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bonnie-the-butcher · 1 day ago

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Rip Tide | Chapter VI

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 8.928 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW (p in v, unprotected, implied m!masturbation); Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

OMG Bonnie what is that? A JJ chapter? Yeah, maybe I went insane. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

JJ takes a slow step forward, his shoulders rolling back, his fingers still coiled tight around the handlebars of his bike. There’s a heat rolling off of him, a barely contained energy that makes your stomach twist.

His gaze drifts over to you. The rage burning through his eyes as he climbs down, drifting through Rafe’ arms, how they wrap around you, how close he’s holding you to him. – What’s going on, huh? – His voice is taught, barely restrained. You think of the hiss a rattlesnake makes before pouncing, the barely restrained violence simmering under each sound. – What are you doing here?

– I could ask you the same thing, Maybank. – Rafe hums. You call his name, trying to reel him back before it gets dangerous, but he seems entertained more than anything. – We’re a little far from the salvation army. Not much for you to do around here.

– Rafe!

The kook holds your hand to his chest when you push him, smiling down at you like it’s the funniest thing in the world. – I’m just having a little fun with him, that’s all.

– Get off of her, Rafe.

He’s looking at you with a focus that’s never a good sign, but don’t miss the way his eyes flick to where Rafe’s hand still lingers at your waist. The moment stretches, thick with the weight of his anger, but you can’t bring yourself to move first.

Rafe doesn’t bother hiding his grin. If anything, it grows, slow and deliberate, like this is the most fun he’s had all night. – Why? You scared she won’t come back when she realizes there’s more to life than being leeched off of by her brother’s friends?

– Rafe, this isn’t funny.

– JJ must think it is, it’s the only thing he does well. – Rafe drawls, tilting his head as he finally steps back from you—but not without dragging his fingers along your side, a pointed reminder. – Right, JJ?

JJ’s lips press into a thin line. His fingers flex around the handlebars, his nostrils flaring as he exhales hard through his nose. His gaze cuts to you now, sharp and demanding. – What the hell are you doing with this asshole?

His voice grates you. Every word echoing in your head like nails on a chalkboard.

– This is none of your business, JJ.

He doesn’t even pretend to hear you. – Kie told me what happened at work. We were all worried about you.

You open your mouth, but Rafe hums before you can speak, stepping in again, loose and easy, barely putting in effort but still commanding all the space between you. – Worried? Were you worried that you’re finally gonna have to get a job and deal with your own shit?!

– You don’t know what you’re talking about, okay?! Shut the fuck up!

– Or what? Are you gonna freeload off of me too?

JJ moves before you can stop him. His bike crashes to the pavement as he lunges, fists already clenched, fury twisting his face. Rafe barely shifts, like he’s been expecting this all along, like he’s been waiting for the moment he can finally push JJ over the edge.

– THIS SHIT ISN’T ABOUT YOU RAFE!

You step in fast, hands catching JJ’s arm before he can swing, your pulse hammering. – JJ, don’t. Fuck off. Don’t fucking do this right now.

– He’s the one who needs to fuck off! We’re talking right now, it’s none of his fucking business! – His breath is ragged, his muscles stiff under your grip. But Rafe just grins, smug and taunting, eyes alight with something dark. – Tell him to go away.

– You can’t tell me that yourself? Is that how much of a bitch you are, JJ?

JJ lunges, nearly pushing you into the asphalt by mistake. Rafe’s the one that catches you, his hand steadying you as you hold JJ back. – LET GO OF ME!

– JJ step the fuck back, I’m not even kidding you.

– He started it!

Rafe whistles lowly, laughing just under his breath as his arm wraps around you again. – Your brother really knows how to pick them, doesn’t he?

– Not helping, Rafe.

– I’m just trying to enjoy myself while you talk him down from his tantrum. I’m great.

– Stop fucking talking to her like that!

– Or what? You gonna hit me? – He muses, tilting his head, like the thought actually amuses him. – Go ahead, man. Take your shot. I bet it’ll feel real good.

JJ’s jaw tightens, his arm twitching under your hold. You can feel the war inside him, the barely restrained urge to throw that punch, to finally give Rafe the fight he’s clearly asking for.

But you don’t let go.

And JJ doesn’t swing.

For a second, the only sound is the thick silence between you.

Then Rafe sighs, exaggerated and disappointed. – Shame, – He mutters, stepping back, shaking his head like JJ’s let him down. – I was really hoping you’d play along, JJ. It’s been what? A week since you last got arrested? Has it ever been so long? I bet they’re missing you down at the station.

He flashes a grin at you, sharp and knowing, before brushing past, hands moving over your back like he owns you. – Y’know what, baby? We should really get going. I’m getting kinda bored.

– You’re out of your fucking mind if you think she’s going anywhere with you.

– JJ. – You warn, but he doesn’t seem to hear you.

– She came here with me, buddy. Maybe you wanna look around you. – He glances at you, blue eyes gleaming as he takes you by the arm. – C’mon. It’s getting late, right? Your brother’s probably struggling to figure out the oven right now.

– You don’t know what the fuck your talking about. – JJ growls.

– You’re gonna go home with this pogue? –The question comes out in a hum, almost condescendingly. His laughter thrills up your spine like a shiver of fear. – You’re gonna let him strongarm you like this?

You swallow, breathing in deep.

Rafe’s grip on your arm tightens, fingers warm against your skin, but you don’t move. His smirk twitches—just barely—before he tilts his head, watching you with curiosity, even if the smile he’s giving you doesn’t seem too pleased.

JJ notices too. He exhales sharply, barely holding himself together. – You’re not leaving with him.

His voice is low, coarse. And he’s clinging, moving his arms within your hold like a whiny kid. But it’s not a plea. It’s a demand.

Rafe hums under his breath, low and pleased, like this is all going exactly how he wanted. – She’s not staying for you, JJ. – He flicks his gaze over, like he’s looking at something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. – You have John B’s useless ass to thank for her not leaving with me right now.

JJ clenches his jaw so tight you swear you hear his molars crack. – Shut the fuck up, Rafe.

Rafe grins, slow and knowing. – I will if she makes me. Right, baby? Maybe you can give me a goodnight kiss before I go.

JJ takes a step forward, but you press a hand to his chest, stopping him. He seethes, nostrils flaring, but you shake your head. – Just go, Rafe. Please. – Your voice isn’t sharp—it’s tired, annoyed.

And that’s exactly why Rafe thrives on it.

He tsks, squeezing your waist in his hold on you before pulling his keys from his pocket. – That’s okay. We’ll have plenty of time for that tomorrow, right? – He leans in, voice dipping lower. – You can make it up to me.

You sigh, rubbing your temple. – Rafe—

– You’re cute when you get all flustered. – He laughs, tapping your chin with his knuckle. – I’ll call you later.

JJ lunges, and it takes everything in you to shove him back.

Rafe just whistles, all relaxed amusement, stepping back with an easy grin. – Damn, Maybank, you’re really gonna let her hold you back like that?

JJ is shaking in anger, chest heaving.

Rafe doesn’t wait for an answer. He shoots you a wink and a lazy salute before finally turning away, tossing over his shoulder, – Don’t miss me too much, baby.

JJ exhales sharply, shaking off your hold. His head drops for a second, his hands clenching at his sides before he looks at you, eyes blazing. – What the hell was that?

You swallow hard, the weight in your chest pressing down heavy. – JJ—

But he shakes his head. – Nah. No way. You don’t get to brush this off. – His voice is rough, disbelief coating every syllable. – Tell me you’re not— He stops himself, exhaling sharply again before taking a step back, shaking his head like he’s trying to make sense of it. – Tell me you’re not seriously falling for this shit.

You don’t know what to say.

Because maybe you don’t have an answer he wants to hear.

– Oh my God. – You don’t know what exactly in his face shifts, but you feel the air around you thicken. – You are, aren’t you?!

– Spare me the outrage, JJ. I’m not in the mood for your lectures.

– The guy is a fucking psychopath! There’s no fucking way you do’t see that! He’s insane!

You roll your eyes, a sigh falling from your lips before you can think of it. – You say that like you’re some sort of model of normalcy.

– I can’t fucking believe you!

– I don’t fucking need you to believe me, JJ. Clearly you fucking don’t. It doesn’t matter what I say, you already have your pitchfork ready! So what exactly am I supposed to be getting out of this?! Huh? Tell me. – A beat of silence lingers between you, as you turn your back on him. It’s long past 6 PM. The sky is pitch-black. – Can we just go? I don’t wanna do this.

You can see the gears turn in his head when you speak. His eyes soften, jaw unclentching. – I’m trying to look out for you. – You scoff. – Look, I know you’re stressed and all, but you don’t need to be taking it out on me, okay?! Chill out.

– Thanks, Mother Teresa. I feel much calmer now.

– Can we just put down the boxing gloves, right now?!

– I don’t know JJ, can we? I can’t put my guard down with you for a moment. Because that’s what you do. You tell me I should calm down, and when I do, you come up with some insane shit to piss me off all over again!

JJ watches you, chest still rising and falling like he’s trying to catch a breath that won’t come. Then his expression shifts—like something clicks into place, like he’s realizing something he doesn’t like.

His lips curl, his tongue running over the inside of his cheek. – Are you serious? – His voice is quieter now, almost disbelieving. – This is where we’re at?

You shake your head, swallowing back the lump in your throat. – I don’t want to do this right now, JJ.

– Oh, that’s rich. You don’t wanna do this right now? – He lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. – You wanna pick a better time? Should I make an appointment? Because it’s like you never have time for me these days! You’ll speak your mind, talk all the game you fucking want, but when it’s time to talk about my feelings, suddenly you’re too tired to deal!

Your stomach twists.

JJ scoffs. – You know, I keep trying. I keep trying to get through to you, and you just— He stops, shakes his head again, shoving a hand through his hair like that’ll help get rid of some of the frustration bleeding off of him.

– Trying to what, JJ? What is it that you’re trying to get through to me so much? That I can’t even talk to people while you go around fucking whatever girl you want? – The words come out before you can stop them.

– That’s funny, I don’t remember leaving with your mortal enemy!

– And I don’t remember kissing your best friend after leaving your bed, JJ. But here we are!

JJ goes still.

For a second, neither of you speak.

Then he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head like you’ve just confirmed something he was trying not to believe. – There you go again, – He mutters, half in laughter, half in scorn. – You’re insane. Like. You’re actually sick in the fucking head. You and Rafe are perfect for each other. Maybe that’s why you’re here right? I was too normal, so you got bored. And that’s why you’re here in the Country Club, fucking that psychopath!

You stare at him, heart still pounding, but there’s something else gnawing at the edges of your mind now—something off. Something you didn’t notice in the heat of it all.

The country club.

You’re not at your job.

You’re not at home.

You’re not even on your side of the island.

Your stomach twists again.

– JJ, – you start, voice quieter now.

But he doesn’t hear it, or he doesn’t care. He scoffs again, throwing his hands in the air as he turns away, pacing. – I should’ve known. I should’ve listened to John B. He always said you were fucking twisted! But leave it to me! It’s my fault or thinking you could act like a person for once!

Your pulse stutters.

You don’t even register his words.

You don’t remember telling him where you were.

Your job isn't anywhere near the Country Club. You didn’t text him. You didn’t call him.

So how did he find you?

Your skin prickles as you stare at him, the words barely coming out. – JJ... how did you know I was here?

– What?! – He laughs, like you’ve just said something stupid, but you’re not gonna let him do this. Keeping your face neutral, even while your blood runs cold, you repeat:

– How did you know where I was? – He looks at you for a moment, frozen in place. You don’t even see him breathe. But the thoughts run wild behind his eyes, his mouth hanging open, unable to keep up with the speed at which his mind is running. – Answer me. How did you know I was here, JJ?

– I— He swallows, looking between each of your eyes frantically. – I was gonna pick you up at work,

– At a quarter to seven PM? You know I get the bus. It leaves at 5:20. You know that.

– Why are you making a big deal out of this?! I was driving to the wreck and I saw you here—

– No you weren’t. The wreck is East. To get here, you need to be going West.

He’s quiet again.

– Are you following me? How did you even— Realization dawns on you. JJ and John had your phone all day after you left. The notification you saw when you finally got it back, was from your maps app, which you’ve never opened in your life. You pull your phone out of your pocket. The location is on, but you don’t remember activating it. You open your messages. The latest contact is JJ. But you haven’t texted him in days. The chat is empty. – You sent my phone location to yourself, didn’t you? You and John are fucki— Your voice dies within your throat. The hair at the back of your neck standing. – John doesn’t have my password, though.

– You’re acting insane.

– How the fuck did you figure out my password, JJ? It’s a thousand characters long. I expect that shit from Pope, but— You stop again, opening your settings. A second fingerprint is set there, next to yours. – What the fuck is wrong with you?

– Don’t turn this around right now!

– That’s rich, JJ! And I’m the one who’s insane?! You’re a fucking stalker!

JJ scoffs, but it’s different now—less angry, more… wounded. Like you just slapped him in the face instead of uncovering something deeply fucked up. He shakes his head, stepping back like he needs distance from you.

– Are you serious right now? – His voice is quieter, rougher. – After everything?

You stare at him, blood still thrumming in your ears. – After everything? JJ, you just—

– No, you don’t get it. You don’t fucking get it. – He lets out a breathless laugh, dragging his hand down his face. – I knew something was off. I knew you were pulling away. I knew you were sneaking around, lying to me—

– I’m pulling away because you’re messing around with Kie!

– I’m not! Baby, I— He’s slapping himself, pulling out his hair. – I was trying to make you jealous, okay?! I just want you to pay attention to me! But you’re either glued to your phone talking to Barry, or you’re around John B, doing everything for him, everything I want you to do for me!

– What the fuck are you talking about?! He’s my fucking brother, JJ!

– BUT HE DOESN’T DESERVE IT! – He screams, the vitriol burning against his lips like acid. – He was always horrible to you, and I was there! I was there! I wanted you!

– What are you talking about?! You’ve hated me since we were kids!

– NO! I— I wanted you to look at me. I just wanted you to—Please. Just look at me, okay? I don’t want you sneaking around with Barry or with Rafe, or whatever! I want you here! With me!

– Sneaking around—JJ, you broke into my fucking phone—

– Because you wouldn’t fucking talk to me! – His voice cracks on the last word, and it throws you for a second—because the anger is still there, but there’s something else now, something desperate. His hands are in his hair, gripping like he’s holding himself together. – Do you even hear yourself? Do you even care? Or are you just gonna act like I’m some fucking psycho and not the guy who’s been there for you? The guy who—who has wanted you since I was kid?!

Your breath catches.

JJ exhales sharply, jaw clenching like he hates himself for saying it, for letting it slip out in the middle of this.

– You were there for me. – He continues. – When your brother couldn’t be. When my dad started— When he drank. You remember that, don’t you? You took care of me. You always took care of me. John B couldn’t get that! Even if he tried, y’know, who knows, maybe he did! But he was always this golden boy! Your dad, he— He treated him like he could do no wrong— He’d never get it. But you did! You always got me!

You’re quiet. Because you remember.

You remember taking a beating for JJ the day John sent you there to give him his surfboard. You remember laying there on the floor, his dad pulling you by the hair, because you stood there while JJ ran. You remember the face he made when his dad threw you out.

How he fell apart in your arms.

How you remained there, holding him, as he bled through your clothes.

And it tears you apart.

Because the way he spoke to you before, is exactly the way his father used to speak to him.

– But yeah. Sure. I’m the stalker. I’m the crazy one. – He laughs bitterly, shaking his head. – You’re so fucking worried about me following you, but you don’t care that you’re running straight to him! – His eyes flash with something sharp, something dark. – You think he gives a shit about you? You think Rafe fucking Cameron isn’t watching your every move, waiting for you to fuck up so he can sink his claws in? Like Barry did? – He steps forward, voice lowering like he’s telling you some ugly secret.

Your heart jumps in your chest at the mention. JJ knows this is a low blow. – You don’t know anything about Barry and me.

– I know he hurt you. – He’s almost pleading. – He hurt you because you were with him, when you should’ve been with me.

– JJ—

– I did this to protect you. Let me protect you. Like you protected me.

There it is. The flip.

You feel like you might faint.

JJ exhales shakily, his fingers flexing like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands anymore. The anger is fizzling out, but what’s left is somehow worse—smaller. He looks at you, really looks at you, and suddenly it’s like all the fight drains out of him.

– I can’t keep doing this. – His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. He shakes his head, eyes flickering away like he’s embarrassed, like you’ve just torn him down completely. – I don’t—I don’t know how else to prove it to you. How else to make you see that I just wanted to keep you safe.

His shoulders drop. He looks exhausted.

– But you don’t believe me. You won’t ever fucking believe me, will you? – He laughs, but it’s hollow, broken. – It doesn’t matter what I do. Doesn’t matter that I would literally die for you—Jesus Christ, I would, and you don’t even fucking see it. I’d do anything for you, and you’re just standing there, looking at me like I’m a fucking monster.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

– I mean—fuck, what am I supposed to do? Huh? – His voice cracks. His eyes are glassy now, but he swipes a hand over his face before anything can fall. – You want me to apologize? I will. You want me to beg? Fine. – He laughs breathlessly, shoulders shaking as he sinks down onto the curb like his body just gave up. – I’ll fucking beg.

Your stomach twists.

– Just— he exhales, hands clinging to your hips. – Can we go home? – His voice is so quiet now, so defeated. – Please. I don’t wanna fight anymore. I don’t wanna—fuck, I don’t even care. Just let me take you home. That’s all I want.

He looks up at you, and for the first time tonight, he looks fragile. Worn down. Like he’s carrying something too heavy for him, and the only thing keeping him from collapsing is you.

And God help you, part of you wants to believe him.

– JJ. – Your voice is sharp, but your hands are shaking. – This isn’t about that—this isn’t about you wanting to take me home. This is about what you did—

– I know! – he cuts in, his breath coming too fast, too uneven. His hands fist in his hair, like he’s trying to hold himself together by sheer force. – I know, okay? I fucked up, I fucking know— He stumbles over his own words, gasping, like the weight of it is physically pressing down on him. – But I can’t—

His voice breaks.

– I can’t lose you over this. Over Rafe fucking Cameron and his bullshit.

The air between you shifts. Something inside him just collapses.

– Please. – His chest is heaving, his eyes wet, his whole body trembling like he’s about to snap. – I don’t—I don’t know how to make you stay. I don’t know how to fix this. – His voice cracks again, and this time, his knees buckle.

You barely have time to react before he’s falling into you, grabbing fistfuls of your clothes, his breath hitching against your belly. His whole body is shaking.

– I’m sorry. – His words spill out in a frantic, broken rush. – I’m so fucking sorry. Please—please don’t go. Just—just let me take you home, baby, please—

His arms tighten around you, like if he holds on hard enough, he can force you to stay. And God, you shouldn’t. You should push him away, make him listen, make him answer for this.

But he’s crying.

JJ Maybank—loud, reckless, impossible JJ—is sobbing into you like a little kid, like he’s breaking apart right in front of you.

You inhale shakily, your hands hovering before you finally give in, falling before him on the ground, wrapping your arms around him, pressing your cheek against his hair.

– It’s okay, – you whisper, even though it isn’t. Even though nothing is.

But it’s all he wants to hear.

JJ exhales sharply, his whole body collapsing into yours with something like relief. – Don’t leave me.

– I won’t.

And maybe you mean it.

Maybe that’s the scariest part.

You let him fall apart against you, his body wracked with silent tremors as he clings to you like a lifeline. His breath is uneven, ragged, hot against your skin, and his fingers fist into your top, desperate, like letting go isn’t an option. He presses closer, his whole body sinking into yours, like he’s trying to disappear inside you, like that’s the only place he might be safe.

And you let him. You hold him as his shoulders shake, as he fights to keep from outright sobbing, as the weight of whatever broke him presses down so hard you swear you can feel it, too. He’s unraveling in your arms, piece by piece, like he’s been holding himself together for so long that the second you touched him, he lost the strength to keep pretending.

So you kiss the top of his head, soft but steady, and something in him shifts.

JJ exhales, a long, shuddering breath against your skin, like you’ve reached inside him and pulled all that tension from his chest. His body, wound so tightly, begins to loosen—his grip on you eases, but only enough for his hands to smooth over your back instead of clutching desperately. He leans into you now not just from pain, but from something quieter, something softer.

You feel it in the way his breathing slows, in the way the tremors start to fade as your fingers trace slow circles over his back. His arms tighten around you again, but it’s different this time—not frantic, not desperate. Just… needing you. Needing to be here, against you, in your warmth, in this small, quiet moment where he can finally let go.

His face stays buried in the crook of your neck, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse but steady.

– I’m sorry, – He murmurs, again and again, lips moving against your skin.

You shake your head slightly, your fingers still stroking his back. – It’s okay.

And maybe for him, it actually is. Maybe just for a moment, with your hands in his hair and his body wrapped around yours, he feels something like peace. He doesn’t let go—not yet. He holds on, reveling in the comfort you offer, pressing into you like he never wants to leave. Like you’re the first real breath of air he’s had in a long time.

You stay like that, until the silence grows too heavy and you sigh. – We should go.

JJ doesn’t argue. He pulls back slowly, blinking, his eyes still red-rimmed but calmer, softer. His fingers linger at your waist before he finally steps up, exhaling like he’s reluctant to leave the space you created for him.

The drive is quiet, with him pulling your arms tighter around him everytime he gets the chance. You don’t protest. For a moment it's almost comforting, sitting on the back of his bike, without a word being spoken between you. But the feeling sits there, in your chest, that shiver you got when you realized he’s been following you.

It's not just caution.

It's not strangeness.

It's fear. A real, tangible fear of what he did, of what he can still do. Of what he might have continued doing had you not realized it. —It curls up around your throat, that fear. Pressing against your windpipe. You almost struggle to breathe.— You remain there, arms fastened around him as he slows down, pulling the brakes just before your house, even when he finally stops.

JJ leans back into you, breathing deep, clutching your hand to his chest, his body completely relaxed against yours. You’re still wondering. Mind still running.

How long had he followed you for?

Had he been trailing you? Close behind, just out of reach, or had he stared at your location, waiting, watching you without seeing you?

You don’t know which is worse.

– John B’s with Sarah tonight. – JJ mumbles, his head thrown back against your shoulder, the ends of his hair tickling your face. – I saw him sneak out. He’s probably gonna sleep there. – You hum, not really sure of what to say. – Pope and Kie are gone too. – His thumb brushes over the back of your hand slowly, his voice growing deeper, lower. – It’s just the two of us now.

You don’t say anything.

You don’t know what to say.

JJ looks back as you throw your leg over the other side of the bike, and climb down. He still clings to your hand like he’s got you on a leash: you have to remain there as he pulls the key from the ignition, as he sets his things in the top-box, as he leans back against the seat, pulling you in for a kiss.

You meet his mouth briefly, close-lipped, his fingers interlocking with yours as he pulls you in for another, and another, and one more. – I missed this. – He whispers, eyes barely open, already leaning in again.

– It’s been two days. – You remind him, but JJ only laughs.

– Two too many.

You don’t resist when he pulls you closer. His hands find your hips, sliding beneath the waistband of your jeans, calloused fingers pressing into the small of your back like he’s trying to mold you against him. He kisses you again—deeper, messier, his breath warm and tinged with something desperate.

JJ doesn’t just want this. He needs it.

That's what you like about him. He takes like he can’t get enough. He begs, and he grasps and he clings and he needs you like he needs air to breathe.

His hands are restless, traveling up your ribs, down your waist, over your thighs, like he’s trying to make up for lost time, like touching you might steady him, might ground him. But it doesn’t. The more he touches you, the more insatiable he gets. He’s humming against your lips, sighing into your touch, a little frantic, a little unsteady.

You pull him inside, but JJ can’t seem to break the kiss. He takes your hands to the hem of his shirt, tugging impatiently, his lips dragging from your mouth to your jaw to your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your skin between whispered pleas.

– Touch me, – he breathes, his voice cracking like the weight of everything is still right there, lingering beneath the surface.

Your fingers slip into his hair, threading through the strands, and JJ shudders. He melts against you, knees almost buckling as he exhales a sharp, shaky breath.

– Fuck, – he mumbles, almost laughing, giddy and drunk on your touch. He’s clinging to you now, pressing his body into yours, murmuring against your lips, deeper, please, until you give in, kissing him the way he wants. The way he needs.

He moans softly, hands gripping your waist, pushing your top up just to feel your skin against his palms. He’s lost in this, lost in you, smiling against your mouth in that dazed, breathless way, like nothing else exists beyond the way your body fits against his.

Like everything is fine.

Even it isn’t, not really.

You lead him to your room, kicking the door behind you as he falls back on the bed, tearing his shirt off of him as if it were burning. He doesn’t even give you the time to think before he’s pulling you on top of him.

You try to guide him through the motions, letting his hands explore, letting him pull you closer, letting him bury his face in your neck, all while your mind is somewhere else. Detached. Floating.

Because underneath it all—beneath the heat of his mouth and the weight of his body and the way he pleads for you like you’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart—there’s that feeling.

That cold, creeping thing at the back of your mind.

That fear.

It wraps around your throat, pressing tight, squeezing, reminding you of what he did. Of how long he must have followed you, watching, waiting, just out of reach.

Of how much worse it could’ve been if you hadn’t noticed.

JJ doesn’t see it. He doesn’t feel it. He only sees you, only feels your hands, your lips, the comfort he’s so desperate to take from you.

– I missed this, – he murmurs again, voice slurring slightly, hands still moving, still searching. – Fuck, baby I missed this so much.

You swallow hard, exhaling slowly, before finally answering.

– I know.

And you let him keep touching you, let him revel in this, let him have this, because maybe if he does, he’ll calm down. Maybe if he does, you’ll feel safe again.

JJ exhales against your skin, his body completely unwound, pliant beneath your hands. – Take it off. – He groans, hands shaking against his breeches. – Take it off of me, baby. Please. I just want you to be on me. I need it. Please.

You don’t need to be told twice.

He watches, almost breathless while you strip him bare, moaning at every touch, hips bucking every time you brush against him.

That doesn’t last long though.

It isn’t enough that just your hands are on him. So he drags you onto his dick, still clothed, and he grinds himself into you, eyes rolling back.

There’s something raw about the way he touches you—like he’s savoring every inch, like he’ll be going through withdrawal unless he doesn’t hold on tight enough. His fingers dig into your sides as he pulls your hips into his, his laugh breathy, almost delirious.

– God, I fucking love this, – he mutters against your shoulder, his hands slipping beneath your top, his thumbs brushing lazy circles over your skin.

This.

Not you—this.

The warmth. The closeness. The way you let him touch you, take what he needs. – You love this too, right baby? Your hips— He moans, head thrown back when you roll your hips against his cock, the fabric of your jeans giving just the friction he needs to work himself up. – You're so fucking good at this.

You squeeze your eyes shut as he kisses up your throat, his lips tracing familiar paths, his breath hot and unsteady. He hums when you card your fingers through his hair again, pressing into your touch like he’s melting from the inside out.

He's getting wilder, humping you with this reckless abandon he never seems to shake off. But you can see him unraveling. Just the friction isn't scratching the itch.

He needs more.

– Take it off, baby. Please. Please. – he sighs, voice catching, eyes blown out. – Fuck, give it to me. Just ride me.

You hesitate. Your fingers still against the nape of his neck. The sounds he makes, strangled, anguished. Like he’s going mad.

You actually hear him whine when you lift your hips, and his hand flies down to palm himself while he watches you pull the jeans down.

He tilts his head up, catching your mouth again, dragging you deeper into him. His hands slide down, gripping the backs of your thighs, pulling you closer until he's practically in you.

But you don’t let him sink in just yet.

It's more fun when you drag it out.

When you move against him, teasing him, watching him twitch and moan and plead with nothing but the wetness, the softness, the warmth.

There’s a slow, creeping sickness curling in your stomach.

Because you’re leading this. Because you know what he needs, and you’re not quite giving it to him. Because you’re letting him press closer, letting him unravel, letting him forget—for just a little while—that anything is wrong at all.

And a part of you wants to forget too.

It feels good.

It doesn’t matter what he did, what he would do, because he needs you. He can’t get enough of you. He won't leave.

– Please. Please. – He repeats it like a mantra, writhing beneath you, clutching you so fucking tight. His hips go rogue, bucking wildly. – Please let me fuck you. I need to fuck you. Please. Fuck, I can't take this anymore!

The laughter that falls from your lips almost seems to stoke the flames.

He groans out loud when tip pushes into you, and for a second, his entire body just collapses against yours, heavy, needy.

Then his hands slip under your bra again, tugging at the fabric, his breath hot and desperate against your skin.

– Let me see you, – he murmurs, voice thick, rough. – G-Go ahead, baby. I need you to move. Please.

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze. His pupils are blown wide, his lips kiss-swollen, his expression open in a way that makes you ache.

JJ wants you. That much is obvious.

But more than that—he wants to disappear into you.

To sink into your warmth, your touch, your body, and let it drown out whatever’s eating him alive from the inside.

Your stomach twists.

His fingers have long stopped tracing slow patterns against your ribs, now he's bruising you, nails digging in, shaking, waiting. Pleading.

You could give him what he wants. It would be easy. So, so easy.

But for the first time since this started, you wonder if you should. – And who said you deserve that, JJ?

– Huh?

– Because with the way you talked to me before, I don’t think you do. – You move, just slightly, and he folds, back arching. – I think you’re gonna have to convince me.

– Please. Baby, please.

– You think I'm pathetic. – You tsk, your hips rolling so slow his eyes flutter when they roll back. – I'm not the one who’s begging, though.

– Please! – He's screaming now, and you’re moving faster. The bed creaking beneath you. – I need it! Faster, baby. Faster!

He's splayed out, a puppet with the strings cut loose, yet he's anything but relaxed. You can feel him tensing, hands fisting the sheets so tight his knuckles have gone white.

He screams.

Almost yelping when you start going at the pace you know he likes. And it still isn't enough. He still grabs your hips, pulling you closer, and closer, again and again, banging against that soft spot within you like it's the only thing that can relieve him from this torture.

And you let him.

You ride him like a bronco, as if he’s trying to fuck you off instead of closer. As if he isn't begging for it. Screaming for it. – MORE, BABY, PLEASE!

You want more too.

At some point you lost yourself in trying to punish him, and it started to feel good. You're biting him, teeth dragging against the skin at the crook of his neck, the spot that always makes him shudder, that always makes him writhe.

Your nails have mapped half his body over.

He's red. —His face, his eyes, his lips, his scratches.— He’s gasping. Shaking. His whole body trembling, his eyes rolling back. You can’t even make sense of what he's saying anymore.

The only thing that leaves his mouth are these incoherent pleas, these oohs and aahs that make you laugh, humming to yourself as you ride into your orgasm, feeling him fall apart.

– F-uck, fuck! Don’t stop! Feels so fucking good baby, so fucking good! – He pushes it in faster, but it's still not enough. He needs more, he was going mad! Grabs you by the waist, tosses you on the bed, rutting like a wild dog, head thrown back, eyes rolling upwards. – Fuck! Fuck! Feel s-feel so fucking good!

All that was heard was your laughter, the pleased little gasps that escape your mouth as he fills you up over and over and over again, animalistic and heaving, laughing as well, but out of his mind, completely overwhelmed by the pleasure, by the building release. He crashes against you, once, twice, getting careless. But by then he couldn’t hold it in. More! More! is all you heard from him.

And then you felt it.

His body shudders all over again, still rutting like his life would end. – God. God! I need to cum— fuck! I need— I need— Keep going! Don’t fucking stop baby, don— FUCK! FUCK!

You felt him coat your walls, white, hot, and endless. By then, you were shaking as well, the waves of your own climax washing over you as you arch against him.

He collapses over you, trembling and crying as he smiles, moaning your name in that shaky, adoring voice, eyes clinging to you in utter joy as he pumped lazily, through your climax and his, he still needed more of you. – It won-won’t stop. Fuck, there’s so m-much of it. – Laughter. Yours, his.

Your mind is blank.

He's heavy, heaving, still inside you.

JJ's breathing is ragged, each exhale a shaky whisper as he remains, still there, still trembling with the aftershocks. His hands wander aimlessly across the sheets, his body warm and heavy, as though he's been consumed entirely. His eyes are half-lidded, unfocused, and a soft whimper escapes him as he reaches for your hand.

– Baby... can you...? – His voice is slurred, broken, as if he’s still caught between the pleasure and the exhaustion of it all. His hand gently tugs at your wrist, his fingers brushing against your skin. – Just... touch me. Please... softly.

There was that, too.

He was always sweeter when he was done.

You give a soft, reassuring smile, your fingers gently grazing his messy hair, pushing the strands out of his face, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, lingering for a moment before you speak in the same soft, soothing tone. – I’m here, JJ. I got you.

He hums in response, his eyes fluttering closed, a content sigh escaping his lips as you run your fingers through his hair, the action slow and comforting. – I’m... Fuck— Laughter buzzes against your skin as he presses his lips on you again. – I'm never getting used to this... I’m not used to this, – he mumbles between shaky breaths, his hand coming to rest on your arm, the weight of his touch grounding him. – Feels... too good. I need you to... keep me close. Just... just a little longer.

You hate the way your heart skips.

But you love the way he says it.

The way his voice brushes against your skin when he pleads, so softly, so sweetly. Like he could never do you harm.

You shift slightly, pulling him into your chest, the warmth of his body a constant reassurance. His hand rests over your heart, the frantic pace of his pulse now slowing, but his face is still pinched with that lingering tension, a mix of exhaustion and need for reassurance. He lets out a soft groan as you press your lips to his temple, whispering, – I’m right here. You’re okay.

His breath evens out, and as the minutes pass, you keep stroking his hair and kissing his head, each kiss lighter than the last, until his body relaxes fully, his grip on you loosens. – Love you.

You feel yourself tense up.

It’s not the first time he says it.

But it might be the first time you know he doesn’t mean it.

Still you smile down at him anyway, pressing another gentle kiss to his forehead before whispering back, – Sure you do, baby. Go to sleep, okay?

He doesn’t need much encouragement.

JJ's never been easy to tire out, but when he does, it's immediate. His ear is pressed to your chest, to your heart, and you wonder what kind of dreams he’ll be having with that soundtrack, but it doesn't take long for his breath to even out.

The house is quiet.

Completely so.

And though you're glad John wasn't there to hear it, laying there, without his snoring to lull you into even halfway into reality only means that it crashes against you like a bucket of cold water a soon as JJ is out.

The day dawns on you, as it has done several times, but still the loathing blooms in your chest and spreads through your body faster than your mind can process.

You're broke.

You're jobless.

The girl you thought was your best friend is a snake.

The boy that's sleeping on you is a stalker.

Your best prospect right now is famously the most spoiled and volatile person on the island. That, because your best friend, the person that could actually get you out of this, has faded away after abandoning you, and you have no idea if he’ll even come back.

What's funny is that this is the thought that hurts you most —Not that you're unemployed, that your now previous boss could ruin you forever, that your relationship with only family member is as unstable as your financial situation, or that the people you thought you could trust don’t care about you— that Barry is gone.

Something he has been plenty of times before.

You lie there in the stillness, the weight of JJ's body pressing against yours. The sheets feel too warm, too much, a world you can’t find a way into. JJ’s steady breathing is a lullaby of sorts, pulling you toward the edge of exhaustion, but it’s not enough to quiet the thoughts tumbling relentlessly in your head.

Barry's absence gnaws at you —You know he’s not gone forever, not really. Or at least you hope so. He’s done this before, pulled away just long enough for you to convince yourself it doesn’t matter. And yet, it hurts like it does. Like it’s different this time.

You turn your head to glance at him—JJ, still sleeping soundly, unaware. His face is soft, the usual edge to his features dulled by exhaustion, but even now, with him so vulnerable in your arms, you feel the invisible distance between you grow. He’s a comfort, but only in the way a warm blanket can make you feel safe when the storm is too loud. And it is too loud. So loud you can barely breathe through it.

Your fingers trace patterns along his skin, but it’s absent, mechanical—the world outside the room, the boy in your arms, the life that’s slipping from your fingers, and the ghost that won’t stop haunting you, and you don't even know why.

Barry.

You know, deep down, that it’s not about him being gone. It’s about the fact that, despite what JJ has just tried to convince you of, Barry actually is the one person that was there for you.

When your father went away, he celebrated with you. When he was declared missing, he comforted you, even if you said you didn't care. Even if you didn't even know you needed it.

And maybe that's the problem: He saw you better than you saw yourself. He knows you. Really knows you.

But does he now?

So much has changed in two days.

You can’t even tell yourself it was real anymore because everything you thought you knew about him, about you, is shifting—becoming something else you can’t identify.

There’s no way to put a name to it, though, is there? That dull ache you’ve learned to live with. Not quite loneliness, but not contentment, either. Just an empty space where hope used to live, and you're so used to it now that you don’t know what it would feel like to fill it.

You let your gaze fall to JJ again, watching the way his back rises and falls with the easy rhythm of sleep. Maybe this is it—this is what you have now. A boy who doesn’t even know what he’s asking for when he whispers his need into the quiet night. And you, too tired to push him away, too lost to turn to anything else. You can almost convince yourself it’s enough, and for a second, you do.

But then, Barry’s face flickers in your mind again, like a ghost.

You wonder, just for a moment, if you would’ve been able to say anything if he were here. If you would’ve told him how much you needed him to help you, how much you needed him to be here, not just physically, but with you in the way that only he ever did.

But he’s not here.

And you’re not sure when he will be again.

The buzz of your phone slices through the silence. You freeze. What's the likelihood that he would call you right then, when you needed him most?

You slide from under JJ, and he grumbles, hands reaching for you even deep into sleep, but you don’t see it. All you see is the unknown number flashing on your screen amidst the darkness, and your heart races as you bring the phone to your ear. – Bee? – The word falls from your lips almost fearfully. You don’t want to know where he's been, what he's doing, or how much of what he had to take to call you like this, in the middle of the night. But you’re impatient to hear his voice, you just want to know if he's okay. – Bee, is that you?

The line scratches softly, the familiar sound of skin whispering against the microphone echoing in-between the two phones. Your pulse thrums against your ear. – Not bee. – You finally hear. – Are, actually.

– “Are”? Barry, what are you talking about? What did you take?

– It’s not Barry, baby. – The edge of his words resounded even through the distance. Pleased, but not quite satisfied. – It’s Rafe.

You let go of a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

– Oh, “R”. Okay I got it.

He chuckles, a long, breathy noise. His breathing is heavy. – Did you put the cry-baby to sleep or is he still up whining?

JJ turns in his sleep. His arm, still lying, lax, over your lap shifts, and he pulls himself closer, brow brushing against your thigh. – JJ is… gone.

– Good. Thought I was gonna have to call CPS or some shit. – He scoffs, turning, in bed, you gather, since you hear the squeak of furniture.

– How considerate.

– Well, baby, I'm nothing if not considerate. – He hums. – What are you doing awake?

Regretting your life decisions, pondering the benefits of suicide. – Thinking of you. – It was meant to be a joke, but it didn’t sound like one as it slipped from your lips.

There's half a second of silence from him before you hear that laugh again, like you shocked him.

Rafe Cameron was shocked.

That's definitely a headline.

You can almost hear the smirk on his face. – I was thinking about you too, baby. What are you wearing?

You scoff, almost rolling your eyes. – Rafe.

He laughs again, even breathier. – Sorry. Was that too soon? – His bed creaks again. – You don’t seem like the kind of girl who needs a lot of foreplay.

– Hilarious.

– I was really hoping you'd give me a taste of what you’re wearing tomorrow, though.

You look down almost unconsciously. The only thing covering your skin is sweat. – Definitely not what I'm wearing right now. Unless you're hiring for a job other than personal chef.

Rafe’s quiet again. He moves around. You can hear him breathing. – Maybe I am. What kind of job are you thinking?

– Well, aren’t you the little hiring agency? Should've met you before. There’s some things on my resume I'm definitely not proud of. – He laughs with you now, though there's something strange in his tone. – Did you talk to your governess, or that other guy you said you didn't know the name of?

– Did. We'll be waiting for you.

– Well, you call and I come. – He laughs at the double-entendre, another noise escaping his lips. – What time should I be there?

– How's 10 AM sound?

– Perfect, Rafe. Thank you. Again, really. I can’t thank you enough.

– You're welcome, baby. You really are. – He groans, the bed creaking. JJ moves around again, his head on your lap, hands around your knees, and he mumbles something unintelligible. – What was that?

– Sorry, uhm. Just… thinking out loud.

You swallow, but Rafe doesn’t miss a beat. – And what are you thinking about?

– About… What I'm gonna wear. – Improvising was never really your forte.

Rafe hums, a long stretch of the M, then something smaller, a sound you can't quite catch. – That skirt. – He sighs. – The blue pleated one.

You pause.

– What?

– It's pretty. – Is all he says, then a groan, or a purr. The phone falls on his pillow, you can hear it scratch against his skin as he moves. But the way he says it, as if he’s seen it a thousand times in the two days you've known each other, as if he can picture you wearing it right in front of him. – Fuck, baby. You’re so pretty.

The compliment grates at your ears.

How does he know your clothes?

You think of the skirt. Your blue pleated skirt. It's been ages since you've worn it. It's way too short. You’ve outgrown it a while ago. – What else, baby?

– Hm?

– What else are you wearing for me?

His bed creaks again, over and over, and he doesn’t say anything for a minute, he just sighs.

– I, uhm. I don’t know. – What even is this conversation?

– Far as I'm concerned you don't need to wear anything. You can come— He laughs, low and unsteady, a strangled “yeah” cutting through the word. – Come as you are.

You feel a trickle of repulse run down your back. You don’t wanna talk to him anymore. You don’t want to talk at all.

– Talk to me, baby. – He groans, again.

– I, uhm. – You kick the nightstand, the noise echoing loudly around your room. – Shit, uhm. Sorry, that's my brother. I'll see you tomorrow.

You kill the line before he can say anything else.

@chatgtfo @bitterdotcom @sassyvillaintrophy @xmayankax @bluethperson @coralblue35 @munsoncultedits @the-bitch-who-binges @im-julessssss

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gothamite-rambler · 19 hours ago

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Duke Thomas when he found out about the "Test" performed on Tim and he sticking up for his buddy/brother along with his other brothers.

Duke (on comms during a mission): When I see you stand by Selina, I believe you see two bad bitches. I believe you don't like women, it's real competition, you might pop ass with 'em.

Batman (exhausted): Excuse me?

Duke (rapping): Let's speak on percentage, show me your splits, I'll make sure I double back with you. You were signed to a trigga that's signed to a trigga that said he was signed to that trigga.

Jason and Dick listening in are too stunned to speak.

Barbara (eating cheese puffs while working, impressed): Nice switch up there.

Duke (rapping with ease while decking a goon in the face): Put your eldest son through hurtles, that's a a douche bag. Throwing a weapon at your second son's next, that's a jackass move. And putting the third to a test, that's hoe shit-

Batman (enraged, gritted teeth): Oh, you are not doing this! I already have to deal with the others doing-

Duke (interrupting while rapping, enjoying this): You got a son to raise, but I can see you don't know nothin' 'bout that. Wakin' him up, know nothin' 'bout that. And tell him to pray, know nothin' 'bout that. And givin' him tools to walk through life like day-by-day, know nothin' 'bout that-

Batman (shouting to the point it startles the villains in front him): ALRIGHT I GET IT!

Jason: Nah, he's not finish yet.

Dick (in the corniest way, bless his heart): Let him cook.

Tim: We may have... Told Duke stories about you while his arm was healing.

Duke: Yeah and it's good thing Robin isn't on patrol for the night, I was holding this in. I respect you B, but you... I'm tired! What did these boys do to you? Huh? Huh?!

Dick covered his mouth, smiling but also shocked. Jason was laughing. Tim smiled while on patrol with Duke.

Batman: I said... I was sorry! And I am not a bad bitch! I'm Batman!

Barbara (joining in): Bitch Man.

Batman: He's only acting like this because I said Castlevania is dumb! Which it is! That's just my personal opinion!

Tim: B ... You sent him a PowerPoint as to why it's bad.

Duke (shouting): Castlevania isn't a stupid anime just because you didn't understand Dracula as a character! Keep talking and ooh I'll start with Not Like Us! I may listen to country more, but I am team Kendrick for life!

Stephanie (laughing): B's gonna need Aloe Vera for those burns.

Batman: Okay, laugh it up! When I'm back home all of you are on punishment!

Batman cut off his communication device as Mad Hatter and Riddler watched the entire exchange after being defeated.

Riddler (watching this entire spectacle): I have no idea what's going on, but I'm enjoying it.

Mad Hatter (drinking tea): Seeing the bats angry is quite entertaining.

Riddler (complimenting his friend): I swear you always say the right thing.

Mad Hatter: So do you, pal.

Batman: Oh shut up!

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shitpostingsapphic · 15 hours ago

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"I hate Caitlyn because of the system she represents. I'm so tired of people acting like we can'thate her for that."

Let's have a long, hard talk.

This argument IS made in direct comparison to the oppressive systems we see in real life, so let's first talk about how Caitlyn compares to real world oppressive systems, her faults and the ways she fails the people she serves, and then let's talk about how you're just fucking wrong about her and how you hate the wrong character.

Caitlyn is an enforcer. Stating the obvious. She is a member of a larger system she chose to be a part of, because she wanted to serve the people. She was ignorant of the system's corruption as we see throughout season 1. Her initial intentions with becoming an enforcer are because she wants to fight injustice, defy the stuff politics of Piltover that she was raised under, and have her own identity.

At the end of season 1, several things happen to Caitlyn. She is abducted naked from her home, held hostage for at minimum 24 hours, during which time an array of things could have happened to her but of which we know for certain left her TERRIFIED of the young girl with blue hair she was abducted by. She watches that same girl fire an explosive that kills her mother. Preceding this, she has been witness to the ways Silco has harmed the people of the undercity and how he had the enforcers in his pocket in order to do it. Ekko explicitly tells her this. He tells her how Silco has ruined lives and how the enforcers were the manpower that let it happen.

Caitlyn walks away from season 1 changed in many ways. She is brokenhearted and traumatized, but still holds a strong desire to protect the innocent people of both cities. Because of who she has been up to this point, her belief is that she can rectify the wrongs by using the power of her position to do good instead of aid corruption. Her asking Vi to become an enforcer to do as much is in bad taste, yes. Which she later apologizes for and takes ownership for. That doesn't remove the good intention behind it. And it doesn't negate that Vi can later see the logic behind it. Being able to take control of a bad situation and use that power to do good instead of abusing that power to do bad, is an incredibly shaky but important position to be in. And the whole point of Caitlyn's character is how she navigates that--can she use her position to do good? As per GOOD WRITING, she's not going to get it perfect until she learns and grows.

We can acknowledge the moral ambiguity of using the grey, how it does harm, while also acknowledging the WAY it was used and for what purpose was both smart, economical, and GOOD. Doing bad things for good reasons. That's what the use of the grey was.

I'm not going to get into the memorial much, but all I will say for that, is it's an excellent example of people twisting Caitlyn's words and underselling the pain she's going through. If you can't acknowledge the right Caitlyn has to be upset at the people who just violently disrupted a memorial for mourning the loss of loved ones, I don't think you care to have a conversation about the humane treatment of others. And using Caitlyn's anger and grief as a "see?? She hates Zaunites!!" is so fucking stupid I'm not going to entertain an argument for that.

Caitlyn's setback is her trauma, her ignorance, and her heartbreak. She still isn't a fully realized character throughout most of season 2. She's learning and growing and unfortunately that is at the expense of the people she lords over while enforcing martial law. But if we acknowledge that, we also have to acknowledge the ways she changed the system so that needless suffering and punishment didn't happen. Confronting Ambessa when violence is used unlawfully. Improving the prison food and banning the use of the most inhumane cells in Stillwater. Bare minimum? Yes. But still ways she showed that she saw the Zaunites as humans and not as flesh covered problems the way Salo does. Not as problems to get rid of the way Ambessa does.

If the reason for your ire is because Caitlyn is a figure in a corrupt system, then your hatred is misdirected. The point of Caitlyn is to show the ways the system needs to change, and how the people within it who want to do good can often be misguided, but that doesn't mean they aren't good people or that they can't do good within their position.

If you fundamentally disagree with that, there isn't much of an argument to be had, but I will say that your ire is still misdirected.

I never see you guys discuss Salo or Ambessa.

Salo represents true bigotry in the system. It's a position he maintains all the way up to when his mind is commandeered by Viktor and the hexcore. Salo is the type of person who functions on confirmation bias--he already has a prejudiced view of Zaunites, and will use any opportunity to say "see? Told you so! We should put them down." Compared directly to how Caitlyn talks about them, asks Vi to help fix the system, fights against the system going too far, actively makes adjustments to change the way the system treats Zaunites, the claims that Caitlyn is a bigot don't hold up.

Ambessa IS the system. She IS the oppressive force that indiscriminately will take and take and take and sees violence as a tool and not a consequence to be avoided at all costs the way Caitlyn does. And for some fucking reason, no one who criticizes Caitlyn gives any weight to Ambessa's actions, ever. They don't discuss the way she manufactures the attack on the memorial to manipulate public opinion on Zaunites, as well as manipulate Caitlyn. They don't discuss how she sets Caitlyn up to be pressured to take the position of Commander and uses her grief, promises her justice, in order to warm Caitlyn to her and keep her as an ally, a pawn she can use. They don't discuss how she sent Maddie to be a spy, to be in Caitlyn's bed and to be as intimately close to her as possible, to make sure Caitlyn still was behaving the way she needed in order to see her plan through.

When discussing the manipulative, exploitative, and violent nature of oppressive systems, Caitlyn has become the scapegoat, when it is people like Salo and Ambessa who deserve your blame and your ire.

You wonder why people don't take your complaints about Caitlyn seriously? That's why. Because the show gave you very bold examples of oppressive individuals in control of the systems you hate, and you ignore both of them for the sake of hating on a beloved lesbian character, who is beloved because she is flawed and good natured and whose journey we enjoy because it's all about learning what to do when you're within a system that pulls you at every direction to do evil, and you still find a way to do good.

Do some more think pieces on Salo and Ambessa. Then maybe we can have nuanced discussions on Caitlyn.

#arcane #caitlyn kiramman #arcane league of legends #caitlyn arcane #arcane discussion #arcane analysis #arcane ambessa #ambessa medarda

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ruewritesoccasionally · 1 day ago

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Tequila Temptations | Terry Richmond

pairing: terry richmond x black reader

warnings: smut (18+), power dynamics, oral (m+f receiving), teasing, light choking, overstimulation, squirting } lmk if you think i missed anything else !

summary: in a fiery clash of power and desire, they engage in a competitive battle of dominance and submission; a game no-one can win.

word count: 3.2K

a/n: ngl i kinda hate this one 😭 but take a shot for every time i wrote 'tequila' (yes the title and a/n are included) 🤭

They should have never been friends—never even been in the same circle. She didn’t know how the hell he got along with the people she loved, and Terry was convinced she was merely tolerated, not liked. Every group outing, every game night, every holiday trip—it was a cycle. They bickered. They argued. They ruined the vibe just enough for someone to sigh and say, “Can you two behave for once?”

She thought he was self-absorbed, cocky, arrogant as hell. He thought she was stuck-up, too chipper, fake as fuck. And yet—somehow—they always ended up in the same damn rooms, at the same damn events, circling each other like two predators who hadn’t decided who was prey yet.

Tonight was no different.

Terry’s place. A small gathering—good music, good drinks, a little too much tequila. The group thinned out as the night stretched on. Before long, it was just the two of them.

She could have left. Should have left. But there was something smug in the way he leaned against the counter, glass in hand, watching her like he had already won something she hadn’t figured out yet.

Terry took a slow sip of tequila, a smirk creeping onto his lips. “You know, you could go. But there’s still a lot of tequila left, and I’m not finishing it by myself.”

She crossed her arms, unimpressed. “So?”

His smirk deepened. “Unless you’d rather get home early than stoop as low as entertaining me, your greatness.”

She knew it was a trap. She should have just rolled her eyes, grabbed her bag, and left. But she didn’t. Instead, she tilted her head, eyes dark with something he couldn’t quite name yet.

“Little-known fact,” she said, stepping forward, slow and deliberate. “Tequila, aka the Devil’s Juice, will land me in one of three places.” Her voice dropped just enough to make him pay attention. “On top of someone, underneath them, or simply in jail.”

She leaned in, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin. “Are you sure you’re prepared for that?”

That was when Terry knew.

Knew he was about to test fate. Knew they were both about to cross a line they’d never be able to uncross. And he had never been one to back down from a challenge.

He poured another shot, licking his lips as he met her gaze. “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

The tequila burned warm in her throat, but it was nothing compared to the heat crackling between them.

She sat opposite Terry, legs crossed, back straight, one arm draped over the chair like she had all the time in the world. The rest of their friends were long gone, leaving behind empty glasses, a lingering rnb playlist, and the kind of silence that made every glance feel weighted.

He rolled the dice between his fingers, smirking. “Truth or dare?”

She tilted her head, considering. “Dare.”

Terry leaned back, slow, deliberate, gaze flicking from her lips to her throat before settling on her eyes. “Take a shot without using your hands.”

A soft scoff left her lips, but she reached for the lime wedge, dragging it between her teeth before knocking the shot back, throat bobbing as the tequila slid down. She didn’t break eye contact, even as she sucked the juice from the lime, tongue flicking against the rind just to make a point.

Terry’s smirk didn’t falter, but something darkened in his gaze.

Her turn. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he said easily, licking the salt from his thumb.

A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips. “Who’s the best you’ve had?”

Terry’s smirk twitched, just barely, but she caught it. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, voice dropping lower. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Her nails tapped against the glass, watching him over the rim. “You don’t have an answer or you don’t want to say it out loud?”

His chuckle was quiet, almost amused. “Cute. You think you’d make the list?”

She didn’t blink. “I think I’d top it.”

A beat of silence stretched between them, so thick it nearly swallowed the air in the room.

Terry exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he poured them both another round. “You talk a lot of shit for someone who still has all their clothes on.”

She arched a brow. “Is that your way of asking me to strip?”

He slid a deck of cards across the table. “It’s my way of saying you won’t win a single round.”

They played. Each hand was a battle, not just against the cards, but against the tension threading tighter between them. He lost first, dragging his shirt over his head like it was nothing. She refused to look—refused to give him the satisfaction—but when he sat back, flexing like it was second nature, she felt the tequila settle deep in her stomach.

Then she lost.

Terry drummed his fingers on the table, watching as she peeled off her sweater, revealing smooth, bare shoulders and the strap of a lace-trimmed bralette. His eyes dragged over her like he was committing her to memory.

Her breath hitched—barely—but he caught it.

A slow smirk curled at his lips. “Something wrong?”

She met his gaze, chin tilted. “You’re staring.”

“So are you.”

Neither of them moved. Neither of them blinked. The air between them was electric, pulsing with something that wasn’t quite hostility anymore.

Terry leaned in, elbows on his knees, voice smooth as sin. “If I win the next round, you do whatever I say.”

She mirrored his movement, their faces a breath apart. “And if I win?”

His gaze flicked to her lips before dragging back up. “Then I do whatever you say.”

The corner of her mouth lifted. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Richmond.”

He poured another shot, tongue darting out to catch a stray drop of tequila before he spoke.

“You'll love it, trust me"

The next hand played out in slow motion.

She had him cornered—a queen of hearts against his king of spades, her victory sealed before he even flipped his card. He let out a low hum, jaw flexing, before exhaling through his nose.

She tapped the table, smug. “Looks like you’re all mine.”

Terry’s gaze flicked up, slow and heavy. “That so?”

She nodded, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “And since I won, you have to do whatever I say.”

He licked his lips, the remnants of salt and tequila making his tongue drag slow. “What’s it gonna be?”

She hadn’t planned that far ahead. Maybe she expected him to call it quits, maybe she thought she’d be the one to break first, but the way he was looking at her—like he was already three moves ahead, waiting for her to catch up—had her pulse kicking up a notch.

A slow smirk lifted her lips. “Take another shot.”

Terry arched a brow but reached for the bottle anyway. He poured, the liquid sloshing slightly, before tilting the glass back. She watched the muscles in his throat work as he swallowed, the heat in her stomach curling tighter.

His glass hit the table with a soft clink. “That it?”

She rolled her eyes. “For now.”

He chuckled, deep and knowing. “Scared?”

That did it.

She slid her chair back, moving around the table until she stood in front of him. He watched her, amused, eyes dragging over her bare shoulders, the strap of her bralette slipping slightly. She leaned down, hands resting on the armrests of his chair, caging him in.

His smirk didn’t waver. “Bold move, sweetheart.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she murmured, head tilting.

Terry’s fingers twitched on the arms of the chair. “You tell me.”

She leaned in, just enough for her breath to ghost against his lips.

That was all it took.

His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around her waist as he pulled her down—onto his lap, against his chest, into him. A sharp gasp left her lips, but before she could think, before she could react, his mouth was on hers.

The kiss was messy, reckless, months—maybe years—of tension snapping all at once. His lips were hot and insistent, his grip firm as he held her in place. She wasn’t passive—never that—fingernails digging into his shoulders, pressing closer, daring him to give in completely.

Terry groaned, low and deep, as her teeth scraped his bottom lip. He grabbed her jaw, tilting her head just so, before deepening the kiss, tongue sweeping past her lips in a way that made her stomach tighten.

She hated him. She hated him.

So why was she still kissing him like she never wanted to stop?

He pulled back just enough to speak, his breath hot against her lips. “Admit it.”

She swallowed, heart hammering. “Admit what?”

His grip tightened. “That you want this.”

Her chin lifted defiantly, lips still wet from his. “Not if my life depended on it.”

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest, his fingers brushing over her thigh, warm and possessive. “Liar.”

She exhaled sharply, but before she could form a retort, his lips were on hers again, stealing the words right from her mouth.

And this time?

She didn’t stop him.

The aftermath of the kiss left an electric hum in the air, their lips barely parted, still tasting each other like the heat was a living thing between them. But this wasn’t just about the kiss. It wasn’t just about the brief collision of mouths, the hard press of bodies that came before. No, this was the point of no return. Their breaths came fast, erratic, as if they both realized in the same instant what they were about to do.

There wasn’t time for careful calculations. There wasn’t room to weigh the consequences, not when every nerve in their bodies was set alight by the undeniable pull of temptation. Terry’s hands, rough and demanding, slid down her back, fingers digging into the curve of her waist, steadying her against him. Her skin burned wherever he touched her, and when his lips grazed the sensitive spot on her neck, a soft moan escaped her throat—one that she couldn’t hold back if she tried.

It was all moving too fast, but neither of them cared anymore. They were already on the edge.

Terry’s hands, large and possessive, slid behind her back, undoing the bralette and pulling it off in one swift motion, leaving her exposed to him. He took a moment to study her, eyes dark with lust, before his fingers traced the curve of her ribs, dragging his touch down to her hips. “You really think you can control this, huh?” His voice was low, husky with barely contained desire.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly. “Maybe I don’t want to control it,” she shot back, smirking, her fingers working the button of his pants with practiced ease. “Maybe I just want to see how long you can last.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound almost menacing. “Sweetheart, I’ve been handling you this whole time.” His lips pressed against hers again, urgent, demanding. He wasn’t kissing her for pleasantries now. There was no civility, no holding back. His mouth was a declaration, a promise—I will have you, no matter what it takes.

But then, just as quickly, he stepped back, smirking at the frustration that flickered across her face. “Let’s see if you can walk,” he challenged, voice dripping with arrogance.

Her eyes flashed with defiance. “I’m not the one who needs to be carried.”

Before she could react, Terry’s hands were on her again, this time lifting her off her feet effortlessly, his grip firm around her waist. She gasped, instinctively wrapping her legs around his waist as he made his way to the stairs. The tension between them thickened, both of them trying to outdo the other, but neither willing to break.

She kissed his neck, biting it lightly as he carried her up the stairs, her breath hot and unsteady. “You’re not the only one who’s in control,” she teased, but the words were heavy with lust, her hips grinding into him in an instinctive act of defiance.

Terry’s hand tightened around her waist, and he pushed her gently against the wall at the top of the stairs, his lips crashing into hers again with the force of a storm. His hands were everywhere—gripping, guiding, demanding. And still, they both played the game, each trying to push the other into submission.

The couch—where it all started—was forgotten now. They were past the point of no return. No more teasing, no more games. He flipped her onto the bed with such precision that it was clear he knew exactly what he wanted. And right now, it wasn’t her fighting for control.

It was him.

Her back hit the mattress with a satisfying thud, but she didn’t lie still for long. She tugged at his beltloops, drawing him closer, her nails raking down his body, marking him as her own. The electricity between them crackled, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating.

“You really think you’re in charge here?” she challenged again, her voice breathless, desperate to break him.

He smirked, hovering above her, his breath heavy on her skin. “We’ll see about that,” he growled, before leaning down to claim her mouth again.

The control—the teasing, the simmering heat—they both fought for it, one pushing the other further into the depths of desire until neither of them could hold on any longer. Terry’s mouth trailed down her neck, his hands tearing at her remaining clothes with an intensity that matched the desperation in her own touch. She moaned, but it was a challenge, a dare for him to do more.

And so, he did.

His fingers slid between her legs, pushing her further into the bed as he tested the waters, teasing her until she was trembling beneath him, her body a wreck of frustration and need. “You want me to break, don’t you?” he murmured, pressing against her with just enough pressure to make her want more.

“I want you to try,” she shot back, her voice dripping with defiance, but even she knew it was a losing battle.

She took control next, leaning over and wrapping her lips around him, giving him no room to breathe as she sucked with relentless precision. He gripped her hair, groaning at the sheer effort she was putting into it. But it wasn’t enough. She wasn’t done yet.

Even as Terry’s body trembled beneath her, she didn’t stop. She kept sucking, savouring the feeling of him twitching in her mouth, fully aware that he was drained but too prideful to pull her away. The whimper that escaped him was drowned by her steady movements, her lips drawing him closer, until the overwhelming sensation forced a breathless moan from him.

“Terry,” she murmured, licking her lips, “You really think you’ve won?”

But instead of answering, his hands found their way into her hair, tugging her head back and forcing her to meet his eyes. The smirk on his face was one of both satisfaction and challenge. “You may think you have control, sweetheart... but not for long.”

Now it was her turn. She was already gasping, her body betraying her as his mouth descended on her, devouring her with the same brutal hunger she’d just shown him.

She tried to hold it back, to control the inevitable release, but it was useless. His tongue, his lips, his hands—they had her shaking with pleasure, unable to stop the wave of her orgasm as it crashed over her. She bit her lip, struggling to keep quiet, but the obscene sound of her wetness, the gush of her squirt, only seemed to drive him harder.

“Go on, then,” he coaxed in a low, teasing tone. “Say it.”

Her legs trembled, her body on the edge of climax, but she refused to give him the satisfaction. She wouldn’t let him know just how badly she needed him, not yet. But the words that slipped from her lips—raw and unfiltered—were nothing but lies. “You’d have to fuck me better,” she gasped, her eyes fluttering shut, already surrendering to the storm building within her.

Terry flipped her over once more, making sure she was pinned beneath him, before he drove into her again, claiming her completely. She had no choice but to take it, her body a mere vessel for his pleasure and power.

She would never forget this. Neither of them would.

Terry’s grip on her tightened in response, his hands running down her body as he thrust deeper, more desperate, trying to push her past her breaking point. He knew she wasn’t ready to admit she was losing—he wasn’t ready to either. But everything was becoming harder to deny. The way they both moved, the way they fought for control—it was all leading them to the same conclusion.

But then, with a smirk tugging at her lips, she pushed further. “That all you got?” she taunted, voice dripping with defiance, daring him to prove her wrong.

Terry froze for a moment, chest rising and falling as he took in her words. She was playing with fire, pushing him with that fucking smirk of hers. “You just don’t fucking quit, do you?” he growled, his jaw clenching. He was about to give her what she wanted—only, this time, she wouldn’t get away with it.

“I’ve made myself come harder than this,” she threw out, casual as ever, eyes meeting his with a hint of challenge.

His breath caught in his throat. A fire ignited in him, something darker, possessive, and raw. “From who, huh?” he rasped, his tone dangerously calm as he leaned over her, locking her in place.

She tilted her head, smirking, maybe unaware of the danger she’d unlocked. “Or from other guys.” The words slipped out like nothing, too easy, but the second they left her mouth, she could feel the shift.

Terry’s eyes darkened. His fingers closed around her throat, not in a gentle way, but firm, enough to remind her who had the power now. “Other guys, huh?” His voice was low, threaded with menace. “Bet they didn’t fuck you like this.”

And before she could respond, his hands were on her again, dragging another orgasm out of her, harder, deeper, relentless. She gasped, trying to hold on to some shred of control, but he wasn’t giving her any space to breathe.

“Say it,” he demanded, his grip tightening as he pinned her against the bed. “Tell me who fucks you better.”

Her body trembled beneath him, overstimulated, her entire being in the grip of his power. She tried to fight it, to hold back the admission, but the words spilled from her anyway, a whisper of surrender. “You,” she gasped, breathless, barely able to get the words out. “You fuck me better.”

Terry smirked, the victory written all over his face. He wasn’t done yet, though. “That’s what I thought,” he growled, driving into her again, hard and fast, forcing her to take it, forcing her to feel every inch of him.

The rest of her words died in her throat, her body overwhelmed by him, pushed to the edge until she had nothing left to give. He didn’t let up, didn’t let her off easy. They were both drowning in the competition of who would break first, but by now, she knew—it wasn’t a matter of if, it was a matter of when.

And Terry? He would make sure she never forgot who she belonged to.

taglist: @writingsbytee @venusincleo @nickidub718 @notapradagurl7 @theogbadbitch @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @wildcardmelaninfreak

comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

#ruewrites #terry richmond #terry richmond fic #terry richmond smut #terry richmond x black!reader #terry richmond x black reader #aaron pierre #aaron pierre x black reader #aaron pierre x black!reader

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kuroosatoru · 3 days ago

Text

perfect strangers - choso kamo x fem!reader

⭑.ᐟ part one

ᥫ᭡ wc: 2.7k, it gets a lil dirty lol

ᥫ᭡ content warnings:

nsfw, afab!reader, slight angst, mentions of death, mentions of smoking weed, softdom!choso, unprotected sex+its consequences, mentions of pregnancy, he's just sickeningly sweet ugh. lowkey slowburn but wtv not proofread 100%

there was a slight chill in the air, a sure sign that summer was soon coming to an end. as you make your way back around the block after your run, music blasting from your headphones when you slam into what feels like a wall. you look up, eyes meeting the face of a very tired, built man.

choso kamo wasn't the type to get attached to very many people. he had no memory of his father, and his mother had passed a few years ago at this point; he simply saw no appeal in meeting anyone new. now, this doesn't mean he refuses to show up every now and then, he does have obligations after all.

he shoots you a smile for the sake of being polite, "you should watch where you're going. i could've been a criminal waiting to run your pockets," he pauses, "or something." he finishes, smile falling from his face.

"or something," you start, "y/n. nice to meet you..?" you trail off, waiting for his response.

his eyes widen slightly at your forwardness: "oh, i'm choso." he replies awkwardly, his almost purple eyes met yours, "hey, there's this party i'm going to tonight. you wouldn't want to come, would you?" he asks, pulling his phone out of his back pocket, "everyone should get there around nine-ish. here." he finishes, attempting to hand his phone to you.

"what am i supposed to do with this?" you ask him playfully as he rolls his eyes, no longer wishing to entertain you. you take the hint and grab the phone out of his hand and put your number into it.

one of his 'brothers' was having a house party, and with choso being in a frat, he was making said appearance tonight. it's not like he was particularly excited this time around, but he was ready to get out of his head and forget about his issues for a little while.

"don't worry, i'll pick you up." he says as the two of you go your separate ways.

this wasn't like you, going to a party with a guy you met not even twelve hours earlier. if your friends back home knew, they'd tear you a new one, not to mention your parents. you had half a mind to text choso to cancel, your nerves starting to get the best of you, when your phone buzzes.

hey, i should be there soon. keep an eye out for me will ya?

he arrives not even ten minutes later, his sports car purring as he pulled up. he gets out of the car to open your door for you, an almost nervous smirk on his face. after making sure you were inside of the car, he closes the door and the two of you are on the way to his friends house.

you weren't dressed to the nines by any means, but you still made sure you looked good, the shorts you wore perfectly accentuating your oh so plump ass. whether that was for choso or not, he just couldn't stop looking.

there was a palpable tension in the air, eyes playing tag with the others body as choso's hand found its way to your upper thigh. you take in a deep breath as his hand gets closer to your pussy, legs pressing themselves together.

"look at that, we're here." choso says, taking his hand back to finish parking the car; you can't help but notice the slight tent forming in his pants. after gaining his composure, the two of you went inside.

it had been a few hours since you first arrived now; choso had disappeared somewhere, so you found yourself in a circle with a few people you had recognized from your classes passing a blunt around.

the black-haired boy watches from a distance as you inhale the earthy flavor of the wrap, your shoulders relaxing as the high begins to take effect almost immediately since you don't smoke very often; your eyes finally meet as you wave him over with a slightly dazed smile. choso would think it were cute, if it weren't for him becoming witness to someone trying to take you from him. as he feels his face heat up with anger, he sighs, what has gotten into him? he doesn't even know you like that. choso still eagerly makes his way over to you despite every bone in his body not wanting to; you offer the blunt to him as he shakes his head.

"i'll show ya some real good smoke later on," he pauses nervously, "only if you wanted to though."

you nod in response, and the two of you head back to chosos place.

in the midst of basking in his thoughts, he starts to roll a joint for the two of you to share. you watch him attentively as he packs the herb tight, and his eyes meet yours as he seals it. causing a familiar heat to ignite in-between your legs as the two of you look away from each other in embarrassment, "be right back, need a light." choso says as he dismisses himself.

choso was a greedy smoker. his forced antisocial nature often turning him away from smoking with anyone other than his demons. meaning, he had no idea how you ended up here, and choso would be lying if he said he didn't like having you with him. you had a warmth that brought something out in choso he hadn't felt in a while. despite this, choso still decided he couldn't let himself get too attached to you, which was probably for the best.

he walks back into the room slightly crestfallen with a lighter in hand; you grab the freshly rolled herb off of his tray and hand it to him. your finger graze each other's, causing the both of you to blush a little bit. choso places the joint in-between his lips as he lights it, the flame casting a faint glow onto his face.

"do you do this with all of the girls you bring over?" you ask as you hit it, trying not to cough.

choso's eyes widen a little as he scoffs, "this is gonna make me sound like a loser, but i don't have many people over, let alone girls." he takes the j from you, "guess you're just special," he says with a shrug as he inhales the smoke deeply.

thinking back, choso had only ever had a grand total of three women in his place: his ex-girlfriend from highschool, a one night stand from last semester, and a recent tinder hookup; none of them were parallel to his current experience with you.

you place your hand on his upper thigh, eyes fluttering and full of lust, "guess we'll have to make it something to remember then." choso gasps softly as his head cocks to the side, demeanor changed ever-so-slightly from your sudden forwardness; his mind nearly goes blank as you move your hand closer to his growing member. he puts the joint out hastily and leans in to kiss you.

it had been so long since choso was intimate with anyone that he swore he was going to cum just from how intoxicating your kiss was; his lips left a smattering of kisses leading down to your chest as he pulled away.

"y/n, i just want to make sure you actually want to do this." he says almost so quietly that you swore you would've missed it if you weren't looking right at him. choso was nervous, regardless of how hard his throbbing cock was, "i don't want you to be disappointed, but i'm not that.." he pauses, looking for the right word to say, "good at this whole thing."

you nearly laugh in his face, "i've wanted to have you in me since whatever you did to me in your car, and whether you're good or not, i just want you." you say, eyes glazed over and hanging low from the high you were still feeling. choso's lips fervently meet yours once again as you start to graze your fingers along his clothed cock; he takes your shirt off of you, your lips separating for only a split second. he needed more of you, he thought to himself as his precum started to soak through his pants. "cho," you pause, a small whimper escaping his mouth as you pull away from him, "please fuck me." he nods eagerly as you both get off of his bed.

in one swift motion, you finish taking your clothes off and kneel down in front of choso, his legs spread just enough for you to fit between. you unbutton his pants and let them fall to the ground.

choso was in bad shape, his thick cock throbbing almost painfully from his already impending release as you pull his underwear down. choso's eyes squeeze shut as you rub your thumb along his slit. you smile to yourself before taking his tip into your mouth and start to suck him off ever so gently.

"ohh my god," choso says with a groan. if your mouth had him losing his mind, he couldn't even fathom just how delectable it would feel when he finally got the chance to be inside of you. choso collects your hair in his hand and pulls firmly as he pushes his way deeper into your throat, causing it to tighten around him as you gag.

"shit," he pauses, "i didn't mean to do that, y/n." he continues as he starts to pull himself out. it didn't matter if he was telling the truth or not, you just needed him inside of you in any way he'd be willing.

you grasp the back of his thighs tight to keep him close not fully done blowing him just yet, " 's okay cho, i didn't mind." you say with a smile in an attempt to comfort him; his shoulders relax as he sees just how pretty you look perched underneath him. your lips glossy with spit and your tits perfectly highlighted in the dimly lit, smoke filled room. as you're guiding his dick back into your mouth, you pause, "i want you to use me, cho." you finish, feeling the slick in-between your legs start to gather in your panties, as you squeeze your plush thighs tightly together. you desperately needed a release, whether that was choso's or your own.

choso moans as you finish taking him into your mouth, his tip almost crying from how badly he needed to cum, he was not going to last very long whatsoever. you brace yourself just in time as he rudely shoves his cock down your throat, causing your eyes to prickle with small tears. as he reaches the back of your throat, he moans again.

"mmh, that's right. take all of it like a good girl." he coos, and you can tell he's about to finish. regardless of how kind he had been to you, he had still felt like you had teased him nearly all night. his thrusts into your throat began to grow more erratic as he finally finishes in your throat with a whimper. you swallow his cum with a smile as you stand up and choso picks you up to gently place you back on his bed, teetering over the edge as your legs instinctively open up when choso finds his way in-between them. his mouth hovers over your clit as your eyes meet, "is this okay?"

you nod, "you don't have to ask choso, remember? i'm all yours right now." the black haired boy exhales and reaches a digit into your oh so wet pussy. your legs close around his head almost immediately, and choso opens you back up, legs pinned open with his hands gripping your thighs. his tongue traces circles around your clit as he groans to himself at how good you taste.

choso just couldn't get enough of you. from your oh so sweet face to the delectable taste of your pussy. which was drenched in arousal as he removes his finger from inside of you, sucking it clean.

"mmh, you taste so fucking good." he remarks, standing up and taking his already re-solidified cock in his large hand. he lines himself up with your entrance, giving your pussy a few gentle tap-tap-taps, resulting in you letting out a wanton moan and arching your back.

"ohh yeah, that's my good girl," choso coos in response, his tip pleading to be pushed inside of you. he was almost at his limit, needing to dig deep within himself to hold himself back as to not ravage you completely just yet. his eyes flutter shut as he pushes his way into you, cock throbbing in relief. he whimpers almost pathetically as his rhythmic, soothing thrusts start to speed up, his thick, juicy dick almost too much for you to handle.

you make sure to let him know that too, "ohhh cho, 's so big." you say in-between your moans which grew louder each time his cock reentered you.

a cocky smirk crawls across choso's face as he watches you fall apart, "shhh, just let me take good care of you, okay? i know how bad you need it." he whispers to you, his hand tracing comforting circles on your thigh. your pussy squeezes around him, begging for choso to go deeper. your nails dig into his back, leaving small crescent shapes in their wake.

"ohhh choso, fuck!" you exclaim, "i'm gonna cum!" you finish warning him as his thrusts become more sporadic. he was barely holding on himself at this point, his self-control long gone now.

"it's okay my pretty girl, you can let it go now." choso says, leaving small bites along your neck, as he works his way deeper into you.

just as the tip of choso's dick finally reaches your g-spot, you cum around him, legs holding him in tight as you come to completion. he tries to push himself out of you, but you're not letting him go.

quickly you blurt, "i'm on the pill, don't worry," you finish stuttering out in-between gasps heavily laced with lust.

choso nods, and his thrusts start to increasingly grow harder as he climbs closer to his climax, lord knows how he's lasted as long as he has prior to his own round one. either way, his ability to hold onto his release was lost as he became a whimpering, moaning mess on top of you.

after a few moments of choso spilling into you, he plops onto the bed, "that was," he pauses, purple eyes gazing into yours as the lust in them soon dissipates, "the best i've ever had."

you smile at him, brain empty from how hard you had cum, "good." you say as your eyes eventually flutter shut, exhausted from choso making you his.

the next morning, you awake to the smell of pancakes. as your eyes begin to open, a shirtless choso breaches into view.

"hey," he smiles at you, "last night was phenomenal." he finishes saying, passing the plate of pancakes to you. they were warm, and so was choso all of a sudden, personality having made a full 180 from the man you had met the day before. he liked you, and he he wouldn't mind if you had decided to stick around for a while.

shakily, you pull the stick out of the red solo cup you had sitting on your bathroom counter, a faint positive sign almost glowing in the flickering light. i need to fix this damned thing you think to yourself, unsure if you were referring to your new addition or the light. with a regretful sigh, you text choso.

a few months had passed since you and him had actually interacted, only ever passing each other on the way to your classes, which were miles apart; to say choso missed you would be an understatement. choso was yearning to be with you again; he couldn't get you off of his mind. you were a plague that he didn't want to find a cure for. so, when his phone lit up with a message from you, he rushed to be there in any way you needed.

he was nervous, and so were you. so, when choso arrived at your apartment with flowers, you nearly cried in his arms out of relief.

"it's gonna be okay, y/n. we'll figure this out together." he says as he holds you right against his chest. this time, you knew he meant what he said, and you were willing to see just how well this whole thing ended up.

ᥫ᭡ author's note(s): uninvolved fratboy!choso exists and he's a sweetie, i don't make the rules.. ++ idk how many parts this is going to be, but TRUST me i'll take care of our boy and y/n. she's got him so pathetically wrapped around her finger, and neither one of them would want it any other way rn tbh. also... i'm like 100% using the timeskip in my p.2 to avoid actually writing about pregnancy lol

ᥫ᭡ taglist: @sluturu @cajunfootrub (thank you both sm for helping my indecisive self)

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #choso x reader #jjk x you #choso kamo #jjk choso #choso smut #jujutsu kaisen choso #jjk smut #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk imagines #jjk modern au

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zeroseuniverse · 2 days ago

Note

Please do a part 3 to Never Asked, this is so wholesome 😭😭

More member interactions or something angsty with fluff please 🥹

Thankfully I thought ahead this time!! It's already written!!!

You Never Asked III

Word Count: 585 Summary: You all know the story by now right? Pairing: Jongho X Fem Reader

Part I Part II

Navigation

Jongho should have known.

The moment his members met her, he should have known that they would take it too far.

It started off small. She’d get random texts from Wooyoung asking, “Are you feeding him properly? He gets cranky if he doesn’t eat.”

Then San started sending her videos of Jongho singing with captions like “Your man is talented, you’re welcome”.

But things escalated when Seonghwa personally invited her over for dinner.

“You don’t have to do this,” Jongho muttered as she stood outside their dorm.

“I want to,” she reassured him, grinning. “They’re fun.”

Jongho just sighed, mentally preparing himself for whatever nonsense was about to unfold.

The moment she stepped inside, chaos erupted.

“You’re finally here!!”

Wooyoung practically tackled her in a hug. “We missed you!”

“You saw me last week,” she laughed.

“Too long,” Yunho declared dramatically, pulling you into a side hug.

Jongho crossed his arms. “She’s my girlfriend, not yours.”

“Are you sure?” Yeosang deadpanned. “We might like her more.”

Jongho scowled. She just patted his arm.

Dinner was surprisingly peaceful—at first. Seonghwa had cooked, and everyone was on their best behavior… until Mingi leaned forward, setting down his chopsticks.

“So,” he began. “When are you two getting married?”

She nearly choked.

Jongho did choke. “WHAT?!”

San nodded thoughtfully. “Good question. Do you want a spring wedding? Fall is also nice.”

“Guys—”

“You should have a destination wedding,” Wooyoung suggested, already invested. “Hawaii? Greece?”

“STOP,” Jongho begged, face burning.

However, she was thoroughly entertained. “Hmm, I do like Greece.”

The room exploded.

“OH MY GOD, IT’S HAPPENING.”

“LOOK AT RINGS WITH US.”

“I’M GONNA CRY.”

Jongho groaned, dropping his head onto the table as his members fully planned their wedding.

She just smiled at him, squeezing his hand under the table.

If he was stuck with these chaotic men forever, at least he had her to suffer with him.

—-

Jongho was convinced.

His members weren’t just close to her now—they were trying to steal her.

It had been a few weeks since the Great Wedding Debate (which, to his horror, had resulted in a shared Pinterest board Wooyoung had made for their “future venue aesthetic”), and things had only gotten worse.

At first, it was just them texting her for “updates” on Jongho, which was already ridiculous.

Wooyoung: Has he been drinking enough water? He’s stubborn.San: Tell him to stop pretending he doesn’t like hugs.Yunho: Does he smile more with you than with us? Be honest.

But then? Then they started inviting her places—without him.

Jongho scowled as he stood in the dorm, arms crossed, watching her slip on her jacket. “Why are you going out with them?”

She gave him an amused look. “Because they invited me?”

“To lunch?”

“Yes.”

“Without me?”

“Yep.”

Jongho turned toward his members, who were suspiciously avoiding his gaze. “Really?”

“What?” San blinked innocently. “Can’t we just hang out with our friend?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung smirked. “We love her.”

Jongho glared. “She’s my girlfriend.”

“She’s our family,” Yunho corrected.

Seonghwa patted Jongho’s shoulder. “Get used to it, kid. You’re dating one of us now.”

Jongho groaned as she tried (and failed) to hide her laughter.

“I’ll be back soon,” she reassured, pecking his cheek before heading for the door.

The second she was gone, Jongho turned to his members, voice dangerously low.

“I hope you all choke on your food.”

They just cackled.

Because Jongho might have been her boyfriend…

But at this point? You were a part of their chaotic family.

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #atz scenarios #atz imagines #atz fluff #atz x reader #atz #atz fanfic #choi jongho x reader #choi jongho imagines #jongho imagines #jongho x reader #choi jongho #jongho

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grandmameredith · 2 days ago

Text

ok I'm on my stranger things shit again and i saw a hc somewhere that Steve got his 'King' nickname from streetracing/ racing and omg its just so on point in all ways.

like first of all hawkins is such a small town that before the mall if you didn't want to go to the arcade or just get drunk in a field then driving really fast was probably ur only other option for entertainment.

in terms of plot/character though:

just imagine Steve at 15 or younger learning to drive by himself bc his parents weren't there to take him places and there was no one to teach him. Imagine him being so good at it bc he has no kind of warning in his head from his parents teaching him, or anyone who would know if he scratched the car or hurt himself.

imagine getting his nickname from being undefeated at his racing - that's why when Billy arrived he was 'usurped'. Even though Billy is arguably attractive you can't get that popular in like a week and Billy is known to be reckless especially at driving, so it makes so much more sense.

imagine when Billy says he's finally seeing King Steve is because of how reckless and uncaring about his own safety Steve used to be bc of how noone would care if he showed up home injured.

imagine Steve relying on his instincts from driving around all the streets again and again to be able to drive his car with all the kids back to the Byers' safely with his concussion and vision screwed because no matter how shit he might feel he would still be better at driving than a 13 year old.

imagine him driving the toddfather into Billy's car in s3 despite how cars like that are not built for it and knowing exactly how to do it. imagine him knowing the exact make and model he was destroying and how unsafe it was and doing it anyway, unthinkingly, because his friends were in danger.

imagine eddie ceding the rv to him in s4 bc of course the drug dealer knew exactly where teens who could sell to hung out and had seen him in action. imagine Steve knowing exactly how fast he could go in a trailer without breaking down without thinking.

imagine throughout all of this giving the kids rides at the most legal speed ever bc he just cares way too much, taking only the safest shortcuts, and then one day they see him driving when he's alone and realise that he is NOT a safe driver at all he's just protective of them specifically. imagine him being able to drive as fast as he wants with eddie or robin in the car bc neither of them care.

imagine hopper knowing the entire time and giving the most violent shovel talk ever the first time he had el in his car before he realised that Steve would rather die than endanger any of the kids and realising that Steve being safe around himself is the problem.

finally, imagine Steve driving slower the more he spends time with ppl who care bc he finally has ppl who would notice if he fucked up and crashed, imagine him driving safely bc of the kids until he starts doing it for himself too. imagine him finally starting to care about his own safety bc of his found family and just- ughgggggghhhhhh he makes me ill

🥲🥲

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steddie #stranger things s2 #stranger things s3 #stranger things s4 #eddie munson #jim hopper #headcanon #tumblr fic

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b3ach-bunn7 · 1 day ago

Text

MY KIND OF WOMAN

Touya is the son of your fathers greatest business rival. You’re supposed to hate him, but you definitely dont.

No quirks, forbidden romance

—————————————————————————-

Touya Todoroki looks good tonight.

You feel guilty the second the thought enters your brain, like your father might be hearing it. He doesn’t want you talking to guys, much like any father, but if there’s any person in the world he’d kill you for even looking at, it’s Touya, the son of his rival company’s owner.

You’re not even sure what it is your fathers do. Something about finance, computers, science. All you know is that it’s a filthy business, and the Todorokis and Tanakas had been at each other's throats for years. If there was one name that had been run through the dirt in your house, it was Todoroki. Enji had done this, he’d stolen this client, taken this deal. You didn’t really care. All you knew was that you were supposed to hate them all, so you did. Especially Touya, because he was next in line to take over the company, and according to local rumours, he was as misbehaved as they come. Which you were supposed to care about, apparently.

But then you actually met him. And you don’t think you hated him at all.

It was, funnily enough, at a company party. Some firm that both sides of this inane war partnered with, and your dad had forced you to go. So you did, in a little black dress and a perfect smile as you walked around with him like the good daughter you were. You greeted the people you were supposed to greet. You smiled at the old ladies who complimented your unblemished skin and laughed at all the weird comments his too old coworkers made. You only finally got away under the guise of using the bathroom. Truthfully, you took to walking around the place they’d rented out, an old auditorium, peering into the empty rooms. They were mostly filled with boxes, extra chairs and storage. But there was one room, with wide windows and boxes of stage equipment, that piqued your interest.

Because it was in that room that you saw Touya.

He had dark black hair that fell over his eyes, sleeves rolled up while the suit jacket he was supposed to be wearing was abandoned on a chair to the side. He had cracked open a window, and was deftly blowing the smoke from his cigarette out of it. He must have heard your heels clicking against the floor, because as he turned to face you, you noticed the piercings on his eyebrow and septum and his lip. And you also noticed that he was handsome. In an alluring, he’d probably make you fall in love with him then leave you, sort of way.

You had heard rumours about Touya. Everyone had, to be honest. Your town was small and overridden with gossip, both in your age demographic and your parents. The stuff you’d heard about the man in front of you should’ve been more than enough to steer you away, that and all your fathers warnings. But the party was boring, and you were still a little pissed at your dad for making you come, so you decided your definitely entertain this.

He tilted his head, and the cigarette burned between his fingers.

“I know you. You’re Tanaka’s daughter.” His voice was low and deep, rumbling in his chest as he eyed you.

You nodded, taking another step in the room. “In the flesh. I’m not supposed to be talking to you.” You smile.

Touya’s lips curled into a smile. “Shame.” He took another puff of his cigarette. “You just going to stand there then?”

You walked forward until you were next to him. You pointed at the cigarette.

“You got another?”

He hummed. “No. We can share, though.”

He held it out to you, and you took it easily, taking a long slow drag. You sighed, blowing the smoke out the window.

“We basically just kissed.”

You shot him an amused glance. “Are you twelve?”

“No. Eighteen. Just like you.”

Touya crossed his arms on the ledge of the window. Like that, the setting sun casted shadows across his face, the flattering blue of his eyes almost glowing as he turned to look at you.

You leant against the wall, avoiding eye contact. “Should I be concerned that you know that?”

“No. I’m sure you know as well as I do how much our fathers love talking about each other.”

You snorted a laugh. “God, he’d kill me if he saw me with you right now.”

Touya pouted. “I’m not that bad. I’m nice. I’m even sharing it with you.” He reached out his hand to grab the cigarette and you passed it to him, your fingers brushing.

“Mhm. I'll be sure to tell him how kind you were to smoke with me.” You nodded sympathetically, and he grinned something dangerous.

It was all sort of the end after that.

You started to run into him a lot more. While he didn’t go to the local school like you, but the two of you lived in the same neighbourhood. You went to the library to study and there he was, with a blonde haired girl who nearly got kicked out for talking too much. You stopped at the mall to grab some clothes and there he was with the blonde hair boy from school who’s always chatting girls up.

And every time he’d stop you just before you left, entice you with good conversation and a cigarette outside. And who were you to deny it? He was good conversation. He had good taste in music, and he made you laugh. You’d started hoping that you’d run into him more every time you left the house. And yes, maybe you started to develop a teensy little crush on him. It didn’t help when he slipped you his phone number one day.

You’d just gotten out of your car, about to fill it up at the gas station, when you heard the rev of a motorcycle and a shout.

“Hey! Tanaka!”

You turned to the source of the voice to see Touya hopping off his bike. You assumed it was his bike. He’d mentioned it a couple times, and the sleek metal and soft leather seats looked pretty close to his very detailed descriptions. He took his helmet off and god, the mess of his hair and the pink of his cheeks had you smiling instantly. You lock your car door and wave.

“Hiya. What are you doing here?”

He tapped the back of his bike. “Fuelling her up.” He looks down at your car.

“Nice ride.”

You rolled your eyes. It is definitely not a nice ride. Unfortunately you got the kind of rich parents that wanted you to earn money the old fashioned way, which included using your shitty part time job to pay for your first car.

“It’s safer than that death machine.” You raised your eyebrows at his bike and he smoothed his hands over her.

“Aw, lighten up. She’s safe enough. And she’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

You rolled your eyes, finishing up filling your car, but you couldn’t help the little smile on your face. “It’s a machine, Touya. You can’t hurt her feelings.”

You started walking towards the store to pay, and he immediately followed, twirling his keys on his finger. “So where are you headed?”

“Home. Just finished work.”

Touya tilted his head. He held the door open for you and you walked in, quietly thanking him. He’s tall, so he had no issue reaching over and pushing it open before you even could touch the handle.

“Work? Where do you work?”

The store was empty, apart from an blred looking employee fiddling with the cash register. You eyed the chocolate bars and he watched you do so, standing a little closer than normal. “I work at that bookshop on Green street.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You know it?” You grab a pack of m&ms.

Touya nodded. You both walked over to the fridges, and he slid the door open and you grabbed a can of coke. You pull your hoodie sleeves over your hands. “Yeah. My sister’s always in there.” He said.

You hum. “I probably know her.”

“Not better than me, I hope. I should be the only Todoroki in your life.” He pouted and you snorted a laugh.

“Oh, don’t worry, you are.”

Touya grabbed a red bull and the two of you walked to the counter. Touya queued first, and you watched him fumble in his pockets for his wallet, and come up empty. He looked up sheepishly at the cashier.

“Shit. I left my wallet at home.” He turned to you with an apologetic look on his face. “You have a dollar?”

You smiled, stepping forward. Touya protested as you asked the cashier to ring you up too, but you batted his hands away. He huffed next to you and you rolled your eyes.

“Consider this repayment for that cigarette.” You grinned, tapping your card.

Touya walked you the short distance back to your car. “Does this make you my sugar mommy?”

“Ew, Touya! That’s gross. I’ll take the red bull back.”

Touya laughed loudly. “If you want. I’ve already slobbered all over it though.”

“I think I’ve shared enough cigarettes with you to not care about that.”

You dug in your purse for your car keys, key rings jingling as you unlocked it.

“I guess this is goodbye once more.”

“It sure is, Tanaka.”

Before you could get in it though, he stopped you, hand circling your wrist. His fingers were wet with condensation from the red bull, and you noticed how easily they wrapped around you.

“Wait. Give me your phone.”

You looked at him in confusion. “What, you leave that at home too?”

“Ha ha. No. Just give it. Come on, babe.”

You sighed reluctantly, but dug it out of your pocket nonetheless. “Don’t call me babe.”

“You prefer baby?”

“I prefer Y/N.”

He did something. You couldn’t even see, but you trusted him, brushing a hair behind you head as you watched him tap away. You heard a chime come from his phone, and when he passed yours back, you saw he’d given you his number.

“Perfect.”

You tried to hide the smile that was itching to grace your lips. “What was that for?”

He just slipped his helmet on, unashamed of his own grin. “So I can repay you for that Redbull. Give me a time and place, angel.”

“Y/N.”

He brushed you off. “Same thing.”

It was all downhill from there. He beat you in 8 ball IMessage games every night and sent you the dumbest TikToks you’d ever seen in your life, and you loved it. Touya called you when he was at work, on his walks home, while he was doing school stuff. It only made everything more exciting how forbidden it all was. Sneaking around town so nobody saw you two, only meeting late at night. Sure, you had to clamber out your window on the nights your parents were home and awake, but it was all worth it.

And nothing happened. Not yet, at least. It was nice to complain about your parents to somebody who understood, and the two of you got along in every other aspect too. There was that tension that always hung there whenever the two of you hung out. In the backseat of your car, the alleyway behind his house. The little voice that whispered in the back of head for more, for you to bridge that little gap the two of you were teetering on. But you ignored it, because it was bad enough you two were even friends. Let alone anything else.

But good things never last, and you get found out.

It’s after school, once you’d finished the tutoring gig you have on the side for extra credit in history. Your car was at the shop, and your bus decided it didn’t want to show up that day, so you called the only person you knew with a vehicle (and the only person you wanted to call).

He got here quicker than you thought he would and you frown as the motorbike revs its way into the parking lot. He parked the bike and ripped the helmet off his head. Touya looked far too happy as he hopped off, immediately dumping a helmet in your hands. You quickly text your dad that your friend Rumi was driving you home. It’s not like he’d know. He was at some country club thing across town.

“I knew you’d give in.” He teased.

You pouted and held it for a moment. “I can’t believe I'm going to die at eighteen on a motorbike.”

Touya tutted. “None of that talk. This will be fun.” He whispered the last word, his low drawl sending a shiver up your spine.

You brushed him off, patting your hair down so you could fit the helmet on your head. It was big and bulky, and you lifted up the visor to look at him.

“Aw. You look cute.”

“At least I’ll die pretty.”

He pulled the visor down and knocked the side of the helmet. “Stop talking about dying. I’ll protect you, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes. “Enough. Okay. How do we do this?”

Touya sat down on the motorbike. When his legs curved over the side you noticed they were more muscular than you first ever realised, even in the grey sweats he had on. He patted the seat behind him.

“On you get.”

You sighed. You made sure your bag was secured on your back, and gingerly hopped on. You pulled down your skirt as it hitched up your legs, and tried to ignore Touya’s eyes burning holes in your skin. You gripped the edge of the seat and Touya laughed.

“No can do, doll. You gotta hold me.”

Right. That made more sense.

Your arms reached and curled around his middle, resting on his waist. You felt the hard line of muscle on his stomach, and you felt his chest rumble as he laughed once more.

“Closer. Come on, I don’t bite. Not unless you ask me to.”

You mumbled some choice words under your breath before you scooted closer. “Alright. I’m ready.”

“You sure?” He asked, clipping in his own helmet.

“I guess so.”

The motorbike revved to life and you yelped. Your hands immediately gripped him tighter, and as Touya pulled out the parking lot and started driving you’re sure you almost suffocated him with how hard you were holding on. You couldn’t think about the fact he smelled like cigarettes and something musky, because wind was rushing through your hair and face, even where your face was pressed against his back. But, regardless of all that, it was great. Thrilling and adrenaline inducing in a way you hadn’t felt before.

“It’s good, right?” He yelled and you nodded, a smile almost splitting your face in half.

You made it home sooner than you’d have liked. You hopped off the bike, hair sticking on end as you took the helmet off.

“That was fun! Terrifying, but fun.” You yelled. Your ears were a little blocked from the rush of wind.

He fixed the hairs on your head that were sticking all over the place. His hands were bigger than yours but he was gentle as he brushed a strand of hair off your face.

“I told you I wouldn't kill you. Maybe next time you can drive.” His voice was softer than usual, and it made you feel warm.

“Oh, this is never happening again, trust me.”

“I agree.”

You froze. Touya froze too, and you cursed under your breath because that was your father’s voice. Your father who was supposed to be at some country club event right now, which is why you asked Touya to drop you home in the first place. Your face burned red and you turned to see him standing at the front door fuming, staring at the two of you. You immediately stepped away from Touya, and you thought that maybe for one second he didn’t recognise him, that some elaborate lie could get you out of this mess.

“Get off my property, Todoroki, before I call the police.” His voice was clipped and angry.

Fuck. “Dad, it’s-“

He looked at you with an expression so cold and disappointed it silenced you almost instantly. You faltered, turning to Touya. He looked just as caught in the headlights as you did. He stepped forward, to say something, cut through the tension that surrounded your front lawn, but your dad didn’t let him get a word in.

He pulled out his phone. Just held it in the air and fixed Touya with a glare. “You have about ten seconds.”

Your father was a man of his word and you’re happy Touya had some sense to believe him. He clipped his helmet back on his head, and you heard the rev of the motorcycle interrupt the silence before he drove away.

“Dad-“

“Get inside.”

It was weird, being told off. You hadn’t been scolded like that, sat on the couch as your parents stood across from you with fury in their eyes, since you were a child. You were eighteen, for crying out loud. And yet, you still found yourself waiting for him to say something, not brave enough to storm off to your room when he looked as pissed as he did. After another few moments of aching silence, he finally spoke.

“Are you trying to destroy my work? My- My livelihood? Everything me and half the men in your family worked their whole lives for?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “What? Dad, we were just-“

“You shouldn’t be anything with that boy! Do you even know what he’s like?” He yelled.

You sat up straighter. “He’s not a boy, Dad, he’s eighteen years old. So am I! We don’t have any business with you and Enji!”

Your dad shook his head. “It’s not about that! It’s- Do you even know his intentions? What if- His father is not a good man, Y/N. God knows what his son would turn out like.”

And you felt anger bridling between your veins, your head screaming at you to defend Touya’s name, because you know he has good intentions, that he has no business with Enji. He’s complained about him enough that you think he might hate him more than your own father does.

He cursed under his breath. He sat down heavily on the coffee table across from you.

“Listen. I know you don’t care about this business, that you have no interest in it. That’s fine. I keep you out of it as much as I can, so I understand why you don’t realise why this is so bad.”

Your father rubbed at his eyes, and it was in moments like that you saw his age. That you noticed the wrinkles that had made home on his face, the tiredness that never seemed to leave no matter how much he slept.

“But it is bad. This- This business, it’s so competitive. Everything matters. And it looks bad for my partners if they see you together. You know how things are in this town, how much people talk, and he’s not exactly got the most picture perfect image. I mean, the dyed hair, the piercings.” Your dad shakes his head. “There’s- You know he has a criminal record? He committed arson when he was fifteen.”

“But Dad-“

“There’s no buts. Not only do this bad for me, but you said you had school, and I see you coming home on a motorbike when me and your mother aren’t home. All because of that boy.” He spits.

“I didn’t lie, I did have school. He was just dropping me home!”

“You told me Rumi was dropping you home. So you lied. And I’m sure it’s not the first time. Don’t think we don’t know you’ve been sneaking out.”

Your face burned red. You didn’t even try to deny it and. Your father nodded his head. “See? We thought it was just- Rebellious teenager stuff. But now I know you were probably going out to see him.”

Your father stopped you before you could try defend yourself. “You’re grounded. School and then work and then home. No more sneaking out and no more motorbikes.”

Your mouth gaped open. “What? I don’t even get to defend myself?”

“No. Go to your room.”

“I’m not a child, dad! You can’t ground me!” You spluttered, but he shrugged.

“You’re still living under my roof, and I'm still paying for everything. So yeah, I can ground you.”

It was a bit hard to defend your maturity when you did indeed storm into your room like a child. It was a surprise you didn’t get in even more trouble for your little outburst. You’re sure if your father wasn’t as tired as he was he would’ve doubled your punishment for talking back like you did.

So you stopped talking to Touya. You didn't want to, but the watchful eyes of your parents and the guilt from that exhausted look that you put on your fathers face was sort of eating you up. You never really thought about the fact that he would’ve wanted you to take over the business, like he took it from his father. How much it all meant to him. You didn’t understand the logistics of his business because you never cared to and you can’t help but feel a little horrible because of it.

So you started leaving Touya on delivered. You replied less and you ignored the heavy weight on your chest it caused and the fact that you missed him more each second he was away. You knew if you entertained his conversation even slightly you’d be back to sneaking out and finding him in town, so you tried as best as you could to keep your distance. You felt bad that you couldn’t explain why. But the truth is you barely understood why yourself.

You worked and studied and came home just like your parents asked, desperate for your freedom and less of their overbearing eyes on you all the time.

But you couldn’t avoid Touya forever, and soon enough, there’s another party your whole family is expected to be at, some community thing that apparently everyone in town is going to. Your fathers up for an award and he wants you there. You’ve been informed your grounding will be lifted if you can show up and look the part, so you’re sort of excited to go, if more for the outcome than the event itself.

You wear a dark blue dress, the slit coming up to your thigh. The soft, silk material shines as it catches the light, and you pair it with a gold necklace your mother had bought you years ago. You do your makeup and fix your hair, spritzing yourself with your most expensive perfume. You’re not stupid. You know Touya is going to be there, so you may as well dress the part in case he catches a glimpse of you.

And, low and behold, he does. You’ve seen him once tonight. He’s wearing a black suit and a black button up and he sticks out like a sore thumb in between his family, but you know he doesn’t care. He looks bored and it’s a good look on him. His jaw is set and he sips in a glass of champagne. He notices you just once, blue eyes locking onto yours. They look at your face, drop to the exposed skin of your legs and collarbones. And then they look away.

You last about an hour of speeches and clapping before you find yourself outside. Today's venue is fancier and security guarded, so instead of exploring, you just stand outside, a ways away from the door. You wish you could go home but your ride is inside and probably still pissed at you. You itch for a cigarette and the boy who comes with them.

You know that you could probably call him right now and he’d come out, but. You feel some obligation to your family. To your father. It’s the least you could do to keep your hands off him tonight of all nights.

“You wanna share?”

You turn, and like you knew deep down, he’s there. It took him about ten minutes, but you knew he’d follow you out. You were hoping for it, relally. To get a glimpse of him alone, like he was really all for you. He’s illuminated by the moonlight and the soft glow of the streetlight you were leaning on. You look at the cigarette waiting patiently in his hands, and you look away.

“No, thanks.”

You can hear cars driving a couple streets down. The night air is cold, and your hands rub up and down your arms to try to warm you up. Touya nudges your arm and when you look, his suit jacket is in his hands.

“I’m alright.”

Touya frowns. “So that’s it? You’re just never going to speak to me again?”

You shake your head, turning away. “It’s- I can’t, Touya.”

And he scoffs, incredulous. He pulls you back and his skin is warm even outside. And when you face him, he looks desperate, and you want to turn away. He doesn’t let go of you though, and holds you in place.

“You can. Who gives a shit what our parents want?”

“I do!” You yell. “Touya, you know what our fathers are like. This- This business is everything for them!”

“Okay? And what does that have to do with us?” He says, his grip tightening.

“It-“ You struggle for the words like they’re stuck in your throat. “It has everything to do with us, come on, Touya. You know that.”

Even this, just talking to him is enough to have your parents mad at you. And if anyone inside catches this? Catches the way his hands are sliding down your arms to hold yours, the way you’re looking up at him? You’re dead.

“I don’t know. I- God. You make me sound so whipped.”

He mumbles the last sentence like it’s just meant for him. At the confused look on your face he smiles, bittersweet and aching.

“I don’t know what it has to do with us, Y/N.” And it’s your name that leaves his lips, not some stupid nickname, and it tugs at your heart. “I don’t know and honestly, I don’t care.”

“I’m not taking over the business. I don’t give a shit about my dad and everything he stands for. I give a shit about you. I know that- there’s probably a hundred other guys that are probably way more deserving of you but.”

He swallows roughly. Runs a hand through perfectly imperfect hair, then immediately comes back to hold you.

“But I like you. Okay? I- I like you and I don’t care that our parents are fucking company rivals, I couldn’t give less of a shit. I really like you. And- you not talking to me for the past few days? It’s fucking killing me.”

“I-“

But he cuts you off. “Don’t lie. Okay? Don’t lie to me. Don’t act like you don’t feel the same way.”

He steps closer. Your hand comes up and rests on his chest and you think you can feel his heartbeat.

“Touya. I don’t- I don’t know.”

Your fingers curl in his shirt. The fabric feels expensive in your hands, rough against the smoothness of his skin. The distance between you is so small, yet you feel like it might take everything in you to pull him closer. His hands slide from your hands to settle against your waist and they burn through the layers of your dress.

You can hear the sound of music slipping out from under the doors. You wonder how long it will take for someone to notice you’re missing, and you wonder if you’ll be here with Touya when they do. You can only imagine the look on your fathers face, the look on Enji, if they caught you two even talking. Let alone whatever this is.

The dress you’re wearing does nothing to protect you from the cold, but you don’t think it’s the reason you’re shivering. It’s wrong. God, it’s so wrong that you can feel it physically, the cells in your body urging you to pull away.

But he’s looking at you like nobody ever has. Eyes flirting from your lips, to the slope of your nose, the heat you can feel colouring your cheeks. There’s a look of desperation in his face you’d feel horrible to ignore, like he might die if he goes one more second without you. The streetlight casts shards of light across his face and you’re certain the person standing in front of you can’t be human. You find him beautiful in a way you didn’t think was possible, and you’re scared and begging that he knows that.

You stand, silent and breathing, for what might be a lifetime. You’re both daring the other to make the first move. Both too scared to ask for what you want.

Touya lifts his hand. He curls it around your face, rests it against the space in between your neck, just where it meets your shoulder. He asks. Silent and still somehow the loudest thing you’ve ever heard.

A nod. Imperceptible at best, but enough. Enough for someone desperately searching for it.

A breath.

And then he’s on you. His hands pull you closer and your own curve against the slope of his jaw, scratching against the faint stubble on his chin. And his lips are rough and pressing as they melt against your own, like he’s trying to fit himself inside your mouth. He bites at your bottom lip and your mouth opens with a soft noise, and he’s licking, tongue searching your gums and the uneven line of your teeth.

You push him back, panting for breath. “We- Touya, chill.” You laugh breathlessly as his lips trail down your neck, licking at your pulse and biting at the soft skin of your shoulders.

“No.”

“Someone could walk out and see us.” You whisper weakly.

“Don’t care. I’d fuck you in front of them all.”

“Touya.” You scold, blushing furiously.

You finally push him back properly. Your hands come up and land on his face, thumb brushing the globe of his cheeks. His face is flushed and warm and his lips look so kissed and swollen. He blinks impossibly long lashes at you and you smile despite yourself.

“I like you too. Obviously. I just- You need to give me time. To figure this all out.”

He swallows and you watch his Adam Apple bob.

“I know you don’t care about what your father thinks, but I do. And- I need to find a way to convince him. Then, we can see.”

Touya nods. He waits a beat. “Does this mean you’ll stop ignoring me?”

Guilt clenches in your stomach. “Yes. Sorry about that.” You say sheepishly.

He hums. “I think I’ll need a few more kisses first before I forgive you.”

“Degenerate. Pass me that cigarette.”

—————————————————————————-

Touya Todoroki I’ll never forget u.. we r five years strong ☺️ I hate this slightly but I also love it.. so who knows

my period was late so it’s so painful and bad.. keep me I. Ur prayers people

As always hope u enjoyed <3

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darkbluekies · 1 day ago

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I can’t stop thinking of Edmund falling in love with a dancer or performer while watching a play from his royal box in a theatre, keep thinking about how he would seek them out and see almost all their performances before wishing them away. So random lol but it’s stuck in my head.

I have kept this in my inbox with the intention of writing a oneshot but I never got a good enough idea so I'm answering with my thoughts instead

Off topic but this reminds me SO much of Dorian Gray. The entirety of Edmund is a walking version of Dorian Gray, but especially this scene reminds me of Sybil Vane.

Because I sincerely think he would do this. Edmund loves entertainment, thinks that he's entitled to it ... and finding a darling that works with entertaining would be everything to him. It's a break from all the tideous, formal work he does. Just a few hours every night where he can get immersed in darling's voice, dance and features. Edmund is an aestethich person, loving the arts and everything beatiful.

It'd come to a point where he would seek her out after a performance. Poor darling would be mortified to why the king would want to see her, but would meet him backstage. Edmund would fanboy inside, but would try to keep his composure. He'd give her flowers and thank her for a wonderful performance. Darling, like everyone else, would of course know about their violent king (he has quite the reputation) and would most likely be a bit afraid of him.

If darling rejected his marriage proposal, maybe because of fear for Edmund, he would kidnap her and have her perform in his castle, all for himself<3

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere oc x you #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #yandere king

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dreamerimpossible · 2 days ago

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Slasher Reaction When You're Not Interested In Sex

Warnings: +18 content, manipulation, obsession, unhealthy relationships, dark content, there is a hint of non-con in Art the Clown and Alex DeLarge (are you surprised?), angst, mentions of infidelity in some.

Characters: Michael Myers, Chucky, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Patrick Bateman, Hannibal Lecter, Vincent Sinclair, Jason Voorhees, Leatherface, Art The Clown, Jason Dean, Alex DeLarge, Kurt Kunkle, Brahms.

Michael Myers

Does he really care about that stuff? I feel like you'd have to actively provoke him to get him interested in having sex with you. If you don't bring out that side of him, he won't care. Seriously, he doesn't care. It's quite likely that he won't even care whether or not you want to have sex. He'd rather have you have a bad side that you can't control, something that makes you more like him than anyone else. He'll enjoy that badness and chaos. Sex takes a backseat.

Chucky (Human Version)

I honestly don't think it would work. However, if he really wants to keep you for himself, you'll have to agree to let him have sex with other people. In that case, I think it would work. He'll try to convince you anyway, but he won't force you if you say no. But you'll probably fight, because he'll think it's personal and that you have something against him, and then you'll have an argument that escalates and you'll end your relationship in the worst way. After that they'll get back together and then break up again. And so on. Although, if we're being honest, that scenario is going to happen either way (Chucky is toxic).

Billy Loomis

Okay, he will. But he'll be very manipulative; he'll push you all the time about it, and it'll be much worse if you know he's Ghostface since he might threaten you, and his manipulations will be much worse than if he was pretending to be a good boyfriend. I think you'd eventually agree, but he'll get used to you giving it to him, and it'll be much worse when you say no. I think he wouldn't force you physically, but he'll pretty much use psychological manipulation to get you to do what he wants from you, which is still forcing.

Stu Macher

If you're just another low-level conquest, he'll cheat on you or leave you for someone else. If you're someone special, he'll stick with you even though he gets frustrated. He could be very loyal if you push his weaknesses correctly without Billy finding out. He will insist that you have sex with him in a silly way, acting innocent and playful, but you will be able to see his disappointed and upset face when you say no. However, if you play your cards right, I think he might continue with you without cheating on you; but you have to manipulate him, which will make your relationship even more toxic, but at this point…who cares?

Patrick Bateman

Tough scenario for you. If he thinks you are a person worthy of him, but you just happen not to want to have sex as often as he does, he will overlook that little flaw of yours. However, that doesn't mean it will be good. He wants you to admire him, to be the center of his life, to moan his name loud enough for everyone to hear. If he doesn't feel that way in the sexual realm as well, he will end up cheating on you with other people, but he will keep you by his side selfishly.

Hannibal Lecter

He doesn't care. Just give him control over you in all the other areas of your life. Give him the pleasure of watching you break down to the point of questioning your own morals and life choices. Make him play with your mind and show him your reactions. Tell him everything that happens to you so he can see if he can use it in some way. Give him a challenge and keep him entertained with your conversations. Provide him with a context that leaves him in euphoria and maximum exaltation. If you can do that…who needs sex?

Vincent Sinclair

He will be slightly disappointed, but he will respect you. He will not treat you differently or anything like that. He will not cheat on you or betray you in any way either. He will be very frustrated if Bo finds out and starts bothering him, but it is nothing he cannot handle. Other than that, I don't see any other problems. He cares more about your loyalty and that you follow the orders imposed on you. That's all.

Jason Voorhees

The best scenario for him. It will be much better if you do not want to have sex ever. He likes not having to fight those instincts that disturb him greatly. It's not even going to be brought up; just tell him you're not interested, and the subject will be forgotten as if it never even existed. This doesn't change your relationship at all. In fact, I think it will be better, because for Jason you won't be an unwanted temptation for him, so he won't have two opposing thoughts about you to deal with.

Leatherface

It's okay; he'll understand. He won't force you or anything like that. He won't treat you differently either. I don't think he cares about those things, if I'm honest. He's more focused on his family and loyalty. And that includes you too. He asks that you get along with his family and be okay with what they do. That you don't have a problem, basically.

Art the Clown

He doesn't care in the conventional way. But if he finds out that the subject is sensitive for you, he will use it against you. So it's best not to let it show or say anything to him, because this man is a fucking madman who enjoys other people's pain (you know that). If you don't say it, the subject will go unnoticed for a long time. If Art ever feels sexual desire towards you and wants to have sex with you, he will simply take you and use you. Seriously, he won't ask questions. He sees you as his toy.

Jason Dean

For him not to care, you would have to be crazy like him. In that case, he will overlook it, because he will believe that something as crude as sex does not have to hinder a love as perfect as yours. I think that at first he will feel personally offended by your refusal; he will try to explain to you that he feels rejected. If you explain it sincerely, he will understand and will not insist further. But he will use it against you in arguments to get you to give him more attention and spend more time with him, claiming that he does a lot of things for you.

Alex DeLarge

Uh… no. He wouldn't take you seriously if you didn't want to have sex as much as he does. He likes sex quite a bit; he's not going to give that up. I think he might keep you around if you like ultraviolence and enjoy it as much as he does. I don't think he'll leave behind a person to help him and follow his orders. But you two can't be a couple; it just wouldn't work. He'll actively try to provoke you into falling for it. In your case, it would be much more fun if you gave it to him consensually, because that would mean he has complete control over you and can make you do things he wants of your own free will. However, if he doesn't want you around him because he's not interested in you in any way other than sexually… then things get darker. We already know his tendencies.

Kurt Kunkle

If he doesn't feel rejected, he doesn't care. If he feels rejected, the relationship will be more toxic. He is manipulative and obsessive. He wants you to admire and love him; if he feels that you dislike him sexually, he will not force you, but he will be excessively controlling, and you will argue a lot. He uses it to victimize himself. There will come a point where he becomes a nuisance to you. On the other hand, if he does not feel rejected, that is fine; he will be toxic in other aspects of the relationship.

Brahms

He will take it personally, no matter what you tell him. He will manipulate you, and it will be emotionally draining for you. You will probably agree on several occasions to get him to shut up, or you will end up manipulating him with sex to obey you. He will obey you every time if you offer him sex. He would like to resist, but he is too hungry for contact and needs to feel the sensation.

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randomfoggytiger · 2 days ago

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The Truth Is Out There: Dispelling the Lingering Mysteries behind Chris Carter

OBSERVATIONS

To better understand the dynamics behind-the-scenes of The X-Files set, I invested in a six-part book series, the first of which is "The Truth Is Out There, The Official Guide to The X-Files" (written by Brian Lowry.) Well. More accurately, I wanted to delve deeper into the motivations of Chris Carter.

Even more particularly, I wanted answers to a few remaining questions. What was the point CC lost interest in and passion for The X-Files (because his perfectionistic, hyper-focused, workaholic drive drifted away from his first love to greater and grander things.) How could a man so woo the studios that he was given unparalleled control, without question, for nearly eight years? And how was this same man so beloved by everyone he came across, yet turned his own fans (and Nic Lea and Gillian Anderson) against him? If you want the answers to those, skip to the CARTER’S PHILOSOPHY, AND GUARDING THE VISION and FINAL THOUGHTS AND ANALYSIS sections.

**Note**: Most of this post will be directly quoting the book-- cutting out all but the most necessary context, of course (go read it)-- and, thus, will be fonted in italics.

ONCE UPON A TIME: CARTER’S JOURNEY UPWARD

Context: Lowry's book was written while "The Blessing Way" was being filmed.

As with most Hollywood success stories that don’t involve flat-out nepotism, the labyrinthine journey that resulted in The X-Files is almost as twisted as an X-File itself….

Carter began dating his wife, Dori Pierson, four years after leaving college…. Pierson prodded Carter to write movies, and his work caught the attention of Jeffrey Katzenberg, then Disney Studios chairman, who signed Carter to a writing deal. There he was put to work writing such Disney TV movies as "B.R.A.T. Patrol" and "Meet the Munceys".

A pickup softball game in Brentwood, California, provided another inning in Carter’s career, since that was where the writer met Brandon Tartikoff, the president of NBC Entertainment…. After Tartikoff had a chance to read some of Carter’s work he brought him over to NBC, where Carter developed a number of pilots. “Chris wrote a good script,” Tartikoff says, adding that, to a degree, he was victim of NBC’s success, since the network was riding high at the time and didn’t have a need for a family series.

…Tartikoff left NBC to become chairman of Paramount Pictures and says he tried to bring Carter there, but it wasn’t to be. In recent years, the relationship has been mainly of a social nature, and as Tartikoff puts it, “He’s too busy to play softball now.”

Still, Tartikoff wasn’t Carter’s only admirer. His writing also impressed Peter Roth, the president of Stephen J. Cannell Productions. …”I loved his feel for dialogue,” Roth remembers, shortly thereafter trying to bring Carter in as writer-producer on a CBS drama series called Palace Guard.

That show was canceled, but Roth kept Carter in mind when he moved from Cannell to Twentieth Century Fox as president of TV production. In 1992, he took a chance by signing a few relatively unknown producers, among them Carter….

Despite his association with comedies and family-oriented Disney fare, Carter had been kicking around for years a darker concept stemming from his childhood love of programs like "The Twilight Zone", "Alfred Hitchcock Presents", and, in particular, "The Night Stalker"….

Roth expressed some enthusiasm for that notion, indicating that vampires, which were at the heart of the original movie, might indeed be hot given that a big-screen incarnation of Interview with a Vampire was in the works at the time. Carter wasn’t interested in vampires per se, saying his vision had more to do with UFOs and, more broadly, the paranormal.

…Various ideas were batted around, but Roth and Carter felt they were on the right track in trying to do a contemporary variation on "The Night Stalker". “It was just something that had been lying there sort of dormant since I was a kid,” Carter says….

In retrospect, Carter clearly sensed a void-- and thus a window of opportunity-- in the crowded primetime marketplace…. “You look at the TV schedule,” he told Roth as they munched on their entrees, “and there’s nothing scary on television.”

…Carter didn’t remember many specifics about "The Night Stalker", other than how the show made him feel as a teenager. “I just knew that I couldn’t get enough,” he says. When he revisited the show he realized that it had a confiding premise: Carl Kolchak, an unlucky newspaper reporter, kept stumbling upon vampires, werewolves, and zombies. Starring as Kolchak was Darren McGavin, who Carter considered to play Mulder’s father in homage to the series, but schedules couldn’t be worked out.

…The Oscar-winning movie The Silence of the Lambs had just been released, which helped spur the idea of using the FBI as a natural means of entry into this world of the paranormal.

With some further modification and research, Carter had his foundation-- namely, that there must be somebody at the FBI investigating unexplained cases. The show, then, would focus on two FBI agents-- one a believer, the other a skeptic-- investigating cases involving paranormal phenomena. One of the main characters would be driven by personal experience, having witnessed the abduction of his younger sister, Samantha, when he was 12 years old.

The cherry on top for Carter came when a friend who happened to be a research psychiatrist at Yale showed him a Roper Organization survey saying, essentially, that three percent of the U.S. population believes they’ve been abducted by aliens. Whether those results were valid or not, Carter felt he’d found a potential well-spring of interest in a topic getting short shrift elsewhere. “I thought, ‘This is too good to be true,’” he recalls.

…Delving into his own skeptical nature, Carter also planted seeds for what was to become an integral part of the show….

CARTER’S FOCUS FOR THE SHOW

Though he was still a teenager at the time of the Watergate hearings, those events clearly left their mark on Carter, who admits that coverage of the scandal and President Richard Nixon’s subsequent resignation was “the most formative event of my youth.” Small wonder that he named a key character Deep Throat after the Watergate reporters’ shadowy source, and that he came up with lines like “Trust no one” (“My personal philosophy,” he says with a laugh), “I want to believe,” “Deny everything,” and “The truth is out there”-- the last in that series a double entendre, he suggests, nicely summing up the atmosphere he wanted the show to convey. Given his acumen for sloganeering, Carter muses, “I guess I’ve got a bit of the advertising man in me.”

THE PITCHING PROCESS

According to Greenblatt [Fox’s vice president of dramatic series development], those initial meetings in late summer and fall of 1992 were somewhat awkward because "The X-Files" concept was so difficult to pitch verbally. Roth also remembers Carter being somewhat uncomfortable during the pitching phase, network and studio executives second-guessed the elements within each show. “Chris and I mixed it up pretty good during that process,” Roth adds.

…”I pitched it once and they said, ‘No thank you,’” Carter recalls. “I pitched it again and they finally said, ‘Okay, we’ll buy it, leave us alone.’”

…Carter didn’t quit there, becoming, as he puts it, “my own public-relations agency.” He created visual aids-- charts that looked like little TV screens-- as a means of selling Fox executives on the show.

Certain frustrations nevertheless continued to dog Carter, among them questions as to just how “real” the show was going to be. Reality programming like "Cops", "Unsolved Mysteries", and "Rescue 911" was popular…. “Everyone thought this has got to be as real as possible,” Carter says. “No one could understand why someone would want to watch a show if it weren’t true.”

…According to Greenblatt, the fact that the production company is also part of Fox probably helped the network make the decision to take a gamble with the show, even if there was still considerable doubt regarding its viability. “It’s easier to take a flier with your sister company,” he admits.

CASTING CHALLENGES AND PRODUCTION HURDLES

…As is usually the case, various actors read for each part before the field was whittled down to a few contenders. The decision on Mulder came down to David Duchovny…. And one other actor. The alternative was “cooler, and a little more tortured” than Duchovny’s take on the character, says Carter. Though Fox officials maintain Duchovny pretty much walked away with the role thanks to his wry sense of humor, which came across in the audition and meeting, Carter says he had to steer them a bit toward his preferred choice.

A more rigorous wrestling match ensued over Scully. …If some Fox officials were looking for the equivalent of Baywatch’s Pamela Anderson, however, Carter and Twentieth Television’s casting chief, Randy Stone, immediately locked in on Gillian Anderson….

“When she came into the room, I just knew she was Scully,” Carter says. “I just felt it…. She had an intensity about her: intensity always translates across the screen.”

Anderson had her own misgivings about doing television but circumstances had softened her reluctance-- having found film work scarce and her bank account dwindling. The actress hoped a few weeks working on a television show might increase her profile, at least, when she next came calling for film roles.

What Anderson didn’t fully realize was the battle taking place behind the scenes over casting her. Carter maintain that he “had to put my career on the line to put Gillian in the show,” still taking some delight in “proving the naysayers wrong.”

“They didn't see the package,” Carter says. “There was one actress who did an okay job, but she wasn’t, in my mind, Dana Scully.” Finally, Carter recalls saying, “‘Look, this is the person I want. This is Dana Scully.’ And everybody looked at me and said, ‘Okay.’”

Even so, there was still some head-shaking, and Carter clearly felt as if it were “me versus the world” in that room. Millions of dollars were at stake, and at this point the pilot was only days away from shooting….

Still, doubts about Anderson didn’t end with her casting. Even as footage started to come back from the pilot filming there was, Roth says, “tremendous negativity toward Gilliam” from some quarters-- questions as to whether the character was too cold, or if she was likable enough. Carter remembers hearing qualms about Anderson, in fact, even after the pilot was completed.

Another point of contention involved the nature of the relationship between the leads. Carter insisted that they stay clearly platonic despite those urging him to establish more sexual chemistry.

Filming began in March 1993, and the first scene… involved the sequence where Dana Scully first meets Fox Mulder…. The actors had only been able to rehearse at what’s called a table reading, not on the set, and Carter knew those first dailies… would be closely scrutinized-- in part because of the haggling that preceded Anderson’s casting, in part because the nature of the actors’ relationship would be central to whether the show itself would work.

That first meeting, Carter says, was “all-important” to not just the show but to the future of the project….

The actors, however, had an immediate rapport (Anderson has joked that Duchovny has a pretty good rapport with most women…) despite difficult conditions. Duchovny, in fact, was taken with Anderson’s grit and determination as they filmed on scene in the face of freezing rain….

The two-week shoot completed, Fox received the pilot that spring just as dozens of other contenders streamed in hoping for a slot on the primetime lineup…. Postproduction, which includes adding music, sound effects and editing, wasn’t completed until early May….“Each step of the way,” Carter says, “until that day in May when the pilot was seen by Rupert Murdoch and the Fox brass, they really did not know what they had.” In fact, when the rough cut came in, someone at Fox who’d seen it told Roth simply, “Nice try.”

…During the screening for Fox executives, [Greenblatt] recalls, “There was some nervous laughter in the room, and I though, ‘Oh, we’re dead.’” The conclusion, however, was met with applause-- a rare occurrence….

…Hands shot up immediately when he asked what everyone thought. People spoke over each other to get their opinion in, which was unusual in such sessions.

…when Fox saw how the audience responded to "The X-Files", the network quickly increased promotion for the show, which lagged at the outset….

…Fox was equally pleased to discover "The X-Files" could play as more than just a one-note concept. “The first year we analyzed the show a lot,” says Greenblatt. “We didn’t want to become ‘The UFO Show.’”

By the second season that issue [lack of closure], at least, had almost entirely subsided, as the network began to realize that the cryptic, spooky endings served as an integral part of the show’s appeal….

Carter did agree to come conciliatory modifications… and even he says some of those changes have been for the better. The idea of a Scully voice-over while typing up her field report notes, for example, was tacked on to the first regular episode, “Deep Throat,” to mollify Fox’s desire to provide resolution to the story-- “bringing closure,” as Carter puts it, “to a non-closed case.” While he resisted the idea initially, Scully’s narration “became a kind of a staple through the first season,” he says, “and I think it actually added to the show.”

Carter also notes that the Cigarette-Smoking Man was a mysterious figure in the pilot and was supposed to remain that way. “I never anticipated that he would be speaking as much as he is,” the producer notes, “but I don’t care who you are, you can’t think that far ahead. The show takes on a life of its own, and you sort of have to be true to it and ride it into the sunset…”

Indeed, any casual glance at the Nielsen standings provides a misleading appraisal of the show’s first-season performance. "The X-Files" finished the 1993-1994 season ranked 113 out of 132 primetime series broadcast in terms of the number of homes tuning in; however, that ignore the fact that she show aired Friday-- a night when fewer people in general, and younger viewers in particular, are apt to be home watching television….

CARTER LEARNS TO DOMESTICATE THE SHOW… ON HIS OWN TERMS

Another unplanned event in the show’s evolution involved Anderson’s real-life pregnancy, which came at a critical time in the show’s cycle and sent panic running through executive suites in regard to what it might mean for the series’s production schedule, particularly on such a two-character concept. “As an executive, if you weren’t concerned about that then you didn’t have a pulse,” Grushow laughs. “At the time, the real question was how do we turn a potential liability into first, a non-liability, and second, a possible asset.”

“I think we were all very upset,” says Roth, noting that various scenarios were tossed around-- down to having Scully give birth to an alien baby-- before settling on the story arc, told in the memorable episodes “Duane Barry,” “Ascension,” and “On Breath.”

The actress herself feared that she might be dropped from the show, first confiding in Duchovny about her condition, then Carter. Whatever angry rhetoric might have greeted the news from executive suites, replacing her, apparently, was never seriously considered, though her pregnancy was kept secret from the crew and press for several months….

Ultimately, Anderson’s grit and dedication impressed everyone involved, with Roth calling her “a real trouper,” in the old-time show-business sense of the word, as she filmed up to and just six days after the birth of her daughter, Piper….

Again, Carter admits he didn’t initially intend to head down that path [Scully being abducted, resulting in emotional resonance between the lead characters.] “I think it actually forced us to make choices that helped the show,” he says. “It proved to us that people wanted shows about characters and their lives.

“It was a way for me to do what I had resisted doing, which was to domesticate the show. I don’t want to know what Mulder does with his softball team. I don’t want to know what Scully does with her friends. It’s just of no interest to me.” Their breakup and reunion at the start of the second season, he says, provided “an interesting way to explore the characters that I hadn’t anticipated doing.”

Fox immediately renewed the show for a second season….. Certain episodes actually drew bigger audiences for repeat airings than their first showing, and that snowball effect was evident in the second-season premiere: a 10/3 rating (which translates to more than 9.8 million households) and 19 percent of the audience, a 17 percent jump over the season finale. Still nervous about Anderson’s status, Fox breathed a sigh of relief, as "The X-Files" had clearly established its credentials as a bona fide hit.

…To its credit, Fox’s patience allowed the program to reach that plateau, and Carter says he “never got a sense that there was any fear” about the show’s ratings, even at its Nielsen nadir…. “I always said that we would have to create an audience on Friday nights, not steal one, and that I think that’s what we have done,” Carter notes.

CARTER’S PHILOSOPHY, AND GUARDING HIS VISION

Not surprisingly, the arduous trek that took "The X-Files" from his boyhood memories to the television screen has made Carter both protective of his vision and secure in his belief that he knows what’s best for it. Asked about maintaining the quality of the special effects, he says, “Part of the job-- and I’ve learned this in the process-- is never accepting ‘No’ for an answer. There will be a final ‘No’ if the answer is ‘No,’, but ‘No’ is always the first answer you get, and you’ve got to make sure that the final answer you get is ‘Yes.’ That’s really the way I proceed.”

…”I was really the lone voice saying we cannot have these people romantically involved. There cannot be real TV sexual tension here or else the show won’t work. As soon as you have them looking googly-eyed at each other, they’re not going to want to go out and chase these aliens. The relationship will supplant or subvert what’s going to make the show great, which is the pursuit of these cases.”

…Even so, Fox still harbored various creative concerns, not the least of them being the issue of closure, or how completely and neatly the episodes would be resolved. Carter remembers having a shouting match with a Fox programming executive who wanted the endings to be more explicit, helping the audience make sense of what happened. “There’s no sense to make!” Carter told him angrily. “You make the sense yourself.”

…”I feel like Lewis and Clark: I know where I’m going, but I don’t know what the hills and valleys and streams that I have to cross are.”

The producer has no qualms about letting his star [Duchovny] in on that [contributing] process. “He’s got good ideas for the show,” notes Carter. “Why not use them?”

“Everything else I do past this is a big question mark to me,” he says thoughtfully. “I don’t know if it’ll be a hit or miss. It’s a business of failure mostly. While I’ve got this garden growing, I want to make sure that I tend it and that it represents my best efforts.”

Carter, for his part, remains vigilant regarding over-exposure while still submerged in the series itself, spending about 12 days each month in Vancouver during production. Although some executive producers create a series and then segue in the second or this season to new projects, Carter has stated that he made a commitment to the actors to stay with the program as long as they do….

…“You can lay on really thick if you lay on a good scientific foundation,” notes Carter. “The show’s only as scary as it is believable. Everything has to take place within the realm of extreme possibility.”

Carter himself takes pride in "The X-Files" never settling for routine, even as he tries to manage the equivalent of juggling and tap-dancing at the same time. As for his attention to even the smallest elements in each episode, Carter-- his desk awash in material from past and future episodes-- simply considers that a responsibility that comes with the territory. “If you don’t know what every frame is going to look like,” he says, “you’re not doing your job.”

Carter’s role is not unlike the side-show act of spinning plates, a task that requires keeping an eye on various objects simultaneously, lest one of them spin out of control. “You’ve got five shows going at once,” he explains. “You’re writing a show, prepping a show, shooting a show, editing a show, and adding the sound and music to the show.” In fact, he adds, the show runner (a Hollywood term that applies to the main executive producer) really has to have his head in seven shows at the same time.

Seven shows and at least two places, since Carter, the writing staff and selected crew members spend most of their time in Los Angeles while production takes place nearly 1300 miles away in Vancouver. The L.A. contingent includes a visual effects supervisor Mat Beck and postproduction whiz Paul Rabwin, who oversees the sound, editing, Mark Snow’s evocative music composition, and other measures required before raw footage can achieve broadcast quality.

A DAY-IN-THE-LIFE, ON THE SET: ULTIMATE FREEDOM

I decided to include this section to give a broader scope of CC "at work"-- another link in the chain of repeated compliments his friends, cast, crew, coworkers, and overhead gave him over the years.

…The Los Angeles office, housed in its own bungalow, is nicely appointed but relatively spare.

The [Los Angeles] office itself is bustling this particularly morning, as writers move in and out--- occasionally invading the space of researcher/officer manager Mary Astadourian, where various drawers full of research material are kept. In there, the scribes will find literature on the paranormal, diseases, viruses, and various monsters, with folders that carry labels like “Roswell” or “Loch Ness.”

…Part of the morning is devoted to the regularly scheduled writers’ meeting, with the entire staff… assembling to go over that week’s script, blocking out the teaser and all four acts….

The other writers question each nuance, throwing out suggestions to refine the story and make sure it’s clear…. Despite the need for exposition, Carter also stresses not letting the pace drag, wanting to spread action within the hour (or more precisely, 44 minutes or so minus commercials) allotted them. “Make sure you keep it hoppin’,” he says.

…Eventually, it’s suggested they shift some action from the second act into the first in order to achieve the proper sense of pacing. The move requires some reconfiguration of other plot elements, but once those are blocked out the producer and other writers seem content. “That works for me,” says Carter, sending the show’s writer off to do another rewrite.

Carter’s daily schedule, however, is just beginning. The writers’ session is followed by what’s known as a concept meeting-- a teleconference with the staff in Vancouver to grapple with various production issues before the begin filming a new episode….

Other issues involve the number of extras they can use….

Because money is always an issue, and time a luxury the crew usually doesn’t have, compromise and ingenuity remain key….

The producers also pride themselves on finding means of scavenging resources, then developing different ways to capitalize upon them. A prime case involves the crew getting access to a Canadian Navy destroyer that was then used in three different episodes, including “Dod Kalm”... and “End Game”.... “It’s fun,” Carter says, “to make something out of nothing.”

Episodes must be plotted down to the most minute details-- in part because Carter is a perfectionist, and in part because the show is under a microscope now, with fans picking and nitpicking every conceivable aspect. Issues raised include what sort of garb Native Americans depicted should wear, with an emphasis on being as faithful as possible to tribal customs. (A Navajo group has complained because a character wore his hair down, something the elders in that tribe wouldn’t normally do, in the episode entitled “Anasazi.” Carter subsequently visited a Navajo reservation and attended one of their ceremonies.)

From a more practical standpoint, the Vancouver team wants to know whether they can wardrobe the actors in blue jeans because some postproduction special effects shots use blue-screen, which essentially eliminates that color.

The L.A. staffers are also assured that a shoot-out sequence will be top-notch, with bullet hits and ricochets plus a movie-style car explosion. Can it be done? “The answer’s yes… with disclaimers,” quips Beck good-naturedly adding, “One big disclaimer: How much money you got?”

…The crew clearly takes enormous pride in the series, which presents them with such challenges on almost a daily basis and allows them to put their skills to the fullest possible use. Some freely admit, in fact, that they’ve been spoiled by their involvement with "The X-Files" and would have a hard time working elsewhere. “They’d have to drag me kicking and screaming off this show,” Gauthier says.

The same goes for makeup special effects supervisor Toby Lindala…. Still, Lindala has proven up to most any task, with the Flukeman-- a costume his crew created in 10 days that had to weather water and other shooting ordeals-- still his proudest accomplishment. “That was probably the most insane undertaking for a time period,” says Lindala, who worked a 28-and 28-hour day during that stretch to get the suit ready in time. Even so, Lindala grew up watching monster movies and isn’t complaining, relishing the opportunities the show has provided to fool around with such projects. “I love making ‘em,” he says.

Goodwin, a veteran producer who has worked on such series as "Life Goes On" and "Mancuso FBI", now tries to provide more lead time to prepare such major undertakings, but in most instances Lindala and his team (four people, including Lindala, work full time in that area) have just seven days’ notice to put a makeup effect together, and his services are needed in virtually every episode.

…Careful planning remains the main hedge against both cost and time crunches, with Goodwin pointing out that in television time essentially translates directly into money. “The quicker you have to do it, the more it costs,” he says, adding that while some in the industry are tempted to cut corners, “My motto is, ‘Quality, whether they want it or not.’”

…Kim Manners, also one of the show’s pool of directors, lauds Carter for treating each installment like a mini-movie. The process gives the individual directors-- who in episodic television, which is dominated by executive producers, are often viewed as transient guns for hire-- the opportunity to truly ply their trade. “He insists that you go out and be a filmmaker,” Manners says. “He doesn’t want you just go out and be a traffic cop.” Because of that freedom, he adds, the show is “the zenith of my career.”

…Unlike most television shows that shoot on location, on "The X-Files" whoever scripted that particular episode goes to Vancouver to scout out locations and do other preparatory work. “To make sure,” as story editor Frank Spotnitz puts it, “everything is in sync with what the writer had in mind,” from casting to production design. In the cryptic vernacular of the show, the process stems from commitment to “purity control.”

…For the episode in question, that means co-executive producer Howard Gordon, the only member of the writing staff other than creator Chris Carter who has been with the show virtually since the beginning, has made the sojourn to Vancouver. “As a writer, you don’t get that experience on any other show,” says Gordon.

…Other matters have also arisen, some remarkable in their degree of minutia. Gordon’s script for the episode being prepared, for example, contains a seemingly innocuous reference to being “in the mood for some Quarter Pounders,” and Fox’s legal department wants them to clear the wording with McDonald’s…. “That’s a great line,” says an only slightly exasperated Manners…. Hours later, it’s decided to change to a more generic term rather than hassle the legal issue.

…A later shot involves disposing of the [dead] cow, and Gordon-- a city kid from New York-- has actually researched the matter…. …But in light of McDonald’s headache, Carter has another suggestion. “How ‘bout if we just have a truck with golden arches on the side?” he jokes, spurring laughs from everyone in the room.

…The attention to detail, again, proves remarkable, driven by Carter’s commitment to perfection.

The entire process involved in shooting an episode of "The X-Files", from the first day of preparation to the last day of postproduction, usually takes six to eight weeks, with the seven days of preparation key to ensuring that the eight days of production that follow go smoothly-- though even the enormous effort that goes into planning can never account for every detail that can delay filming and raise blood pressure rates all around. In the middle of the season, as time grows shorter, there’s occasionally been as little as five weeks from prep to air.

Just two days before shooting is to begin, Manners, Gordon, Carter, and co-executive producer R.W. Goodwin cram into a small audition room, where they’re scheduled to see more than 20 actors in just over an hour….

Manners, Gordon, and about 15 crew members, including special effects ace Dave Gauthier, production designer Graeme Murray, and others from various departments, later embark on a technical survey. They pile into an air-conditioned bus to scout out all the locations that will be involved in the upcoming shoot, usually a six-to-eight hour pilgrimage. “And this is the easy part,” laughs set decorator Shirley Inget.

Carter follows the group to the door but has too much work at the office to come along. “I’m gonna miss this one, you guys,” he tells them, which is met with a collective “Aw” from the bus.

…The bunch straggles back to the studio around 7:30 P.M., almost eight hours after their departure. On a near-by soundstage, meanwhile, Bowman is directing stars David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson, trying to keep the level of enthusiasm up with another long night of work to do. Shooting is frequently a tedious process, with long lapses between the action as shots are set up. The two stars carry out an emotional scene in front of an elevator that isn’t really an elevator, with a crew member behind the soundstage wall sliding a wooden door closed to approximate the effect. “I love it!” Bowman proclaims as the scene ends, watching the shot through a monitor and lauding his star as “One-take Duchovny.”

Outside, Anderson’s baby, Piper… plays with various staff members as well as her father, assistant art director Clyde Klotz, who’s just returned from the technical survey. Piper shows off her mother’s piercing eyes and frolics later with Duchovny’s dog, Blue (his constant companion on the set), both seemingly fascinated with and a bit perplexed by the other. "The X-Files" is, indeed, a family affair, underscored when Goodwin brings his 10-year-old son and a friend into the production office the next morning, the latter collecting autographs from everyone on that week’s script.

A short time later Duchovny and Anderson arrive, enjoying a few quiet moments while Piper plays nearby in a small red tub, watched carefully by her nanny. …Though he isn’t shooting that day, actor Mitch Pileggi (who seems to create quite a stir among the female office staff) also pops by to look over dailies, or raw footage, of a fight sequence featuring him shot earlier in the week.

…Bowman has to deal with five actors (Anderson, Duchovny, and Gunmen Dean Haglund, Bruce Harwood, and Braidwood) in a relatively confined space, so the staging will be critical. After Bowman aligns them one way, Duchovny suggests an alternative in handling the shot, and various configurations are tried. As they begin rehearsing, everyone still seems a bit punchy, and the mood is light. Haglund keeps wanting to call a Nazi scientist “Kempler” instead of “Klemper”, and Duchovny has a hard time not laughing each time Braidwood (who comes up roughly to the actor’s chin) approaches him, with Frohike supposed to act relieved to see Mulder alive after the events that closed the second season. “Did you ever see the Star Trek where Spock thought that Kirk died?” Duchovny tells him with his trademark deadpan delivery. ‘That’s what you want to be doing.”

Production ultimately won’t conclude until near 2 A.M. that morning….

FINAL THOUGHTS AND ANALYSIS

A few key points stand out.

Chris Carter miraculously won the trust of Fox, and maintained that trust (and an ability to be creatively liberated, by and large) until Season 8 (upper-left corner of the screenshot here.)

Carter has a perfectionistic, remembers-every-detail brain: he was, in essence, the show bible. ...Unfortunately, his memory (like anyone's) is faulty; and that began the slow, gradual collision that marked later mytharc entries.

Chris was at his best when he was hyper-focused on and passionate for the show. As Brian Lowry notes, Although some executive producers create a series and then segue in the second or this season to new projects, Carter has stated that he made a commitment to the actors to stay with the program as long as they do…. The problem became: his aspirations towards a movie franchise turned his focus away from "The X-Files"; and that, along with compounding projects (i.e. Millennium and The Lone Gunmen), further scattered his attention. By the time Season 7 rolled around, there was no mytharc, no movie franchise, and no other successful venture that was equaling the show's former height.

CC learned that 'No' is not the concluding answer in show business. Like Lowry wrote earlier: Not surprisingly, the arduous trek... has made Carter both protective of his vision and secure in his belief that he knows what’s best for it. Asked about maintaining the quality... he says, “Part of the job-- and I’ve learned this in the process-- is never accepting ‘No’ for an answer. There will be a final ‘No’ if the answer is ‘No,’, but ‘No’ is always the first answer you get, and you’ve got to make sure that the final answer you get is ‘Yes.’ That’s really the way I proceed.” To Carter, the initial 'No' often proves to be a first, but not final, hurdle (which explains his self-righteous anger at Gillian Anderson post Revival.)

Chris Carter had an idea where the show was going-- the feeling he wanted it to evoke, the journey he wanted to take himself and others on-- but not the important markings along the way. Mulder and Scully were created to have unspoken chemistry (we'll get to that), Scully was coded to have a maternal interest (we'll get to that), and Mulder and Scully's final coming together (a kiss) was planned for the last scene of the series.

CC planned MSR from the beginning (post here) but on his OWN terms.

Chris thought that character exploration was "domestication"-- that exploring Mulder's life outside of work or Scully's friends or motherhood aspirations in any depth would distract from the show. Why?

Carter always envisioned Scully as someone who wants children (noting in the Pilot's script The hour closes with Mulder calling Scully after the evidence relating to their case has disappeared, saying he’ll see her the next day. As the description in Carter’s original script eloquently puts it, “...there’s no doubt from the unsettled tone in her voice that it is much more than work. It will become the defining event of her life. Nothing that comes now-- religion, motherhood, anything-- will not pass through the filter of this experience"; and bringing back her interest in "a normal life" and families and dogs repeatedly throughout the show, i.e. [The Jersey Devil] subplot shows Scully trying to balance having some semblance of a personal life against the dedication (bordering on obsession) that Mulder has toward his work. She meets with a married friend, Ellen, who has a child and asks her if Mulder is someone with whom Scully might get romantically involved. Though she does go on a date, Scully opts to pursue cases with Mulder instead of that path. The purpose of those scenes, Carter says, was “to show the life she’s passing on. I just wanted to open up Scully a little bit for the audience.”)

However, he envisioned that "domestication" in the same realm as her and Mulder's romance: a hypothetical, post-series conclusion-- the happy ending as both leads ride away from the files and into the sunset. "The X-Files", to him, does not coincide with "domestication"-- therefore, Mulder and Scully must be free of it in order to have their happy ending.

However, again: CC is easily distracted.

These are my four key takeaways:

Chris Carter consciously linked Mulder and Scully as a couple from the start-- giving him a transitional goal (finding his sister) and her an end goal (settling down and enjoying a "normal" life) for their journey. He tied up the possibility of a relationship and the conclusion of their hopes in the files-- which were to take precedent over the accomplishment of each character's aspirations-- and used "the work" as the vehicle (and sole focus) to "reach" those "happy endings". In effect, the show is wired around "the truth" because it is the ultimate tease: we are teased about Mulder and Scully's relationship, we are teased about Samantha's return, we are teased about Scully's hopes to be a mother, and we are teased about a resolved mytharc and final ending.

Chris Carter is easily distracted from his own vision. He'll try anything once, then backtrack to his original "vibe". He remembers how he felt, as a boy, watching "The Night Stalker", but not the details of how bad the plot sometimes was. He remembers that Mulder and Scully became partners in the rain, that Mulder lost a sister, that Scully was abducted and returned; but not that Samantha's abduction story changed, not that you can't give Scully a daughter on a show that eschews domestication, and not that Mulder and Scully can't kiss until the last episode of his show (especially when his crew tempts him to have a big, grand, once-in-a-century kiss on-screen.) He then projects that distraction onto others, and scolds those others for bringing up abandoned plot threads and character arc trails.

Chris Carter doesn't believe in anyone-- he quite literally trusts no one-- not their praise, and not their "no". So many times in Hollywood, 'No' is the default until backs are scratched and concessions made; and when Gillian Anderson said "No" after Season 10, then changed her mind and did Season 11, he saw that as just another stepping stone to a "Yes" after Season 11. She had, many times, changed her mind in the past-- signing on for Season 9 after his wheedling, for example-- and he (assumed (wrongfully) that this would be exactly like other "No"s. When GA publicly flamed his finale episode, that shocked, angered, and mortified him, because--

Chris Carter is chronically afraid of failure. As he says: “Everything else I do past this is a big question mark to me. I don’t know if it’ll be a hit or miss. It’s a business of failure mostly. While I’ve got this garden growing, I want to make sure that I tend it and that it represents my best efforts." When that garden begins to fall apart (due to neglect), he panics, and rushes back to rehydrate, prune, and fertilize it. When it wilts and dies, he blames other sources-- Fox (who gave him unlimited creative freedom, within reasonable limits), the fans (who "didn't understand" his vision), and Gillian Anderson (who publicly pronounced My Struggle IV as a failure.) Anyone who forces him to face reality-- boiled down: the reality of his failures-- causes Chris to protectively lash out, blame others, and shift goal posts to distract himself from facing that fear.

CONCLUSION

It's hard to dislike the guy when you read about his sacrifices, easy nature, and complete dedication. But that history and those qualities and my charitability are, unfortunately, then consumed by Chris's most recent escapades-- a shame, that his past isn't his lasting legacy.

Still, one question remains: at what point, exactly, did CC lose interest in The X-Files?

Final note: this took an absurdly long time to type (and there are more parts still coming), so future installments won't be as... extensive. But it was important to lay the foundation, here; and so, it's been done.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

#txf #xf meta #x files #CC #The Official Guidebook to The X-Files #Brian Lowry #DD #GA #Rob Bowman #Kim Manners #Fox executives #etc. etc.#xfiles #x-files #the x files #interviews #very informative

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whimsicalpolitical · 14 hours ago

Note

perchance matty or ross catches you watching edits of them and deals with you accordingly… perchance

18+ mdni, oral (m receiving)

matty has been holed up in his office for the past couple of hours, leaving you to entertain yourself in the cozy mess of his flat. so naturally, you’re curled up on his couch, scrolling through tiktok, mindlessly flipping past videos—until one stops you dead in your tracks.

an edit of him.

it’s one of those ridiculously well-made ones, the kind with slow-motion clips, flashing lights, and a song that makes everything feel ten times more intense than it already is. on stage, cigarette between his fingers, curls messy and damp with sweat, eyes dark and heavy-lidded.

your mouth actually waters.

you let the video loop a couple of times before tapping on the username. whoever runs the account clearly has a talent—and a bit of an obsession—because their entire page is a shrine to him. edits from every era, every tour, interviews you haven’t even seen before.

you get lost in it, thumb tapping on video after video, admiring him like some fan who doesn’t get to wake up next to him in the morning. because objectively, he’s gorgeous. but it’s more than that—he’s yours. and that fact alone makes you feel like the luckiest person in the world.

so absorbed in your scrolling, you don’t hear him walk in.

"oh, for fuck’s sake," his voice comes from behind you, making you flinch violently.

"jesus christ, matty!" you gasp, clutching your chest.

he’s standing over the back of the couch, arms crossed, a slow, amused smirk creeping across his lips. "are you actually sitting here watching thirst edits of me?"

heat flares across your face. "i mean…" you scramble for an excuse, but really, what’s the point? so instead, you shrug, meeting his gaze with as much confidence as you can muster. "what can i say? you’re fucking hot."

his smirk deepens, eyes flicking between you and the phone still open in your hand. then he shakes his head, exhaling a quiet laugh. "unbelievable."

"not my fault people make good edits."

"not your fault you’re drooling over them either, then?"

"never said that."

he rolls his eyes, but there’s a flicker of something behind them—something smug, something pleased. and then he leans down, voice dropping low and warm.

"well," he murmurs, "i’m done with work now, if you’d rather admire the real thing."

your stomach flips.

matty grins, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you, before reaching for your phone and locking it with a tap. then he tosses it onto the couch beside you.

matty walks around the couch slowly, dragging it out, eyes locked onto yours with that signature mix of amusement and something darker. he stops in front of you, arms still crossed, head tilting slightly.

"so," he muses, dragging the word out. "which bit turns you on most then?”

you blink up at him, playing dumb. "which bit of what?"

he lets out a soft scoff, his tongue running over his teeth. "don’t start."

you bite back a smile, pressing your lips together. matty doesn’t move, just watches you, waiting, a smug little smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. you can tell he’s enjoying this way too much already.

you exhale through your nose, shifting slightly. "consumption," you admit, finally.

matty raises an eyebrow, pretending to think. "consumption," he echoes, letting the word roll off his tongue. then his smirk widens, and he nods in understanding. "right. me touching my dick, then? should’ve actually thought about that.”

you shrug, feigning nonchalance, but your lip catches between your teeth, giving you away.

he laughs, a real one, his head tilting back for a second before he looks at you again, eyes gleaming. "you’re so fucking easy," he teases, shaking his head.

"yeah, well." you push yourself up off the couch slowly, stepping toward him, closing the space between you until there’s barely an inch left. he doesn’t move back, doesn’t look away—just watches, amused, waiting to see what you’ll do.

you press your hands against his chest, fingers splaying out over the fabric of his shirt, and give him a firm push.

he lets himself fall back onto the couch, spreading his legs lazily, looking up at you with an expression so cocky it makes your stomach twist.

you lean down slightly, your voice dropping as you murmur, "what can i say? i love your dick."

matty exhales through his nose, that damn smirk only growing as he runs a slow hand through his curls.

“show me how much, c’mon. get down.”

without a word, you sink down, knees hitting the warm carpet.

"that’s right," matty hums when your hands find his belt buckle.

you undo his belt and pull it through the loops, letting it fall to the floor with a clink. then your fingers undo his jeans, almost tearing them apart by the zipper with your eagerness to see him.

“seen a few videos of me and you’re already this eager,” he chuckles, “you’re mad.”

“only for you.”

as you pull the denim over his hips, you feel his hand softly rest on the crown of your head. a quick glance up tells you he's watching every single thing you're doing, lapping it up like it's the last thing he'll ever see.

“is that right?” he asks rhetorically. he knows everything you do is for him.

you place a gentle kiss to his thigh and pull the waistband of his underwear down, and his cock springs free.

you hum, “m’ yours.”

your hands wrap around him.. you pump him a few times in your hands and he tips his head back, mouth agape.

“exactly. you’re mine, this filthy mouth is mine.”

you lower your head to lick his tip until you finally take him in your mouth. “so pretty,” you whisper.

matty groans audibly, “just like that, darling, fuck.”

you push down as far as your throat will allow before releasing him with a pop, saliva mixed with matty all over your lips.

"that’s it, love," he's mumbling, eyes still screwed shut, hand still knotting in your hair, “know you can get a bit more of me into your mouth.”

you drag your tongue along the underside of his dick, closing your eyes.

when you take him in down to your throat again, he begins moving his hips; bucking up into your mouth. you steady yourself, hands on his upper thighs, and let him, trying not to lower your hand to your cunt to relieve the ache quickly growing there.

“jesus christ, yeah, like that. s’perfect.”

the sounds he's making are enough to make you cum by themselves. he’s panting, moaning, breathing your name, groaning whenever your cheeks hollow.

"you’re a fucking dream, darling. look at you, so fucking sexy.” you pull him back into your mouth. he tastes like sweat and salt and matty.

when he bumps the back of your throat and you gag a little, you notice matty’s head snap down to check on you. his grip on your hair loosens, and you softly gaze back at him, eyes blown with lust, to let him know you're okay.

“easy there,” he says, “don’t be a greedy girl.”

you drag your lips off of his head, a string of saliva still linking your mouth to his reddened tip. you’re panting now, fully turned on by him.

“you’re so fucking hot,” you say trying not to moan, “want you all the time.”

your palms wrap around his length again, pumping and twisting slowly while your tongue flicks over his head.

matty’s breathing heavily and grinning as he watches you, “i know,” he cooes, “i’ve got you. you have me whenever you want to.”

when you let go of him and dip your head down to take him completely, he lets out a deep groan.

“oh fuck,” he moans out, “keep doin’ that.”

his hand falls to the back of your head and he applies a little pressure, fucking into you again.

“want me in your mouth?” he asks.

you nod repeatedly and beg him with your eyes.

“christ, yeah alright. i- jesus.”

when you begin to feel him jerk, you lean back, hands helping him to his high as you hold his head to your bottom lip.

matty’s hand never leaves your head as he twitches, filling your throat and coating your tongue in warm, salty cum. he’s calling your name, breath heaving and hips shuddering.

“fuck, darling,” he breathes out.

he slides out of your mouth. when his orgasm subsides, he watches you lick your lips and swallow his load, before tucking his softening dick under his boxers and pulling his jeans back up.

“you’re mental.”

you watch in a distant haze of ecstasy as matty does his pants up himself and takes your chin in his hand.

breathing heavy, you look up at him, eyes hooded.

"come here," he whispers, and your tired legs hoist you back up to height.

his hand grips your hips and pulls you down into his lap. he doesn’t waste a second to taste himself on your tongue.

you let your eyes fall closed as you breathe each other in.

"so good to me," matty mumbles against your forehead, and you lazily smile, “should thank those girls on tiktok.”

you laugh and shove his shoulder back, “you’re ridiculous.”

“oh?” he grins and wraps your legs around his middle as he stands up, “so you don’t want a reward right now?”

you trail kisses from his cheek down his neck as he carries you to his bedroom, “didn’t say that.”

“s’what i thought.”

#matty healy #matty healy smut #matty healy blurb #matty healy x you #matty healy x reader #matty healy fluff #matty healy oneshot #matty healy imagine #the 1975 #ross macdonald #george daniel #adam hann #the 1975 fic

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acute-crashout-jeyuso · 2 days ago

Text

Marilyn Monroe: a Jhea Fanfic.

Chapter 11: Waffles..

February 28th, 2025 11:21 AM

The scent of fresh blueberry waffles and turkey bacon filled the kitchen as Rhea moved around with quiet focus. She had just finished changing the bandages on her face and hands, the aching sting still lingering as she worked. The griddle sizzled as she flipped another waffle, the comforting rhythm of cooking keeping her mind occupied.

Liv walked in, still dressed in her sleepwear, her blonde hair slightly messy as she poured herself a cup of coffee. She yawned before adding creamer, stirring it lazily before taking a sip.

“Morning,” Liv greeted, settling into one of the chairs at the table.

Rhea glanced over her shoulder, offering a small smile. “Morning.”

Liv took another sip of her coffee before setting it down. “So… how was last night?”

Rhea kept her back turned as she plated the waffle, her response coming a little too quickly. “It was fine. Jey left a little bit after you fell asleep.”

Liv rolled her eyes, unimpressed. “Okay, whatever you say.”

“It’s true,” Rhea insisted, bringing her plate to the table.

Liv leaned back, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. “Mhm. I think I had to put on my noise-canceling earplugs after the second orgasm.”

Rhea nearly choked on air, her face heating up instantly. “Liv!”

Liv laughed, completely entertained by Rhea’s reaction. “Oh, Jey! Please don’t stop! Go deeper baby please!” she mockingly gasped, exaggerating a dramatic moan.

Rhea buried her face in her hands, groaning. “I hate you.”

“No, you love me.” Liv grinned before reaching out. “Come here.”

Rhea hesitated, then set her plate down and walked over. She slid into the chair across from Liv, eyes lowering slightly as Liv took her hands into her own, her thumbs brushing over the fresh bandages.

“I know you’re not supposed to have relationships because of your treatment plan,” Liv started, her voice gentle but firm. “And I know what happened with… well, you know who.” She exhaled, squeezing Rhea’s hands lightly. “But seeing you with Jey… it’s like I was seeing my best friend again.”

Rhea blinked, her throat tightening.

“So,” Liv continued, tilting her head, “I’ll allow this relationship—”

Rhea’s head snapped up. “Allow?”

Liv rolled her eyes. “Yes, allow. On one condition.”

Rhea swallowed. “What?”

“You keep going to your support groups, and you take your meds like you’re supposed to.” Liv gave her a pointed look. “No skipping, no excuses. If I see you slipping, I’m telling the social worker about what happened yesterday.”

Rhea sat there for a long moment, processing Liv’s words. Then, she nodded. “Okay.”

Liv smiled. “Good. Now, eat your damn waffles before they get cold.”

Rhea laughed as she took a bite of her waffle, savoring the sweet blueberries mixed with the warmth of the syrup. She looked over at Liv, who was still nursing her coffee. “You’re not gonna eat one?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Liv shrugged, taking another sip. “Maybe after this coffee. But how about we do this?”

Rhea tilted her head, intrigued. “Hmm?”

Liv set her mug down and leaned forward slightly. “Do you want to go to the Pérez Art Museum? We can invite Jey.”

Rhea’s face lit up, excitement flashing in her eyes. “Really?”

Liv grinned at her reaction. “Yeah. But first things first… we have to head to Verizon.”

Rhea blinked, confused. “For what?”

Liv gave her a pointed look. “Honey… your phone.”

Rhea’s mouth fell open slightly before realization dawned on her. “Oh, yeah. That’s right.”

Liv chuckled. “Mhm. And another thing—Raquel’s coming back tomorrow night after the PLE, so let’s get you some time with your little boyfriend before my little storm cloud starts asking questions.”

Rhea smiled, warmth filling her chest at the gesture. She reached across the table, squeezing Liv’s hand. “Thank you, Liv… really. Thank you.”

Liv squeezed back, offering a smirk. “You’re welcome. Now hurry up and eat, we’ve got a day planned.”

—

Meanwhile, Jon’s grip tightened on the phone as his conversation with Raquel grew more intense. “She is not a part of my brother’s treatment plan,” Jon stated, his voice sharp. “There’s no reason for them to be dating each other, much less having relations.” His words hung in the air, heavy with frustration.

Raquel responded calmly but with an undercurrent of tension. “I understand. My wife didn’t inform me that Jey had gone over to our apartment.”

Jon sighed deeply, trying to remain composed. “I trust you will speak with her social worker about this. It needs to stop now. I’m not going to let her ruin Jey’s progress.”

Raquel’s voice grew firmer. “And I’m not going to let him ruin Rhea’s progress.”

Jon didn’t reply immediately, the words settling uneasily in his chest. “Then it’s settled,” he said, his voice colder now, before hanging up.

Trinity, who had been standing silently by the door, watched the entire conversation unfold. Her arms were crossed, her eyes narrowed in concern. As the call ended, she couldn’t keep her thoughts to herself. “You really don’t see it, do you?” she muttered, her voice tinged with frustration.

Jon turned, a look of disbelief on his face. “See what?”

Trinity rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You’re so fixated on controlling everything, Jon. You don’t even understand the connection they have. They like each other—so what if they do? They are genuinely happy, and they want to be in each other’s lives. They want love and intimacy, something they were both robbed of at such a crucial time.”

Jon clenched his jaw, his tone sharp. “Have you forgotten about all the times we stopped Jey from ending his life?”

“I never forget,” Trinity snapped back, her frustration growing. “But Rhea is not the problem here. If anything, she is preventing it!”

Her words stung, and Jon’s patience finally broke. “I’m trying not to cause an eighth suicide attempt, thank you very much!” His voice cracked with emotion, a raw edge to his tone.

Trinity shot him a glare, her voice rising in anger. “Rhea is not causing it! She’s saving him, Jon! You’re too blind to see that.”

As the argument between them escalated, the heated words bounced off the walls. In Jey’s room, the noise grew louder and more intense. He sat on his bed, his hands pressed firmly over his ears, his breathing shallow. It was a defense mechanism he’d developed as a child and carried with him into adulthood—an attempt to block out the chaos around him. His mind raced, but the outside world felt so distant now, muffled and far away.

The yelling continued downstairs, but Jey remained cocooned in his own silent space.

“SO THAT'S IT THEN, HUH?” Trinity's voice was loud and cutting, filled with hurt and disbelief. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, her body tense with frustration as she looked at Jon. "You're just going to shut him out like this? After everything he's been through?"

Jon's face remained hard, his expression unyielding as he stood in place. "I told you time and time again," he said, his voice colder now. "He is sticking to his treatment plan, and that's it."

Trinity let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head.

"Did you even see him these last few months on that fucking plan?!" Her voice cracked with emotion. "He was a ghost, Jon! You wouldn't even recognize the man he became!" She took a step closer, her eyes filled with anger and desperation.

"And now... AND FUCKING NOW, he's turning into himself again, Jon! He's coming back to life. He's healing. But you're too focused on controlling his treatment to see it!"

Jon stayed silent, his jaw clenched tightly as the weight of her words sank in. He wasn't ready to face the reality of what she was saying, so he let the silence hang between them like a thick fog.

Trinity shook her head, her voice laced with bitterness. "Stay the fuck away from me today, Jon. And sleep on the fucking couch tonight. Because I don't want to see you." She took a few steps back, her body trembling with emotion as she turned away from him.

Jon opened his mouth, but no words came out. It was as if her words had knocked the wind out of him, leaving him speechless and unsure of what to say next.

Trinity stopped just before heading upstairs, turning her head slightly to glance back at him.

Her eyes, filled with sorrow, pierced through the air like daggers. "It seems like you care more about what happened to our wrestling careers than why your brother was sexually assaulted in the first place," she said, her voice soft but cutting.

The words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken, and they struck Jon harder than any physical blow could. He didn't respond. He couldn't. The weight of her accusation was too much.

Trinity walked away, heading up the stairs and toward the master bedroom. She slammed the door shut behind her and locked it, her chest heaving with anger and hurt. The sound of the lock turning echoed through the house, leaving Jon standing in the silence, the tension between them hanging in the air like an unspoken ultimatum.

Jon stared at the closed door from down the stairs, his heart pounding in his chest. He was torn-torn between his need to protect his brother, his anger at the situation, and the overwhelming feeling that he was losing everything he cared about.

—

2:14 PM

The Verizon rep handed Liv the sleek new phone with a smile. “Here you go, Mrs. Daddio-Gonzalez, your brand new iPhone 16 Pro Max.”

Liv chuckled and passed it to Rhea with a wink. “Don’t say I don’t love you,” she teased.

Rhea grinned, feeling a wave of excitement as she took the phone into her hands. It felt like a fresh start, and for the first time in a long while, it felt good to have something new, something to look forward to. She unlocked the phone with a swipe, her fingers quickly navigating to her photos. The first thing she did was set her lock screen— a screenshot she’d taken during a late-night FaceTime call with Jey. They had been making goofy faces, laughing uncontrollably, and Jey’s warm smile lit up the screen. He looked so handsome, and it made Rhea’s heart flutter just thinking about him.

With the phone set up, Liv and Rhea walked out of the Verizon store together, chatting and laughing. Liv shot her a playful glance. “Well, go ahead and call Jey, see what he’s up to. Maybe we can pick him up or he can meet us there?”

Rhea nodded, already dialing his number. The phone rang a few times before Jey answered, his voice immediately bringing a smile to her face.

“Hey, babe,” Rhea greeted, holding the phone up to her ear as they walked down the sidewalk. “I got a new phone, and I was wondering if me and Liv can get you to come join us at the art museum?”

Liv watched as Rhea spoke to Jey, her eyes brightening when Rhea laughed at something he said. After a moment, Rhea nodded, confirming plans. “Okay, perfect! We’ll see you there in twenty minutes?”

Liv grinned and bumped Rhea’s shoulder lightly. “Alright, well, let’s make our way!”

Rhea’s heart felt light as they walked towards the car. The last few days had been a whirlwind of emotions, but in this moment, everything felt right. She was happy. She was excited for what was ahead. With Jey by her side, even if only for a short while today, it was all worth it.

Rhea and Liv arrived at the Pérez Art Museum, the drive feeling like a much-needed escape from the chaos of the past few days. The sun was shining, the air was crisp, and for a while, everything felt calm. They paid for parking, walked to the entrance, and found a bench outside the museum to wait for Jey. They chatted casually as they waited, the excitement for the day ahead keeping their spirits high.

But as the minutes ticked by, Rhea’s excitement began to wane. Fifteen minutes passed. Then twenty. Then thirty. Time seemed to stretch on endlessly as they continued to wait, glancing down the street for any sign of Jey. Forty-five minutes went by, then an hour.

Liv, sensing the growing tension in Rhea, looked at her watch and raised an eyebrow. “Call him, see where he’s at?” she suggested, her voice laced with concern.

Rhea nodded, pulling out her phone to dial Jey’s number once again. She held the phone to her ear, waiting for the familiar sound of his voice, but instead, the call went straight to voicemail. Frowning, Rhea tried again, but the outcome was the same. A sinking feeling began to settle in her chest.

“Where is he?” Rhea muttered, her anxiety creeping in. She pulled up her messages and tried to send him a text, but as soon as she saw the message bubble turn green instead of blue, her heart skipped a beat.

“He blocked me?” Rhea whispered in disbelief, staring at her phone as if it were an illusion. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks.

Liv immediately took the phone from Rhea’s hands, trying to dial Jey’s number herself. But it didn’t work. The call wouldn’t even go through.

“Maybe his phone died,” Liv suggested, trying to offer some comfort. “I’ll call Trinity.” She quickly pulled out her own phone, tapping the number with urgency.

But as soon as the call connected, Liv’s face fell. The phone rang, then rang some more, before eventually going to voicemail. Liv’s expression darkened.

“Shit. Her phone’s off too,” Liv muttered, her concern deepening.

Rhea looked at Liv, a sense of dread settling over her. “What’s going on, Liv? Why is no one answering?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. The uncertainty, the unknown, was beginning to feel suffocating.

Liv reached out to squeeze Rhea’s hand in reassurance. “We’ll figure it out, okay? Maybe it’s nothing… maybe they’re just busy. Let’s not jump to conclusions.” But even she couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling in her gut that something wasn’t right.

Liv tried calling again, but once more, the phone went unanswered. She let out a long sigh, frustration and concern mixing in her expression. “Do you want to get some food instead, or just go home?” she asked, her voice soft, trying to keep things light.

Rhea didn’t respond immediately. She stared at her phone in her hands, her fingers tracing the edges absentmindedly. Her mind raced, the confusion and the hurt from earlier beginning to weigh heavily on her. Finally, she spoke, her voice quiet, almost defeated. “I just want to go home.”

Liv immediately sensed the sadness in her tone. “Okay, honey, come on,” she said gently, wrapping an arm around Rhea’s shoulders and guiding her back toward the car. They didn’t speak much on the way back to the apartment, the silence between them filled with unspoken words and unanswered questions.

When they arrived, Rhea was the first to walk in, her steps slow and hesitant. She made her way to the couch and sat down, her body slumping as she let out a shaky breath. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, the unanswered calls and blocked messages haunting her thoughts.

Liv stood in the doorway for a moment, watching Rhea with a concerned expression. She tried to break the tension with a lighthearted suggestion. “How about I DoorDash some Burger King cookies and milkshakes, and we just watch some more Marilyn movies?” she said, her attempt at distraction clear.

But Rhea didn’t respond with the usual smile or playful banter. Instead, her voice trembled as she asked, “Did he use me too?”

The words hung in the air, heavy and filled with hurt. Rhea’s eyes welled up with tears, her vulnerability spilling out as she looked at Liv for answers she couldn’t quite articulate. The pain she had been carrying, the uncertainty about her relationship with Jey, the confusion about everything that had happened—it all came flooding to the surface.

Liv crossed the room in an instant, her arms wrapping around Rhea in a tight hug. She didn’t need to say anything—she just held her friend, offering the comfort of her presence in a moment when words felt insufficient.

Rhea’s breath hitched as she clung to Liv, her tears soaking into Liv’s shirt. “I thought… I thought he really cared about me,” Rhea whispered, her voice barely audible through the tears. “But now… now I don’t know. I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

Liv gently stroked Rhea’s hair, her voice soothing as she whispered, “You don’t have to figure it all out right now. But I’m here for you, okay? You don’t have to go through this alone.”

Rhea nodded, her tears slowly starting to quiet, though the hurt in her chest remained. She wasn’t sure where to go from here, or what would happen next. But for now, she had Liv, and that was enough to help her breathe through the uncertainty.

—

Jey was sitting on the edge of his bed, his hands trembling slightly as he handed over his phone, laptop, and iPad to Jon. He had just tried to leave by sneaking out to go see Rhea at the museum and Jon had caught him. His eyes were filled with a mixture of anger and helplessness, the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

Jon, his expression stern and unwavering, took the devices from Jey with a quiet sense of authority. “This is for your own good,” Jon said, his voice low but firm. “You are not to see that girl anymore, no more car, no more access to the credit cards, no more outings unless attended by me.”

Jey’s jaw clenched as he listened to Jon’s words, the suffocating weight of them pressing down on him. But Jon wasn’t finished. “Since I missed this PLE for something like this to happen, I’m taking the next two weeks off. Trinity is finally getting booked for a Women’s World Title match and—”

“I DON’T FUCKING CARE ABOUT WRESTLING ANYMORE, MAN!” Jey erupted, his voice cracking with raw emotion. The words hung in the air, thick with frustration and hurt. Jon stopped mid-sentence, caught off guard by the outburst, but Jey wasn’t done.

“I GET IT! I RUINED THE FAMILY NAME BY SPEAKING UP! I GET IT THAT DAD AND MOM DISOWNED US FROM THE FAMILY!” Jey’s voice rose with each word, the pain evident in every syllable. He stood up abruptly, his fists clenched by his sides as he faced Jon. “BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU CAN BE MY DAD!”

Jon’s eyes flashed with a mix of disappointment and concern, but he didn’t react immediately. He stood still, letting the silence hang for a moment before responding. His voice was steady, despite the hurt he felt. “Sit here and think about what you’ve done.”

Jey didn’t respond, his chest heaving as the tension in the room thickened. Jon held the devices tightly in his hands as he walked toward the door. The quiet click of the door closing behind him was like a signal to the weight of the situation sinking in.

Inside the room, Jey remained standing, his mind racing, the conflict between wanting to be free and being trapped by his own mistakes a constant battle in his thoughts. He felt isolated, misunderstood, as if the walls were closing in around him with every passing moment.

Jon’s steps were heavy as he made his way to the guest bedroom. His mind was still reeling from Jey’s outburst, the weight of it pressing on him like a constant ache in his chest. The devices felt heavy in his hands, the responsibility of what they represented sinking deeper into his bones. He slid them beneath the mattress, the familiar motion feeling like a small act of finality.

His eyes wandered to the crib in the corner of the room, its soft colors a peaceful object to the storm raging inside him. The sight of it, meant for a future he had once imagined with excitement, now felt like a painful reminder of everything that had gone wrong.

Jon walked toward the crib, his fingers brushing lightly over the wooden slats. He closed his eyes for a moment, the memories flooding back, unbidden and sharp. He remembered Trinity’s frantic cry when she found Jey that night, the panic in her voice as she screamed his name.

He could still hear the way her breath hitched when she saw Jey in the bathtub, lifeless and covered in blood. He could still see the way her hands shook as she called 911, her voice shaking with desperation.

Jey’s fifth attempt. The memory of it would never leave him. There had been so much blood, so much uncertainty. It was like the world had stopped in that moment, the fear too thick to breathe through.

And then, just as they were taking Jey to the hospital, just as Jon had been trying to hold it together, that was when Trinity had collapsed. Jon’s heart had skipped a beat as he’d turned to see his wife crumpling to the floor.

The doctors had been clear—stress had ended her pregnancy. The baby, their baby, hadn’t made it past 22 weeks. Jon could still hear the doctor’s words echoing in his mind. It was rare, unheard of, for the stress to cause such an early loss. But the shock and grief of that night had torn through Trinity, and the result was devastating.

Jon felt his throat tighten at the memory. He could still see the pain in Trinity’s eyes when the doctor confirmed it—her dream of being a mom had been shattered in an instant. It had been too much to bear. The weight of both Jey’s suicide attempt and the miscarriage had been more than anyone should have to endure, and yet here they were, struggling to hold onto each other as their world crumbled around them.

Jon stood there in silence, his hand resting on the crib as he tried to make sense of the chaos that had become their lives. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized he didn’t have the answers. He had no way to fix any of this.

A sharp pang of guilt pierced through him as he thought of Trinity, her quiet grief, her exhaustion. She had been through so much. He could still feel the weight of her loss on his shoulders, the burden of trying to be the strong one for both of them.

He finally pulled his hand away from the crib, wiping a tear that had unknowingly fallen from his eye. With one last look at the crib, he turned to leave the room, his steps heavy as he headed back down the hall.

The weight of what they had lost still hung over them all, and no matter how hard he tried to protect his family, it felt like the past would always haunt them.

Jon made his way downstairs to the kitchen, the familiar small sounds of the house around him. He opened the fridge and began pulling out the ingredients to make himself a sandwich. It was one of those rare quiet moments, and he needed it. His mind was a swirl of everything he had been dealing with, but he hoped this would be a small moment of peace.

As he grabbed the bread from the counter, his phone suddenly rang, breaking the stillness. He glanced at the screen, seeing the name Mr. Vasquez, his lawyer. Jon’s stomach dropped, knowing that the call couldn’t mean anything good. He wiped his hands on his pants quickly and answered the call.

“Hello, Mr. Vasquez,” Jon said, trying to keep his voice neutral.

The DA’s voice came through, urgent and businesslike. “Jon, we have a bit of a problem.”

Jon’s brow furrowed, sensing the gravity in the tone. “What’s going on?” he asked, his mind racing.

The DA continued, his words quick and to the point. “Jey’s case has been moved to this Wednesday.”

Jon stopped in his tracks, feeling a sharp pang of stress. “Why so early?!” he asked, frustration seeping into his voice.

The DA’s response was calm, but Jon could hear the pressure in his words. “The judge has seen the evidence, and they want to get the trial started ASAP. This isn’t something that can wait.”

Jon’s heart pounded as he processed the information. “This Wednesday? That’s… that’s too soon,” Jon suttered under his breath. He hadn’t expected the case to move that quickly. His mind immediately flashed to all the preparations they still had to make. “We weren’t ready for this.”

The DA sighed, a note of sympathy in his voice. “I know it’s a lot, but we don’t have much time. The judge is pushing for the earliest possible start. You’ll need to gather everything, make sure you’re prepared. It’s going to be intense, Jon.”

Jon ran a hand over his face, trying to ground himself in the chaos. “Alright. I’ll get everything together. We’ll be ready,” he said, though the words felt hollow. The sudden speed of the trial was a shock, and he knew they had little time to prepare for the coming onslaught.

“Good,” the DA replied, before quickly adding, “We’ll touch base before the trial starts, but make sure you’ve got everything lined up.”

Jon ended the call and stood there in silence for a moment, his mind racing. He glanced down at the sandwich ingredients still scattered across the counter, completely uninterested in them now. The weight of the situation—Jey’s trial, the family’s struggles—was more than he could bear in that moment.

Without another word, he set the phone down and walked back upstairs to his brother’s room. He had to prepare. There was no time to waste. The trial was just days away, and everything was about to change again.

Jon exhaled deeply as he ascended the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. He didn’t want to do this, but he had to. There was no other choice.

Reaching Jey’s bedroom door, he hesitated for a brief moment before knocking. When no response came, he opened the door and stepped inside. Jey sat on the edge of his bed, his elbows resting on his knees, staring blankly at the floor. He barely acknowledged Jon’s presence.

Jon ran a hand over his face before speaking. “We need to talk.”

Jey scoffed under his breath but didn’t lift his gaze. “What now?”

Jon clenched his jaw, trying to keep his patience. “Your case—it’s happening this Wednesday.”

Jey’s head snapped up. His bloodshot eyes widened slightly, but his expression remained unreadable. “What?”

“The judge moved it up,” Jon explained. “They want to get it started as soon as possible.”

Jey let out a bitter laugh and shook his head. “Of course, they do.” He rubbed his face, his fingers digging into his temples. “So what? You’re here to tell me how I need to be on my best behavior? How I need to stick to the plan?”

Jon sighed. “I’m telling you so you can be prepared. This isn’t something you can ignore, Jey. You’re going to have to face it.”

Jey’s jaw tensed, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then, in a quiet, exhausted voice, he muttered, “I don’t know if I can.”

Jon’s heart clenched at his brother’s admission, but he kept his tone firm. “You can,” he insisted. “And you will. Because this isn’t just about you. It’s about making sure that bastard doesn’t get away with what he did.”

Jey swallowed hard, his breathing uneven. He looked away, staring at the wall as if trying to find an escape.

Jon took a step closer. “You’re not alone in this, Joshua. No matter what you think, I’m still here.”

Jey didn’t respond, but Jon saw the slightest flicker of emotion in his eyes. He didn’t push further. Instead, he placed a reassuring hand on Jey’s shoulder before turning and walking out of the room, leaving his brother to process the weight of what was coming.

—

Rhea and Liv sat on the couch, the glow of the television illuminating their faces as Some Like It Hot played in the background. The aroma of warm chocolate chip cookies filled the apartment, mixing with the rich scent of their milkshakes. Liv still DoorDashed the treats, determined to distract Rhea from everything that had happened that day—from Jey blocking her, from the lingering heartache, from the confusion that was eating away at her.

Rhea sat curled up in the corner of the couch, lazily dipping her cookie into her milkshake before taking a bite. She wasn’t fully focused on the movie, though. Her mind kept drifting, replaying the unanswered calls, the texts that failed to go through. Why would he do that? Why now? She had been so happy just hours ago, and now everything felt like it had crumbled in an instant.

Liv, on the other hand, was doing everything in her power to keep her best friend distracted. She laughed at the film’s comedic moments, nudging Rhea playfully whenever a particularly funny scene happened. Rhea forced small smiles in return, but the cloud hanging over her was unmistakable.

Then, Liv’s phone rang.

She grabbed it from the coffee table and glanced at the screen. Her stomach twisted when she saw the name: Mr. Vasquez. The DA.

Liv inhaled sharply and immediately stood up, walking towards her bedroom before answering. “Hello?” she said, closing the door behind her.

“Mrs. Daddio-Gonzalez,” Mr. Vasquez’s voice came through, steady and professional. “I’m calling to inform you that Rhea’s case against her third attacker has been moved up. It will be the first to go to trial, starting this Wednesday.”

Liv’s breath hitched. “Wednesday?” she repeated, gripping her phone tighter. “That’s in three days. Why so soon?”

“The judge reviewed the evidence and decided it was best to push forward as quickly as possible,” Mr. Vasquez explained. “This is happening, and we need to make sure Rhea is ready.”

Liv swallowed, nodding to herself even though he couldn’t see her. “Understood,” she said, her voice quieter now.

“I know this is a lot to process, but I’ll be in touch soon with more details. We’ll need to go over testimony prep as soon as possible.”

Liv forced herself to stay composed. “Alright. Thank you for letting me know.”

She ended the call and stood there in silence, her mind racing. The walls of the bedroom suddenly felt too small, the air too thin. Her hands were trembling slightly, and she rubbed her knees in an attempt to ground herself.

This was happening. Whether they were ready or not, Rhea’s case was about to begin. And Liv had no idea how to break the news to her best friend.

Liv’s heart pounded as she glanced toward the living room where Rhea was still curled up on the couch, absentmindedly dipping a cookie into her milkshake.

Taking a deep breath, she made her way back to the living room. “Rhea,” she called gently.

Rhea looked up, her eyes a little dazed from the movie. “Yeah?”

Liv hesitated for a second before sitting next to her. She reached for Rhea’s hand, rubbing small circles over her skin. “I just got off the phone with Mr. Vasquez,” she began carefully.

At the mention of his name, Rhea tensed. “And?”

Liv exhaled. “Your case… the one against your third attacker. It’s been moved up. It’s happening this Wednesday.”

Rhea’s entire body went rigid. The cookie she held slipped from her fingers, dropping onto her lap, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her breathing hitched, her chest rising and falling faster. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No, no, no, no. It’s too soon. I’m not ready. I— I can’t do this, Liv.”

Liv immediately scooted closer, wrapping an arm around her. “Hey, hey, breathe, babe,” she urged, but Rhea’s breaths were becoming more erratic, shallow and panicked.

Rhea clutched at her chest, her fingers digging into her own skin as if trying to ground herself. The room felt smaller, suffocating, the walls closing in. Her vision blurred at the edges, her body trembling as memories she had fought to suppress rushed to the surface. The feeling of his hands, the helplessness, the pain—

“I can’t—I can’t—” Rhea gasped, her throat constricting. Her hands flew to her head as if she could physically push the memories away.

Liv moved in front of her, cupping Rhea’s face gently. “Look at me, Rhea. Just look at me,” she pleaded. “You’re safe. You’re here, with me. Focus on my voice. Just breathe with me, okay? In for four, hold for four, out for four.”

Rhea tried, but her lungs felt too tight, her heart hammering against her ribs. Tears streamed down her face as her body shook uncontrollably.

Liv refused to let go. “That man doesn’t have power over you anymore. He can’t hurt you. You’re not there, you’re here. You are here with me,” she repeated firmly.

After what felt like forever, Rhea forced herself to match Liv’s breathing. In, hold, out. Slowly, her body began to relax, though the tears kept falling.

Liv pulled her into a tight hug, rubbing her back soothingly. “I got you,” she whispered. “No matter what happens Wednesday, you’re not alone. I got you, Rhea. I swear.”

Rhea clung to Liv, her breaths still shaky but no longer erratic. She closed her eyes, trying to anchor herself in the warmth of her best friend’s embrace.

This was beginning..

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