’t have happened without it, it’s wrong to say that it’s the root of all evil when it’s not. The DN served as a catalyst for Light’s nihilistic morality to be enacted, exteriorized, the switch that flipped his passive worldview into an active one; Lighr saw the world as rotten long before he picks up the notebook, the world has always been full of weeds that need to be removed to him, the DN was just his means to do it, the apple for Eve, if you’re looking for a religious metaphor.

Another thing is how he interacts with people. The obvious thing we can learn is that he’s extroverted and a role model for other people to follow and idolize, but he’s actually the most alienated university student ever, take Patrick Bateman from American Psycho as an example — he has everything, he embodies the ideal American man, except he doesn’t feel human at all and feels alienated from humanity which drives him to commit murder. Both of these characters know they aren’t like everyone else, know that the expectations that they are raising are just a cover for an empty soul that can’t understand why it’s different. Light consistently draws this line between himself and other people because they’re not equal to him, he’s something else that doesn’t follow human nature or behavior; he has been emulating it since day one, which is why his attempts at behaving ‘normally’ to avoid suspicion actually increases it and doesn’t feel normal to us, the audience, at all. His words and mannerism, neatness and appearance, are what people expect of him, his conversations prioritize what other people want to hear instead of what he wants to say.

I have no clue if this helped at all, I’ve tried writing down my thoughts as coherently as possible, please don’t be afraid to ask questions if there’s anything I said that confuses you!

Thank you sm for the ask! -K.

#ooc ask #ooc answers #k answers #character tips #tips #my take #light yagami #death note take #k rambling #here i go again

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mad-hunts · 13 days ago

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in response to the other's answer in regards to what jervis would prefer on his toast, jack simply nodded. he'd found himself at a loss for what else to say even though that was actually quite rare for him. maybe it was the idea that barton could be outside at that very moment, listening in, that made jack suddenly feel like a fog had rolled into his mind; making it so that he could protect himself without even knowing for sure that there was a threat in the first place.

barton didn't like talking about julien - he'd pretty much stowed away every single picture but one the family had with him in it, in fact. for it still hurt him too much to look at them. therefore, especially considering his father's history of not being able to regulate his moods well, jack might have to perform 'damage control' if that were the case. but crossing the bridge if he were to get there seemed to apply quite well here. so, the farceur chose to move on and it turned out to be wisely, too.

jervis did look very tense lying there with jack visibly appearing to want to curl up into himself and never come out. after going to the nearby trunk in the room, he opened it. this was done as a means to distract the both of them from succumbing to the weight of their own differing circumstances. though there was certainly a good cover reason for jack to, ❝ oh, wow. ahh... i almost forgot that its supposed to get down into the forties tonight so you might need this. its going to be cold, after all, ❞ it was also hitting sundown at that moment as well.

jack could tell by just looking through the crack in the curtains of the one window in the room. while gnawing on his bottom lip, he pulled out the plush blanket inside of the chest only to shake it out a bit. now, as jack tossed the blanket up just enough to cover jervis's body without touching him? something matilda told him a few years ago echoed in his mind during a conversation they had late at night: 'you know, i know you'd like nothing more than to get rid of all your feelings sometimes - but i hope you never change.'

jack just remembered looking up at the tent he was in that day of camping afterward, as he decided he should probably get to sleep. but it felt validating in a way he couldn't explain as well even now. because jack's first instinct upon seeing jervis was that he was struggling, so he should help him; though one could definitely say that sense of responsibility had made him suffer in the past. thank goodness sucking in a deep breath through his nostrils and exhaling could allow jack to quiet his mind then.

he tilted his head at the other's words and squinting his eyes, deep in thought. of course if jervis didn't believe in one, that was fine, but it appeared like he might. these sorts of concepts could trigger whole debates for a reason, however, as spirituality was something that jack affiliated himself with. but religion? he wasn't so sure, so he more than understood when jervis settled for saying his loved ones being at peace was simply something he wanted to believe in. with jack's sudden exit came the arrival of a much less benevolent figure, to say the least, and barton couldn't say he blamed jervis for seemingly somewhat disappointed that his son left.

jack was easy to get along with, and with just a little bit of time spent with him, he might just win someone over with his compassionate nature. barton knew this well along with the reality he had to learn other people's behaviors throughout the years to appear at least 'semi-normal.' how that was going for the doctor would often depend on who you asked, though. barton could only snort derisively at that, ❝ funny. just remember, you'd be in arkham right now if it weren't for me and my daughter. ❞ he pointed a sharpened nail in the direction of jervis as he proceeded into the room.

the same crack in the curtains jack had once looked through was soon closed with a quick 'swishing' motion. barton was personally raised with a very limited exposure to faith, as neither wesley nor winslow were particularly religious father figures. but barton could admire those who participate in it regardless of their level of involvement in it. though it could be used as a force of evil as much as it could be used for good, a lot of humanity existed in shades of gray.

so even if they were under the threat of suffering through something like eternal damnation after death... in barton's mind, it was only a matter of time before someone used a widespread thing like faith to their own advantage. and maybe this was bad of him but thinking about wesley being in such a place somewhat brought him a sense of twisted satisfaction; because at least barton would be getting a form of justice for every fearful moment wesley put him through that way. barton only blinked as his eyes trailed from jervis's face to the teacup that jack had presumably brought him.

shockingly enough, all he felt when he discovered that marty's father was a powerful figure was an incredible amount of disbelief for a moment before it fizzled away. barton was used to things getting worse even if he couldn't have seen this coming. plus, he'd gotten frighteningly good at treating human lives like this police captain's more as obstacles than actual beings. it remained to be seen which one jervis was to barton. he squinted his eyes before standing up and ultimately finding out that, yeah, he had done that too quickly.

barton felt like he was green around the gills all over again, ❝ that is one way to put it, jervis. but don't worry. you just reminded me that, although we're going to have to get creative, there are ways of getting away with it. i'd say pinning his murder on someone else might be the best. ❞ he uttered after swallowing thickly, making a 'turn around' gesture with his finger towards the other. barton talking about murder as if it was light dinner conversation said everything that needed to be said about how he felt about their current predicament.

maybe it was because he was still feeling a lot of malaise, but no part of it bothered him in particular. the doctor was more worried about jervis becoming queasy because he accidentally saw the scars where he'd stitched on yves's arm to his own body, ❝ uhh, just in case you didn't get that, turn around. i'm going to change my shirt. ❞ once that was done, barton slipped his current bloodied one over his head only to replace it with the other. he slumped down in the chair to the table opposite of jervis and looked over the tarot cards laid out before him.

barton, too, knew how to interpret them. ❝ what were you two planning on doing with these? a 'past, present, and future' reading? because i can do it while my son's gone for you. ❞

Jervis gave the barest of shrugs as he glanced at Jack through his bangs, the quiet rhythm of their breathing, the slow drip of the IV, and the faint shifting of the cards against the tabletop the only sounds piercing the air. "Either one sounds perfectly agreeable. I defer to your good judgment." A ghost of a smile, pale and wan, tugged at his mouth for an infinitesimal moment.

Call it the lingering pangs of paternal instinct or projection, whatever you felt was most appropriate, but some flicker of warmth—worry mingling with concern—stirred within Jervis' breast; softening the veneer of exhaustion and discomfort that clothed him like a second skin. Like an invisible cancer that had latched onto him, draining his vitality—a slow-acting poison decades in the making; only this time, the source was external, a reflection of Jack's own unease radiating across the space between them.

Jervis drew in a shallow breath, feeling the tightness in his chest not as his own, but as if their nerves had blurred and grown entangled. He tried to focus, willing his own breath to steady, his hands to unclench. A low chuckle escaped Jervis' chapped lips at Jack's query. The medications in his IV coursed through him, cold and prickling, sending a frisson over his skin as goosebumps rose in response. And yet, somehow, it eased the deep ache within him, dulling the edges of both pain and nausea. He could feel the weight of his discomfort receding, just slightly, as though the medicine were smoothing his raw nerves; coaxing him toward a delicate, unfamiliar calm.

Not quite like ketamine.... not like the cozy, blithesome feeling that coursed through his veins with each dose. Even when most of his prior consumption of the drug hadn't been consensual—thick enough to cut his teeth on, it ensured small pockets of blissful ignorance hardening into a dissociative shell, like callus. (God bless those poor, ministering angels at Arkham... only a trace of spite and animosity there, rage bleeding with sorrow at how his autonomy and consent was completely ignored, snatched... one wrong move, and he was left cowering in a crumpled heap, or otherwise dead to the world... but now? Would the scales be tipped, if they managed to drag him back there? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know that answer.) If Odysseus and his crew had been desperate to escape the Lotus Eaters only to stumble unwittingly into the clutches of Polyphemus, Jervis felt quite the opposite.

For better or worse, the ketamine had left him numb to everything.

The pain, the grief, the anguish that tore gouges in his heart and mind; lacerated his psyche to shreds, in conjunction with the ECT. Somehow, he compartmentalized it... gravitated to the cannabis as an alternative upon his discharge, once he'd regained his center of gravity and emerged from his self-immurement; the fractures left by his losses and lessons grinding him to the bone. Everything it cost him and what he'd earned in exchange. Simon. Arabella. His time in Ireland. Sylvie. The flood. Alice.

The lengths he had gone...

And so Jervis chuckled; the sound dry and hollow, barely touching his eyes. He met Jack’s gaze, his expression tightening as he mulled over the question, tasting the irony in it.

“An afterlife…” he murmured, his eyes drifting. Thoughts and memories broke the surface like apples bobbing in a bucket: Simon and Stephen putting aside their differences over the blessing at Passover; his and Arabella's quiet, but spirited discussions of Heaven and the saints and catechism, the differences between the Old and New Testaments as they strolled along the shoreline. Stories of the witch trials in Ireland, of John Calvin and his legacy in Scotland.

All the old beliefs he’d grown up with circled back and hit like a tidal wave, tied as much to memories of family as to the concept of religious faith itself, all its beauty and diverse forms, yet it left him feeling frigid now. For a little over three decades, he'd told himself that he could appreciate the mythology of it all, even found it strangely comforting at times, but belief? That had always been a different thing entirely.

Jervis' mind tugged him back to reality. He could sense Jack’s curiosity pressing at the edge of his own awareness, a secondary presence so strong it was almost rendered a physical form. "That's.... a complicated notion, from where I'm standing.” He let out a slow, careful breath; curled his fingers back around his necklace as he dissected the question. “But... yes. I'd like to think our loved ones are at peace."

He could map it all in a dozen lines, right down to his own lived experiences, the rules he tried so hard to follow, the ideals that always seemed to warp and fray. There was karma, consequence, perhaps even the lingering shadows of what people might call a curse. But the idea of any higher being calling the shots? It gnawed at him like an old wound. And so Jervis looked back at Jack, almost apologetic, the faint sting of an old ache flickering beneath his words.

He was spared from elaborating with Barton's sudden appearance; lurking on the threshold like a wraith. Poor Jack's confidence and ease withered like a hapless petunia caught in the dead of winter. A few quiet words of dismissal and a pat to the shoulder were all that heralded the reluctant, leery departure of his one potential ally in the wolf's den.

'As phantoms frighten beasts when shadows fall.' Jervis sighed, slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, looked Barton in the eye; as well as he could, anyway, with the lingering gray spots and his missing glasses still impeding his line of sight. “Maybe we each make our own heaven—or our own hell.”

Perhaps that was petty or harsh of him to say out loud... though that was the truth of the matter. Jervis didn’t need religious belief to drive him, after all; he needed only his own peculiar code, that precarious balance between curiosity and cynicism, and the sense of duty he still felt for a daughter who had deserved something far more stable, more secure; safer than the patchwork life he had known. Whatever his flaws, his faults, some small part of him still respected the right to believe—what faith meant to others; its power to inspire, to build, to destroy. The cause and effect of human history, the double-edged promises of faith. And maybe that was the root of it: faith could be a tool, a guide, a balm.

But then the stark, often bitter truths he’d learned through survival would come rushing back. Besides, he reckoned, Barton likely wouldn't give a damn about any of his prior train of thought. In any case, on the topic of hell, Jervis never pictured the vast, cavernous expanse of fire and brimstone that Jonathan Edwards had once preached about in the summer of 1741. No. Hell always conjured up fevered images of a frozen lake in the deepest, darkest part of the center of the earth, untouched by light and warmth and life—the last of Dante Alighieri's nine circles.

'I sometimes think we must be all mad and that we shall wake to sanity in strait-waistcoats.'

He was torn from the thick mire of his thoughts, yanked back outside his mind as if caught in a sudden hurricane at Barton’s next revelation. Jervis shut his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, then reached for the cup of tea Jack had brought him. The liquid within was a warm, golden amber—like sea glass he’d once collected as a child in Bermuda, or the bits Alice would gather along Gotham’s coastline on their rare visits when she was little.

How simple those days were...

"Well." Jervis' voice was completely flat, his brow creasing with incredulity and disgust. Barton’s outline weaved and blurred before his eyes like a will-o’-the-wisp. No more, no more… no room, no room. He felt completely hollow. "Trading one problem for another, are we?" His scarred knuckles bulged as his fingers curled around the delicate porcelain; his grip hard enough to produce a faint, foreboding crack.

He would weep, if he had anymore tears left to shed over their predicament. For Marty and his partner, for the trouble Jack and Matilda had been brought into by association… but none for himself or Barton. He wasn’t certain he was worthy of it; and Barton had no qualms over their actions, he’d freely admitted it at that bistro earlier. Jervis’ hands tingled, as if they were still covered by the bloodied gloves he wore when he dispatched the driver in order to retrieve Alice’s rabbit, wielding his hatpins on pure impulse; there was no premeditation involved, but there was no discounting how surgical his actions had been in their efficacy with each targeted nerve cluster and artery. He wasn’t indulging in self-pity, oh no… nothing so shallow or solipsistic. Not like that at all. Just a pure ant mill of growing dread and horror and regret, one that couldn’t be encompassed by words alone.

His teeth sought the gouges in the corner of his mouth from where he’d previously bit himself in the throes of his nightmares, worrying at the cuts till they began to sting anew.

‘Despair has its own calms.’

#divingdownthehole #tw: religion.#tw: unhealthy family dynamics.#tw: mentions of child abuse.#tw: illness.#tw: mentions of murder.#AHH i mean it took me a bit to reply to this one as well so you're all good LOL #and ooh gosh i remember hearing about the food poisoning you'd gotten but i'm so sorry that that happened to you again ):#though aww well i sometimes wonder what i did to deserve you myself but you did so by just being you okok <33 #but GAHHH you are too freaking sweet for words! ILY2 and you're so welcome!! but yesss you haven't hit a roadblock at all or anything #like that i promise you!!! your replies have been just as if not even more top-tier than they usually are in my humble opinion but PLSSS #you're about to make me cry in the club right now ;u; TYSMMM it makes me so happy that you like my portrayal of barton and my writing!#but omg... i was about to say like 'oh do i need to tone it down with everything going on in the RP? because i can if you need me to' but #its good to know that you meant that in a positive light haha though same here if i'm being honest (': like i know i could technically #make it less suspenseful right now but where's the fun in that am i right / hj LMAO i kid i kid... well halfway anyway but that is such a-#good comparison of them. like i truly couldn't have said it better myself and AHH trust me when i say after inserting some of the things #that i did in this reply i'm even more hyped than i was before for what's to come but i'm also kind of UHHH. concerned for barton-#though i know i'm the one writing him OFC i just... man's has some serious issues that he needs to address and they kind of came through #here more than a little. but i loveee how you inserted quotes from dracula and dante's inferno here?#like you big-brained that FR and ohhh okay. that's interesting as i didn't know that was a thing until now. the brain really is fascinating #in its complexity but jervis having schizophrenia cannot be easy. i know that it can be severely debilitating when left untreated but-#i'm not an expert either of course. that is just based on my own research as well but nahhh don't worry! i didn't take it that way at all #the muse doesn't equal the mun after all so its all good haha. i know that barton is being a bit SICK and TWISTED here but that ain't me

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