#and 9/10 these people always turn out to be not good people to be around so | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

elikajinnie · 1 month ago

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The Frequency Of A Killer - S.J

P: Killer!Jake X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Suspense, Teasing, Murder, Attempted Murder, Stalking, Mind Games, Obsessive Behaviour kinda?

Wordcount: + 20k words

Synopsis: After moving to a small town as a horror talk show host, you uncover a deadly cover-up tied to a masked killer. As the bodies pile up, the killer becomes fixated on you. Can you unravel the truth?

a/n: her we go! another killer au but this time its not Heeseung or Ni-ki! We got Jake :) so this is inspired by my fave horror game; killer frequency - 1000% recommend.

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You were used to the rush, the buzz, and the endless opportunities of the big city. The noise didn’t bother you. Networking came naturally, jobs were abundant, and you’d found your niche in the chaos: hosting a podcast about horror and true crime in a way that set your listeners on edge while keeping them hooked. Your show had skyrocketed to fame, and you’d connected with an entire community of enthusiasts who lived for the thrill, just like you. Life was good. Stable. Yours.

Until your company decided you weren’t “it” anymore.

The justification was laughable—“gender diversity,” they’d said. They wanted to swap you out for some guy, as if trading a seasoned, beloved host for an inexperienced one would make everything magically better. You weren’t buying it, but their minds were made up. No amount of protest or proof of your success could change their decision. And so, you left, refusing to stick around and watch them hand your hard work over to someone who didn’t earn it.

That’s how you found yourself in this small, sleepy town, working for a much smaller company that was trying its hand at podcasts. They hired you on the spot, practically drooling over your experience, and offered you a spot as the host of their horror and true crime segment. It was meant to be a temporary gig, a placeholder until—surely—your old company would come crawling back, begging for you to return.

But a month had passed. One whole, quiet month, and they hadn’t reached out. Not even a courtesy email.

At least this place wasn’t half bad. You had your own little booth, tucked away in the back of the building, with soundproof walls and just enough space to feel like your own world. The show was entirely yours to run—aside from the occasional ad spot they made you slip in—and you had free rein to do what you did best. Even the people weren’t bad.

Especially Beomgyu.

Beomgyu was technically your producer, though most of his job seemed to involve screening calls and chatting with you during breaks. He sat in the booth just across from yours, separated by a thin pane of glass, and had this habit of pulling faces at you whenever you got too serious. At first, you thought he was annoying—this twenty-something with a mop of messy hair and a perpetual smirk—but over time, he’d grown on you.

Tonight was no different. You leaned back in your chair, headphones snug over your ears as you wrapped up the last caller. A woman with a trembling voice had called in to share a local ghost story about the old mill at the edge of town, and you’d expertly guided her through the tale, adding just the right amount of suspense and curiosity to keep your listeners hooked.

When the call ended, you glanced over at Beomgyu through the glass. He was grinning, spinning lazily in his chair, and holding up a piece of paper with “9/10” scrawled on it in bold, black ink.

You rolled your eyes and flicked him off with a smirk. He just laughed, pointing to the mic to remind you you were still live.

“Alright,” you said smoothly, turning back to the soundboard. “That’s all the time we have for tonight. Thanks for tuning in, and as always—lock your doors, check under your bed, and don’t trust the shadows.”

The outro music played, and you switched off your mic with a satisfied sigh.

“Not bad,” Beomgyu teased as you stood up, stretching your arms. “But you totally rushed the ending on that last one. Where was the suspense?”

“Where was the suspense?” you echoed mockingly, grabbing a cup of coffee off the table and taking a sip. “How about I’m the professional, and you’re just the guy who answers phones?”

Beomgyu snorted. “Keep telling yourself that. One day, I’m gonna take over your job and show you how it’s really done.”

“Please,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “You’d last five minutes before you started talking about aliens or some weird conspiracy theory.”

He grinned. “You know me so well.”

The night started off normal enough. You sat at the small desk in the break area, sipping on a lukewarm coffee Beomgyu had somehow convinced you to grab for him before realizing you needed one for yourself too. He lounged across from you, feet propped up on the edge of the table like he owned the place, spinning a pen between his fingers.

“So,” he started casually, tilting his head with that usual lopsided grin of his, “what’s it like being a big-shot city person stuck in our little backwater town?”

You snorted, shaking your head. “First of all, you act like I came here voluntarily. Second, backwater’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”

He shrugged. “I call it like I see it. You’ve been here a month and you still can’t hide the ‘get me out of here’ look on your face.”

“Maybe because I’m waiting for my old company to realize they made the worst mistake of their lives.”

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? And when they don’t? What’s Plan B?”

“Plan B?” you repeated, narrowing your eyes. “There’s no Plan B, because Plan A is going to work. They’ll come crawling back. Trust me.”

He clicked his tongue and gave you a doubtful look. “Sure, sure. But admit it—this place isn’t so bad. It’s quiet, no traffic, and the rent is dirt cheap. I bet your apartment here is, like, three times bigger than whatever shoebox you had back in the city.”

“Okay, yeah, I’ll give you that,” you admitted, leaning back in your chair. “The cost of living here is nice. And I don’t hate the peace and quiet. But the thing about big cities? There’s always something happening. People, events, opportunities. It’s like… the energy keeps you alive, you know?”

Beomgyu chuckled, twirling the pen like he was in some kind of drumline. “Sounds exhausting. You city people thrive on chaos. Meanwhile, out here, we’ve got… cows. And maybe a parade if you’re lucky.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not that bad here. I just… I’m not used to it yet.”

“Give it time,” he said, leaning forward like he was about to share a secret. “Pretty soon, you’ll be one of us. Walking slow, waving at strangers, knowing everyone’s business…”

You grimaced. “That sounds like my worst nightmare.”

Beomgyu laughed so hard he nearly knocked over his coffee. He was still grinning when he asked, “So what was it like, though? Your old job, I mean. The fancy podcast thing.”

For a moment, you hesitated. You could still remember it clearly—the studio, the buzz of the city outside, the adrenaline rush of knowing your audience was hanging on to your every word.

“It was…” you began, searching for the right word. “It was everything I wanted, for a while. I worked my way up, you know? Started small, built an audience, found my voice. It was a grind, but it was worth it.”

Beomgyu nodded, his expression more serious now. “So what went wrong?”

You sighed, tracing your finger along the rim of your cup. “They wanted to ‘freshen things up.’ Change the direction of the show. Apparently, a guy hosting would bring in a ‘different perspective.’”

“That’s bullshit,” Beomgyu said immediately, his brow furrowing.

“Yeah, well, tell that to them.” You shrugged, masking the sting with a bitter smile. “They thought it was a good idea. I didn’t.”

“Idiots,” Beomgyu muttered, shaking his head. “You’re way better at this than some random guy.”

“Thanks,” you said, a small smile creeping onto your face. “I’ll remind them of that when they come groveling.”

Then the clock on the wall chimed, reminding you it was time to start the show.

“Alright, back to work,” you said, standing up and stretching. “Don’t let me catch you slacking, Beomgyu.”

“Me? Slack? Never,” he replied, mock-offended as he followed you toward the booth.

The show started as usual—smooth, easy, familiar. The first few callers were locals sharing urban legends, strange encounters, and the occasional eerie coincidence. Beomgyu stayed in his booth across from you, laughing silently at your quips and holding up cards with goofy doodles to make you break character mid-recording.

But then, midway through the second hour, a call came through that made your stomach drop.

Beomgyu patched it through with his usual nonchalance, giving you a thumbs-up from the other side of the glass. “Line three,” he mouthed.

“Hello,” you said into the mic, your voice steady despite the sudden shift in the air. “You’re on the air. What’s your name, and what story do you have for us tonight?”

There was a long pause. Too long. Static crackled faintly on the other end.

Then, a voice you didn’t recognize—low, and far too calm—spoke.

“Do you ever wonder if someone’s watching you right now?”

Your heart skipped a beat. You forced a laugh, playing it off for your listeners. “Well, I guess I should hope so—otherwise, what’s the point of doing a live show?”

The voice didn’t laugh. “No,” it said. “I mean really watching you. Right now.”

Goosebumps rose on your arms. You glanced toward Beomgyu, who raised an eyebrow, clearly unsure where this was going.

“I think that’s a little too vague to count as a story,” you said, keeping your tone light. “Care to elaborate?”

The line went silent for a moment, then the voice spoke again, quieter this time.

“Check your window.”

Your blood ran cold. You turned instinctively to the window beside your booth. It was dark outside, the glass reflecting nothing but the dim glow of your equipment.

Nothing was there.

But the voice on the other end of the line chuckled softly, sending a chill down your spine.

“Gotcha,” it said, before the call abruptly disconnected.

Beomgyu’s voice crackled through your headphones, pulling you out of the eerie fog left by the last caller.

“That was… weird,” he said, leaning closer to his mic in the booth across from you. You could see his reflection in the glass, brow furrowed in confusion. “I mean, what window? We’re on the second floor. Unless there’s some really tall guy with a ladder out there, what the hell was that supposed to mean?”

A nervous laugh escaped you as you reached for your cup of water, trying to shake off the chill creeping up your spine. “Right? Probably some wannabe prank caller. People love to act spooky when they know they’re live.”

“Yeah, but that voice?” Beomgyu leaned back, tapping his fingers against his desk. “It didn’t sound like someone joking. It sounded… I don’t know. Off.”

“Let’s not overthink it,” you said, though you couldn’t deny the unease settling in your chest. “Weird calls are part of the job, right? It’s probably nothing.”

Beomgyu nodded slowly, but his usual playful grin didn’t return. His eyes flickered to the window behind you, then back to his desk as if trying to distract himself.

Before either of you could dwell on it further, the phone lit up again. Another call.

“Line two,” Beomgyu said, pressing the button to patch it through.

You straightened in your seat, slipping your headphones back on. “You’re on the air. What’s your name, and what story do you have for us tonight?”

This time, the voice on the other end was hurried, shaky, and unmistakably real.

“This is Officer Park from the Greenfield Police Department,” a woman said, her words tumbling out in a rush. “I—God, I don’t even know who else to call right now. I just got back to the station—was out getting donuts for the night shift—and when I walked in, I found…”

She stopped, her voice catching on a sob. Your stomach twisted.

“You found what?” you asked gently, exchanging a wide-eyed glance with Beomgyu through the glass.

“Two of the officers—two of my coworkers,” the woman stammered. “They’ve been stabbed. One of them… one of them’s already gone. The other one is still alive, barely. I called for backup, but closest units are at least five hours away, and I don’t know what to do.”

Beomgyu’s jaw dropped as he mouthed, Is this for real?

You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of your desk. “Okay, Officer Park, take a deep breath,” you said, your tone steady even though your heart was racing. “Are you somewhere safe right now?”

“Yes,” she said, her breath hitching. “I locked myself in the back office. But whoever did this—they could still be here. I didn’t see anyone when I came in, but… Oh, God, what if they’re still inside?”

You leaned closer to your mic, your voice low but firm. “Okay, listen to me. First, you did the right thing by calling for backup. Stay where you are, keep the door locked, and don’t make any noise. Do you have your weapon on you?”

“Yes,” she said quickly.

“Good,” you said. “And the officer who’s still alive—do you know if they’re in immediate danger? Can you hear or see them from where you are?”

“They’re out in the main lobby,” she replied, her voice trembling. “I can hear them—barely. They’re trying to say something, but I can’t make it out. I think they’re losing consciousness.”

Your pulse quickened as you considered the situation. This wasn’t just some urban legend or creepy caller—this was real, and someone’s life was on the line.

“Okay, Officer Park, here’s what we’re going to do,” you said, keeping your tone as calm as possible. “Do you have anything with you—first aid supplies, even a jacket—anything you can use to stabilize them if you go out there?”

“There’s a med kit in the office,” she said.

“Good. Grab it. But listen—only go out there if you’re sure it’s safe. Move quickly, quietly, and keep your weapon ready. Check the corners, and don’t let your guard down. If you hear or see anything suspicious, you come right back to the office and lock the door. Do you understand?”

There was a long pause. Then she whispered, “Okay. I’ll try.”

“Stay on the line with us,” you said, glancing at Beomgyu, who was already typing furiously on his laptop, probably trying to look up news reports or police scanner updates. “We’re not going anywhere.”

You could hear her moving, her breathing shaky but determined as she whispered, “I’m opening the door.”

Your own breath hitched as you listened to the faint creak of a door opening on her end.

“I don’t hear anything,” she said softly. “I’m stepping out now.”

The seconds dragged on like hours as you listened to her footsteps, the faint hum of fluorescent lights buzzing in the background.

“I see him,” she whispered. “He’s—oh, God, he’s bleeding so much. I’m going to try to stop it.”

You could hear her fumbling with the med kit, her voice barely audible as she muttered, “Stay with me, okay? Stay with me. Help is on the way.”

Your pulse pounded as Officer Park’s frantic movements came through the line. You forced yourself to keep your voice steady, trying to calm both her and yourself.

"Officer Park," you said firmly, leaning closer to the mic. "Listen to me. You need to arm yourself before doing anything else. Do you have access to any weapons right now?"

She hesitated for a moment, her breathing quick. "There’s a weapons locker in the office, but the keys are… they’re on one of the officers."

“Okay. You need to get those keys from the officer who…” You paused, forcing yourself to stay calm. “The officer who’s gone. You’ll need them if you’re going to get out of there alive. And when backup arrives, they’ll need you armed.”

“I already told you,” she whispered sharply. “Backup isn’t coming anytime soon. This is a small town. The nearest station is in the next county over—at least five hours away.”

The weight of her words settled like a stone in your chest. “Then you need to leave now,” you said. “You’ll have to meet them halfway, but you can’t just stay there. Take the surviving officer and get out of the station. Use the police cruiser. Are the keys to the car with the officers too?”

“Probably,” she said, voice shaking.

“Then get them,” you urged. “Check the pockets of the officer who…” You hesitated again, but there wasn’t time for gentleness. “Who’s already gone.”

There was a long pause, followed by a shaky exhale. “Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll do it.”

You could hear her moving again, her footsteps echoing faintly. Then, muffled rustling as she moved the officer’s body.

“I’ve got them,” she said after a moment, her voice tight. “The car keys. And…” She paused, the sound of a locker creaking open coming through the line. “Weapons. I’ve got pepper spray, a taser, and a baton. Which one should I take?”

You exchanged a glance with Beomgyu, who shrugged helplessly. “The taser,” you said decisively. “It’s your best option for close combat if the killer comes back. You’ll still have the element of surprise.”

“Alright,” she said, her voice steadier now. “I’m taking the taser. And the med kit. I’m going to try to move Officer Kim to the car.”

“Be careful,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “Check your surroundings constantly. Keep the taser in your hand. And whatever you do, stay quiet.”

You listened in tense silence as she dragged the injured officer toward the car, her breaths labored but determined. The sound of a car door opening reached your ears, followed by the faint groans of the wounded officer being carefully placed in the back seat.

“I’ve got him in the car,” Officer Park said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m about to start it.”

“Good,” you said. “Start it quietly and get out of there as fast as you can.”

But just as the engine sputtered to life, a haunting whistle cut through the air, sending a shiver down your spine. It was distant but unmistakable—low and drawn out, carrying an almost mocking tone.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, panic creeping back into her voice. “They’re here. The killer’s here.”

You leaned forward, gripping the edge of the desk. “Stay calm,” you said. “Lock the doors. Don’t move until you know it’s safe. If they come close, use the taser.”

Through the line, you heard faint footsteps and the sound of shouts—angry, guttural, and close. Then a scuffle broke out.

“They’re trying to break into the car!” Officer Park shouted, her voice shaking with fear and adrenaline.

“Use the taser!” you yelled. “Now!”

There was a loud crackling sound, followed by a strangled scream.

“It worked!” she cried out, her voice bursting with relief. “The taser worked! They’re down!”

A second later, the engine roared to life, and the sound of the car speeding away filled the line.

“Are you okay?” you asked breathlessly.

“I’m okay,” she said, her voice shaking but determined. “We’re leaving. I’m heading to the next town over to meet the backup units. It’s about five hours from here—less if I push it.”

“Good,” you said, exhaling slowly. “Just stay safe and focus on the road.”

“One more thing,” she added, her tone suddenly serious. “The emergency police line—it’s been rerouted to you. I couldn’t risk leaving the station unattended, so if anyone in town calls for help, it’ll go to your line instead.”

You froze, glancing at Beomgyu, who stared back at you with wide eyes.

“Wait,” you said, your stomach sinking. “What are we supposed to do if the killer targets someone else?”

“You’re going to have to help them,” she said grimly. “Until we can get backup to the town, you’re the only ones who can.”

The line went dead, leaving you and Beomgyu sitting in stunned silence, the weight of her words settling over you like a storm cloud.

“Uh… what the hell just happened?” Beomgyu finally said, his voice cracking slightly.

You didn’t answer, your mind racing as you stared at the blinking lights on the phone.

Somewhere out there, the killer was still on the loose. And now, the entire town was counting on you.

After a while the familiar ring of the phone jolted you from your thoughts, the sudden sound piercing the tense silence that had settled in the booth. Beomgyu’s voice crackled through your headphones.

“Line three,” he said.

You nodded to Beomgyu, signaling for him to patch it through.

“You’re on the air,” you said, adjusting your mic.

“I—oh, no, no, I think I called the wrong number,” a woman stammered, her voice trembling. “I was trying to call the police. There’s—there’s someone after me.”

Your heart sank as you exchanged a quick glance with Beomgyu through the glass. “You didn’t call the wrong number,” you explained quickly. “The emergency line is being rerouted to us temporarily. But you’re not alone—we’re here to help. Just tell us where you are and what’s happening.”

The woman hesitated for a moment, her breath audible over the line. “I just left the gym. I’m trying to get to my car, but there’s this… man. He’s following me. He has a knife, I’m sure of it.”

A faint whistle echoed in the background of the call, making the hairs on your arms stand on end. The woman gasped, her voice rising in panic.

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “I should’ve stayed home. Why didn’t I stay home?”

You leaned forward, gripping the edge of the desk tightly. “Listen to me,” you said, keeping your voice calm and steady despite the anxiety bubbling in your chest. “Don’t stop. Keep moving toward your car. You can do this.”

“I’m scared,” she admitted, her voice breaking.

“I know,” you said softly. “But you’re doing great. Just keep going. Focus on your breathing and keep moving. We’re not going anywhere—we’ve got you.”

The sound of her hurried footsteps came through the line, along with her ragged breathing.

“I see my car,” she said, relief creeping into her voice. “I’m almost there.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Good. Get in and lock the doors immediately. Don’t worry about starting it until you’re inside and safe.”

A moment later, there was the faint sound of a car door opening and slamming shut.

“I made it,” she said, exhaling shakily. “I’m in.”

“Great job,” you said, feeling a small surge of relief. “Now start the car and drive somewhere safe—”

“Oh, no,” she interrupted, her voice rising in panic again. “No, no, no! I—I forgot my keys. They’re still in the gym!”

Your stomach dropped.

Beomgyu’s voice came through your headphones before you could respond. “Wait,” he said, leaning closer to his mic. “One guy—one who works here. I’ve seen him reading magazines about car maintenance in the breakroom. He might’ve had something about starting a car without keys.”

You blinked at him, hope flickering. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Beomgyu said. “I saw him reading one earlier this week.”

You muted the line to the woman briefly, turning back to Beomgyu. “Where did he leave it?”

“Probably in his office,” Beomgyu said with a shrug. “You’ll have to look for it.”

With a deep breath, you stood up. “Keep her talking. Keep her calm until I get back,” you said, pulling off your headphones.

Beomgyu gave you a thumbs up as you left the booth, closing the door behind you.

You made your way toward the offices, your footsteps echoing softly on the tiled floor. The darkened corridors seemed to stretch endlessly, but you finally reached the office. The door creaked as you pushed it open.

The room was cluttered, papers and other stuff scattered across the desks. You rifled through the mess, searching for the magazine Beomgyu had mentioned, but it was nowhere to be found.

Sighing, you were about to give up when a folded piece of paper caught your eye on the desk. Curious, you unfolded it.

Borrowed the car magazine for some light reading. Left it in the bathroom. -J

You frowned, squinting at the note. The bathroom? Of course.

Taking a deep breath, you headed toward the men’s bathroom, the unease in your chest growing with each step. Standing outside the door, you hesitated for a moment before pushing it open.

The air inside was still, the lights flickering slightly. You scanned the room, your eyes landing on the floor of one of the stalls. Sure enough, there it was—a magazine, its glossy cover faintly reflecting the dim light.

Bracing yourself, you stepped into the stall and grabbed it. Clutching the magazine, you made your way back to the booth as quickly as possible, the tension in your chest finally easing as the familiar glow of the studio came into view.

Sliding back into your seat, you slipped on your headphones. “Got it,” you said, flipping through the pages.

“About time,” Beomgyu muttered, relief in his voice. “She’s still in the car. Freaking out, but holding it together.”

“Alright,” you said, scanning the pages for anything useful. “Let’s get her out of there.”

You flipped quickly through the magazine, scanning each page for something useful. Beomgyu, still connected to the call, was murmuring reassurances to the woman, keeping her calm as best as he could. Finally, near the back of the magazine, you spotted a section titled: “How to Start a Car Without Keys—In Emergencies Only!”

Bingo.

You unmuted the call, speaking quickly. “Okay, I’ve got instructions here. It’s a little complicated, but we’re going to get you out of there. Are you ready to listen?”

“Y-yeah,” she stammered, her voice shaking. “Please, just tell me what to do.”

“Alright. First, do you see the steering column? You’ll need to take off the plastic cover underneath it.”

“The plastic cover?” she repeated, her voice filled with uncertainty.

“Yes. There should be a seam where it comes apart. Can you find it?”

There was a rustling sound, followed by a faint click. “I—I see it. I think I can pry it open.”

“Good. Use anything sharp—a nail file, a keychain, anything to pop it off,” you instructed.

A few tense seconds passed, the sound of fumbling and grunting filling the line.

“Got it!” she said suddenly. “It’s off.”

“Perfect. Now, you should see some wires underneath,” you continued, flipping the magazine around to get a better look at the diagram. “There will be three sets: power, ignition, and ground. Look for the ones connected to the ignition—they’re usually red and yellow. Do you see them?”

“Wait… yes, yes, I see them!” she said, her breathing slightly more controlled now.

“Okay, here’s the tricky part,” you said carefully. “You need to strip the ends of the ignition wires—just the plastic coating—so the metal is exposed. Do you have anything sharp, like a knife or scissors?”

“Uh… I have a nail file,” she said after a moment.

“That works. Carefully scrape the plastic off, but don’t cut the wires. Just expose the metal underneath. Take your time.”

The sound of her scraping at the wires filled the silence, and you exchanged a nervous glance with Beomgyu, who gave you a reassuring nod.

“Alright,” she said finally. “I’ve got the wires stripped. What now?”

“Good. Now you’re going to twist the exposed ends of the ignition wires together. That should create a spark to start the car. But be ready—the second it starts, drive away. Don’t wait around.”

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’m doing it now.”

There was a faint crackling sound, followed by a sputtering noise. Then, suddenly, the low rumble of an engine filled the line.

“It worked!” she cried, her voice breaking with relief. “It actually worked!”

“Great job!” you said, unable to stop the smile forming on your face. “Now get out of there. Drive somewhere safe—somewhere well-lit with other people around. Don’t stop until you’re absolutely sure you’re safe.”

You could hear the roar of the car accelerating, the relief in her voice evident as she spoke. “I’m driving now. Oh, my God, thank you. Thank you so much.”

“You’re doing great,” you said, your own voice shaking slightly from the adrenaline. “Just focus on the road. Call us back if anything happens, okay?”

“Okay. I will,” she said. “Thank you again. I—I think I might’ve been dead if it weren’t for you.”

“Just keep driving,” you said softly. “That’s all that matters now.”

The line clicked off, leaving you and Beomgyu alone in the booth. For a moment, the two of you sat in silence.

Beomgyu let out a low whistle. “I can’t believe that actually worked.”

“Me neither,” you admitted, tossing the magazine onto the desk. “But if it hadn’t… I don’t even want to think about it.”

Beomgyu leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply. “So… what do we do if someone else calls?”

You didn’t have an answer, your thoughts already spiraling with what-ifs. All you could do was hope the rest of the night stayed quiet.

The phone rang again, its shrill tone cutting through the uneasy silence that had settled in the booth. You adjusted your mic and nodded to Beomgyu. He patched it through with a flick of a switch, signaling with his finger for you to go ahead.

“You’re on the air,” you said, your voice steady despite the lingering tension from the last call.

“Hey, yeah, uh, is this the emergency line?” a cheery voice on the other end asked.

“Yes, this is the emergency line. What’s your situation?” you asked, leaning forward, bracing yourself for whatever this might be.

“Well,” the man began, his tone casual, “I just wanted to let everyone know that Hanseung’s Pizza is open late tonight, and we’re offering a two-for-one deal on our large pepperoni pies!”

You froze, your hand gripping the edge of the desk. “Are you serious right now?”

“Totally serious! Best pizza in town!”

You groaned audibly and disconnected the call before the man could say another word. Leaning back in your chair, you rubbed your temples as Beomgyu snorted with laughter.

When you glanced at him through the glass, he made a circular gesture next to his temple, miming crazy.

“I swear,” you muttered, pulling your headphones off briefly, “this night is going to kill me.”

Beomgyu gave you a lopsided grin, but before he could say anything, the phone rang again.

“Here we go,” he said, flipping the switch to route the call to you.

You sighed, sliding your headphones back on. “You’re on the air,” you said cautiously.

“H-hello?” a man’s voice came through, low and shaky.

“This is the emergency line,” you said gently. “What’s going on?”

“I—I’m still at work,” the man said, his words trembling as he spoke. “I stayed late to finish up inventory, and I… I saw someone on the cameras. He’s outside. He’s wearing a white mask, and he’s holding a knife. He’s on the first floor now.”

Your heart sank as a chill ran down your spine. “Okay, stay calm,” you said quickly. “Where are you right now?”

“I’m on the second floor,” he said. “In the main office. But… but there’s nowhere to hide. The only room I can lock is the storage closet, and the lock is on the outside. What do I do?”

You frowned, running a hand through your hair as you exchanged a tense glance with Beomgyu. “Alright, listen to me. We’re going to figure this out. Let’s think through this carefully.”

“I don’t have much time,” the man whispered, panic rising in his voice. “He’s coming in. I can see him on the camera feed.”

You flipped through options in your mind, trying to think of anything that could give him a chance. The storage room could work, but locking it from the outside meant he’d be trapping himself unless…

“Wait,” you said suddenly. “Does your office phone system let you call internal lines? Like phones in other rooms?”

“Yes,” the man said quickly. “I can call any phone in the building from here.”

“Perfect,” you said, sitting up straighter. “Here’s the plan. We’re going to distract him. You’re going to call one of the phones on the first floor, and when it rings, he’ll go to investigate. Once he’s distracted, you’re going to quietly make your way down the back staircase and get out of the building. Got it?”

“Okay, okay,” the man said, his breathing quick and shallow. “I can do that. I think.”

“You can do this,” you said firmly. “Now, do you know which phone to call?”

“Yes,” he said. “The one by the front desk. It’s closest to where he is.”

“Good. Call it now,” you instructed. “Once it starts ringing, wait a few seconds to make sure he’s moving toward it. Then make your way out. Go as quietly as you can. Don’t hang up until you’re outside and safe, alright?”

“Okay,” he whispered.

There was a pause as you heard him pressing buttons on the phone. A few seconds later, the faint sound of a phone ringing echoed faintly through his line.

“He’s moving,” the man whispered. “I can see him on the camera. He’s going to the front desk.”

“Perfect,” you said, keeping your voice calm. “Now’s your chance. Go.”

The sound of his shaky breathing filled the line as he moved. You held your breath, listening intently as he made his way down the stairs.

“He’s still at the desk,” the man whispered. “I’m almost at the back door.”

“Keep going,” you urged. “You’re doing great.”

A faint creak came through the line, followed by a quiet click.

“I’m outside,” the man said, his voice trembling with relief. “I’m out.”

You exhaled, the tension in your chest loosening slightly. “Good. Get as far away from the building as you can. Get somewhere safe with other people around.”

“Thank you,” he said, his voice breaking. “Thank you so much.”

“Just stay safe,” you said softly. “That’s all that matters.”

The line disconnected, leaving you staring at the phone for a moment, your mind racing with the implications of what had just happened.

Beomgyu leaned back in his chair, letting out a low whistle. “That’s two lives saved tonight,” he said. “Not bad for a couple of radio hosts, huh?”

You gave him a shaky smile, but the thought lingering in your mind was anything but reassuring.

Whoever was out there wasn’t done yet.

The phone rang again. For a moment, you and Beomgyu exchanged wary glances through the glass between your booths. After everything tonight, you’d learned to expect the worst. With a deep breath, you answered.

“You’re on the air,” you said, trying to maintain your composure.

“Bravo,” a smooth, amused voice purred on the other end. “Really. I’m impressed.”

Your brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“The way you’ve been handling these calls tonight,” the man continued, his tone dripping with mock admiration. “Guiding these poor, helpless souls to safety. It’s been a pleasure to listen to. You’re very clever, you know that?”

Something about his voice set you on edge—it wasn’t rushed or panicked like the others you’d spoken to tonight. It was calm. Too calm.

“Who is this?” you asked, your voice tightening.

“Let’s just say I’m… someone who’s been keeping an eye on things,” he replied, his tone playful. “And I have to admit, you’ve made my night much more entertaining than I anticipated.”

Your stomach twisted as realization hit you like a punch to the gut. “It’s you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

A low chuckle came through the line, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “Took you long enough,” he said, his voice laced with mockery. “Yes, it’s me. The one you’ve been so desperately trying to outsmart all night. And I have to say, you’ve done quite well.”

You clenched your jaw, gripping the edge of the desk so tightly your knuckles turned white. “Why are you calling?”

“To see you squirm,” he teased. “And to thank you, of course. You’ve made this little game so much more fun than I thought it would be. Honestly, you’re much more entertaining than the usual people around here. They’re so… predictable.”

You refused to let him get under your skin, even as his voice sent an unbidden flush to your cheeks. You hated the way his words made your pulse quicken, a reaction you absolutely didn’t want to have.

“Is that all this is to you? A game?” you snapped, trying to focus on your anger rather than the unsettling heat rising in your face.

“Of course it’s a game,” he said smoothly. “But don’t misunderstand me—I’m not underestimating you. In fact, I think you’re the most interesting piece on the board. I wonder… how long can you keep this up? How long before I catch you slipping?”

Your cheeks burned, and you quickly forced yourself to focus. You couldn’t let him distract you with his taunting, no matter how strangely… confident and alluring his voice sounded. You hadn’t thought about dating or men since moving to the town—your life had been far too busy. And now here you were, getting flustered by the very man terrorizing the town.

“Do you have anything better to do than terrorize people?” you shot back, your voice sharper than you intended.

He chuckled again, low and lazy, like you’d just amused him. “You’re cute when you’re mad,” he said, and you nearly choked on your own breath.

“Excuse me?!”

“Oh, don’t get so defensive,” he said, clearly enjoying himself. “I’m just saying, it’s refreshing. I like a bit of fire in my conversations. The others? They just scream and cry. Boring. But not you. I like that.”

Your grip on the desk tightened further, your mind racing. You couldn’t let him get to you, but the way he spoke—like he was in complete control, like he knew exactly how to unnerve you—it was maddening.

“What do you want?” you asked finally, forcing your voice to stay calm.

“For now? Just to chat,” he said casually. “I thought you deserved some recognition for your efforts. And maybe a little warning…”

Your stomach churned. “A warning?”

“Mhm,” he murmured. “You’re clever, but don’t think you’re untouchable. I’ve been generous so far, letting you play the hero. But don’t get too comfortable. I’m always watching, and if you’re not careful, this little game of ours might get a whole lot more personal.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, but you refused to let your fear show. “Is that supposed to scare me?”

“No,” he said simply. “It’s supposed to excite you.”

The line went dead before you could respond, leaving you staring at the phone, your mind a chaotic mess of fear, anger, and, much to your dismay, something else you didn’t want to name.

Beomgyu’s voice crackled through your headset. “Uh… what the hell just happened?”

You turned to look at him, your face still flushed. “I think the killer just… flirted with me?”

Beomgyu blinked, his mouth falling open slightly before he shook his head. “This town is actually so messed up.”

You couldn’t help but agree.

The phone rang again, piercing through the tense silence that had settled in the booth. You and Beomgyu exchanged a glance, both of you bracing yourselves for whatever might come next. You adjusted your headphones and gestured for him to patch it through.

“You’re on the air,” you said, your voice steady despite the unease crawling up your spine.

“H-he’s coming,” a woman’s voice stammered, her tone high-pitched and frantic. “Oh God, the dead—they’ve risen! The dead are rising!”

You froze, caught off guard by the sheer hysteria in her voice. “Ma’am, I need you to take a deep breath and tell me what’s happening,” you said, keeping your tone calm and firm. “Who’s coming? What do you mean the dead are rising?”

“It’s karma,” she said, her words tumbling out in a panicked rush. “I’ve done bad things. So many bad things. And now he’s coming for me."

“Okay, I need you to slow down,” you urged, sitting forward in your chair. “Where are you right now? Are you safe?”

“I thought I was,” she whimpered, her voice breaking. “But he’s here. He’s come back. They know what I’ve done. He knows—”

The line went dead.

“Hello? Ma’am?” you said quickly, checking the call screen. You tried dialing the number back, your heart pounding, but the line just rang and rang before going to voicemail.

Beomgyu leaned forward in his booth, frowning as he studied the call log. “That was Dr. Lee,” he said, his voice low.

“Dr. Lee?” you asked, your mind racing.

“She’s one of the town’s doctors,” Beomgyu explained, crossing his arms. “Well… was a doctor. She retired a couple of years ago, but she still gets called in sometimes when the clinic’s short-staffed. People around here have… mixed feelings about her. Some say she’s a great doctor, but others think she’s shady. There’ve been rumors, but nothing ever proven.”

You sat back in your chair, your mind swirling with questions. “She kept saying ‘karma.’ And something about the dead coming for her.”

Beomgyu shrugged, though his expression was uneasy. “She sounded genuinely freaked out.”

“She did,” you muttered, staring at the dead call screen on your monitor. “And she didn’t give me anything to go on. No location, no details… I don’t even know if she’s still alive.”

Beomgyu leaned back in his chair, spinning a pen between his fingers. “Think we should call the clinic? Maybe someone there knows what’s going on.”

You shook your head, though the idea was tempting. “If she wanted their help, she would’ve called them instead of us. I think… I think whatever’s happening, she doesn’t trust anyone in town. Or maybe she thought calling the emergency line was her only option.”

“Well, what do we do now?” Beomgyu asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “There’s not much we can do. She didn’t give us enough information to help. All we can do is wait and see if she calls back.”

Beomgyu nodded reluctantly, though his frown deepened. “Still, the whole ‘dead are rising’ thing? Sounds like someone’s cracking under pressure. Or maybe she’s just paranoid.”

“Maybe,” you said, though her words kept echoing in your mind. The dead have risen. Karma is coming for me.

It sounded ridiculous, but the sheer terror in her voice had felt real. And in this town, you’d already learned to expect the unexpected.

You leaned back in your chair, staring as a heavy silence settled over the room. You hated this helpless feeling, this sense that something was happening just out of your reach. But until she called back—or someone else did—there was nothing you could do except wait.

And worry.

The phone rang again, and you didn’t hesitate to answer this time, though the tension from the earlier calls still lingered in the air like a bad omen.

“You’re on the air,” you said, trying to sound calm and professional, though the weight of the night was starting to press down on you.

“H-hello?” a young voice stammered. “Is this… is this the emergency line?”

“Yes, it is,” you replied quickly. “Who am I speaking to?”

“Hyein,” she answered, her voice trembling. “I—I need help. Someone’s after me and my friends.”

Your stomach dropped. “Where are you, Hyein? Are you somewhere safe?”

“We’re at… we��re at this old junkyard,” she said, her words tumbling out in a rush. “We were just hanging out, but now there’s this guy—he’s wearing a white mask, and—”

“Okay, Hyein, listen to me,” you interrupted, keeping your voice steady. “You need to find somewhere safe. Is there a place you can hide? A building, a car, anything?”

“Um, there’s a shed,” she said, her voice shaky. “But—”

Suddenly, a piercing scream erupted through the line, making your heart lurch.

“Hyein? Hyein, what’s happening?”

There was a muffled commotion on the other end, followed by… laughter?

A new voice chimed in, a boy’s voice, cracking as he burst into fits of giggles. “Oh my God, you should’ve seen your face, Hyein!”

“What the hell, Jansoon?!” Hyein shouted, her fear quickly replaced by anger. “You scared the crap out of me!”

You exhaled slowly, feeling your shoulders relax slightly. “Hyein, what’s going on?”

“It’s just Jansoon,” she said, her voice still shaking but now tinged with irritation. “He’s being an idiot, running around with a fake knife and a stupid mask. I thought—”

But before she could finish, another scream cut through the air—this one high-pitched and blood-curdling.

“Jansoon? Jansoon, stop messing around!” Hyein shouted, her voice rising in panic.

Then came the sound of something wet and grotesque—a sickening squelch, followed by the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the ground.

“Oh my God,” Hyein whispered, her voice trembling again. “Run! Everyone, run inside!”

“Hyein! Hyein, what’s happening?” you demanded, gripping the edge of the desk.

“A man,” she whispered, her breath hitching. “A man in a white mask—he just—he just killed Jansoon. He killed him!”

Your stomach churned as Beomgyu’s eyes went wide in the booth across from you.

“Hyein, listen to me,” you said quickly, trying to keep your voice steady. “You need to get somewhere safe. Stay with your friends and lock yourselves in. Keep the line open—”

“No,” she interrupted, her voice shaky but determined. “We… we’re setting up a plan. We’ll distract him so we can get away. I’ll call you back soon.”

“Hyein, wait—”

The line went dead.

You sat there for a moment, staring at the monitor as your heart hammered in your chest. Slowly, you took off your headset and set it down on the desk, letting out a shaky breath.

“Did that really just happen?” Beomgyu asked, his voice breaking the heavy silence.

“Yeah,” you muttered, leaning back in your chair. “It did.”

Beomgyu ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “This town is insane. First the doctor, now a group of kids in a junkyard? What’s next, a clown at a carnival?”

You couldn’t help but let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Don’t jinx it.”

He sighed, leaning back in his booth and staring at the ceiling. “This is so stressful. I mean, we’re just two people in a radio station. We’re not trained for this.”

“No, we’re not,” you agreed, rubbing your temples. “But we’re all these people have right now.”

Beomgyu nodded, though his expression was grim. “I just hope that girl and her friends make it out. That killer… he’s not messing around.”

The phone rang again, and this time, your heart jumped in anticipation. You quickly signaled to Beomgyu, who patched the call through.

“Hyein?” you asked urgently.

“It’s me,” she whispered, her voice trembling but steadier than before. “We—we’ve got a plan. We’re going to get out of here.”

You exhaled in relief but quickly focused. “Okay, what’s the plan?”

“There are four of us left,” she explained. “Minji’s going to watch him, make sure we know where he is at all times. Jaemin is going to distract him—make noise and lead him away from the van. Doyeon’s going to act as bait, keeping his attention long enough for me to grab Jansoon’s keys and get the van started.”

You felt a mix of pride and fear for these kids. “That’s… brave, Hyein. Really brave. Are you sure you can pull this off?”

“We don’t have a choice,” she replied, her voice tightening. “We can’t just wait for him to find us all. We have to do something.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding even though she couldn’t see you. “Stick to the plan. Be quick, be careful, and don’t hesitate. You can do this.”

“Thanks,” she whispered. “I’ll call you back once we’re out.”

The line disconnected, leaving you and Beomgyu in an anxious silence.

“They’re kids,” Beomgyu muttered, shaking his head. “They shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“I know,” you said quietly, your eyes fixed on the monitor as if willing Hyein to call back with good news.

Minutes felt like hours as you waited, your mind racing with every worst-case scenario. Finally, the phone rang again.

“Hyein?” you answered quickly.

“We did it,” she said, her voice breathless but triumphant. “We did the plan. Minji kept an eye on him while Jaemin distracted him with a bunch of noise. He fell for it—totally chased after Jaemin. Then Doyeon lured him even further away, and I grabbed the keys.”

“That’s incredible,” you said, genuine admiration in your voice. “You’re all so brave.”

She let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, well, it’s not over yet. We got the van started, but there’s a problem. The doors to the junkyard—they’re stuck. Someone has to hold them open so we can drive through.”

Your heart sank. “Who’s going to do it?”

“I volunteered,” she said quietly.

“Hyein—”

“It’s fine,” she interrupted. “I’ll be fine. I’ll call you back.”

The line went dead again, and you sat frozen, a deep dread settling over you.

Beomgyu leaned forward, his expression tight with worry. “They better not leave her behind.”

You didn’t respond, too focused on the gnawing feeling in your gut.

When the phone rang again, you answered immediately.

“Hyein?”

“I’m still here,” she said, her voice shaking. “I got the doors open, but…”

You heard her inhale sharply, and your stomach dropped.

“But what?” you asked.

“He’s here,” she whispered. “He’s right in front of me.”

Your grip tightened on the desk. “Hyein, listen to me. Don’t run. Don’t make any sudden moves. Just—just stay calm.”

She let out a choked sob. “I don’t want to die.”

“You’re not going to die,” you said firmly, though your own voice trembled. “Just keep talking to me, okay? You’re doing great.”

There was a long silence on the other end, broken only by her quiet, panicked breaths.

“Hyein?”

“He’s…” Her voice was barely audible now. “He’s walking away.”

“What?” you asked, your mind reeling.

“He just… turned around and walked off. Into the forest.”

You blinked, trying to process what she was saying. “He left you? Just like that?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice filled with confusion and fear. “Why? Why would he do that?”

You didn’t have an answer. None of this made sense.

“I don’t know,” you admitted finally. “But you’re alive, Hyein. That’s what matters. Get to safety. Get back to your friends.”

“Okay,” she said softly, though her voice was still trembling. “Thank you.”

When the call ended, you sat back in your chair, your mind spinning.

“What the hell was that?” Beomgyu asked, breaking the silence.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, staring at the empty screen. “But I don’t think we’ve seen the last of him.”

The clock on the wall ticked steadily, and the tension in the room hung like a heavy fog. It was 3:17 a.m. when the phone rang again, the sharp sound cutting through the oppressive silence.

You leaned forward and answered, trying to keep the fatigue out of your voice. "You’re on the air."

For a moment, there was just static and the faint sound of someone breathing. Then a male voice, low and shaky, spoke.

"This is... this is so scary," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You straightened in your seat, your exhaustion replaced by unease. "What’s scary? Can you tell me where you are?"

"I’m at home," he said. "But I keep hearing things outside. Footsteps. Whistling. I’ve locked all the doors and windows, but it doesn’t feel like enough. This… this town isn’t supposed to be like this. It’s supposed to be quiet. Safe."

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. "I understand. It’s been a rough night for everyone, but you’ve done the right thing by securing your home. Stay inside. Stay quiet. Do you have anyone you can call to stay with you?"

"No," he muttered. "I live alone."

His voice broke slightly on the last word, and your chest tightened. "Okay. Listen to me. You’re not alone right now, all right? I’m here. If anything happens, you call me back immediately."

There was a long pause before he whispered, "Thanks."

Then the line went dead.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. Beomgyu, who had been silently watching you from his booth, gave you a small nod of acknowledgment.

"You’re handling this like a pro," he said.

"I’m just trying to keep people calm," you replied, though the weight of the night was starting to press down on you.

The hours crawled by, the silence in the studio broken only by the occasional hum of equipment and the distant sound of a car passing on the street. It was around 4:30 a.m. when the phone rang again.

Your heart leapt as you quickly picked it up. "You’re on the air."

"It’s me," a familiar voice said.

"Hyein?" you asked, relief flooding your voice.

"Yeah," she said, and you could hear the exhaustion in her tone. "We made it. We’re home. All of us, safe. Thanks to you."

A smile tugged at your lips, the first genuine one of the night. "That’s great to hear, Hyein. I’m so glad you’re all okay."

"You… you really helped us," she continued, her voice soft. "I don’t think we would’ve made it without you. I mean, we were so scared, but you kept us focused. Gave us hope."

"That was all you," you replied. "You and your friends were brave. You came up with a plan and stuck to it. You saved yourselves."

There was a pause, and then she said, "Still… thank you."

"Of course," you said, your voice warm. "Now, get some rest. You’ve earned it."

"I will," she promised. "Goodnight… and be careful, okay? I don’t think this is over."

"Goodnight, Hyein," you said softly before the line went dead.

You set the phone down and leaned back in your chair, exhaling slowly. Beomgyu looked over at you, his expression a mix of relief and exhaustion.

"At least there’s some good news," he said.

"Yeah," you murmured, though Hyein’s parting words echoed in your mind.

I don’t think this is over.

And deep down, you knew she was right.

The phone rang again, cutting through the brief calm. Unknown caller. You knew who it was even before you answered.

"Let me guess," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "You’re calling to congratulate me on something, right?"

A soft, mocking chuckle came through the line, chilling and deliberate. "You’re starting to understand how this works," the killer said, his voice smooth, almost amused. "But no congratulations this time. Just a little... advice."

You gripped the phone tighter. "And what kind of advice would that be?"

"Dr. Lee," he drawled, his tone teasing. "She seemed... stressed earlier, didn’t she? Want to know what really happened to her?"

Your breath caught, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

He chuckled again. "Pick something up for me, and maybe I’ll give you a clue. Check the alleyway behind your building. I left you a little surprise."

Beomgyu immediately leaned toward his microphone, shaking his head vehemently as he heard the exchange. “Don’t do it,” he mouthed, his face pale.

But the killer wasn’t done. "Go on," he said, his tone turning low and taunting. "Be brave. Or stay in your booth and let the mystery eat away at you. Your choice."

And then the line went dead.

"Don’t even think about it," Beomgyu said, his voice cutting through the silence. "He’s baiting you. It’s a trap."

You turned to him, trying to muster some confidence. "If it’s a trap, then it’s a bad one. He wouldn’t tip his hand like this if he really wanted me dead."

"Or maybe that’s exactly what he wants you to think," Beomgyu countered. "Don’t go."

But you were already getting up. "I’ll be fine. Stay here and keep the phones running."

Beomgyu sighed, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “you’re insane.”

You left the booth, stepping into the hallway. The silence of the empty building was oppressive, and the faint hum of the fluorescent lights above did little to calm your nerves. Descending the staircase, each step felt louder than the last, echoing in the quiet.

At the bottom, you approached the glass front doors. Outside was nothing but darkness, the alleyway barely illuminated by a single flickering streetlamp in the distance.

You tried the door. Locked.

Frowning, you turned back and made your way behind the reception desk, where the backdoor led to the alleyway. Pushing it open, the cool night air hit you immediately, carrying with it the faint scent of rain and garbage.

The alley was narrow and lined with dumpsters, shadows stretching and shifting in the dim light. You hesitated, the weight of the situation settling on your shoulders.

Then, you saw it.

An old, stained mattress lay discarded against the wall, and on top of it was something that made your stomach drop—a bloodied ID card.

Your hands trembled as you approached, the name and face on the card coming into focus. Dr. Lee.

You bent down, your breath hitching as you picked it up. The blood was dry but unmistakable, the edges of the card sticky.

You turned it over in your hands, a cold dread creeping up your spine. What did this mean? Was she—

A rustling sound.

You froze, your heart hammering in your chest. Slowly, you looked up, scanning the alleyway. There was nothing.

But past the fence, just beyond the edge of the alley, you could feel it—someone was watching you.

The air seemed to thicken, your skin prickling with unease. You couldn’t see anyone, but the presence was unmistakable.

Swallowing hard, you clenched the ID card in your hand and straightened up, forcing your legs to move. You turned and walked back toward the door, refusing to look back, even as the sensation of being watched grew stronger.

You reached for the door handle, only to find it wouldn’t budge. Locked.

“Damn it,” you muttered under your breath, shaking the handle one more time as if sheer willpower could force it open. The sensation of being watched lingered, making the hairs on your neck stand on end.

The sound of something faintly rustling outside sent a jolt of panic through you. You turned away from the door, scanning the dimly lit alley for another option. That’s when your eyes landed on the basement access door.

You cursed under your breath, knowing it was your only choice. "Great," you mumbled sarcastically, stepping toward it. Pushing the creaky door open, you descended the narrow staircase. The air grew colder with each step, the faint smell of mildew and rust wrapping around you like a damp blanket.

At the bottom, you reached a landing, the dim glow of an old overhead light flickering ominously. Shadows danced across the walls, making everything feel smaller and more claustrophobic.

Trying the first door, you found it locked. So was the next. You kept moving, your footsteps echoing faintly in the eerie silence. Finally, you reached a door that opened easily.

You stepped inside cautiously, your phone flashlight illuminating what could only be described as the janitor’s office—or, more accurately, a forgotten relic of one. The room was cramped and chaotic, filled with old supplies, broken equipment, and… mannequins?

You froze for a moment, your light catching the lifeless forms of several mannequins standing in one corner. Their chipped paint and blank expressions made your stomach twist. Who keeps mannequins in a basement office?

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, “this is officially creepy.”

Pushing past the eerie sight, your flashlight settled on the far wall, where a corkboard hung. You stepped closer, curiosity outweighing your unease.

The board was covered in newspaper clippings, photographs, and handwritten notes. Your pulse quickened as you scanned the array of items.

The photos were of people—townsfolk, by the looks of it. Some of the faces you recognized, including Dr. Lee. Others were strangers. Some pictures had red X’s drawn across them. Others were circled.

The clippings were just as unsettling. Headlines like “Local Man Disappears Without a Trace” and “Small-Town Tragedy: Young Man Found Dead” leapt out at you, along with handwritten notes like “Knew too much” and “Still watching.”

“Jesus,” you muttered, taking a step back.

You huffed, grabbing the corkboard from the wall and tucking it under your arm. Whatever this was, it wasn’t staying down here. You needed to get it upstairs, show Beomgyu, and figure out what the hell was going on.

The mannequins seemed closer than before as you turned to leave, but you tried to shake off the unease crawling up your spine.

"Don’t think about it," you muttered, stepping back out into the hallway.

With the corkboard in tow, you made your way back toward the stairs, trying not to think about how quiet everything felt.

Back in the booth, you placed the corkboard on the desk, your fingers trembling as you leaned over it. Beomgyu hovered behind you, peering at the chaotic arrangement of photos, clippings, and notes.

"Okay," you muttered, mostly to yourself. "This is a pattern. It has to be."

Your eyes scanned the board feverishly, focusing on the photos of the townsfolk. There were three with red X’s—you recognized two as victims you’d already heard about. The doctor’s photo, Dr. Lee, was circled in red but had no X, at least not yet.

The notes were cryptic but telling: "Knew too much." "Always works late."

Your heart skipped a beat as you landed on a photo of a man you vaguely recognized from a newspaper clipping you’d seen earlier—James Choi, the owner of the general store. His picture was circled too, with a note scribbled beside it: “Stays late, alone.”

You felt your stomach churn. “Beomgyu, who’s James Choi?”

Beomgyu squinted at the board. "James? Oh, he runs that little general store by the gas station. Nice guy, kind of quiet. Why?"

You jabbed your finger at his photo. “He’s next. Look at the notes. It’s all here—he works late, and the killer knows it. We need to call him now.”

Beomgyu grabbed the phone without hesitation, quickly dialing the number written on a post-it note you’d found pinned to the corner of the board. You paced nervously as the phone rang.

"Come on, pick up," Beomgyu muttered.

Finally, a voice answered. “Hello?”

“Mr. Choi?” Beomgyu asked, his voice tight. “This is from the late-night show—listen, we don’t have much time. Are you still at the store?”

James sounded confused. “Uh, yeah? Why? What’s this about?”

You leaned in, speaking quickly. “You’re in danger. You need to leave now. Grab your keys, get in your car, and just drive. Don’t ask questions, don’t wait—just go.”

There was a pause. “Danger? What are you talking about? This some kind of prank?”

“It’s not a prank,” you snapped, your voice rising in urgency. “There’s someone—”

The sound of something crashing interrupted James on the other end of the line, followed by a low, guttural noise that made your blood run cold.

“James?” Beomgyu called, his voice cracking. “James, what’s going on?”

The line went silent for a moment, the faint sound of labored breathing coming through. And then—

“Well, well,” came a familiar, taunting voice.

Your stomach dropped as the killer’s smooth, mocking tone filled the line. “You tried,” he said, almost lazily, like he had all the time in the world. “I’ll give you credit for that. But you’re just not fast enough, are you?”

Your hands clenched into fists. “You son of a—”

“Ah-ah,” the killer interrupted, a smirk evident in his voice. “No need for name-calling. I’m just doing what I do best. And you? Well, you’re doing what you do best—sitting in that little booth, thinking you can save people. How’s that working out for you so far?”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. “Why are you doing this?”

He laughed, the sound cold and detached. “You really think I’m going to explain myself? What kind of killer would I be if I gave away all my secrets? Let’s just say… I like keeping you on your toes. It’s fun watching you try so hard.”

Beomgyu’s face was pale, his eyes wide as he stared at the phone. “You’re sick,” he muttered under his breath.

The killer ignored him. “Oh, and one more thing,” he said, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. “The game’s far from over.”

And then the line went dead.

You stared at the phone, your heart pounding in your chest. Beomgyu looked at you, his face etched with fear.

“What do we do now?” he asked quietly.

You took a shaky breath, your mind racing. “We keep going. We figure this out.”

Beomgyu nodded, though his hands were trembling. "And what if we can’t?"

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

You sat hunched over the corkboard, piecing through the clues when Beomgyu cleared his throat, his voice hesitant. "Hey, maybe you should go back to the janitor’s room. There might be something we missed."

You glanced up at him, skeptical. “Like what? I already grabbed the corkboard.”

He shrugged, fidgeting with his pen. “I don’t know. It just feels like… that place might have more to it. There’s no way someone went through all the effort of pinning up all this stuff and didn’t leave more behind.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. He wasn’t wrong. “Fine,” you said, pushing back from the desk. “I’ll check again. Just… stay here and keep an ear on the phones.”

Beomgyu nodded quickly, relief evident on his face. “Be careful, okay?”

You didn’t bother replying as you headed back downstairs, retracing your steps. The basement was even creepier now, the flickering light above casting strange, shifting shadows along the walls. Pushing the janitor's office door open again, you stepped inside, the stale air immediately making your nose crinkle.

The mannequins were still there, standing motionless in the corner like silent sentinels. You forced yourself to ignore them, focusing instead on the cluttered room. You rummaged through drawers, boxes, and even under the dusty desk, finding nothing but old cleaning supplies and forgotten tools.

Just as you were about to give up, your fingers brushed against something cold and metallic under a pile of papers. You pulled it out—a key, small and rusted, with no label.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, standing up and looking around. “What do you open?”

You left the janitor’s office and started trying the key on every locked door in the hallway. It wasn’t until you reached the very last door—a heavy, steel one with a faded "Storage" sign on it—that the key finally turned.

The lock clicked, and the door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit storage room filled with shelves of old files, boxes, and equipment. You stepped inside, the smell of dust and mildew filling your nose.

Grabbing your phone for light, you began rifling through the shelves. Most of it seemed mundane—inventory lists, outdated maintenance logs, and other boring documents. But then you found a box marked “Incident Reports.”

You opened it, pulling out a stack of files. One in particular caught your eye—a report on someone named Sim Jaeyun.

You skimmed the pages, your brow furrowing as you read. According to the report, Sim Jaeyun was a young man who had been found dead in the town’s river. The official cause of death was ruled as reckless behavior, with high levels of alcohol detected in his blood.

But something didn’t add up.

You found another document tucked in the back of the file—a copy of the autopsy report, signed by none other than Dr. Lee. The details in the report were vague, almost suspiciously so. It noted the alcohol levels but didn’t mention any other significant findings.

Flipping through more of the file, you found a handwritten note from a police officer who had initially investigated the scene: “Something doesn’t feel right. Jaeyun was a good swimmer.”

Your stomach churned as you read on. The note went on to mention that Jaeyun had been arguing with someone at a local bar the night he died. The name of the person he argued with was blacked out, but whoever it was, they were never questioned.

Your mind reeled. Something about this was definitely off. Why would Dr. Lee sign off on such a suspicious autopsy? And why had no one followed up on the blacked-out name?

You gathered the files, clutching them tightly as you made your way back upstairs. Your thoughts were racing, pieces of the puzzle slowly starting to fit together.

Beomgyu looked up from his seat as you entered the booth, his eyes widening when he saw the stack of papers in your hands. “What did you find?”

You dropped the files on the desk, flipping them open. “A death report. Sim Jaeyun. Found in the river, officially ruled as reckless behavior and alcohol poisoning. But…”

“But what?” Beomgyu prompted, leaning closer.

You pointed to the autopsy report. “It doesn’t add up. Just alcohol levels that don’t make sense. And guess who signed the autopsy?”

Beomgyu’s eyes widened. “Dr. Lee?”

“Bingo,” you said grimly. “And there’s more—apparently, Jaeyun got into an argument with someone at a bar that night, but the name was blacked out in the report. Whoever it was, they were never questioned.”

Beomgyu leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “So, what are you saying? That Jaeyun didn’t just… fall into the river drunk?”

You nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Someone’s been covering this up. And I think it ties back to everything that’s happening now.”

Beomgyu stared at the files, his face pale. “This just keeps getting worse.”

You didn’t respond, your mind already racing with what to do next.

You tapped your pen against the desk anxiously, the silence between you and Beomgyu growing heavier by the second. Finally, you broke it. “We need to talk to someone who knew Jaeyun. Someone who can tell us more about what happened that night.”

Beomgyu nodded, already pulling up the town directory on his computer. “There were names listed in some of those files,” he muttered, scrolling through the screen. “Here—Kim Jihoon. He was one of Jaeyun’s friends.”

“Call him,” you said firmly, leaning forward.

Beomgyu hesitated for a second but then grabbed the phone, dialing the number. You both waited as the line rang, the sound stretching your nerves thin.

Finally, a groggy voice answered, “Hello? Who’s this?”

“Hi, this is Beomgyu from the town’s late-night talk show,” Beomgyu began cautiously. “We’re trying to get some information about Sim Jaeyun. You were listed as one of his friends. Do you have a moment to talk?”

There was a pause on the other end before Jihoon spoke again, his voice laced with confusion. “Jaeyun? Why are you asking about him? He’s been gone for years.”

You leaned toward the mic, speaking gently but urgently. “We’re trying to piece together what really happened to him, Jihoon. There are some things about his death that don’t make sense. Can you tell us what you remember from that night?”

Another long pause. Then Jihoon let out a sigh. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but… sure. I’ll tell you what I can.”

You exchanged a glance with Beomgyu, who nodded for you to continue. “Okay,” you said. “Start from the beginning. What was that night like?”

“It was supposed to be a fun night,” Jihoon began, his voice tinged with sadness. “We were celebrating Jaeyun. He’d just gotten a big promotion at work, and we all went out to the bar to party. Everything was fine at first—laughing, drinking, just having a good time. But then…”

He trailed off, and you prompted him gently. “But then what?”

Jihoon sighed again. “Jaeyun got into an argument with someone. I didn’t see who it was—I was across the bar at the time, talking to someone else. But I heard voices getting louder, and when I looked over, Jaeyun was face-to-face with this guy. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it looked heated.”

Your grip on the pen tightened. “Did you see what the guy looked like at all? Anything about him?”

“No,” Jihoon admitted. “It was dark, and the bar was crowded. I only saw his back. But… I don’t know, there was something off about the guy. The way he was standing, the way he moved… it gave me a bad feeling.”

“What happened after that?” you asked.

“Jaeyun stormed out of the bar,” Jihoon said. “The guy followed him. I tried to go after them, but by the time I got outside, they were both gone. I looked around, called out for Jaeyun, but… nothing. It was like they’d disappeared.”

“And then?”

“The next day, I heard the news,” Jihoon said, his voice breaking slightly. “Jaeyun was found dead in the river. They said he’d been drinking and must’ve fallen in, but…”

“But you didn’t believe that,” you finished for him.

“No,” Jihoon said firmly. “Jaeyun wasn’t that kind of guy. He could hold his liquor, and he would’ve been careful. It didn’t make sense then, and it doesn’t make sense now.”

You sat back in your chair, your mind racing. Jaeyun had argued with someone—someone who followed him out of the bar. Someone who might have been responsible for his death.

Beomgyu’s voice cut through the static over the intercom, calm but clipped. “The other line’s ringing. I’ll take care of it.”

You nodded to yourself, still holding the phone to your ear. “Alright.”

Turning your attention back to Jihoon, you settled into your chair and tried to ground yourself.

“Jaeyun was just… he was the kind of guy everyone liked, you know? He always made time for people. Even when he was busy, he’d stop to check in. If you were upset about something, he’d notice—he always noticed.” Jihoon’s voice broke slightly, and you could hear him swallow hard.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “He sounds like a really good person. Someone who didn’t deserve what happened.”

“No, he didn’t,” Jihoon agreed softly. “He’d do these little things, you know? Like, one time, I forgot my wallet, and he just covered everything without even saying anything. He didn’t want people to feel bad, didn’t want anyone to feel like a burden. That was just Jaeyun.”

You found yourself smiling faintly, despite the grim topic. “He must’ve been an amazing friend to have.”

“He was,” Jihoon said, his voice thick with emotion. “Losing him… it wasn’t just hard. It was—” He paused, and you could hear him take a deep breath. “It was like losing the glue that held us all together. He was the one who brought us all into the same orbit.”

Your chest tightened as you listened, the weight of Jihoon’s words pressing down on you. Jaeyun had been more than just a name on a file or a tragic story in the town’s history. He’d been a real person, someone loved deeply by those around him.

“I’m sorry, Jihoon,” you said softly. “I wish I could’ve met him. He sounds like he left a mark on everyone he knew.”

“He did,” Jihoon whispered. “And that’s what makes it so hard to believe… what they said about him, that he was drunk and reckless. That’s not him. It never felt right to me, even back then.”

You nodded, the puzzle pieces in your mind continuing to shift and rearrange themselves. “I understand. And I think you’re right to trust your gut. There’s more to this story, and I’m trying to piece it together.”

Jihoon let out a shaky laugh. “Thanks. I don’t know why you care so much—"

The lights in the booth flickered and then abruptly went out, plunging you into darkness. You froze, the silence suddenly suffocating.

A second later, Beomgyu’s voice came over the intercom, slightly muffled but urgent. “Uh… the power just went out in the whole building. I think you’ll need to go down to the basement and reset the breaker. I’d do it, but I’m kinda stuck here monitoring the calls.”

You clicked your flashlight on, its narrow beam cutting through the pitch-black room. “Got it,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Stay up here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“I’ll keep an eye on everything,” Beomgyu promised, his voice a little shaky but resolute.

You stood up, your flashlight casting eerie shadows as you moved toward the booth door. The air felt colder now, heavier, as though the power outage had sucked the life out of the building.

Exiting the booth, you walked down the hall toward the staircase. Every creak of the floor beneath your feet made your stomach tighten.

The door to the basement was slightly ajar when you reached it, creaking as you pushed it open. You descended the stairs, each step echoing loudly in the stillness.

The basement smelled of damp concrete and old cardboard. The beam of your flashlight bounced across the walls, revealing cluttered shelves, dusty equipment, and the same door to the janitor's room you’d searched earlier.

Something felt... wrong.

You paused at the bottom of the stairs, your breath catching as the sensation of eyes on you. It was that prickling feeling, the kind that made the hairs on your neck stand up.

You swung the flashlight around again, the beam slicing through the shadows. Nothing. “Get it together,” you muttered under your breath.

Moving cautiously, you made your way to the breaker panel in the corner of the room. The metal door was slightly ajar, as though someone had been there recently. You frowned and reached out, pulling it open.

The switches were all flipped off. You began resetting them, flipping each one back to its original position. As the last switch clicked into place, you heard a faint sound behind you—a scuffling, like a shoe sliding against the concrete floor.

You froze.

“Hello?” you called out, your voice echoing in the stillness.

No response.

Your flashlight beam darted across the room again, settling on nothing but dusty shelves and discarded junk. The sensation of being watched was stronger than ever, the weight of unseen eyes boring into your back.

Swallowing hard, you gripped the flashlight tighter and turned back toward the stairs. “It’s just your imagination,” you told yourself. “Just nerves.”

But as you climbed the stairs, the creak of a floorboard behind you made your blood run cold. You spun around, flashlight trembling in your hand, but there was no one there.

Heart pounding, you hurried up the remaining steps and shoved the door open, stepping back into the main hall. The lights flickered back on, flooding the building with their harsh fluorescent glow.

You walked back toward the booths, your thoughts still caught on Jihoon’s words, and your pulse quickened when you noticed something strange—the door to Beomgyu’s booth was open. Beomgyu never left it open when he was working.

Curiosity and concern flared in equal measure as you stepped inside. “Beomgyu?” you called softly, but the booth was empty.

The faint smell of his cologne lingered in the air, but there was no sign of him. You frowned, glancing around, trying to spot anything out of place. The silence felt oppressive, thick, like the air itself was watching you.

Turning back toward the hallway, you froze.

A figure was walking toward you, their movements deliberate and slow, as if savoring every step. They were dressed in black, a pale white mask covering their face, and in their hand gleamed a knife.

Your heart leapt into your throat. Thinking fast, you slammed the door shut and locked it just as the figure lunged. The door rattled violently as they crashed into it, and you stumbled back, gasping, your chest heaving.

The sound of the knife scraping against the door sent shivers down your spine.

You turned, instinctively seeking safety, only to feel your stomach drop.

Someone was standing in your booth.

On the other side of the glass separating Beomgyu’s booth from yours, the killer stood, their white mask tilted ever so slightly as if they were studying you.

You stared in disbelief, your pulse pounding in your ears as the killer leaned casually against the glass. Slowly, they raised their knife and tapped the blade against the glass, the metallic tink tink tink reverberating in the confined space.

"Hey there," their distorted voice drawled, smug and taunting. “Miss me?”

You didn’t answer, too frozen by the weight of the moment.

They chuckled, the sound muffled but chilling. “C’mon, let’s make this interesting. Open the door for me. I just want to play.”

Your stomach churned, and you shook your head, your voice trembling but firm. “Where’s Beomgyu?”

The killer tilted their head, tapping the knife against the glass again. “Oh, he’s around,” they said, their tone lilting, as if they were enjoying a private joke.

Panic clawed at your insides. “What did you do to him?”

The killer leaned closer to the glass, the mask distorting their features into a sinister blur. “Why so worried? Shouldn’t you be more concerned about yourself?”

You clenched your fists, forcing yourself to hold their gaze despite the fear threatening to crush you. “What do you want?”

They leaned back slightly, tapping the glass once more, their knife dragging a slow, deliberate line down its surface. “For now? I just want to see how long you can last.”

The killer’s mask shifted slightly as he glanced toward your desk, his knife tapping idly against the glass again. “Well, well,” he said, his voice dripping with mock surprise. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?”

You glanced at the desk, realizing he was looking at the scattered clues you’d been piecing together: the newspaper clippings, the notes, the photo of Jaeyun.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, though your hands were trembling at your sides.

The killer tilted his head, almost amused. “Don’t play dumb. You’ve been digging, haven’t you? Going through things you shouldn’t, asking questions. Connecting dots. You’re smarter than they gave you credit for.”

You clenched your fists, anger bubbling up beneath your fear. “Why are you doing this?” you demanded, your voice sharper now. “What’s the point of all this? Why terrorize the town? Why kill all these people?”

The killer let out a low, humorless laugh, the sound muffled behind his mask. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

You glared at him, heart pounding. “Then explain it. Make me understand.”

The killer stood straighter, the playful tilt of his head replaced with something colder, darker. His voice dropped, the teasing edge gone. “This isn’t random. This isn’t chaos for the sake of chaos. This is revenge.”

You froze. “Revenge? For what?”

“For Jaeyun,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “For what happened to him. For what they did to his life.”

Your breath caught, the weight of his words settling over you like a heavy blanket. “You’re doing all of this… because of Jaeyun?”

The killer nodded slowly. “He didn’t deserve what happened to him. He didn’t deserve to die the way he did. Alone. Cast aside. Written off as a reckless drunk when everyone knew that wasn’t who he was.”

You swallowed hard, the pieces clicking together in your mind. “You… you think someone in this town killed him. Don’t you?”

The killer laughed again, but this time it was bitter, full of venom. “Think? Oh, no. I don’t think. I know.”

Your pulse raced as you stared at him, trying to make sense of it all. “Then why target the town? Why not just go after the person responsible?”

The killer leaned closer to the glass, his voice low and menacing. “Because they all played a part. They turned a blind eye. They lied. They covered it up. And now? They’re going to pay.”

You shook your head, panic and disbelief swirling in your chest. “This isn’t justice. This is—this is insanity!”

“Call it whatever you want,” the killer said, stepping back slightly, his knife still glinting in his hand. “But by the time I’m done, everyone will know the truth. And Jaeyun will finally get the justice he deserves.”

You stared at him through the glass, trying to piece everything together. “What connects you to Jaeyun?” you asked, your voice shaking slightly. “Why are you doing this in his name? What was he to you?”

The killer chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through the air like a warning. “Oh, come on,” he said, tilting his head mockingly. “You’ve been working so hard. And yet you haven’t figured it out?”

You frowned, frustration mounting. “Stop playing games and just tell me!”

Before you could say anything else, he suddenly stopped pacing, his hand reaching up to the edge of his mask. “You want answers?” he asked, his tone laced with something dangerous. “Then pay attention.”

Your heart thundered in your chest as his fingers gripped the mask. Slowly, he pulled it off, revealing the face underneath.

Your breath caught in your throat. “No,” you whispered, stumbling back a step. “That’s not possible…”

It was Jaeyun.

His face was unmistakable, though there was something different now—harsher. His features were gaunter, his eyes darker, filled with a cold fire that sent a chill down your spine.

“But—you’re dead,” you stammered, shaking your head in disbelief. “They said you were dead. I saw the reports.”

A grim smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Dead?” he echoed, his voice dripping with venom. “I was supposed to be. The man who killed me certainly thought I was.”

“Then how are you alive?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

He stepped closer to the glass, his expression hard. “Sheer will,” he said, his tone icy. “I wasn’t supposed to survive that night. But I did. Barely. They threw me in the river, thinking they’d silenced me for good. But they didn’t count on me crawling out, broken, bleeding, but alive.”

Your stomach churned as you processed his words. “Who did this to you?”

Jaeyun’s jaw clenched, and his eyes burned with rage. “The man who killed me is now the town’s mayor,” he spat, his voice thick with hatred. “That promotion was supposed to be mine. I earned it. But he couldn’t stand the idea of me taking what he thought was his. So he decided to remove the competition—permanently.”

Your breath hitched. “They covered it up,” you murmured, the realization hitting you like a punch to the gut.

“Of course they did,” Jaeyun sneered. “They spun a pretty little story. Made me out to be reckless, irresponsible. A drunk who couldn’t handle himself. And everyone believed it.”

“And no one knew you were alive?” you asked, your voice trembling.

He shook his head, his expression cold. “Not a soul. They all thought they were free of me. That their secret was safe.” He leaned closer to the glass, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “But I’ve been watching. Waiting. And now, I’m back.”

You stared at him, your mind racing. “You’re doing all of this… to get revenge?”

Jaeyun smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Revenge? Justice? Call it whatever you want. But this town took everything from me. My life. My future. And now, I’m going to take everything from them.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. “This isn’t justice, Jaeyun. This is—this is murder.”

“They murdered me first,” he snapped, his voice sharp as a blade. “They thought they could bury me and move on. But they were wrong. And now, they’re going to pay.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. All you could do was stare at the man in front of you—the man who had risen from the dead, consumed by a need for vengeance.

Jaeyun’s gaze stayed locked on yours, his lips curving into a sly smile. He leaned against the glass, tapping his knife against it rhythmically, the sound unnerving in the silence. “Come on,” he murmured, his tone low and coaxing. “Open the door. Let’s talk properly. Face to face.”

Jaeyun’s smile faltered, his eyes narrowing as you stood your ground. He straightened, stepping closer to the glass, and his voice dropped into a darker, more threatening tone. “You think you're safe in there?” He tapped the knife against the glass again, this time with more force, his breath coming faster as his frustration grew. “You really think you can stop me by just hiding?”

When you didn’t respond, he slammed his fist against the glass with a deafening crack. The force rattled the walls, sending a shiver down your spine. He glared at you, his chest heaving, rage and amusement mixed in his expression. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be. Open the damn door.”

You stiffened, gripping the edge of the desk in front of you as if it could anchor you. “Why would I do that?” you asked, your voice sharper than you felt. “So you can kill me too? No thanks.”

His smile didn’t falter, but his eyes glinted with something almost playful. “Kill you?” he said, feigning offense. “Why would I do that? You’re the only one who’s actually listened to me. The only one who’s tried to understand.”

“Forgive me if I don’t find that comforting,” you shot back, but your voice wavered slightly.

He tilted his head, the knife pausing mid-tap. “You’re scared,” he observed, his voice soft, almost gentle. “But you don’t have to be. I’m not your enemy.”

“Not my enemy?” you echoed, incredulous. “You’ve been terrorizing this town for days. You killed people, Jaeyun.”

“They deserved it,” he said flatly, the warmth in his tone vanishing. “Every single one of them was complicit. They lied. They covered it up. They let him get away with it.”

“And Beomgyu?” you demanded, anger rising in your chest. “What did he ever do to you?”

Jaeyun hesitated, his smile faltering for a fraction of a second. “Collateral damage,” he said eventually, his tone colder now. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“You’re right,” you said, your voice firm despite the fear twisting in your gut. “I don’t. Because what you’re doing isn’t justice—it’s just more bloodshed.”

His expression darkened, but then he sighed, as if trying to calm himself. He stepped back from the glass slightly, sheathing the knife at his side. “You’re different,” he said after a moment, his tone soft again. “You’ve got a brain. You’ve been piecing this together all night. You know I’m not lying about what happened to me. So why not help me? Why not open the door and join me?”

You stared at him, stunned. “Join you?”

He nodded, his expression earnest. “You said it yourself—this isn’t justice. But maybe you could help me make it right. Maybe you could keep me… grounded.”

“You’re insane,” you whispered, shaking your head.

“Am I?” he countered, stepping closer to the glass again. “Or am I the only one who’s willing to do what it takes? Think about it—you’ve seen what this town is like. Corrupt, rotten to its core. You’ve been digging up its secrets all night. Do you really think anyone else is going to pay for what they’ve done?”

You hesitated, his words stirring something in you. The town was corrupt. The mayor had gotten away with murder. And Jaeyun… as twisted as his methods were, he wasn’t entirely wrong.

Seeing your hesitation, his smile returned, wider now. “That’s it,” he said softly, his voice almost soothing. “You’re starting to see it, aren’t you? This town doesn’t deserve your loyalty. They’ll betray you the first chance they get. But I won’t. You and me, we could fix this. Together.”

Your grip on the desk tightened, your knuckles white. “No,” you said finally, your voice shaking but resolute. “I’m not opening that door. I’m not like you.”

Jaeyun’s expression shifted, his smile fading. “Pity,” he murmured, his tone more disappointed than angry. “You would’ve made a good ally.”

He turned his back to you, walking toward the door to your booth. But before he left, he glanced over his shoulder, a dark smile curling his lips again. “I’ll be seeing you soon,” he said softly. “One way or another.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you trembling in the eerie silence of the room.

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hazelfoureyes · 10 months ago

Text

I just need you to know this story has had me in a chokehold and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I am enjoying writing it. This is gonna be a weird smutty slow burn, so still smut every post but full p in v sex will be a reward you have to work for?

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Redsmut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedysmut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

「warnings/tags: HumanAlastor x FemaleReader, implied attempt to SA, fingering, plot with porn?, Multi part work, bad kind of choking, blood kink, blood licking, just in general blood, Non-Sex repulsed Ace Spectrum Alastor, stalking, murder obvs, finger sucking, smoking kinda kills if you squint, Public sex acts, garter belt, You have a stage name but no one important uses it, Greed, Lust, Human Alastor is a little different than Demon Alastor. 」

minors dni 💅🏽

Part 1 Pretty in Red

The marriage between burlesque and jazz wasn’t unexpected. Before the Great Depression took the nation into a stranglehold, both Jazz and Burlesque were immoral wastes of time only the most barbaric sought out.

And oh, did you love it. Everyone who was made to feel like nobody flocked to your theater and the surrounding neighborhood. Men, women, the people who didn’t agree with either. The biblically inclined, those closer to sodom, the sapphic dolls. Everyone was equal in the halls of jazz rooms and theatres where burlesquers were welcome.

Because of the inclusive nature of such places, you often saw familiar faces. It wouldn’t be unusual for someone from Thursday night to be seen Saturday at a different locale.

That presented certain opportunities and challenges. When you found a good mark, it was easy to be wherever he was and play it off as fate and common interests.

And when you gained a new stalker, someone wanting a personal show, it could be hard to tell until it was too late.

Maybe it was your greed, or just your love of attention, but you found yourself focused almost entirely on a particularly well dressed man one evening. You’d seen him around before. Clean cut, sharp suit, a welcoming smile always on display. He looked like he had money, the most attractive quality of any man you could meet.

So focused on his gleaming stare from the side booths you hadn’t noticed the man at the stage front tables. You barely noticed him the night before, or the night before that, either. Because Smiles, as you took to calling the handsome stranger in the back, had been here three nights now too.

You really put on a show. Shimmying your hips, ostrich feathers following suit with every move. Your brassiere was heavy with shining rhinestones, panties of silk and lace. Your set was almost done, all that was left was to remove your top and slink away behind the curtains to hollers and whistles. Back turned, you unhooked the painful bra and let it fall to the stage with a clunk. Foot in front of foot, you stalked the stage length. With your hand hidden from view you took the feathered fan from the stagehand behind the curtain. As the music crescendoed you turned, fan unfurling just in time to hide yourself.

Groans, mass begging from the audience. Your stage name a chant now, a prayer. “Autumn! Come on!”

As the band slowed, music dying to mark the end of your number, you scanned the crowd. Eyes blinking coyly, you mouthed, “More? Did you want more?”

People were jumping to their feet, not Smiles but that was fine, you were focused now on the adoration of the crowd. The music ended, a second of silence.

You winked, the drums hitting one last beat as you let the fan close.

Fanfare! Men whistling, women clapping. Someone shouted a marriage proposal. You took a bow, twirled on the balls of your feet and slipped gracefully behind the curtains.

Your hands wound to your spine, rubbing blood flow back into your skin as the staff removed your headdress. Someone slipped your robe over you and you nodded a thanks, aching feet carrying you to the dressing room. It was chaos, as usual. Women buzzing around, tits and ass here and there. You smiled. You happened to enjoy this part of the job. Soft bodies in shiny costumes, lovely smells and sweet voices. If you could get dressed quickly enough, you could still take a tour of the room and slide into Smiles’ booth.

“Enjoy the show?” You’d ask. He’d lean in, maybe blush, “Always when you’re here.” Or something like that. You’d cozy up to him, flag down a waiter for something strong and pricey, and get him properly drunk. He’d wake up outside, fine and dandy except his missing cash.

You’ll call him a drunkard if he confronts you, accuse him of getting himself robbed after you refused his advances. You’ll say it too loudly, and he’ll run off.

You danced a little in your seat, another game of cat and mouse about to commence. But first, a smoke.

Unbeknownst to you, the well dressed man hadn’t come to see you. He preferred your singing shows at the little dive bar two blocks over. No, he had come for the man at the front table. For weeks now, he had watched him harassing the ladies of the few joints in New Orleans that weren’t regularly hounded by police. Your smiley mark even heard stories of unsavory acts, many women leaving the dance scene entirely after.

He didn’t care for it. He didn’t care for him. So he took to his hunt, following the man to come to his own conclusions. The pattern of behavior was obvious, and though he hadn’t seen what ended the last obsession, it was clear one of the performers at this club was being stalked as the next victim.

He watched your dance with half lidded eyes, just as much as he watched the man give dirty looks to the other men cheering. Heard the, “Marry me!” shouted at you.

Yes, it was obvious to him now.

So when the target of his interest got up and pushed his way into a staff only door, well, the well dressed man was sure to follow.

The great thing about confidence and a nicely tailored suit is that no one questions you about why you are where you are. So while the brute he tailed had to shove past people to get wherever he was going, people smiled and made room for the gentleman who was not far behind.

He caught the street access door before it closed, allowing it to stay open just a sliver. Enough for one golden brown eye to watch the events unfold.

“Can I have a light?” The stranger asked you. You looked at him, then to the staff only entrance he just came out of.

“I don’t think I know you….,” you handed him the lighter but he instead leaned into you, cigarette hanging from his lips. “You… new?”

You sparked the flint with a practiced thumb, taking three tries to get it lit, and put your hand out. The man didn’t budge, eyebrows rising, “You really don’t recognize me?” He asked, motioning with his hand to come closer. Your eyes glanced down the alley, cars slowly moving past the street. When you looked back, the man took your wrist in his hand. He held you so tightly that the muscles in your palm locked and you dropped the lighter.

“What the fu-,” his hand came across your face, halting your sentence.

“I’m your best customer. Every show. I’m the one who brings flowers.”

Dozens of men bring flowers, especially on the weekend shows. You held your cheek, skin burning. Your hand pulled back, the corner of your lip bleeding from his rings. Scrambling, your mind was searching for the right words.

With a forced smiled, your shaky voice finally piped up, “Oh! Yeah! Oh geez. I am so sorry, doll. I’m just so tired, and the alley is so dark. Here, let’s go inside so I can get a better look at you.” You tried to take your wrist from him but he didn’t loosen up.

“Nah, you ain’t tricking me. You owe me.” He pulled you into him, large hand gripping your face with ease, “You can’t lead on men like this and think you don’t gotta answer for it.” He kissed you, forcing your face into his. “Bitch! Did you fucking bite me?” He threw you into the tin trash cans beside the wall, knocking the wind out of you.

No purse, no sharp object, not even a heeled shoe to defend yourself with. You cursed, so preoccupied with Smiles you forgot your wits.

You spit out the copper saliva, his blood and yours. “I’ll keep biting, too.”

Why scream? The sounds of the next act were bouncing off the brick walls. Upbeat jazz and applause echoing around you. No one would hear you. Men can break your body but you never had to give them your dignity. Never give them the satisfaction of a response.

No. No screaming. You instead spent your energy trying to get to your feet. He took hold of your neck now, throttling you. It wasn’t what you had expected, but as he lifted you off the ground and your little dressing room slippers fell off, you thought this was actually better.

“Well I think that’s quite enough.”

You felt warmth, then registered wetness. Your shin scraped on the asphalt as you were dropped without warning. Trying to open your eyes, you found you couldn’t see. Wiping and blinking away the foreign liquid, you watched your attacker fall to his knees.

Blood was shooting from between his fingers around his own neck, each pulse becoming weaker and weaker, evident through the stream.

When he finally fell over, drained, you were startled to see another man with you. The light reflected off his glasses as he adjusted them, the knife still in his right hand as he did so.

“My, my. What a mess he’s made.” The man smiled down at you, offering a hand. When you didn’t immediately react, he cocked his head to the left, “Is that anyway to treat your rescuer?”

Is that was this was? A rescue? You took his hand with both of yours, pulling yourself up.

Smiles? You blinked away the shock, time to shift into your next part. Damsel. You weren’t out the woods yet.

“You saved my life!” As you pressed yourself into his chest, you tucked your head beneath his chin. You tried to make yourself small. “I owe you! Please let’s go inside, drinks on me!” You looked up, batting your lashes.

“I don’t think that’s wise, dear.” His gaze panned down your dress, soaked through. He could see the thinking behind your eyes.

“No, right….,” You gripped his vest, “We gotta get outta here, fast. There’s a hotel just behind the threatre.” You started to pull his suit jacket off, slipping it over yourself. “No cops, the theatre will get raided. Just— take me somewhere safe?”

You watched him look you over, arm finally extending to let you hook yours with his.

As soon as the hotel door closed behind you, you slipped off his jacket and ran to the dressing table mirror.

Your face was painted red, navy dress now black and sticky. It was good you stayed from view of the reception staff. “I didn’t get my rescuer’s name,” you licked your thumb and rubbed at the blood around your cheeks.

“Alastor. It’s a pleasure.”

You laughed, “Is that what you call a pleasure?” Turning, you pulled the mostly still dry handkerchief from your pocket and dabbed the corner on your tongue. You brought it up to the frame of his glasses and wiped the blood from the metal. “I’d hate to see what you call a bad time.”

Your hand slowed, noticing the way he was looking at you. Typically men’s pupils were blown when they fell on you, but his were constricted. They flitted around your face. His hand took hold of yours, fingers separating the thumb from the handkerchief. He pulled the little square of yellow fabric free with his other hand, allowing him to hold your thumb now by itself.

His lips opened, tongue licking the blood stained finger before placing it directly into his mouth.

Your stared, horrified, as he sucked the digit clean.

His eyes fluttered close, finger popping out of his mouth with a debauched sound. You made no attempt to take back your hand. The realization you may have hopped out of the frying pan and into the fire set in.

“You are a funny one, aren’t you?” You tried to sound as in control as possible. Calm. Unwavered. Offered a timid smile.

He chuckled, “You could say that. May I?” His fingers lifted your chin. You didn’t know what he was asking. His soft smile looked downright loving. He smelled so good, notes of something earthy rising above the copper.

You nodded, because part of you wanted to see where it would go. And part of you thought you didn’t have a choice.

As his face came to yours, you instinctually closed your eyes expecting a kiss. But no, instead you felt his tongue wipe across the cut at the corner of your mouth. His breath blanketed your cheek. Then his hand left your chin, the warmth of his body gone entirely.

You opened your eyes to see him at the door, slipping back into his jacket, “I’ll pay for the night.” He tipped his head to you and exited the room back first, eyes locked with yours until the door closed.

You just stood there in the silence left behind. But as if on cue, the adrenaline waned and your knees buckled under you. You were moments from death, now somehow spared. But what had he— Alastor, been doing there? Did he follow you, too? The cat and mouse had been flipped, or perhaps now this was a fox and hound?

Gripping the dressing table, you pulled yourself up and into the view of the mirror again. Face streaked in dried blood save for the one clean spot where your lips met cheek.

You felt like a ghost the next day. It would be nice to tell someone about what happened but, “Hey a man tried to kill me and then another man killed him! Then he licked blood off my face and I let him. It was the most disturbingly erotic thing to happen to me in months!” would get you tossed into a wagon.

“Are you rude or just stupid?” The theatre manager pulled you aside by the arm when you came into rehearsal. “You can’t just disappear like that, people were waiting.”

Your eyes narrowed, “Was… my absence really the most exciting part of the evening? Not the John in the gutter?”

He huffed, “So that’s it? Got a beau?”

“Wait— nothing else happened last night? After I left?”

“This show doesn’t revolve around you. Plenty happened.”

“Excuse me,” you hurried into the back, “And sorry!”

You opened the street access door and looked into the alley. Trash cans neat and tidy, no dead man, nothing strange or telltale.

You ducked back inside. Had Smiles done this? Obviously, actually. No stranger just cleaned up the dead body. If the flatfeet had found him, the club would have been under scrutiny.

Good, you thought, and went about your work.

Rehearsal dragged on. Little details summoning you back to the night before.

“You okay?” Another performer asked, grabbing your hand and inspecting the blood around your cuticles.

“Oh it’s not mine!” You laughed, she laughed, you walked off before she could clarify.

When applying your makeup, you remembered his hands on your face. They were so soft. Definitely a man of means. A brief intrusive thought, the other hands on your face last night.

You pranced on stage, going through the motions of your routine. Even in the empty hall, your eyes wandered to the booth he’d been in. And as you took the stage in earnest later that night you searched the crowd for the glint of his glasses and found nothing shiny nor promising.

Back in the dressing room you took a moment to wonder what the actual fuck you we’re doing. He murdered a man in front of you, why were you hoping to see him again? He had half a mind to kill you next.

But would that really be so bad? Your life was routine, boring even. The only thing keeping your lungs expanding was the applause. Maybe the headlines of your death would cause such an uproar, dancer struck down in her prime, that you could bask in the loving glow all the way from hell.

One way to remain famous, you considered. A dramatic death.

Not that you were famous. You weren’t part of the national circuits. Just your local theatres, a common face and body to the sinners of Louisiana’s most infamous city. But, well, fame is relative. For the scene you were in, you were your own little star.

A shining light. Shimmering. The faint light reflecting off— Blood. For a second you could only remember looking through bloodied, heavy lashes.

“You’ve been so out of it. Trouble in paradise?” Ruth, the curviest of your coworkers and arguably the favorite of the crew, rested her chin on your head. Looking at each other in the mirror, you offered a soft smile.

“I’ll letcha know when I get there.”

She pinched your cheek, “Tommy said you had a new guy. I just figured-,”

“That isn’t,” you clenched your eyes shut, “no, no guy. I just got locked out last night in the alley. The sticky-,” sticky and viscous blood, “back door wouldn’t open up. I didn’t want to come in the front in my slippers so I just hoofed it home.”

She patted your head, “if you say so! Be careful out there though. Dangerous these days.”

An understatement.

You enjoyed the spotlight, but more than that you craved the attention doted on you after. You’d walk through the hall to the bar to adoring looks and free drinks. It bothered you that Tommy was telling the girls you had a man. You didn’t want to appear too closed off, or for word to spread to the customers.

Last thing you needed was men passing you by for more available options. Not that the pay wasn’t fine. Ends were being met, but grifting added an element of thrill. You really did love the chase. Finding someone and deciding he would be yours, he would fall under your spell and be at your feminine mercy. It made you feel powerful, almost mythical. And the money was nice. Sometimes you didn’t even need to steal, the men would just lavish you in gifts and you’d let it fizzle out naturally. Normally their wives would snatch them back or they’d just get tired of waiting for you to leave the stage and dance into their domestic dreams. A housewife? An adopted mother to a grown man during the day, a hungry nymph at night? For what, an allowance and a home you didn’t own? Pass. Where’s that handsome man with his knife? That was a much better steel to fall onto than what these men offered from their laps.

From your view at the bar you knew he wasn’t there. But with a nod you decided the chase was still on. You were going to get your victory. If anything, this would be easier. You had dirt on him. Blackmail would be simple enough. Bloody clothes and the perfect alibi; being a woman. No cop would think you took down that hulking man.

Ah, right. There was no body.

That would be an issue. He had to have taken it somewhere. Just find him and follow. Worst case scenario, you play the usual game and steal whatever cash was in his wallet.

Well, worst case you die.

You slept sitting up to keep your hair set, during the day your makeup barely was there but a red lip always the star. You had three nice dresses (well, you had had four) so you figured three nights to find him before moving on.

You slinked through the crowds of the hot and sweaty dance club Moxie. Swinging music kept bodies moving, and though you kept your eyes open you didn’t catch sight of this Alastor fellow. Which was fine! You enjoyed a few dances, swing always making you feel energized. Not a waste of a Friday night.

Saturday was easy, the lounge on fifth. Smooth jazz, plush chairs, rich men. Definitely a place you could imagine Smiles to frequent. The whisky was all top shelf, and many gentlemen offered you a lap to sit. Sure, no Alastor, but you didn’t go home empty handed.

You weren’t a particularly great singer, but if the room was small enough and the piano loud enough, you could please a crowd. Your friend had you on a semi-set schedule most Sundays at her little dive too many blocks from Main Street. Her darling played piano, you sat and sang to the couple dozen patrons stuffed into the one room bar. When you finished your set, you took your bows and looked for your friend. You needed to tell her you wouldn’t be staying.

Your polite nods and gracious thank yous were abruptly ended by a tap on your shoulder, “You dropped this, miss.” You did a mental check of your purse before turning around.

“Oh, a sight for sore eyes. Mr. Alastor.” Your face lit up, you could see it in his glasses.

“You’re too kind. Here, I apologize for the delay. I wanted to return them clean.” In his hand was your yellow handkerchief, folded neatly. You took it and found it uncharacteristically heavy.

When you unfurled it, your brass lighter fell into your waiting palm. Your thumb caressed the engraving.

Alastor watched your face as the lighter tumbled out. “I figured it was important, given the condition and detailing.”

You tested the weight in your hand, “Did you fill it?” You looked to him incredulously. He nodded.

It was a surprisingly kind act, and you needed a second to regain your composure. “I don’t know how to thank you.” Your quick wit failed for a moment, but rebounded fast. “Except with a drink. My treat. To my rescuer.”

He mulled the idea, your reaction to him was interesting. Alastor had thought if he approached you first you’d show a little more fear, or shock. But you looked downright chipper to see him there.

“Unfortunately I don’t have much time tonight. I had just wanted to return your items.”

Your smile dropped. How did he know you were here? Had he been carrying— no, he said he had them cleaned. Had he seen you here before, before the incident? A chuckle, smile brought back, “My luck is terrible. You always flee me. I hope you don’t see my company as deadweight.”

Alastor’s smile twitched, eyes hidden behind the glare of his glasses, “Not at all! I think you’d find I’m quite comfortable with-.”

“Lugging people around?” You said. That constricted pupil again, eyes wild. A chill ran down your spine. Alarms were going off. Wrong answer. You straightened your back, popping the items into your purse, “Next time.”

Alastor nodded, “Yes. Next time, then.”

You fucked it up. You knew you had, but suddenly his words felt like a thinly veiled threat.

You turned to leave and hadn’t seen his smile sour.

It hadn’t been a threat. He hadn’t anticipated you to notice the implication. Most people would have been so blinded by his charm they would fail to notice the glaring red flags. He was mildly impressed. You would be more trouble than he had expected.

Alastor knew he needed to do something about the clearly clever woman who was seemingly expecting him. He had followed you for several days, surprised to find you not spreading word about the murder. You hadn’t spoken to anyone, really. Even the man you left the lounge with, you just smiled and nodded nearly all evening while the man dominated the conversation. So, your sharp wit took him off guard. Who were you pretending to be? And why?

All of your cleverness fell apart when you tried to follow him. It was almost comical. He felt bad. This was going to be embarrassing for you.

He took several right turns and stepped into the park just outside of the bar. You thought perhaps he had gotten lost and considered turning around after you realized you’d lost sight of him. As you passed a large weeping willow, you were pulled under the curtains of hanging moss by your waist.

Back against the large tree, you could only pout.

“What are you after, stalking a man in the dead of night?” Alastor had you pinned, both hands on either side of your head. His body boxed you in, not that there was much more to see than moss and darkness.

You blinked several times. What a question. You answered honestly, “You.” He cocked a brow. Then you lied, “Your affection. Your time.”

Something akin to a giggle bubbled from his chest. “I don’t have much affection, but I have even less time.” Your eyes darted around, looking for your next move. “I-,” you grabbed him by the face and kissed him. When you broke the kiss he was staring wide eyed, glasses askew. He opened his mouth to speak and you kissed him again, longer, harder.

He seemed frozen under your mouth, lips taut. Your hands roamed his face, messing up his hair and glasses. Mind reeling. Play the nymph. Be the whore the men always said they hated. Be too strong, too forward, too much and he’ll run off like men do. You could try again another day.

Your hand reached for his lap, his hips instinctively jerking away. Perfect. Men these days can’t get it up for a woman who takes the lead.

Alastor was entirely unsure what the fuck was happening. You were wildly unpredictable. When you grabbed at his dick, he thought his eyes would cross from the shock. Is this what ‘affection’ meant to you? He couldn’t understand it. Couldn’t understand you. Were you really just lustful? Even after what you’d seen him—

You bit at his bottom lip, pulling slightly. Big eyes looking back at him. Your breath was already running away from you, adrenaline seemingly synonymous with Alastor. Staring up at him, you waited. His move.

It was his turn to blink. He looked off to his left, eyes swinging back to you. With a shrug, he leaned his body back towards yours. His hand slid down the front of your dress; red silk. A deer in the headlights, you tensed. The rare third option; fight, flight, freeze. Soon his fingers were tracing the lace of your stockings, climbing up the garter straps.

His eyes were studying your face. You didn’t want to give the wrong answer again, but at this point you weren’t sure any answer was right. This was taking a sudden turn and your foot was off the brake. You closed your eyes, opting out of the scrutiny of his stare. His hand met your stomach and began to slip down again. He rested it between your thighs, longer fingers and palm cupping the entirety of your sex.

Alastor struggled to decipher your expression. It was almost like a pout, but more subtle. You hadn’t said stop or pushed him away yet. Was he right? You were just… horny? As his hand slid back up and pried their way into your panties, you trembled.

It had been so long since someone else’s hand was on you. Someone whose hands you genuinely enjoyed, who you wanted to be on you.

Is that right? You wanted him to touch you?

Maybe it was the stare, or the smile. Probably just the adrenaline.

His hand found its place again, middle finger bending to part your folds and feel your wetness. You whimpered, hand coming to cover your own mouth.

“Is this what you wanted?” He said it low, a husky tone he didn’t have before.

No. Maybe. You nodded yes.

“Will you be satisfied now? No more tailing me?”

No. Probably not. Another nod.

His finger pushed in, and with a kind of greed you didn't recognize your hips ground down into his palm. He slipped in and out of you with ease. You had no idea when or why you got so wet.

“I always end up dripping around you, Alastor,” you whispered through your fingers. His ring finger joined. Why couldn’t you shut up? Why did you have to bring up, well, the murder?

“A common problem for those I take an interest in.”

Oh no. You moaned softly into your hand. Sharp mind made dull by his fingers so you didn’t, couldn’t, process his double meaning.

Oh no. The sounds of footsteps, a pair of lovers sneaking into the park for privacy. You heard their giggles, the sounds of kisses interrupting their walking.

“Shhh”, he breathed into your ear as he worked a third finger into your heat. One knuckle, two knuckles. A whimper. His hand came to press down over your own on your mouth, a second barrier for your mewling. You groaned, the sound coming from your throat.

Whispers. The silhouette of the two interlopers was visible through the willow’s curtains. You watched from over his shoulder, pussy clenching around him. Three knuckles deep, bottoming out.

Fuck it. You moaned freely into your hand, wiggling down onto his hand. Hips rolling, you let your little sounds of praise flow.

The couple laughed, “That’s the spirit!” A man said, a woman hushing him and pulling him away.

Alastor grinned into your neck, immensely amused. He would have better luck predicting a dice roll than your next move.

You hadn’t realized how hollow you’d been until now, feeling so full. When alone, you focused on just cumming, fingers on your clit and mind on memories. You never bothered much with anything else.

Your hunger intensified. You wanted more. Both hands reached for his crotch again, finding nothing there for you. You could have cried. How were you a wet mess pressed against a tree and he was soft as a newspaper in a rainstorm?

Your pride stung. Men usually stood at attention around you. A half sob into the air earned you a chuckle from Alastor. “It’s no reflection of you, darling.” His nose nudged your ear lobe, “I need a little different stimulation than most.”

“Do you play for the other team?” You considered how you could momentarily switch.

A louder laugh, “I don’t have a team.” He leaned back now to look at you. His freehand came to press on your lower stomach, gently pushing your womb down. Your brows knit, why did that feel so good? Hands going to the tree behind you for stability.

“Sure feels like you know how to play. This is-,” his hand switched from thrusting slowly in and out to moving front and back. It sent vibrations up into you. Your eyes rolled close. Shut up. Stop talking. Focus. Close.

He kissed around your open mouth, “Well, it’d be unamerican to not dabble. When necessary, or when the conditions are right.”

Double speak over, “Just tell me what to do to get you to fuck me.”

Alastor’s head fell back as he laughed earnestly, most likely alerting anyone in the immediate area. “Ha! No, this is more fun.”

“Oh fuck you,” you brought a hand around to your throbbing clit to quicken your release.

“Maybe next time, dear.” He took a second, fingers in you sliding around your walls in search of something before finding his place and continuing. Your breath noticeably changed, instead of panting you were practically holding it in. You needed the pressure, you needed something to squeeze that spring of pleasure down so it could snap back. As your face went flush, he kissed at your temple, “You look so pretty in red.”

“Oh god-,” Your head fell onto his chest, your joint effort bringing you to orgasm.

“A little late on Sunday for prayers, don't you think?”

A tiny scream into his suit pocket, his hand not stopping until your thighs finished twitching around him. Even after his hand stopped moving you gripped him by the wrist and rolled onto his fingers a few more times. The pleasure ebbing but still spiking every time he moved against you.

Ah, greed. That was it. He understood a little better. This wasn’t lust, not alone. You were definitely a mix of the two. With a sigh, you released your hold and let him slide out of you. Already you felt lonelier. Already you wished to start over.

With his dry hand he smoothed out your dress. You weren’t ashamed but you suddenly felt too embarrassed to look him the eye. But you did, hearing him hum as he sucked his fingers clean.

Why were you only ever in his mouth in the strangest ways?

“You always taste so sweet, dear. Now!” You wanted to say something clever and salacious like, ‘there’s more where that came from’ but he didn’t afford you the opportunity. He offered you his hooked arm, “It’s dangerous in the park at night. Let’s get you to a cab and on your way home.”

“Is this a hobby of yours?” Your legs were wobbly but otherwise fine. “Illegal activities in public?”

“Funny, I was just wondering the same of you. Stalking is a crime, dear.”

You bit your lip. “Touché.”

He flagged down a taxi, “Tell him where to go.” You slid into the back seat and half-whispered to the driver. Alastor leaned into the passenger side front window and after paying the man, went to close your door, “You’ve been an entertaining sparring partner. Goodbye, sweetheart.”

With a thud of the door and a growl of the engine, you were driving away from him. You could see him in the rear window. He didn’t dare to move, he didn’t need you following another step of his.

Which was unfortunate for him, as you were already scheming how to find him again.

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @angelicwillows

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan ,@valkyrie-expeditions

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simpee9000 · 4 months ago

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Not Just Friends - 10 -

M.List : Prologue : Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 : Part 5 : Part 6 : Part 7 : Part 8 : Part 9 : Words 3.1k

Childhood best friends turned into something more, at least with the label. Katsuki Bakugo, a fast-rising hero and fast-learning guy who is ever so slow in getting attached to and loving someone. Even three long years into a relationship, and your friends even forget you're even dating. Nothing happening, spare a few kisses.. like 3 kisses, during high school. Graduated and living together, and you guys have done absolutely nothing to further the relationship. Are you sure you're not just friends? Also not edited!! CW: Smut, brief domestic violence discussion, virginity loss, aggressive flirting from creeps, gore with pro hero stuff (lmk if i missed any) Applies to all chapters regardless of it is in said chapter.

It was a turn back to normal after the long conversation between the two of you. Tears sliding down your faces, majority yours but you saw a couple fall from his. It was a necessary conversation. He opened up about his quirk and apologized for ditching you. You apologize for the same.

Easily enough, the two of you moved on from it quickly. Talking about the past two months when all the overwhelming emotions passed. You blabbed about how many new offers you were getting and he talked about how he was hiring more and more people to his agency.

Despite not being able to ignore the last two months, it was easy to move past.

Growing past it within the night, having everything off your chest. It still didn't make things go back to normal.

You continued to share a bed, but changed your schedules around again to see more of each other. Flipping back into your old routine as much as possible. Not without a few changes though. Lunches would only be once a week rather than daily, and you'd be working for another hour or two after he got home. Since you wanted to sleep in still.

But it still improved your relationship again. Building it back up slowly. You were able to eat a late dinner together each night and share an off day. Sharing your off day made it easier for you anyway. After the break-in it was hard to be home without him, so the last two months were rough. Your therapist said you were doing great though, so that helped.

The first days of going back to normal was rough, having to adjust to seeing each other daily again. Conversations between the two of you felt awkward, mainly on your side. You grew so much in those two months, no longer relying on him. It shifted the dynamic.

"Y'good?" Katsuki's gruff voice broke your train of thought. Your eyes flickered up to him.

"Huh?"

"Been fuckin' playin' with your food," he points his fork at your plate, "Don't like it or some shit?"

"No, I like it," you looked back down. It was definitely not your favorite meal he made, but it was good.

His silverware claddered roughly against his plate, his arms crossing, "The fuck has been wrong with you?"

"Do you have to swear with every sentence?" you avoided, taking a bite of your food instead.

You could feel him roll his eyes along with his heavy sigh, "You've been off since."

"A relationship doesn't heal just like that," you pointed out.

"Will you look at me?" he asked annoyed. A glance up at his expression made you cut your attitude. He was trying, that much was obvious. And after all your talk of communication, you were doing nothing.

"Sorry," you set your fork down, engaging in the conversation, "I'm just lost? I guess. Hard to place it. I've changed a lot in the past two months-"

"How?"

You glared at him for interrupting you. "I've stopped prioritizing you. I'm more focused on myself now. It's hard to go back to normal when the 'normal,' was me running circles around you."

He shuffled in his seat, "That's fine. I'm glad you've moved on in that sense, done you good."

"You're not worried how it'll change us?" you asked softly, it's been all you were thinking of for the past few weeks.

"I'm always fuckin' worried," he admitted, eyes drifting to look at the wall instead of you, "But we'll work it out."

You were glad he still viewed the two of you as a 'we,' heart melting slightly as you reached your hand across the table. "I'm not going to tip-toe around you anymore, Kats."

"Good," he gruffed out, uncrossing his arms and grabbing onto your hand. Changing his focus onto that, "I don't want you to."

"Good," you agreed, smiling at how he let his thumb trace over your knuckles.

"You, um," he fumbled for a minute, eyebrows furrowing, "You're still okay with us not doing shit right?"

"I'd never push that," you confirmed, shocked he even thought you would complain about that.

"Don't get me wrong, I would, just-" he pulled his hands back wiping them on his pants before running them down his face, "my dumb fuckin' quirk."

"You love your quirk," you pointed out.

"Yeah and I'd fuckin' love to touch my girlfriend but no, I gotta be a horny virgin 'cause of it," he groaned, crossing his arms again.

Stifling a laugh was difficult, but you managed, "Maybe we can just work up to it? Get you used to the baseline first before, that."

His quirk went off suddenly, "Can't even fuckin' think of it," he groaned, standing up to go wash his hands off.

"It's cute." You followed behind him to place dishes in the skin, having cleared your plates a while ago.

"Fuck you."

"Hey," you laughed, "At least you can tell Denki and Sero that you beat them at No Nut November. And have for the past 19 years."

He shot you a glare from the sink, "The one challenge I wouldn't want to beat, great."

"It's what makes you number one to me, baby," you teased, kissing his shoulder as you moved past him, wanting to pester him while the mood was light and he was already flustered. It was nice how easy it was to move past something with him. But you wanted to test how much he'd react to you not tiptoeing around him anymore.

With success, his quirk popped off again.

"Fuck off."

You let out a crackle of laughter, "You're too easy."

"Die."

He finally stopped washing his hands, turning to dry them off. You watched from the counter, plotting. "Your back looks nice," you commented, his muscles have been more defined lately and you only got to appreciate it now. His tank top showcases his shoulders nicely.

He froze for a moment, side-eyeing you. "Do you want to get blown up or something?"

"No, do you want to get blown?" you asked back, letting Denki's crude humor influence you.

Like a charm, his quirk sparked off. "Quit it."

"Nah, it's too much fun," you smiled at him, kicking off the counter you were leaning on and moving to leave the kitchen. Hand squeezing his bicep when you walked by.

He didn't let you get even a step away before he grabbed your hand and pulled you into him. His hands grabbing at your hips and moving to push you into the counter. "Where do y'think you're goin'?" he smirked down at you.

Your face bloomed a deep shade, blushing harshly at how close he was. He hasn't been that close since you argued two months ago.

"Nothin' to say?"

You blinked up at him, trying to steady the rapid beating of your heart with the way he was tracing circles onto your hips.

"Might like you but that doesn't mean I'll let you say shit and get away with it," he crowded you closer to the counter.

"What happened to your quirk?" you whispered, losing your voice at the proximity.

"You offered to work up to it, right?" he brushed his hands clean on his shirt briefly before going back to your hips.

"Yeah," you looked down at his hands, trying to make sure the watch was off.

"It's off," he confirmed, twisting his wrist so you could see. When you looked back up at him, he held his gaze deeply, "What happened to that smart mouth?"

"Want me to show you?" you placed your hands on his chest, running over the span of his shoulders. Your body was on fire, the two of you flirted, sure, but this was different. His quirk was fully there. He was fully there.

His eyes lidded slightly, zeroing in his focus on your lips, "Fuck yeah I do."

Your lips closed the gap between the two of you. It wasn't as soft and nervous as all the past kisses, it was something you just threw yourself in. Stomach crazy with butterflies as your mind started buzzing. His hands tightened their grip on your hips as he stepped even closer to you.

Bodies curled into each other to get closer. Your hands digging into the hair at the base of his neck as you deepened the kiss. Full of passion and sexual tension. There was hardly any innocence to the kiss, and if there was, it faded within seconds.

A sigh of relief falling from your lips when his hands slipped under your shirt, brushing over your skin roughly. Fingers being callused and dry from work.

As soon as his hands met your skin he pulled away frantically. Pulling his body from yours completely before his quirk started popping off.

"Fuck me," he groaned in frustration, grabbing a dish towel and wiping his hands off.

"I wish I could," you teased.

He shot you a glare, blush flaring all over his face and coating his neck with a red. "Stop," he grumbled.

"Stop what?"

"Stop looking at me like that," he shied away, washing his hands in water for a moment.

You paused for a moment, considering how you looked. With how flushed his face was you could tell you were no better. Lips plumped and freshly kissed red as your shirt was ruffled up from his hands as you leaned back into the counter. "Why would I? You clearly like what you see?"

The confidence within you came from nowhere. There has been sexual tension between the two of you before, many times before. Even before he had the watch. But normally you had to be drunk as hell to make such obvious jokes towards him, especially ones about sex. Maybe it was the fact that it was on the table, when before it wasn't. You knew he wanted it as much as you did.

"Fuck off," he grumbled.

"Come on, Kats," you pushed your luck.

"I love you, but please stop whatever the fuck you're doing before we need a new apartment," he spoke without thought, freezing the second he realized what he said.

You barked out a laugh, he spoke so plainly. You didn't want him to get wrapped up in his head, so you ignored the rushing butterflies over his admissions. "Fine, fine," you gave in, smiling happily at him, "Hug?"

He looked at you, untrusting of you before he opened his arms, gesturing you near.

Taking the moment, you threw yourself in his arms. Wrapping your arms around his waist he pulled you in fully. Letting you rest your head on his chest as he rested his on yours.

Everything felt secure in your relationship, you'd move one step at a time together. With a lot of teasing between, but that was common between you and him, despite the lack of it lately.

"I love you too, by the way," you mumbled into his chest, having a happy feeling travel through your body at the small number of times he's actually said it.

"I know."

You moved slightly to look up at him, his eyes fell on yours before you spoke, "Are you hard?"

He glared sharply, embarrassment covering his features as you felt him grow hot. You were going to ignore the feeling of him pressing into your lower stomach, but decided you wanted the chance to rub it in his face that you have the upper hand here. He tried to pull away, only for you to keep your grip.

"Stop," he warned, his hands raised away from you.

"It's only a little spark, Kats," you tried to comfort.

With a roll of his eyes he smiled evilly down at you, "You asked for it," before you could protest, he wiped his sweaty hands on your face before rubbing the rest of it off on your sweater, down your chest.

"Katsuki! That's gross," you pulled away from him, using your sleeve to wipe away the damp residue of his sweat off your cheek before you pulled the bottom of your shirt out, seeing if he got sweat marks on it. "You just used that as an excuse to touch my tits," you glared at him, seeing the faint marks of his handprint on your shirt, right over your tits. It surprised you that he sweat enough to leave a mark.

He laughed sharply, walking out of the kitchen, "Got no proof, Brains."

"I literally have the proof of your hands on my tits," you called out to him.

He looked over you, "How do I know those are mine?"

"Really? Cause I'd let a random guy grope me and he'd be sweaty enough to leave a mark like you do," you snarked.

"No way to know," he shrugged.

"You're such an ass," you groaned.

His phone buzzing loudly cut off his laughter.

"This late?" you asked as you eyed his work phone.

"It's PR," he said as he furrowed his brows, answering the phone, "Dynamight."

You heard mumbling for a moment before he huffed and put his phone on speaker. "Can she hear me now?" the lady's voice rang through, the same manager you've spoken with before.

"Hello," you answered for him, "What can I do?"

"You've done quite enough," she spoke abruptly. It took a lot to get her mad, so to have pissed her off five words was a record. "People are spreading pictures of you crying in the middle of the street."

Katsuki's eyes shot to you, concerned.

"They also claim to of heard you talking to Deku, saying you said his name several times."

His concerned look turned to a glare quickly.

"I can explain that," you said quickly before Katsuki added his two cents, "I was having a rough time and decided to call a friend, simple."

She laughed, "It's not the simple. It was the night of your party. And with the lack of social outings between Dynamight and you, people are saying the two of you broken up."

"Why does this matter?" you asked annoyed. It was still a sore subject.

"It matters because bad things are being said about the two of you. It's not just Dynamight's image anymore, but yours too. They're saying he's abusive while also saying that you're sleeping your way to the top."

You've heard that said too many times to count. Both things. So filled with anger, you grabbed the phone from Katsuki's hand and hung up.

"The fuck?"

"I don't know! I'm annoyed," you huffed, tossing his phone onto the couch before pacing, "I'm sick of people talking."

"I get it's annoying but you're gonna hear it-"

"Not helping," you glared at him.

"PR helps get them to knock it off," he pushed.

"She hardly says anything but the obvious," you rolled your eyes, "We can just post a picture of us or something."

"How does that prove I don't hit you?"

You paused your pacing, "Under a truth quirk I said the worst thing about you was your socks. I think if you abused me I would have said that."

He gave up his fight with a shrug, moving to sit on the couch instead.

"Don't get me wrong, it pisses me off that they say that. There is just no way to prove otherwise. Nothing is ever enough for them," you corrected, not wanting him to get the idea that you were only concerned for yourself.

"If you think that, why are you so pissed right now?" he crossed his arms.

You shook your eyes off the flex of his arms, throwing your hands up in frustration, "Because everyone says that, I hate hearing it."

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone thinks you hit me or some bullshit," you huff.

"Everyone?"

"Like people that don't know you," you changed, "you're a softy and they ignore it.

"Who you callin soft?" he sat up straight.

You smiled at him, "Kats, you can't even look mad at me."

He glared at you, eyebrows being the only thing supporting it. His eyes were soft. "Die."

"Let's just forget about it," you sighed, not wanting to talk about the press or your relationship. Nothing stressful.

"Why were you even cryin' to Deku?"

"You," you admitted shamefully, looking away. Talking about this would be stressful.

When he said nothing, you turned back to him. He was staring out the window. The view was filled with city lights.

"I only called him 'cause I couldn't call you," you comforted, stepping closer to him.

"Could always call me," he spoke softly.

"Kats," at this point you were standing right in front of him

"Yeah?"

You swallowed quickly, "We don't need to do everything together."

He took a deep breath, "I know, just want you to know you can call me, no matter what."

"I already know that," you smiled fondly at him. It was one of the best things about him. No matter how mad he was at a friend or family, he would never ignore them if they needed anything, even a random call. He might ignore a stupid text, but he never missed a call from someone close to him.

"Good."

"Maybe," he looked up at you, "We don't do anything publically? If they think I'm dating you then good, if they think I'm not, I don't care."

"If you want," he shrugged.

"You don't mind?" you step closer to him, him making space for you by manspreading further.

"Not really, just don't go making 'em think you're dating that damn nerd."

"Okay."

"Want somethin'?" he looked at you with a brow up. His eyes flickering from your chest to your face.

"Seems like you do," you smiled, inviting yourself more into his personal space by straddling him, both knees by his side.

"What are you doing?" his hands were pushed outwards, far from you.

"It's fine," you hushed him, sitting your weight on his lap.

"We didn't even do this stuff with the watch," he hissed at you, face flushed.

"Yes we did," you looked at him confused, "I made you cum y-"

"Shut it," he huffed, hands popping with the sound of his quirk, "Get off."

"Look, if you really want to, I will, but I don't think you want me to," you didn't want to force him into anything.

"What even put you in this mood?" he glared at you.

"You looked at my tits," you shrugged.

"Cause you still have my handprint on em," he smirked proudly.

You looked down at them quickly, "Bakugo."

"What? It's how it should be."

"Will it stain?"

"Shouldn't."

"I hate you," you glared at him.

"Sure, cause one glance at your tits makes you wanna jump me, cause you hate me," he was too cocky.

"Shut up you can hardly kiss me without losing your mind," you fought back.

"Kissed ya earlier didn't I?"

"Barely, come on, kiss me like a man-"

Forgetting his prior reluctance, he pulled you into him. Connecting your lips in a messy kiss as his hand held you to him by the back of your neck. Slowly losing its grip before sliding down to your waist. Losing himself into the kiss just as you were.

You were shocked he was even kissing you, cherishing the win regardless. Moving more onto him. Wrapping your arms around him, scratching at his scalp as you pulled on his hair.

The groan that left his lips encouraged you to push down more in his lap, wanting something more. You could never get enough of him. Anything he'd give, you'd take.

A rough push of yourself onto him caused his quirk to go off, not just a small spark either.

It singed your top, burning your skin.

You jumped off his lap once he let go, holding your sides.

His hand was placed right over your old scar.

Posted late cause I forgot to finish the chapter, and the tag list is being a bitch rn. (phone is glitching and laptop is weird) if it's fucked up mb.

---

-Next Part-

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lovifie · 11 months ago

Text

Lift Me Off My Feet

Chapter 2: Captain’s Dinner

Masterlist

Original Thought - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12

Warning/Notes: Captain Price x Reader (on this chapter only, the poly 141 is still building), Oral sex (F receiver), a bit nasty

The rest of the drive goes by in a breath, suspiciously, Simon didn't step on any more bumps, and it felt like being rocking a baby. Kyle got his hand inside your shirt, but as nasty as your acts before, now his hand was just innocently caressing your back, keeping you calm and pliant against him.

At some point, the car stops and you hear Simon talk with someone outside of the car.

“Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

The car moves again but for short this time. And just after a minute or two, the car stops and Simon turns off the engine. Everyone begins to exit the car, Kyle included with you in his arms. You notice people walking around, not too close but enough to see you, and you start to feel self-aware of the fact that you are being carried like a baby by the Sergeant.

“Can you put me down? I want to walk.” You say squirming a bit in the Sergeant’s arms.

“It's faster this way actually, doll.” He responds giving you a quick smile.

“At least put me on your back, it feels weird not seeing where we going.” You say turning your head around as much as you can.

Kyle snickers, making you turn to him with your eyebrows furrowed. “Doll, I actually would be really glad if you let me carry you like this the rest of the way because like this I can hide the fact that I came on my pants like a teenager.”

“Oh.” That's all you managed to say as you feel your cheek blushing. You can definitely feel your panties sticking to your pussy, but he must definitely feel his underwear hardening.

“Soap, Ghost, we will tomorrow at 0700 for a debriefing of today's events. Go rest now. Kyle, come into my office so we can find the key and free our little birdie.” Price orders behind you, relief flowing through your veins at the thought of being free.

Kyle enters the room, Price’s office by logic, and sits you on a desk. And once you are seated, he raises his arm and crouches down getting out of the weird knot of limbs.

He stands before you, free, as you look at him dumbfounded, still cuffed.

“H-how… You could do that?!” You ask looking at him. “I thought you didn't fit, that's why you haven't got out! You could do that?!”

Kyle simply chuckles at you while he adjusts his pants quickly and drops a peck on your forehead whispering against your skin. “Sorry, luv. But it was just too comfortable.” He turns to Price, announcing he is going to take a shower and leaves the room sending you a wink right before closing the door.

You turn to Price, looking a bit shocked still and he picks the key from the drawer at his desk. “Sorry about him, he is a good lad. Hope you were not uncomfortable, right?” He asks as he walks up to you, you put your hands together expecting him to unlock the cuffs, but instead, his hands travel to the back of your tights and he picks you up forcing you to put your hands around his shoulder (almost strangling him for a second before you remember to move your hands above his head)

You let him be, too tired already to fight anymore, and he sits you on the other side of the desk. In front of his chair, once you are seated, he sits on his chair and gets between your legs.

The sight in front of you shouldn't be allowed, broad shoulders making you physically spread your legs to accommodate him, blue eyes looking up at you and warm hands picking yours. “Let's take these off, yeah?”

“Yes, please.” You whisper back, not even sure what you are begging for.

Price takes the cuffs back, furrowing when he sees the red mark where the metal dented into your soft skin. He caresses both wrists drawing circles and then one of them goes higher on your arm up to the bandages. “How's the pain?” He asks looking at your arm.

“Hm? Oh, that… honestly, I always thought bullet wounds would hurt a lot more. It's not too bad, I almost had forgotten about it.” You say smiling back at him.

He chuckles back shaking his head. “I'm definitely having you give a pep talk to the rookies. Sorry about your blouse, as well. I'll pay for a new one.” He says caressing your arm.

“Oh, there is no need, really. This is an old one, I should have thrown it out a bit ago anyway.” You admit shaking your hands to let him know there is no need.

“I insist. And if you get any medical bills, or need any physiotherapy sessions or anything. We will pay for them, we'll take care of you, doll.” He says standing up to his full height still between your legs.

“You keep saying that…”

“What do you mean?”

“That you will take care of me.”

“Yes. We will if you allow us.”

You look at his face, trying to decipher what he means. But the intensity of his gaze pulls the air out of your lungs leaving you breathless, the heat from his body is scorching against you and the ground seems so far away you feel like you falling off a cliff.

“Are you okay, doll?” He asks softly looking to meet your gaze again cupping your face.

“Yeah.” You say softly pulling his hand away and you put a hand on his chest pushing him back. “I-I should get going, I have work in the morning it's better if I get back home.”

“You can stay the night if you want, I'll drive you to work tomorrow.” He quickly responds like he doesn't want you to go.

“Capt- John.” You correct yourself earning a smile from him. “John, I need to shower, and I don't have any clean clothes, really you have done more than enough for me, I will just go home.”

You stay looking at him, waiting for him to move back so you can hop off the desk and get out. But he doesn't, instead, he gets closer and moves both hands to cup your face making you look at him. “You are thinking too hard, doll.”

And then, as natural as it is to blink, he kisses you.

A soft peck right on the corner of your mouth to test the waters, a soft peck on the other side, and then, softly, almost like melting at the touch, a kiss right to the centre of your lips.

He moves slightly back, enough to be able to speak and ask. “You solid?”

And you nod.

You are not even a hundred per cent sure you know what he means, but you know that whatever the man in front of you would ask, you would say yes.

You shouldn't, you don't know him. You only know his name and his position as Captain. You know your mind is not clear, right now he is your saviour, he is been taking care of you since you met, and he is so strong, so gentle with you, so handsome.

You shouldn't be leaning in for another kiss, but you are.

There is always tomorrow for regrets.

But tonight, all your senses scream John Price.

Never did you though a kiss could get you so hot and bothered, he only has his hands on your face and his lips on yours and you are already panting.

He moves forward, hips crashing onto yours making you gasp and he uses the opportunity to get his tongue on your mouth.

You can taste the tobacco on his tongue, swimming down your body. His hands move, taking your hair back into a ponytail and he pulls back. It stings and you groan softly, shifting to a moan when you feel his lips down your throat.

His moustache tickles the soft skin of your neck in contrast with the scorching feeling of his breath. “Who beat me to it?” He asks, chuckling drily looking at something on your neck.

Fucking Kyle.

“Better to erase it, doll.” He says, possessiveness taking over him. And there are no more soft kisses, now he makes out, no, he devours your neck like a madman. Sucking and biting, feeling the mark erupt and your panties to grow wetter.

You bite your lip to try and not make an embarrassment of yourself from how badly you want to moan, and you take his shirt out of his pants. Running your hands under the shirt, needing to feel him.

“I hope you don't mind, sweetheart. Since it is already ruined…” He trails off as he grabs your shirt over your chest and pulls, hard, pulling the buttons of the fabric and ripping it where it didn't give in.

He almost growls when he sees the skin giggle and he dives right into your chest. His hands rest on your waist pulling you forward him, pulling your shirt out of your pants.

You try to take off your jacket, but the sudden movement causes a sharp pain in your arm making you groan in pain. Price quickly detaches himself from your skin to look at your face, alarmed he hurted you. “Sorry, you alright love?” He asks feeling guilty. You shake your head, only worrying him more and then you add. “It's not you, the jacket. Got stuck on the bandages or something; can you help me, please?” He smirks mischievously at you. “Help you to undress? Oh, darling, that's my pleasure.”

He kisses you on your lips again, taking off your jacket carefully and then your shirt. He pulls your bra strap down your shoulder, leaving your bra downside, your boobs out and pushes up. He cups one of your boobs groaning on your mouth when you moan softly and then bends down to get the other one inside his mouth.

He twirls his tongue around your nipple, savouring the taste of your skin. You move your hand to the back of his head, and when he gets lower, right under your boob over your ribs, and he bites you as you pull his hair moaning his name. “John…”

“Yeah, darling, moan my name like that.” He mumbles against your skin before he goes back to your mouth. “You taste like fucking candy, sweetheart. Can't fucking wait to taste all of your.”

“Do it. Do it, please.” You say against his mouth, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

“Aw, darling, what a fucking sight. Asking so nicely, how can I say no?” He says between kisses as he undoes your pants.

He lifts your ass from the desk with an arm as he pulls down your pants and your underwear all together. He leaves you again on the desk and undoes the clasp of your bra taking it off. Leaving you completely bare on his desk, while he remains completely dressed. The vest is even still on.

“Fuck… I must have been a fucking saint on my last life to be worth it of this sight, angel.” He says looking up and down your body as he moves his hands from your waist up to your face to give you a kiss. “I'm gonna make you feel good, love. So, so good…” he trails off as he begins to give kisses down your jaw, neck, collarbones, sternum, tummy, and just when he is about to reach your mount. He pulls back making you whine. “Shh, pretty, just getting comfy.”

He grabs the chair from before sitting down, gets closer between your legs and pulls them over his shoulder forcing you to lean on your back using the elbow that is not hurt to prop yourself up enough to see him.

He kisses the inside of your tights, from your knee and higher, higher, higher… you can feel his beard on that soaking part of you where you need him the most. But he doesn't indulge you, instead, he goes back to your knee and high again. Teasing you, leaving you panting, aching, clenching around anything, needy, desperate.

“John… please… no more teasing…” you beg, feeling desperate for him.

“Poor baby, already soaking.” He says looking directly at your cunt, and you feel as he presses a thumb on your clit making you shudder at the feeling and he slowly moves it down your slit, reaching your dripping hole and pressing it, but without getting it inside. Just collecting your juices and driving you mad.

He takes the thumb up to his lips licking it while he looks at your eyes. “Just as I thought, fucking candy, love.” You want to complain, to grab his hair and shove his face against your cunt but the only thing that leaves your lips is a bratty whine, too horny to think straight.

You feel Price chuckle against your skin, and when you finally feel ready to tell him off, he presses his tongue flat against your clit turning your brain to absolute mush as you let go of a moan worth of a porn video as you let your head fall back.

He moves his head up and down, letting his tongue move between your folds; collecting your arousal mixing it with his spit making a mess on his beard.

His index finger moves to your entrance, slowly getting it inside stretching you slightly because of the size of his hands. He sucks at your clit, almost making out with it. And once he feels satisfied with it, he gets a second finger inside.

You keep moaning his name, like a mantra almost, not being able to remain quiet when he begins to thrust his finger in and out of your wet cunt. The sounds, the squelch, the sight, delightful.

You have been given head before, but never like this. It never had you begin for them to keep going, to not let you hanging, never this desperate. But John Price, it has you wishing you could kiss the terrorist of your neighbour just for putting you in his line of vision.

He curls his fingers inside of you pressing a point that has you falling on your back hitting your head load enough for him to chuckle against your cunt, but before he can lift his head to check on you, you just get your hand on his head keeping him in place.

Caressing his hair, spreading your legs even wider, he eats you out like a man starved. Like he hasn't eaten in days like he just found a water fountain in the middle of the desert.

You realise then, that the reason why you have never felt like this before with any ex-lover, is because you have never felt this desired. You can feel Price moaning against your cunt, and it makes you wonder who is enjoying it more.

Not for long though, because you begin to feel the knot on your stomach get tighter. More and more tight, you feel your toes curl and you close your eyes letting your mouth open as you feel the knot coming undone like an elevator free-falling. A high-pitched moan leaves your lips that in any other situation would make you feel embarrassed and your tights clasp around Price’s head when he doesn't relent on his attack.

He helps you ride out your orgasm as you cover your face with your hands, the light in the room is suddenly too bright, and after a couple of seconds, you look up at him.

And the sight…

He is sitting, leaning back against the chair, manspreading wide, an elbow resting on the armrest as he lazily licks clean the fingers that were just inside of you. Absolutely content with himself and his accomplishments, a sight absolutely devilishly delicious.

You notice the tent on his pants, and you try to touch him with your feet. But he grabs your ankle, and you don't have enough energy on you to push it.

“As much as I would like to keep going, doll.” He says letting your leg down and coming up closer to your face. “You can barely keep your eyes open, so I think it's time to rest.”

He stands up, goes somewhere behind you that you guess is the bathroom because of the sound of water and a bit later, he is back. He picks you up, and lays down on a sofa, with you on top.

A bathroom and a sofa inside of his personal office, he really is a military captain. He covers the both of you with a blanket, he gives you a kiss to the forehead and before you know it, you are out.

Post-nut clarity doesn't hit until a couple of hours later.

You are naked, in an unknown man's office, far away from home, with no phone, no keys, no money, no clothes, ashamed.

So you do the only thing you can do, you slip away from the sleeping handsome man, get dressed as fast as you can without making any noise and leave the room. You don't even bother to put on your blouse, choosing to just close your jacket.

Once outside, you let a sigh escape your lips. You know the military base, it is actually not that far away from your home, less than an hour walking back.

Are you excited about walking back home at the break of dawn alone? No. Do you have another choice? Not really, not any that would help reduce the walk of shame you found yourself doing.

So you get your hands on your pockets and start doing your half a marathon back home.

And just as the sun is beginning to pick over the horizon, you reach your home.

Just last night there were dozens of police cars, military workers, everything, the whole paraphernalia. But now? It is just dead silence, no a soul in sight, as if nothing has ever happened.

The janitor calls your name when he sees you, he gives you your keys and tells you that the police dropped them by when they cleaned everything.

You wait for the elevator and make your way up to your floor. On apartment 608, there is a police notice, banning everyone from getting close to the crime scene. There are bullet holes and some bloody handprints on the walls, a blood splutters a bit too close to the height your arm is.

You shake your head trying to forget about it, and open your door. Once inside, you lock the door and look for your phone. Only to remember that it must be in your bag, in your car, where you dropped it when you tried to run.

You look at the clock on the wall that you always forget about, and realise you have 20 minutes to get ready if you want to make it time to work. So get at it.

Most of those 20 minutes, go into taking a shower. You feel dirty, mainly because you are, but also because you feel used. You think about Price and Kyle, handsome military men, they have probably visited countries you don't even know exist and they probably have a lover in each of them.

You are probably just another one, and you let them in so easily. They must have barely felt any satisfaction from such an easy catch.

You feel like crying for being so silly, but a voice in your head stops you. The voice in your head that picks you up whenever you fuck something up. Don't cry! Why would you cry?! They used you just as much as you used them! And they are not crying! So neither are you! You made a grown man cum on his pants by rubbing yourself a bit and an even grown-er man basically get on his knees to eat you out! So don't cry!

So you get out of the shower with another attitude, you are going to get a hold of the situation, you are going to get space between these men and yourself, and you are going to be just fine!

“Son of a bitch!” You exclaim when you see yourself in the mirror, if you had thrown yourself down the stairs there would be fewer bruises on your body. Well, not bruises, hickeys.

You huff getting out of the bathroom to get dressed, and then back to the bathroom to cover all the hickeys.

By divine grace, you make on time for work. You are exhausted, starving and if any of your coworkers spoke to you today just a bit out of tone, you would chew their arms off. But luckily, everything goes right.

At least, until you get back home, and the first thing you see when you get off the elevator, is a masked man standing in front of your door.

I guess it is a series now, I don't know where I'm going with it but there is still a couple of things I have thoughts about.

If you guys have any ideas or scenarios please, tell me hehe

And if you want me to tag you on the next part drop a coment 💗

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reidsbabyhoney · 3 months ago

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opposite | s.r.

the one where spencer has a new girlfriend, and she couldn't be more different than you.

pairing: spencer reid x bau!reader category: angst, fluff during the flashback but mainly angst cw: spencer not using his 187 IQ, reader feeling like their not enough, self deprecating thoughts. wc: 3.3k a/n: thought a great way to start my spencer masterlist was with angst! no I'm kidding, I was listening to 'opposite' by sabrina carpenter and felt very inspired, will probably make a part two where they have a happier ending (pls don't yell at me for this) I imagine season 6 Spencer for this, but you can imagine him however you want. this post is long overdue, I hope you love it! (also its not proof read at all so i'm sorry in advanced)

masterlist spencer masterlist

Falling for your coworker was probably the worst thing you could have done, especially when that coworker is Dr. Spencer Reid.

You had a crush on the resident genius since you had joined the team a year after Spencer.

In your mind, there were two scenarios that would happen in the case that he did find out about your infatuation with him.

Either you told him you were in love with him, he rejects you and you have to live with the embarrassment seeing him everyday at work, or you tell him you're in love with him, you start dating and the relationship doesn't work out, living with a Dr. Reid shaped hole in your heart. So you lose either way.

About a year and a half ago you finally decided to tell Spencer how you felt about him. A result of one too many drinks at a bar you were both dragged to.

"You know you look really pretty under this lighting Spence," you say, clearly affected by the alcohol in your system.

A light sheen of sweat covered his forehead, a few stray hairs sticking to his face. He was flushed from the few glasses of alcohol he had consumed that night, but regardless, you thought he never looked prettier. Though, that might be the alcohol you consumed talking.

Spencer's cheeks redden a bit from the compliment, his brain working in overdrive to figure out how to respond to your compliment.

"Ah, um, thanks, you always look beautiful y/n," he says, a bit shy with his words.

You blush at his words, looking down towards the glass in your hand.

"It's a bit loud in here, do you want to go outside?" he asks, a bit of hesitation in his voice.

"Well I was just about to leave, will you walk me out?"

"Of course," he quickly responds.

"Okay, let me just grab my purse," you say, putting the glass down on the table behind you.

You grab all of your things, quickly letting the team know you're both leaving so they don't worry.

As you make your way around the bar to say goodbye, the girls give you suggestive glances, and you just shake your head and laugh at their antics.

After saying your goodbyes, you both make your way outside.

Standing right outside the door to the small bar, you shiver as the cold air nips at your skin.

You hear Spencer shuffling next to you, and suddenly he's handing you the cardigan he was wearing.

You're about to respond saying that he'll get cold, but he quickly shuts you up.

"No, no, take it. Between 700 and 1,500 people die from hypothermia in the United States annually. Though you might not think it's not that cold for you to get hypothermia here, it can occur in temperatures above 40°F if someone is chilled from rain, sweat, or cold water. I also just really don't want you to be cold," he finishes his sentence by putting the cardigan in your hands, not letting you say no.

"Thank you Spence, I just don't want you to possibly get hypothermia either," you say with a small laugh.

"Well that's a good concern to have, because men are 9-10 times more likely to get and die from hypothermia. This is because men are more likely to be exposed to the necessary conditions to contract hypothermia, so, I-sorry I'm rambling aren't?" he says, his cheeks turning to a deep shade of red once he realizes that the information continues to spill from his lips.

"No don't worry, I like listening, I always do," you say, a blush of your own covering your cheeks at the confession.

"Yeah, I've noticed, you're really the only one who pays attention to my rambles when were on the plane, or anywhere for that matter," he says, now noticing how the moonlight glows against your skin.

"I've always found it really interesting and kind of attractive that you just have all of this information stored in your head," you say looking up to the stars that littered the sky, completely oblivious to the effect your words had on the genius.

"Attractive? I didn't think you'd ever use that word to describe me," he's a bit stunned at your sentence, because no way the girl he's had a crush on since he laid eyes on her is telling him this.

"Well you don't get the nickname Pretty Boy from just anywhere do you," you say, a teasing smile falling across your lips.

There's a moment of comfortable silence between the two of you after that. Though that doesn't last long.

"Y'know I've had the biggest crush on you since I met you four years ago, I just never thought you felt the same," realizing what you just said, your eyes widened and you quickly turned towards Spencer, about to take back everything you just drunkenly confessed.

"y/n that's not something funny to joke about," he says, completely serious.

"I, no, I'm being serious. I've had the biggest crush in you since I joined the team. I'm pretty sure everyone but you knows, or well that used to be the case."

And just like that the biggest secret that's been resting on your shoulders for the past four years fell from your lips.

"Are you being serious right now?" he asks, as if he truly couldn't believe the words coming from your mouth.

"Spence, you can just reject me, you know. You don't have to play dumb."

Embarrassment wraps around your words, clearly upset that it seems that Spencer is trying to let you down easily.

"y/n, no. I-I like you too. I have for the longest time. If anything, I thought you were the one that wasn't going to feel the same if I'm honest," he says with an awkward smile covering his lips.

"You're serious?"

"Of course I am, I've had the most absurd crush on you since your first day you joined," his blushes a bit at the memory, "I'm surprised you never caught on."

You look down at your shoes, the alcohol seemingly left your body and now you're unsure about how to respond to him. You're about to speak when he interrupts you.

"I, um, I have to go soon, the last train is going to leave in about 27 minutes, but I was wondering if would you want to get coffee with me sometime?" he painfully stutters through his sentence, but you find it endearing, knowing its not due to the cool air outside.

"I would really love that Spence, yeah."

Leaning up to plant a shy kiss on his cheek, you say your goodbyes and make your way to you car to drive home.

Turning back for a second, you see Spencer with his hand on the spot that you gave him a kiss. Almost touching it to keep the warmth there to ensure that it truly happened.

The entire car ride home was bliss, you couldn't believe you told Spencer how you felt, and he actually shared those feelings.

Once you arrive home you realize you never gave Spencer his cardigan back. Wrapping it around yourself a bit tighter, you take your phone out of your pocket, feeling the buzz of a text notification.

From: Spence

Hi y/n! It's Spencer, I just got home. Please let me know when you're home so I know you made it back safe. I'll see you at work on Monday :)

Your face splits into a smile that nearly hurts your cheeks. Realizing you are home, you send him a quick message before getting ready for bed.

To: Spence

Hi Spence, I just got home, thanks for checking up on me. I'll see you at work on Monday, sweet dreams. ♥️

You shake your head at the memories. Looking up from the book in your hand, you spot the exact cardigan Spencer gave you that night across the arm of the couch, almost taunting you.

The year you were together was a dream you never thought would come true. You really thought your nightmare of Spencer deciding you weren't good enough and breaking up with you was never going to happen.

Though life isn't all fairy tales.

The job got to you, as people said it would. You both grew stressed and agitated. There never seemed to be enough time in the day, hell in a week, for you two to find time to spend together.

Even though you worked together, you rarely found time to actually separate your relationship from work.

The day you both realized that was the day you mutually came to the decision that it was best if you stayed friends. Or whatever word is used to describe still working with the person that you were the most vulnerable with and knew you inside and out, better than anyone else in the world.

The breakup happened six months ago. It wasn't messy or anything of the sorts, but it definitely created a drift in your relationship with the genius. Everyone in the office could tell, and you both knew that the relationship you shared before you started dating would never return.

Now, months after the breakup you were trying to become the person you used to be before Spencer. Though that seemed like an impossible task. You didn't realize how much of an effect he had on you until he wasn't there anymore.

It was the first Friday that the team wasn't completely swamped in work, so naturally Rossi invited you all to his mansion for one of his infamous pasta nights.

Declaring that we needed to spend time with people other than each other, he also extended the invitation to anyone the team felt like bringing along.

Wrapping your coat around you tighter, almost as a safety blanket, you knock on the door. You're sure not even a second goes by before you’re met with the face of Emily. Though she looks a bit distressed, like the evening has started out disastrous already.

"What's up with the face? Did Pen interrupt while Rossi was explaining how to perfectly cook pasta again?"

Letting out a small laugh at your own joke, you look up at Emily's face and realize something must be seriously wrong if she didn't even fake a smile at the lame joke.

"We need to talk," she says, grabbing your arm and dragging you into the house. You walk off into a hallway where both JJ and Penelope are waiting for you.

"Woah, what's wrong? Why are we having some kind of intervention?"

Looking at the both blondes, they keep their lips shut and look towards Emily, practically begging her to break the news to you.

Your voice is small, barely above a whisper when you say Emily's name, worried for what she's about to tell you. Taking a shaky breath, she finally speaks.

"Spencer brought his girlfriend."

As the words came from Emily's mouth you basically felt your entire world collapse around you.

He was dating someone? The same Spencer, who was nervous to even talk to a woman before you started dating, was dating someone else? Just after six months of being broken up he found someone else?

"Emily, please tell me you're joking or I might throw up on Rossi's floor right here," you say, completely serious, feeling your lunch already making its way out of your stomach.

The three of you hear footsteps coming your way and you start praying that it's not the person you want to see least right now.

Mystery person clears their throat and you're met with the face of a concerned looking Derek Morgan. Once he spots the tears in your eyes he opens his arms to give you a hug.

"Oh princess, I'm so sorry," he sighs, rubbing your back affectionately.

"I'll go knock some sense into him if you really want me to."

That gets a small laugh from you, but you quickly shake your head and step out of Derek's arms.

"No," you breath in a shaky breath before saying, "it's okay, seriously. He deserves to move on."

Knowing the words leaving your mouth are a complete lie, the tears return to your eyes and JJ is quick to take Derek's place and bring you into her embrace.

"Oh sweetheart, it's okay, we can stay here for as long as you want okay? Or we could even leave and pretend like you never came in the first place."

Attempting to take a deep breath, you give her a final squeeze and leave her arms.

"No, I'll be fine. I'm a big girl, I can handle my ex having a new girlfriend."

They four of them share a weary glance, knowing those words are the furthest thing from the truth.

Penelope is the first to speak as she grabs your hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Let's do this angel face."

With that the two of you walk hand in hand to the backyard, greeted with the faces of the rest of your team and their families.

Walking over to the tree where Rossi and Hotch are standing, seemingly deep in conversation, Penelope makes her presence known when she lets out a happy squeal seeing her margarita glass was magically refilled.

"Well, I'll leave you in the hands of the host my love, I see a margarita calling my name," she plants a quick kiss on your cheek before making her way to the table her drink was sitting on.

Knowing that was just Penelope's way of making things a bit more normal for you, you shake your head and laugh at her antics.

Finally turning towards the two men, you see the pity in their eyes and let out a disappointed sigh.

"Seriously, you guys too? If all of you keep looking at me like that he'll definitely know something is wrong and will realize I'm the crazy one for not being over him yet."

Once you finish your sentence Hotch moves to say something but quickly shuts his mouth. His eyes are fixed just right over your shoulder.

Shifting to see what -or better yet who- he was looking at, you turn and find the new couple sitting on the bench near the opposite side of the yard. Your eyes fix on the woman sitting next to Spencer and you’re met with a woman with striking features. As you looked at her closer, you began to realize she looked nothing like you. In fact, she was the complete opposite of you.

Is that what Spencer was looking for this whole time? Did he want you to be more like her? Was he holding out with you just to find someone better?

These thoughts continued to swirl through your mind for the rest of the night. The team was obviously trying to distract you and make you feel better about the whole situation, acting as if it wasn't happening. JJ even asked you to watch Henry for a bit even though neither her nor Will were busy.

Finally the moment you were dreading had arrived, dinner.

Rossi, one for tradition, had a massive dining room table that somehow fit the entire team plus the extra guests.

Opting to sit in between JJ and Emily, you hoped that you could stay quiet all of dinner and quickly leave once it was finished. Really you hoped you didn't have to see Spencer and his girlfriend any longer than you had to.

But your luck seemed to have run out because she took the seat directly across from you, causing Spencer to sit next to her, directly across from Emily.

Looking down at your food you try to ignore them as best as you could, that was until you heard her voice.

"Hi, you must be y/n. I'm Maya, Spencer's girlfriend."

Her voice reaches your ears like nails on a chalkboard and you try your hardest to not physically react to her high pitched voice. God, what was Spencer doing?

Though you quickly rid yourself of the distaste you already have for her and give her your best fake smile.

"Yes, I'm y/n. It's…nice to meet you."

It's almost like the entire table was holding their breath to see what your response would be. Morgan nearly chokes on his drink as you pause to find the words to describe your feelings for meeting her.

The silence continues until Spencer clears his throat. At the sound you look up at him. You realize that was the worst thing you could have done when he doesn't even look at you. Instead he's looking at Maya with the expression you thought was only reserved for you.

Emily is the first to speak after the interaction, some reason directing the conversation towards the couple. Did she just want to see you suffer tonight?

"So Reid, how long have you two been dating?"

Though the question is directed at Spencer, Maya is the one to answer. "Oh me and Spencie? We've been together just over a month!"

She basically screeches the words and you have to hold yourself back from rolling your eyes.

The table goes quiet again. No one has anything to say, quietly eating their food.

"Hey Uncle Spence, when are you and Auntie y/n/n going to be like that again? I remember you used to hold her hand and give her kisses all the time!"

Oh God. Poor Henry didn't know what he just caused. You nearly spit out your drink at his questions, coughing down the wine you basically inhaled.

JJ's eyes widen, going to apologize for Henry's words until Miss chalkboard decides to speak again, except this time it's her awful laugh that makes an appearance.

"Oh my goodness! That is such a funny joke, little Henry. Kids and their imaginations, am I right?"

Her eyes dance around the table waiting for anyone to respond to her. When no one does she continues with a delighted smile on her face.

"Don't worry y/n, there's no need to say anything about that. I know my Spencie, he would never go for someone like you."

As she finished her sentence the entire table grew silent. The profilers actively deciding if they could get away with the thing they put people in prison for.

Your chair is what breaks the silence this time, screeching against Rossi's wood floors.

"Well I really wish I was a good liar and could say it was nice meeting you but I'm not. I hope you and your Spencie have a wonderful relationship."

For the first time all night Spencer finally talks to you. Though it breaks your heart even further. And it's not the words that come from his mouth, but rather the way he says it. All he says is your name, though he speaks as if he's disgusted that you would say something like that.

Letting out a dry laugh you shake your head and click your tongue, hoping he doesn't see the tears in your eyes when you lock eyes with him.

"I'm so glad to know that our year together meant nothing to you Spencer," you say, turning and leaving the room.

You make your way through the hall to collect your things before leaving. You don't even bother with saying bye to everyone, hoping they would understand.

Closing the door to the coat closet you see JJ standing behind the door, looking at you with eyes full of worry.

"y/n/n, are you okay. Both of them were so out of line, and I'm so sorry about Henry I didn't-"

You effectively cut off her short lived rant by giving her a short hug, knowing if you were in her arms for any longer you would be a crying mess before you even stepped foot out of the house.

"It's fine Jayge, really, you didn't know I don't blame you. And I'm fine. I just really need to go."

With that, you finally make your way out of the house and into your car.

There's only one thought that consumes your mind the entire drive home.

He was just holding out to find the opposite.

likes, comments, and shares are always appreciated!! loving you always xx

tags: @clairoscharm @agent-nobody-knows

#reidsbabyhoney #my fics #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #mgg #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid angst #fic recs #spencer reid fluff #this is so over due pls don’t kill me i hope you enjoy it!!#bau!reader

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novemberheart · 5 months ago

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{overview} Another milestone in your relationship with the pack begins, but some members want it to move faster….

{warnings} cursing, mentions of needles and incisions, mentions of sex (nothing really graphic), fem reader, sappy scene, reader being *slightly* objectified, poly141 some smexual smention 😉

Chapter 9 <- Chapter 10 -> Chapter 11

“You're still here.” you smiled, rubbing at your eyes. John smiled at you. He was leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee.

“Don't mind me.” Simon yawned from the couch. “Wouldn't want to interrupt anything.” you rolled your eyes at him.

“Don't worry. I'll let you know if you're interrupting.” you teased, walking past him to go to the bathroom.

“Her bedhead is rather endearing,” John commented after you left.

“Don't get too excited. Not sure Kyle’s ass can take anymore.” Simon grunted. John just chuckled.

“Or Johnny’s,” John added, causing Simon’s head to snap back at him.

“You bastards said no group shite until I got better.” Simon reminded.

“Think Kyle filmed some of it. I'll have him send it to you.” John smirked.

“Thank you,” Simon growled, turning back around. You luckily missed that conversation, popping back out after you had brushed your teeth.

“Go pick out an outfit, pretty girl. We have some things to do today.” John spoke, causing you to flush.

“Fun things?” you hinted.

“A mix.” He replied not giving too much away. You huffed heading back towards your bedroom.

You decided to finally wear something one of the boys had gotten for you during your shopping spree. It was a flowy knee-length dress with spaghetti straps. They certainly had taste- you'd give them that. You fixed your hair and made some minor adjustments to your face. It was also still a bit chilly outside so you paired it with a cardigan.

A rumble of approval vibrated in John’s chest as you stepped out. He was pleased with how nice you always looked (even when you just woke up) and he couldn't help but stand a bit taller when people did a double take as you walked by. He would blame it on alpha pride, but he knows Johnny and Kyle enjoy parading you around just as much.

Simon stayed quiet on the couch, eyeing you up and down.

“Ready?” John asked. You nodded your head following him out the door. You stopped, prancing back to the couch where Simon was. He stayed still, but you knew you weren't being sneaky. You leaned over the back of the couch pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before he could swat you away. You were surprised when he made no move to.

“I miss you already.” you sighed playfully, skipping back over to John, who was thoroughly enjoying himself at the sight before him.

“I do that to people.” Simon gruffed, making you chuckle.

“Got a daredevil streak in ya, hmm?” John smiled down at you as you walked.

“Just a bit,” you whispered, with a smirk.

“Good girl. He could use some roughing up.”

You immediately understood why he didn't share with you where you were going. You frowned heavily as you approached the medical center.

“‘Nough with the face, sweetheart.” John soothed. He ran the back of his pointer finger against your cheek, causing them to raise in a tiny smile. “We’ll get you chipped then I’ll take you out on a date. How's that sound?” he hummed, watching you as you began to soften to the idea.

“Alright.” you drew out, entering the building as he held the door open for you.

The nurse who ended up coming to chip you was the same one you saw in Simon's hospital room.

“Look at you!” She smiled, running her hands up and down your arms. “You look good, hun. How's the big one?” she questions, getting the supplies set up.

“He's good.” You smiled, trying not to look at the sharp objects.

“Glad to hear. Have you ever been chipped before?”

You shook your head.

“Well this is what it looks like.” she shared, showing you a small disk. It was a bit smaller than a dime.

“That doesn't look too scary.” you swallowed.

“Right? And Dr. Hathaway will give you a shot so you won't feel anything.” she soothed. Just then the door opened and a bubbly woman in a doctor's coat entered.

“Alrighty, now I know how nervous you must be so let's get this done.” she sang. Despite her chipper attitude, her accent was very posh. John moved away from the wall and turned your head to face him, using his other hand to hold your hair out of the way. His thumb rubbed against your cheek and you allowed yourself to relax into him.

“Thanks, Alpha.” the doctor praised his actions, giving her the perfect view of behind your ear. The title made your eyes widen. What business did she have calling him that? Maybe it was a cultural thing. Where you were from the only people who called an alpha ‘alpha’ were pack members. You didn't have to dwell on it long.

“John is fine.” he politely corrected. Your eyes peered up at him and the corner of his lips lifted. Your hands reached up grabbing a hold of his wrist and hand, wanting to keep him as close as possible.

“Alright, love. You are going to feel a small pinch.” Dr. Hathaway warned. You weren't too worried about the needle, just about the incision. John continued to rub soft circles against your cheek and you stared ahead at the picture of sailboats on the wall. “Alright, love. You are all done. Great job.” Dr. Hathaway cheered, giving your arm a gentle squeeze.

“I didn't even feel anything,” you said. “Thank you,” you said to both the nurse (whose name you should really learn) and Dr. Hathaway.

“Thank you,” John repeated after you. “Good girl.” John praised, pressing a quick kiss against the top of your head. He let go of you, all the warmth leaving your body.

“Thank you,” you said suddenly. He looked at you with a quirked brow. “For being gentle with me. I really appreciate it.” you cleared your throat beginning to feel tears well up in your eyes. You quickly blinked them back.

“It's my job as your Alpha and it's something I’ll always be happy to do.” He said softly. The two of you stared at each other for a long moment. An understanding beginning to grow between the two of you. In the back of both of your minds, this situation was admittedly a bit temporary. John had you on a short leash, wanting Simon to get better more than worrying about your feelings. If you didn't fit he wouldn't think twice about sending you back. But you did fit. Perfectly. You got Simon out of his shell. Johnny’s smile hasn't left in a week. Kyle had a new air about him, more confident and excited. Hell, the two muppets raced each other home every day so they can be the first one to kiss you on the cheek.

He didn't even want to admit the things you did to him.

And then there was you. Kate had been right. You had been looking for an out since you arrived. You might have had one on the first day, but that felt so far away now. None of them had done anything to prove to you that they were an incapable, unworthy pack.

It seemed both of you were staring the rest of your lives in the face.

John had ended up taking you to the movies. It was a silly lighthearted comedy. About halfway through he worked up the courage to let his hand wander over to your side of the seat. His fingers skimmed against your knee, watching you out of the corners of his eye for any signs of discomfort. Your hands reached down and grabbed his, resting his hand on your lap. You tangled your fingers together, melting a bit when you realized two of your hands could fit in one of his.

You rested your cheek against his arm, trying your hardest to hold onto your purr. He was happy, you could tell by the sudden warmth entering your nose. You breathed in quickly, trying to absorb as much of the smell as you could. He must not have worn scent blockers today. How did you not smell him before? They must've just worn off. You wondered if he did that on purpose.

Fog and campfire, with a slight hint of tobacco. The fog was fresh and light, but then you got the warmth of a campfire. Smoking can change anyone's scent- not by a lot, but there will always be an edge of it. It must be different from what Simon smokes. Johns complements the warm, firey scent whereas Simons sticks out a bit more.

He leaned down and you wondered if you overstepped. “Gonna have a headache if you keep breathin’ me in like that,” he murmured. You looked up at him- a bit hazy from the scent. He sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth, adjusting in his seat. “Pretty thing,” he grumbled, trying to focus his attention back on the movie.

“How’d you do?” Kyle questioned as soon as you bounded back in. You were excited to see him. You hadn't seen much of him the past two days because he was busy training some ‘FNGs’ as Johnny had called them.

“You were right it didn't hurt,” you affirmed. He was in the kitchen working on his second bowl of cereal. You hesitantly moved a bit closer to him, and he quickly pulled you closer, tucking you into his side. His fingers brushed against your hip

“Can I interest you in some cereal?” he questioned. “It's gourmet, straight from the finest factory in Albuquerque, New Mexico,” he said in a French accent causing you to giggle.

“Yes, please.” He quickly got a bowl, filling it for you before you could even think about doing it yourself. “My legs are cold. I’m going to change quickly.” you excused yourself, darting to your bedroom.

“You smell good on her,” Kyle spoke up, eyeing his alpha.

“Drivin’ me bloody crazy in the theater. If she smells like that normally can you imagine how she smells in her heat? We’re gonna have to get a cabin in the middle of nowhere.” John groaned, leaning his elbows against the counter. Kyle chuckled.

“That might not be too bad of an idea actually. I was looking in the handbook and we are allowed ten days off a year to deal with heats.” Kyle explained. John sighed. He really needs to look over the omega section of the handbook. He wouldn't want you to miss out on something just because he wasn't diligent.

“Something to think about.” John agreed.

“Is it okay if I sleep with my door open?” you questioned.

“Course,” John answered instantly. “You been havin’ trouble?”

You scrunched your face a bit and nodded.

“I've never been a good sleeper,” you explained. John nodded his head in understanding.

“You can always sleep with me, Bonnie!” Johnny called from the couch. You snickered at the enthusiasm in his voice. “Wasn't kidding.” he pressed with a smirk on his face.

“Tell you what, I’ll try with my door open tonight, and if that doesn't work I’ll come hunt you down,” you promised.

“I'll take that.” he compromised. You got your things ready to go take a shower.

“What are you doing?” Simon questioned, leaning over to peer at Johnny’s phone.

“Trying to find spooky sounds off of YouTube,” Johnny replied. “Haunted house, maybe?”

“You are not scaring her into sleeping with you, fucking nutter.” Simon scolded, ripping his phone out of his hands.

“You're right L.T. I've turned into a desperate man.” he sighed.

Helloooooo! Hope everyone liked this choppy chapter! Chapter 11 will be posted in three days! It's a bit of a rough one 😬 Friendly reminder: reblogs, likes, and comments are always appreciated, and don't be afraid to pop by my inbox and say hi (and tell me your deepest darkest secrets)

#novemberheart #captain john price #gaz x reader #ghost x reader #kyle gaz garrick #poly141 #price x reader #simon ghost riley #soap x reader #johnny soap mactavish #captain john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod x reader #cod x fem!reader #as needed

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kingkat12 · 5 months ago

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seven minutes in heaven (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: foul language, alcohol, book-accurate Roman lol, (and he is such a brat???)

summary: you really, really hate Roman Godfrey. but what you hate most, is that he doesn't notice you at all.

word count: 4,502

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10

I didn't like Roman Godfrey— not one bit.

Everything about that spoiled brat was infuriating. All from the way he walked around as though he owned the town, to the way that he'd get a kick out of throwing tater tots at people. Fucking child. The amount of times I'd sat at the bleachers and watched him throw it at the cheerleaders, specifically aiming right down their shirts, made my blood boil.

Roman Godfrey believed that the world was his, including the people living in it. That's exactly why he dared to take such liberties.

I specifically hated the way he'd move his hair out of his green, green eyes, the look he'd give me after he tugged my hair in the hallway with a sneer, and his sadistic need to claim his conquests in the absolute weirdest ways known to man. If we are to believe Brooke Bluebell from the cheerleading team, he also had an affinity for poking girls with needles in public just for the sheer thrill of watching them squeal. Because who would tell him off, right? I wondered if he was familiar with the word 'no' at all.

After the needle-rumour spread, I made sure to keep a few meters between us at all times. There was no way in hell that he would get away with doing that to me, anyway.

And I would've stayed as far away from Roman as possible, had it been up to me. Sadly, my best friend at school was his cousin— just my luck. Letha, like the rest of the girls at school, was quite fond of Roman; since she was the oldest of the two, she somehow couldn't see that he had grown past the age of five, treating him as though he could do no wrong.

And this was why Roman was always invited whenever we would have study sessions at Letha's place. He would splay himself out on the bed, stretching out his long limbs, watching us as we worked and he lazed away.

God, how I hated him. I hated the way his hair was kissing his forehead when he laid like this in Letha's bed, the way he'd grin whenever he watched me erase a wrong answer, and the way his cologne would linger in my system several hours after he'd left.

Currently, we were supposed to be working on the half-year assignment everyone in our year had to do. Letha was sitting at her desk with her back turned to us as Roman and I sat on the bed, each with our own computer. My meter-rule to protect myself from any incoming needles was impossible to implement on Letha's tiny bed, and I let out a huff as Roman's knee touched mine. I prayed to every God in the universe that he didn't have a needle in his pockets somewhere— I was quite fond of my knees, and would very much like to keep them intact.

"Five hundred bucks," Roman tried, nudging me. "Do this assignment for me and it's yours."

I rolled my eyes, shifting further away from him on the bed. "Do your own shit,"

He proceeded to sneer, watching me with his big, green eyes. "Six hundred,"

"No,"

"Seven?"

"Suck it, Roman," I cracked my knuckles, doing my best to get back into the flow of writing the assignment. It was so damn hard to focus when Roman's incessant sighing continued, almost as though he was being forced to take his own life.

"Help me, then," he mumbled, moving closer to me. His leg was almost on top of mine, now. "How did you answer question b?" Roman leaned over me, his head now obstructing my view of my screen. In a flash of pure instincts, I closed my eyes, inhaling the scent of his hair that was tickling my nose. I couldn't quite put my finger on exactly what it was that smelled so good— him or the shampoo?

I got yanked out of my state when Roman pulled away, typing away on his own laptop, finally inspired.

I couldn't help but sigh; I hated Roman. And I hated that he didn't notice me in the way I wanted him to. I hated the way he smiled, the way he'd so blatantly flirt with girls at any opportunity he'd get, and how my heart fluttered when he flirted with me once in a blue moon.

It only got worse when we were in chemistry class the next day, and Roman had caught me sitting all alone in the back. I wasn't sure what came over me and why I had allowed him to sit down next to me again— the last time had been an absolute catastrophe where he got the both of us kicked out for bickering too loudly, so I hoped it wouldn't be a repeat-situation. I really needed to make sure I was getting every drop of information out of class today, as we had a test coming up soon.

However, Roman was the absolute biggest distraction on earth. I knew this. He kept leaning over to draw crude drawings in my book, making me have to swat his hand away over and over; "Stop it!"

Roman huffed, leaning back against his chair with a bored expression on his face. "You're no fun," he whispered back.

And this was when it hit me— maybe I wasn't fun? Did he really think that of me?

... Maybe it was time to show him how fun I could be?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

When Letha mentioned a party happening this weekend and the fact that Roman would be joining, I couldn't help but feel a certain sense of dread— I knew what that would entail for him. He'd either disappear with a girl upstairs and/or get absolutely shitfaced, as always. And was I really going to put myself through seeing him disappear with someone else again just to prove I wasn't boring?

Yes— Yes, I was.

As I sipped my drink, I couldn't help but feel my hatred for Roman simmer and come to a boil— I hated how he had me doing the most ridiculous things known to man just to get a sliver of his attention. Why was a question I couldn't bring myself to answer.

As I stood in the kitchen with Letha, I spotted Roman passing by the door, laughing with a friend of his. My heart thumped hard as I let out a shaky breath; "Letha, I have to tell you something,"

She turned to me, a beer in her hand. "Don't tell me you've killed someone again? I don't have the energy to drag another body out of my car today,"

"Ha-ha," I mumbled; had this been any other instance, I would've thought it was funny... but not right before I was about to tell her why I had come tonight. I dreaded it; I knew she'd disapprove. But just as I opened my mouth, ready to put my friendship on the line, I caught Roman backtracking and appearing in the door again.

"Girls!" He walked over, looking tipsy as ever. Up close like this, Roman towered over the both of us, and I had to look up an unusual amount to meet his eyes. "I've been looking for you all over! They're playing seven minutes in heaven downstairs, wanna join?"

Had this been any other night, I would've given him an immediate no— but tonight was different. Tonight, I was fun. Shrugging, I glanced over at Letha to check her reaction.

"That's so childish," Letha mumbled, sipping her beer. "I don't know, and I'm sure grumpy over here isn't too keen on that either—"

"No, I'm in!" My words came out like a panicked squeal which immediately made my cheeks burn.

Roman seemed caught off guard by my reaction, but he eventually reached out to pat my shoulder, looking smug as ever. "There you go," he cooed, clearly teasing me. "Maybe you'll finally get laid or something!"

I was abruptly reminded of why I hated him so much in the first place. Swatting his hand off of me, I brushed my fingers over my shoulder where he had touched me, feeling a lingering burn. "If you think seven minutes is enough for everything that goes into sex, I think you need to lower that ego of yours,"

Letha bit back a smirk as Roman's lips parted in shock. Maybe the spoiled rich kid hadn't gotten a reality-check from his long list of women before? He eventually recovered from the diss, rolling his eyes; "Well, seven minutes with me can be more than enough. Need me to show you?"

Letha let out a loud snort, shuddering; "Ew, Roman! I've told you not to talk to my friends like that!"

As they turned to each other, bickering like siblings, I gripped the counter behind me with all my strength. I was almost compelled to agree, to say yes to letting him have a go, and I had to bite down on my tongue to stop myself. After a few drinks, I knew I could get a little loose-lipped.

It didn't take long before we all made it downstairs, everyone spreading out on the couches and chairs scattered in the basement. Letha and I sat down on a few pillows on the floor, far away from Roman and his rumoured needles.

I felt my throat go dry every time the bottle spun around, landing on random people from school who later went into the empty closet nearby. But my attention was elsewhere; I watched as Roman put his arm around the girl next to him, whispering something into her ear which made her laugh. It made me want to slam my head into the wall behind me— I would rather pass out and bleed out than witness him picking up another girl again.

I swallowed hard as the people in the closet came back out and the bottle got spun again. The first person was picked; a girl with long, brown hair whom I remembered from history class; huge bitch. Holding my breath, I watched as the bottle got spun again— it eventually slowed down and pointed to Roman, which made the girl's friend group cheer as though they had won a million dollars. It felt like my heart was getting ripped out of my chest as Roman got up from the couch, grinning from ear to ear. The girl he had just had his arm around wasn't as happy, to say the least.

This whole display was making me sick. I bit the inside of my cheek as Roman closed the door to the closet and the previous drinks in my system threatened to come up. Everything about this was making me sick. I got up, taking hurried steps to the nearest bathroom, planting myself on my knees in front of the toilet just in case.

I heard a few knocks on the door before Letha stepped in, looking worried. "I told you not to drink that vodka crap," she mumbled, locking the door before she sat down next to me on the floor.

I felt my tears press on as I grew further nauseous. "Don't mind me," I breathed. "I just need a minute."

This only solidified my absolute and utter hate for Roman. Spoiled fucking brat— why did he have to make me feel this way? Why was my jealousy making me so sick and bitter?

Letha put her hand on my back in an attempt to soothe me; "Maybe I should drive you home?"

"No!" I said, fighting my gag reflex. "I need— I need to get out there again."

This only made Letha sigh, her hand now reaching for my hair to be ready. "You have a crush out there or something...? You know that you don't need this stupid game to get whichever guy you want, right?"

I did my best to get up from the floor without immediately falling back down. Of course she didn't understand.

"Seriously, hold on—" Letha grabbed my hand, holding me back from leaving the bathroom. Her eyes were just as green as Roman's, and up close like this, I could see all their similarities; the upward curve of their nose, the same full lips, and the exact same way of weaving their brows together in worry. "You don't need to do anything just because you want to prove Roman wrong," she said, squeezing my hand. "I know you came down here to make a point, but... do what's best for you, okay?"

"Okay," I mumbled, tugging at her hand. The seven minutes were almost up, and I wanted to see the look on that girl's face after she left the closet with Roman. I wanted to see the look of bliss in her eyes, the hint of red in her cheeks, and watch her inhale with soft, sharp breaths just like the rest of his girls always did. The best part of watching this, was imagining that the girl was me instead— that I was the one feeling euphoric, and not her. And on the other hand, the masochistic part of me wanted to feel my heart burn with jealousy and my chest tighten with the ache I had gotten so familiar with. "Let's go. Please."

My nausea dulled down as I sat back down on the floor, realizing Roman was back. Maybe it was good that I missed the moment they came out— maybe it was good for me to spare my psyche, just this once? As my eyes met Roman's across the room, I couldn't help but notice the dark satisfaction on display across his lips. It was almost as though he knew— or maybe it was the fact that I probably looked a little sick? Did he like the look of pain in my eyes? I was reminded of Brooke Bluebell and her needle story... how he liked imposing pain on girls he found to be vulnerable. The fucking needle thing would haunt me forever.

I barely noticed that the bottle had been spun again, and I was yanked out of my mind-storm when Letha nudged me. "You don't have to," she tried, nodding towards the bottle that was now pointing at me.

My eyes immediately moved from the bottle and straight to Roman, who seemed to grow further amused. There was no way in hell I would back down now— maybe this would change his outlook on me? I had to prove I was fun, after all. Shrugging, acting as though it was no big deal, I reached for the bottle, spinning it.

I couldn't help but ponder if someone up there in the sky was playing games with me when the bottle pointed at the one person I had hoped it would be.

The girl Roman had just been with protested; "What? That's against the rules! He can't go in two times in a row!—"

"Sure can," Roman shot in, watching my every movement like a hawk— something told me he was a little excited about this as well. He got up from the couch once more, walking up to me with confident strides, reaching out for my hand.

As I looked up at him, breath short and choppy, I couldn't pry my eyes away from his. I had always imagined what it would be like to look up at Roman from this angle, to see the sheer look of satisfaction on his face as I— Oh no, my mind was wandering again, wasn't it? I did my best not to shiver as I accepted his hand, feeling our fingers intertwine as he smoothly got me up from the floor.

I didn't even dare to look at Letha in this moment, knowing how she probably felt about it, but I really didn't have time to dwell on it— and it didn't take long before Roman closed the closet door behind us, pulling me back into the moment.

We were quiet for a few seconds, the sounds of our breathing filling the closet— I didn't know what to say or do. The beating of my heart was so loud that I could barely hear my own thoughts, and the light in the small room was dim and warm, making it a rather disorienting experience. It didn't take long before I felt my back hit the wall, letting out a little wince; the alcohol was definitely doing wonders for my balance.

Roman snorted at the sight, emitting a soft laugh; "Careful, there,"

I let out the breath I had been holding, happy that he had been the first one to say something. "It's the vodka," I mumbled, rubbing the part of my head that had hit the wall.

Roman hummed; "Typical,"

"What is?"

"That you can't handle your drinks,"

I wanted to smack him— that was allowed in seven minutes of heaven, right? "So what if I can't? It's not a big deal,"

"Sure," Roman said, nodding to himself. "You just need to be broken in or something."

I wasn't the biggest fan of his choice of words— I was also not a fan of the thought of Roman breaking me more than he had already done, all whilst being completely unaware of it. Choosing not to comment on it further, I switched the subject; "So when was the last time you didn't do anything with a girl in this game?"

He needed a few seconds to scour his brain; "Never, I think,"

Typical. "Even back in middle school?"

"... Definitely,"

I held back a rather large groan— I should've predicted this.

Roman caught onto my eventual silence; "And I reckon this is your first time playing?"

"... Yeah,"

"Okay, I see," Roman ran his fingers through his hair, the usual smirk returning. "You know what usually happens in here, or...?"

I rolled my eyes; "I'm not an idiot,"

"I know," Roman's voice got lower, breathier, as he took a step closer. There wasn't much room for more steps, actually— it was getting rather cramped up at this point. "But if there's anything you've always wanted to try out and haven't dared to, now's the time."

My breath hitched as I hoped the thumping of my heart wasn't loud enough for him to hear. There were many things I wanted to try out, sure, but not here.

It was almost as though Roman could sense how nervous I was; he bent down a little, getting on my level before he whispered; "I won't tell Letha,"

... Oh? Feeling his hot breath against my skin, how dangerously close he was, was almost too much for me. The way he said it made me even more conscious of what was happening; I hadn't even told Letha how crazy I was about Roman yet, and I knew she'd be against it.

However, I was being served my biggest dream on a silver platter. Maybe if I got this bit over with, my feelings would subside and go back to being purely hateful again?

"Okay..." I mustered up the courage, letting out a shaky breath before I opened my mouth to speak; "Could you maybe... kiss me, then?" My words came out barely louder than a whisper. "I've just had a really shitty night."

Roman's expression remained unchanged. "I'm sorry to hear that,"

"... No, you're not,"

"Okay, you might be right," He let out a soft laugh against my lips, and my eyes quickly darted down to his hands to check if he was holding a needle or not. One could never be sure... and this was how I knew my anxiety was through the roof.

"So... you want a kiss? That's all?" Roman asked, looking rather pleased with himself and the situation.

This was too nerve-wracking. I kept imagining that he would switch up and tell me no, that he would reject me somehow and make me the only girl at school he didn't want to do anything with— that would definitely make me hate him even more. In a flash moment of weakness (which I later blamed the alcohol for), I sighed; "Just... could you? Or am I asking for too much?"

Something about Roman's expression changed— he seemed to realize what I was actually asking for before I fully understood it myself. Not to make out, not to drown in one another, but the simplest of all things romance; affection. Something gentle, something sweet, just to check if he had a sliver of anything resembling that in his system.

"You like me, don't you?" Roman whispered, nudging his nose against mine, eyes rounding out as he heard my breath hitch at the simple gesture. "This is what all of this has been about?"

Doing my best to still my breathing and not faint, I closed my eyes, revelling in the feeling. It was the smallest thing, yet it was a comfort in the midst of the conversation. "All of what?"

"Your anger," Roman let out a sigh, connecting our foreheads, closing his eyes as well. "You can't stand that you like me, can you?"

For some reason, I felt the urge to cry— I spent a few seconds pressing down the stream of tears that threatened to surface. Having someone say it out loud felt like a desperately needed release. "It's been a nightmare,"

Roman stilled, eventually letting out a hum which sent a shiver down my spine. "You know nothing about nightmares," he breathed against my lips. "If I tell Letha we fucked in here, you'll be living through your worst one."

For fuck's sake. I mumbled a curse as Roman laughed, clearly amused by the terrified look on my face. "No, I wouldn't do that," he teased, pulling away just a bit. "I'm not that bad, you know that, right?"

I huffed, not meeting his gaze anymore. Confessing to liking him had given him all the power over me in the world. "I don't know... You tend to be quite horrible,"

"And what horrible things do I do, may I ask?"

Oh, I was ready for this question— I had been ready for a while. "First of all, the fucking tater tots," I grumbled, meeting his amused eyes. "The fact that you pull my hair like you're five years old, you've drawn about a hundred dicks in my chemistry book, and the whole needle thing!"

"Needle thing?" Roman furrowed his brows— damn, he and Letha really had the same face, didn't they?

"Yeah, the needle thing! Brooke told us!" Something about the confusion on his face felt rather satisfactory; your turn. "You pricked her and her friend Rachel and just... laughed, or something!"

Remembering the incident, Roman burst out laughing. "Oh, that!" he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Yeah, that was fun, I can't lie. So, okay, maybe I'm a bit bad, but... you still like me." His eyes were sparkling with mischief, and I knew it could lead to no good. "You still want to kiss me, so you can't be too scared? Or maybe..." Roman's hand travelled up to my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear as he smirked. "Maybe you're just a massive masochist?"

"What? No!" My protests were quick and loud— I wondered what the people outside this closet thought we were doing. "Roman, just... Ugh, fuck this, I'm leaving."

As I reached for the door, Roman grabbed my hand with force I hadn't expected of him, pinning it above my head against the wall. Like this, he was even closer to me than he had been just under a minute ago, and my eyes went wide with the realization that I could physically feel his bottom lip against mine, not yet coming together in the kiss I so desperately craved.

"I'm not going to make this easy for you," he whispered, words slow and low. Something about this whole situation was so intense, I nearly gave in to a shiver. "Whatever this will be, you and I... won't be easy."

"There is no you and I," I mumbled, feeling my heart beat up against his chest. "We do this once, and then we forget it." Please.

Roman hummed, a cocky grin spreading across his plush, pink lips. "You think you'll be able to? I have a feeling you've wanted me for a while,"

Fuck's sake. I hated him even more when he was right. My gaze hardened as it met his, and I wondered how much time we had left. No matter how mad I was at him, I still wanted to kiss him, just once. This might be the only chance I'd ever get, and I was going to take it.

"Okay, then," Roman accepted my silence as an answer. Nudging my nose with his, he finally pressed his lips against mine with a softness I didn't know he had in him.

This was not what I had expected. Something about this kiss was shaking up my whole view of the world, along with my view of Roman. The most obnoxious guy with an unmatched arrogance could... kiss like this? Like he actually had a soul?

His lips moved against mine as though I was made of glass, and I felt his fingers intertwine with mine in the hand he was holding above my head. It sent shivers down my spine as my mind went haywire, wondering why he was being so careful with me. I brought my free hand up to cup his face, feeling how soft he was against my palm. I had expected him to be rough, aggressive... so what on earth was this?

Roman's arm snaked around my waist as he pulled me closer, and I let out a shaky breath against his lips— heat swirled in the pit of my stomach, feeling as though I was burning up from inside.

But just as it started to get heated, two knocks were heard at the door; Roman pulled away, a victorious smirk in place as though he had successfully proved his point. "Thirty seconds left," he said. "Now, convince me why I shouldn't tell Letha."

What? Still trying to catch my breath, I felt myself freeze up. How was I supposed to think clearly when I was in this state? Roman's hand slid out of mine, waiting for my answer; "So?"

"Just don't," I breathed, putting a hand on my chest to feel my heart— did all of this just happen? "Don't tell her."

"That's not good enough," His green eyes were drilling into mine, and it was clear that he wished to corner me. Sadist.

"I'll do your stupid assignment,"

"Nope,"

"I'll... fuck, Roman, I don't know!"

Roman snickered at my panic, fixing his hair, checking his clock; ten seconds left. "Fine, I'll be nice," he said, reaching out to swipe his thumb along the edge of my lip, wiping away some lipstick. "But you owe me."

Owe him? I wasn't the biggest fan of making a deal with the devil reincarnate in front of me. However, did I have any other choice? I let out a sigh of defeat; "... Fine,"

And this was when it truly hit me; I hated Roman Godfrey with all my heart— I hated the fact that he could make my heart flutter with the smallest gesture, that he could practically walk all over me with no remorse, and that he always looked so fucking good.

However, at the end of the day, what I hated most... was how much I wanted him.

(a/n: click to read PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10 here!! thank you for reading!<333)

#roman godfrey #hemlock grove #roman godfrey x reader #bill skarsgård #fanfic #x reader #fanfiction #oneshot #bill skarsgard

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 2 months ago

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can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 11

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10

Steve waits until everyone’s gone home to open the letter. Chrissy had ribbed him over not sharing but, no matter how supportive she is, she just doesn’t get it—she can’t. No matter what she’s shared, her and Jeff are clearly dating. And even if they hadn’t been, Jeff likes girls. The worst thing that would’ve happened is him turning her down.

With Eddie? The worst thing that could happen is total annihilation.

And Steve’s never been good at holding himself back. He cares fast, and he cares hard, and he can never quite stop, no matter what changes, or how much distance he puts between himself and the other person. Look at Nancy, and Tommy, and Carol, and his parents, and every single relationship he’s had where he’s all in, and the other person never meets him. He doesn’t even need halfway, hell, he’d take a quarter.

But even that’s never how it works out. If there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that Steve Harrington is too much, always.

So, if his fingers shake as he opens the letter, who can blame him?

But, inside is everything he could have ever asked for—Because you’re it, baby. He caresses the words, fingers trembling, heart shuddering in his chest to a beat that sounds a lot like, “maybe, maybe, maybe.”

He knows it’s stupid. This letter isn’t for Steve, not really. It’s Chrissy’s face Eddie pictured when he wrote it, Chrissy’s lips he imagined kissing, Chrissy’s hand he imagined holding. But, it’s hard to remember, when there’s such longing on the page in front of him.

He doesn’t know what to say, thoughts running too fast to pick them out and write them down. He tries, pen stuttering over the page in half-formed sentences, until he’s left with:

Eddie —

You don’t want to know what I

Someone has loved you. I love

I’ll take anything you

Fuck

Hee crumples the letter up into a ball, and tosses it across the room toward the trash bin. He shoots, he misses, he lays down with all the lights still on.

Steve stares down at Eddie’s letter, helpless in the face of the bubbling hope, unwilling to squash it. He folds the letter back up and puts it under his pillow, hoping for dreams, just like Eddie had said.

He doesn’t.

Steve’s tired the next morning, zoning out during class, and shuffling through the halls like a zombie. Chrissy keeps sending him worried looks, and even Robin asks if he’s okay in Mrs. Click’s class, which she was right, they do share.

Steve tells her he’s just tired, and she drops it, but there’s a sad, knowing smile on her face.

It happens at lunch. Eddie jumps up on his lunch table, boots thudding loudly against its metal surface, drawing all eyes in the room toward him. Everyone looks away, familiar with his tabletop rants by now, but Steve can’t look away.

Eddie’s magnetic when he’s like this, a black hole swirling everything up in its path. Steve doesn’t want to miss a thing, barely blinks as Eddie begins the familiar walk across the Hellfire table.

“Forced conformity, folks—it’s what’s killing the kids!” he cries, clapping fast to punctuate the sentence. Across Steve’s own table, Tommy boos, gaining momentum when the people around him laugh and join in. “Oh, don’t act so high and mighty, Hagan, you’re the worst of all.”

He’s grinning, but it’s not the dimpled one. He’s just baring his teeth, a predator scenting blood. “You’re all so focused on shooting balls in laundry baskets, like that’s all there is, but guess what? You’re going to be a washed-up has-been before you’re even out of this school.”

He takes a few steps forward, eyes straying from Tommy farther up the table, making it clear he’s talking to all of them. “You don’t realize that daddy’s money’s gonna dry up, and you’ll be left with a wife and three kids you don’t even like, reliving the old glory days like they were even worth remembering.”

“Come say that to my face, Munson!” Tommy cries, standing up from the table as the rest of them egg him on.

Eddie makes a little rock and roll symbol and smirks, like that’s exactly what he wanted Tommy to say. “And you know what? That’s all you’ll deserve for the shit you’ve pulled. A sad lonely life with your sad flaccid dick.”

And suddenly, he’s looking right at Steve, gaze piercing straight through Steve and into his soft, squishy underbelly. There’s blood in the water, and by Eddie’s laugh, he can taste it. “You’ve earned it,” he says, not even blinking, his eyes so intense Steve can’t breath with it. “After all, once a jock, always a jock.”

Chrissy links their fingers and squeezes his hand beneath the table. Steve blinks, spell broken as he squeezes her back in thanks. He looks down at his remaining chicken nuggets, appetite gone.

“You okay?” Chrissy asks, barely audible with all the continued heckling.

Steve glances up just in time to watch Eddie jump down from the table and plop his ass down like none of it happened at all. He’s laughing as Jeff and Gareth pat his back, but he looks deflated, like the whole spectacle took everything out of him.

“I will be,” Steve replies, pushing his lunch tray away.

If nothing else, he has something to write now.

***

Eddie can’t get the look on Harrington’s face out of his mind. He’d been at the top of his game, riling the jocks up enough that Hagan had jumped up like a jack-in-the-box. But, then he’d looked at Harrington, and it’d all gone wrong.

The guy was drooping into himself, mouth down-turned, eyes like a kicked puppy. Eddie stuttered, got caught up in him, something unnameable stuck in his throat. Eddies doesn’t even know what he’d said after that, couldn’t hear himself think much less speak, until Harrington finally looked down at the tabletop and their eye contact broke.

Now he’s stumbling over his words, trying not to even look Harrington’s way as he finishes off his speech. It lacks the usual oomph, but Eddie doesn’t care; he just wants the whole thing to end.

Eddie stumbles down into his chair, shuddering through his smile as Gareth and Doug elbow him in the side, ribbing him good-naturedly. He chokes out a laugh, and doesn’t look at the jock’s table for the rest of lunch.

The next time he sees Harrington, there’s another complication to contend with in the form of Robin Buckley, best known for her proficiency on the trumpet and quirky outfits. And now? She’s best known for attaching herself like a barnacle to Harrington’s side.

Except, if she was a barnacle, Harrington might at least try to shake her off. But, no. He just smiles at her, and whispers with her, as she inserts herself between Chrissy and Harrington like she belongs there.

Chrissy, for her part, seems to like the girl as well.

Eddie doesn’t get it, can’t comprehend what the hell’s happening, and it makes something squirmy and viscous sink into his stomach every time Buckley inserts herself between the pair, every time they smile at her.

But, they still stop to talk to him in between classes, so Eddie tries to drop it.

“It just doesn’t make sense!” Eddie cries, phone clutched to his ear, not even letting Gareth get a word out before he’s continuing the conversation Jeff had rudely interrupted by showing up to lunch. “What the hell is Harrington’s deal?”

“Dude, you’re like, obsessed,” Gareth replies, clearly talking around a mouthful of whatever after-school snack he’d chosen this time.

“Is he trying to date every girl in school at the same time?” he whines, yanking on his hair hard enough that his scalp tingles.

“You’re just jealous,” he replies, and that same squirmy feeling makes Eddie wriggle his whole body, like there’s a chill in the air.

Is the heater on the fritz again?

“Of who?” Eddie screeches before quieting down, peeking into the living room to make sure Uncle Wayne hasn’t stirred. He hasn’t, but Eddie still keeps his voice lowered as he continues hissing into the receiver. “Of Harrington? Don’t be absurd.”

Gareth laughs, “I don’t know, man, but this whole thing is just getting weird.”

“I know, right? What are they up to?” Eddie asks, ignoring Gareth’s muttered “not what I meant,” like he hadn’t said anything at all.

He never figures it out because Buckley never comes around—not to band practice, or Hellfire, or any of the other times Chrissy and Eddie (and Harrington) are in the same place. Eddie should be relieved. He’s not.

Everything is spiraling out of his control.

But, the letters keep coming, and Eddie keeps devouring them

Eddie —

I really liked your tabletop speech this week, even though you made fun of the jocks. Some of them definitely deserve it. Do you hate all of them, or just the bullies?

You laughed, but it wasn’t your real laugh like when Mr. Danver accidentally said ‘orgasm’ instead of ‘organism’. I love your laugh, I thought about it all day. Kind of like when your favorite song gets stuck in your head.

I know I’ve said it before, but I do really like you. But, if you knew me, I don’t think you’d like me. It’s okay, though. I’m stupid like that—always putting my whole heart into people who don’t feel the same.

I’m sorry, this is probably not the letter you hoped to get. I’ll be better next time, promise.

Yours,

Your Secret Admirer

P.S. Put your response in the World Atlas, the long one that they have to put sideways on the bookshelf (because no matter where you are, I’ll always think of you).

They all make something flutter within him like his lungs are growing wings and flapping themselves out of his body entirely. Even as it leaves him breathless and aching, he wants more of it, longs for it.

It’s just—she sounds so sad, lately, like she’s losing hope in this at all.

All Eddie wants to do is reassure her. So, he keeps writing back, pulling his heart off his sleeve and flinging it down on the page for Chrissy to read, hoping he’ll somehow see those same feelings reflected in her eyes.

He never does.

So, he pokes; he wheedles; he pines for a girl on a page that never quite stands before him. And he pours it all onto the page.

Secret Admirer,

I don’t think it’s all jocks—you’re too nice for that. But even you have to admit that a lot of the jocks are only doing it to be at the top of the food chain. Guys like Carver and Harrington Hagaon? They don’t even care about sports, they just want peons to fawn over them. But, there’s people like you, too, so maybe more of them are better than I expect.

I can’t imagine knowing who you are and not liking you. You’re the nicest girl I know. You don’t have to tell me who you are, but if you do? I promise, it’ll all be okay.

Yours, always,

Eddie

P.S. You don’t have to “be better,” baby. I just want you to be you. That will always be enough for a guy like me.

It’s not enough—something is breaking open in him that words on the page can’t quite mend.

“I’m going to ask her out,” Eddie says once Harrington and Chrissy have left the latest Hellfire session, still inexplicably coming despite never playing.

Jeff chokes on his sip of soda, coughing harshly enough that some of it comes out of his mouth and splatters onto the table.

“Gross, dude,” Doug says, but still pats his back like he’s burping a baby.

“Are you serious?” Gareth asks, tone disbelieving.

Eddie makes crazy eyes at him, trying to psychically beam all his thoughts into Gareth’s head like, yes I’m serious, and, you know about the notes, why are you looking at me like that, and, what the hell else am I supposed to do to crack this mystery wide open?

“That is such a bad idea,” Jeff cuts in once he’s got his coughing under wraps.

Eddie whips towards him, scowling at his best friend as he replies, “you’re just jealous.”

Jeff sighs, heaves himself out of his chair, says a quick, “whatever, dude,” and walks out of the room without a backward glance.

“Aren’t you his ride?” Doug asks.

Eddie flaps his hand in dismissal and replies, “forget about him,” despite his gut sinking down into his boots at Jeff’s words.

“Well, how are you going to do it?” Gareth asks, the only one of his friends to seem even remotely excited.

Eddie keeps flapping his hand and replies, “never you mind.”

That even gets Gareth to scoff, knowing Eddie well enough to know that means he’s got nothing.

But there’s a thought niggling away at his brain: why not finish this thing the same way it had begun?

On his way out the door, he drops his latest letter to Chrissy into the trash bin and doesn’t look back. He’s got a new letter to write.

***

“You know this is juvenile, right?” Jeff asks.

Chrissy pulls the world atlas off the shelf with a roll of her eyes.

Her and Steve had fought about him picking up the letters alone, and Chrissy had won the way she always does when it comes to matters of his safety. He’s sulking in the parking lot now, waiting for her to retrieve it for him.

But, there’s no letter behind the cover. She flips through the whole book, then shakes it, pages flapping wildly, to see if anything falls out. Nothing does. No note, at least not yet.

Steve will be disappointed.

“They’re boys, of course it’s juvenile,” Chrissy says, turning away from the shelf to make pointed eye contact.

If boys are stupid, Jeff is the stupidest of them all. She thinks she can see a tinge of red to his dark cheeks that makes her smile. Chrissy turns away to pick up her book bag where she’d left it on the closet table.

“There’s no letter?” Jeff asks, sounding surprised.

Chrissy sighs, responding, “not yet. I’ll have to check back tomorrow.”

Steve will be crushed. He’s been weird about the letters since he’d begun writing the first drafts alone. Even with the minor polishing Chrissy puts on them after, they’re Steve’s words and feelings, no matter what Eddie thinks. And it shows in the way he takes them home and pours over them for days before slinking back to her with the original letter and his response, cheeks rosy as she fixes his spelling errors.

“Eddie’s planning on asking you out, you know,” Jeff says.

There’s a clatter behind one of the shelves, but Chrissy barely notices. “He said that?” she asks, turning sharply toward him, hand still clutching her book bag.

Jeff nods, lips pursed. God, what are they going to do? This whole thing has spiraled so far out of either of their control. Chrissy had known when she offered that there was a chance Eddie would catch on—that he’d see her leaving a note, or catch her picking one up.

Better her than Steve, she’d thought then. No matter the awkward situation she’s found herself in, she still thinks that, even more so now. Better her than Steve. Steve, who’s proven himself kinder than she ever imagined, who would be run out of town, her ex-boyfriend at the head of the mob.

Chrissy can hear someone shuffling out of sight, feet shuffling on carpet far too close for comfort, so she steps closer to Jeff and lowers her voice.

“Do you know when?” Chrissy asks, anxiety leaching into her. She needs to talk to Steve. Flirting with Eddie is one thing, but going on a date with him? Going out with him? That’s a whole other monster.

And then, of course, there’s Jeff.

“No, he hasn’t told me anything,” he replies, something small and hurt in his voice.

Chrissy’s never had a best friend, but Steve’s given her a little taste of it, and she’d be hurt if he didn’t tell her something like this.

“He’s probably embarrassed,” Chrissy says, aching to reach out and touch, but they’re in public, and Jason could be lurking behind any corner; the last thing she wants is to put a target on another person she cares about’s back. “You’re still his best friend.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he sighs, but when she bumps their shoulders together gently, his lips quirk up.

He smiles over at her, bumping their shoulders together himself as he asks, “drive me home?” as if it isn’t a foregone conclusion. “And stay for dinner?”

That gives her pause. She can feel her cheeks flushing. Despite taking the next step in their relationship, Jeff’s never invited her in, not where his parents and brother are. They haven’t even really discussed what they are, not with this whole secret admirer thing hanging over their heads like the Sword of Damocles.

But she wants to. She wants to hold his hand in the halls, go to his house for study dates and dinner, kiss him somewhere where they don’t have to be furtive.

It’s all stolen moments with Jeff, kisses and conversations made in haste when all she wants to do is linger. So, she says, “yes, please,” and bounces out into the parking lot.

Steve isn’t there, and neither is his car.

“Maybe he went home?” Jeff asks, but he looks just as unsure as she feels.

“We’ll call him when we get to your house,” she asserts. She’s relieved when all he does is nod and follow her to her car.

She’s got a best friend to find.

***

Robin knows something’s gone wrong as soon as she sees that dangerous gleam in Carver’s eyes. She knows whatever it is, it’s about to go catastrophically wrong when she follows his line of sight to where Eddie stands chatting away with one of his friends.

Still, she stands frozen, watching in breathless horror as Eddie waves goodbye to his friend, that familiar happy grin on his face as he slides into the driver’s seat of his van. Heavy music blares from the rolled-down window as his van sputters to noisy life.

When she turns back to get her eyes on Carver, he’s gone. She spots him only as Eddie peels out of the parking lot, Carver’s douchey car hot on his heels.

Robin turns and runs back into the school. She’d spotted another douchey car still loitering in the parking lot; Steve’s in here somewhere.

She checks the library first, knows from previous confessions that it’s where he and Chrissy work on most of the secret admirer notes. It’s deserted aside from a scattering of freshmen in one corner, and Nancy Wheeler arguing with the librarian about a text the library doesn’t seem to have.

She finds herself in the gym next, unsure if any sports are currently in season, but nice guy or not, Steve’s got jock sensibilities. He likes the gym. There’s a singular kid shooting baskets, but based on the rack of balls off to the side, there might have been more.

She goes to the boy’s locker room without thinking, pushing the swinging door open with sweaty palms and shaking arms.

Inside, she finds boys, all blessedly dressed.

“Ohhh!” they call juvenilely as she stands there, shocked as four pairs of eyes lock on her.

“Girl in the locker room!” someone calls; she’s pretty sure that’s Tommy Hagan’s smug voice, but she barely notices, too caught up in trying to find her boy in the mess of bodies.

“Steve,” Robin strangles out.

Her skin feels tacky with panic sweat, and in the past five minutes of searching, she’s run her fingers through her own hair enough times to leave it sticking on end. She’s sure she looks more like a troll doll than an enticing member of the opposite sex.

“He already left,” a guy she doesn’t recognize responds, eying her up and down. “But I’d be more than happy to help you out.”

As if his meaning wasn’t already clear, he bites his lip and swipes his lip like he’s wiping up drool as all the other boys start “ooooh”ing in unison again. Is that something they’re taught in elementary, or something?

She doesn’t wait for them to continue, just turns and runs out of the locker room, panic nipping at her heels.

She runs back out to the parking lot, out of places to check and desperate to not miss Steve leaving.

That’s where she finds him, leaning casually against his car like Eddie’s life isn’t at stake.

She runs so fast, limbs uncoordinated and breaths coming rapid, that she doesn’t stop in time and hit’s Steve straight in the chest.

She bounces off, almost falling to the pavement until he grabs her shoulders and steadies her. Steve’s hands feel big on her shoulders, the pressure of his palms pushing her soul back into her body as she takes big, deep gulps.

“What’s wrong, Bobby?” he asks, already looking at her like she’s a wet puppy he’s ready to scoop into his arms and dry off with the shirt on his own back.

There’s too many witnesses, and too many damning words to be said, so all she whispers is, “you need to go, Steve.”

He wrinkles his nose, but something of the gravity of her words must sink in because he leans in without hesitation and meets her pitch as he asks, “where?”

Robin steps even closer, damn-near standing on Steve’s toes as she begins her stilted explanation.

“Jason Carver followed Eddie’s van in his car,” Robin starts, words blurring into each other in her haste to get them out. “I don’t know what he’s planning, but—“

She doesn’t get to finish; Steve bolts to the driver's side door and flings himself into his car without sparing her a second thought. She can’t blame him.

Robin only hopes he makes it in time.

PART 12

#koko's steddie secret admirer au #steddie #my fic #it's getting messsssyyy. well messier

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