#the worst songs to play at a funeral | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dollfacefantasy · 24 days ago

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SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL ♡

pairing: homelander x fem!reader

summary: homelander has taken an interest in you, vought's new intern. no matter how you look at it, as a good or bad thing, it ends the same way: him getting what he wants.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, dubcon, p in v, oral (m receiving), body worship, sir kink, obsessive behavior, manipulation/coercion, age gap (reader in early 20s)

wc: 7.7k (oops lol)

a/n: hehe. never thought i would write for this man but it was pretty fun :) comm for my sweet beloved @gor3-hound love you so very much mwah mwah <33

At the junction of the V-shaped table, Homelander sat. With his back to the skyline and his gloved hands folded in front of him, he held the posture of a statue. Ashley had been rambling on and on and fucking on for the past five minutes about shit he couldn't care less about. Her nasally voice bounced off the tile floors and painted ceiling, ricocheting around him like a rogue bullet. Only his impregnable skin didn't protect him from the discomfort of this situation.

It was moments like these that really made him regret killing Stillwell.

That woman knew how to handle things. As manipulative as she could be, at least she wasn't absolutely insufferable. How could Stan let Ashley replace her? She was a poor excuse of just about everything. Absolutely spineless, unintelligent, reactionary, and opportunistic. He really couldn't picture any person on this Earth genuinely liking her.

However in the midst of his mental complaints, he realized that the annoying sound of her speaking was directed at him. All the other stares in the room were zeroed in on him too. A-Train observed in cautious silence. Noir's goggles reflected Homelander's own image right back at him. Maeve judged with a sideways glance. And Starlight prepared for the worst.

He tore his own bright blue eyes from the door opposite the table and refocused them on Ashley. They scanned over her thinning ginger locks down to her gaudy outfit - a piss poor attempt at imitating power.

"What?" he asked, his voice cutting through the air with a force similar to one of Maeve's swords.

Ashley blinked in return. Fear swirled in her wide eyes. She tried to maintain that empowered appearance she so desperately wished was real, but he could see the innate urge to cower bubbling within her.

"Was that lineup for the funeral ok with you, Homelander? A-Train and Noir open, Starlight sings, and then you close?" she repeated.

Now it was his turn to blink. Like he could actually give a shit about the order of segments for Translucent's funeral. He swallowed hard. While she projected a mirage of power, he had to do the same with level-headedness.

"That's fine, Ashley. Have those two go first, and Starlight can follow up with Amazing Grace or whatever shitty hymns they teach in that hick town she's from, and then I can finish us out," he responded.

He could see how her knuckles were going white around the edge of her clipboard. She gripped it for comfort, as if that could save her from his potential wrath. It only irritated him more. If he wanted her dead, he would turn her to ashes where she stood. How hard she braced herself in advance wouldn't matter in the slightest. But people could be so foolish in moments of terror.

"Well speaking of that," she said before clearing her throat, an attempt at a natural transition, "We were trying to decide what song she would sing. Maybe one of our originals? Or do you think it would be more tasteful to go with something from an outside source?"

Gritting his teeth, he buried the urge to unleash the bright beams of red from his sockets. His hands slid off one another and pressed down onto the cool table.

"Do you really need me to decide what song is going to send Translucent to the grave?" he replied, "I don't care what you play, and no one else attending will either. They'll be focused on working up some tears for the useless dipshit they never had the displeasure of knowing. Instead of trying to gain their approval, we should be working on finding the next member of the Seven who can replace him. There's no use dwelling on the past. We need to be preparing for the future."

He paused to let his words permeate the room, giving everyone a chance to absorb the sentiment and adapt accordingly. With his pupils still trained on Ashley, he planned on continuing his tirade, but his train of thought came to an abrupt halt.

Soft pitter-patters of footsteps clacked down the hall outside this room. They sounded in a delicate rhythm, only audible to him. As they grew louder, he caught the scent of the source too. Airy and light. A stark contrast to the brash perfume Ashley doused herself in.

The doors at the front of the room slid apart to reveal you.

You stood there for a moment. The realization that you'd interrupted something was visible in your eyes. The small spheres cast down as you wobbled in like a fawn that sensed wolves watching from nearby.

Ashley turned to face you, a glower already set on her features. The resentment she held for everyone else in this building awoke from its usual dormant slumber because there was finally someone weaker she could take it out on.

Once you reached her, your hand rose and gave her a thin stack of papers.

"I'm sorry for interrupting. It's a memo from 82. They made it sound urgent," you explained, everything about your temperament meek and timid.

After a brief pause to let you marinate in the few moments before your inevitable humiliation, she snatched the papers from you. Her eyes roamed over the page with disinterest. Even if the information conveyed by the small black letters was important, he doubted she would give it any reaction. She wanted to lash out, and she was going to, whether it was justified or not.

"They couldn't have emailed me this?" she snapped, as if that was something you could control.

"I don't know. I'm sorry. I'll check next time," you offered.

"You better or you'll run out of next times," she threatened, "Incompetence like this won't fly here. You're in the big leagues now, so act like it. Think before you do something instead of taking commands like a lap dog."

"I'm sorry," you replied, ducking your head again.

"Don't be sorry, just do better," she commanded.

"I will," you agreed.

"Good. Just get out of here now. Go pick up my lunch," she told you.

His lips curled into a scowl as he watched the scene play out. It was pathetic - not you, but Ashley. He hated seeing the fucking smirk on her face as you walked away. She had nothing to be smug about. She was nothing more than a feral coyote going after the scraps the other predators didn't take.

To make matters worse, when she returned her attention to the group at the table, she saw the look on his face. She saw the disdain, but instead of striking regret into her, it only deepened her sense of self-satisfaction.

She thought the look was for you. That he was disgusted with your mistake. Annoyed with your intrusion.

He couldn't have that. Not when that assumption was the farthest thing from the truth. Honestly, he didn't know if he was even capable of feeling such ire towards you. Not his precious little fawn.

Rising from his seat, his glare remained on Ashley. She did show a little fear then.

"You know, I don't have all day, Ashley. I'll open Translucent's funeral, Starlight will follow up with a song, and that will be it. A-Train and Noir can have the day off, because let's be honest, nobody will give shit either way," he mocked.

"But, sir-" she said, clearly confused by his sudden impending departure.

"I have more important things to deal with. If you need anything else, I'm sure one of the others can help you," he dismissed.

With that, he stepped back from the table and began heading to the doors. He hoped if he was fast enough he could still catch you. Even in a building as sleek and modern as this one, the elevators could be quite slow.

Walking out into the hall, his head swiveled in the direction you would have gone. For once, his own portrait didn't catch his eye. He didn't even think about stopping by Stillwell's office to reminisce. Instead, he just headed down towards the elevator. His red boots thudded across smooth tile in rapid succession, covering the path you'd just taken.

Finally, after a few feet, he spotted you. Bottom lip pulled between your teeth. Eyes glossy with embarrassment. Tip of your polished shoe tapping against the ground. You startled when his voice boomed across the space, calling out your name. So cute.

You looked at him with fear in your eyes, but disgust didn't fester in the pit of his stomach like it did when others gave him that anxious stare. Another feeling bloomed inside him, one he couldn't really place. It was just that the nervous gleam over your pupils didn't make him hate himself and all the circumstances of his life that put him in his position.

Instead, your wide eyes and pouty lips made him feel strong. You made him feel like a hero. A real one, not the artificial caricature that Vought projected to the world. With you nearby, he felt like the kind of guy who deserved the American flag blowing off his back with a pretty girl cradled in his arms and a dead enemy at his feet. When you gazed up at him, he could only imagine that the pride rushing through his chest and confidence pooling between his hips was the feeling his creators intended for him.

"Did you need something from me, sir?" you asked, reminding him that he actually had to provide a reason to talk to you. Just wanting to stare at you like a psychopath would not suffice unfortunately.

"Oh no," he waved off, "The meeting just finished up. I was heading out too. I saw you, and I realized I haven't really taken the time to get to know you yet, which is unfortunate because I usually like to be familiar with the newer people we have working with us."

A complete lie. Before you, he didn't remember ever giving any of the interns a second glance. They were true nuisances. They were Ashleys.

"Oh... well I'm around whenever you wanna talk. Ashley keeps me busy, but I'm sure I could make an exception for you," you replied.

"You absolutely can make an exception for me," he chuckled, "If Ashley gives you any trouble, just let me know, and I'll make sure she remembers who's really in charge around here."

It wasn't until he heard your heart rate increase that he realized those words probably came off as threatening. Well, they were threatening, but you weren't supposed to see him that way.

"I'm kidding," he forced out with a laugh, "Just joking around like I do... I just don't want you to worry about getting in some kind of trouble for me sniffing around you."

You huffed out an awkward laugh of your own and nodded. "I'll be sure to make some time for you in the future then and let Ashley know it was at your direction."

"Great," he said with probably too much enthusiasm.

His jaw clenched into one of his usual tight smiles. He averted his eyes from you and looked towards the numbers on the elevator. Fuck, it was reaching the bottom. He didn't want to let you go, but it wasn't like he could just stroll down the street with you to go get Ashley's lunch. His mind scrambled to come up with a solution.

But like your earlier intrusion into the meeting, your gentle voice cuts through the hurricane forming in his head.

"Are you alright, sir?" you ask, anxious concern written all over your features.

He refocused on you and nodded. His arm extended out behind you, his palm landing against the elevator wall. As he leaned in, he could smell your adrenaline spiking. He could hear the shift of your shoe against the ground. If only he possessed a sixth sense for the mind, so he could know what little thoughts about him were flitting through your head.

"I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me," he answered. He smiled down at you, observing the slight nod you gave him in return.

"Of course not. It probably seems silly coming from me," you said.

His brows raised in amusement. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

He saw the flash of regret in your eyes. The one people always gave him when he asked a question in that tone. The one that came from the panic of realizing they may have said something that offended Homelander.

You suppressed it pretty well though and brought out a smile that gave the impression that you hoped he was messing with you instead.

"Well you know... because you're you," you said and tilted your head in an innocent way that made his chest ache.

He chuckled that charming, prepackaged laugh that had been trained into him. "Even I can appreciate someone taking an interest in checking on me," he replied.

It was maddening, how bad he wanted you. He wasn't even sure when this craving had sprouted inside him. He had been so preoccupied with his affinity for Stillwell that his fixation with you struck him like a glass window in front of a flying bird. But no matter the timeframe in which it blossomed, it had taken root by now and wasn't going to go away on its own.

When he looked at you like this - staring up at him with earnest fascination - his mind drifted to darker places all on its own. He couldn't stop it if he wanted to (and really, he didn't want to). It's just how was he not supposed to be aware of the fact that it would be all too easy to take you back to his room? How could he not think about what it would feel like to have your fragile body beneath his own in private? How could he not wonder what you'd sound like crying out in a sinful mix of pleasure and pain?

Hell, how was he supposed to pretend like he couldn't just bend you over and fuck you dumb right here in the middle of this elevator if he wanted to? No one would be able to stop him. There wouldn't be a thing they could do other than watch. They could stare in horror as he used you like he deserved, as he pounded into your warm, soft, dripping hole like he needed...

Unfortunately, painting that picture in his head had his blood rushing South. He felt the subtle simmer of desire in his pelvis, and he knew in no time his length would be filling out. This suit gave him no way of hiding it either. Clearly, whoever made it hadn't anticipated the Homelander popping a boner on the job.

But luckily for him, the elevator chimed with its arrival at the bottom floor. He straightened out as you looked ahead in preparation of your departure. But before you could go, he grabbed your arm. His touch was tender, holding the same force he'd use when cradling a baby at a photo-op.

"Maybe later tonight you'd like to take me up on one of those talks? After you're done for the day, you could stop by my place. The sooner the better, right?" he asked.

Your eyes widened ever so slightly, but you still nodded. "Um... sure thing. I'll head up once I've finished all my work. It should be around six if that's ok?" you offered.

"Yeah, that works for me. I'll be waiting," he said in an attempt to be playful.

You smiled once more and then headed out of the elevator. His fingertips dragged down your arm to your wrist as you walked away before you finally slipped from his grasp. He could hear your heart pounding faster than your footsteps as you headed towards the exit of the building.

At six o'clock sharp, a knock sounded through his penthouse. And it only took him a few seconds to swing the door open and greet you.

"There she is," he beamed with exaggerated politeness.

You smiled modestly in return, shrugging and smoothing out a crease in your blouse. "I couldn't let the leader of the seven down," you joked.

He scoffed but opened the door wider, beckoning you into his place. You took the invitation and crossed the threshold. Your eyes glanced around the place, taking note of all the things in the apartment that housed the most powerful man on Earth.

The American flag taking up an entire wall almost stopped you in your tracks. It would've been funny if it was someone else, but because it belonged to him, it stood there like a warning. You tried not to show how daunting you found it. Average people could be touchy about that famous piece of cloth. You didn't want to find out if the strongest supe felt the same through means of offending him.

In place of letting that bother you, you shifted your attention over to all the historical pictures hanging on the walls and the sleek surfaces and drawers filled with things you couldn't begin to imagine. Your eyes casted over the statues accenting the space as well. It was all so very polished. It looked like what you'd expect the Homelander entry in an Ikea catalog to be.

"So what do you think?" he asked. He knew his words came off as stiff. Probably a little stilted sounding. He just couldn't help it. For the first time, he couldn't get a read on how you felt through physical signs alone. And right now, he really really wanted you to like him.

"It's... impressive," you answered.

But he could hear the hesitation in your voice. In each word, there was the same wavering quality to it that you get when Ashley grilled you in front of an audience. It wasn't the precious reverence that he saw in the elevator. The nervous kind of admiration you held for someone above your standing. This was just plain anxiety, and that served no purpose to him.

Despite your trepidation however, you walked forward to the window at the back of the place. You looked out over the city in awe.

"I would love to live somewhere high up like this," you said.

He came up from behind to stand next to you in front of the glass panes. His eyes landed on your face. You stared out the window, wonder twinkling in your eyes. Your voice sounded almost breathless. It was adorable.

"No fear of heights?" he asked.

"Not when it comes to being inside. Maybe I'd be nervous if we were on a balcony or something," you replied.

"Oh come on. You'd have nothing to worry about if you were with me. I'd never let you fall," he said, dropping his voice a few octaves.

You made that cute little face again when those words hit your ears. Your eyes widened before they fell to look at your shoes. So modest, the way you shied away. He wondered if you were always so timid or if it was only when a god amongst men like himself flirted with you.

He chuckled and reached out, tilting your chin back up to look at him. "You don't need to be nervous," he soothed, "There's no safer place to be than with the Homelander, right?"

You nodded right along. His words left no room for objection.

"Good girl," he smirked and dragged a gloved thumb over your cheek. He pulled his hand back and stepped in the direction of the brown leather sectional that sat in the middle of the room.

"Come over here and sit down. We can talk," he directed.

Following him to the large couch, you took your seat near the corner. You assumed he'd sit at the other end or at least towards the middle of the perpendicular cushions, but no. He sat down in the corner with you. His body was at most a foot away.

He continued to smile at you though he didn't speak. It felt odd, sitting there in silence across from him. He wasn't doing anything overtly threatening, yet you still felt at his mercy.

"So, do you like it here so far? Do you feel like you're fitting into the Vought family?" he asked with a bit of an edge to that second word.

You nodded again. A relieved breath seeped from your lungs as the tense void in conversation came to an end. "Yeah, it's nice here. I feel like I'm learning a lot."

He chuckled and leaned back against the stiff backing of the sofa. His muscular arm draped along the top. Though it wasn't his intention to draw your focus there, he caught the way your eyes dragged over his bicep.

"That's good," he said, "It can be a lot when you're new. I wouldn't want you feeling overwhelmed."

"That's nice of you. I appreciate it, but I'm used to a busy schedule," you replied.

"You're freshly graduated, aren't you?" he checked.

"Yeah," you said, your lips quirking upwards at his guess.

"I thought so. You have that cute, wide-eyed, optimistic thing going for you."

A small laugh leaves your lips. "I know. Ashley said I'll grow out of it by the end of this quarter."

His face dropped, and he almost abandoned the prince charming act he was attempting to pull off for you. The mere mention of Ashley was enough to irk him, but the thought that she was trying to change you? Not only change you but jade you. To strip away the soft and sweet qualities that hooked him on you in the first place. It was criminal. He couldn't hide his disdain.

"You shouldn't listen to her," he said. He wasn't angry, but his cadence held intensity. "Ashley's problem is Ashley. To be honest, I don't even know why they gave her an intern. It's not like she'd be good at teaching anything when she still doesn't understand most things about our business herself."

Your fingers dug into the edge of your seat. It wouldn't have been significant in a normal conversation, but when speaking with a man who could hear a pin drop forty stories down, he noticed.

"You're still nervous," he observed.

In an instant, your hands flew to your lap, like you knew what gave your anxiety away. You fidgeted with the hem of your skirt and shrugged.

"A little," you admitted.

"Are you scared of me?" he asked.

You shook your head without even thinking about the question.

"No, it's not that. I swear," you reassured, "It's just that this is a big deal for me. I'm really honored you want to get to know me, and I just want to make a good impression."

"You don't need to worry about that. I wouldn't have invited you here if I didn't have a good impression of you," he said.

You sighed slightly, letting out a bit of tension, but he could still smell that boosted cortisol running through your blood.

"Come here," he ordered, his voice soft but undeniably firm.

"What?" you asked.

A puff of amused air blew from his nostrils. "Come here," he repeated, "Sit closer."

As if you needed the guidance, he patted the space directly beside his hip. He could see the uncertainty in your eyes even after the gesture. The lack of understanding toward his reasoning persisted. Regardless of your skepticism however, you scooted in his direction and ended up where he wanted you.

"That's better," he said.

With careful fingers, he slipped the glove off his right hand. Your eyes locked on it in subtle awe. You'd seen this man on billboards and commercials for years. His face dominated newscasts. His voice broadcast over the radio on a weekly basis. Still, you had never seen such a human part of him. Five fingers and a palm reaching for your own.

They clasped around your hand. His skin was smooth. The gloves preserved them from any marks of experience.

"Did Ashley warn you about me?" he asked, drawing your eyes back to his own.

Your heart thundered, but you couldn't lie. Never had Vought bragged about Homelander being a human lie detector, but in this moment, you felt like that was the case.

"Yes," you responded.

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "You didn't believe her, did you?" he asked.

You could tell he already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear it.

"Yes," you whispered again.

"What did she tell you?"

It was hard to remember that conversation you'd had a few weeks ago with Ashley. Feeling like you were two seconds away from having lasers beamed through your skull made minute details fuzzy and distant, but you manage to choke a few out anyways.

"She said that you have a very specific vision for the Seven, and that you'll do anything to make your dreams reality. She was just saying you're ambitious. That you care about the greater good," you summarized.

"I have a feeling you're saying it a lot nicer than she did," he teased. He could feel the fear rolling off of you in waves, and in a moment, he would rectify that. But for right now, he didn't mind letting his precious little fawn tremble in terror for a few moments more.

"Yeah, she can be kind of blunt," you said with a shaky laugh.

"That's one word for it," he said.

"She's not gonna get in trouble because of what I said, is she?" you asked.

He couldn't help laughing at that. The sound came out low and throaty. You were just so fucking pure. Worried about protecting someone who wouldn't hesitate for a second to sell you out if it meant she could climb up another rung on the corporate ladder.

His exposed thumb rubbed back and forth over your knuckles. "No. Of course not. We're just talking," he said.

He leaned in closer to you, positioning his mouth in close proximity to your ear. His free hand came up to cup your jaw.

"I appreciate your honesty though. Ashley probably couldn't tell you this, but I appreciate a loyal girl like you," he murmured.

On both your hand and through his glove in contact with your chin, he could feel your skin heat up.

"Oh... thank you, sir," you said.

He chuckled. His fingers squished into the flesh of your cheeks, making your lips puff out as though they were seeking a kiss.

"So polite, but I like that. We need more people here who understand their place," he said.

At this point, the gravity of your circumstances began to settle on you. Your fear had worn off a bit, and you realized what a compromising position he had you in. With one tight squeeze, he could crush every bone in your face.

Out of instinct, you tried pulling back a little. You didn't make it obvious, only attempting to gain a few inches of space.

That was a few inches too many though. He tightened his grip and kept you where he wanted you.

"Ah ah," he tutted, "How many times do I have to tell you that you don't need to be scared? I'm not going to hurt you."

You dropped the resistance right then and there. It wasn't worth pursuing. If he didn't want you getting away, you weren't getting away.

He took a few more seconds to study your face, taking in every minutiae of your expressions. Then, his hands dropped to your waist, and he pulled you into his lap. His thighs were firm against your ass, both rigid in how he carried himself and defined from the pure muscle that made them up.

His hands smoothed up and down your sides, coasting over each crease in your blouse. He massaged your soft tissue with gentle squeezes from the beginning of your bra down to the swell of your hips.

"God, you're beautiful," he muttered, "You fit here like you were made for me."

You vibrated in his grasp. He could feel the way you quivered with the urge to pull away.

"Thank you, s-sir," you stammered, "I really appreciate it but-"

"But nothing," he cut you off.

"But I don't think we should be... doing this," you tried to continue anyway.

"Why not?" he asked. Though his tone made it obvious that no matter what reason you provided, it wouldn't change his mind.

"Because you're like my boss, y'know? And I worked really hard to get my spot here, and I don't want people thinking I slept my way to where I am," you explained, "You're really nice, and I admire you a lot, but it wouldn't be right."

He didn't respond immediately. He paused and let your words hang in the air for a few moments.

"You know," he finally spoke, "I don't think you understand how things work around here. It doesn't matter what anyone else in this building thinks. Only me."

You blinked at him, unsure of how to respond to such an assertion. It didn't matter though. He continued without your input.

"What I do with you, how I feel about you - no one else will know about it unless you tell them. But even if you do and even if they care, there isn't a thing they'll do about it. There's not a thing they can do about it," he continued.

"I still don't think it's a good idea," you maintained.

"Good thing this isn't for you to think about then," he mocked, "You're a fast learner. You'll figure it out soon enough. I am God in this tower. And a god doesn't listen to his subjects. He guides them. He knows best."

One of his hands slid up your tummy and over your chest onto your throat. He cupped your jaw and swiped his thumb back and forth across your bottom lip.

"What did Ashley tell you about me?" he asked.

"That no one gets in your way."

"Good. And she was right. No one gets in my way. Nothing stops me from getting what I want. And I've wanted you for too fucking long not to try you out."

That set of fingers on your chin pulled your face towards his and brought you into a kiss. You froze against his lips. It felt as though all of time stopped. This high up, you couldn't hear the sounds of the city outside the penthouse. No one existed in this moment but you and him.

Unlike you, he melted into the exchange. He sighed against your skin and pulled you flush against his toned body. After a second to let you come to terms with what was happening, he kissed you again. His lips sucked on yours gently, attempting to coax you into returning the affection.

The most he got is you puckering them up ever so slightly.

He pulled away with frustration in his eyes and grabbed your face, jerking you a little to look at him.

"Don't act like you don't want this. I know you do," he said, "You're scared, but you don't need to be. Relax and let yourself enjoy this. It's not everyday that the most powerful man on earth wants to fuck you."

Your eyes blew up like little saucers, but before you could really process the directness of what he'd said, he was kissing you again. This time it wasn't as nerve wracking. You softened up a little and kissed back.

You didn't put much effort into it. Your lips responded like this was a juvenile first date. But he didn't let up. He didn't let you give him anything less than your best. His hands roamed across your body. They groped and fondled your breasts and then migrated South to feel up your ass through your pencil skirt.

Your muscles started to loosen up after a minute or so. You told yourself this wasn't so bad. He was being gentle so far, and for someone with his abilities, you wanted it to stay that way. You brought your hand up to his face and cupped his cheek. With that as leverage, you deepened the kiss.

He groaned as soon as you started to give in. His hands fell to your hips and tugged you so that you were straddling him. He smacked your ass, the sound echoing around his apartment. You could tell he held back. A real spank from Homelander could shatter your hip, but this one barely even stung. Maybe he did like you.

His fingers came up and with a sharp tug, he popped the front of your top loose. The column of buttons sprung free. The strips of cloth fell away to each of your sides, exposing a sliver of your skin. He furthered it by pulling off the garment entirely. His eyes trailed along your bare shoulders to your collar bone before finally landing on your breasts. He gave them a firm squeeze, kneading them through the barrier of your bra.

Meanwhile you rolled your hips down on his lap. Immediately, you felt his bulge that had risen to attention between your thighs. You did it again and then again. Each time you ground yourself against him with more pressure.

He grunted, and his eyes fluttered. His hands returned to your waist and gripped you hard, guiding your movements. He seemed transfixed for a few moments, as if he couldn't decide his next move.

After a few seconds though, he got his momentum back. He yanked you off his lap and flipped over so that you were seated on the couch again.

He rose to his feet before you. There your eyes scanned over his body from his tousled blond hair and his kiss-swollen red lips to his sculpted abdomen and his swelling erection. You reached out to touch him, but he stopped your hand mid-air.

Once your arm was limp on the couch again, he removed his other glove. He dropped it to the floor before bringing his right boot to the spot on the sofa next to you. He unzipped the red shoe and then discarded it like he had with the other item. The other boot followed the same routine.

"I don't let just anyone see me like this," he told you as his fingers began to undo his collar, "You should feel lucky."

Lucky wasn't the word you would use to describe your feelings in this situation. Maybe special. Or distinct. Individual. Either way, you continued to watch. Your eyes glided over his figure as he pulled away the tight blue costume that seemed like a second-skin for how much he wore it.

His defined chest came into view. Your reluctance hadn't vanished all together just yet, but at this point, it was fading fast. Pale hair dusted the muscular expanse and trailed down his stomach to the waistband of the bottoms. The waistband he soon hooked his fingers over and peeled down.

He dropped the scaled navy fabric to the ground before kicking it away, leaving himself in just a small pair of boxers. His hand came down and rubbed the swollen tent at the front while his eyes lingered on you.

"Do you want to touch?" he asked.

You nodded. It wasn't a hard decision. This was still a bad idea. You hadn't changed your mind on that. But at this point, what else was there to do? Defying Homelander wasn't an option for anyone on this planet ever. You were no different.

"Ask," he commanded.

"Please can I touch you?" you said.

"Please what?"

"Please, sir. Can I touch you?"

"Good girl," he praised before nodding, "Go for it."

You reached out, this time successfully. Your palm landed flat on his stomach. You held it there for a moment, just feeling his skin. In a way, it was unreal. To feel that someone propped up on the world's pedestal was flesh and blood like you.

Rubbing up and down, you continued getting a feel for his body. He smirked at your wonder before guiding you up by the elbow.

"Stand up and do it right," he said.

"Sorry."

The word came from your mouth automatically. You brought your other hand up to his chest and felt the muscles in his chest. Everything was so built. You expected that, but it was still odd to feel beneath your fingertips. He felt like a living ken doll. You almost didn't believe if he dropped his boxers there would be a real cock there.

Your hands traced up to his shoulders with precision. They explored down his biceps and forearms. And then finally, you brought your lips into his chest. He sighed and tilted his head back, relishing the feeling.

You kissed all over, swirling your tongue and tracing shapes onto his skin. It was almost entrancing, to be so focused on someone like this. You barely noticed as he turned the two of you and sat himself down on the couch, lowering you to your knees.

You worked your mouth down his abs, licking and kissing the twitching muscles. Your fingernails scraped up his sides and then down onto his thighs. When your lips reached the waistband of his boxers, your eyes glanced up at him.

"Can I take them off, sir?" you asked.

He smirked at the title. Only one word of correction and he'd trained that phrase into you.

"Yes," he answered. It was a simple answer. All that was required for someone so naturally obedient.

You took it in stride, tucking your fingers over the elastic and tearing them down. His hard cock popped up and slapped against his pelvis. You couldn't have been happier about your earlier ken doll theory being proven wrong. The sight of his dick was enough to make you drool. It was better than any work of art out there.

It rested against his body at the perfect length, the perfect girth. The tip flushed beautiful red and pearly white beads of precum smeared at the top. Your fingers wrapped around it and gave it a few strokes, testing the waters.

His hand came down and petted your head. He watched as you studied the appendage, as you experimented with your own touch. It was so fucking cute he thought he might cum right then and there. Fuck, he thought you were sweet every moment he had eyes on you, but right now, you were darling. You were doing as he said. Accepting your place at the feet of a superior being.

"Put it in your mouth," he said from above, "I want you to taste it."

There was no hesitation on your end this time around.

"Yes sir," you responded before leaning forward and wrapping your lips around his cock.

He groaned and let his chest hollow out with a harsh exhale. Your mouth was so warm and wet, nice and snug around his length. He rocked his hips up, pushing it further into your throat. He expected a small gag or sputter, but instead you moaned. You shut your eyes and flattened your tongue against his shaft before beginning to bob your head.

"Fuck," he hissed. His legs tensed up, and he pressed down on your head. That did get a tiny gag out of you. You gripped his hips to stabilize yourself though and stayed in place. Your nose nestled against the darker curls of hair that sat at the base of his cock.

Spit leaked from your mouth and dribbled onto his skin below. He took a few moments to just enjoy the feeling of his dick down your throat. The sight of his sweet, innocent girl choking on his cock. Then he let you pull off and catch your breath.

You took a few deep puffs, letting the spots clear from your vision before you dove back in for more. Your hand stroked the lower part of him your mouth didn't cover in its shallow sucks while your other set of fingers caressed his balls tenderly.

He'd never experienced devotion. As much as it pained him to ever acknowledge, his sexual experiences had been lackluster up until now. There were the times with Maeve, but they always left something to be desired for him. Then there was the time with Stillwell that ended before it really started. In either case, no one had ever put all of themselves into pleasuring him like you were doing right now. It drove him wild. He could feel his sac tightening up, and he knew he had to get you off.

Planting one hand on each side of your head, he tugged you back. You looked up at him with glossy, cock-drunk eyes and saliva-coated lips. He swiped some of the mess away before addressing you.

"You're doing so good for me, but I think you're ready for more, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," you agreed.

"My perfect pet," he crooned and pulled you up onto the couch.

He laid you flat on your back and ripped your skirt and panties off in one go. His eyes drank in the sight of your nude lower half, but he didn't spend much time savoring it. He spread you out, slotting himself against your center.

With a few rocks of his hips, he dragged his length through your wetness. He let the sticky fluid coat his shaft, and then he sunk in. His tip bullied its way into your entrance and the rest of him followed. You whined at the stretch. Your walls clamped around him, eager to accept the intrusion.

"Atta girl," he grunted as he worked himself all the way in.

His hips connected with your ass, but he still bucked them, trying to get more. You yelped at the force. He was already buried inside you. Anymore and his tip would be nudging the entrance to your womb.

Fortunately for you, he pulled his hips back, giving you a short break from feeling so full. It was short lived though. Seconds later he snapped back in. That began the quick rhythm he set into. It was desperate and needy, emotions he'd tried to hide until this point.

You whimpered as your body bobbed with the momentum. His thrusts bounced you back and forth. The sounds of his body smacking against yours filled the room. His fingers dug into your waist hard enough to bruise. You didn't complain about the minor pain though because you could tell he was holding back in every other regard. If a few marks on your side kept you from being pulverized by a super cock, then that was a burden you were willing to carry.

Above you, he starts to pant. His breaths leave him raggedly huffing, sucking down what oxygen he can get in the midst of rutting into you. He tilts his head down at you and gazes at your blissed out face with lidded eyes.

"I could have anyone. Any person on this Earth would be mine if I wanted them to be. But the only one I want is you. Doesn't that feel good?" he breathed.

"Yes!" you cried out. Your back arched up off the couch. "Feels so fucking good, sir."

He leaned into you more, squishing your body into the surface below. Your thighs pressed against your tummy as he bent you.

"Yeah, it does," he grunted, "It's all there is. It's all you need to think about. How you're all mine."

"Mhm," you whined with a lazy nod. You were getting closer to cumming and responding to his words was taking a lower priority in your mind.

"And to think you tried to deny yourself of it," he mocked. He clenched his jaw and slammed into you harder.

You shrieked and clutched his shoulders. In the back of your mind, you hoped his penthouse was sound proofed or at least enough distance from the nearest one. Otherwise you wouldn't have to tell anyone about this incident for it to spread throughout the tower.

"I knew better, didn't I? I knew this is what you needed," he said.

Again, you nodded. You felt the heat in your belly reaching the boiling point.

"Say it," he huffed.

You tried to force it out, but your own hiccuped sob of pleasure cut you off. He didn't give you a break though. He stared down at you with expectation, so you continued.

"You know best- uh, fuck- you know best, sir," you whined.

"Good fucking girl," he growled on top of you.

He was already close from the blowjob you'd given him. Only a few strokes more, and he was ready to explode. He swiveled his hips, angling them upwards to pound into that special spot that would make you see stars and stripes.

You mewled when you came. Your body trembled harder than it did when you were scared. Arousal gushed out of you and coated his skin. He huffed and buried his face in your neck before letting go.

Everything faded into the background as you laid underneath him in the haze that came after the absolute high of pleasure. Now you could feel his heartbeat too. The organ thundered against his chest over and over as he came down.

Minutes later he pulled back. His knuckles caressed down your jawline before he climbed off of you entirely. He sat back on the couch and let out a deep breath. You weren't sure whether you were supposed to pick up your stuff and leave or follow along with him and stay close to his side. There was no real indication of what he wanted in this moment, but he turned to smile at you and huffed out a laugh.

"I think I'll keep you with me more often now. Really show you the ropes of fitting in around here."

You sat up and nodded awkwardly. He leaned toward you, cupping your cheek.

"I'll be a much better teacher than Ashley ever was," he said. His arm snaked around you and pulled you to his chest again. "No more errands or coffee runs. I'll show you things you need. Things that you'll enjoy."

He ran his fingers over your face and kissed your temple. The touches were tender against your skin. They would have been romantic if your mind wasn't racing with what this all meant in terms of your job and the grand scheme of your future.

Looking at him though, he wasn't worried at all. He smiled down at you before whispering once more.

"My sweet little pet. All mine now."

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander x y/n #homelander smut #the boys x you #the boys x reader #the boys smut #ch: homelander 💌

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creativepromptsforwriting · 1 year ago

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Spooktober Prompts Masterlist 2023

"They are calling us…" "Don't listen to them. Do you hear me? Don't listen to a word they promise you!"

The cameras show five people enter an elevator, but only four of them leaving it. Those four never remembered a fifth passenger.

"Aww, are you so afraid of the dark that you need me to hold your hand?" "I'm not holding your hand." "Then whose..."

At first, they believe it to be a bad joke, but when more and more graves of people who haven't died yet appear in the graveyard, they start to panic.

The camera she bought at a flea market already has photos on it. Since the people are wearing clothes from centuries ago, they believe them to be from a play. But they soon realize that those photos and events were real.

A child actress turned cult leader feels her power slipping and she needs to gain control over her following again.

When they started building the new school, they had expected to maybe find unexploded WWII bombs, but what they found instead was nothing they could have expected.

She heard footsteps behind her coming closer, but when she turned around, holding her breath, she could only see the dark and empty alley.

"Why did you choose the cemetary as our meeting place for tonight?" "Because only the dead can keep our secrets."

Going to your own funeral and see who would cry - it sounded almost fun. If it wasn’t for the fact that they could hear and see everything, but could not make a sound to stop them from closing up the grave around them.

A medium without a voice of her own, can only speak when a ghost speaks through her.

They had always felt that shadows seemed to beckon to them. But this time, when the shadows beckoned, they wore a sinister grin. (Submitted by: tumblebumblebee-63)

"I'm not haunting a filthy public bathroom, I'm a ghost with class."

A fun survival game TV show on a remote island becomes a reality when one contestant after the other turns up brutally killed. Right in front of hundreds of cameras and millions of watchful eyes.

Waking up to a child that you've never seen before, but that everyone assures you is your own that you've raised for years, is terrifying.

"Did you see that?" "Did I see what?" "That man... he touched the leaves and they immediately blackened and fell off. Please, let us go back before he sees us!" "Too late." The man in the dark cloak suddenly stood right in front of them and slowly reached out his hands to them.

What started as a fun midnight activity suddenly turned into one of them missing and the others running for their lives, trying to escape freaking zombies.

He always dreamed about being in a kdrama. He didn't imagine it to have a horror side plotline that feels way too real.

They said that when you die, you return to earth as your one true self. Why then, when he opened his eyes after being killed, were his teeth long and he hungered for blood? (Submitted by: ouilah)

She didn't think it would come to this point. She felt the cold stone of the gravestone in her back and before her the red glowing eyes of the creature crept slowly closer.

There are perks of being a ghost. Walking through walls was fun. Or haunting annoying people. But nothing was quite as nice as being able to just fade out of a conversation that you didn’t want to be a part of.

"I dare you! Come on, stop being a coward. There is no such thing as ghosts."

Someone wakes up to a text saying 'It's your lucky day!' and it turns out to be the worst day ever.

A family of vampires that lives unidentified in human communities, becomes paranoid and starts to believe all their neighbors are also supernatural creatures.

There are stories and superstitions abound about the seaside bluffs, but that's to be expected in a town of fishermen. One night, from the bluffs' direction, you hear someone singing, softly. (Submitted by: someoneoffthestreet)

Astronauts coming back to earth keep talking about hearing songs from outside the space shuttle. What they don't say, is that those songs followed them home.

Someone stared at her through the window. She had always felt safe in her own home, shutting out the scary, real world. But a window is just glass, and glass… oh it breaks so, so easily…

A plane disappears from the radar and then reappears multiple hours later at the exact same location in the middle of the ocean with no place to land and not enough fuel to just fly around for hours.

"We shouldn't enter! This place was abandoned for a reason!" "Come on, don't be a coward. We will be the only ones here!" "Okay, okay... I'll follow you. You don't have to push me!" "I... I didn't push you..."

A session of reading tea leaves ends in chaos when every single participant reveals a bad omen.

Something tells the home owner that the kids trick-or-treating in front of his house are not wearing costumes - and are not human at all.

If you like my blog and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee or become a member! And check out my Instagram! 🥰

#spooktober #spooky prompts #writeblr #spooktober 2023 #writing prompts #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writers #halloween

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bitterbutblue · 3 months ago

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in the morning, you would be gone ☆ tingyun x reader

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

~ announcement of tingyun 5 star form had me so excited seriously i was liek squealing giggling kicking my feet EVERYTHING ohmy god its so insane im goingso insane rn

song: lovesick - laufey ~

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

"Hey, it's Tingyun! If you're listening to this, I'm probably busy right now. Please leave me a voice message, I'll get back to it as soon as I can, promise! See you later!"

Exhaling shakily, you press the replay button and listen to the voice message again.

"Hey, it's Tingyun! If you're listening to this, I'm probably busy right now. Please leave me a voice message, I'll get back to it as soon as I can, promise! See you later!"

Your worst fear was forgetting what she sounds like. The voice that promised you a life forever together on the altar may be a voice you'll never hear again. The voice that soothed you on nights you needed her most is now just a recording on a phone, playing back the same repeated message. But it is still her voice, it's still her.

You couldn't bear to watch the day they performed the foxian funeral rituals, the idea of losing her to the vast space ahead of you was too much for you to even comprehend. How does one cope with loss? How does one move on from loving someone to the point where you don't even know where you start and where she ends? You can only sit in the corner of your bedroom, taking in pieces of her life and knowing she would never step foot in the room again. Head in your hands, gaping hole in what used to be your chest, and tears that leave a path down your cheek. It was like a statue frozen in time, the state of barely being able to function without every fibre in your being screaming in agony, begging for it to stop. You never realised how the human body was capable of making emotional pain so physical until the moment you found yourself on the ground, Yukong banging on the doors and begging you to let her in.

You spend hours curled on the floor because you can't get in the bed without smelling the scent of her shampoo lingering in the bedsheets. You can't even bring yourself to eat in the kitchen without remembering how she should be standing there with you, arms around your waist and chest pressed against your back. Chin resting on your shoulders as she mumbles sleepily, asking for you to make her favourite for breakfast.

The cards that they dealt you were unfair, there was not much you could truly do about it though. You can really only just nod along, aimlessly going on with your day and learning to live by yourself again after almost 100 years with the same person. 100 years with the same person, and now you have to relearn what it means to be yourself. Each time you hear a small sound inside your house you can't help but momentarily think that she's home, that that was her waking up from her nap or her coming home from work- only for it to be a sound from the neighbours or the cars outside.

But the worst of it all was thinking about what she had to go through or what she may be going through. When Yukong told you there was no body actually found, a part of you was hopeful- perhaps she was alive. Perhaps somewhere she was out there and you could find her again. Another part of you felt sick, because what if she was alive, but still being used? To think about what may have happened to her or what might be happening to her scares to you an extent you can't even comprehend yourself. At the end of each day, you can really only make the same prayer to Lan so that you can feel at peace about the whole situation.

If she's gone, please have her be resting in peace.

When the foxian stepped onto the Luofu, Yukong felt her heart come to a stop. Her face paled, whiter than a sheet of paper and she felt faint. The foxian looks around with a dazed look in her eyes, as if she's completely unfocused on her surroundings. When her eyes met Yukong's a brief flicker of consciousness, as if struggling to fight whatever wave had been drowning her, passes through her eyes until it is replaced by the same dazed look as before. She scans the crowd that only watches in horror as the girl who presumed missing then dead now walks towards Yukong. Dressed like a goddess, nine elegant tails flowing behind her as she mumbles in a dazed voice.

"Do I know you?"

Yukong breaks down in her room that evening.

She doesn't know how to tell you.

She didn't have to. The foxian found herself drawn to this house down the road, this door that she feels the urge to open. Instead, she stands outside, a hand placed on the wooden door, tracing each individual groove as if memorising a complex pattern. Something about this door has her frozen, only able to think about what lays behind the door. Without really thinking about her movements, the foxian knocks on the door, her heart racing for reasons she doesn't understand.

"Yukong, if you want to come in, just open the door. There's no need to-"

A hand flies to your mouth when you notice the green eyes, the brown hair, the sharp fox ears. You feel your vision grow blurry as your breathing grows shallow, stepping back and catching yourself by leaning against the wall. There stood in front of you was your wife who was presumed dead. There stood in front of you was a shadow of your wife because those eyes were so empty and hollow it scared you. You had never seen Tingyun with such soulless eyes. She always had a glint, some sort of flicker of mischief or humour. Now her eyes just stare into yours as if she has no actual consciousness, as if she's just going through the motions of the day again.

"Tingyun?"

It scares you, the way she stares. You want to walk up to her, you want to reach out and cup her cheek and ask her if she's okay and maybe share some of the pain that she's been holding in but you can't. You can only watch as she stays outside the house, not moving in. Her eyes dart around the interior of the house and you notice her nose crinkle slightly as her eyes land on a photo on the wall- a move she does when she's confused and you feel sick to your stomach.

"Baby?"

Your voice sounds too hoarse for your own liking as you step forward shakily. Her eyes slowly land back onto you, hollowly taking in your form and her nose crinkles again.

"Who are you?"

It's only three words. Three words really cannot have that big of an impact on someone, or so you think. Words drive so much of the pain that you can feel- 'I love you' and 'I'm sorry' are both such simple phrases that you hear time and time again but when spoken by a certain person at a certain time it can make you feel like warmth that's been spread inside out or it can make you feel colder than a harsh winter night.

Who are you?

It stings more than an open wound and at this point you would rather have preferred it if they had just found her body and confirmed her dead that evening because to see your lover back as nothing but a shell of herself is horrifying. To see your lover stand in front of you with her sense of self replaced with nothing but the ability to breath and speak breaks you from the inside out more than you would ever realise. She's alive, but she's nothing like who she once was. She's back, but at the same time she never truly would be.

"Why... Why did I come here?"

Her voice wavers slightly, and you take a smaller step closer to her. It's freezing outside, she's wearing nothing but a short dress and you want to pull her into the house so that maybe she can feel some of the warmth and remember at least a fraction of you. But you just stand where you were.

"Do you know me?"

It was a struggle to speak, with words clogging up in your throat and choking you from the inside. Your heart races, unable to stop yourself from trembling as you await her response. She looks at you with her eyebrows furrowed, her chest heaving slightly as if she's trying to calm herself down.

"No."

You release a shuddering breath, closing your eyes as the tears fall. You grip onto the door handle to steady yourself, because you are about to pass out any minute now.

"That's okay." You look back at her finally, after a long minute of silence. The look in her eyes has changed, a hint of sorrow hidden behind the mist of confusion and hazy memories.

"Why does it hurt?"

She sounds so confused, and you can hear the slight twinge of pain in her voice and it hurts you more than you could have ever imagined. Losing someone was hard enough, losing someone who was physically still here but would never fully be back was somehow worse.

"Why does it hurt to... see you upset?"

Your hand moves instinctively, moving to cup her cheek as a tear falls from her eyes, a tear that she hadn't even realised had fallen until she feels your thumb gently wipe it away. She leans into your touch, tilting her head slightly and your heart just crumbles into dust.

"Don't worry too much about it now, baby." You whisper softly, and she blinks. She just stares at you with this look of regret that she doesn't understand why she's feeling.

"I'm sorry."

She apologises for a reason she doesn't know yet, but she knows one thing. Seeing you cry hurt her for a reason she can't understand, and she doesn't want to see you upset either. Perhaps you are upset because of her, and perhaps she never should've come over. She just puts her hand over yours, and she can't understand why your touch feels so familiar when you are nothing but a blank face in her mind. You feel the world fading beneath your feet because you feel the cold metal against your skin, the cold metal band that still sits around her ring finger.

"You've done nothing wrong."

The silence that follows is haunting, watching as Tingyun slowly steps back.

"I'm sorry."

You can only watch as she steps back into the darkness, and you can't even call after her until she fades into the unknown behind you. You wonder if that's truly the last time you'll ever see her and a part of you hates the world for that. Your wife's last words were once 'I love you, I'll see you later', filled with love and care. Now they would be 'I'm sorry', filled with a sense of emptiness and regret, coming from someone who didn't even know your name.

The photo that hangs on the wall next to the door is her and you, hand in hand and both in white- the same metal band on her finger on yours.

Tingyun thinks of that photo every night now and she can't understand why it hurts so much.

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #tingyun #tingyun x reader #hsr tingyun #tingyun fugue #fugue x reader #hsr fugue

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teaboot · 1 year ago

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Personality test

Best song to hear on the radio in a car full of friends when it's dark and warm and raining outside and you're all kinda tired but still having a good time

The song that would play in the movie about your life at the part where you finally snap and enter a violent, freewheeling action scene

The worst song you can imagine playing in the background of a deeply personal or intimate moment

A song you'd want played at your funeral

A song you WOULD NOT WANT played at your funeral

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acourtofchaos · 17 days ago

Note

👀👀👀

Aaaa I have just the wip in mind for you... it's from a slightly unhinged mattheo wip (and the song inspo is hypnosis)

He watched you play your little game with the boys who broke girls' hearts like it was a competition, the way you filled yourself up on the vengeance of it all as if to push out the ache of hollowness and sadness that lingered when you went back to keeping everyone at arm’s length at the very end.

It made him wonder if you craved and buried it to the point of suffocation as he did.

If you knew how badly all those little pieces of information about you that he unearthed and hoarded like fine jewels only served to draw him in deeper. A moth enthralled to his funeral pyre.

It made him want you more, and he knew at least some part of you wanted him.

You had looked at him differently than the others since he adjusted his approach. There was a glint of curiosity, a slight gleam of hunger instead of boredom, and a newfound wariness no matter how much you tried to hide it from him. The challenge luring you as it did him.

And mattheo knew you had decided to see it out when the little game you played changed.

When it became less about punishing him for his degenerate sins against the overly-trusting, the innocent souls he’d stained with the grief of heartache, and more about the addiction to the scorching swell of this thing between you that neither was willing to soothe too soon.

You actively led the chase, denying your own want to uncover the extent of his.

You wanted him to drown in it, for it to wreck his insides until he bled that hunger you had glimpsed in him all over you. You wanted it to drive him mad, wild enough that he clawed you apart, shoving his hands beyond your ribs and dragging your own hunger out from where it was buried deep within the heart of you with bloody fingertips.

You welcomed him with open arms to do his worst.

And he did.

But still you always remained just slightly out of his grasp, re-packing steel around your bones in defence against his onslaught and leaving him with nothing more than a taunting whisper in his ear of ‘if you want me, Riddle, then all you have to do is admit that I’ve won.’

Because Mattheo stubbornly refused to yield.

Not to the need that charred his veins and spat fire in his bloodstream.

Nor the dangerous levels of sheer insanity that he felt from always being so fucking close but never quite close enough.

Not to you - he would never bend to you.

Instead, he denied you the way you did him, never willing to admit just how desperately he wanted you. Or how raw the intensity of it was, hot and pulsing with life, like it had warped and grown into its own entity - a wild, caged thing, all needle-sharp nails and snapping jaws that mauled at his insides. Carved them up to blood-soaked ribbons of meat and devoured him piece by piece.

His pride wouldn’t allow surrender even if he was picked apart and swallowed down until nothing but a husk remained.

And neither would yours.

#wip game #mattheo riddle wip #i honestly dont know if this thing even makes sense #i'm pretty sure i started listening to sleep token and just passed out whilst writing this #mattheo riddle x reader

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best-overplayed-song · 2 years ago

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fun facts

"We Didn't Start The Fire" chronicles every major historical event from 1949 (when Billy Joel was born) to 1989, when the song was written

About the song, Billy said: "It’s one of the few times I’ve written the lyrics first, which should be obvious to why I usually prefer to write the music first, because the melody is horrendous. It’s like a mosquito droning. It’s one of the worst melodies I’ve ever written. I kind of like the lyrics though"

Brian May initially didn't like "Don't Stop Me Now" as he felt it was celebrating Freddie Mercury's hedonistic and risky lifestyle. He added that he struggled with the lyrics at the time, because it was about a difficult period in Freddie's life when the singer was "taking lots of drugs and having sex with lots of men". However, after hearing the song being played at weddings, parties and funerals, he has come to appreciate it as representing "great joy"

#best overplayed song bracket #tumblr bracket #tournament poll #billy joel #queen

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bumblesimagines · 5 months ago

Note

Jocelyn (the idol)

there is no "us." we were never anything.

it was just for fun.

i haven't been with anyone since.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Possible ooc behavior I did not finish the show Sam Levinson stop ruining female characters challenge (impossible), soft angst?, drug mention, mentions of Jocelyn's mental breakdown

Show was ass but Lily-Rose did really well with what she was given

(Y/N) stared up into the twinkling night sky, the sound of distant city traffic mixing in with the music still playing throughout the house despite the party slowly coming to an end with more and more people returning home or passing out somewhere in the house. He wondered if the paparazzi outside the security gates had already slunk back to their miserable lives or if they continued lingering about to snap photos of those who came and went. They'd always been a pain in the ass to deal with like greedy vultures constantly flying about in hopes of getting a shot of something juicy. He was sure there'd be articles written and posted with photos of his car entering the premises with clickbait titles and headlines.

"There's a party going on... and you're out here looking like you're at a funeral." Jocelyn's familiar voice filled his ears, the clicking of her heels growing near until she stood beside him and plucked the cigarette from his fingers. She brought it to her tinted lips and inhaled, smoke soon slipping from her mouth. "Come inside and have a drink with me. It's been a while since we last spoke."

"There's not much to talk about, Joce." He told her, tilting his head to look at her.

Jocelyn looked just about the same since the last time he saw her face to face, if not a bit healthier and happier. She'd been unpredictable then; the mixture of drugs and alcohol she used to cope with the neverending grief over her mother's death sent her down a dangerous spiral of constantly shifting moods and impulsive decisions. It'd been exhausting being around her, especially when one minute she despised him and the next nobody would be able to pry her off him. In the end, Chaim and Destiny were forced to admit she was truly unwell and had her admitted to a hospital.

"Well, there's your new album, the new movie you were in, and my upcoming single." Jocelyn pointed out with a soft chuckle, her head cocking to the side. Her eyes softened. "There's also.. us and what happened."

"There is no "us." We were never anything, Joce. We were barely even friends. All we ever did was have sex and argue every time we recorded." (Y/N) took the cigarette back, taking a deep breath before he butted it out and flicked it out toward the cliff. Flirting, drinking, taking pills and powders they should've ignored, hooking up, recording a song or two, arguing over random things; it was an irritating cycle that pushed his limits and patience. "It was just for fun."

"We went out together to clubs and events or did you forget that? We were something. Maybe not a couple but we were more than 'barely friends.'" Jocelyn scoffed softly, her eyebrows furrowing and jaw visibly clenching. "No matter how much you say that it was all for the fans and to get them hyped for the songs, you can't deny we had something."

"We were fuckbuddies at most, Joce. I don't get why you're still hung up on that."

"Because I haven't been with anyone since! I thought about you while I was recovering, while I was in that hospital trying to get better. I... I thought maybe we'd be serious when I was discharged . I.. I thought you would at least be kind enough to visit after but you went full fucking ghost on me. And maybe the worst part is that I still want you."

#x reader #x you #x y/n #x male reader #x male!reader #the idol #the idol x reader #the idol x male reader #the idol x you #the idol x y/n #jocelyn #jocelyn x reader #Jocelyn the idol #Jocelyn the idol x male reader #the idol hbo #jocelyn x male reader #jocelyn x you #Jocelyn the idol x reader

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syrupfog · 2 months ago

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Sometimes Usopp has nightmares.

Not ones of his mom dying— no, those are no more than a dull ache now. But nightmares of being thrown at the feet of the man who single handedly started off the worst week of his life. Made him feel useless and broken.

Franky.

Usopp doesn’t think Franky bothers to remember how they met. In the grand scheme of things, it’s not important, right? They’re on the same team now, on the WINNING team. Franky built them the best ship in the world, and even made Usopp a tribute to Merry with the mini merry.

But sometimes at night, he’s trapped in that moment again, where he’s thrown at the feet of the man who was head of the Franky Family, who looked down on him like he was dirt, and scoffed when Usopp demanded their berri back.

And it happens all over again; getting attacked, hit again and again until he feels the crack of his bones and darkness billows into his vision, until the last thing he sees is Franky, behind that iron mask he wore, looking down at Usopp with, somehow worst of all, INDIFFERENCE.

And Usopp wakes up with a gasp, clutching his heart, sweat pouring off of him, only to find Franky snoring peacefully in the bunk below him.

And somehow that. That hurts.

It shouldn’t. They’ve made amends. They’ve reconciled. Franky has time and again wept with him and for him.

But that moment started off the worst week of Usopp’s life, and Usopp cannot help but wonder if everything would’ve gone down differently if Franky’s goons hadn’t touched him. If he’d had the same time to process as everyone else, had heard the news with everyone else.

Would he have still left the crew? Fought Luffy?

The fight still haunts him. He’s always been a useless failure of a pirate, but—

Usopp’s just not sure why Luffy even let him back.

And as his thoughts spiral and his pounding heart rate slows, Usopp blinks crusted tears from his eyes and wishes, DESPERATELY wishes, that he could have just BEEN Franky from the beginning.

He’s good with his hands. Maybe if he had just started studying to be a shipwright they never would’ve gotten to that point. Franky’s all but replaced him on the ship anyway, hasn’t he? He’s like everything that Usopp is, but better.

Stumbling out of his bunk, trying and failing to be quiet about it, Usopp slinks out of the bunk room and onto the deck. It’s a night so foggy that not even the moon lights their path. The lanterns hung on either side of the door to the kitchen the only things casting hazy light.

Which is why he jumps out of his skin when Brook appears in front of him like a ghost in the night.

“Yohohoho,” Brook laughs softly. “I’m sorry to have startled you, young master Usopp! I was simply out for a midnight stroll!”

Usopp blinks. “You’re not on watch?”

“No, it is our Captain’s turn right now. He’s up in the crow’s nest. I was thinking I might play him a tune— I’m not in need of much sleep these days— but perhaps you might be in need of it a bit more than him?”

Usopp doesn’t feel in NEED of a tune. He feels in need of sticking his head in a bucket of ice water, perhaps, to get his thoughts out of the dark place they’re spiraling towards. But he doesn’t want to disappoint Brook. “Sure,” he says. “What have you got cooking up?”

Brook’s violin is out in a heartbeat— although he has no heart— and after a few tuning notes, he begins a slow, deep rendition of Bink’s Saké. Usopp recognizes the melody but Brook has managed to turn it almost into a funeral dirge. Something mournful, crying out.

He feels like he’s intruding just by listening to it.

When the song is finished, Brook seems to breathe out (can he do that?) and with his breath his whole skeleton collapses down, like a marionette with all but one of its strings cut.

“I think, sometimes,” says Brook, “that I am not worthy of being the one who survived.”

Usopp wants to jump to his defense, tell him that Brook is NEEDED and NECESSARY and they COULDN’T DO THIS WITHOUT HIM.

But he remembers how empty those words sounded in the moment as Chopper yelled them, as Usopp left the crew on Water 7. Like empty appeasing platitudes.

“I think…” Usopp says, slowly, carefully, “that worthiness isn’t something that matters, in the end.”

He’s sitting on the deck, the chill numbing his feet. Brook goes to sit, gingerly, next to him.

“I think that the only thing that actually matters are the choices you make— and not EVERY choice. But the most recent choices.” He peters off for a moment. Brook looks especially creepy in the fog. “Whatever happened that led to you being here doesn’t matter. What matters is your choice now. And tomorrow. What matters is continuing on.”

He doesn’t believe it, not really. His choices haunt him. Every lie haunts him.

“I don’t make good choices,” he concedes, looking down at his calloused hands. “But I want to. I’m trying.”

Even if he doesn’t want to keep trying, sometimes.

Brook leans back, silent as a ghost for a moment, and then, quietly, “I know you are, master Usopp. You are not as lost as you think.”

Usopp doesn’t say anything after that.

Brook doesn’t either.

The morning comes with hot sun and the pounding of feet across the deck. Usopp wakes with a crick in his neck and shade over his eyes.

He blinks, inhaling the scent of pancakes. As his vision clears, he realises he’s only able to have slept so long because a straw hat had been placed over his head, hiding his face from the worst of the morning sun.

Usopp groans.

He pulls it lower, hiding the heat in his cheeks

“It’s the choices you make today,” he tells himself. “Not the old ones. Just the ones today and tomorrow and tomorrow.”

Because maybe if he tells himself that everyday, someday he’ll even believe it.

And until then, he can lie.

#usopp #one piece #my writing

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deathbxnny · 7 months ago

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hello! aventurine, blade and sunday with a teen!reader like margarita blankenheim?

dont know if youre into ec, but its shocking that margarita is canonically 16💀

anyways, reader is very skilled at making poisons, are often in denial about the reality they live in and pretending that theyre happy despite not being happy at all and mostly pretending that their problems dont exit at all, often comparing themselves to a “doll” due to the prolonged explotation and neglect,and much like sunday, they believe that sleep and dreams will make other people and themselves happy

Despite my deep obsession with Vocaloid and Hatsune Miku in general, I have to admit that I never really got into the EC lore, despite still knowing the lyrics to all songs by heart lol. (If you play "Madness of Duke Venomania" at my funeral and I DON'T wake up... then you'll know that I've truly left you guys-)

After post edit: I misread this request and accidentally made it into a romantic relationship with an Aged up reader!! I'm sorry for that Anon but hope this is okay anyways!! :((

Content: Reader is kind of delusional/crazy?, vague mentions of non-descriptive neglect, mostly bitter sweet, romantic relationship, kind of suicidal descriptions in Blades part?, vague brain washing in Sunday's part, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not proofread))

》BLADE

Blade didn't get along with you at first. Mainly because he thought that your insistence on escaping reality was rather futile and pathetic. He saw dreams as a waste of time, always seeking the comfort of the dark reality he was forced to live through to find his way on the dark path he treaded.

And yet, over time and through the many missions you were sent on together, he learned of your own cruel fate and past, one filled with a loveless, neglected existence, akin to a broken, thrown away doll you often compared yourself with. He felt his emotions develop in odd ways for you, a mutual understanding despite your stark differences leading you into an aimless relationship only the two of you could comprehend.

Despite your lack of belief in yourself, that you often hid in utopian daydreams, he still found your talent for poisons rather interesting and even impressive. He had requested a vial of the worst poison you could make once, drinking it all in one go after a warm thank you. It didn't kill him, ofcourse, yet the pain of momentary death by your own hands was enough to drive him into another, much deeper level of appreciation and love for you.

》AVENTURINE

Aventurine understood you from day one, even if he didn't agree with all of your views. He knew the yearning for freedom all too well. He, too, attempted to escape all his troubles behind the mask of a sly gambler, the illusion, however, often shattered by the branding on his neck. You two bond over this silent feeling of helplessness as you try and find your way out of the hell that life created for you. This is what made you become an unlikely couple over time.

He enjoys spoiling you with all he has, perhaps as a way to compensate for the many trips and travels he has to take. It's also a way for him to show his deepest appreciation for your existence in his life, one he doesn't take for granted. He definitely funds your love for poison making, even if he doesn't fully understand why you enjoy it. He, however, views it as his own love for gambling, simply a coping mechanism, which makes him not question it any further than that.

With that said, he views himself as a doll as well, in a way, one especially crafted to be at your side. And yet... if the world eventually teared your strings in different directions, whether it be through the actions of other or even his own, he hoped this momentary solitude you two attained was enough to prove that you are more than your broken past.

》SUNDAY

Oh, how Sunday adored you from day one. You matched his ideals and understood him perfectly. You didn't put him down for his opinions, nor did you judge him for them. Your views were the same, after all. Dreams are an escape from the harsh reality that the "weak" couldn't handle. So where was the harm in coddling and keeping them safe in a realm far from it all? He saw himself as your savior through his plans, one's he eventually crafted to fit your perfect world. He wanted to make you happy, finally repaying you for the love and kindness you showed him.

He doesn't let you view yourself as a doll and often gently lectures you into seeing yourself as his "angel" instead. Every God needed a messenger, after all. Sunday also tries healing you from your broken past, attempting to undo years on years of heartache and pain all on his own. And he KNOWS he can do it one way or another, even going as far as using his tuning ability on you to help. He doesn't see anything wrong with it anyway, since it helps you feel much better, doesn't it?

Your love for poison making confuses him at first... but over time, he sees it as rather useful for the "elimination" of people who cross you both. Don't worry about some of your vials going missing. Just dream on and be happy, just like he always tells you to.

Alrightttt, I hope this was okay, Anon, and thank you again for the request!! (Sorry again for messing up the request, I haven't slept in a while😭😭😭)

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail fanfic #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr #hsr aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine #sunday hsr #hsr sunday x reader #hsr blade #hsr blade x reader

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elf-kid2 · 1 year ago

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Modern Witchers

So this contractor drives into this tiny town, way out in the sticks, in the kind of beat-up white van used by many tradesman, and allegedly favored by murderous kidnappers.

He's got white hair that you're not sure is bleached or not, strange eyes short manners. Maybe (probably) he kinda gives you the creeps. White van, stranger-danger, big guy with muscles, and all. Bad vibes.

But you've got a problem, no denying: there's SOMETHING in those woods that doesn't belong there, and recently, when the local boys went to DO something about it... that SOMETHING went from killing livestock, to killing people to. And you know, once those types of creatures get a taste for human blood... best to deal with it sooner, rather than later. Hence, the out-of-town contractor.

Witchers specialize in hunting monsters, after all.

Better to put together a fundraiser to pay the (frankly, outrageous) fees now, then to have to pay all that later, plus the surcharge for beasts that've killed multiple people, plus pulling together the funds for more funerals.

A stitch in time save nine, as the saying goes.

He's got a musician hitchhiking with him, which you weren't expecting. Some hapless hitchhiker with a dufflebag over his shoulder, and a guitar on his back, who got lost on the way to Vegas, or Nashville, or wherever it is starry-eyed musicians go to Make It Big, these days.

Auntie said that any hitchhiker with sense'd be better off walking down a lonely road, instead of getting into a van like that, driven by a man like that. But I guess it takes all kinds of kinds, and that musician hadn't been murdered yet, so make of that what you will.

Anyhow, the musician started busking in the farmer's market-- some decent covers, a few original songs, and some kind of surprisingly catchy jingle for the contractor who'd given him a lift into town. It was pretty good; live music is always a treat when you can get it, and it'd been a while since the last Bluegrass Festival.

He knew how to charm people, work the crowd, how to ask for "donations to the fine arts" without being irritating about it. People dropped cash, and pennies, and quarters, into his open guitar case, at any rate.

I reckon he scraped together at least enough for lunch, form himself'n his friend. Witchers are surly and stingy as anything, y'know, so I wondered why he wasn't covering the meal, with how much he'd charged for slaying the monster...

...But I overheard mention of how he'd had to get that van fixed up at Joe's Auto-Mechanics, over by the old factory in the valley-- and everyone knows that Joe's Auto'll charge three times what the repairs are worth, with parts that cost ten times as much as they oughtta. Lord knows, those scammers'd be out of business, if there were any better options within 50 miles of their shop!

And that is why if you think your truck's getting ready to break down, you should try an' make sure it breaks down closer to home. And also why I figure it makes sense that even a Witcher'd be short on cash, after dealing with 'em.

Anyway, the Witcher spoke with the Sheriff, and he went out monster-hunting that night.

Meanwhile, that hitchhiking musician was playing at the local bar, and let me tell you-- he was pretty damn good! Played a few drinking-songs, and the kind of songs you can't play in front of the kiddos at Farmer's Market, played some catchy tunes that had people dancing and clapping along...!

I particularly enjoyed the murder-ballad about the woman who turned into a vengeful fire-monster when she found out her man was messing around with other women. Very clever wordplay, "flames of desire lighting up your funeral pyre!" Good stuff.

Then the Witcher came in-- fresh from the contract, and half-covered in mud and blood! Barkeep wouldn't even let him sit down until he'd hosed off the worst of it, out back!

Musician-- Jaskier, he called himself-- raised a toast to a successful hunt, and another to monster-hunters who let loving families sleep safely, and rowdy drunks stumble home un-eaten, and soon enough somebody was buying that Witcher a drink, and the barkeep gave him a plate of food on the house, and it was good times all around!

Beats toasting newly-dead friends, and drinking to forget the monsters at the door, any day.

The thing is, this is a small town. Not a lot of people come visit, and if they do, they're generally staying with family. Which is to say, there aren't any motels around here.

Now, that contractor, that Witcher, he'd asked around, beforehand, about what was available, in terms of overnight accomodations-- which, let's be honest, isn't much around here. Come morning, I saw that beat-up van parked outside the Rosebud Bed & Breakfast.

Now Rosebud's is a nice place, a respectable establishment, but we all know they've had some trouble since that big storm last month, when a tree smashed through the roof! Las I checked, that Bed & Breakfast only had the one bed fit for guests to sleep in!

Might've been a rather one-sided bidding war, or a tight fit, with two out-of-towners vying for a roof overhead, that night. But that's none of my business.

Jaskier the musician left town with the Witcher-- Geralt Rivera, I think the name was-- same as he came in. Well, makes sense that he wouldn't want to stay long enough to put down roots, a young musician on a mission to see the world and/or become rich and famous.

The Witcher, Geralt, did good work with the monster, too. I guess that's why they're the experts... Some folks are talking about having what's left of the beasty taxidermy'd, did you know? Might make a decent tourist attraction, or a decoration for Town Hall, or something. I don't know.

Anyway, all that's to say... don't let anybody tell you there's not still a need for Witchers, in the modern day.

#witcher #geralt #jaskier #geraskier

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wide-nose-and-wonderful · 11 months ago

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SNOWFALL SEASON 3 Franklin.

Pairing: Franklin Saint x Black Fem Reader!

Warnings/Type: Major Snowfall TV Show Spoilers. Established Relationship. Drama, Hurt, Angst, Use of the n-word. ONE SHOT!

Summary: Being Leon's baby sister, you were almost like a forbidden fruit, but Franklin kissed you that night at the amusement park. Since then you couldn't get him outta your mind. The day of Andres funeral you decide to approach him and let him know these growing feelings, unaware the world is about to come crashing down in the worst way.

Word count: 8,220k / Please consider leaving a comment to show some love and support. Like this story? To read other works please check out the Masterlist.

It had gotten humid inside the ragged old church. The whole morning felt entirely too hot. But the situation had been a form of hell. The irony was an abysmal reality you could do without. You wondered how bad it might feel come afternoon when everything moved over to Cissy’s house for the repass.

Older women from the neighborhood sat off to the side, lukewarm bottles of water in hand. One program folded, causing a line to stretch across the deadeased face, flapping at a steady pace to offer these warm necks a brush of air and a small release from the heat.

Once the casket closed, things had become real. No going back, no second chances. You had watched eagerly, with both terror and awe at the sight of death with little understanding of its significance. She’d found her father, head on the kitchen table with a bullet through his brain. The top being lowered in the manner it appeared. A firm but gentle slam, screaming, the end.

You glimpsed at the program in your hand then up ahead. Melody held tight to a blank stare as the pastor spoke. It worried you whenever your eyes managed to find her among the large crowd of people sitting in pews. She looked, lost. Checked out. Maybe from the situation. Maybe from something else? If the rumors going around the neighborhood were true she had been recovering from an addiction to rock. Or had recently taken a hit to numb her mind. Given the situation, you could forgive her for the latter. Still, you couldn't deny this ominous gut instinct that something bad might happen today.

You pulled at the side of your dress. The color design, a black and white triangle pattern. Hair up in a high bun, you wore a pearl necklace with matching earrings, black stockings and flats. A light application of makeup had been applied. Another thing that bothered you about funerals. Mascara rolling down in black gunky lines. All the sad songs would have caused the welling up of tears so by the time everything ended the look would be giving something out of one of the horror films you’d watched with your girlfriends every other friday.

The singer's voice lifted.

‘Amazing grace! how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch; like me! I once was lost, but now I'm found. Was blind, but now I see.’

You swore, every black person that died had this very song playing at their funeral in some capacity. Didn’t matter if it was first walking in, or walking out, it never failed.

Andre Wright was no different. His sister Bernice even commented on how as a child the song had been his favorite to sing at Sunday service when they attended with their grandparents. Then she trailed off, expressing disappointment in Andre’s low attendance since joining the police force, and that God might be punishing him for the lack of acknowledgement. Luckily Cissy came to counter the conversation, presenting you and Leon a swift escape. You took it, Leon too. What came next would make it awkward for everyone involved.

But suicide was always an awkward topic.

You bumped Leon’s shoulder. He averted his eyes away from the program in his hand to look at you.

“This is sad huh?” You said as your gaze moved over the crowd.

“Yeah. Real sad,” He mumbled. “Fuckin’ hate funerals.”

You kept your eyes on him for a moment. “It’s not reminding you of dad is it? From what you can remember, I mean.”

Leon shook his head. “Naw. Not dad.” He paused. “Kev.”

You noticed he stared straight ahead when Kevin’s name slipped out. Jaw tight with unspoken tension. What was he looking at? You tilted your head. The casket in his line of vision. When Leon saw you’d caught on, a sad smile found him.

“Kev’s wasn’t that exact color, but the flower arrangements kinda remind me of how they put his shit together.”

‘Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, And grace my fears relieved; How precious did that grace appear. The hour I first believed!’

You discovered Franklin sitting beside his mother and father in a blue button up and tie. His hands in his lap.Thumbs running over each other. His head hung while the music played, all the way up until the point the song finished. You remembered that day. Kevin’s funeral. One of the hardest for Leon. For everyone. Franklin hadn’t been in attendance. You asked Leon why. All he said was that he wasn’t gonna be able to make it. Kevin’s older brother Kane also missed the funeral, but everyone knew where Kane was. He’d been locked up for as long as you could remember. You didn't expect Jerome or Louie to be there. Not after what happened.

Forgetting you’d been staring, Franklin turned his head to lock eyes with you for a second before he lowered his head once more. Your glare hardened on him. He’d barely been able to look at you. You were tired of his blatant avoidance. The way it started to make you feel took a toll on your control. Keeping those tears in during the ceremony. You hardly heard the preacher for the majority. Something in you somehow began to die. Such a permanent end hadn’t just been reserved for Andre. You lowered your hand and took hold of Leon’s, applying pressure. He offered a gentle smile as the tears rolled down your cheeks. “I know sis,” he whispered against the pastor's words, providing a light squeeze to counter.

You felt out of place sitting so close to the Wright family, but Leon couldn't oppose Bernice on the seating request. He'd called her Mom once, and ate at her table many times before she’d packed up and relocated to Odessa Texas.

The funeral continued. You fidgeted with a program while the Pastor called for the congregation to bow heads.

Our father who art in heaven…

Outside Leon was busy giving hugs and conversing with those who chose to stop him on the way to the car. You cared little for conversation. Instead your concentration was fixed. The very last step to the afterlife, or the process that the body would go through. Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust…..The casket dissolved into the black hearse. The door closed, securing it inside for the lengthy trip to the ultimate resting place for the dearly departed. The grave location. A marker arranged later with Andre’s full name on it and a quote from the bible underneath, probably.

You shuffled out the church doors. A familiar voice touched your ears the second your foot felt the sidewalk, and you spun your head to the way behind. Alton. Franklin’s father stood, looking at you.

“You and Leon gonna head over to the house? Cissy could use more help. Seems like we're gonna have a little more company then expected.”

You offered a smile. “Yeah, of course. Whatever we can do to help. We’ll probably leave in a second once he's finished.”

Alton offered an identical smile, but his brown face only reflected dismay. “Thank you both. See you then.”

You revolted his departure with a look of disbelief and Leon caught sight of the hearse finally taking its leave as you uttered something about being hungry. Leon’s eyes left the dark ghost that took away the soulless thing in the brown box. As it disappeared in the traffic, all Leon could say was "Damn," before licking the dryness from his lips while he pulled out a joint and lit the end up with a low spark of fire.

…

The atmosphere in the little house on 56th remained a somber affair. Cissy and Alton had done their best with the little space they had, but it felt cramped by the time You and Leon arrived. One of the hottest days in the city's history according to the radio reports. As predicted, the heat had gotten worse, so intense that it made it hard to breathe. Every hour the power would cut out. Anything Cissy had baking in the oven took extra time. Everyone felt it, this imminent trepidation that attached to the burning. Especially Franklin.You played the part of greeter as per Cissy’s request and directed some of the guests inside, keeping an eye on him. He still had on his suit jacket. Just the sight made you feel extremely suffocated. You watched him pass Melody and Bernice. Melody’s eyes strangely tore him to pieces.

The rest of the mourners sat around, some sharing memories of Andre. Others offered their presence and support where needed. These people. Some you recognized and other’s you didn’t. They’d come one after the other with a comforting arm and words of sympathy for Melody.

The dead stare hadn’t left her since coming from the funeral service at the church.“I'm so sorry for your loss. Your dad was a great man. He protected this community, put his life on the line everyday and he will be missed,” one officer from Andres' unit told her as he took off his hat as a sign of showing his respect. Something like, Nixon, Nix? Melody mellowed out a quiet thank you and Bernice rubbed her back as a tear would fall.

You’d taken the opportunity and handed her a box of tissues when some of the people cleared a pathway. Sat down next to her, to offer your own personal condolences for her loss. “We're here for you, Mel. Whatever you need, just ask,” you said, giving her a reassuring smile. And the sorry’s continued on for a while right after yours. “I know this is a difficult time,” and "You are in our prayers,” were some of the many that followed.

Eventually you found yourself in the bathroom staring in the mirror. You’d used some toilet paper to dab your forehead and relieve yourself of the perspiration that gathered. After you applied a fresh line of deodorant you hit the light switch and stepped out into the hallway. Franklin turned the corner just in time. The both of you stood, not saying anything until a shaky grin danced on him.

“Hey Beanz.”

It came, short and sweet. You watched his eyes move past you and toward his room. Another manner of escape. You blocked the path. Franklin walked forward, attempting to get past.

“Excuse me,” he mumbled.

You took hold of his arm. “Wait. Can I talk to you real quick?”

He hadn’t provided you with much opportunity. You couldn’t call Cissy’s without raising suspicion. That, and it would get back to Leon. You only paged him a few times after the night at the amusement park. That same day you’d ended things with the guy Leon warned you about. The same guy you’d swore up and down wouldn’t do you dirty, but ended up proving Leon right. Like always. That same day Franklin showed up.

What were the odds that he’d be out driving that night to find you walking down the street in tears. What were the odds that cotton candy and laughter would leave you full and satisfied? More than the two year relationship had ever done in its duration. Small moments, a subtle glance, the holding of his hand. The playful pushing. You were like children. Experiencing his whimsical desire to make you laugh at his failed attempt at game play, but then Franklin always was more brain than brawn. Still, you appreciated all of it in more ways you could express.

You believed he was different. Leon trusted him. Leon knew him. You grew up with him. Had a first hand account of his personality, and while growing up you never saw him being anything more than family, that night introduced a different side to him that might be possible.

It did its best to consume you. These thoughts of Franklin and what if. In the days that followed you’d created in your mind different scenarios.You thought you might be crazy at first, imagining yourself holding hands with him. Then it went to the subtle jokes held between you two, all the way to him parking in a secluded area, you climbing on top of him, and the two of you making love until the sun kissed the earth and brought about a new morning.

The only way you would ever know is if you took a chance and put all your cards on the table. Franklin opened his mouth. For a second he seemed to search for the right words.You let him go when they never came.

“It won't take that long,” you offered as a level of reassurance. You understood that today of all days wasn’t the best time to confess your feelings, but you might not get another opportunity, being Franklin was so hard a man to track down these days.

He nodded his head and turned to face you. “Okay,” felt from his lips as an utterance.

You stared up at him. “In private. If that's alright.”

He held his gaze then turned and started toward his room. You followed and shut the door once you were both inside. With a sigh Franklin turned. You greeted him with a push against the wall as you raised your hand around his neck to link your lips. Deep down somewhere in your heart of hearts you prepared for the worst. That made you bold in taking for yourself what you wanted. Just one more kiss. If that was the only thing you'd walk away with. It was something. Fuck that bastard Darnell for calling you a prude. This was Franklin Saint, no other girl you knew could be so bold.

You wallowed in the memory of that night momentarily. It would never be like the first time, so unexpected and new, but the sensation of his full lips, soft, safe, and perfect made you glad you hadn't hesitated. He complied at first only to break contact seconds later.

“Beanz. The hell you doin’?”

You'd asked yourself this question only briefly. You took a breath. “What do you mean?”

“I mean. This. We can't do this.” He moved your hand. He moved away from the wall and under your arm.

Your eyes followed him.“But we're alone. So It's fine. I just. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Franklin stood by his drawer. “If I was okay,” he asked without making eye contact.

“Yes,” you said to clarify. “You're walking around like everything is fine. But it’s not. I mean it’s hot as hell today but you seem to be feeling it more than the rest of us in some weird way. You’ve been sweating like a blues singer,” you emphasized accounting for the moisture on his brow. He probably would have laughed at the comparison under different circumstances. “Everyone is being taken care of. I just. I wondered if the same could be said about you. Who’s checked on you lately? Made sure Franklin was good.”

It was your way of paying it forward. You owed him. He made you feel good. You only wanted to do the same. You reached out to touch his hand. Franklin seemed to consider how the pad of your thumb ran over the top of his skin. You were desperate for any sort of contact, and by the way he responded, he was too.

“I know in a way Andre was like a father to you. To be honest I'm still shocked that he would do that. Kill himself. So, I know. I know you're hurting right now. And I just wanted you to understand. You don't have to be alone. I'm here. I'm here Franklin.”

Franklin turned his head away and pulled in his bottom lip. There had been a glaze hanging over his hues. Perhaps your sentiment held too much weight. Franklin appeared to be battling with it. He moved his hand from under your touch. Just like a bee sting, you felt the pain. The aftershock at the loss of warmth to a frigid breeze.

“But the other thing is,” you struggled to say. “You've been avoiding me. I just wanted to ask. What. What did I do Franklin? Why are you being like this? So distant.”

“Listen Beanz.” Franklin's hand found the upper part of his tie. He pulled at the knot to loosen it some, lowered his head and directed his attention at the ceiling before he gave you a brief glare. “Bottom line. I fucked up.”

You hadn't averted your gaze on him, and as diligently as you tried to deconstruct his sentence, to understand, you couldn't. “What do you mean?”

“What happened that night.” He'd begun to pace the floor. “Shouldn’t have done what I did.” Franklin nodded. “That's my fault. And I take full responsibility. All the blame.” He stopped his pace to look at you. “Okay?”

Your heart had moved, from its proper location in your chest to your stomach. “You're talking about the kiss, right? On the ferris wheel. What do you mean your fault? You had my full consent Franklin. I mean in the moment it caught me off guard, sure, but I kissed you back, so in that case I'd be wrong too.”

“No. I put you in that position, that was me. I made the move first. So see, you comin' in here like this. I should expect it. Cause of what you think it is now, or what it could be. But you're wrong.”

How was he able to read your mind so easily? It scared you.

“We're doin’ this shit behind Lee's back. You know that's not right. He ma’ best friend, your brother. It's all fucked up.”

“It was only a kiss. We didn’t do anything,” you whispered. You hadn't realized how elevated your breathing had become as you tried to process what was happening. Once Franklin dropped his arm at his side you were battling back tears. You thought you were doing the right thing. That being honest with yourself and him would make telling Leon, your mom, Cissy, Alton, Jerome, Louie, and anyone else who needed telling, much easier.

The hardest part had been telling Franklin.

“That's why I wanted to talk to you. I don't wanna hide my feelings anymore. Let's just tell him.” You'd grown a little confidence. Not only that. You spoke as if a love affair existed between you long before that night. “I felt something Franklin. I know you did too. Maybe it will all work out.”

The naivety of your hope was showing. There was Franklin, this strategic young business man that created for himself his own product operation. Generated an endless stream of funds while successfully keeping peace between rival hoods. Then there was you, eighteen, inexperienced and vulnerable. It all read like a predator and prey situation so you could understand Leon's warning to Franklin, about boundaries and the lines he wasn't allowed to cross when it came to you. But you could reason with Leon. He couldn't always be right, especially about a man he put his trust into.

“Tell him what?” Franklin turned to face you. His features mingled with anger and frustration. “You're not hearing me B. There's nothin’ ta tell. There is no us.”

The intensity of his gaze was enough to make your heart stop. Your expression became void of promise that a fantasy could be something more. Still you preferred to fight it, determined that what you wanted meant more than all the logic the world could muster.

“You feel the same way, I know you do.You just won’t admit it to yourself Franklin.That would make it all too real. Then you’d have to face it. You wouldn't be able to run away. The way you are now.”

Franklin didn't appear to be moved by the break and rise of your voice, but the added bounce in his jaw encouraged you to say more. If he hadn't responded that meant he must be thinking. You took a few steps until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. You slowly sat on the surface and found a poster on the wall to stare at. A grimace of expression and you offered his rejection a casual laugh. “Who are you tryna convince Franklin? Me or yourself?” You acquired your own level of frustration.You stood at the edge of a knife. All Franklin had to do was plunge it in. He had the upper hand, but you weren't ready to die. If he could only hear you out, at least consider your argument. Faintly you could hear the song from earlier knocking at your senses and calling you to your final resting place. That place where Andre would be buried deep in the earth with his name engraved on cold stone. Only yours would be one word. Foolish.

“Lee was right. He never looked your way when he uttered those words. You could see him from the corner of your eye. Instead his attention remained on the window. “We gotta leave it alone. Go back to the way things were.”

Why had that sounded like he meant more than the night at the amusement park?

“Leon’s just tryna protect you B. So am I. Trust me. The further away you stay from all this. The better off you'll be.”

Franklin's hues swirled with burden. You couldn't turn away from all their trouble, even though his words were blunt and direct. It all went on like a paradox. The passivity shifted, as did his expression, to reveal this troubled man. A man that might be trying to make things right. You wanted to see it that way only, in the moment it felt more like he'd destroyed you purposely, doing so without care or worry, as the aftermath of his personal choices, and your vulnerabilities existed in rubble and ruin together as a constant beat. Yet, not even that could reason you to bring yourself to regret. You blinked. That released the drips of emotion from your eyes. They rolled down the same way they had at the church. Only Leon wasn't there to hold your hand. You shifted your weight on the bed until you broke the air with a whisper. Battle strong, you proceeded.

“But what if I can’t. Go back to the way things were.”

Franklin shut his eyes. “It didn't mean anything Beanz. What more do I gotta say to get that through to you. It was a mistake.”

When he didn't provide you with an answer you wanted you swallowed down the rising lump in your throat that would have had you burst into tears, if you didn't fight it back down. You had mulled it over in your head and once you recognized the heat in the room your hands began to shake. “Franklin, if this wasn’t something more then why was it you of all the people it could have been, there at that exact time and place. Are you telling me that was just some coincidence?” You weren't sure you should say the next part. You had no way of knowing his reaction. He'd stone walled every bit of attempted connection you sent his way. You sucked in a breath as, “I’m in love with you,” slipped out.

“We can’t move beyond anything else but friendship. Sorry.”

You pulled your bottom lip in to stop it from quivering. A similar action Franklin had taken at the mention of Andre. A short whimper-like sound left you in a “Hmm.” Cold. His tone of voice was so cold. Like a businessman delivering his final offer.

“Listen. Messin wit’ you. It'll only cause problems between me and Lee. And I can't have that.” When he turned and finally faced you, it was your tears that made his eyes go hard. He lifted his chin, “None of this is good for bidness. So It's done.”

A smack of your teeth, and you remembered the shutting of Andres casket. That final slam. The end. You could go a whole lifetime without ever hearing that word. Franklin threw it around like it meant life or death. You rushed out, shutting the door behind you to lean on its frame as that familiar rise of sentiment tickled your eyes leaving you to finally break your reserve and cry.

Cissy noticed you. She'd been talking in the hall to one of the men you recognized at the funeral. Another associate of Andres but not quite an Officer. She bid him away with a warm grin and approached you.

“Honey what's wrong?”

You tried to laugh the truth away. The truth that Franklin Saint had successfully broken your heart. “Nothing really.” You nulled the real reasons and smiled at her as best you could with the facility. Forgetting that Cissy was by no means a stupid woman and that you'd broken out in tears right after coming from inside her son's room.“It's all just so. Heavy in here with all this. You know. Kinda overwhelmed. And to add insult to injury. I'm still hungry.” You cried out in what turned into a sob. You hoped you swayed her from asking any questions about Franklin. Acting in itself was an overrated profession. It took too much of your energy to perform.

“Aw. Come here sweetheart.” Cissy pulled you into a hug, which only made the crying worse. “I know it's hard,” she whispered while she gently rocked and patted your back to offer some form of comfort. The same you might be more inclined to receive from Franklin.“Death. Any manner of it. Even though it's a natural part of life. Don't make it any less hard.” Cissy spoke like she knew, but delivered in a way that understood both sides. She broke the hug to look at you. “While I have no control over that. I think I can do something about the other thing you mentioned. We just put out the food. Despite all these God forsaken power outages, it's ready.” Cissy smiled. A smile so infectious that it made you do the same. You laughed, she laughed and you both made your way to the kitchen.

…

Soft music played in the background. The smell of comfort food filled the air. Macaroni and cheese, baked beans, fried chicken, pasta salad. A line had begun to form when the power cut off for the third time that afternoon. Berniece huffed in frustration as she grabbed a plate and began to fill it with food. They really should be doing something about this. They know how God awful hot it is today. Her voice trailed off in the surrounding chatter. You’d almost forgotten about the heat. The aroma of the food had you desperately wanting to sit, but you’d decided to make a plate for Leon.

With the influx of hungry people, he’d be in line forever.

When the line moved, you moved with it, grabbing two bread rolls along the way. You eye’d the dessert table hoping that by the time you finished there would still be a variety of sweets to choose from.

What was it about death that made a person so hungry?

When you managed to spot Leon, the two of you found seats at the large table. He’d grinned with his first bite of chicken that still offered a faint swivel of steam into the air overhead, hot. You’d been busy with finishing off your portion of macaroni and cheese by the time he took notice of your plate.

“Mm. Was you gonna leave some for er’body else?”

You frowned, choosing not to engage him with eye contact as you ate a spoonful of beans. “What?”

“Damn near got the whole pot don't ya?” He chuckled. “Guess you livin’ up to yo’ nickname, huh?”

The significant difference from your plates had undoubtedly been the beans. You loved baked beans. It was your first words. Not mama, or dada, just, baked beans. Ever since then the nickname seemed to stick. You would always be on the hunt for them at family gatherings or barbeques. Funerals too.

“Shut up,” you blurted out, almost annoyed that he noticed.

Leon wasn’t easily rattled. Instead of finding the rebuttal of his observation offensive, he’d countered with another bite of chicken. “I’m just statin’ the obvious.”

Your eye’s were sore and there was some tension, warning you that a migraine was on the horizon. You stopped moving the spoon and shook your head. “You always bring it up. Every single time we eatin’. Like get outta my plate. Worry bout’ what you got goin’ on over there. I mean I'm actually concerned. You starin’ at that chicken hard, like you wanna commercial for it. ”

“Man. Shut yo’ ass up.” Leon laughed and ate some of his pasta salad.

You rolled your eyes to resume the swirling of your beans before you took in a big mouth full with Franklin passing your view. He saw you too, your plate, and a faint bereaved grin crept his lips before he switched his direction to make his way over.

“Oh hell,” you mumbled, mouth full trying to chew the rest down.

Leon greeted him.

“Sup Saint.”

“Sup Lee.”

“You get you somethin’ ta’ eat? It’s pretty good.”

“Naw. Not yet. I will tho. Soon. I’mma let them go first.”

Suddenly you had lost your appetite. You threw down your spoon, cleared your throat and got up from the table. A couple people sitting down further looked at you as Leon’s eyes met your stance.

“Where you goin B?”

You tossed a glance over your shoulder. “See what they got on the desert table. I want something sweet.”

Leon reached out an eager index finger and shook it at you as you pushed your chair in and began to make your way through a crowd of people.

“Aye, see if they got some pecan pie!”

…

Your stomach tangled in undoable knots. There was still plenty left on your plate but you wouldn’t try to finish it, so you made it back to the kitchen and grabbed some foil to save it for later. Later. Maybe you could eat later with much less tension. You grabbed the soap bottle and poured a few drops of the liquid on your hands rubbing both together.

Going back to the desert table proved to be a grave mistake. You’d gotten caught up in an argument between Miss Patty and Miss Sandra Lane and forgot all about Leon’s pecan pie before you’d made a daring departure. They’d been casually debating on the best way to make peach cobbler. When you came they’d made you try both. When you couldn't decide, they’d begin throwing out different ingredients. Oh well honey, I put cinnamon and a little bit of honey. The counter argument, Well my mama used to say it’s not what ingredients go in, but how much.

Your elbow knocked a cup that fell to the floor when you went to dry your hands. “Damnit,” you mumbled, bending down to reach it. Another hand came to retrieve it before yours could. You raised your head to see South Central’s high ranking business man. He held the cup out, you took it, then turned, finding it difficult to face him with the feeling of his eyes bearing down on you.

Franklin sighed. “Don’t stay mad at me forever,” you heard his voice whisper at your back.

His tone had changed. From direct and blunt to Subtle, gentle.

You stayed silent. All the words you had for him, you’d left in his room. Your heart might possibly be there too. Sure you were breathing, and perhaps even participating in what was taking place. That didn’t mean you hadn’t died. Attention on the cup. Or the counter, the wall. Anywhere but him. You closed your eyes, and only opened them again when you heard him walk away. You wanted to be relieved, but you still very much grieved the loss of what could have been.

You promised to be helpful but once alone, you skipped finding Cissy.

Instead you decided to brave your way outside onto the porch. Some stragglers were making their way in when you wondered out.

Uninterested in the rest of the arrivals you sat and made an attempt to massage your forehead. The headache had grown worse. Too many thoughts. From inside the house you could hear groaning. The power had gone out. A second later the hot air slapped you when Melody stormed through the front door. You dropped your hand and watched her descend the stairs and cross through the lawn. Almost a minute later Franklin came out. He removed his suit jacket, sitting it down on the rail before he followed her. You took a deep breath as you watched her enter the house and Franklin go in after. Maybe she finally let herself break. He would probably need your help. You sighed, got up from the chair and made your way over to Andre's.

Closer to the door you thought you heard a shot. Sometimes the kids in the neighborhood got the bright idea to light off some saved fireworks. But you knew the difference between the sounds. The sound that came from a gun rattled you. Although the projects seemed to have more drive by’s then the average neighborhood, you could never get used to the pop, pop, pop. In all fairness you hated guns. So there had been panic, thinking she’d found one of her father’s and pulled the trigger on herself. You froze. But then, another shot, and another. It was like your soul had left you.

The air was still and heavy when Melody walked past. You called after her. She didn’t stop. Just kept on going. Despite the cumbersome feeling of dread you couldn't resist the urge to see inside Andre Wright's old residence. And where was Franklin? Why hadn’t he come out yet? The unknown parallels drew you in, as you took hesitant steps forward. The front door creaked open when you turned the knob. Light outside barely illuminated the space, casting eerie shadows on the walls in places the sun could not reach beyond the whileding blinds. You hesitated. A chill ran down your spine.

There was Franklin, laying there on the floor.

“S-She shoot you?” You had become so scatterbrained at the sight, the situation, that the words were dispensable and unwarranted. The power came back on. You ran over, touching him out of instinct only to earn a pain ridden whimper in return. A glance at your hand. Franklin's blood covered the whole of your palm. You looked down at the floor. The puddle beneath him had begun to grow, extending itself on the surface of the wood. It traveled and spread.

More and more.

“Hold on.”

Pressure on the wound. You'd heard that somewhere. But how would you decide which wound received the attention? The fabric of his shirt painted a clear picture of the locations in which all three gunshot wounds were located. Three, not one. You couldn't choose. Your mind screamed after a pillow. You scrambled over to the couch and grabbed the biggest one returning to Franklin as you took a deep breath to prepare yourself. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. This might hurt.” You situated the pillow at his side where he couldn't see you. You got up, ran around him and as gently as you could, pushed him up, so that his body would turn and lean on his side with the pillow's support. Franklin let out a groan that drug on. The sound would haunt you long after the gurgle in his throat choked him to silence.

That's how you saw all the blood.

“Oh my God…” Your eyes were blinded with horrified tears and without realizing, your dress had been tainted to a pretty scarlet. You changed position again. “I'm sorry Franklin. I'm sorry but we gotta put pressure on them.” You picked your memory as to where they'd been located when he laid on his stomach. You had forgotten that fast, but adrenaline had you alert. Every second counted. You found one small hole and reached for Franklin's closest hand. “Come on. Help me. Press down as hard as you can.” You drug his hand to the gunshot wound at his side. He'd barely made any effort to apply the pressure you demanded. You looked down to find that his eyes were heavily lidded, but directed toward the spinning fan. “Hey Franklin. Can you hear me? Franklin!” His mouth moved, but the words were difficult to understand. You leaned down struggling to make sense of them. He said sorry, and one word you would distinctly never forget. Mama.

You were sure that you had never screamed help as loud as you had on the hottest day in L.A’s history. The earthquaking of feet hadn't stopped you, no matter how close they’d come, arriving just as Franklin's eyes closed.

The only screams that could rival yours were Cissy’s and you couldn't remember just how you managed to switch places. She cradled Franklin forgetting about the pillow, rocking back and forth as she wiped the blood from the sides of his mouth, telling him to wake up. Your hands shook as you tried to differentiate Cissy's movements to the rise and fall of Franklin's chest.

“Franklin. Franklin please…”

His name traveled over her lips holding to desperation, in only the way a mother could utter such pleas to a dying child.

“Get up Saint.” You heard Leon say almost through gritted teeth, “Come on.”

“Alton, hurry up!”

You turned your back, unable to look anymore as you clung to Leon and cried into his shoulder whispering amidst Cissy's screaming over and over, he's not dead. Perhaps wishing that the last encounter between you wasn't set to bitterness.

Watching the ambulance drive off was much the same experience as watching the hearse. They'd managed to get Franklin on a stretcher. You watched one of his arms hang over the side as they lifted him and used his first name to communicate, although he never answered back. Cissy, glued to his side, was the first to enter after Franklin and the medical team, followed closely by Alton.

You hadn't let go of Leon. Both of you held the other up.

For the second time that day, you stood in haunting awe.

…

“Well. That's it. You have my card. Give us a call if you hear anything else that can help the investigation.”

Between the countless questions and the weather, you'd checked out. It was only after you felt the dryness of your tongue, and the wave of lightheadedness, that you realized you hadn't drank any water in those hours after Franklin had been hauled off. When you were offered a glass, you finished the whole thing almost in one gulp.

“Will do officer. Will do.”

Leon stood to his feet and watched until the car had faded completely. He crumbled the card in one hand carelessly tossing it aside as a now scrunched down ball that hid within the tall grass.

“Fuckin’ pigs.”

You smiled, greeting Leon’s afro with the pride that rested within its tight coils. No one ever called the police in South Central.

Existing between the community and the boys in blue remained a silent war. It had been ever since the migration black folk made in the 19th century. Of Course it had spanned beyond that, and south Central wasn't an isolated thing. Leon said black people were everywhere. A great migration. You would laugh, Leon could be so serious, but the way he said certain things was funny. Ha, we should have migrated our ass back to Africa. It had always been his dream to visit the motherland. Oh, he read plenty. He never told many people. Sometimes in her complacency your mother could make him feel less than a dog. Leon always ran with the wrong crowd. So by America’s statistics, he was never gon’ be shit. Probably not live to see thirty even though twenty six would be pushing it. When your father died Leon needed a role model to take his place. Like your mother said, he was to be the man of the house. That meant niggas from the neighborhood. Specifically, those belonging to the PJ Watts Crips. Franklin had always been the brains but Leon’s curiosity took him to different places far outside of society.

“Them motherfuckas is still slave patrol. You can read that shit. Just gotta know where ta' look. Any nigga don’t know that dumb as fuck.They really think I'm bout to rat out ma people.''

Leon took a deep breath. With the promise of sundown, the heat and its intensity had faded enough that you both sat on the first step without complaint of being too hot. Another thing you hated about funerals. Why all black?

“At the same time. I know a few niggas that would snitch tho’, sellout, so I guess I can't speak for er’body.”

Typical Leon, having another private conversation with himself. Although his dislike for the police hadn't stopped him from showing up, he always spoke his mind one way or another. He'd stayed clear of Andre growing up. Franklin came to the projects more than Leon came to 56th. You smiled, and this time laughed only slightly. But when you looked at him again you began to blink back tears as Franklin's words crossed over the paths of your mind. Go back to the way things were. That would mean Andre would still be alive. Kevin too.

Leon faced you. “What? Wassup?”

“You got blood on your shirt.”

Leon peered down at his chest. The muscle shirt peeking through his black button up had speckled red in different places. You'd transferred it to him during the panic.

When the phone rang you both had forgotten about Leon’s shirt as he hurried inside the house with urgency. You didn't follow. You felt dizzy and confined to your place on the porch. But the waiting for Leon to return stirred up unbridled anxiety. When he did come back you shot up beyond your better judgment with hope dancing on your darkened hues.

“What happened?” The familiar rise and fall of your chest returned and your heartbeat pounded within your rib cage. “Don't tell me. Please. Don't tell me, he?” You wouldn't let yourself say it, you could hardly even produce such a thought. Yet Leon held all the power. Just enough to make you flatline completely.

“They said uh.” Leon hesitated, he shook his head as he lowered his gaze to the pavement. Only when he seemed to gain the composure needed to tell you did he meet your eyes with the news. “They had to put him in an induced coma. They don't know if he gon’ make it. It's all just a waiting game now.”

There it was again. The youthful nativity. It crept up in how you chose to respond. “But can we see him? I mean, is he in the ICU?”

Gravity steadily pulled you down, as Leon proceeded to tell you the rest.

“Alton said Cissy don't want nobody up there.”

You averted your eyes to the sky, then ran your tongue over your bottom lip. A car drove down the street, then another a few seconds later. Consumed in your own private emotions you’d forgotten that Franklin was Leon's best friend. When your eyes found him, he’d taken his seat on the step again rubbing his hands together quietly. You wanted to comfort him, tell him it would be okay, but the new information made it difficult. He didn't fall into a coma, they’d put him into one. That sounded worse. Any other time would have been simple. You could do it with ease when you were removed from the situation. When it didn’t touch you so closely. You watched Leon before trying to force yourself to sit down and throw your arms over him. The gesture kicked off the shakiness that lingered in every word.

“I'm sorry. Maybe I could've done more to help him. Or I did too much. Probably wasn't supposed to move him. But I couldn’t leave him like that. He called out for her and said how scared he was. He couldn't really speak but I heard it. It was all scrambled and mixed up. But he didn't want to die. Said he was sorry. Sorry for what?”

Leon’s hand reached up to casually run over your arm.

You hugged tighter. “I remembered when you got shot. How I couldn't sleep anymore after that. Now I'm always looking over my shoulder. Looking over yours. Seeing you in that hospital scared me so much.”

Leon sighed.

“Yeah. Shits fucked up. But it's the life we chose, so. Comes wit’ it. I tried to keep you protected. So you never had to see any of this shit.”

He said it so casually like he'd gotten numb to loss. The last part held your attention. You sat up struggling to see his eyes. They were clouded, but not with tears. Just this hard stare. Vastly different to the one Melody held.

“He's gonna be okay Lee. You made it. He'll make it. I just. Why? Why did she do that? I don't understand. I wanna understand. Why would she shoot hi-?” Your words caught in your throat. As you talked you could see everything all over again even though you'd changed out of your dress and stockings. Irrily, they'd been some of Melody’s clothes that were still hanging in her closet. Simple track pants and a T-shirt, just until you got home to your own things. “She shot him so many times,” you continued. “All that blood. Never seen so much blood.”

Leon raised his head, verbalized something along the lines of. “Fuck. Damn Saint,” so low in revelation, you almost missed it. The hard stare left, replaced by one that conveyed cognizance. He breathed, rubbed at his temple and turned his head to look at you. “You sure it was Mel.”

You let him go and sulked at his question. “Yes I'm fuckin' sure,” you half-way shouted. “I watched her walk down the steps and toss the fuckin’ gun. She had this strange look in her eyes all day. Like she was somewhere else. I mean, maybe she just snapped. It was too much pressure being around everyone given what she was already going through. I mean what, do people on rock do stuff like that?”

“How tha fuck I'm spose ta’ know? I ain't never done that shit,” Leon said with a scowl.

You smacked your teeth. “Chill out. Don't come at me like that.” You rolled your eyes and shifted your sitting position. “Damn. It was just a question. You sell it so thought maybe you'd have an idea,” you answered back sarcastically with a roll of your neck.

You went silent. You were trying to justify everything. Melody’s actions, Franklins. Why out of all days it had to be the hottest? How death became the defining theme in all different aspects of the word. When Leon closed his eyes, you suddenly lost your anger to curiosity.

“What is it? What aren't you telling me?”

Leon licked his lips and got up. “Nothin’. Nothin’.” He changed positions and faced the house. “Imma go get our stuff and lock up so I can get you home so you can get cleaned up. Jerome should be down in a minute. There's nothin' we can do right now.”

You placed a hand on your forehead and reached up to fumble with your bun until it all came loose and you pulled the scrunchie releasing some of the pressure as you freed your hair. Discovering that had added to your prevailing headache.

“Okay.”

“Give me a minute.”

Leon left you standing with more questions than answers. You ruffled your hair although most of it remained held up by the gel you’d applied. Why? That word knocked at your brain. Why would Melody shoot Franklin? What had Leon figured out that you were still trying to piece together? The blood on your hands had dried. The red tint held tight to your brown hue. Wondering if you would be able to wash it off completely, you gasped suddenly and swallowed down the taste of bile. That large plate of beans you'd selfishly eaten might come back up because of the horrible truth that hit your mind, connecting the dots in an intricate pattern of reality, that quick! The urge came again and this time it forced itself out of you. What you'd consumed from that morning to afternoon was now a mustard yellow, and brown over the pavement, making itself a brand new color. More came up. Everything you saw and heard the whole day made sense. You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand. Random people looked while they walked by. Your throat burned with a bad aftertaste. Andre hadn't committed suicide, you realized as your broken words kissed the heat.

“Franklin killed him….”

A/N: A little bit of a dark one, I know. But I’ve always wondered how they found Franklin after Melody shot him at the end of season 3. So muse was like write that out why don’t you! 😌🙌🏾 So I did, and that is what we have with our precious reader insert added in ofcourse. This is actually a sequel piece to Brother Ain't havin’ it. During the read you heard Reader and Franklin mention an amusement park. Yeah, that fic explains exactly what happened at the amusement park. Now will I write it? Haha I don’t know 😅. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the reading. If you have time, drop a comment. Let me know what you thought. I dig the feedback, big or small. 🙃 As always, happy reading. 💙

PLEASE DO NOT COPY OR CLAIM ANY OF MY WRITING. -Wide Nose And Wonderful.

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