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darkfictionjude · 17 days

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I'm, not necessarily baffled (as I can understand it), but surprised Imre and Nia believe the MC to be murderer. The reasons Lorcan may have to believe in MC's innocence are multiple, and it was always clear to me he believed MC wasn't responsible (otherwise I know Lorcan wouldn't be asking MC's aid to find Orla's necklace, Lorcan is not that twisted, lol).

As for Nia, I also get why she believes what she does. MC has motives, possible opportunities, and the means (if I recall correctly, Nia saw one of the episodes where MC "rages" or loses control). Believing in MC's innocence, even from a sense of loyalty to MC, feels foolish from her POV. It could also explain, as well as make me reconsider a lot of what I thought of her, the reasons why she behaves as she does with MC. It also does explain some of her reticence when it comes to the murder investigation the gang is doing (after all, a likely murderer is helping, or so Nia believes), as well as the possible gripes she may have on becoming closer to MC. Can she look past the murder? What does that mean for her? For her self, for her morals? Is it worth it at all to love MC?

As for Imre... Like, I understand him believing MC is a killer. This boy it's too inmersed on the world of rumors and lies to naively think MC is innocent. Especially when he does not have enough information on MC (as they were mere acquaintances, and technically they still are, but less so than back then).

But unlike Nia, that has a relationship with MC before the murder, Imre doesn't have another motivation that would push him towards loving MC freely over maintaining a distance from self preservation purposes. The only justification I can have is that Imre is intrigued by it, or, worse, he finds it hot somehow. And like, I understand that when the murders are fictional. But, Imre, luz de mis ojos, sol de mi vida, luna de mi cielo, amor de mi corazón, what the fuck is wrong with you? MC may be interesting, but you don't get involved with murderers unless you are okay with becoming a criminal yourself or allowing yourself to be at risk of being murdered.

Now, I'm not necessarily sure MC is innocent. I think they may be, more so because it would be very polemic of you to make MC a murderer when it's not a part of the premise of the story. Making him a suspect? That's all fine and dandy, but making him the culprit? Well, that has a lot of issues, at least for an IF. I'm not saying it's impossible to do it, but it probably wouldn't be well received by the readers (since we wouldn't have a choice on it, and even if MC is not a self insert, is a very major thing to force on players especially as a plot twist of sorts, if it was something known from the beginning there would be less of an issue). Personally I wouldn't care. However, I do think MC is most likely to be innocent than guilty.

That said, I was imagining a scenario in my head. Basically after everything was over and MC proved, even if he (my MC is male) wasn't intending in doing so, his innocence when it came to Orla's murder, Imre and MC have a conversation. In this conversation, which they have after feelings have been shared, Imre confesses he believed all this time MC had killed Orla.

Then, my MC would look at Imre in shock, then in horror. They had kissed, perhaps more, and Imre thought MC was a murderer. But instead of being offended, my MC would be angry because Imre put himself at risk unnecessarily. So, my MC would reprimand Imre about this, about how unsafe it was for him to romance MC. What if MC was a murderer? What then?

And so my MC speaks long and passionately about this. Very lovingly, yet irate. And Imre is just amused by the whole thing, and weirdly touched. Then he comforts MC and they make up this little discussion physically and passionately. After all, Imre may want to reward MC for being, uselessly, worried about him.

But maybe he would react differently, although I would have to refer to you if that's the case.

I like how you broke down the motives for the ROs to believe what they do haha 😭

The thing is and pardon my French I don’t give a shit what people would consider polemic. It’s my game and I’ve said that you the readers don’t know much about mc. A big thing about this game is surprises and twists, there are things you won’t see coming given the nature of mc being an unreliable narrator, that’s warning enough to tell the readers that they need to expect anything.

The thing with spoilers is that they’re not part of premises for a reason like mc being murderer would be a big spoiler I couldn’t put that in the master post. Like I’ve said that’s why I hope I don’t get people in my inbox saying “MY mc wouldn’t do this” because that’s not how I’m writing this. Otherwise if it bothers people that much what mc might have done or not they might need to find a game more suitable for them. I care about the readers but if I can’t make this story the way I envisioned than I see no point in writing it because I want to create something I’m proud of and inspired by

I do like how you’re lowkey scolding Imre though haha “Imre people who you think are murderers should not pique your interest!” 😭

#I hope I don’t sound angry in this reply #it’s just I’ve said all the warning I can about things #readers have to decide if they want to take the risk 🤷🏽‍♀️#IF stuff #gameplay #plot #we wretched creatures

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plzu · 2 years

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Salted Caramel Latte - (Adrian Chase/Vigilante x f!barista!Reader)

part four ☕️

posting quickly before i disappear into the night to have HOT POT.... so apologies for any typos or w/e alsdjfl i read and re-read as i write but i stay missing things 🤷🏽‍♀️

Summary: You kiss Adrian. You keep kissing him, even after he stresses to you that he's super never killed anyone before. Like, ever.

Warnings: no real obvious ones this time around???, brief mention of serial killers (Dahmer), no Y/N, horny thots, allusion to bad relationship with parents, sad reader ???, lmk if i missed any & i'll add to the last :]]], not explicit/18+ YET...

Word Count: 3.6k+

So. You kissed Adrian Chase.

You… initiated the kiss, even. In the cramped space of his Sebring, surrounded by the soft sound of rain and the quiet static of radio station chatter. Seat belt straps biting uncomfortably into your bodies. Hands roving lostly with shaky determination. It tasted a little bit desperate. You were sticky from work--stray splashes of syrup and burnt milk marked you like battle scars. Noses bumped and there was the definite collision of teeth from the hasty carelessness.

And it was the best kiss you’ve had in a very, very long time.

This scares you.

See, Evergreen is dull. Even with masked vigilantes running about (after all, it was no Metropolis, and definitely nowhere near as bad as Gotham, crime-wise). Since returning, it is this dullness that you rely on, the way it buzzes over your skin a much needed reminder that you have to get out of here as soon as you can. Save up enough money, move out of your parent’s house again, and at least get as far out as Seattle. Some of your friends from high school live there now, so at least you wouldn’t be alone.

But Adrian - he visits the cafe and brings with him a frenzied sort of vibrancy that can’t be ignored. His presence adds color to the otherwise dreary canvas of your life. It’s something you’ve found yourself looking forward to, daily, and you chastise yourself for it--after all, what’s the point in getting swept up in ephemeral happiness?

Sure, nursing a festering crush is one thing. Cradle it close to your chest and fondly imagine what it’d look like if you let it grow. But don’t ever let it see the light of the day. Especially when it’s only been, what? A week or so since he walked into your job and recognized you, and decided you were worth risking a caffeine addiction for.

And, yet..! You kissed him anyway. Caught up in the placid proximity. Gobsmacked by his forthright, unabashed confession-(“I really want to spend more time with you.”)-there was nothing in the world you wanted more in that moment than to kiss Adrian Chase on the mouth.

As discussed, he picks you up the following day, before both your shifts at your respective jobs. Last night’s rain has long since stopped, but is still evident from the splash of passing cars and cool, gray autumn air. In the short walk from your front door to Adrian’s car, you have to decide whether you want to brush off the kiss and pretend it never happened, or if you should just give in and run giggling into his open, waiting arms-

Wait-

“Adrian, what are you doing? Get back in the car,” you demandingly hiss, arms flailing in a shoo-ing motion.

He’s standing on the passenger side, as if ready and waiting to open the door for you. Upon noticing your frazzled and bewildered expression and animated hand gestures, the smile on his face turns crooked in confusion. He tilts his head. “What?”

“Before my parents see you! Don’t wait for me like this, all- all chivalrous, and gentlemanly, or whatever!”

Your expression turns pleading. Your neck is stiff with the effort it takes to not whip your head around to check over your shoulder, see if your mom or dad are peeking through the window. Someone doing you a favor to pick you up at your house is one thing- someone getting out of their car to wait for you? It sends a different message. One your family would easily interpret as intimate, pluck an assumption out of so they can nettle you with it later.

Something seems to click for Adrian, and his shoulders slump minutely in dejected understanding. You’re too distracted by your fretting brain to register the light dim from his eyes before he trudges around the front of the car back to the driver’s side. He did not open the door for you.

It’s only once you’ve heaped yourself into the passenger seat, door slammed shut, do you chance a peek back at the house. Seeing no movement at any of the windows, no subtle shifting of blinds, you exhale and fasten your seatbelt.

“Sorry about that,” you start as Adrian settles into the car. “That’s probably not the best way to greet you when you’re doing me such a huge favor.” Your laugh is sheepish, smile apologetic when you glance over at him.

He just kind of shrugs in response, putting the car in drive. “Yeah, I get it. You’re embarrassed by me.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“Look, I totally understand. Gut was that way, too.”

Shame heats your face as you listen, wide-eyed, to Adrian talk resignedly about being the Embarrassing Other that people don’t enjoy associating themselves with. You hadn’t even considered that would be his takeaway, too caught up in your own feelings. It seems obvious though, now- the boy who grew up nearly friendless. The annoying younger brother. An ostracized afterthought, the skinny nerd with glasses too big for his face and voice too high-pitched to be taken seriously as puberty overlooked him to instead lend itself to his peers.

You scramble to interrupt. “Adrian, no, I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot.” He gives you a sideways glance, mouth hanging slightly ajar as he continues driving. “I… didn’t mean to make you feel that way. You don’t embarrass me.”

“Oh,” he says. Like he doesn’t quite believe you yet.

“I just didn’t want my parents to see you and get the wrong impression.”

“What, that I’m more than just your Uber driver?” He smiles. Laughs, even, but something in his tone makes you flinch.

Truthfully, you didn’t think Adrian had it in him to put bite in his words. Not directed at you, at least. But maybe that was presumptuous of you. You probably deserved it. Even so, tears prick stupidly at your eyes (something that has been happening quite a lot since moving back to Evergreen). He’s the one that even offered to do this in the first place! So you clear your throat and try to explain:

“I spend more time at work than at home, okay? If my parents saw you, they’d think you’re the real reason, and that I’ve been lying about working overtime.”

He frowns. “I don’t understand. Can’t you just talk to them?”

“I don’t expect you to,” you mutter, attempting to curl in on yourself. “‘Sides, we don’t really… talk.”

With no further explanation provided, Adrian prods. “Okay, well then… why are you working so much OT?”

You absently pull your bottom lip between your teeth. The truth is that coming back home makes you feel like a burden. Since returning, shame has barely allowed you to make eye contact with your parents. If you stay out of sight, maybe they’ll forget you’re even there.

So you found a job at a cafe that needed an experienced barista to help manage their newly-opened store. You haggled for night shifts so that you’d have an excuse not to be home for dinner. Your bosses--a frugal, married couple that don’t want to spend too much on employees but still need to make sure they give people their due days off--reluctantly agreed to your terms but had to put their foot down and give you at least one day off a week.

You’re not about to unload all of that on Adrian, though; you tell him the partial truth instead.

“The quicker I make money, the faster I can move back out.”

“Oh.”

“This car thing is gonna set me back, though,” you grumble, more to yourself.

“Okay.” His voice is soft. Not entirely understanding, but soft. “Well, the drinks you make me are fucking delicious, so I’m sure you’ll get a raise in no time. Also, you’re so pretty so I bet the customers tip extra when you’re working. I see it happen at Fennel Fields all the time.”

This startles a laugh out of you. You had pieced together that Adrian has a habit of shamelessly saying whatever’s on his mind, filter be damned, but the outright compliment still surprises you.

You don’t quite take in the way his eyes kind of soften at the sound of your laugh.

“I let Ashe and the others take all the tips,” you say. “Besides, you may think I’m pretty, but I can be kind of… accidentally… rude, sometimes. To customers.”

“I mean, you did offer me cocaine that one time-”

“It was a suggestion, and I was joking, Adrian-”

“But still, I don’t think you’re rude! You’re nice to me.”

You snort. “I’m rude to you, like, all the time. But also, I like you, so you get special treatment.”

Adrian all but beams. His smile stretches across his face and it makes his cheeks glow, drawing your attention to his pink cheekbones beneath his frames. You watch him as he faces the road through the windshield. Gosh, you wish you got to see his face last night. It must have been flushed from the brief make-out session, and you didn’t even get a chance to enjoy it.

Enjoy it.

You hold your hands in your lap, rubbing soothing circles against the palm of one with the thumb of the other, and chew thoughtfully on the inside of your cheek, ruminating over how fucking miserable you’ve been. How isolating it’s been these past few weeks, in the self-imposed prison of your childhood bedroom. Well- teenhood, really. Getting only snatches of joy from making the perfect foam for cappuccinos, honing your latte art, and in visits from one cute bespectacled man.

Maybe it was time to stop wallowing. Maybe it was time to allow yourself some happiness on purpose.

When Adrian parks in front of The Evergreen Bean, you’re quick to undo your seatbelt. As he turns his head to face you, your palms cup his cheeks--you’re fully facing him, torso twisted, left leg mostly propped onto the seat and against the center console--and you search his pretty, startled green eyes (his face feels so soft and warm and nice)-

-and you pull him closer and press your lips to his and watch his eyes flutter shut, and yours follow suit, his posture relaxes and you both sigh into it-

And so you continue to kiss Adrian Chase.

********

The cafe is quiet today. There’s no line of customers, just a couple of people sitting in cafe with laptops or books or engaging in quiet chatter.

Adrian has time to kill before his shift starts, so he follows you into the cafe and is immediately lauded by the morning shift barista.

“Oh, Ashe, is this him? He is kind of cute, actually.”

“Matty, behave,” you reprimand, going behind the bar to clock in.

Matty is around Ashe’s age, one of the shift supervisors at The Everbean Green that was more than happy to take on a majority of the morning shifts while you closed up shop. A morning person in every sense of the word, his exuberant, sunshine-y demeanor balanced out your more quiet, reserved personality at work.

And currently, his and Ashe's attention are zeroed in on Adrian’s suspiciously swollen lips, which slowly break into a smile. “Wait, me? You think I’m cute?”

You bite back a smile as Ashe laughs and Matty affirms that yes, he finds Adrian cute, and you watch the compliment turn the tips of Adrian’s ears pink.

“Yeah, I’m loving the whole serial killer vibe,” Matty praises, resting heavily against the counter, chin propped up by his open palm.

Adrian’s smile slips, eyes widening in panic, and you briefly consider punching Matty in the throat. “What? No, I’m not- I don’t- I’m not a serial killer. Why would you say that?”

“I’m not saying you're a serial killer, babe, but the glasses? The neat, combed over hair? The endearingly hideous sweater? Very Dahmer. I’m into it.”

“Well, I’m not a serial killer. Or any kind of killer, for that matter. I’ve- I’ve never killed anyone before and wouldn’t- wouldn’t even know how to. I mean, sure-”

“Okay, alright-” you cut Adrian’s stumbling defense off, coming to his rescue. “Matty, you can’t say things like that to him. He’s, like, super against breaking the law. Freaks out at the idea of it.”

Matty’s shoulders slump. “Oh, ew, really? Boring.”

Losing interest, he returns his attention to shift supervising. Ashe teases him for his serial killer fetish. You drown them both out as you tie your apron behind your back.

Adrian looks- nervous? Shoulders tense, rigid. Like he still needs to justify that he’s not some kind of psycho killer. You try reeling him back in.

“Adrian, hey, it’s cool. Just ignore Matty. Let me make you something new today, yeah?”

He distractedly concedes, so you turn your back on him and get to prepping his drink. When you turn back around, he’s leaning towards you over the counter, softly calling your name.

“You don’t-” he pauses to clear his throat, lowers his voice, and continues, “you don’t think I’m a murderer, or anything, do you?”

Even for Adrian, it’s kind of weird he’s being so adamant about this. Still, though- you brush off the uneasy feeling tickling the back of your mind with a snort. “Please, Adrian. I know you wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Oh, no, I’ve definitely killed flies before,” he corrects, voice returning to a normal volume. “And spiders. But it’s not- those are fine. Not illegal or anything. I checked.”

This makes you genuinely giggle, and Adrian visibly relaxes at the sight, a smile returning to his face. Like your laughs are a balm for his nerves. The very thought makes you sheepishly avert your gaze, and finish up his drink.

“Here,” you say, popping the lid onto his latte, smooshing down the whipped cream (you know you give him soy milk, but it’s just some whipped cream. You gotta try the drink with the whip!) “A seasonally appropriate salted caramel latte. Hope you like it.”

“Ooh, goody!” he exclaims, and promptly burns his tongue on the first sip. “That’s-ow-it’s hot-”

“Yeah, no shit, it’s hot. I steamed the milk. You saw me do it-”

“I’m just so used to the iced ones. You always make me iced ones.”

You keep squabbling like that until a couple more customers enter the store, at which point you start shooing Adrian away. He points at his mouth before backing up. “Tongue still hurts.”

You roll your eyes. “And?”

“You gotta kiss it better."

Heat spikes through you, and your mouth twitches in amusement. “Get out.”

********

The plan is to wait for Adrian’s shift to end so he can give you a ride back home. He was worried about how late you’d get home, but you waved it off as an unforeseen upside of the whole situation. It provides an excuse to get home later, after your parents have definitely fallen deep asleep.

Restlessness overtakes you, however. On any other night, with a car of your own and the freedom to leave when you want, you wouldn’t mind just chilling by yourself in the cafe after close. But waiting for Adrian makes you antsy, and maybe you can blame it on the four shots of espresso you decided to drink last minute, but impatience crackles beneath your skin and you just really want to make your way towards Adrian.

Impatience. Or the eagerness akin to a schoolgirl with a stupid little crush.

Adrian said Fennel Fields was just down the street, so you make sure the back and front doors are securely locked and venture out into the chilly October night.

Turns out “down the street” means trekking past some seedy bushes and weird shifting shadows and a small stretch of road that doesn’t feel very pedestrian-friendly. But you brave it anyway, because that’s what people with caffeine coursing through their nighttime veins do, right?

Maybe the PM coffee wasn’t that bright an idea, but, whatever.

You enter the restaurant, and the hostess that meets you at the front is nice and professional enough to ignore your labored breathing.

(You may or may not have jogged the last leg of the way upon hearing the terrifying snap of a twig.)

“Hi, how many?” she asks, giving you a once over. “Or, are you here to pick up an order, or..?”

“Oh, I’m not here to eat! I’m just waiting for Adrian.”

She tilts her head. “Who?”

You blink at her. “Adrian? Adrian… Chase? He works here..?” You scratch at your cheek, suddenly unsure. The sign outside was definitely a poorly-drawn graphic of a fork twirling a single strand of spaghetti, like Adrian said.

Luckily, you spot him carrying a tub of dirty dishes between the rows of tables, and wave him down. When he notices, his face lights up with surprise and, distracted, his steps stumble and you watch him struggle to keep from toppling over. He marches over to you once he finally rights himself, glasses partially askew.

The hostess looks between you both--her glances towards you a little disbelieving--before finally going, “ohh, right. Sorry about that.” She slinks off with a shrug once Adrian reaches you.

Adrian puts the tub of dishes down on the podium where the menus sit. “What are you doing here?”

“How does your co-worker not know your name?” you ask at the same time, scrunching your face distastefully in the direction she disappeared to.

“Did you take an Uber, or something?” Adrian peers behind you out the storefront windows into the night, ignoring your question.

“No. You’re my Uber, remember?”

Adrian adjusts his glasses with quirk, jerky movements so the frames sit pretty on his nose again. He gives you a wide-eyed, disapproving look. Is he… angry with you? Like, for real?

“Uh, hey, maybe let me know next time?”

Pfft. “Are you serious? It was just a short walk.” A short, mildly horrifying walk. “What’s your problem?”

He does that thing where he puts his hands on his hips in disapproval, and you’re having a hard time taking him seriously. He looks so cute in his work uniform.

“There are some real creeps out at night.”

“Pssht, please, no worries. Vigilante would save me.” You grin up at him, laughing off his worries.

Adrian gets flustered, raises his voice at you. “Yeah, well, he can’t be everywhere at once!”

Something in you falters. You reel in your enthusiasm, taking a quick glance around the remaining customers in the restaurant. People are looking.

“Okay, Adrian, chill out,” you soothe, voice soft. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out. I’ll send a text next time.”

Adrian nods, diffusing, taking a steadying breath that expands his chest beneath his tan-colored apron. To stop yourself from staring at the movement, you instead focus on the curls peeking from beneath his silly little work cap. An adoring smile graces your face as a result.

“What? Do I have something on my face?”

“No,” you shake your head. “Your uniform’s cute, by the way.”

This melts whatever remaining worry was creasing Adrian’s brow. Replaces it with a smile. “Yeah? Thanks.” A pause. “You’re not making fun of me, are you?”

“Cross my heart.”

“That’s nice, but that doesn’t answer my question.”

“Hurry up and get out of work so I can kiss you again, dork.”

********

It’s a little past midnight when Adrian clocks out, and you drag him to the backseat of his Sebring. The parking lot is mostly empty. The lights from the streetlamps barely illuminate the space within, where you once again have Adrian’s lips pulled flush against yours.

It’s very easy to ignore the small, nagging part of your brain that’s worried this might be inappropriate, with your hands tangled in his messy hair and his hands grabbing feverishly where they can on your body. And his moans, God, he’s so noisy, appreciative sounds rumbling in his chest, filling the space between you.

This is fine, you tell yourself. This isn’t sex.

(The warm, syrupy feeling that pulses low in your abdomen kind of wants it to be sex, though.)

Your tongue slides eagerly against his lips, and he groans before breaking the kiss, his panting breaths earning themselves a sweet spot in your fluttering chest.

“Is this fine? Don’t I have to get you home? Your parents-”

“Please don’t bring up my parents when I’m trying to stick my tongue down your throat,” you say, lips skimming the skin of his cheek and trailing down against his jaw. He shivers against you.

“Sorry.”

Your lips skirt lower to the enticing expanse of his neck. He somehow keeps talking.

“It’s just- with what you said earlier.”

“Mm,” you hum against him. His hands tighten their hold on your back and waist in response.

“Now I really am the reason you’re not home.”

“Adrian,” you murmur, sighing into the warm space of his neck. “I’m kind of trying really hard not to think about all of that stuff right now. Hence, this makeout session.”

“Sorry, sorry! It’s just, I kind of get the feeling that-hhhffuck-!”

You cut him off with a delicious scrape of your teeth on the side of his neck, latching your lips to suck at the skin there. Adrian tenses up against you, breath hitching, becoming trapped in his throat.

You pull away from him, search his eyes in the darkness. “I’m sorry, was that too much? I probably should’ve asked permission first..”

“Honestly, at this point, you can probably do whatever you want to me forever,” he replies, breathless.

You erupt into triumphant giggles, and he descends upon your mouth and swallows the bubbling laughter. Adrian licks into your parted lips. And everything that plagues you stops mattering so much.

#peacemaker #vigilante #adrian chase #adrian chase x reader #writing #fanfic #vigilante x reader #mine

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