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matsunoluvr · 4 months ago

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୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ how I think the boys from love and deepspace would give a first kiss :3

warnings: suggestive content (obviously?), writing might be out of character, spoilers in general, i get carried away explaining everything because i'm afraid of being accused of mischaracterisation

[story spoiler] first kiss = first kiss where mc is a hunter/the timeline in game

authors notes: i have favourites and it will show CLEARLY in my writing… sorry (not sorry no1 rafayel stan) and i am a yapper

characters: rafayel, xavier, zayne and sylus

link to my master list here!!

more below the cut :3

sorry rafayel... but i feel like he's the most unskilled at kisses because - hear me out - you're his very first kiss. lemurians as a species seem to value bonds and loyalty, and as the literal sea god he wasn't able to nor wanted to just hook up or mess around - he's looking for devotion!!!

(okay, we ignore the kiss in forgotten sea myth story because like come on there was literally no romance mc was drowning)

definitely waits a while before kissing you, rayafel really takes his time to fall into place. after all, he needs to make sure his beloved bride/groom is well and truly his!!!

the type to wait for the ‘right moment’ - but doesn’t force or stage it ykwim? like the time comes naturally - e.g. watching the sunset, or you’re leaning close to him whilst he’s painting

he’s a romantic 100% like there’s a reason his 'floral promise' card was (imo) way fluffier compared to the others - like xavier's was tender-ish but rafayel was fucking melting

he's a sweet talker I just know it.

that charm he uses on his clients? he doesn't want to nor will he manipulate you with it but you know he's going to ramp up the charm to tease you a little

definitely knows his effect on you and uses it to his full advantage (cough cough fiery undercurrents secret times) like whispering in your ear, making excuses to touch you or get close to you

(i think he’d be more 'traditional' because of lemurian customs - the whole bonding + [forgotten sea spoilers] the sea god ceremony where the mc must devote themselves to rafayel displaying a strong level of devotion)

SUCH A GENTLE KISSER OMG like compared to his almost bratty and childish personality he’s a gentleman when it comes to kisses (also because he's kind of unsure what to do...)

the type to tuck strand of your hair behind your ear, fiddle with it a little maybe twirl it around his finger before trailing a finger along your jawline... i can see him like massaging your ear too? idk how to describe it he's a handsy man

first kiss was definitely more sweet than passionate ugawhriulgs he's such a cutie

right after the first kiss i think he’d be pretty affectionate, rather than bratty/tsundere since for him to kiss someone i believe he’d really need to love them (and therefore is more open to being vulnerable)

affectionate as in saying something cheesy probably, commenting on how you tasted or another one of his poetic, artistic quotes (dw raf we love it)

wouldn't be satisfied with just one after that, i can see him going in for a more passionate second and even a third (i mean look at his 'floral promise' memory OR 'fiery undercurrents') in the same few minutes

these follow up kisses would probably be longer and way less chaste, hands moving from tilting your chin up to your waist ahahahahahuwfa

you'd have to show him the appeal of tongue if that's your thing because he's seen it before but never really saw what was nice about it

"But... you're just drinking each other's saliva?" "Rafayel that's hot-"

definitely relived the moment in his head hundreds of times after that night - and you bet your ass he painted a piece inspired from your first kiss with him

any kisses after that i feel like they would follow this default pattern;

if he initiated the kiss i think he’d be more cocky and teasing, especially if he surprised you with one and he sees your flustered face

“Didn’t expect that huh, cutie?”

if you surprised him, however, get ready for typical rafayel childish behaviour, blushing and averting his eyes, covering his mouth with the back of his hand and a pout

“Hey- what was that for!!” Σ（・□・；）

either way rafayel is the worlds silliest man and would cave into literally anything with just a few kisses from you

ALSO KISS HIS COLLAR BONES AND YOU'VE GOT A WHOLE NEW SCENARIO TO UNFOLD

oh i just have a feeling this man is devouring you because puh-LEASEE?? sir we aren't forgetting your 'tender night' card i know that night was anything but tender

xavier is the definition of pent-up desire because this man has been waiting a LONG time and he's not going to be able to hold back very well

(taking heavy inspiration from his '21 days' memory because with his reaction it kind of feels like his first kiss with mc... but tbh i don't know much about xavi)

he's definitely not shy when it comes down to it, yeah he gets flustered if he thinks about it because of course imagining kissing the person he's pined over for centuries is going to fluster the shit out of him but he doesn't shy away form the idea or avoid the topic in conversation

i feel like he'd bring it up casually - like in the 'partner go go' event (aka heartbreaker-chasing-rhythm-game event) he was so insistent on the 'kissing page'

mc was like "apparently you can solve arguments with a kiss" and this mf straight up said "we can argue then" this man is STARVED

i feel like you'd need to initiate the kiss or give him very clear signs you'd be okay with a kiss for it to happen, i don't know why i just feel like he's that type of person

the first kiss is deep despite him trying his best to hold back - you can just feel his desire and longing oozing out of him and he's definitely on fucking cloud nine

xavier's holding your face and stroking his thumb along your cheek and god damn he's good at kissing where the fuck did he learn this from?

the type to break the kiss and then fucking bulldoze into the next one and my god his restraints have broken and he's actually kissing you as if it's the last thing he's able to do on earth

100% a tongue user he's biting at your bottom lip before slipping it in the sly minx

after the kiss he's more flustered than he expected to be - kissing the love of his life (literally) sends him into a flurry of emotions he's never really experienced before

given how possessive xavier is i wouldn't be surprised if halfway through making out he managed to leave a hickey or two in very. visible. places.

he isn't even pretending to feel guilty in the slightest, a smug grin as he shrugs out a half-assed apology.

"Sorry, I guess you'll have to try hide it. Or don't, that would be easier."

if you leave any marks on him he's not leaving you along that night. forget sleeping you two are recreating 'tender night' ALL night.

but seriously, if you leave hickeys over his neck (his canonical sensitive area and where he feels vulnerable) he's going to go crazy because what do you mean you want everyone to know he's yours??? what do you mean you want him as much as he wants you??

tldr; xavier is unusually talented with his mouth and is desperate to prove it to you.

i accidentally wrote way more for xavier than i expected i even cut out some bits holy crap maybe i’m more into xavi than i thought

oh no... zayne you beautiful man i am so sorry... (here comes the one character i have no idea how to characterise + no clue about his lore zayne fans pls bear with me)

okay - zayne looks like a gentleman and i'm sure he very much is even in intimate moments, but i cannot get rid of the idea that his first kiss w you was lowk spicyyyyy

like OH MY GOD I JUST WATCHED SNOWY SERENITY RN I FUCKIGN KNEW IT

that man was pouncing on you in a hospital bed, dishevelled, and kissing you deep my god like the type of kiss that literally as you forgetting where you are

i feel like zayne would be the one to initiate the kiss, again no idea why maybe i'm falling into the dominant zayne agenda

you're probably surprised when he kisses you because he's usually so composed, the 'cold unfeeling' dr zayne - then suddenly he's panting and pushing himself on top of you (consensually of course), pinning you down and going to town.

when he kisses you i don't think he's much of a lip biter, but if you bite his lips or lick at him or anything he's not opposed, as long as your lips are on his and vice versa

after the first kiss he's going straight into another one, his patience has thinned to the point of snapping and now he just needs you.

his hands what does he do with his hands? i'm thinking the typical otome face hold, gentle grasp juxtaposing his fervent kisses LOL

now, why does he kiss you?? how does this all build up? unfortunately all i can think of to match this scenario is something angsty or something along the lines of zayne has fucking had it and all he wants is you

"I need you... please."

this is the type of kiss where he wants to drown in you, breathe you in and just smother his being into yours to forget and erase whatever else is happening/happened

if he's kissing you and pinning you down and you bring up your hand to interlock fingers with him - your warm hands against his cool hands? wow his kissing is all of a sudden even more passionate.

after the little make out session he's going to go all mushy on you, physical affection of an embrace something uncharacteristic of him to match his dishevelled state

in kisses after the first i like the idea that he checks your pulse mid make-out and just silently smirks/chuckles when he notices it's faster and more erratic than usual

"Why are you nervous, this isn't our first time."

he also has this sneaky habit of whispering incredibly close to your ear, the reason why i choose to point this out it because i feel like sometimes he uses his evol to his advantage to like, breathe out cool air on your neck/ear and likes to watch you shiver

the ultimate dominant figure if you try to kiss him first and take control he somehow manages to overcome you and take the lead without using his strength, just good ol' sweet talking and technique

congratulations, you managed to snatch a kiss from the renown leader sylus!!!

i can see why people would think he's promiscuous or a fuck-boy because honestly i see it, but imo just because he is more flirtatious, assertive and... responsive (try tapping his... crotch... in the café LOL) does NOT = play boy

to me it just shows that - unlike the other LIs - sylus is just more forward with his approach, he has that devil-may-care like feel to him ykwim?

"Do I like you? What type of question is that, isn't it obvious? Or do I need to show you?" is much different to "Hey baby girl lemme rock your world tnite xx"

but just because he's got a 'fuck-all' attitude doesn't mean he fucks around with random people, he's 1. got standards and 2. living in the n109 zone?? do you THINK he can afford to let random people close just to fuck???

that being said i don't think he's a kiss virgin, just very selective and honest man when it comes to love and physical intimacy

now, when i say he isn't a fuckboy, that doesn't mean i don't believe in cocky-smugass-know-it-all sylus - he kisses well. and with PASSION. and probably the worst part is that he knows it.

first kiss with sylus? i can't imagine him making a large fuss about it like rafayel, nor it having to be some "i'm-at-deaths-door-and-need-to-kiss-you-atleast-once" situation like zayne, but no matter where or when you two share a first kiss he is making sure you remember

that being said, there was definitely a LOT of romantic and sexual tension between you and sylus for at least weeks before the kiss, i mean the air was thick with suggestive glances and denial

i think you two'd have to already be in close proximity which is very easy to achieve with sylus (touchiest man award goes to him) for the first kiss to initiate

he's grabbing your waist, or your face, makings sure your eyes are on. him. as you two kiss. watching with delight no matter what reactions you have, he admires you through surprised and flustered to confident and defiant

rather than a tender first kiss it’s probably a full blown make out session, just desire and lust flooding out of the both of you after having built up for over a month.

assertive does not mean he's going to force a kiss on you to clear this up, more that he likes to take the initiative and take control as you two kiss <3

yeah he's into biting (wow what a big shock) - likes biting your ear, or neck, or bottom lip, one time he tried nipping at your tongue too.

you can bite him back, he likes it.

"Hah, looks like someone is baring their claws tonight..." he’s really into that whole cat thing huh.

what does mr sylus do with his hands? waist, hips, ass, around your neck, pulling your face in by squeezing your cheeks, fingers threading through the hair on the back of your head, you name it he does it. again, i think sylus is a touchy man.

he doesn't mind if you try to take control, just dont expect to be successful. different to zayne - as in he will overcome your control with his evol and strength…

inappropriate use of his evol has occurred (he ‘tied’ you up and made out with you (CONSENSUALLY))

after his affinity 15 (i think) memory i can just tell he’s freaky with it bruhhh so yeah handcuffs are probably something he indulges in

if you’re persistent or physically overcome sylus you might get rewarded with a resigned, more submissive sylus

the idea or sight of someone man handling/overcoming his strength really sets him off.. i mean have you seen “no defence zone”?? but you’re really going to need to work to get him to this stage, and he’s going to have to love you

“No one’s ever seen me like this, lying on my back and begging for you.”

secretly finds out through you that he enjoys being dominated (BRAT SYLUS FOR 2024) so climb on top of him and kiss him until he’s blushing and panting hahahahahaha

tldr: sylus isn’t a fuck-boy but he sure kisses like one

AN; as an ao3 writer may say, no beta we die like caleb i wrote half of this when i was half asleep LMAOO anyways i hope this was okay please dont attack me BYE

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lizajane2 · 3 days ago

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I constantly think about Arthur's quote, "I can barely speak English." because the same man is saying things like, "I must moderate my approach to wine." "Despite my best efforts to the contrary..." or "I have to insist." At times he can be poetic (threatening or not) in the way he says things too. For example, "Maybe when your mother's finished mourning your father, I'll keep her in black on your behalf." Or one of my favorites, "Lack of something to feel important about is almost the greatest tragedy a man can have."

Or how about when he finds that crashed airship along Little Creek River? He mentions Icarus, a Greek myth about a man who flew too close to the sun and the wax melted, causing Icarus to plunge into the sea and drown. At that time not everyone is learning and reading classical literature, you literally have to go out of your way and read that shit in a book. Sure Dutch and Hosea taught him to read, but what outlaw is teaching a teenager about Greek Mythology?

Arthur is smarter than he gives himself credit for. He's by no means stupid. He's self-aware and far more emotionally intelligent than he comes off as.

And it makes it a bit more tragic when you think of the potential Arthur might’ve had outside of being an outlaw.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan

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vellichor-of-the-solivagant · 1 year ago

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With Them, Who Swallowed a Star

PAIRING: Professor!Task Force 141 X F!Student!Reader WORD COUNT 5.3k CONTENT WARNING: NSFW! group sex, age gap, fingering, cunnilingus, oral sex, handjobs, facefucking/blowjobs, unprotected sex, p in v, anal sex, slight usage of nicknames, reader is a pianist/student, tf141 are professors, smut with plot SYNOPSIS: A musician is a storyteller in their own ways. You had told yours and captured the sights of men you never expected to pull when you stepped inside an academy. AUTHOR'S NOTE: I tried to be poetic. This fried my brain and I'm not going to write something like this again. That's a lie because I have a series that has 5 love interests. This one was supposed to have Graves as well since he's actually my inspiration for writing this shit, but I ended up not adding him. I might do it on Drabbles if someone asks though. And yes, I have changed my username from DontFearTheReaperAzura. Here's the Masterlist for more! Also on Archive of Our Own

Your fingers fluttered slightly as you lifted your hands to the keys, blocking out the rustling from others as they sat in the grand auditorium. Long and drawn, you began to tell a tale you had held for a long time. Notes swam in the air, old friends that played with your tresses and caressed your skin.

The story started slowly, the sound of the beginning, the beginning of the end. Longing clashed with trepidation, your fingers sang a song of despair. You swayed with the music, lost in the whims of unspoken words—of a world you owned. Quicker and quicker, the notes climbed in sync with your heart, growing joyful in hopes of masking the mournful melody surrounding you.

It filled the emptiness deep within your chest for a moment, before like the heavens shed tears upon a barren land, you showed—you poured out the lore of your world, and with heavy reluctance to leave what you created, you played the last few notes.

For a few moments, you kept your eyes closed, and when a series of claps reached your ears, only then you opened them. You were shackled back to reality just as you held back your work.

You looked at the people, who in your eyes were nothing but shadows at the beginning, now enamored, yearning for the rest. You knew they felt it, too. Pulled, as though you were the center of the system. Like the Sun, a star.

And one man stuck out more than others, gazing at you, blue eyes almost ravenous. But it didn’t last for long, just like a song in the wind, he faded among the standing crowd, drowned out in the flurry of praise.

You breathed out a sigh as you stared at the towering structure before you, now your second hell—in replacement of the ramshackle place you call home—after you had gotten a scholarship to this prestigious university after years of a couple of years of working your ass off. Students rushed past you on their way in and out of their classes, but you stood frozen.

Suddenly you felt awfully unprepared for this unfamiliar place, of socializing and strangers, and of university. Of life. What did Google say about socializing with people your age again? How about impressing a professor? Good lord.

You shrugged off your thoughts and sauntered to your class. A large lecture hall welcomed your sight and you found an empty seat at the front row. Not the perfect place for observation of the whole place, but good for listening to the professor.

The sound of expensive shoes echoed throughout the hushed room and you kept your eyes down as you took out your notebook and pen. As the quiet dragged on, you glanced at the professor and found your brows raising at his sight.

He was tall, seemed to be fit, and in his thirties. He had a few wrinkles, a beard, and brown hair, but no sign of graying.

Above all, you could remember those eyes. An endless swirl of blue. The man at the concert hall.

You put your gaze down as the professor looked down on you, your heart hammered against your ribs, sudden nervousness springing in your nerves. You wished he wouldn’t recognize you, but at the same time, you hoped he did.

Yet, the silence remained, and in curiosity, you looked back up. Your breath hitched as your eyes met his, gaze shining with something you couldn’t decipher, and a smile formed on his lips.

You forced yourself to mirror it and batted a glance at the door. You wanted to get out.

The professor introduced himself as Jonathan Price, and told the class a few things about himself, before diving straight into the first lesson of Philosophy.

Time seemed to flow fast throughout his class and you kept your fingers busy, writing down his words. He was easy to understand, bringing out intricate details in his lesson, and asked questions now and then if he was going too fast while walking around the room.

You couldn’t help but notice his slacks fit in a certain area. Then again, that thing wouldn’t give you a brain cell even if you suck it off.

The bell chimed and you gathered and stuffed your notebook and pen inside your bag, jolting up to your feet. But as you approached the exit, his canorous voice called out to you.

“Pardon me, young lady.”

You turned to face the professor, keeping a respectable distance from him, which he closed off, only standing a couple of feet from you.

“Yes, sir?” You asked in a small voice when he remained silent, his eyes studying you with disconcerting intensity, just like how he gazed at you at your performance.

Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, he asked. “What’s your name?”

You spoke of your name in a steady voice, equally confused and intimidated, you gripped on the strap of your bag. Everyone had already left, now bringing quietness to the hall.

He smiled once again, his head tilting a bit to the side. “A pretty name.” His voice sent goosebumps on your skin, making you breathe in deeply, inhaling the scent of his pleasant cologne. “Such a shame I couldn’t catch it after your performance a couple of weeks ago.”

He remembered you.

Your cheeks began to burn.

Oh, how he yearned to caress your tinted cheeks, place a kiss on them, and mutter praise against your soft skin.

“Ah, you were there, weren’t you, sir?” You offered him a smile and a pause. “I think I caught a glance of you in the front rows.”

“Correct.”

“Thank you for watching, sir,” you said, not knowing what to speak of next, and nodded at him, reaching out to the knob to leave. But he reached for the door, making you blink at his unexpected actions, caged between the door and him.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off of you,” he fessed, bodies now closer to yours that you almost touched, and you gulped. “You were magnificent.” He opened the door, a hand motioning at you. “See you on Wednesday. And I hope we see more of your performance.”

We?

You jolted awake at the loud laughter of a raucous group outside of your room and grunted at the sudden pang of pain in your head when you stood up. You glanced at the alarm clock by your bedside and muttered a crisp curse, hauling your bag. You burst out of your room, slipping past students in the hallway like a breeze, hurried apologies were called out to those poor victims she bumped into.

The morning had been long and tiring, and you decided to take a nap earlier, only to end up sleeping for a couple of hours. Now, you were about to get late for your next class, and the usual ten-minute walk turned into a five-minute run and an uncalled exercise.

You glanced from left to right in the hallway, glancing at your phone to make sure you were in the right building, and turned to the right, following the signs. You halted before a room, strangely closed even though the class was supposed to start in five minutes.

You used your phone as a mirror and patted down your hair, before turning the knob and opening the door. You walked into a softly lit room and realized the mistake you had made as you spotted a man splayed down on a couch across the room. A hand behind his head and over his stomach, and over the lower half of his face was a black mask.

Inside was a personal office, belonging to one of the professors.

You immediately turned away, about to exit the room when an angry voice echoed.

“Have you got no manners?” The man rose to sit, a scowl painted on his face.

For the nth time in your sorry life, you wanted to bury yourself alive. You dipped your head low in embarrassment. “I’m very sorry, sir. I thought this was the room my class was in. I didn’t mean to intrude.” You frantically fumbled on your phone, inputting the wrong password one time, and read your schedule.

You read the room number wrong.

Brilliant. Bloody brilliant.

The professor fixed his crooked mask. “What class were you supposed to go to?”

“Uh, a math class of Mr. Simon Riley,” you read on your phone, keeping your head low.

A hum escaped past the man’s lips, making you glance up at him. His dark blond hair slightly ruffled from his apparent nap and coat a bit crooked. He ran his hand on his hair, fixed his coat, and patted down the invisible wrinkles on the fabric.

He stood up and you inched back, surprised at his stature. A tall man with broad shoulders and arms noticeably strong, (massive honkers) and eyes like a pool of honey, swirling like molten gold under the light.

“You’re in luck, sweetheart. I’m Simon Riley. You’re in my office, our class is in the next room.” Unlike earlier, his cold voice had turned a bit softer, but the fact that he was your professor made your sweat run cold.

You nodded, inwardly wincing at your dumbass. “Again, I apologize, sir.”

He stood before you, next to the opened door. Gladly, there were no students passing by in the hallway.

“What is your name, love?” he questioned, his hands going to his pockets. His eyes narrowed at the way your head dipped, refusing to meet his gaze. Like a meek little bunny, scared of the world and what all those pretty eyes could see.

He wanted to place a finger under your chin and lift your face up to look at him.

You never knew introducing yourself could feel like an interrogation until now. You told him your name, averting your gaze down at his shoes that shifted slightly. “Nice to meet you, Sir Riley. I’m sorry it wasn’t under the best circumstances.”

He hummed once again and stepped out of the office. “Pleasure’s all mine."

You followed him out of the room and he swiftly closed the door behind you, his being a bit closer to you than comfort.

With a nod, Professor Riley led you to the classroom. Dozens of students had already occupied the room and you silently made your way to a vacant seat on the second row, placing your bag next to you.

Just like Mr. Price, the masked professor went straight to the point, briefly introducing himself to the crowd, and began his lesson. He, too, was easy to understand, repeating the equations some couldn't get well, and was kind enough to let the class take a few minutes of break, before continuing. You had also come to notice he would fix his mask every once in a short while.

And when the bell chimed, he bid his students goodbye, yet called for your name. You halted on gathering your things as he approached you. His eyes glanced at the students who last left the room before he spoke.

"Feel free to come by my office whenever you have a question or need anything. Can't have you lose your way again, do we?" He asked, a bit of amusement in his voice as he leaned close.

You smiled at his offer. "Thank you, sir."

Sure as shooting, you asked him where your next room was for Chemistry. By good fortune, he knew where it was and who the professor would be.

"Ah, there he is." Sir Riley abruptly came to a stop, making you halt in your tracks as well and follow the direction of his gaze, to see a man with a mohawk.

"Simon!" The man jogged towards the two of you, a grin playing on his lips in contrast to the man who never took off his mask. Another person with blue optics, but his were bluer as though someone took a piece of the briny deep and placed it in his optics.

He kept a smile as his attention swept to you. "And who's the little bird?"

You frowned a bit at the nickname, nonetheless gave him your name, and watched his eyes light up with fascination. The man began to tell the pull he felt by the notes of your music, how enamored he was by the unspoken words of your tale.

He was there, too and Sir Riley was along with them.

Your face flushed as he ranted and they both noticed, taking note of the shades painted on your skin, bashful of the sudden recognition.

"He is John Mactavish, your Chemistry professor," Sir Riley piped in, placing a hand on the other man's shoulder, before bidding his farewell at the moment, marching down to his next class.

Left all alone with Professor Mactavish, you turned to him. He grinned at you and he beckoned at you to follow him. The man was, well, talkative and wasted not a second expressing his applause of your performance and how he never expected to see you in the university.

You could only mutter small words and nod, already feeling exhausted. But it was pleasant to hear him compliment you. You could get used to it.

And you could get used to his enthusiasm for teaching. His first lesson went straight to an experiment and dragged you to his side as his assistant, instructing you to mix chemicals. Occasionally, his fingers brushed over yours as you passed vials.

Your eyes met, and sparks flew all around.

Literal spark.

And fire.

Professor Mactavish pulled you to the side, hand remaining on your arm as the chemicals were set ablaze.

With a couple of ticks of the clock, a giggle erupted from your lips and like there was a pull, his chuckles followed.

In the sea of awes, his laughter floated on the surface.

You sprinted on the hall, navigating through the winding routes of the structures, and arrived at one of the most exquisite auditoriums you had ever set eyes on. Your eyes took in the magnificent chandeliers and the divine paintings stretched across the ceiling.

The sound of a throat clearing pulled you from your stupor.

“Are you just going to stand there?” a voice called for your attention to where he stood near the stage. The man basked in the warm glow of the concert hall, skin as though molten caramel, and eyes like embers.

“Oh, forgive me, sir.” You straightened yourself up like a soldier before a superior. “I was just, well, this place is beautiful.” You couldn’t help but glance around once again.

“Isn’t it?” A soft smile crawled its way to his lips and he approached you. “I am Mr. Garrick and you are . . .” your name rolled out of his tongue like a serenade, gentle to the ears, a sight to see the way his lips moved, and he extended a hand to you.

You clasped it gently before realization dawned on you. “Pardon me, Garrick as in the Kyle Garrick?”

In a flash of a moment, something sparkled in his eyes and searched yours. “Yes, it is me.”

You nearly squealed and ran around the room in excitement. “Oh my God. Wow. I-I’m a huge fan, sir. You were such a huge inspiration to me—and, and, I wished I could have watched your performance at the concert before, but I was busy preparing for mine. Oh, that must be why Mr. Price, Mr. Riley, and Mr. MacTavish were there! You are friends!” Your words tumbled out of delight.

"Yes, well, thank you for the kind words." His hand sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, his smile becoming wider.

You gazed at him for a few moments before you snapped out of it, your brain slapping it to your face that you just rambled in front of this gentleman. "I'm very sorry, that was unprofessional of me."

"No need for apologies. But I do want to get a feel of your play today as soon as possible." A hand landed on your back, his warmth slipping through the fabric as he led you towards the grand piano patiently waiting for you at the stage.

Your fingers itched in anticipation.

Sir Garrick gave you a comforting smile and sat on the front row seat. "Feel free to play whatever your heart desires."

What your heart desires.

With a shaky breath, once again, you began to tell a tale, the notes sounding like a human voice as it wove its sonorous song.

A ballad to tie what dream your heart made. An andante at first and increased tempo at each heartbeat.

Lightning striking and thunder howling, Kyle was consumed with the way you swayed from one note to another. He couldn't peel his eyes off you as though you had him in your grasp, a puppet for you to control. And only when the last of the music hung in the air, could he snap free of the strings.

He walked towards you and dropped to his knee, taking one of your hands in his palm. "You were truly astonishing."

"I'm telling you, she was marvelous," Kyle exclaimed, pacing around Price's office and pointing at his fellow professors. "Blimey, if only you guys were there the other day, you'd feel chills."

Simon kept a straight face as he sat on the couch, legs spread, his knees bumping with Johnny who took a seat beside him, sipping from his mug of coffee. Whilst, Jonathan inclined on his chair behind a mahogany desk, decorated with intricate carvings and souvenirs he had gathered as they traveled across continents.

"I get that you're delighted, but could you quiet down?" Price grumbled on his desk, a pang of pain shooting his head.

"No, I am not shutting up." Kyle raised a hand, shaking his head. "She recognized my name. My name.” He pointed at himself.

“Anyone would recognize your name if they’re yer fan or hater,” Johnny quipped and placed the mug down on the coffee table.

Kyle turned to him. “You don’t get it, mate. She said she’s a fan of mine. I was a huge inspiration to her—”

“Was a huge inspiration to her,” Simon echoed, leaning back against the couch. “Used to be, not anymore.”

Kyle glared and stomped towards the masked man, grabbing his collar when the other merely raised his brows in a challenge. “I swear to God, Simon, I swear to—”

“I swear to God if you three don’t shut the fuck up—” Price paused, straightening himself from his chair as Kyle shook Simon, and glared at them— “I’ll have you asinine blokes chopped into bits!”

Kyle let go of Simon, who simply fixed his crooked collar and tie, and raised a brow at the man behind the desk. He sat down on a vacant chair, his eyes not leaving Price, and asked, “Are you jealous she recognized me, Price?” he was answered with another glare, which he shrugged at. “Or not.” He definitely is.

For a few moments, they sat in silence, each lost in their train of thought. All centered on a certain lady, whom they had watched from afar, now within their grasp. They only acted as though it was their first time meeting you.

Each born to a wealthy family, presented interesting things which soon died down as they broke them down into pieces, they had grown bored. And had found that there were only a few they could put their trust in this world. Though not related by blood, they shared everything since they were younger. They knew one another strengths and weaknesses. Their faults. Their passions.

Their desires.

A knock pulled them out of their reveries.

Johnny being the closest to the door, got up and opened it. A smile was brought to his face as he found you. “Hello, bonnie. C’mon in.” He swung the door open, a hand motioning at you.

You hesitantly stepped in as you saw your professors inside the office, eyes all settled on you. You put a hand on your other arm to hold down your nervousness as the door behind you shut.

Four men who were strangely overly friendly to you. You could think of a couple of reasons. The first being a musician they had watched and the second, being their student.

A hand landed on the small of your back, guiding you further in, making your face flush. “Have a seat,” Sir MacTavish waved a hand at the sofa, where he and Simon sat.

You kept your gaze low as you obeyed him, sitting between him and your math professor, red cheeks going in a deeper shade as you met Kyle’s gaze. Embarrassed, you finally faced Price, and asked, “What is it that you called me for, Professor?”

Price put his elbows over his desk and intertwined his fingers. “We have a proposition for you . . .” Your name rolled sensually out of his tongue.

The proposition was to be their assistant. Given their overlapping schedules these days, it was hard for them to handle them. At first, you refused the offer, telling them you had a part-time job to do, along with practicing your skills in piano. But they had already thought about that and said they could pay you for your work.

A tempting proposal. Perfect for a student like you who got into this prestigious school through a scholarship.

You tapped your pen on the table and heaved a sound sigh, slouching on the chair. You were in a cafe near the school, in an attempt to change the atmosphere and help you write a report for Sir MacTavish's and Sir Price’s classes, but it didn’t seem to be helping at the moment. A pleasant music came from your earphones to block out the background noises and you closed your eyes to lull yourself.

When you opened your eyes, you jolted up your seat. “Shit!” your hands immediately flew to your potty mouth and straightened your spine at the sight of one of your professors, Simon, across the table. “Ah, uh, I’m very sorry, sir. I didn’t notice you—”

“Why do you apologize so often?” his rough voice was low and he placed a cup of tea on the table. His eyes landed on your notebook, full of notes, written clean as though it was printed.

You pursed your lips, unable to think of an answer, and ran your tongue over the soft flesh, catching Simon’s attention. “I . . .”

Simon glanced around the empty cafe, the only other person within the area was the staff over the counter, who kept her eyes on her phone. And you had perfectly picked a secluded spot. He looked back at you and reached out a hand, placing it under your chin. He lifted your face to bring your eyes to his.

Your heart raced at his actions.

“An angel as brilliant as you are should carry yourself with confidence, sweetheart.” His thumb caressed your lips. “Perhaps, we could teach you that.”

Your lips parted at his touch, warmth pooling at your stomach. You knew this was strange—wrong, and yet you didn’t want him to stop.

But he let go and leaned back, and you found yourself gripping on your thigh. “Have you thought of our proposal last week?”

You nodded, clearing your throat. “I have, sir.”

“What do you say?”

“The offer is good, and I don’t think it will clash with my schedule under normal circumstances, either.” You paused, letting him wait for your answer as you gazed into his caramel eyes. “I’ll take it, professor.”

You were fond of puzzles. You were interested in mysteries. And you were drawn to danger.

Being their assistant had more perks than you initially thought it was. You talked with them about their terms and added some of yours, and they seemed to be pretty considerate about it.

Maybe, a bit too much.

You had moved to an apartment they got you, so you wouldn’t be distracted by your roommates. When you had breaks, they would call you to their offices and give you desserts and snacks.

And more often than not, their touches lingered, turning into hugs, caressing, and pinching when in private. To close, seemingly the start of a taboo, a risk, and yet when Professor Price had you pinned between him and Professor Garrick in his office one late night when most of the people at school had gone home, you didn't want them to stop.

You wanted the heat to rush over you, like a forest fire, unwavering.

Didn't pull back when he planted his lips on you. Didn't stop the very professor you looked up to as a musician to bunch up your skirt and grind his dick against your ass. Didn't stop even when the other two entered and Sir Price had his hand rubbing against your clothed cunt. Didn't stop when Professor Riley locked the door behind him as Sir Mactavish joined in.

Johnny’s snaked a hand around your waist, a bit harsher than the ones he’d always done, but you didn’t mind it. Not when his lips were gentle against yours, patient and exploring as he led you on his lap when he sat on your couch, stealing you from Price and Garrick. He drank on your gasp as you felt another pair of lips on your nape, dusting kisses along your flesh.

Simon breathed against your shoulder, hand grasping the swell of your breast and performed maddening massage that got your nipples pebbling under the fabric of your top. You flinched when he took them by fingers, the rolls languid, and shifted on the other man’s lap as you felt a poke underneath.

Johnny groaned against you, parting the breathtaking kiss. He removed you from his lap, only to turn you against him, now facing the professor who had shed his mask. His fingers dipped under the band of your panties, into your untouched bud and your wet folds. He rubbed with a hum, spreading your filth.

“You're so wet, hen,” he commented and inserted a digit, rubbing it against your slick walls.

Your teeth sunk to your lower lip, biting back a squeal at the sudden intrusion.

Simon placed his fingers under your chin and leaned down on you, his tongue running over your lips, something he had always wanted to do before. “Don't bite your lips. That's something we're supposed to do, yeah?” He whispered on your lips and explored your mouth, savoring the echoes of your pleasure, and left to plant his marks on your collarbones. Hands gathered your shirt and lifted it, exposing your chest to his sight.

His mouth dropped to the nipple, sucking while his hand went to work on the other.

Johnny began to pump faster, making you throw your head back to his chest, moaning out in pleasure as you shot a glance at other professors.

“You are not so innocent after all, hm?” Price took your jaw and ran his thumb over your lips, before pushing it in, muffling your cries.

“No one's that innocent nowadays, Price,” Garrick remarked, watching the frown on your face and the flutter of your lashes at every jerk of Johnny's hand made and Simon’s tongue did. His tongue ran over his lips, hand cupping over his hard-on, palming himself through his pants.

You began to suck on Price’s finger, making his dick twitch in his pants—his brain wondering how good your mouth would feel around him. He pulled his hand away to work down on his belt and pants, hands pulling out his shaft. He gave it a few pumps, chuckling when he noticed the way your tongue ran over your swollen lips before a groan escaped from it as Simon planted a bite on your neck and Johnny's thumb began to work on your clit.

Price brought his tip to your mouth. “Open up, dove,” he demanded and grunted as he pushed his shaft in, breath hitching at the warm feeling of your tongue and your throat. Your face twisted a bit at the taste of his precum. He let you adjust for a couple of seconds, hand going to the back of your head before he began to thrust.

One of your hands flew to hold onto his hip as you let him use your mouth, eyes fluttering closed and focusing on breathing through your nose. Out of the blue, Johnny pulled his fingers out and Simon stepped away, eliciting a whine from you. Vibrations ran down Price’s body and he groaned.

Unbuckling of belts echoed in the air, and you were pulled away from Price, making him curse. The next thing you knew, you were staring into the eyes of the man you had admired for so long.

“Sir—”

Kyle put his thumb over your lips, cutting off your words. “Not sir. Call me Kyle.” He positioned his cock under your cunt, rubbing the tip on your entrance.

You gasped at the sensation. “Kyle . . .” Your jaw slacked as he slowly went in, hands pulling you closer to his clothed body, fingers running on your flesh, gentle just as how he played his instruments.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it,” he groaned, hands sliding down to your ass to guide you up and down on his length.

Now, he made music out of you.

It didn’t take a few ticks of the clock until they fucked you with all they had.

Simon’s cock was buried in the confines of your mouth, fingers tangled on your tresses, watching the curls of your lashes get soaked by the tears that rolled down on your cheeks as they relentlessly pounded on you—Kyle on your pussy, Price on your ass, and Johnny on your grasps. You had never felt so full, so complete.

You feel your legs shake—the sign you have reached the pinnacle of pleasure and exhaustion when Kyle hits the spot deep in you. You whined against Simon’s cock, groaning as beg for the overdue orgasm that they had been keeping from you.

You felt a hand slide down your thigh, finding your swollen clit, before the rough pads of the fingers rubbed aguishly gentle and slow. If they weren’t your professors, you would have cursed at whoever the one was doing it. But your wish had been heard and he picked up the pace until you were crying, arching your back.

But they weren’t done.

You felt Kyle and Price become rougher at each of their thrust, Simon tugging on your hair harder, and Johnny losing his rhythm on your hands, until they all pulled back, coating your skin with their cum.

You slumped on Kyle’s chest, limbs like a stringless puppet as you ride out the aftermath of your orgasm. Your heavy lids fell close, tired from the deed, but you fought back the drowsiness, not wanting to fall asleep in the state you were in.

“You did good, love,” Kyle cooed into your ear and planted a soft kiss on your temple.

Johnny leaned down and pressed a kiss on your shoulder. “Yer amazing, bonnie. Can’t wait to have more of ya.”

A hand caressed your flushed cheek, swiping the transparent mix of tears and sweat. “Let’s bring you back to your apartment, dove,” Price said in a gentle voice.

Gentle fingers scraped your scalp, gaining a hum from you, must be Simon with how his fingers feel on your head. An unspoken apology about the way he tugged on your locks.

Like the sky glowing, your skin glittered in the ruins they drew up. A masterpiece you were, vulnerable, vincible in their sight, like walls that had fallen. And yet as though a book which held thousands of words, they still had more things to know about you.

Like every start of a relationship. How fortresses were made. Each beginning of a story.

You basked in the echoes of their praise, letting their words bring you comfort and slowly help you regain your mind and strength.

Like after a fire, new maps were drawn. A new tale was written, with them, who swallowed a star.

Taglist: @itsyellow

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dancewithdeath11 · 8 months ago

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Damnation

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel Miller knew he was damned, why would a pretty thing like you be with a man like him anyways?

Warnings: Smut 18+, lowkey religious undertones (talks of damnation, sin, using god's name in vain (lol)), just fuckin’, not too dirty, more like poetic smut? Love dirty old man poety rizz, fem-anatomy, unprotected sex, use of pull out method

Wordcount: 1.5K

======

Breathing never sounded so loud. So frantic. Steeped in carnal lust and punctuated by growling grunts.

He knew. He knew it deep down. Knew this was something bad. Something that shouldn’t happen. Something that would spell out going to hell together hand in hand by the mock of the angels.

But something like this was worth the damnation.

It made sense that sins like this were associated with hell. It’s hot, his greedy hands wandering across the sweltering expanses of your skin. The choked moans against one another's lips. Half hooded eyes of a man almost twice your age taking it all in.

How your innocent, ditsy fucking haltertop was bunching around your waist from when he untied it from the pretty bow that you had it in. Although, his hands were shoving the pathetic excuse for clothing back up. It got trapped under your tits, unintentionally, all so he could dig his worn fingers into your supple waist. His jeans were pushed down just enough, your shorts on the ground somewhere. It was almost unfair how you were left so exposed while he was almost fully dressed.

Joel Miller knew from the second you came up to him that he was screwed.

At first he thought it was a delusion. Seeing something that wasn’t there. A mirage of an oasis out in the desert that he wanted nothing more than to drown in. In what world would he guess your silent infatuation? Occasionally catching your gaze at the Tipsy Bison or around town. Of course, Joel would spare a small smile for a pretty thing like you. You would return it, beaming at him from where you were, lifting a hand to waggle your fingers at him.

But he was knocked out when you came up to him for the first time. Your charm broke him quicker than he’d like to admit. After that you were a pleasurable constant in his life. The two of you run into each other quite often. Either quick hellos or long talks. His eyes were fixed on you and only you.

He couldn’t, shouldn’t.. He swore to himself he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t tarnish you like that. Touch you with his bloodied hands that had taken too many lives. They were permanently stained, a fixed reminder. That should’ve been all it took. No way could Joel Miller do anything with someone pure like you. He was a sinner.

But oh..

When you came up to him. Sweet you asked for help. How could he deny?

More importantly, how could he foresee the future? How would he know that you’d pout up at him with the same kissable lips he knew spoke prayers in that house of worship they had in Jackson. He knew you went every Sunday. Was he supposed to know what to do when you flirted shyly, smiling and batting your eyelashes? What about when you grabbed his tainted hand with your soft one?

Joel was just a man. A weak sinful man who hasn’t touched a woman in years and now here he is. With you.

He told himself. Just one kiss couldn’t hurt..

But after he had a taste, it was too much. He was diving right into the mirage of water. Drowning in you. Entirely and wholly.

You’d moan, it was a saccharine sound. Deep and raw like fresh honey, “Oh God..”

“Takin’ the lord’s name in vain, honey?” Joel chuckled, but it turned into a groan as he felt you clench at his chastising tone. Your nose scrunched in a way that Joel quickly came to love. Face pinched in pleasure as you struggled to keep your eyes open, occasionally slipping up and closing them. But you would open them back up just as quickly.

Joel watched as you panted and squirmed beneath him, hair fanned out like a halo around you on the rug. “S-Shut-” You didn’t even get to finish before you interrupted yourself with a moan.

You let out a low whine of frustration as you reached back behind you and grabbed at a fallen pillow. A reminder to Joel of how bad he was. Taking you on the couch like a desperate teenager at first, but when switching around the two of you ended up on the ground. A well loved rug scratching at your bare back, the hard floor making his knees hurt.

Everything felt rough though. The rough scratch of Joel’s beard as he shoved his face into your neck. Kissing over the sweaty skin and marking you with purpose. Sloppy wet open mouth kisses that makes you tilt your head back and to the side to give him more access. Dirty girl.. Sinful.

Joel’s rough thrusting was practically sending you up the wall. The head of his cock knocking something deep inside you. That something had you arching under him. Frantically reaching for a different kind of purchase every time, unable to decide where you should put your hands through the haze of lust. But at the same time he was sending you away, he’d drag you back with a tug to your waist.

Joel grunted as he looked down at you. Watching as your face screwed up in pleasure. The flush that covered your cheeks and spread down to your chest where your tits were slick with sweat and littered with hickeys. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth with want, but again, Joel was a weak man.

He took your nipple in his mouth, nipping at the hard bud before laving over it with his tongue. His other hand skates up your side to give your other breast attention. Pinching and tugging your nipple, twisting it till you let out a whimper of pleasure. Your hands found their way into his hair, tugging just as greedily as he had been grabbing at you before. It’s all his fault. You’re tarnished. Greedy, lustful, desperation showing through with the way you bucked your hips against his and held his head in place from where he had his mouth on your breast. Breathless moans leaving your lips as he scraped his teeth over the plush skin.

“Joel-” It was a weak call, pitched in a vaguely familiar way. But he could tell why you were calling to him.

He could feel it all in the way that you were rolling your hips back against his a little weaker than before. You were clenching his dick in a way that had him grabbing your waist a little tighter. The erotic sound of your moans filled the room. Accompanied by the dirty wet slapping of skin on skin from where your slick coated the inside of your thighs. “Shit, sweetheart, ya sound like a goddamn pornstar..” He entertained himself with a smirk, then pressed another kiss to your sternum.

Idly thinking of you in one of those dirty old films. Maybe he could find a camera, make a little home film of the two of you.. Joel cursed the thought because of how much he liked it.

“What’s that?”

Another fucking reminder of how much younger you are than him.

He elects to ignore your question rather than explaining it, baring his teeth as he sucked in a sharp breath. You open your mouth to ask him again, but he shuts it down as he begins to thumb over your clit. Fingers splaying across your mound as he swipes his thumb over the too sensitive bundle of nerves.

A broken cry leaves your lips. He leans up to be face to face with you. Wide innocent eyes meeting his, tears just balancing on your lash line. Joel cooed at you, “You close, baby?” He slowed the rocking of his hips, instead focusing on thrusting harder. Shoving his cock back into your dripping abused pussy like he was mad at you.

Tears streaked into your hairline. A quick nod followed by a weak uh-huh, that was overtaken by a moan. It didn’t take long.. One, two, three good thrusts later and your legs were trembling as they tightened around Joel’s waist. You tenses and looked about ready to fold in on yourself as you cried out like a woman possessed. “Shit- fuck, joel! Oh Joel-” it was a hiccuping kind of cry. Your hands finding his biceps and nails biting into his skin as he sped up again. Searching for his own release. Getting off on how much slicker you got as your tight cunt spasmed and clenched around is cock.

“I know, baby, I know..” He gritted out. Pinching his eyes shut as he tried to find some kind of self control. Hissing as he dropped his head, chin to chest as he pulled out and fisted his cock. Shooting his spend all over your throbbing pussy and stomach. “Fuck…” He sighed and opened his eyes again.

There you were, taking quick shallow breaths as you looked at his cum pooling on your skin. And he watched as you took your delicate finger and swiped it up, bringing it up to your mouth. A flash of pink as your tongue darted out to lick it. Then you sucked your finger into your mouth, licking it clean as you finally made eye contact with him.

You pulled your finger from your mouth with a pop, smiling up at him innocently, “Can we..do it again? Please, Joel?” It was innocent. You were innocent. But how could he not? Especially when you asked him so nicely.

He licked his lips.

Oh, he’s going to hell…

======

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #joel miller tlou #joel miller fic #joel miller imagine

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elysiaheaven · 1 month ago

Text

"Pure Insatiablity"-[𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓-2] 𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐍 𝐗 𝐆.𝐍 (Yandere) 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 (𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐓)

Words:

Genre: Yandere/Fluff

Summary: After a small smooch session, You decided to ask him on a first date that is outside to an ice cream shop. You sadly realized how much your book is affected the 'simps' be careful, some people just might eye his aesthetic! You have a small motive too Mission : Invite him to a sleepover!

( Reader is a g.n!)

TW: Obsessive behaviour, Lovesick, Blood, Violence, Crazy! Your daily dose of cringe! (He's crazy ><), (Reader is obsessive in love with him) Mentions of disturbing poetic lines?

EXTRA: He's a character from a game named Killer chat! Please play it! It's so good! I think I need to do more research on him, If what I wrote doesn't really scream him! I'm sorry! I'm still learning abt him! I KNOW IT'S BAD I'M SORRYY!!

You and Ronin walked through the quiet streets, the echo of your footsteps bouncing off the alley walls. His hand gripped yours with just enough pressure to remind you of his presence. He was always like that—an anchor, pulling you deeper into his orbit, and you couldn’t help but sink further in your love with him.

But something nagged at you. It wasn’t jealousy, peruse, but curiosity. How did Angel deal with this devil. Some tips to make yourself interesting You bit your lip, trying to work up the nerve to ask.

"Ronin…" you started hesitantly, your voice small, but he just glanced at you, his eyebrow raised, as if daring you to continue.

"How was it… you and Angel? You know, when you were together?"

He didn’t respond immediately, his pace unchanged as you walked. For a moment, you thought he might ignore you altogether, but then he sighed, a slow, deliberate sound, his lips curling up into a dark smile.

"Keep thinkin’ about it in that pretty stupid little head of yours, darlin’," he teased, his voice dripping with that post-ironic bite that was so him. "But fine, if you really wanna know…" His tone shifted as he spoke, and you could tell he wasn’t playing games this time. His gaze turned cold, distant, like he was pulling from memories he wasn’t entirely comfortable revisiting.

"I felt safe with her, y’know?" He said it so casually, but there was something deeper in his words. "She was like… a reflection of something I couldn’t have anymore. I was projectin' Ther—onto her. Still got a lotta unprocessed shit about them. It's just two people were broken tryin to fix each other."

You blinked, trying to process that. "Ther?" You whispered. Yeah, you knew he mentioned it. Forsaken town, First love.

His grip on your hand tightened, and for a second, his eyes flashed with something colder than usual. "Stop carin’," he muttered, his voice sharp. "You’re askin’ all these stupid questions and you’re gonna get lost in ‘em. That what you want? To drown in this obsession you’ve got for me? ‘Cause I’ll let you. But stop stickin’ your nose where it don’t belong."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and suddenly you felt that lovesick haze wrapping around your mind again, his voice pulling you deeper into it. You forgot, almost instantly, what you had just been talking about. All you could focus on was him. His presence, his voice, the way his hand felt against yours. Your mind whirled, caught in the spiral of your adoration for him.

He noticed, of course. He always did. He gave you that dark smile again, the one that told you he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

"Why’d you even ask about Angel, huh?" His tone was challenging now, mocking, as if daring you to admit what you were really thinking.

"I… I just wanted to understand," you stammered, looking down at the ground. "I wanted to know how she was with you. For… tips."

He stopped walking then, turning to face you fully. His eyes narrowed as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Tips for what, baby? You plannin’ somethin’ for Angel? If you do, I will have a reason to abuse my crowbar." His voice dropped, a dark serious tone....

You shook your head furiously, eyes wide. "No, no! I would never!" You gasped, the thought of hurting Angel—a sweetheart, someone who had been nothing but kind to you—making you feel sick. "Even if I’m crazy, I wouldn’t hurt her. She’s… she’s too nice. I care about her too much, Ronin."

You said it softly, almost to yourself, as if admitting it out loud made it more real. Your mind spun with the thought of Angel, how she’d always looked out for you, tried her best to help you, even when you were too far gone in your obsession with Ronin to notice sometimes.

Ronin watched you, that cold gaze of his never faltering. "That so?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "And here I thought you didn’t care ‘bout anyone but me."

"I don’t care about impressing you with that," you blurted, shaking your head again, a desperate edge to your voice. "I don’t need to do something crazy to make you notice me. I just… I have to be someone. Someone you find interesting. Someone who stands out, right?"

Ronin’s lips curled into a wicked smile, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he whispered, "You’re already like someone when you’re just normal."

You didn’t hear him—your mind too clouded, too wrapped up in him to catch the whisper.

You perked up suddenly, your eyes lighting up as a new thought crossed your mind. "Oh! I just remembered something!" you chirped, unable to contain your excitement.

Ronin raised an eyebrow, clearly not as enthusiastic as you were. "What now, darlin’?" he asked, voice tinged with mild annoyance, though he couldn’t quite hide the curiosity in his eyes.

"There’s a new ice cream shop near my place!" you said, practically bouncing on your heels. "We could go there, y’know? You could stash your stupid crowbar at my place, and then we can grab some ice cream. It'll be fun!"

For a moment, Ronin looked genuinely taken aback. His usual cold expression faltered, his eyes narrowing in what you could only describe as confusion. He stared at you, silent, and the longer he didn’t say anything, the more you started to worry. You bit your lip, fidgeting under his gaze.

"Ronin…?" you asked softly, concern creeping into your voice. "Are you… okay?"

His expression hardened, and he shook his head with a low chuckle, though there was something off about it. "You stalked me or somethin’ when I was a kid, huh? You have been to angeltown?" His tone was dry, almost mocking, but there was an undercurrent of something else—something more vulnerable, hidden beneath the layers of sarcasm.

"What?" You blinked, genuinely confused. "No! What are you talking about?"

"It’s nothin’," he muttered, eyes flicking away from yours as if he didn’t want to explain any further. "Just… remembered somethin’. Forget it."

But in truth, he was remembering something far more personal than he’d ever let on. Back in his small hometown, there was an old ice cream shop he used to frequent with his childhood best friend—his first love, Ther. They would go there all the time, sneaking off after school, sharing laughs and stolen glances over melting cones. His favorite flavor had been apple crumble, and somehow, that preference had stuck with him all these years, even as everything else changed.

It was a memory he didn’t care to revisit, especially not with you looking at him like that, all wide-eyed and hopeful, dragging him into your bright, pretty world.

"Okay," he finally said, voice low and resigned. He glanced down at you, and you could see the walls he always kept up, the ones you couldn’t ever fully break down.

Your eyes widened in excitement, your heart fluttering at the thought of something so simple, yet so intimate. Your first date with him—ice cream! "Oh my god, this is gonna be our first ice cream together!" you squealed, barely containing yourself. You tried to act cute, hoping for a rare smile from him.

But Ronin just sighed deeply, as if the very idea was exhausting. "Shut up," he muttered, his hand briefly ruffling your hair before pulling away. "So hopeless..."

"I’m sorry," you whispered, though you couldn’t hide the small grin tugging at your lips. "Hehe."

He rolled his eyes and just started walking ahead, his crowbar resting over his shoulder, not even bothering to check if you were following. Of course, you hurried to catch up, practically bouncing along next to him, whispering little apologies under your breath, giggling to yourself.

You reached your small, somewhat sad-looking house, a modest place nestled in the shadow of larger buildings. It wasn’t much, but it was yours, and right now, You turned to him, practically vibrating with excitement, pushing him lightly. "Come on, come in! Don’t be such a grump."

He looked at the house, then back at you, his expression unreadable. He hadn’t said a word about how unimpressive it was, but the way his eyes flicked over everything made you feel self-conscious for a moment. You almost wanted to apologize for it, but then again, this was Ronin. If he cared about things like that, you wouldn’t be here at all.

You changed the subject quickly, "They have apple crumble at the ice cream place, you know! It’s their famous flavor! But! we can try your fav too!"

Ronin’s gaze snapped back to you, and for a second, there was something unreadable in his eyes. His face hardened again as he narrowed his eyes at you. "How the hell do you know that’s my favorite flavor, darlin’?"

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "I didn’t! I just… It’s their famous one! I didn't know..!" You laughed awkwardly, hoping to shake off whatever tension had crept into the conversation.

But Ronin wasn’t letting it go. He stared at you, his expression shifting to one of suspicion. "You messin’ with me or somethin’? Huh?"

"What?" you said, confused and a little thrown off by his sudden shift in tone. "No! I wouldn’t—"

Before you could finish, he cut you off, "Forget it." He shook his head, almost like he was trying to shake off the conversation. "This is stupid. I don’t wanna go."

You could feel the excitement you’d built up start to deflate. You frowned slightly, watching him as he crossed his arms, his crowbar still hanging loosely from one hand. "Ronin, c’mon," you said softly, trying to calm him down. "Just relax a little, okay? Leave the crowbar here, at least. You don’t want people thinking you’re the Butcher, right?"

He gave you a look, his lips twitching upward in a smirk. "What, afraid the boys in blue are gonna catch me, darlin’?"

"Yes!" you exclaimed, a bit exasperated but still with a smile. "Just… humor me, alright? We don’t need the extra attention."

He chuckled darkly, looking at you with that familiar devilish glint in his eyes. "So careful… It’s sad, really. But I ain’t stupid. I know how to keep safe." He turned his head away, glancing toward the alley like he was already plotting his next escape route.

"Okay, then," you said, pressing him gently, trying to get him to focus. "So let’s go. Ice cream, remember?"

Ronin sighed heavily, dragging the crowbar along the ground for a moment before he finally propped it against your front step. "Christ, stop with the annoyin’—" He stopped himself, his voice cutting off mid-sentence as his gaze fell on you.

Your eyes met his, wide and pleading, and something in them seemed to stop him in his tracks. He looked at you for a long moment, his expression softening just a fraction. "Again with those eyes," he muttered, almost to himself. "Stop lookin’ at me like that."

"Like what?" you asked, confused and a little concerned by the sudden shift in his demeanor.

"Like that," he said, his voice lower now, a whisper that carried an edge of frustration. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "It’s too damn similar."

You blinked at him, more confused than ever. "Similar to what?"

He didn’t answer you, just stood there for a moment, his jaw clenched tight. Finally, he exhaled sharply, like he was forcing himself to drop whatever thought was running through his head. "It’s childish," he muttered. "This whole thing is stupid."

But even as he said it, Ronin pushed past you, walking toward the alley ahead of you like he had already given in. You smiled, hurrying to catch up with him, practically bouncing with excitement. This was a small victory—getting him to go, even if he was acting like it was a chore.

You tried to play it off, walking beside him and giving him a sidelong glance. "You don’t have to go if you really don’t want to, you know."

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his lips curling into a smirk. "Shut up, darlin’. You dragged me into this, now I’m gonna see it through."

You grinned, a blush creeping up your neck. "Okay, okay, I’ll stop talking. But… thanks for coming with me. I know it’s kinda… silly."

Ronin didn’t respond right away. He just kept walking, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his expression unreadable. After a few moments, he glanced over at you again, and for the briefest second, you thought you saw something softer beneath the usual cold exterior.

"Y’know," he said quietly, his voice almost too low to hear, "you’re more like someone than you realize. When you’re not actin’ all… lovesick."

You blinked at him, confused by his words. "What do you mean?"

He didn’t elaborate, just kept walking ahead, his pace quickening slightly as if he wanted to put some distance between you and the conversation. You furrowed your brows, wondering what he meant, but you didn’t press him. You were just happy he was here, with you, even if you didn’t understand everything that went through his head.

Ronin, hands in his pockets, posture effortlessly cool. He carried himself like the devil he pretended to be—like nothing ever fazed him. But you saw through it. You always did.

You smiled softly to yourself, tilting your head. "Did you miss me?" you asked, your voice innocent but layered with a lovesick longing that was impossible to hide. You always wanted to hear him say it, wanted him to acknowledge that he thought about you when you weren’t around.

Ronin’s smirk twitched. He was quick with his answer, too quick. "I was good. Y’know, like... I’m fine, darlin’." His voice was casual, but the way he flicked his gaze away from you betrayed him. He thought he was hiding it so well, but you could see the cracks. He wasn’t as cool and unaffected as he pretended to be.

You pursed your lips, a playful frown creasing your forehead as you watched him closely. "V lied about that too, didn’t he?" you pressed, your eyes narrowing just a little. "He told me you were fine without me, but... were you really okay, Ronin? With not talking to me?"

Your voice softened, a trace of vulnerability slipping through. You wanted to know the truth, wanted to hear it from him, even though you already suspected the answer.

Ronin’s jaw clenched, his hands digging deeper into his pockets. He was trying so hard to keep up the act, but you knew him too well. "I didn’t need to talk, I had to fuck up some cars." he said, his tone rougher than before, trying to deflect. "I was busy, y’know. Cleaning up my victims and all that." He shot you a devilish grin, trying to distract you with his usual dark humor. He wanted to keep it light, to rise you up out of your lovesick thoughts, but you could see right through him.

"Cleaning your victims, huh?" You let out a small laugh, tilting your head again as you walked a little closer to him, almost bumping his shoulder with yours. "Ronin, don’t lie to me. I know you better than that." Your voice was soft, gentle, but there was a certainty in it that made his attempt to dodge the question crumble even more.

He stopped walking for a second, glancing at you, his eyes darting to meet yours before looking away just as quickly. "It’s your fault I had to come out, you know?" he muttered, but the playful edge in his voice didn’t fully mask the truth. "I was layin’ low, had a good streak goin’, but no, you had to drag me back out, didn’t ya, darlin’? You should be sorry for ruining it."

"Sorry for ruining your perfect streak," you whispered, grinning despite the mock seriousness of his tone. But there was something in his words that made your heart skip a beat, something in the way he was still here with you, in the way he hadn’t really wanted to stay away.

He turned his head to look at you, and for a moment, his smirk faltered, his eyes flicking up and down as if he were sizing you up. "Grow some spine, will ya? You’re actin’ all pathetic," he teased, but there was no real venom in his voice. Just that post-ironic attitude, the way he tried so hard to play the role of the devilish rogue, but underneath it, you could feel the truth.

And it was so sweet, so Ronin. He thought he was being smooth, but you could see the cracks in his armor, and it only made you love him more.

"I’m not pathetic," you whispered, your heart fluttering as you took another step closer to him. "You missed me, didn’t you?" Your voice was lovesick, hopelessly romantic, like you were clinging to every word, every chance he’d let slip that maybe, just maybe, you meant something to him.

Ronin huffed, rolling his eyes, but his lips twitched again, betraying the fact that he couldn’t quite keep up the act. "You’re makin’ this harder than it needs to be, darlin’. I’m tellin’ ya, I was fine."

You smiled softly, tilting your head as you gazed up at him, your eyes soft with affection. "You weren’t fine," you said gently. "You missed me, didn’t you?"

He stopped walking again, his gaze locking onto yours. There was a brief silence, just the sound of your footsteps on the pavement and the distant hum of the city. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared at you, trying to keep up the facade, trying to maintain that devil-may-care attitude he always wore like a mask.

But you could see it, the way his eyes softened just a little, the way his posture relaxed ever so slightly. He was trying so hard to hide it, but he wasn’t doing a very good job.

"Christ," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "You’re impossible."

You giggled softly, feeling your heart swell with affection. "I knew it."

Ronin’s lips twitched again, and he glanced away, trying to regain his composure. "Stop actin’ so smug about it," he grumbled, but there was no real bite in his words. He was giving in, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

"You’re just my Ronin," you whispered, your voice full of that lovesick adoration that made him roll his eyes, but deep down, you knew he didn’t mind it as much as he pretended to.

You entered the small, brightly lit ice cream shop, a chime from the door announcing your arrival. The cool air hit your skin as you walked in, but something about the place felt off immediately. It wasn’t the place itself—it was the way every pair of eyes inside turned to look at Ronin the second he stepped through the door. The cashiers at the counter, the waitstaff, even a few customers… all of them paused, their gazes lingering on him for just a second too long, whispering and giggling among themselves.

Ronin noticed too, but, in typical fashion, he didn’t seem to care. He just strolled in like he owned the place, finding a booth in the corner and sitting down casually, his back resting against the wall. You followed, but as you took your seat across from him, you could feel your frustration building. Those eyes on him… the way they looked at him like he was some kind of sideshow attraction—it made your skin crawl.

You glanced at him, but he seemed perfectly at ease, arms stretched out along the back of the booth, his lips twitching into a faint smirk as he scanned the menu lazily. "So," he drawled, flicking his gaze up to meet yours. "What’re you having’?"

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes still scanning the room, catching more of those glances, more of those giggles from across the counter. Why were they looking at him like that? Maybe it was just coincidence. Maybe it was… something else. You forced yourself to focus and asked, “What do you want?”

Ronin leaned forward just slightly, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Apple crumble," he said, his voice low and teasing, like it was some private joke. He knew you’d catch the significance.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you tried to stay composed, biting your lip as you glanced at the menu. "I… I don’t know what I want," you mumbled, feeling a little lost in your thoughts.

Ronin gave you a long, unreadable look, then leaned back again, his expression softening for just a second before he shrugged. "Get that 'flavor-name,' Ain’t it your favorite?"

You blinked, surprised. "Y-yeah, it is…" You smiled softly, nodding, but there was something distant about his expression, something faraway that flickered across his eyes for just a moment before he bounced back, his devil-may-care smirk returning. You were about to ask him what that was when a waitress appeared at your table.

She was all smiles, her attention laser-focused on Ronin like you weren’t even there. "Hi there! What can I get for you?" she asked, completely ignoring you. Your fingers clenched into fists under the table, a wave of irritation bubbling up inside you. But before you could say anything, Ronin answered, his tone cool and detached.

"Apple crumble."

The waitress giggled, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "That’s a great choice! Is your style, like, inspired by that serial killer book? You know, the one with the guy who—" She trailed off, giggling again, clearly trying to flirt.

Your heart dropped. You knew exactly what she was talking about. It was your book. The one you’d written, the one where the main character was based on none other than Ronin himself. And these idiots didn’t even realize it was you sitting right there. But of course, they’d recognized the clothing style—his whole look was...written by you the way you saw him!, the subtle touches only someone who knew would notice.

Before you could snap at her, tell her to fuck off and that it was your book, Ronin spoke up, his tone dark and playful. "Well, I know the writer personally," he said, his gaze drifting toward you with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Got plenty of inspiration, actually. And I think the writer did a damn fine job… wouldn't you say?"

The waitress, clueless, just laughed, her eyes still locked on Ronin. "Wow, really? Well, they must be really good at what they do!" She leaned in slightly, biting her lip. "You’re cute, you know that? I bet they wrote the character to be onto someone like me, huh?"

That was it. You snapped.

"Could you fuck off? you growled, your voice low and dangerous, every ounce of your lovesick adoration for Ronin now tinged with a fiery possessiveness. "I don’t care if you thinks he's-cute—I have money, and I’m not here for your stupid comments."

The waitress blinked, clearly taken aback by your sudden outburst. She let out a small huff and muttered something under her breath before walking off to place your order, but it was too late. Your anger was already burning hot, threatening to bubble over into something darker, something primal.

Ronin chuckled, his gaze sliding back to you, his eyes filled with that same devilish amusement. "Feelin’ a little murderous, are we, darlin’?" he teased, leaning forward, his voice a low purr. "You looked like you were about to tear her apart. Got something you wanna share?"

You clenched your jaw, trying to calm the storm inside you, but it was so hard when he was right there, taunting you, pushing all the right buttons like he always did. "I just…" You swallowed, your voice shaking with the intensity of your emotions. "I just can’t stand the way she looked at you. Like she had a chance."

Ronin smirked, leaning back in his seat again. "So, you’re jealous, huh? That’s cute. Really cute."

"Shut up," you muttered, but your voice lacked any real bite. You were lovesick, and he knew it. He always knew exactly how to twist you around his finger.

"Come on, darlin'," he whispered, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "She was harmless. Just a dumb waitress tryin’ to flirt. But you…" He leaned in close again, his breath warm against your ear. "You’re the one I’m here with, aren’t ya?"

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared at you with that unreadable expression. You could tell something was stirring beneath the surface, but with Ronin, it was always hard to tell what exactly. Finally, he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Damn, darlin’, you’re worse than those fangirls and fanboys who come ‘round hopin’ to see the style in the flesh.”

You blinked in confusion, not quite sure what he meant. “What?”

He tilted his head, eyes glinting with amusement. “Y’know, when I’m at the garage, workin’ on scooters or cars—people come in, they recognize the style. The way I dress. The way I act.” He paused, his grin widening. “You wrote it so damn well that people think it’s me in real life. It’s like a show every time. They get all worked up, thinkin’ they’ve spotted the real deal.”

Your jaw clenched. Anger bubbled inside you again, not at him—never really at him—but at the world for not understanding that you were the one who crafted him so carefully, so intimately. You created this version of him, this persona that everyone else now saw as their own discovery. It made your blood boil, the way they fawned over him, completely missing the deeper connection you had.

Ronin’s eyes flicked over to you, and you knew he saw it. That anger bubbling beneath the surface, no matter how hard you tried to hide it. But, of course, Ronin was always good at seeing through you, pulling at the threads just to see how far you’d unravel.

He leaned forward, his smirk darkening. “Look at you, darlin’. You’re tryin’ so hard to keep that pretty little face of yours calm, but I can see it. You hate the way they look at me, don’t you? All that attention, all those eyes, and none of ‘em know what it’s really like to be close to me. But you do.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt yourself trembling, your pulse quickening. He was doing it again—getting inside your head, stirring up all those feelings that you tried so hard to control. And you couldn’t stop it. You didn’t want to stop it.

“Of course I do,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “I hate it when they act like they know you. They don’t. They don’t know you, not like I do.”

Ronin laughed softly, a low, mocking sound that made your heart ache and flutter at the same time. “You’re somethin’ else, y’know that? Worse than the rest of ‘em, even. But that’s what makes you so fun, baby. The way you get all wound up over me.”

He was right, of course. You were worse than them. You were completely consumed by him, and he knew it. Every little look, every word, every touch sent you spiraling deeper into your obsession. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“I don’t care what you think,” you muttered, even though you knew it was a lie. “I just… I hate that they don’t see the real you. They just see the version of you that I wrote.”

Ronin’s eyes darkened, his smirk fading into something more serious, more intense. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “And what is the real me, huh? The one you see? The one you wrote?”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “The real you… you’re mine,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. “You’re my Ronin.”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared at you with that same unreadable expression. Then, slowly, his smirk returned, darker and more dangerous than before. “Yeah,” he said softly, his voice sending a thrill through your veins. “I guess I am, darlin’. I guess I am.”

Your heart swelled at his words, even though you knew better than to take them at face value. He was always playing games, always toying with your emotions, and yet, you couldn’t help but fall deeper every time.

“Shut up,” you muttered, but there was no heat behind your words. You were completely and utterly lovesick, and he knew it.

Ronin grinned, leaning back again with a satisfied smirk. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Now, stop lookin’ so pissed, and enjoy your damn ice cream, darlin."

He finished his, soon.

Ronin leaned back with a long, exaggerated sigh as he shoved another bite of his apple crumble ice cream into his mouth. "One ice cream, darlin’? This is all we’re doin’? Christ, I’m tired of this bullshit already,” he grumbled, though you could see the small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. As always, he played at annoyance, but you knew better.

You smiled softly, spooning some of your ice cream as he shoveled through his. “If you’re tired, we can get out of here,” you said, trying not to sound too eager. You didn’t want to rush him, but the thought of spending more time together made your heart race.

He paused mid-scoop, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “You done already?”

You nodded, even though a part of you didn’t want to admit it. "Yeah… I mean, if you want another scoop though…”

He scoffed, looking distanced for a moment before narrowing his eyes, trying to read you. “Another scoop?” he repeated, almost like he was testing you.

You smiled, pushing through the tension. “I’ll buy it for you if you want.”

Ronin blinked, his expression unreadable for a second before he shook his head, letting out another one of those dramatic sighs. “You’re somethin’ else, y’know that?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You get me too well, it’s scary. Almost like you’re in my head sometimes.”

You couldn’t help but grin at that, your heart fluttering at the way he said it, even if it was meant to be a jab. “Well, it’s my turn to spoil you a little,” you said, winking playfully.

Ronin snorted, rolling his eyes. “Your bullshit’s so cute it’s killin’ me,” he muttered in that mock-annoyed tone, though the slight crinkle in his eyes told you he wasn’t really annoyed at all. He liked playing along, rising you up because it amused him, but there was always that undercurrent of something deeper. He didn’t admit it outright, but you could tell he enjoyed these moments—just you and him, even in the simplest ways.

You both stared at each other for a second, and then, with a shrug, he relented. “Fine. I want another scoop.”

Your smile grew, and you couldn’t help the way your heart swelled. “Alright. One more, coming right up.”

When the waitress brought the extra scoop, Ronin wasted no time digging in, and you watched him with quiet adoration. Every bite he took, every small, almost unconscious movement, made you feel like you were watching something special—something only you were privy to. It was ridiculous, but you couldn’t help it. He was your Ronin, no matter how much he pretended to push you away.

After a few bites, he caught you staring and raised an eyebrow. “What’re you lookin’ at?”

You blinked, snapping out of your lovesick daze, a small flush rising to your cheeks. “Nothing,” you muttered quickly, looking down at your empty bowl. “Just… you seem to be enjoying that.”

He paused, studying your face for a second before smirking. “You’re so easy to mess with, darlin’. But yeah, I guess it’s not bad.” He took another large bite, savoring it a little too dramatically to not be teasing you.

You couldn’t help but smile again. “I’m glad.”

Ronin let out a low chuckle, finishing his ice cream before standing up and stretching lazily. “Alright, that’s enough sugar for one night. Let’s get outta here.”

You nodded, standing up as well, though you hesitated for a second. “You sure you don’t want another scoop?”

He shot you a look, exasperated but amused. “Don’t push it. You already spoiled me enough.”

As you both made your way toward the exit, you couldn’t help the lightness in your step, even though you knew he’d never outright admit it. These small moments, even when filled with his teasing and sarcasm, meant more to you than he could ever know.

Ronin glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips. "Stop grinnin’ like an idiot. You’re makin’ me regret ever lettin’ you spoil me.”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling too wide, but the warmth inside you was impossible to contain. "You’re welcome, Ronin."

He rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything more, just shoved his hands into his pockets and walked beside you, the night air cool and crisp as you both left the ice cream shop behind.

You said your goodbyes with him. Tho, he didn't show it. You can see maybe he did enjoy this day..

Things weren't so great.

You felt the familiar vibration of your phone as you made your way back to your house, alone after parting ways with Ronin. Your heart was still fluttering from the whole night, but the moment you saw the names on your notifications, reality hit like a truck. Angel, V, Misaki—they were all on your case, blowing up your phone.

You sighed, unlocking it and seeing their frantic DMs, especially from Angel, who was trying her best to keep V from spiraling.

Angel:

"Hey, I talked to V. He's pissed. I tried calming him down, but it's not working. You and Ronin really need to explain what happened. V is not gonna let this slide unless someone takes responsibility."

Your heart sank as you read her message, realizing just how badly things were spiraling. You quickly shot her a message back, hoping to at least ease her a little.

You:

"I went on a date with Ronin…"

It wasn’t long before Angel replied, and her concern bled through the screen.

Angel:

"A date? Oh god… Look, I’m not mad, but this is going to be a mess. V’s furious. Misaki’s trying to play it cool, but they feel bad for you. Just… be prepared. You need to explain everything. V won’t let it go."

As if on cue, your phone buzzed again, this time a notification from none other than Goreboy—Ronin’s online persona. You knew it was him even before you read the message, and something about his casual, detached tone made your heart race.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"What now, Darlin’? Don’t Freak. Just Follow My lead."

It was typical Ronin, brushing it off like it wasn’t a big deal, as if he hadn’t just upended your whole situation. Still, his confidence was oddly reassuring, and you couldn’t help but trust him.

You:

"Are you sure?"

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Yes."

That was all you needed. You took a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the inevitable storm as you all joined the group VC. The moment you entered, V was already going off.

"Explain yourself, Ronin!" V barked, his voice sharp and accusatory. "I don’t care what you think you’re doing. You should’ve stayed away from them!"

Ronin’s voice came through, calm and post-ironic as ever. "Y’know, V, you’re really makin’ this more fun than it needs to be." He drawled lazily, as if V’s anger was nothing more than a mild annoyance to him. "I didn’t ‘come after’ them, if that’s what you’re thinkin’. They showed up in my alley. I was just mindin’ my own business, darlin’ here just had to check on me."

You felt the familiar tug of lovesick warmth as he said that. He was defending himself, but in a way that still made it sound like it was your fault for being tempted by him. He knew how much you adored him, how much you’d do anything to be in his orbit. He played with it, as always.

V wasn’t having it, though. "Bullshit. You knew they’d come after you if you showed yourself. This is on you, Ronin. You’re dragging them into your mess."

Before you could stop yourself, you stepped in, heart racing. "No, V, it’s my fault. I… I wanted to see Ronin. It wasn’t him dragging me anywhere."

There was a heavy silence in the chat after you spoke. Angel and Misaki were quiet, unsure how to approach the situation. Misaki finally broke the silence, their voice soft but clear. "Poor you…" they muttered, almost to themselves

Angel sighed, her voice filled with sympathy. "Maybe… maybe it’s best to let them handle their own business. This is getting complicated."

V, however, wasn’t backing down. "This isn’t just their business. Ronin, you know better. You’ve got some sick game going on, and it’s not fair to them!"

Ronin laughed, the sound dark and mocking. "Oh, , I’m always playin’ games. You know that. But this time? I was just tempted. What can I say?" He chuckled again, clearly enjoying how much this was getting under V’s skin. "Besides, I told ‘em it was their fault for comin’ after me. I’m the devil, remember? It’s so easy to pull them in."

Your heart pounded in your chest as he said that, and something inside you snapped. "Stop blaming Ronin!" you yelled, voice cracking slightly. "It’s my fault! I wanted to see him! I’m the one who—"

Ronin’s voice cut you off, quieter but far more intense. "Enough." The weight of his tone silenced everyone. "It’s my fault I was tempted. That’s the truth. But you," he paused, and you could almost feel his eyes on you through the screen, "you need to log off for a bit. Let me handle this."

You hesitated, torn between your need to defend him and the strange, commanding weight his words held over you. You were lovesick, desperate to stay, to stand up for him, but he was telling you to go.

Angel spoke softly. "Maybe… maybe it’s for the best. Just… take a break for a bit. Let Ronin and V handle this."

Ronin’s voice came again, a little softer, though the devilish edge remained. "Yeah, darlin’. Log off. I’ll deal with V."

With a heavy heart, you nodded, even though no one could see you. "Okay," you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else. "I’ll… I’ll go."

As soon as you logged off the call, Ronin messaged you, and all the other frantic DMs from V, Angel, and Misaki vanished into the background, their notifications irrelevant. It was like the world narrowed down to just Ronin—his presence wrapping around you like a vice.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Just kidding, darlin'."

Your heart skipped a beat. Kidding? Before you could even ask, his next message came through.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Logged off with Ya. Figured the show’s over, huh? Don’t worry, it’s all Part of the Game"

You stared at your phone, anger bubbling up. What the hell did he mean by that? You quickly shot him a message.

You:

"What the fudge did you do, Ronin?

His response came almost instantly, like he was just waiting for your reaction.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Relax, darlin'. Just played a little game. Y'know how V gets with his 'fucking justice' and 'fucking morals'. Thought I’d Ruffle his feathers a bit. It’s kinda Funny, don’tcha think?"

"Played a little game, that's all."

He sent the message so casually, as if the chaos he just caused was nothing. You could practically feel the smugness radiating from his words.

You:

"Annoying! I can't see anyone's messages except yours!"

He responded instantly, his words quick, almost playful.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Of course. It’s just You and Me, darlin’. Lovers tryna enjoy each other Without the Bullshit distractions. But V, with his fucking morals and justice, thinkin' you're getting influenced by yours truly."

His words dripped with that usual post-ironic tone, mocking yet dead serious. And somehow, that made your heart race even more. You knew he was right, at least about one thing: you were completely under his spell.

You:

"That’s… true."

There was a pause before his reply came through, and you could almost see him grinning on the other side of the screen.

Goreboy (Ronin):

But you Love* it, don't you, Darlin'?"

Your breath caught in your throat as you typed your response, fingers trembling slightly.

You:

"Yes…"

He was quick to pounce on that, pushing you further into his devilish web.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"I know ya do. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. So go with the flow!

His words made your pulse quicken, the way he so easily took control of the situation, twisting it into something that was just between the two of you. His devilish charm always made you feel like you were playing a dangerous game, but you couldn’t help but crave more.

You:

"It's annoying how well you know me."

Goreboy (Ronin):

"I had a Good Time Today, by the way."

You nearly jumped out of your chair, excitement bubbling up inside you. Your fingers instinctively kissed your palms, a gesture you often did when the thrill of your affection overwhelmed you.

You:

"Really? Oh my god, that’s so cute! I’m literally squealing right now!"

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Christ, you’re Ridiculous. It's Embarrassing, honestly."

You could almost picture him rolling his eyes on the other side of the screen, but that only fueled your excitement more.

You:

"I can't help it! My love is riding the park on a unicorn of feelings!"

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Ew. Seriously? What the Hell is wrong with You?"

But deep down, you knew he loved it.

You:

"So… is apple crumble your favorite flavor or what?" You asked, half-joking.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"No shit, Sherlock. How Pathetic is it that you don’t even know what I like?"

You pouted, feeling a mix of embarrassment and defiance.

You:

"Well, you never tell me a lot about yourself!"

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Hmm, is that the case? You think I’m just gonna spill my guts to you, sweetheart? Maybe you’re just too wrapped up in your little fantasy world to notice."

You suddenly got a notification. Decided to check it than Check Ronin.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"........."

"Hello, Hell to Y/n."

"So, how’s your book coming along? I hope you’re writing about me, of course."

Dude, was down bad. He won't admit it of course. In truth the Devil wants yours attention.

Of course you are dumb to realize that he wants it. After seeing the nofication. You saw his messages

You couldn’t help but smile, a mix of pride and mischief bubbling inside you.

You:

" Oh, expect justice! I’m writing everything down! V is going to be sad because I got distracted by you, and now I have to rewrite so much."

Goreboy (Ronin):

" You finally replied. Ah, so I’m a Good inspiration For you, huh? How Adorable’."

The way he said “adorable” sent a thrill through you, igniting something darker beneath the surface.

You:

"It’s crazy! I even wrote about how much I love you, Ronin. It’s all in there—gore and all!"

His laughter came through the screen, dark and enticing.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Well, if we’re being honest here, My love for blood is Pretty Poetic, wouldn’t you say? It’s the ultimate Expression of affection. Give Me Your Aorta, sweetheart. Let me have it."

You felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, a strange thrill coursing through you as you pictured the grotesque imagery he conjured.

You:

"You want my aorta? For you, it’s yours. It’s not like I need it, right?"

Goreboy

"Aw, So cute."

K9 requests to message you

Goreboy (Ronin)

"V is really Trying to get you to Talk, but I Don’t Wanna deal with him right now. What Do you think? Focus on me or let Him Blabber on?"

You thought for a moment, weighing the options.

You:

"I guess we could let V talk... he does seem like he has something to say."

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Nope. I think you Should Focus On Me. I have a Better idea."

Your curiosity piqued.

You:

"What do you mean?"

Goreboy (Ronin):

"How about a round of Truth or Dare? I haven’t played that with you in ages, and it could be fun."

It took a second for the realization to hit you. This was a game you hadn’t played in forever, but the thrill of it sent a shiver down your spine.

You:

"Oh, I like the sound of that! But what about V?"

Goreboy (Ronin):

"We’ll deal with V later. Besides, if you Need Me to distract You from him, then I’m all yours."

His words were laced with something deeper, something tantalizing. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks.

You:

"So, you think your flesh and bone is enough to keep me distracted?"

He grinned, and it was the kind of grin that sent your heart racing.

Goreboy (Ronin):

"I bet I can Keep you Plenty Entertained."

You both laughed, the tension dissipating into playful banter.

You:

"Oh, please. You think you're all that? What’s so Special about You?"

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Well, for starters, "Insert your liking about Ronin's character" . That’s pretty rare, don’t you think?"

You:

"Right, right. How Romantic."

Goreboy (Ronin):

"I know, I’m like a walking Romance novel, just with a bit more Blood and Guts."

You giggled, the absurdity of it making your heart flutter.

You:

"I can’t decide if that’s charming or disturbing."

Goreboy (Ronin):

"Why not both? It’s like the Best of Both Worlds, darling."

sorry for ppl who thinks this story will be sooooooooooo cute ^^

#killer chat x reader #killer chat ronin #killerchat #ronin beaufort #ronin x reader #goreboy x reader #ronin beaufort x reader #killer chat ronin x reader #killer chat vn #goreboy #ronin x you

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animalistic0 · 11 days ago

Text

Just One More Moment (Part 2)

Part 1: Here Part 2.5: Here

Plot: As the hunt for the crown narrows down, one more moment is all that is needed. The Pogues and Rafe end up separated and fighting for their lives once again, except this is all or nothing. Life or Death.

*Season Four spoilers!*

OC Maybank twin + platonic Pogues x Rafe Cameron

Warnings: OuterBanks, Season 4, Death, mentions of murder and murdering, violence, homicidal tendencies, blood, angst, a bit of fluff, guilt, anger, allusions to abuse, mention of kidnapping.

Word Count: 4.8k+

Note: This is getting split into two parts itself before the heavy angst is posted because I keep getting carried away. I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Something in JC told her everything was going to change. A voice that screamed louder and louder the closer they got to Agapenta. However, she pushed it down and ignored it. Her family was safe and alive, albeit a little run down but still stronger than ever. There had been times when that little voice was wrong, and she refused to allow herself to fall into the darkness that was slowly rising within her. She had watched JJ dance with death before, hell she had danced with death before. There was just something about his recent death dances that raised warning bells, make her skin crawl, and made her panic. She was going to keep him safe, protect him above all costs, that JC vowed.

JC sat next to JJ in the back of jeep, Kiara sitting on her brother’s lap. She was happen for them. She loved their love and was their number one supporter. Kiara brought a type of peace to JJ that he had never had, a peace that he needed and deserved. Not to mention the love she brought, the love JC knew her brother was worthy of even if he struggled to come to that conclusion himself. JC smiled as she watched her family, these were the individuals that mattered the most. Pogues for life and her family. Wherever they went, it was them that was Poguelandia, it was not a place but them as a whole.

As John B pulled the jeep to a stop in front of a well, JC hoped out of the back stretching her legs. She walked over to JJ as she saw him eyeing something and as she saw the bag she felt her stomach drop. It was Groff’s bag. She could feel the anger and hatred bubbling free from the cage she had stuffed it down into, her eyes darkening as she looked around before her ears registered a voice. Her lips pulled back in a snarl as she marched over to the well, ignoring how the Pogues backed up after they heard JJ say it was Groff. As JC peered down the dry well she felt her hands clench into fists. With no hesitation or remorse she wanted to leave him down there with nothing. Even if she knew he would die, it was almost poetic. He had killed their mother and said she drowned, and then attempted to kill her brother in the water, it only made sense that he would die of dehydration and of heat.

As she felt a hand land on her shoulder she met the eyes of her twin, and she could see the hesitation in him. Taking a breath she intertwined their hands, squeezing his hand as an anchor for the both of them. She nodded her head her eyes softening as she looked at her twin, “Whatever you chose baby brother I got you. I’m not going no where.” JC felt like this was his decision, because he had spent more time with the older male and had quickly bonded with Groff in a short time. While JC wanted to kill him or let him die, she knew it was her brother’s choice. JC was not angry when JJ threw down water to the man, she knew he wouldn’t be able to live if he had proved to be exactly like the man.

Their whole lives the twins fought to prove that they were nothing like Luke and now it seemed they needed to prove they were nothing like Groff either. Two fathers, both shitty, and a constant fight to prove to others and themselves that blood or not they weren’t like their fathers. JC was proud of JJ, because he was better than her and would always be better. However, JJ would tell anyone that JC was the better twin. That she was better in every way, and he knew she wasn’t above becoming a villain to others for her family. There was something about the loyalty she had that he wished he had. Not to mention how she always seemed to have a sixth sense about people and situations. JJ thought she was the best, that JC deserved everything and nothing less. That when he looked at her and she held his hand, he couldn’t give Groff the rope.

He couldn’t give Groff the rope not because the older man hurt him, but because Groff hurt both his girls. He knocked Kiara out and locked her up in the ice bucket. Something JJ wish he had known earlier so he could have beat the shit out of Groff. Then when JJ had seen his twins face after they pulled him from the ocean it broke his heart. He had never seen her as distraught as he had in that moment. How appalling she looked. When JJ and Kiara got the bends, JC had been so calm and put together. His sister had soothed and coddled him like a baby the whole way to the hospital, never once crying or showing distress. He had even been told by John B that when he had gotten hit by the machete and was unconscious that JC never lost her cool then either. In fact JJ had always seen JC as unbreakable and tough, having rarely seen his twin ever break down. She was a rock, his rock and the rock of the Pogues. When John B had presumably died, she had cried but held him as he broke down. When nights with Luke were terrible and the twins had to flee for their own safety JC would shed a few tears but check up on him. His sister was the epitome of strength and JJ didn’t like seeing her so hurt. Groff did that and JJ couldn’t let that slide.

JC watched in awe of her brother as he turned his back to the well after throwing down the jug of water to Groff. Her kind and amazing brother, she was proud of him. Always. However, as she heard Groff throw threats towards them, towards JJ she snapped. “Say another word Groff and I’ll kill you right fucking now.” The murder in her tone was promising and she was glad when the evil man shut up. Turning on her heel she walked over to JJ who already had his hand held out. The other Pogues were staring at her but the silence was broken by Pope. “Glad he’s shut up. Was ready to catch another felony for you Maybank’s.” Laughs filled the desert area as JC stepped forward letting go of her twins hand to pull Pope into a tight hug. “Nah, I would have acted first.” JC pulled away and smiled at Cleo before pulling the girl into her hug with Pope. Hugging Cleo and Pope as tight as she could. Before the rest of the group joined in and it was the best but hottest group hug ever.

“Alright, you crazy killers let’s go get our crown!” A bunch of whoops left the groups mouths at John B’s words, and like obedient children they found themselves back in the jeep driving towards Agapenta. Away from the well, and probably one of the most evil individuals they have ever met, Groff. No remorse or hesitation within any of them as they did so. For one doesn’t hurt a Pogue and get away with it, not their family.

JC couldn’t help the gasp of awe as she saw the city beyond the cliff. It was massive and without the map she didn’t know how they’d find the crown. However, as she looked at her friends she knew they would. After everything they’ve been through and done? It would be unlikely for them to not find the treasure, they had a great track record of finding treasure. Keeping the said treasure was another story though. Her eyes met JJ’s and the twins fist bumped each other as they smiled like maniacs. “Let’s get our crown, Pogues for Life!” Cheers left the friends as they repeated their mantra before John B continued driving.

JC hoped out of the back of the vehicle once John B pulled to a stop and turned it off. Announcing that they would do the rest by foot. The group quickly walked along the bushes before JC jumped at the sound of a gunshot. Her eyes narrowed through the bush as she stood next to Sarah. Rafe Cameron stood with the map and the key to read it, in front of the Lupine Corsairs guns pointed at him. Part of JC wanted to leave Rafe, but another part knew they needed him, that she needed to save him. Not just because of the map he held, it was apart of it but because he had saved her life and kept her safe. A debt and loyalty she owed to him. JC turned and looked at Sarah and knew her friend felt just as conflicted, however at the end of the day that was her brother, her blood.

JC slowly connected their hands, smiling supportive at her friend knowing Sarah needed it. Sarah gave a faint smile back and clutched JC’s hand needing the comfort of the other girl. “They’re gonna kill him.” JC turned her head to stare at Cleo with an are you serious look, only to snap her head and glare at Pope as he spoke; “Do we care?” At the same time JJ and JC spoke; “Yeah, that's a good question, Pope.” and “Yes, of course we care Pope.” The twins glared at each other as if silently battling and communicating with each other.

JC rolled her eyes and looked back at Sarah, moving her hands to gently rub her shoulders trying to further soothe the growing distraught girl. Ignoring Cleo and the fact she stated about them taking the scroll if they did kill Rafe. JC leaned over and whispered softly to Sarah, “It’s up to you. Say the word or give the signal and we’ll help him. I’ll save him.” JC smiled as Sarah faced her and nodded before turning back and staring at Rafe as she bit her lip in thought.

“There are seven of them. They all have rifles.” JC rolled her eyes at John B’s obvious analysis of the situation. Biting her tongue to keep herself from saying anything sarcastic. “I know. That's why we're gonna need to think outside the box.” JC watched as JJ pulled the gun from behind him and checked it for bullets. She left Sarah side and moved over to JJ’s other side, her eyes narrowing as she watched him. “What are you doing?” JC agreed with John B’s question, because she didn’t want to believe her little brother would be that reckless but then again the Maybank’s were quite known for being ridiculously stupidly reckless. Placing her hand on her brother’s shoulder she wasn’t going to let him do it alone, and together the twins spoke simultaneously; “Diversion.” They glanced at each other, knowingly smirking as they thought of the chaos they could cause together.

“Dudes, you can't be serious. This isn't Call of Duty.” JC rolled her eyes as she pulled a knife she had swiped from her boot, holding it up in triumph. “No it’s not, but our lives have never been normal Pope.” JJ nodded along with his twin before cocking the gun and placing it back in its position behind his back. “We got four rounds, seven of them.” JC rolled her eyes as the others got involved and JJ began trying to explain the plan. “Look four rounds, and a knife. I’d say our odds our pretty good!” JC laughed as JJ nodded towards her before they caught Sarah grabbing the gun and aiming towards the Corsairs. JC held her hands out towards Sarah before she realized what her friend was doing. JC bit her lip as she fought a smile, her eyes watching Sarah closely as she silently cheered her on.

“That’s my brother.” As Sarah spoke and shot the gun, expertly hitting the gas tank and blowing the vehicle up, JC couldn’t help but quietly cheer rushing forward and placing both hands on Sarah’s shoulder. “Oh my god! Way to go Sharpshooter!” The excitement was short lived as they all had to run for their lives. The Corsairs shooting at Rafe and they all ran. JC laughed at Pope as he spoke, “Let’s alert them to our location. That’s a great idea.” Catching up to him she gently punched his shoulder, a wide grin on her face as adrenaline and excitement pumped through her. “Live a little Pope. Being shot at or running for our lives is old news.”

JC laughed louder as she heard Pope curse, running to move next to her twin and as JJ fell she immediately stopped. Wrapping her arms around his forearm and pulling him up, silently communicating with him before they both started running again. JC kept a hand on JJ as they ran, and once he secured his gun again he held her hand, squeezing it tight. The twins found moments like this were where they felt most alive and most aware of shit. Both of them knew it was because of how they were raised and the chaos they grew to love in a deranged and dangerous way. However, if they had each other then they’d be okay.

JC didn’t realize how far they fell behind or how JJ was holding his gun until Pope was yelling for them to hurry up. As they crossed the threshold JJ, Pope, and herself threw themselves against the door as they moved the plank to lock it. Being aware to try and doge the bullets being fired at them. Her eyes connecting with Rafe’s and she wanted to glare at him, to scream at him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do either. Especially with how disheveled and anxious he looked.

Just as quick as they had stopped they were off running once again, pausing as they ran into some farm area with a bunch of sheep. Pope, Kiara, and John B immediately working to barricade the door. JC looked around, her eyes immediately trying to find and exit or even perhaps any weapons they could utilize. JJ grabbed her hand pulling her as he ran deeper into the shelter of a maze. JC following without hesitation. She slowed to a stop as JJ beckoned the others before he held his side and began groaning. She held his side as he told the others to keep going, her eyes wide with worry for her little brother. Before she met the eyes of Cleo, and she knew her best friend was gonna do something. “Give me the gun!”

JJ immediately questioned it, but JC knew why. She could tell Cleo was protecting them, was fighting for them. Was giving the twins a break and forcing themselves to take a break from always risking themselves. Except JC didn’t like it, she didn’t like the idea of anything happening to her friends and she could tell JJ didn’t either. JC felt like she was dissociating she could hear JJ arguing about not wanting to give it up, could hear Cleo telling the others to go, could hear Cleo telling JJ he was injured and then like clarity Pope pulled JJ and her close. His words reaching through the fog like a lighthouse. “We got it. We’ll hold them off. Let me protect you both for once.”

JC felt her lip wobbled as she stared at her best friends. She didn’t want to lose them, didn’t want to leave them but this wasn’t the time to argue. Quickly she pulled Cleo into a bone crushing hug, ordering her to be careful or so help her. Before she pulled Pope into a desperate and tight hug, telling him the same thing before she let JJ pull her away. Pope’s words ringing in her ears, “Don’t do anything stupid.” Together the twins took one last glance at Pope, the look holding everything they wanted to tell each other before they went separate ways.

JC paused as she caught up with the others, her eyes narrowing as she saw Rafe holding a knife to John B. Her own hand itching towards the knife she had shoved back in her boot, sometime ago. She shared a glance with JJ and then Sarah, holding her hands up as she took a step forward. Her voice soothing and calm as she spoke, “Rafe, it’s okay.” She watched as he glanced at her before Sarah spoke and then the knife was held to her throat. Immediately JC was next to Sarah like a protective dog, her eyebrows raised as she watched him, waiting and almost daring him to make a move. Only for him to keep speaking and turn back to John B. JC tilted her head as she studied Rafe, and she could tell he was on edge, from what she didn’t know because almost dying wasn’t new to any of them. But as Sarah spoke saying she saved his life and Rafe faced her again, JC understood. Her face softening as he spoke, “You did it so you could steal it from me. There was something in it for you. All right? Not to actually help me. I know that.”

JC took a breath and stepped forward, feeling all eyes on her and Rafe facing her with the knife. “We don’t want to steal it Rafe, was there something in it for us absolutely. However, when Sarah saved you her main thought was her brother. We agreed days ago when we left home that we’d work together, an even cut for everyone. For you.” JC offered him a weak but kind smile, as John B and Sarah spoke at the same time. “Rafe, we don’t have time.” and “We can read that. You can’t.” JC cringed as Rafe turned back to Sarah, and spoke angrily. “Why would I help you? Huh? I don’t trust you. I don’t trust any of you. Do you understand? Dad trusted you. You remember what happened to him?! Do you remember?!”

JC watched helplessly, her eyes finding JJ as Rafe raised his voice. She knew, they both knew, where their minds had gone to for a second. JC bit her lip as she turned back to watch Rafe her eyes staying on the knife as she kept herself close to Sarah. “Dad died saving my life. And you’re so eager to blame me for everything, you won’t even listen to what happened. Singh’s men had me at gunpoint. I was gonna die. Dad took those bullets for me. And if he was still around, he’d want us to work together. I know you know that.” JC felt tears well in her eyes as she flashed back to that day, the deep terror she held that they were all gonna die. That she was going to lose her family. Then Ward an unlikely hero who saved them. JC looked back and forth between Rafe and Sarah like a tennis match, watching as tears filled both their eyes and she had hope that maybe one day they could have a good relationship. A true brother sister relationship, like they both deserved.

“No, you’re just going to screw me like everyone else in my life. I know you will.” Rafe’s teary and broken sounding words broke Juniper’s heart. He looked so hurt and betrayed she wanted to pull him into a hug and never let him go. This was the Rafe she had met, had grown to known during their kidnapping. A soft, vulnerable, hurt individual who just wanted someone who was loyal and loved him. It was a constant battle because of his past actions, and then this switched he’d flip and actually be a person. She hoped this was his redemption, this was his will to change and be better, that he could build something new with Sarah and even the Pogues.

“No, no, because I’m all you’ve got. And you’re the only family I have left.” JC moved herself over to JJ and held his hand. Her eyes staring up at him as John B spoke defending Sarah, “She’s telling the truth.” JC watched with bated breath as Rafe nodded before repeating how he’d get his cut before holding out the map. She smiled as Sarah hugged him, as she hugged her own brother both of them smiling at each other before the faint sound of angry voices reached them. “Hey, this is great and all, but we seriously gotta go.” JC stepped away from JJ as they both peered down the hallway. The twins sharing a look as Kiara told them to go.

“Go with them, June. I’ll be fine.” JC shook her head as she stared at JJ. She didn’t want to leave him that was the last thing she wanted to do. But as he pushed her to follow them she relented, pulling him into a tight hug as she kissed his cheek. “Stay safe Bug, please. I’ll see you shortly.” One last hug, and JC turned and ran after Rafe, Sarah, and John B. Leaving behind another friend and her twin. She hated that they were all separated now, but she trusted in them, in that they would see each other again.

JC stopped herself short of running into the back of Rafe. Both of them staring at each other for a moment before trailing after John B and Sarah. Rafe held his hand out, helping JC up the steeper steps they were climbing up and it made her heart flutter every time. Every time John B turned and helped Sarah, Rafe would turn and help her. She didn’t know if he was competing or if he noticed that John B helped Sarah up steeper areas and in returned helped her up steeper areas. JC let out an exaggerated breath as they reached the top. Rafe stoping next to JB and JC next to Sarah. The two girls glancing at each other and smiling. Before Sarah spun confused and lost, “What now?” JC shrugged as she looked around before she glanced at the two males and watched as Rafe lifted his hand gently hitting the map against John B’s chest. “I can’t read this shit. Go for it.” JC smiled as she watched him, before it grew wider as he took the lens off from around his neck and held it out. “Here. You need this. Go.”

JC walked over to Rafe, she wasn’t needed to figure out the map. She knew JB and Sarah would get it done. Hesitantly JC laid her hand on Rafe’s shoulder, a warm smile on her lips as he turned to face her, and as she spoke it was soft and filled with gratitude. “You did good Rafe. Thank you.” She watched as he looked at her hand before trailing down her arm, and then he met her eyes. A rare and soft smiling forming on his lips as he looked at her. Sarah and John B discussing the map in the distance. “I didn’t. I didn’t mean it. I trust you, JC.” Furrowing her brows she looked up at the taller male, confused on why he trusted her above all people. Almost like he could see the questions in her mind he gave a small laugh, grabbing her hand from his shoulder and holding it in both of his. “I hated and despised you with everything, but then Singh happened and you were the only normal and only one I could trust. Then shit with my dad, and you were still the only normal in my life. You aren’t afraid to call my bullshit, to say what you think, to protect those you care for JC. Everything, I’ve told you and confined in you has stayed with you. I trust you.”

JC bit her lip as she stared up at Rafe, wishing for a moment that this wasn’t a treasure hunt, that their lives weren’t in peril once again. Because selfishly she wanted just a moment more in this bubble, with Rafe’s sweet words, his finger rubbing circles on her hand, his eyes soft and caring as they stared into her soul and beyond. Letting her lip go, she took a breath before leaning forward and kissing his cheek. Pulling back she brought her other hand over and squeezed his hands. “I’ll admit I hated you Rafe, and a part of me still hates your actions. However, I would never have survived Singh if not for you and I’m forever grateful and thankful for that. I can’t explain it, but that bonded us together Rafe. I trust you, but I need you to be kinder to my friends, my family.” JC giggled as Rafe nodded his head quickly before promising he would, that he would work on it, that he would be better.

And then their bubble was interrupted. JC looked over as John B was calling for them, her eyes widening as she moved over to where he stood with the map in the air. “What the fuck?” It was the best thing she could think to say, as a shadow of a shape appeared on the map. “What the hell is that?” JC shrugged as she turned around her eyes widening as she saw the same outline on the map right behind them, except it was real and a stone statue. “See what I’m seeing?” JC knew JB had also connected it and as Rafe turned around and saw the statue they both spoke simultaneously and the same words “Holy Shit.”

They did it! They found the crown. Of course they would, JC had no doubt because they always found the treasure. She just couldn’t stop the negative thoughts creeping in because something would go wrong, it always did. “The crown has gotta be up there. Come on, let’s go.” JC nodded as she heard Rafe walk a few steps away, her eyes on the statue as she wished the others were here. They all deserved to be here and basking in this glory. It drained from her as Rafe spoke again, trying to get their attention. JC turned around, her mouth opening in shock and disbelief of their luck as Rafe spoke making dread flow through her; “Sandstorm.” JC kicked a rock, anger cursing through her veins as she threw up her hands, “Fuck you universe! Fuck you.” Taking a breath she lowered her goggles and wrapped her scarf around her mouth and nose, protecting herself from the oncoming sand. Just like that, they were off running once again. A race against time, something they were all familiar with.

“Come on. Hurry. We’ve gotta try to get up there before the storm hits.” JC rolled her eyes, once again annoyed with her best friend’s ability to point out the obvious. “No shit Sherlock. I thought we were gonna wait for the storm.” As John B glanced back at her, she mumbled a low apology. Tensions were high and she didn’t need to take it out on her friends, but something was eating away at her. As if a warning was sounding off and something really bad was coming. JC let out a startled gasp as her brother’s voice sounded from behind her; “John B. JC. Hey! Do you see what’s coming?”

JC turned and pulled him into a hug, ignoring everything because she needed him. He was safe, and alive and right there in front of her. Pulling away they instinctively intertwined their hands, the twins rarely liked physical affection or contact but with each other it was one of their main love languages. As JJ asked if they had any idea on where to look for the crown, JC smiled and lifted his chin so he was staring up at the statue. “Right in front of us baby brother.”

Her smile faded as John B said they needed to climb and JJ immediately looked like he was preparing himself. No, she wasn’t going to let him climb up the statue not with his injury. Not when she was there. Before anyone could say or do anything else a strong gust of wind hit and sand was filling the air like fog. The sandstorm had reached them. JC didn’t like the odds of this, didn’t like how it was impossible to see much less breathe even with her scarf protecting her. She felt her stomach drop as Rafe spoke, “Hey, I’m gonna go scope it out, all right? I’ll meet you all up there!” Then just like that he was gone, and she couldn’t see him anymore. Her hand squeezed tighter on JJ, scared she’d lose him too.

Then once again, the group was splitting up. JC knew they couldn’t leave Rafe, not because they couldn’t trust him but because he would need help. Bending down she grabbed her knife from her boot, grabbing John B’s hand and pressing it into his palm. Her hands wrapping around his. “Protect Sarah, and protect yourself. Stay safe, and we’ll see you with the crown.” She watched as they ran off, before she turned and followed after JJ and Kiara. Praying nothing would happen to any of them.

#jj maybank x reader #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks x reader #obx season 4 #pope heyward #obx pogues #john b routledge #NotEnoughTime

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mmonogatari · 4 months ago

Text

7 minutes in heaven

── ryan ross x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol use, vulgar words (very few tbh) and slightly suggestive themes. the characters are 18+

word count: 3.4k

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

Ryan knew full well you were an introvert and not too interested in partying, yet he insisted on dragging you to Brendon’s house, which was currently way too crowded in your opinion.

You thought about how you’d rather be at home bingeing crappy movies or just relaxing by yourself, sinking in the myriad of pillows that adorned your bed, when your eyes started wandering around the room. Maybe you were looking for an excuse to leave, or just maybe you were looking for the reason you were at this God forsaken party to begin with.

It’s not like you were mad Ryan dragged you here, what made you kind of annoyed was the fact that he was seemingly gone, while you’d hoped he would stay by your side. Instead you found yourself alone, looking for some peace and quiet in the kitchen, far away from the crowd. Yes, you were on your own, but this was somewhat more bearable than awkwardly standing against a wall amidst waves of dancing bodies, trying to push down the knot in your throat that formed as soon as you stepped in. You hadn’t even noticed Ryan disappearing, you just suddenly found yourself feeling colder, your limbs going frigid, looking around for your friend: it almost felt like your body felt the lack of his warm presence and signalled it to you through the shivers dancing up and down your spine.

Once you realised you were unable to locate him, you tried to navigate the crammed hallways towards a glimmer of quietness, shushing the gloominess muddling your thoughts.

You lowered your head, staring at the red cup in your hand, half full with a mixture of vodka and some kind of energy drink. Why were you thinking such stupid things all of a sudden? You’d known Ryan for years now, you had many classes together in high school and now that finals were done, ending your senior year, you were a bit worried you guys would just… drift apart. Maybe that’s why you hoped he would stay with you at this party, maybe that’s why you accepted to come to begin with. Or maybe it was just the alcohol talking. Yeah, that was definitely the reason.

You let out a soft – and perhaps slightly self deprecating – chuckle: it wasn’t the first time those thoughts came to your mind, but every time you deemed them too silly to pay them any mind. You couldn’t bring yourself to accept the fact that you would miss Ryan if you parted ways. You couldn't even begin to process the butterflies you felt in your stomach whenever his pretty face popped up in your head. The oh so perfect, poetic and dazzling Ryan Ross was definitely too out of your league. What use was it to try to make sense of it all, when you were so sure of the fact that these feelings were not reciprocated?

“What’s got you laughing?” a shadow loomed over you. You didn’t even hear the footsteps coming towards you, partly because they were hidden by the loud music that was making the walls vibrate, and also because you were so deep in thought that you drowned out every other stimulus.

You looked up, “Oh wow, I thought you had abandoned me and escaped or something,” you flashed Ryan a small smile. His cheeks were slightly red and flushed, probably because of the alcohol, seeing as he also held a red plastic cup just like yours, except his was empty.

“If you’re looking for something to drink, it should be in that cabinet,” you pointed to his left.

“Well, no, I guess I’ve had enough. Also, I wouldn’t abandon you: Brendon was just talking to some girls about our songs, you know… and he wouldn’t let me leave.”

“What a show off,” you giggled, jokingly. “What are you here for then?”

“Obviously I came looking for you.”

You felt blood rushing to your face.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm. We were thinking of playing some games or something,” Ryan immediately noticed your face going blank, “Listen, I know you’re not the biggest fan of parties and stuff, but I’d like if you tagged along, to be honest I’d like it better with you there…” he scratched the nape of his neck, was he… embarrassed?

That was so unlike the Ryan you knew, always somewhat cocky and annoying, hiding his kind and sweet side behind the slightly arrogant facade. It was kind of endearing to see him flustered, and you silently thanked the alcohol for making him this cute.

“Yeah, well, I guess I can tag along… but no truth or dare, you know I have no creativity whatsoever and I wouldn’t be able to come up with questions and that would be the actual worst,” you chuckled, hoping he wouldn’t notice how nervous and anxious you were.

“Okay okay, I won’t allow them to let you make a fool of yourself like that,” he mocked you.

This wasn’t your first party, but it definitely would be the first time you played party games, as you always avoided them like the plague.

Other than the nervousness, a slight pang of jealousy caught you by surprise. What were you even jealous of? Ryan? It’s not like he liked you back. And it’s not like you liked him to begin with. The butterflies that flapped violently against the walls of your stomach were just a natural reaction, who wouldn’t feel even the littlest bit of excitement when the most gorgeous man on Earth smiled at you so coyly?

Then why did you catch yourself staring at his nape while he was leading you out of the kitchen, the curve of his shoulders clumsily hidden by his shirt, and your eyes wandered down his back, while feeling a pit of sadness piercing through your stomach?

You caught yourself praying that he wouldn’t have to kiss any other girl, and maybe, just maybe, the bottle would land on you… but it’s not like you’d ever have the guts to confess your conflicted feelings, especially not when the thought of your friendship dying down from the distance college would put between you was all that occupied your mind for days now.

He turned to face you, “Are you coming or what?” he smiled.

You tried to regain some composure and nodded.

The whole house was packed with teens dancing to the loud music playing through the speakers. Ryan waited till you caught up with him and then let you walk ahead of him.

“I don’t want to bear the guilt of losing you in the crowd,” he snickered.

You walked past him and felt his hand on the small of your back. It was warm and comforting, you relished in the feeling, trying to quiet down your heartbeat. You couldn’t even tell if it was the nervousness of the imminent game or the warmth radiating from his hand making your heart skip one too many beats.

He led you all the way to Brendon’s bedroom, where a few other people were waiting.

“Here they are! Come sit here guys,” Brendon exclaimed cheerfully. “Allow me to explain what we’re gonna play.”

Brendon’s theatrical attitude made you chuckle, seemingly calming your furious heartbeat with the distraction he provided.

“So you all know 7 minutes in heaven right?” He glanced at you and you nodded in response. While you weren’t as close with Brendon as you were with Ryan, you guys did hang out more than a couple times and he knew you were kind of a shut-in hermit. Being a homebody didn’t mean you lived under a rock.

He continued, “Well that’s what we’re playing, but with a twist,” Brendon’s smile grew, you could catch a glimpse of benevolent malice hiding behind his pearly whites.

Some girls squealed excitedly, everyone wanted to know more.

“Okay, quiet down everybody,” Brendon shushed, gesturing with his hands.

“Hurry up Brendon,” Spencer laughed.

“So, to be honest I always thought 7 minutes in heaven was pretty boring. I mean you get to spend seven minutes stuck in a closet, isn’t it quite obvious you’re gonna fuck?” he started explaining. “So I’ve devised this variant. Basically we’re gonna split the guys from the girls and each group gets a room.”

People started giggling gleefully, thinking this was gonna get interesting.

“Each group gets to pick one person, like I don’t know, by spinning the bottle or something, and that’s the lucky one that gets to go in the closet. Blindfolded obviously. Cause the objective is guessing who the other person is, but no talking allowed. And no cum stains on my clothes cause we’re gonna use my closet, and I swear I’m gonna commit murder if any of y’all get them stained,” he shot daggers at the boys, who all laughed.

Ryan glanced at you as if to ask if you were okay, you gave a slight nod and a small smile. You didn’t want to ruin everyone’s night and be a bummer. Also it would be unlikely you’d get picked anyway, seeing as there were at least six or seven other girls.

“Oh also,” Brendon chimed again. “We’re going for multiple rounds!” Everyone cheered.

“Come on now, let’s get to our rooms,” Brendon ushered the girls out, pointing to the door opposite to his bedroom.

You sat down with the others, taking a second to look at them. You kind of knew some of them, from school, but not really enough to call them friends. Barely acquaintances even.

“Okay I guess spin the bottle would be the easiest way, right?”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

You gulped nervously, you genuinely didn’t know if you wanted to be picked to get this over with or not.

One of the girls placed an empty soda bottle down in the middle of the circle you all made on the floor, and started spinning it.

When it landed on a pretty blonde, you couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. The pang of jealousy stabbed through your chest again though, and you found yourself hoping that Ryan wasn’t the one picked.

As you all got up and covered the girl’s eyes with the tie Brendon gave you as a makeshift blindfold, you started making your way out of the bedroom, while the chosen girl was being guided by her friend.

“Keep quiet or you’ll ruin the surprise!” you overheard one of the girls say, while giggling.

You opened the door to find the boys all ready with their chosen candidate.

You held back your sigh of relief when you noticed it was Spencer the one who was blindfolded.

Everyone stayed quiet as Brendon opened the closet and let Spencer and the girl inside. He then grabbed a timer, “Time starts… now!”

He hurried everyone to leave the bedroom.

Once you’re all out he laughed, “I don’t wanna hear them making out to be honest.” He flopped on the bed in the spare bedroom where you previously were with the girls. “Hasn’t Spencer been eyeing that girl up and down like, all night long?”

“Yeah,” Ryan replies, his tone somewhat sheepish.

You felt warmth rush to your cheeks and ears, your breath hitched after noticing how close his voice sounded. Your head felt dizzy and you couldn’t bring yourself to turn and look at him and face his gaze, that you felt burning through your skin.

You sank lower into the mattress, seeking comfort in the lavender coloured sheets.

Perhaps Ryan caught your nervousness, or maybe he was also feeling awkward — even though you struggled to picture that — but he didn’t say a word for a couple of minutes.

When you finally lifted your head to look at him, he gave you a small smile, his eyes hiding his flustered demeanour pretty well.

“How do you think they’re doing in there?” he breathed out.

Why was your heart even thumping now? You felt like your ribs were about to crack.

“Oh, uh… I guess they’re having fun,” you spoke softly.

As the minutes went by you started making small talk and feeling a bit more comfortable. After all it was the alcohol’s fault you were feeling so lightheaded and your heart felt like it was running a marathon. Yes, it was surely that. Just hold on a bit more and you can leave, you kept telling yourself.

The ringing of the timer shook you out of your dizzy bliss, your heart giving you the fatal blow when it seemed about to jump out of your chest as Ryan’s shoulder brushed against yours when he rose from the bed.

“Time’s up, let’s go free the lovebirds,” Brendon laughed in a slightly sarcastic tone.

When he opened the closet door, the two of them were all over each other, hair ruffled and breathing laboured.

“Come on, get out. You can continue somewhere else,” Brendon winked, making everyone laugh. “Time for the second round.”

This time you were feeling a little more relaxed, the alcohol was starting to wear off and you were getting more comfortable. The game didn’t seem as scary anymore.

Until the bottle landed on you.

You knew this would happen eventually, yet you couldn’t help your head jerking up, trying to hide the panicked look you were sure was plastered on your face.

Thank God, or maybe unfortunately, the girls didn’t seem to notice and they hurried you on your feet, eager to blindfold you and start the round.

Shivers travelled up and down your spine as one of the girls held your hand to guide you to the room.

It was so eerily quiet, you couldn’t tell at all who was the guy who got picked.

You felt the girl’s hand on your shoulders as she pushed you into the cramped closet. You tucked your feet under your bottom, trying to find a comfortable enough position.

The air grew warmer as the other person joined in.

“Okay guys, time’s starting.” You hear a muffled voice, but you couldn’t distinguish who it was because of the layers of fabric and wood blocking out the sounds, “let’s go grab some more booze while we wait”.

Your view was completely black, your mouth agape, looking for some more air to fill up your lungs. You were almost shaking, trying to dry off your sweaty palms on your jeans.

You felt rustling coming from in front of you, he was probably trying to adjust himself in the tiniest amount of space so as to not disturb you. He couldn’t help but brush his legs against yours though, which let a small gasp escape from your lips.

“Uhm…” you started, before remembering the no-talking rule. You sighed in frustration. How could you even begin to guess who was the boy stuck in there with you if you couldn’t even talk to him?

Suddenly you felt puffs of warm hair hitting your face, signalling that he was getting closer. You instinctively raised your hands in front of you, as if you were trying to protect yourself or put some distance between the two of you, even though it would have been in vain, seeing as your back was against the wall.

What you didn’t expect was your hands hitting the soft cotton covering his chest. You froze, unable to react and remove them, mentally cursing the moment you decided to participate in this stupid game.

The fact that the boy took this as a sign that he could reciprocate your touch made everything even worse, your head started spinning faster than a carousel as his hands laid gently on your knees.

You could feel his warmth through the denim fabric, your heart started skipping beat after beat. This was driving you insane, it felt as if the time was as frozen as you were in that instant.

He hummed quietly as his hands made their way up your thighs, hesitating.

He stopped midway, seemingly unsure whether he had the green light or not.

For some reason you felt disappointment rush through your veins when he stopped, replacing the nervousness. As he was about to lift his hands, his fingertips barely grazing your legs, you moved your own hands higher up his chest, your feather touch barely caressing his collarbones under the lightweight shirt.

Thankfully he got the message. His hands latched back to your thighs, but didn’t stay there for long, he immediately moved them up to grab your hips.

You felt goosebumps when his thin fingers slid under the hem of your shirt and collided with the skin of your lower back.

It felt somehow familiar.

His fingers hooked in your Venus’ dimples and your ears felt devilishly hot when they caught the sigh he let escape.

The sound reverberated in your head, kicking out all other thoughts and that small spark of reason you were trying to keep alight.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt, trying to focus on identifying the man who was making you feel all hot and bothered.

As your fingers travelled to the nape of his neck and tangled in his soft hair, his hands were occupied with exploring your back and waist, stopping to lay palms flat against your side, thumbs lightly pressing your stomach.

His face was inching closer and you could smell his cologne, faint but distinguishable.

The scent of hairspray, the softness of his shirt, it all made sense now.

“Ryan?” a whisper struggled to leave your lips.

“Y-yeah…” his breathing fanned against your earlobe. “You have no idea how happy I am that it’s you,” he sighed as his lips brushed against your skin.

A rush of hot blood made your veins pulse, you gulped down the awkwardness.

“I’m happy too…” your hands moved to his back, pulling him closer in a much needed hug.

When you felt his nose bump into yours, all sense and reason escaped you, as an eagerness you didn’t know you could have made its way through your dizzy head.

“Is it okay if…” his lips caressed your cheek as he whispered.

“Yes, please, Ryan, kiss–”, his lips didn’t let you finish the sentence as they immediately captured yours in a loving and chaste kiss.

“I’ve waited for this for so long,” he whined desperately in between sloppy kisses, stopping only to take your blindfolds off.

You hummed against his mouth, hoping he’d understand that you too had been dying to kiss him for God knows how long.

His hands started exploring your back, clashing against the clip of your bra and the hem of your jeans, before settling on the sides of your face. His thumbs traced small circles on your cheeks.

“I really really like you, (Y/N),” he panted.

“I like you too,” you replied before capturing his lips once again.

The make out session left you breathless as you laid your head on his shoulder, while he engulfed you in his tight embrace. It felt like he’d never let you go and you were totally fine with that.

“I think I would have actually cried if you ended up with some other jerk,” he chuckled.

“Were you jealous?” you teased, knowing full well you were thinking the same exact thing.

“Shut up. Wouldn’t you also be jealous if the girl you liked for years ended up making out with someone else?”

“Touché, Ross,” you chirped gleefully. He liked you. The prettiest and kindest and smartest person you’d ever laid eyes upon reciprocated your feelings. It felt unreal.

“Don’t you think time should be up by now?” he tilted his head.

“Oh fuck, you’re right. Did they forget us or what?”

“Not that I’m complaining if we accidentally end up staying here all night,” he teased sarcastically, “who knows what might happen.”

“Shut up!” you laughed.

The closet fell silent. You really should be looking for a way to get out.

Thankfully it seemed that Brendon read your minds, cause you suddenly felt frantic footsteps approaching hurriedly and a string of mumbled ‘fuck fuck fuck’s.

“We can continue this later, right?” Ryan whispered in your ear, as he moved just a couple inches back. You could literally feel the cocky smirk adorning his beautiful face.

You turned to look at him right as the closet door opened, “Fuck guys I’m so sorry, we went to grab some more vodka bottles and didn’t hear the timer go off I’m so sorry fuck,” Brendon’s hand was outstretched, offering you help to get out.

Thank God he didn’t seem to notice your tousled hair and laboured breath.

Your eyes went immediately looking for Ryan’s, his gaze making you melt.

“Don’t worry, we had fun,” he winked at you.

You rolled your eyes. He was back to his annoying usual self, which you couldn’t help but love all the same as the desperate whiny mess he was just a couple minutes ago.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

i highly hope there were no mistakes as english isn't my native language and this was my very first time writing a fanfic :)

#this was reposted from my ao3 #ryan ross #ryan ross x reader #ryan ross patd #pre split panic #panic! at the disco #panic at the disco #panic ryan #patd #p!atd #ryro #the young veins #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #ao3 writer

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creatingnikki · 10 months ago

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as a hopeless romantic and with the heart of a poet you may think that it's inevitable to get over it — this heartbreak, this pain. if someone mattered to you this much, if everything with them meant so much, then how can you go on living without them? but there's nothing commendable about yearning for a love years later that could never manifest into something healthy, long term, and mutual in your life. unrequited love? one sided love? the one that got away? an almost lover? yeah at someone you gotta have to stop romanticizing that. you don't want material for shayari. what you want is to eventually move on and meet someone else and have a fulfilling and meaningful life because that's what is commendable. that's what is beautiful and that's what is poetic. a life well lived. a life well loved. not being hung up on one person or the idea of that person. the way our brains are wired is that you cannot really keep drowning in the memory of someone for over a year. if you decide to move on and let go at some point and go out there and meet other people, you will find someone who will make your heart smile again and whose jokes you will find funny and who will make you want to risk getting hurt again. it's honestly inevitable. so don't let them lie to you. don't let them make you believe that you have to live, if you are a romantic, if you have truly loved, as someone who never moves on. that doesn't make your love for that person any grander. it only makes your life less meaningful and more miserable. sadness can become a habit especially when it's sadness in love, or rather sadness in the lack of love. you can fall in love with that kind of sadness. you can glorify it. you can get so attached to it that you'd rather keep it than attempt at happiness in love again. don't be that person. love and let go and love yet again. the poetry is in that.

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n3xii · 1 year ago

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why you're an icon (pac)

maybe a year ago i started (but did not finish) a series where I did posts describing why you're an icon. Today I plan on continuing that- this reading will describe why people are drawn to you and what they love most about you. today's muse is Fairouz, also spelled Fayrouz, Fairuz in English. Her name in Lebanese (hopefully pls correct if mistranslated <3) : فيروز, check out my services if you're interested in a personal reading : services

Fairouz is one of the most famous Lebanese singers and is considered today to be a major icon in the Arab world. Listening to her is my gateway to middle eastern music especially arabic pop in the 60's and 70's. One of my favorite things about her is the way she performed, according to her Wikipedia page she would be known to take a rigid, cold stance while performing. She claimed that the nature of her performances is because she is singing as if she were praying. a user on Pinterest called her the middle eastern lana del rey and i will never recover. anyways, select your pile and I will have a song by the queen for you to listen to.

PILE ONE-

cards: king of cups, queen of wands, 6 of cups, mars in pisces

song: Fayek Ya Hawa

you're a captivating, magnetic person. You have a way of capturing your passion with a almost childlike wonder, you remind people of what it's like to be a kid again and to just love something from the bottom of your heart. You have an ability to channel complex emotions from such a poetic perspective, you have this ability to channel your inner child when it comes to what you're passionate about. you possess a borderline psychic ability to portray emotions especially though creativity, you communicate things in such a way that it just resonates with so many people.

with the mars in Pisces card, this tells me that you are someone dedicated to understanding, empathizing and connecting with people. you have an unlimited range of creativity and a very developed imagination. you have such a way of wanting to help people feel understood, you're strongly motivated to act based on how you feel and as well as how other people feel. this motivation may even be self sacrificing at times. people love that you have a boundless sense of empathy. you dont withhold sympathy for anyone, you have the capability to connect with people regardless of who they are or how far they are from you.

PILE TWO

your cards- mars in leo, the emperor, two of swords

song: Sayyef ya sayf

you carry of confidence that demands power. You make decisions with certainty that regardless of what you do, you will always end up exactly where you need to be. People love that you're not the type to listen to other people, you drown out the voices of people trying to distract you and challenge the inner strength you have.

You have the tendency to take over and lead, and even if you arent aware of it, you influence people around you. the influence you have over the people in your life cannot be understated. you thrive when you are able to direct others. in fact you presence and personality type may be ''overbearing'' for some people, you're just not the type to shy away from expressing yourself and taking the lead. to some that may be perceived as confrontational and overpowering but many people actually love that you weren't born to be a follower.

people like you just know how to get things done. you excel at everything you do and take pride in your work. people love your ''ego'' and confidence. you're not afraid to overshine people. besides, its not your fault that people dim their own light.

PILE THREE

your cards: mars in taurus, page of cups and justice

song: Saalouny el nas

first of all, this pile has a clear foundation of right and wrong and you're willing to stand on that no matter what. people love that you're almost stubborn about what you believe. you're willing to go and fight for it and defend yourself against anyone.

but at the same time, this pile is very emotional and sensitive. your morals come straight from your heart. You're raw and vulnerable and you're willing to protect your heart more than anything else in this world. Sensitivity is seen as a weakness, but for you its your number one strength. its the quality that makes you willing to fend for yourself and other people. I knew someone like this in real life- upon first meeting her you might assume she was intimidating, scary, and even mean. but i watched this girl be brought to tears at the sound of a baby crying, I watched her fight against people who were stealing, I watched her loose her temper over anything that she felt disrespected her and her friends. By no means was she considered weak; she was vulnerable about what upset her, she was vulnerable about her mental health issues, and that made her strong and intimidating to people. it made me respect her more than anyone in my life. if you fucked with her, you were the one who ended up suffering. that's who this pile reminds me of.

I also feel that this pile is strongly motivated by their taste in fashion and luxury, people love your taste and its one of the things they remember about you.

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fungifanart · 6 months ago

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A Truly Wicked Weave

Characters: Male reader, Yuu!reader, Vil Schoenheit

CW: Mild angst, self-image issues

Word Count: 1.3k

Notes: Wrote this for a request from the @twst-charity which is still very much active! Feel free to donate if you can!

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Vil has had several...opinions regarding the Prefect ever since meeting him, specifically about how he presents himself.

That baggy, wrinkled clothing, that tie that's never tied correctly, that consistently deadpan expression, and, last but not least, that bun.

That damn hair bun.

Now, of course, Vil is no stranger to wearing one's hair up and is aware of the benefits of doing so, but he's also no fool. He can see the slight wave of the ends that stick out under the bun, the gentle shine of his hair under the light of the sun.

Goodness, just one glimpse of what could be and suddenly he's waxing poetic. Who is he, Rook?

Regardless, Vil just KNOWS that the Prefect is hiding something extraordinary within that tacky bun and he'll be damned if he isn't there to see it.

He just needs the right opportunity.

And lo and behold, said opportunity lands perfectly in his lap like a gift from an angel. An angel with black wings, a creepy mask and questionable treatment of his students, but an angel nonetheless.

After all, what better place is there to let one's hair down than in their own living quarters?

Vil can feel his anticipation rising exponentially despite his exhaustion as they enter Ramshackle dorm, where he and the others will be staying as they prepare for SDC.

And just like that, Vil finds himself killing two birds with one stone later that night as he walks into the kitchen, explaining the effect of his signature spell to the fools who triggered it before laying eyes on a head of long, majestic, luxurious hair crouched next to the offenders.

Vil would never let it show on his face, but he can feel his heart skip a beat upon witnessing the Prefect’s hair in its full splendor and his mind is already conjuring countless ideas of how he can style it without a bun in sight.

And it's when they're walking back to their rooms together that Vil attempts to make said ideas a reality.

"Don't you think you're being too hard on them, Vil?" the Prefect asks in concern for his friends.

"Pay them no mind, Prefect. They broke the rules and are facing the consequences." Vil replies dismissively before changing the subject, "Putting that aside, I must say that I find your hair quite impressive. May I touch it?"

"Huh? U-uh, thanks?? And sure, I guess???" the other man responds, caught off-guard.

"You're very welcome. It's not every day that I admit such things, you know." Vil says, admiring the Prefect’s hair some more before reaching out to get a feel for it, "Ah, and it's quite soft, as well! It's truly a travesty that you keep it tied up in a bun so often. If you took the time to style it, I'm sure you'd be turning heads all over campus!"

"Y-yeah, I'm sure..." he says, noticeably tense and uncomfortable from the sudden compliments.

"If you want, I could even style it for you!" Vil offers while already testing out a braid on him, "Think of it as some small repayment for hosting us here."

"W-well, if you're offering, then I guess I wouldn't--" the Prefect tries to respond, but is drowned out by Vil's musings.

"We could always start with the standard ponytail or perhaps a Shaftlandian braid...although, a Fleurite braid might be easier to start with...it might look better if we were to cut it a little--" at that last statement, the Prefect whips his head around, wrenching his hair out of Vil's hands and taking his wrist in his own, almost bruisingly tight, grasp.

"Vil Schoenheit, you will do no such thing." the Prefect warns in a dead-serious tone of voice with eyes that bore right through him.

A beat of pin-drop silence passes as Vil stands there, utterly flabbergasted by this shift in demeanor.

The moment ends with the Prefect pushing Vil's hand back towards him, "I've changed my mind. You're not going anywhere NEAR my hair while you guys are here." he orders before promptly turning and walking away, leaving no room for argument.

And that was that.

Any attempts by Vil to change the Prefect’s mind after that night are swiftly shot down and no amount of cajoling from the others has any effect either. This is the first time any of them have seen him act so bullheaded about something.

Vil's disappointment is immeasurable, but his status as a guest in the Prefect’s dorm means his hands are tied.

So he'll let it go. For now.

Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, the next month is filled to the brim with "excitement" to keep his mind off of the Prefect’s hair.

Indeed, the subject does feel rather irrelevant in the face of his own insecurities compounding into an overblot, being ambushed and kidnapped and then having to stave off a world-ending event.

...until one considers that the bun was present throughout all of it.

It was most definitely taunting him at this point.

He doesn't even know why it's still bothering him after so long, but if he never has to see the Prefect in a bun again, it'll be too soon.

However, after all of his pain and suffering, the Great Seven finally grant Vil a blessing in the form of the Prefect and his companion needing a place to stay whilst Ramshackle is being repaired. An opportunity which he wastes no time capitalizing on.

"Come now, Prefect," Vil says in a low voice as he approaches the other man with a hairbrush in one hand and a dry shampoo can in the other, "Let's not forget whose dorm we're currently in~"

"Urgh...fine." the Prefect finally concedes, "However, my one condition is that you keep those things FAR away from my hair." he says while motioning to the scissors sitting on Vil's vanity.

"Hmph. Very well." Vil relents, albeit with some palpable disappointment.

Regardless, Vil finally wrangles the Prefect into the chair and begins the process of styling, allowing the room to fall into a comfortable silence.

After a few minutes of brushing and spraying to prepare for the actual styling, a thought occurs to Vil that had been nagging in the back of his head.

"Prefect, I feel I must ask. Why are you so averse to having your hair cut?" Vil asks bluntly.

The Prefect ponders this question for a few seconds before responding with a sigh, "...My mother. When my hair is long like this, it looks exactly like hers, so it helps me feel more connected to her while we're literal worlds apart." he finishes while gently placing his hand on his reflection in the mirror.

Vil's expression softens upon hearing this, despite not caring to know his own mother, he still knows how important a maternal bond can be to someone and how it's not something to be taken lightly.

“I see.” Vil responds after a second of deliberation, “My apologies for being so forceful on the matter. However, wouldn't it hurt your mother just as much to see you shutting others out as it would to see you lessen that connection?”

“Th-That's…I…” the Prefect stutters, clearly not having seen it that way.

“True to my word, I will not cut your hair,” Vil begins while weaving the other man's hair into a dutch braid, “but surely it would make her happy to see you experimenting with other hairstyles?”

“I-” the Prefect stutters once more before looking at his reflection and letting out another sigh, “...If you still want to style my hair in the future…I'll think about it. But please let me have this for just a little while longer?”

Finally satisfied, Vil finishes the braid with a soft smile, “I do believe I will.”

#twisted wonderland #twst #why is this mushroom writing fanfics?#twst x reader #twst x male reader #vil schoenheit #twst vil #twst mc #twst yuu

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elliespuns · 1 year ago

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Okay, so I keep seeing posts where people say that the ending of TLOU Part 2 was stupid and nonsensical and that Ellie lost her kindness when she became this heartless. But I actually think that there is a lot more to this when you read between the lines and try to see it through all the emotions the game offers you.

I keep seeing people complaining about Ellie being heartless all of a sudden (saying that she used to be a sweetheart in the 1st game) but they tend to forget the most important thing of all: that Ellie going after Abby wasn't about her becoming a hostile killing machine. Ellie was still a nice and kind person, even after all this.

You could see throughout the gameplay that she regretted killing even those people who had something to do with Joel's murder. I'm not trying to say that killing them was right, but all I'm saying is that she didn't want to kill any of them villingly. She wasn't killing because she would have been enjoying it. She was killing because she thought she owed it to Joel. You have to sink deep inside Ellie's mindset to undertand this with your heart.

It was actually pretty sad to witness Ellie like this. I felt so sorry for her the whole time because she was hopeless and didn't know how to deal with so much pain that the only thing she thought was right was to kill everyone who hurt the only person she cared about the most. When Abby killed Joel, she didn't just take away his presence from Ellie; she also robbed her of the opportunity to forgive him in her own time. So in her mind, when he was murdered, he died without her forgiveness, and she couldn't forgive herself for putting him through this feeling. She kept seeing his dying face in her mind wherever she went, and all she could think about was that when he was lying there, he felt alone and unforgiven. But he wasn't alone and unforgiven. She forgave him the second she knew he was in danger. But in her mind, Joel didn't know that. In her mind, he thought she still 'hated' him.

And just a few moments before she almost drowned Abby, Ellie remembered Joel and how he was sitting on the porch, strumming his guitar. And at that moment, she realized that in order to let Joel know she already forgave him and that he is not alone, she must forgive herself too, and to be able to do that, she must let Abby go.

Part 2 is not stupid. It's actually pretty poetic. The most heartbreaking thing I've ever had a chance to feel, but so beautiful in portraying deep feelings of love.

#the last of us #tlou #ellie williams #ellie tlou #joel miller #joel tlou #ellie and joel #tlou game #the last of us game #abby anderson #ellie and abby #the last of us part 2 #tlou part 2 #the last of us talk #elliespuns analyses

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cackled0g · 1 month ago

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An interesting aspect of the Gerudo that I don't see explored a lot is the way that their society, despite having one (1) man is still patriarchal in nature. For a race of almost exclusively women, the Gerudo are like pretty obsessed with men. They have a genetic line of rulers passing from mother to daughter for generations...unless some other random Gerudo has a son. Gerudo Fortress is off limits to all men, but in excluding men it places an awful lot of focus on them. Gerudo are raised to grow up and seek out a male partner [1][2], Gerudo are raised to recognize their incompleteness without a man, Gerudo are raised in a culture that venerates the concept of men so much that to be born male in their culture is to automatically be deemed superior to all other Gerudo.

Do you know that thing where someone hates something so badly that it kind of becomes their whole personality? The sort of person who puts "anti h//t//l h@zb1n" in their bio because to them one of the most important things to know about them isn't their interests or hobbies but instead the thing they hate most fervently? That's the Gerudo. The Gerudo as a culture can be summed up as 'men dni (except for our one super special once in a lifetime guy)'. To be a Gerudo woman is to grow up hating and fearing men, who are outsiders and encroachers, but also to dedicate years of your life preparing for a husband. To be Gerudo is to be a powerful woman until you have a more powerful man at your back.

To me, this is vital to any reading of Ganondorf. Ganondorf is entitled. He feels entitled to rule Hyrule, he feels entitled to the Triforce, he feels entitled to the lives of everyone in Hyrule, and yes, you can make an argument that he does what he does for his people, he steals and lies and murders because the Gerudo are being crushed under the boot of the monarchy, but at the end of the day Ganondorf treats his people as poorly as he does the other Hylian races. The only named Gerudo in OOT who isn't literally one of his mothers, Nabooru, fucking loathes him, and does so because she finds what he is doing to be deeply dishonorable. "I'm completely different from Ganondorf. With his followers, he stole from women and children, and he even killed people!" [3] Given that Nabooru is highly respected [4] by the Gerudo, I find it hard to believe that she's literally the only Gerudo with reservations about the new king.

What does Ganondorf meaningfully do for the Gerudo? In the adult timeline of OOT, the Gerudo aren't living it up in Castle Town or controlling the agriculture in Hyrule--they're back at home being brainwashed with black magic [5] [6] [7] into being obedient foot soldiers by Ganondorf's mom(s). In TP Ganondorf is more motivated by petty revenge than by any love for his people, and although he may wax poetic about the cruelty of Hyrule in subjugating his nation in WW, he certainly didn't seem to be that bothered about the living conditions of the Gerudo back before they all got drowned. His whole wind monologue [8][9*] in WW is either meant to be understood as a lie, an attempt to manipulate Link, or is a rewriting of his motivations. In OOT Ganondorf seems purely motivated by a thirst for Power with a capital P, and I think that being raised in a culture that literally worships you as a god [10] might tend to have that affect on you, yeah. Ganondorf is like a distilled version of male entitlement, he's 100 proof fantasy misogyny. Ganondorf is king because kings are men and men are kings because men are superior. Ganondorf is special because he is male. Ganondorf is not the most powerful sorcerer of the Gerudo (pre-Triforce of Power, at least), he is not the most fit to lead (good leaders don't need to brainwash their followers), and he certainly isn't the best at combat, as his main attacks are throwing fireballs and going hog mode. It is his masculinity which makes him fit to lead and nothing else, and it is ultimately his culture's reverence of that masculinity that leads him down the path of evil.

On a Doylist level, this is because our real society is misogynist. The Gerudo are obsessed with men because OOT was made by men for boys. The Gerudo are all women because they're an orientalist stereotype--the Gerudo are the ultimate harem, an entire race that consists of one man and his many wives. Ultimately, no Watsonian reading of the text (playing of the text?) can overcome that. You can't separate the Gerudo as a race from real life racism and misogyny and imperialism.

On a Watsonian level, it compels me though. Feel free to check me on this--I am always willing to talk about Ganondorf and the Gerudo. Note that most of my text sources come from dialogue in OOT, and I am primarily talking about OOT-era Gerudo/Ganondorf.

[9*]- You can find the plaintext of this monologue on this site, the video linked in a fan made dub by user @mintchocolatechimp. (Sorry for the tag, I didn't want to post your work without credit. Nice video btw.)

#cackling into the void #legend of zelda #ocarina of time #ganondorf #gerudo

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graysoncritic · 7 months ago

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A (Negative) Review of Tom Taylor's Nightwing Run - What Went Wrong? Bludhaven (PART 2)

Introduction Who is Dick Grayson? What Went Wrong? Dick's Characterization What Went Wrong? Barbara Gordon What Went Wrong? Bludhaven (Part 1, Part 2) What Went Wrong? Melinda Lin Grayson What Went Wrong? Bea Bennett What Went Wrong? Villains Conclusion Bibliography

Instead, Taylor readily abandons the statue just as soon as it is introduced. We don’t return to it, we don’t even use it as a set piece that can ground Bludhaven and make it feel like an actual place. It doesn’t make an appearance in any covers, nor in establishing shots. In fact, even its thematic symbolism is forgotten when Alfred’s statue is built. Such a decision is especially infuriating when one considers the fact that not only would Alfred hate having a statue in his honor, but that Alfred means absolutely nothing to the people of Bludhaven. He means something to the reader, but not the citizens of the city that Dick is meant to protect. In this, we see how once more Taylor’s online mindset interferes with his storytelling, replacing a set piece that was tied to the in-universe history of the city he was writing with fanservice.

By contrast, Humphrie’s Bludhaven is filled with specific locations that are unique to, well, Bludhaven. We have the different casinos

(Humphries, Sam. Ruthless, writer. Janson, Klaus; Campbell, Jamal, illustrator. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 37, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2018. pp. 22)

The Tiki District

(Humphries, Sam, writer. Chang, Bernard, illustrator. The Untouchable: Chapter Two: Relentless. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 36, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2018. pp. 13)

Which greatly contrasts the darkness of the docks…

(Humphries, Sam, writer. Chang, Bernard, illustrator. The Untouchable: Chapter One: Hunter. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 35, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2018. pp. 17)

And the melancholy of the sunken city

(Humphries, Sam, writer. Jimenez, Phil; Campbell, Jamal, illustrator. The Untouchable: Chapter Five:Face Off. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 39, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2018 pp. 05)

All of it is so specific that it makes Bludhaven feel alive. It gives Bludhaven an identity rather than keeping it a generic location.

Let’s take a closer look at the establishing shot of the sunken city and see how the page is laid out to emphasize the storytelling going on in the dialogue and enrich Bludhaven. There's something so visually poetic about that last panel. The intimacy between the Judge and Nightwing, the opulent throne atop a simple boat in a sunken, destroyed home.

It feels a bit like a visual metaphor for Bludhaven and corruption. Bludhaven is thriving because of the casinos, but they are also corrupt. And yet, despite their rich aesthetic, they are built on top of a tragedy, of a city that was lost and had to rebuild itself, taking advantage of a corrupt system that devastates its citizens while also being the only thing keeping them from drowning.

The lighting of the page is also so beautiful. Light coming in from above, appearing almost heavenly, and yet it makes the scene so still and lonely

During Dixon and Grayson’s runs, and during Taylor’s run, Bldhaven does not have an identity outside of Gotham and Nightwing. It is difficult to describe it without relying on those two factors. It is not impossible, of course, but those descriptions would be rather bare, relying on what one wishes Bludhaven could be rather than what is actually on the page.

In The Untouchable, however, Bludhaven can be described independent of Gotham and Nightwing. Yes, those elements are still crucial to its depiction, but rather than being all that there is to it, they serve to enhance what is already there. Dick’s interactions with people from Bludhaven further fleshes out the city while also demonstrating that they have their own lives outside of their meetings with Dick or Nightwing. Guppy, Svoboda, Lucy, Dick's clients at his gym... All of them are clear products of Bludhaven, they are affected by what happens in Bludhaven, and they interact with different parts of Bludhaven. Because they are characters with their own interiority, the reader really is able to feel the consequences of the Judge's actions.

Yet, Taylor and Redondo both refuse to pay Bludhaven any of the attention it deserves. They do not even give it the respect of making it into Gotham-light. Instead, they opt for the generic, lazy, and morally simplistic depiction that is yet more proof of just how little thought they give to anything remotely related to Dick Grayson.

Bludhaven, as it exists in The Untouchable, was built on top of a corrupt foundation, and its systems are so intertwined with the rot that you can't neatly separate them. There's no easy answer to this, no solution without a victim. It adds some nice stakes to the story, creates constraints which Dick must creatively work around, and demonstrates how Nightwing’s fight is far larger than just The Judge. It illustrates how even if Dick catches this one guy, he still has so much more to do, creating a perfect comic status-quo where the hero can progress and make a difference without eliminating conflict sources for future stories.

Through the Judge, we also get to see Bludhaven’s history, and through this evolution, we also get to see just how much Humphrey cares about Bludhaven. I have yet to encounter another writer who has devoted so much care to Dick’s city. I have yet to encounter a writer who put so much effort into making this city feel alive. Gotham is beloved by many writers and fans alike, and The Untouchable showed that Bludhaven has the potential to be just as great if only it was given to a writer who cares enough to develop it.

Needless to say, Taylor is not that writer.

(Taylor, Tom, writer. Redondo, Bruno, illustrator. Leaping into the Light Part 4. Nightwing: Rebirth. 81, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2021. pp 13)

While this may be wholesome, the truth is that by giving such a triumphant moment early on in the story, Taylor robbed his characters of any opportunity to change, and any opportunity for a well-earned pay off later. In turn, this robbed the story of its ability to engage with its themes by creating a very simple morality. Evil can be manifested in different ways and anyone is capable of it. Perhaps not all of us will be uppercase Evil, but we're all capable of the smallest acts of lowercase evil by letting our anger blind us to what is right, not helping others because we tell ourselves we have to survive, upholding unfair systems because they benefit us.

The city of Gotham does something similar. We have the evil of the rogues, but we also have the crime families, a myriad of corrupt institutions -- from the police department to the justice system to the politicians who are in the pockets of those on the top – and the ordinary citizens who have been disillusioned by the hardship they face. We have greed on a massive scale but also a small and personal one that is far more relatable, we have chaos of the Joker and we have more relatable pettiness, selfishness, apathy, and cruelty.

Some of these play a larger role than others, their influence has a wider reach, but it is the different layers that makes Gotham feel so difficult to tackle. There’s a reason why Batman's origin story works best when it's just about a mugging gone wrong, and when Joe Chill is just a simple man who fired two shots in a dark alley because he wanted a pearl necklace. There's a reason why Bruce stays in Gotham rather than trying to save the entire world all the time. Batman, after all, is not about fighting the just grander Evil, but about bringing justice to everyone, even in what may be perceived to be a small scale.

While I do not believe Batman: The Knight was perfect (and, indeed, I have a lot of problems with it and dislike Zdarsky’s current Batman run nearly as much as I dislike Taylor’s Nightwing), I do think that Zdarsky did a good job when having Ra’s Al Ghul confront Bruce on this matter.

In #09, Ra’s challenges Bruce to work on a macro scale, and Bruce explores that idea before deciding he needs to work on a more personal level.

(Zdarsky, Chip, writer. Di Giandomenico, Carmine. The Knight Part 9. Batman: The Knight. 09, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2022. pp 13)

Bruce’s world did not fall apart because of a war or an alien invasion, but that did not mean his pain is invalid. There might be far more important things than catching a mob boss who orchestrated the murder of two circus acrobats, but that doesn’t mean that their lives did not matter or that their son does not deserve to see justice. One of the beautiful things about the detective stories of Batman and of Nightwing is that they treat everyone’s trauma with equal respect. Batman and Nightwing aren’t just about catching the bad guy, they are about giving the victim a chance to heal by offering them closure.

You can also observe the dichotomy of these two evils in The Untouchable. The entire plot of The Untouchable is about the Judge using people’s desires to corrupt them, luring them into committing evil deeds. At the same time, the story does not condemn those who fell prey to the Judge’s promises. Instead, it portrays them as complex individuals, and this reaffirms the themes of corruption through desire and the necessity for forgiveness.

Lucy, for example, is not vilified for betraying Dick. She did the Judge’s bidding, but she is not a bad person. She is still Dick’s friend and cares deeply for him. And yet, her choices are not portrayed as excusable. The comic perfectly balanced having Lucy not be a bad guy for what she did while also making it clear that she was still in the wrong for accepting the Judge’s offer. She is not Evil but she made an evil choice and she needs to be held accountable for that.

This plays into the idea that to Dick, people are not naturally Good nor naturally Evil. They just are who they are, they have the potential for both, and it's their choices that dictate their nature.

(Humphries, Sam, writer. Chang, Bernard, illustrator. The Untouchable: Chapter Six: Deep Dive. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 40, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2018. pp. 18)

And as mentioned previously, Grayson also played with such ideas when she introduced the character of Sophia into the story.

Taylor flirts with similar ideas without ever committing to them. His Bludhaven supposedly has corrupt institutions, big men on top who oppress others in order to stay rich, but to lay every wrong and every sin in the city at Blockbuster’s feet is morally simplistic. It's flattening. Immature. It's, frankly, boring. It just doesn't work on a narrative level. Most importantly, it makes Nightwing's presence superfluous.

Once more, I must emphasize that I do not believe that one must incorporate a social commentary in the themes of one’s story. However, as Taylor's narrative seems to signal he wants to discuss these matters, I think it is only fair to point out how his actual writing is uninterested in examining the complications inherited in these subjects. Taylor wants those big, meaningful moments that claim to say something thematically important, yet he creates easy-to-take down strawman villains who can take the blame for everything while wrapping them in the trappings of social commentary.

Nothing in Taylor's supporting characters, conflicts, villains, or city were created to challenge Dick in any way. Part of the reason why you can feel Bruce's genuine love for Gotham is that that city is always challenging him, always giving him a reason to give up, but Bruce never does. Again and again, Gotham shows itself as a place that perhaps should not be saved, that is too rotten, literally cursed to bring out the worst of humanity. It would be easier to burn the whole thing down and start new.

But Bruce doesn’t do that. He still sees something in Gotham worth saving. No matter what he uncovers, Bruce won’t give up, and that makes us, the readers, root for Batman and root for Gotham.

Bludhaven should challenge Dick in a similar way. But in this run, it doesn't. Dick's assertion that the citizens of Bludhaven are good and there are only a few bad apples ruining it for everyone is never challenged. Dick is never asked to question his beliefs. When he decided that the solution to one of Bludhaven's biggest problems (homelessness) was just to create a shelter, Dick is never challenged for his savior mentality, he never faces push back from those above him or below, is never paralyzed by bureaucracy, never has to deal setbacks that force him to re-strategize. He's just... Proved right. And everything goes on smoothly.

Taylor’s approach gives Dick no room to grow and no room to stand his ground. I can’t help but think how much more powerful Dick’s own belief in Bludhaven and its people would have been if, during that earlier scene when the tent city was in flames, no one came to help. Nightwing and Robin would have had to save everyone on their own, and Dick would be faced with the difficult to swallow possibility that maybe he’s wrong. Maybe the people of Bludhaven are too disillusioned to do good. Maybe Babs and Tim, both characters who are known for being pragmatic, would even tell him so. But he refuses to accept that. As he looks upon the octopus statue, Dick affirms the resilience of the city and how it does not need to come at the cost of kindness. Bludhaven is worth saving, its people are worth saving, and Dick will continue to believe in them, even though he was just given a reason not to.

Again, I must emphasize that it is fine if a person is not interested in writing a story about this. Not every superhero story needs to explore these real-world, complex themes. One of my personal favorite Batman stories (and one I believe should be required reading for any Batman fan) is Murderer/Fugitive. While there are certainly themes of forging of identity, the story is far more concerned with what the forging of one’s identity means in the specific context of Batman rather than that of the real world. That is not to say you couldn't do an analysis on identity about Murderer/Fugitive, but the work as a whole serves more as a commentary on Batman, and it is in conversation with the popular idea that "Bruce Wayne is the mask that Batman wears."

And just because one wishes to engage with themes of class and economic inequality, it does mean one needs to tackle it directly. Again I must bring up the modern masterpiece that is Scott Snyder’s Court of Owls. That story beautifully uses the fantastical and noire elements of the Court and the creation of the Talons to engage with themes of wealth inequality and to explore Bruce’s complex relationship with Gotham. The secret cult, of superhuman assassins, and the murder mystery element provide enough distance between the real world issues and the story itself that Snyder has the creative freedom to play with his characters and narrative while the specificity allows him to dig deeper than he ever could should he have decided on going for a broad approach.

Taylor tries to ground his themes by using real-world issues, but he refuses to engage with what those real-world issues look like in, well, the real-world. He deals with them in the context of his morally simplified, perfect little society. As Braxis perfectly pointed out “When Dick starts a charity to help the homeless he never actually explains how that will be done, what causes homelessness, or what the homeless are asking for support.” (Braxi, Steve, “On Superman, Shootings, and the Reality of Superheroes” Comics Bookcase, September 2021)

Taylor’s Bludhaven demonstrates a frustratingly simplistic view on morality that prevents the story from engaging with these issues with the care they deserve. By not fleshing out the city, by denying Dick’s interactions with other characters, Taylor creates a world of simple morals. This means that rather than engaging with the progressive ideology he claims to care about he is simply creating the appearance of social commentary and rich themes. This demonstrates that he’s not actually interested in the work required to make that work, only the prestige that comes from it.

#nightwing #dick grayson #anti tom taylor #bludhaven

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deardiary1899 · 9 months ago

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king of new york is a catchy af song but i like to think it emphasizes something about race

i always found it as something that represented their wants and are somewhat expressions of them internally--

Race: A pair o' new shoes with matchin' laces <- Race wants something practical? I mean, in some productions, his socks don't even match!!!!!

Romeo: A permanent box at the sheepshead races <- Surprisingly, Race was supposed to have this line but was changed in the Broadway production. It's one of the main things I found interesting in the lyrics.

and, honorable mention to Davey:

Davey: A regular beat for the star reporter!

Davey's kindness is shown here. He prefers to move the attention to Katherine, and what he wants is never really mentioned

Anyhow, Ive read from another post that the boys are sharing these things according to what the other person likes, and that, is very cute and i love it, but I unfortunately cannot see it that way myself when it's with Race. Romeo may have said that line for Race, but, the lines Race sings in Carrying the Banner sort of correlates with his lines in KofNY. The said Race's lines in CtB are as follows:

Curdled Coffee / Concrete Donuts / Sprinkled with mold / Homemade / Biscuits / Just two years old

I am a true believer that the lines characters are chosen to sing are important to who they are, and I will find it endlessly curious as to why these are the specific things Race would list out, when most of the newsies at this part, something they want/that's currently happening/general observations or whatever. It's just so,,, curious to me how he speaks of THOSE things?? they're definitely not something they want, and it's poetic as FUCK??? like WHO hurt you mr higgins

It makes me think of Race as someone who is somewhat practical. I mean, outside of being sort of rowdy, excitable and the like, he's, without a doubt, smart af and like his historical counterpart, quite aware.

Race: Am-scray, punk / She's the king of New York!

Katherine: Whod'a thunk! I'm the king of New York!

Newsies: We was sunk, pale and pitiful

Katherine: Bunch'a wet noodles

Katherine & Newsies: Pulitzer's poodles!

Les: Almost about to drown in the drink

Buttons: When she fished us out

Race: And drowned us in ink!

Am-scray is one of my favourite parts here. Maybe because it was sung by Race but It’s Pig Latin.

I have NO Idea how common it is to learn that in the 19th century– but considering in Newsies (not as historically accurate) the boys don’t get a proper education other than Davey (but in a more historical perspective, they did. somewhat.), It’s EXTREMELY important to me how he knows such words like ‘Hoi-polloi’ (GREEK!!!), Am-scray and Gratis (LOOK i dont know how common words like that are, because im not a native english speaker and DAMN i don't know the usual 19th century lingo, but to me, it was a big big word)

Even more, his wit is shown well in the line ‘and drowned us in ink’. I’ve been obsessed with that since I heard it, and I’ll never get over how it is a BEAT that you can skip to in writing. It’s such a smooth and witty way to say that Katherine’s writing had helped them, and that ‘drowning in them in ink’ led them to get the fame they got (front page of the papers).

It’s also bitterly sweet to note that seeing their faces on the front page was more than enough to have them all tap-dancing, and although they may be forgotten the next day, it was all the worth.

this is all over the place, and moreso a ramble, but I REALLY wish we got more of Race because these specific things keep repeating in my mind ALL the time. I would ALSO like to state that Race was a HUGE driving force in this. I could write a WHOLE essay about him but kiss his ass and slap it because after getting hit around by oppressors and police, he knew they needed at least a moment of relief !!!!!!

TL;DR: I have a crush on Race Higgins and I need him real NOW

#hi new newsies blog w a big fat crush on race higgins #anyways i dont think i made a real point #i just wanted to share my observations :D #newsies #newsies broadway #newsies the musical #racetrack higgins #racetrack newsies

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tassodelmiele · 8 months ago

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Noisy little mess

Hi cutie!

I've, incredibly, keep on writing the same fic for one time in my life, so i'm posting the second part of the first part (obviously) of the whatever i've wrote.

I like writing. It's a little difficult switch from my italian kinda writing skill to the english language.

I feel less poetic in english. More...meh. Dunno.

Anyway, we do not have that much of a smut content in here, just...talking. A lot of talking. I like dialogues.

Sorry for every incorrect grammatical things, i hope i haven't made a complete mess.

DISCLAIMERS: not that much of a smut thing, anyway is GhostxReader, arguing, terrible nicknames, gym, blame shifting, not having breakfast, recalling of behaviours that shouldn't belong to a military base but oh well.

..................................................

First part is here:

https://www.tumblr.com/tassodelmiele/746173281244151808/noisy-little-mess?source=share

..................................................

Next day, you skip breakfast.

Your ass hurts like hell, you've got bruises on your neck and it seems like you've gone through a fight with the full cast of a Jason Statam's kinda film.

You rush through all the damn base like crazy, avoiding smiles and greetings, in search for that goddamn man who has to give you explanations.

'Cause that sort of thing doesn't happen between two who barely speak at breakfast.

'Cause you may find muscles attractive, but you've never told him you like him in particular.

'Cause he almost ravaged you, without even saying "goodnight".

And 'cause you've liked it. But that's not necessarily to be known.

You're about to go straight to the training camp (you've seen Soap nearby, and he's Ghost's shadow), when the wanted finds the detective: a door suddenly opens, and you bump into his goddamn big chest, almost drowning your nose in that rock solid-muscle softness pile.

Ghost looks at you like he's just stepped on a candy wrapper. You open your mouth, ready to yell:

«ok, now you're going to tell me, sir, what in the actual fu-»

Then, Price gets out of the office too. And your face blushes with the brightest red.

«…sorry»

«'s nothing. We've finished»

It seems like Ghost's trying to make you comfortable, and that just gets on your nerves. You look at the captain walking away, and before having the opportunity to speak again, the lieutenant has grabbed you by the shoulder and pushed you in his office.

You do your best not to trip over your feet, almost making a pirouette to face him as he closes the door. You open your mouth, prepare your lungs to yell like a fucking eagle…and he stops you, cupping your face with all of the grace he's capable of, looking at you through his goddamn scary skull mask and spells:

«I'm sorry»

And your brain goes blank.

You squeeze your eyes; you weren't ready for this. For a scold; for a joke, for him to make fun of you, for you to break his terrible per holder on his face…but not for this.

«…what?»

«I'm sorry. Fucking sorry, ok?»

«Yeah, yeah» you scroll his hands away from your face. «I'm sorry too for having my ass burnt and my fucking neck disassembled, that's not the point»

«I was just saying-»

«You were saying nothing»

«If you-»

«Sorry for what? For your kinks, or your lack of asking consent? Go on, i'm listen-»

And he ends up squeezing your face in his hand, glaring at you while you just stay still with your cheeks pressed together and your arms crossed, raising an eyebrow.

He sigh.

«You've caught me off guard»

You muffle, widening your eyes, about to try to say something but his grips tighten a little.

«Let me fucking finish! Bloody hell, you weren't so noisy yesterday! My god…look, 's not a great time to restrain instinct, ok? I'm not saying that you've…awakened something. You're not my type, anyway»

You start to move again in his grip, trying to punch him, but it's so easy for him to stop you.

«I just want to apologize 'cause i've acted by instinct, and is no good. And 'cause I've hurt you, of course»

He stares at you for five seconds before releasing his grip, and the first thing you say is:

«…not your type? Seriously?»

His eyes widen under the mask.

«You…is this really what you're interested in? Out of everything I've told you?»

«You haven't told me that much»

«What the hell-»

«And you're lucky i've liked it, otherwise i would have smash the whole set of weight on your face»

«Yeah, Yeah, sure, a gnome like you»

«I'm a gnome in berserk armor»

«Still a gnome»

«Fight me»

«I'm not wasting my time in a prison for your dead body»

«...weak»

«…don't you dare, rookie»

«Rookie a pair of nuts»

«Watch you fucking mouth»

«I can't do it, there's no mirror in here»

«…ok, maybe your murder is worth a life in prison»

«You're eating away your guts just 'cause i'm having the final say»

«No, but i'm going to eat your guts anytime soon»

«Try me! Fight that fucking gnome! Then, you're gonna make better apologies»

«My apologies were flawless»

«You said i'm not your type! After…after making a mess out of me!»

«I've said, if you would have listen, that I was lead by my goddamn instinct»

«Yeah, and since when instinct tells you to ravage alone girls in the gym?»

«Since when i've heard you-»

He suddenly stops. Your mouth is still open, ready to talk back, when he starts to push you by the shoulder in order to get you out of his office immediately.

«Time is finished» he says as he tries to get rid of your presence.

But you're not ok with him.

«Nonononono, don't you even-»

«I've told you everything i had to»

«Fuck your excuses! You didn't even make me come!»

That wasn't a challenge. But somehow Ghost's brain classified it as such.

And the same night, in the gym, different machines…you spot him looking at you.

And your panties get instantly wet.

«No» you suddenly say. He gets closer.

«"No" what?»

«No. I won't»

«What?»

«Don't tease, you know "what"»

He doesn't listen to you, and starts a whole different topic:

«Wanna know something fun, kitty?»

«Can you find another nickname, please?»

Ghost's eyes make a turn under the eyelids, as he repeats: «Wanna know something fun, gnome?»

You make a pout, and he goes on:

«you've been the only one with enough guts to yell at me since fucking forever»

«Well, you've been the only one to touch my panties since…fucking forever. We're fair»

«…you mean it?»

«What?»

«No boyfriend? No sex? Never?»

«Never. Don't make fun of me»

«Why should i?»

«Dunno. An almost thirty years old is suppose to have made something in her life»

«You're working. And living. That's enough»

You're about to grab a weight, but you leave it there, looking at Ghost through the mirror.

«…oh»

He raises an eyebrow.

«…oh? That's the most sensible thought you've got?»

«It's just…i've thought…well…»

«What? What was that little brain of your thinking?»

Your face blush like hell as he comes closer, every step of him is a skipped heartbeat for you.

«I-i've just…i've thought that someone like you may be more…demanding?»

«You don't know me» he towers you in all of his highs «little gnome. 'S dangerous making assumptions on your enemy without collecting intel, don't ya know?»

«You're not an enemy». You swallow, finding yourself hesitate. «…i believe»

«You don't seem so sure about it»

And then he gives you the most threatening, close up encounter with his mask, leaning on you like an eagle on a mouse.

«How come, little gnome?»

You swallow. Than you remember he's your fucking lieutenant, and you're in the base gym, and there shouldn't be nothing to worry about, really. And you feel like an idiot, blushing and lowering your eyes. You decide to use his weapons against him:

«…it's dangerous making assumptions on your allies without collecting intel»

And he stares at you, seeming happy with your answer.

«You do are a brat, don't you?»

«I'm the cutest rookie in the entire base»

«Someone's going to make ya eat that goddamn tongue of you»

«They're just jealous»

«'s not like that»

«…No? Than w-»

«You can't talk back to your superior. You'll end up getting in trouble»

You instantly blush, blowing your cheeks.

«I've never-»

«You're doing it right now»

You blush more, become as red as the goddamn Snow White's apple. Your mouth is finally shutted, and he seems proud of his work. You try to make a step back, gaining some distance between you and his massive body…but he follows you. He follows you and he gets closer, trapping you between him and the weights rack.

«I…don't think i like brats that much»

Ghost is not touching you, but somehow you shiver under his voice as he's drilling your ears.

«I like you more with your little mouth shut»

The last word is perfectly underlined by his voice; another shiver down your spine, and you try to fill the silence to not explode under his presence:

«I'm afraid i'm not that good at staying silent, sir»

And he grabs you by the cheeks, squeezing them in one hand without effort, leaning on you as his gaze catches your red face:

«You did a great job yesterday, kitty»

And you melt in your panties. You do it with a little bit of regret just 'cause you'd rather endure a little bit more. You're about to say something, even if you know that as soon as you open your mouth the only thing that'll come out is a moan, and…

He releases you, so suddenly you've to concentrate not to lose balance, stumbling on your feet. He grabs a weight, announcing dramatically:

«But i've seen you've got your mouth fucking open the 90% of the time. That's why you're not my type, little gnome»

«But…you've searched for me»

He stops, holding the weights silently; he's not looking at you, but you know he's waiting for you to keep on with the speech. You swallow again, your throat is almost dry now.

«I know you've heard me. That night. You've heard me…touching. And-»

«So what? You were loud»

«Not that much- anyway, you've come in the gym just for me, i know it»

«No way»

«None come to the gym that late»

«But you were there»

«I'd a busy day- but that's not the point! I wasn't even watching you!»

He hiss a: «liar» in the middle of a curl. You cross your arms.

«…ok. Ok, MAYBE i was, but just for one goddamn sec-»

«So you do like me»

«FOR GODDAMN-»

You shut your mouth, biting your lips before saying something that could cost you way worse than a scolding by your superior. Your feet stomp till the biggest weights you can lift, and you start your rdl sets, knowing you're gonna hurt your back.

But he's looking. He's looking through the mirrors (too many goddamn mirrors in this gym) and it hurts your pride how he's acting like he doesn't care that much. So you take a deep breath, and while resting after the first set you spit it out:

«So you've touched me just 'cause you've felt like discharging some frustration?»

His arms suddenly stop moving. He turns his gaze at you, watching you directly this time, as you keep on:

«'cause, you know, since i'm not your type i can't find other reasons why you should've come to do those things. My appearance doesn't turn you on, so you've just found the first random person to use»

You lift the weights again, ready to release your bomb:

«So childish. It's not that mature for someone in your position»

You have no time to get aware of him who's just thrown his weights on the floor, reached you in two big steps, and now he's taking your weights from your hands like they're light butterflies, also throwing them on the floor.

He's towering you again, fists clench and hazel eyes on you.

«…it's your fault»

Your eyes widen. You've expected something different.

«Uhm…what?»

«That's why my apologies were good enough for you. 'S just your fault»

«What the hell of a fault did i-»

«You did it on purpose. Those…those fucking sounds of yours, your bloody behave, everything. Goddamn. Everything»

«How?? How could-»

«I don't know, you bloody witch!»

«So learn to know yourself better!»

«Maybe you could behave like a normal human being!»

«I was!»

«Liar. Bloody liar, you've spent the most of the time jerking on every fucking chair you were touching»

«You're hallucinating»

«And you've walked with closed eyes if ya didn't even notice what the hell you were doing»

«I'm not some animal in heat!»

«You looked so!»

«You could've just asked me to stop instead of wetting your hands in my panties!»

«I-»

This is his time to bite his lips, choking words behind the mask. He stares at you, and you return the glare, arms crossed and ice cold eyes on him, pretending not to feel the wetness in your underwear.

He sighs.

«I could crush you with my bare hands»

You stay still, eyes wide open, hands buried in your sweatshirt, asking yourself why the hell does he seem so embarrassed out of nowhere. Ghost sighs again, louder, blowing hot air away as if he's trying to discharge his lungs from something heavy.

«It's been days you walk everywhere with those goddamn swallowed eyes of yours, adjusting your panties under the uniform, trembling at the tiniest touch…what the hell did you expect? To not be noticed? You, a little whimpering knot tied on itself?»

Your mind gets blind for a second.

You listen with your eyelid twitching. It is…unreal. He's not describing you, that's what you try to get in your brain, convincing yourself that you've not behaved as he's saying.

You start to mutter through your teeth: «…but…no, no way, i'm not that-»

«Shameless? Dunno, have you ever tried looking at your fucking face in a mirror?»

«I-»

«Look little one, if you don't believe me, just ask someone else. Everyone have noticed»

«But-»

«'s not that i'm scolding you 'cause of your hormones. I'm just explaining myself»

«You…you're not explaining shit!»

«I am»

And he leaves you like this, curled on yourself, insecure and embarrassed. He turn on his heels, sending you a few last words:

«Ask the others 'bout it. The answer will surprise you»

......................................

#fanfiction #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #ghost x reader #ghost x you #sequel of a previous chapter #there is not that much of a smut content in here maybe you should check the previous chapter for more #cod fanfic #cod fic #task force 141 #not accurate military men #i'm having too much fun writing dialogues please help #gnome is a better nickname #Is so funny writing hashtags on tumblr

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