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gloomwitchwrites · 5 days ago

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Dog with No Teeth // Chapter One

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (MDNI): post-apocalypse au, swearing, canon-typical violence, threatening language, death of a minor character

Word Count: 4.6k

On a scavenging run, two unknown groups arrive unannounced. Through the gunfire, you’re separated, cornered, captured. A skull-faced Lieutenant makes a decision, changing your life forever.

ao3 // main masterlist // dog with no teeth masterlist

Eden is a home.

It is a person. A place. A community

It is the scent of old musty books, and the quiet peace before the rising dawn.

You work by candlelight in the silent hours, an open book resting on the table in front of you. Wearing gloves to protect it, you carefully turn the page, gaze scanning the faded lettering. Most of it is legible, and with some time and care, you’ll be able to replicate it on new paper with fresh ink.

Preservation.

Not of your mortal life and those that live in your community, but the preservation of humanity, culture, and human history. Five years since the world fell apart, and yet you remain, carrying on with purpose, restoring books, transcribing those that are close to falling apart, and keeping records of the years that came before.

It is enjoyable, fulfilling work but you serve a greater need to your community. Here, within your sanctuary of several hundred people, you provide them entertainment and education. The children come to you for picture books and story time, and the adults visit when they need an escape.

You are but one piece of a large whole.

“What are you doing here so early?”

You glance up, smiling at your assistant. “Could ask the same,” you laugh, pushing back from the table. Standing, you remove your gloves and set them next to the book.

Sam, your archiving assistant yawns. “Thought I’d get here early since you’re going out today with Zac and his group.” They rub at their eyes. “Shouldn’t you be at the gate already?”

“Shit,” you mutter, checking the mechanical clock hanging on the wall. Sam is right. You should be at the gate right now. “Double shit,” you groan.

Sam laughs and reaches for their own gloves. “I’ll handle this.” Putting them on, Sam settles into your chair. “We doing a refurb on this?”

“No,” you say, running around the room, grabbing your jacket and backpack. “Some of the pages are too faded. Binding is also bust.”

“Transcribe then,” murmurs Sam, gently closing the book to inspect the integrity of the cover. “Where are you going again?”

“Zac mentioned a small town they scoped out. No activity.” You walk over to Sam, yanking your jacket on. “He said there’s a library.”

Sam’s head pops up. “Seriously?”

You nod excitedly. “Said the place was locked up tight. Windows still intact.”

“Untouched?” asks Sam, eyebrows rising in surprise. You nod. Sam whistles lowly. “What a fucking find.”

“I know!” you exclaim. “Could really use some encyclopedias.”

“And dictionaries,” adds Sam longingly.

Tugging on the front of your jacket and then smoothing the front, you zip it up. “Zac said I can bring back as much as I want.”

“Did he really?” Sam shakes their head and opens the front cover of the book. “That man is sweet on you.”

“Which is why I take advantage,” you giggle.

Sam bursts out laughing. “Go. They’ll leave you behind.”

With a grin on your face and a hop to your step, you wave at Sam before heading out the side door and into the early morning. The sun is just starting to rise. Most people are still asleep or starting their day. You walk by the communal buildings where the earliest risers are preparing breakfast. You sigh when you get a whiff of what they’re cooking, wishing you could snag a meal before departing.

As you approach the gate, Zac raises his hand in greeting.

“Have I held everyone up?” you ask tentatively, glancing around.

“Not at all. Still loading up a few things. Your timing is perfect.” Zac smiles, and though you find him pleasant, nothing stirs within you. There is no lust or even romantic interest.

You observe the line of cars queued at the gate. Usually there are only one or two, but there are at least ten vehicles here including the salvaged U-Haul. “Taking a whole convoy?”

“We’re going to need it.”

“For a small town?”

Zac chuckles. “I’m dropping you off at the library. Ben will come with you.”

“I get a security detail?” you ask excitedly and Zac nods. “Fancy.”

Zac scratches at his neck, gaze roaming over the convoy. “There’s a car assembly plant a few miles outside the town. Gonna strip what we can. If things go well, we’ll come back.”

“No activity then?”

“None,” confirms Zac. “We’ve had a scouting team out there for the last two months. Not a soul has passed through.”

“That’s fortunate,” you murmur.

While your community has been largely untouched and unbothered by the outside world, there are still so many unknowns. There have been stragglers that have shown up, and while several have been accepted in and integrated, there are many more that have been turned away or shot on sight. Sometimes you think it cruel, but there are all sorts of horrors in the world now.

Ben walks around the front of the nearest car, and beams in your direction. “Hear I’m looking after you today,” he says, going in for a hug.

You accept it easily. Ben is the comedian of the community, always having a kind word and funny joke.

“And helping me haul books,” you add.

Ben winks in your direction and then turns to Zac. “We’re ready.”

Zac nods. “Load up!” he shouts.

Everyone around you heads to their designated vehicle. Engines roar and car doors slam. You follow Ben, hopping into a dusty Jeep Wrangler.

It’s several hours of open road and clear weather.

You and Ben pass the time by singing songs and playing car games. It’s a good distraction until Zac comes on over the radio and tells Ben their exit is coming up. The rest of the convoy drives on as Ben cuts away to take an exit ramp. A few more minutes and he’s coming to a stop just on the edge of town, parking the Jeep amongst a cluster of trees. The vehicle is completely hidden.

“Ready?” he asks, sliding the keys into his pocket.

“Backpack? Check. Gun? Check. Foldable wagon? Check.”

Ben blows raspberries. “Can’t forget the foldable wagon.”

You playfully smack him on the arm. “You want to haul all those books back yourself.”

“No thank you,” he mutters.

The walk is pleasant, but overall silent. Ben carries an M4AI. The arsenal back home is massive, and whenever there are trips outside the compound, the military-grade weapons come out. He keeps his head on a swivel, but other than the occasional animal sounds and the rustling of leaves, all is quiet.

“Here it is,” sighs Ben, extending one arm toward a stand-alone building at the corner of an intersection.

The library isn’t overly big. If anything, it’s what you’d expect from a small town.

“Now I know you’re excited,” he begins, slightly leaning in your direction. “But you stay close. We’re entering from the back.”

All you can do is nod eagerly, words escaping you. It’s been almost six years since you’ve been inside a library. This is a treat. It takes an insane amount of self-control to not skip all the way to the back of the building.

While the front of the building faces the intersection, behind the library is a small parking lot and two dumpsters. Ben does a slow sweep of the lot as the two of you walk toward the employee entrance. Satisfied that nothing and no one is around, Ben lowers his gun. Removing his backpack, he sets it on the ground, and rummages around inside before withdrawing lockpicks.

Adrenaline surges within you.

A few wiggles.

And then—

Click.

Grinning like an idiot, Ben slips the lockpicks into his backpack and puts it on. Grabbing his gun, he presses himself to the brick wall. Slowly, Ben opens the door with the tip of the rifle. It gives under his touch easily, the hinges even silent as the door swings inwards.

“Draw your weapon,” whispers Ben. “We need to do a sweep first.” As you reach for your Glock, Ben shakes his head. “And leave the damn wagon.”

Leaning the foldable wagon against the wall, you remove your gun from its holster. Ben enters and you follow, shifting your body to watch for anything coming up behind you. It’s a slow sweep. Starting along the wall, the two of you walk the perimeter, checking the back offices, and then finally the center-most area.

Ben comes to a stop near a collection of dusty chairs. Lowering his gun, he sighs with relief. “It’s clear.” He turns in your direction. “I’ll be keeping a lookout at the door. If anything happens, you come directly to me.”

“Got it,” you say with a mock salute.

Ben rolls his eyes but he’s smiling. “And don’t drag those books along because I know you will. Leave them.”

You stare him down but Ben doesn’t budge, matching your stare with one of his own. “I mean it. If someone or something comes barreling through the front doors, you fucking run to me. Understood?”

“Sure. Got it. Understood.”

Ben checks his watch. “We have a few hours before we’re expected back at the meet point. Take your time.” He starts to walk away, and then abruptly pivots. “Wife packed a few sandwiches. Promise I’ll share.”

You snort and wave him off. “Bring me my wagon, Ben.”

“On it,” he calls over his shoulder.

As his footfalls recede, you linger in the quiet, dusty library, taking in the significance of the moment. Six years since you’ve stood inside an actual library. Five years since the world fell apart but a year before, third places were quickly disappearing. No one could spend money when wages were low and all the government’s resources were going toward the war effort. Libraries and free spaces shuttered first, losing all their funding.

This place is precious. Special. A rare opportunity.

Of all the books in your community’s collection, they’ve all come to you by the way of others, collected on routine trips and scavenging missions like today. Since stepping inside the walls you now call home, this is the first time you’ve left it. All the stories you receive of the outside world come from the mouths of those who witness it firsthand.

Like a jubilant child, you want to run around—to touch everything. The tips of your fingers buzz with an incessant itch. But you don’t dare remove anything from the shelves. Resisting is almost physically painful as you float through the aisles, taking it all in. To remove a book off the shelf, to open it up, the smell it and feel it would be paradise.

But you know better. You do.

Disturbing them without the right tools and care might cause damage or undo exposure. What you can do is look, to read the spines, and consider your options. Once you know what you want, you’ll drag your little wagon behind you and go about taking the books you want off the shelves.

Ben does leave you alone, and you’re left to wander.

Each step is light but purposeful as you move about the space. You think of everyone back home, of their likes and dislikes, of their needs and wants. More picture books would be helpful as well as some young adult novels. Some of the women have been asking for romance and few of the older folks would like some historical nonfiction.

“Where are you?” you mutter, digging around in your jacket pockets.

Crumpled paper brushes against your fingers. Withdrawing it, you smooth it out as best you can. Using the little light available to read your scribbled penmanship, you pull the wagon behind you, mentally reordering your notes by priority.

Sam wants dictionaries, and you need to grab a set of encyclopedias. Finding the “Reference” section, you survey all your options. Dictionaries and an encyclopedia set are a must, but you also consider the selections of atlases and then the thesaurus collection. The school could really use those resources, and your wagon is large enough to accommodate a few last-minute additions.

Kneeling, you admire the different editions of encyclopedias. Some appear a little worn but otherwise fine. Even though this place hasn’t had power or temperature control in five years, the place was sealed and untouched until you and Ben. It’s likely that everything inside is fine, and all you and Sam will need to do is a rebinding.

You’re completely absorbed, so focused on the tomes in front of you, that the whisper of your name has you spinning around and reaching for your gun.

Ben has his hands up in front of him in a placating gesture. A snarky remark sizzles on your tongue. Ben brings a finger to his mouth in a gesture of silence. Whatever you were going to say dissolves, leaving behind an acrid aftertaste.

Slowly, you swivel your head from side to side but see nothing.

Ben shifts closer, leans in, a glint of fear in his eyes.

“There are people outside,” he whispers.

That’s when you hear it. Distantly, you hear a car door slam, and a muffled shout. The marrow in your bones becomes ice. There are people. There shouldn’t be people.

You swallow, mouth becoming dry. “How many?”

Ben shrugs. “Not sure. But there’s two groups.”

“Two—” You shake your head slightly as that’ll clear your racing thoughts. “What do you mean two groups?”

Ben’s mouth turns downward. It’s an I’m sorry but even that is loaded.

We’re not getting out of this.

There’s a distant hoot of laughter, and then the breaking of glass as if someone’s thrown a beer bottle. It’s still far enough away that you cling to that one comfort. But if they stick around, they might come sniffing. If that happens, you and Ben will be cornered.

Ben nods his head in the direction of the front of the library. Staying low, the two of creep toward the front of the building. There are two sets of double doors. The first set open up into the library and the secondary set of doors lead directly outside. Sandwiched between them is a small atrium. Above the doors are massive windows that bring in natural light.

Out front in the intersection are several beaten up trucks. From what you can see, it’s all men, at least a dozen or two in total. They look haggard. Mean.

“Is that them?” you ask softly.

Ben doesn’t look back at you as he answers. “Just the one. These guys came in loud.” Ben shifts slightly to glance over his shoulder at you. “Surprised you didn’t hear them.”

“Lost in my books.” Ben snorts, and returns his attention to the glass doors. “What about the second group?” you ask tentatively. “Our people?”

Ben eases back a bit. He sits down on the floor, checking over his rifle. “No. Not sure who they are.” He licks his lips, gaze focused on the gun. “They’re all in black. Militarized by the look of them. Organized.”

Two groups. Two different groups.

Ben removes the clip and checks the cartridge. “Only noticed them when one of these guys went around back.” He gestures toward the men directly outside the front doors. “Fucker came out of nowhere and knifed him. Dragged his body away too.”

“Who are they?”

Ben shrugs and rummages in his backpack for a new clip. “No fucking idea. The ones out front might be marauders or slavers or—”

He pauses, gaze growing distant.

“Or what, Ben?” you prompt.

He doesn’t answer, only readies the rifle. “All I know is we need to go.”

All this work, all this effort, suddenly gone.

Your shoulders sag as the reality of the situation sets in. “I have to leave the books. Don’t I?”

“Afraid so,” replies Ben. But he smiles, and though he’s trying, you see the strain. “Next time I’ll make sure to bring you and Sam some books.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he affirms. “Let’s go.”

At the back door, you withdraw your Glock, posting up beside Ben. He cracks it open. Pauses. Opens it a little wider. He carefully sticks a small hand mirror out the opening. He turns it left then right then back again.

“Clear” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

He exits slowly, and then gestures with his hand. You step outside, squinting slightly as your eyes adjust to the light. Ben starts to cross the parking lot, heading for the exit furthest from the intersection.

The voices of the men are louder out here. A tiny bubble of panic blooms. Then simmers. Then boils.

There is no one around. No one. And yet—

A loud crack splits the air. The wall next to Ben explodes, tiny fragments of debris bursting outward. Ben stumbles backward. He grabs for you. And tugs.

You’re yanked to the side, and then spun around.

Time seems to slow, and yet everything occurs so quickly you don’t entirely comprehend what’s happened until Ben shoves the two of you behind a nearby dumpster.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe. “Ben. We—”

Horror floods your lungs.

Blood.

Everything. Dripping from tiny holes in Ben’s body.

“Oh my god. Ben.”

You reach for him, but there are so many impact points. Too many.

“Go,” he gasps. “Go.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

As the words leave your mouth, a barrage of bullets bite into the wall directly over your head.

“Here,” he rasps, handing you the keys to the Jeep. “Leave me and fucking run. I’ll distract them.”

Shouting breaks out nearby followed by what seems like a never-ending deluge of gunfire.

Your eyes burn. “You promised me books.”

He smiles, and there’s more red than white. “You know I always deliver on my promises.”

With a groan that’s more a cry of pain, Ben stands and reloads with a new clip.

“Go,” he whispers just as he steps out from around the dumpster, gun firing.

You turn. Take off. Gunfire follows.

It comes from everywhere, but you don’t falter, don’t pause to check your surroundings. You’re not a raging bull or an agile cheetah. You are pure frenzy, pure panic, like a rabbit running from fox teeth.

“Fucking grab her!” someone yells. “Grab her!”

You don’t know if it’s the marauders or the men all in black, but there is little reason to consider who.

Survival is paramount. Survival is eternal.

In a world like this, survival is lifeblood.

It is everything.

With lungs burning and muscles screaming, you aim for the houses, knowing you can lose them if you scuttle through the overgrown backyards.

The blow comes out of nowhere.

You witness a brief taste of freedom.

And then it’s yanked right from under you.

A body barrels into you, knocking you sideways. The ground comes up fast. You throw up your arms to protect your head and face. It cushions but protects little else. You hit hard.

“Come here,” growls a male voice. Hands are on you. Grabbing. Twisting. “Let me get a good look at you.”

You kick out. Throw your fists in all directions.

“Stop your fussing.”

A quick blow to the face and you’re circling, everything becoming temporarily blurry as the person atop you brings your vision skyward.

“Look at you,” he laughs.

It’s one of the marauders. He smiles down at you, teeth brown and grey from decay.

“Pretty thing. Gonna look cute choking on my—”

His nefarious smile drops as the rest of him stiffens. You freeze, staring up in shock as you try to figure out what’s happened. It’s a slow unfolding. A trickle. Blood begins to pool in his mouth and then it drip drip drips onto your face.

With a soft cry, you wiggle out from under him as he tips over, falling into the grass. Scrambling backward, you start to push up onto your knees, muscles poised to keep moving.

“Don’t move.” A gun barrel presses into the back of your head. It’s still warm. “Get up.”

A pair of black boots come into view. Your gaze slowly ascends. Black boots give way to black pants to a black bullet proof vest to a black balaclava. The only part of him you can see are his eyes.

Someone grabs the back of your neck. It’s a harsh hold, and you’re yanked to your feet. You twist your neck and find another man, this one almost identical to the one in front of you. This is the other group Ben spotted, the ones tracking the marauders.

The one holding your neck squeezes and the other reaches for you. “Fucking move and I’ll shoot you.”

You remain perfectly still—perfectly silent as he pats you down. The knife in your boot is confiscated along with your Glock. When they snatch the Jeep keys, you instinctually reach to take them back.

“Told you not to fucking move.”

The man slaps your hand down and you feel the muzzle return to your head.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

He stares you down for a long moment. It gives you an opportunity to observe him, and his companion. They both wear identical all-black tactical even down to the patches attached to their biceps. The bottom one you recognize. Both American flags. The one above it is eerily similar but you can’t entirely place it. It’s an azimuthal projection of the earth but a top view from the North Pole. Beneath it are two olive branches.

The stranger’s gaze shifts to just above you. He jerks his head, and then you’re shoved forward without warning. With each of them holding an arm, you’re half-dragged back to the intersection the marauders were at.

While their rusty trucks are still there, they aren’t alone. Four armored trucks are parked in a semi-circle around the marauders’ cars. More men in all-black tactical gear prowl the area. Of the first group to arrive, those that aren’t dead have been zip tied and lined up in a row on their stomachs, faces pressed into the asphalt.

When one of them moves, they’re kicked until they fall back into compliance.

“Found this one out by the houses,” says the man holding onto your left arm.

Soldiers. They have to be. This isn’t some ragtag group. They wear uniforms, all of which are perfectly maintained. Even the armored trucks are in decent condition.

A small trio of them standing nearby turn.

The centermost soldier speaks. “A woman?” His surprise is clear. And like the two men who hold you, this man too has an American flag.

He nods toward the group of facedown marauders. “These fuckers don’t let their breeders out of their sight.”

Breeders.

You almost snarl, bite back with an insult. But you keep your mouth shut. Their intentions are unclear, and you’re without a weapon. Entirely powerless.

Survival. Always survival.

He takes a few steps forward, approaching you, gaze assessing. Behind the balaclava, he gives you a once over. “Looks healthy,” he observers. Without warning, he grabs your face. You jerk back, and he clucks his tongue. “Stop moving.”

Turning your face to the left and then to the right, the middle of his brow creases. “Open your mouth.”

You glower, and don’t comply.

He grabs your nose, shutting off your air. You gasp, mouth opening.

“Has all her teeth,” he announces, dropping his hand. “Can’t be one of theirs.”

“We need to show the Lieutenant,” says the soldier to your right.

The man before you stares, and keeps staring. “Do we?”

You don’t like the implication.

“What’s this?”

A deep, masculine voice cuts through the air. It is accented. British. Every head turns, and the soldiers straighten, shoulders back and heads held high.

The man holding your left arm speaks up. “Found her running toward the houses, Lieutenant.”

All the soldiers wear plain black balaclavas. Simple. Straightforward. But the man who steps into view has a skull face stitched into his. A fucking skull.

Instead of an American flag, it’s a Union Jack.

His brown eyes behind the mask narrow. “They don’t bring their women out.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Are their numbers that low?”

“With how we’ve been picking them off I wouldn’t be surprised.”

They bicker back and forth, arguing about you but not actually talking to you.

“I’m not with them,” you say, and they all go silent.

Skull Face glowers. “You’re not?”

“I was running from them.” You glance between the soldiers who shot the man. “They’ll tell you. They’re the ones that shot him.”

Skull Face appears unmoved. “Doesn’t mean you’re not with them.”

You laugh, and it sounds a bit hysterical. “Why would I be fucking running if I were with them? Wouldn’t I be shooting back at you?”

“No,” he replies flatly. “If you were with them, you’d be bloody running from them. Not shooting at us.”

“She has to be with them. There’s no one else here.” The man who speaks up this time is directly to Skull Face’s right. The accent is different. Scottish.

“I came with one other. Those men shot at us.”

Ben. Oh. Sweet Ben.

“And where are they?” asks Skull Face.

You swallow, knowing the truth. “Behind the library. Parking lot. Near the dumpster.”

Skull Face locks gazes with another solider and nods. Two men break off, heading in that direction. He returns his attention to you. “Who are these men?”

“What?” you ask, perplexed.

“These men.” He points to the facedown marauders. “Who are they?”

These men are strangers to you. “Slavers?” When no one confirms or denies, you guess again. “Cannibals?”

“She’s playing dumb,” mutters the Scots.

“Hush, Soap,” mutters Skull Face. “Who are they? What name do they go by? It’s an easy question. Everyone knows it.”

You shake your head. “I—I don’t know.”

Lieutenant Skull Face leans in, lowering his voice. “If you don’t answer truthfully, you and I can have an extended chat in the back of one of these trucks.”

“She had these.” The Jeep keys are tossed, and he catches them without looking. “And this.” The Glock is presented.

Soap takes the Glock. He turns it over. “They don’t give their women weapons, Ghost.”

So, Skull Face is named Ghost. Fitting.

“No,” he agrees. “Makes it easier for them to fight back.”

The very idea sobers you.

“Who are they?” you ask, feeling safe enough to do so.

Ghost glances up from the car keys. “Your worst fucking nightmare.”

“Lieutenant!” The two men that left for the library return. Jogging forward, they speak in low voices.

Ben is not with them. Ben is—

Ghost nods and steps back. “We’re taking her with us.” The two men holding onto your arms let go and Ghost immediately grabs hold of your shoulder, pulling you forward.

“Pick three of these bastards at random,” he announces, gesturing toward the facedown men. “Put them in Delta truck. Shoot the rest.”

Ghost’s hand at your shoulder slides up, grasping the back of your neck. He leans in close—so close you can pick out the little flecks of gold in his brown irises.

“You’re riding with me.”

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kaciebello · 1 year ago

Text

Band-aids of death

Masterlist Luke Castellan x Hades! reader (implied, fem) Percy Jackson x Hades! reader (platonic) Summary: Percy meets the bandaid dealer who has his friend so smitten Warning: Absolutely non, teeth rotting stuff really, no use of y/n author note: English is not my first language so I am sorry for any mistakes beforehand. I read the books long ago and I'm currently in the process of re-reading them, so some lore might be wrong. Also using what I remember from the show! Proofread by me and me only :( word count: 1347

Percy has been at this camp stuff for a week now and he was just not loving it. From the overcrowded cabin 11 to Clarisse's relentless bugging, he just wanted to go home. This was his home now, yes, but that does not mean he can't yearn for better. And on top of all that, it seemed like he was good at absolutely nothing. If there was a competition at being bad at everything he would still somehow end up in second place.

Today was no better. Luke, Counselor of the Hermes cabin, has decided that maybe Percy could take on a sword fight. He couldn't. Not like he could go against the best swordsman in the last 300 years anyway.

After what felt like hours, Luke finally gave the boy a break and Percy finally felt like he could breathe. Only for a second that is, because his friend decided to take him to a new area of the camp.

Walking to a small building only lightly connected to the infirmary was rather ominous. While everywhere in the camp where people, this shack could be abandoned and he would not be surprised. His friend. However, walked faster than normally, seemingly excited to show him what's inside.

They stopped by the open door and Percy could finally see that it was not abandoned and the little two-story house was, indeed, occupied. Looking at his friend with suspicion, who now sports a wide grin on his face, Percy could not help but think there was more to it than Luke said.

Walking in, Luke chimes the bell that sits on the top of the door frame. The girl who, until now, was checking out the shelves of what seems to be medicine and chemicals turns around with a confused look. She wore the same ‘ camp uniform ‘ as everyone else, confirming to Percy that she was one of them as well. Although her shirt seemed to have switched color schemes and was black with an orange print of the camp name.

“ Hello Sweetheart, how's the inventory going?” Luke asks and pushes Percy slightly in front of him, not something he appreciates. The girl, unamused, does not answer his question. Instead, she answers him with her own.

“ What brings you here, Castellan? Last time I checked you did not need allergy medication.” Chuckle could be heard from his friend. Percy, not interested in their bickering, looks around the room. Small table by the door with a stack of paper, a black mysterious jar, and what Percy recognizes as an old land-line phone. One wall of the room was just a shelf with what he now knows for sure is medicine with a door at the end. By the window, there was an old medical bed, and next to it, stood, by Percy's standards, an unstable chair.

A hand on his shoulder snaps him out and he turns his head back to the girl. “ So what's wrong with you?” She asks and motions him to sit on what seems to be a more sturdy version of the same chair he just saw.

“ Other than that I suck at everything and my father not bothering to claim me? Nothing much really.” Laugher was heard from the two older campers.

“ No, I meant like, why are you here guys? If you were training with Lu here, you might have some scratches.” She points to Luke, who seems to be proud just of the fact that she acknowledges him. Before he can answer she continues,

“Although if you're seriously hurt, maybe you should visit the Apollo kids, I ain’t no nurse, really.”

“ No need for that, we just need some band-aids.” Luke proclaims and pats his chest where his heart is.

“ You have bandaids in your cabin, and I know for sure, I saw your siblings steal some. “ she snapped back softly at his friend.’ It's in their nature’ Luke says under his nose and takes a few steps to the girl putting his arm around her shoulders.

“ Sweetheart here is a terrible nurse-”

“Hey! I am an excellent necromancer!”

“Too bad that your patient is still alive, Sweets,” Luke argues back at the girl. She just shakes her head and walks behind her desk. Luke follows closely behind her like a magnet was pulling him over. Percy watches as she opens a drawer and pulls out the biggest box of band-aids he has ever seen.

“ What kind do you want, em…” She looks at him kinda awkwardly.

“Percy.” “ Right, Percy, do you want Spiderman band-aid? It's a big hit with the younger campers.” She smiles and pulls out an impressive collection of Spiderman band-aids.

“ Ah, no, normal ones are fine.” I watch as a pout appears on her face as she puts them back and starts to look through the box as if looking for something.

“I want the Spiderman one.” Chimes in Luke who is now leaning over this girl.

“ You can get the boring ones, Castellan, I don't care.” It was now Luke's turn to pout. “ What cabin are you from?” Percy asks, wanting to learn some more about the girl that has his friend so smitten. Her eyes look up at him before going back to her box.

“ I don't have a cabin, I sleep on the second floor. There is a staircase in the back.” She says as it is the most normal thing ever. Which it was, just not in camp half-blood. That confuses Percy, from what he learned at the camp so far, everyone that has been claimed either has a cabin or just sleeps in Hermeses one. So that is exactly why he asks.

“ Why don't you sleep in Hermes cabin?” The girl straightens her posture, seeming in thought. His friend hugged her from behind around her shoulders. They remind him of an old married couple.

“Well, there are cabins for the twelve Olympians. My dad has no throne on Olympus. He kinda does his own thing down under.”

“ Australia?”

“No Percy, the underworld.” She says though giggles and wiggles herself from the hug. She makes her way forward to Percy and stands in front of him carefully peeling parts of the band-aid.

“ Your dad is Hades?” Hum leaves her as an answer. Focusing on placing the band-aid right above his eyebrow where he scratched himself earlier during training with Luke. When she's done, she turns to a black jar on her table and opens it. To Percy's surprise, she pulls out a lollipop and gives it to him.

“You're good to go fighter, Don't stay here longer than you need to!” She sings and ushers the boy out of the chair and to the door. Percy turns to his friend,

“ Luke, are you not coming?” he asks waiting for him to answer. Luke gives him a look of fake thought, Percy knows it's fake because he, himself used it many times back at the academy. Luke shakes his head and smiles.

“No, I haven't been treated by my nurse yet.” The girl groans and snaps her head to the sky. Percy just shrugs and walks out of the building. As he opens his lollipop, he turns his head back to look at his friends.

He can see Luke being peppered with kisses on his face. When the girl moves he can see a band-aid with hearts that now decorates the scar on his face. Percy just chuckles and moves on, determined to find Grover or Annabeth to tell them what he witnessed. He failed to notice his bright blue bandaid with bubbles on it.

#luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan x fem!reader #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson x fem!reader #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson fic #percy jackson x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan #percy jackson #percy pjo #percy series

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dreamersparacosm · 9 days ago

Text

jeon jungkook - under the checkered flag (part three)

warnings ; alcohol consumption, reader being a clown, jk being a clown, everyone’s a clown

prompt ; in which a girl who doesn’t believe in risks takes the biggest one of all—falling for a man who lives for the thrill.

note ; i can’t believe it!!!! we’re halfway through the series omgggg. guys your feedback and love mean all the world and i love writing this story and hope for many more to come <3 sorry im being soft on main my bad

playlist here

series masterlist here

Friendship, as it turns out, is something Jungkook takes very seriously.

It starts subtly—occasional texts, a check-in here and there. How’s work? Are you drowning in spreadsheets yet? A picture of his breakfast one morning with the caption: rate my cooking skills, be honest. The casual kind of conversation that isn’t meant to mean much, the kind that should be easy to brush off.

But then, somewhere along the way, it becomes apparent it’s more than you bargained for.

The texts become more frequent, slipping into your daily routine like they belong there. Did you eat yet? What’s the most annoying thing a client has said to you today? I think my cat is judging me. Thoughts?

It’s easy.

So easy, in fact, that you don’t even realize how much of your time belongs to him now.

At first, it’s just casual meetups—wine nights where he lets you pick the bottle and pretends to know what he’s doing when he swirls his glass like a critic. You try to explain tasting notes, but he just hums thoughtfully and says, “Yeah, this one tastes very…red.”

Then there are the video game nights, where he insists on showing you how to play, only to immediately regret it when you button-mash your way to victory. “There’s no way that just happened,” he groans, staring at the screen in disbelief as you grin smugly beside him.

And then—perhaps the most unexpected of all—there’s the puzzle night.

It starts as a joke. You mention it offhandedly, expecting him to laugh it off, but instead, he tilts his head, intrigued. “I’ve never done one before. Teach me.”

So you do.

You sit cross-legged on the floor of your living room, a thousand tiny pieces scattered between you, as Jungkook studies the edge pieces like they hold the secrets of the universe.

“Okay,” he says, brows furrowed in concentration. “So the strategy is…?”

You smirk. “To not overthink it.”

He scoffs, determined. “No such thing.”

It’s the kind of thing you never would’ve imagined doing with him. The kind of moment that should feel out of place, but somehow, it doesn’t. Somehow, this feels oddly natural. Like you’ve been doing it since the day you were born.

And you don’t even realize how much of your life he’s occupied until Jisoo points it out.

She catches you off guard in the middle of an ordinary workday, when you’re both sitting at your desks, your laptop open but your attention elsewhere. Your phone buzzes beside you, another message from Jungkook flashing across the screen.

Jungkook: What’s the corporate world like today? Are we still scamming people?

You bite back a smile, typing a response.

You: Scamming is such a strong word. We prefer “strategic negotiations.”

Jisoo watches you out of the corner of her eye, her lips curling slightly. “Okay, who are you texting?”

“No one,” you say too quickly, setting your phone down.

She raises an eyebrow. “Right. So it’s no one that has you smiling at your phone like that?”

You roll your eyes. “I wasn’t smiling.”

“You were,” she says, leaning on her elbow, her tone turning smug. “And I have a very strong suspicion that it’s a certain race car driver.”

You freeze. “It’s not—”

Jisoo gasps, her grin widening. “It is! Oh my god, how often do you two talk?”

You huff, feigning exasperation. “It’s not like that. We’re just… friends.”

Jisoo hums, unconvinced. “Friends who text all the time. Friends who see each other, let me guess, two, three times a week?”

You open your mouth, but the words don’t come out, because she’s right.

You blink, suddenly realizing just how much time you’ve been spending with Jungkook. The wine nights. The video games. The puzzles. The constant texts, the check-ins, the easy way he’s integrated himself into your daily routine.

Your stomach twists.

Jisoo watches you carefully. “You do realize how weird this is, right?”

You sigh, pressing your fingers to your temple. “It’s not weird.”

She leans in. “It’s weird.”

You groan. “Jisoo—”

“No one becomes ‘just friends’ with a guy like Jungkook,” she says, voice dropping to a whisper like she’s unveiling some great universal truth. “And you, my dear, are playing with fire.”

You shake your head, trying to will away the growing warmth in your chest. “We are just friends. I told him I’m not ready for anything.”

Jisoo’s lips twitch. “And yet, here you are, practically dating him without realizing it.”

You sputter. “We are not dating!”

“Right, right. Just friends.” She holds up her hands in surrender, but the teasing glint in her eye doesn’t fade. “Does he know that?”

You frown. “Of course he does.”

Jisoo tilts her head, her voice softening just slightly. “And you’re sure you do, too?”

Her words settle into your skin, into the space between your ribs where doubt has started to bloom.

You exhale, shaking your head. “This isn’t—I’m not—”

Jisoo grins. “Relax. Your secret’s safe with me.”

You narrow your eyes. “Jisoo.”

She presses a hand to her heart. “I won’t tell a soul. But just so you know,” she leans in, her voice dripping with amusement. “I cannot wait to see how this plays out so I can tell you I was right.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples as she turns back to her computer, still grinning.

You pick up your phone again, staring at the message thread with Jungkook.

Friends.

That’s all it is.

It has to be.

But as your fingers hover over the keyboard, ready to type back something witty, something that keeps the conversation going just like always—there’s a small, quiet part of you that wonders: how long can you keep pretending that’s all it is?

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

For the first time in what feels like weeks, you have a night that belongs entirely to yourself. No endless emails, no high-stakes negotiations, no last-minute client dinners where you have to keep a carefully curated smile in place. Just a rare, quiet evening. Or, well, until your phone buzzes.

Jungkook: Come over. I’m cooking you something good.

You raise an eyebrow, shifting on your couch.

You: Cooking? You sure about that?

His response is immediate.

Jungkook: I’m offended. I’m literally a five-star chef. And didn’t you say you haven’t had a good steak in a while?

You hesitate for only a second before exhaling, shaking your head to yourself.

You: Fine. But if I get food poisoning, I’m suing.

Jungkook: Fair. But it won’t happen.

And that’s how you end up in his kitchen an hour later, a glass of wine in your hand as you lean against the counter, watching him move.

Jungkook’s home is a place you’ve been acquainted well with, your Google Maps recognizing his address as one of your most frequented once. It’s always exactly what you never expected—sleek, modern, effortlessly expensive, but somehow still lived-in. The kind of place that belongs to someone who travels too often to make it feel warm but who still likes to return to something familiar.

Right now, though, your focus isn’t on his house. It’s on him.

Standing by the stove, Jungkook looks ridiculously good doing something as simple as cooking. His white t-shirt clings to his frame just enough to make it impossible not to notice the sharp cut of his shoulders, the lean muscle beneath. His silver chain catches the warm kitchen light, glinting against the smooth skin of his collarbone. Tattoos peek out from under the short sleeves of his shirt, trailing down his arm, shifting with every precise movement of his hands.

He looks relaxed here, completely at ease as he sears the steak, flipping it with effortless confidence. You take a sip of your wine, watching as he hums to himself, completely in his element.

“You look way too comfortable doing that,” you muse, swirling the deep red liquid in your glass.

Jungkook glances at you, smirking. “Told you I’m basically a chef.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch with amusement. “So this is your secret talent? Cooking expensive meals to impress people?”

He feigns offense. “Excuse me, I’m not trying to impress anyone.” Then, after a beat, “Okay, maybe a little. But only because you doubted me.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I didn’t doubt you. I just... never pictured you doing something so domestic.”

Jungkook grins, effortlessly charming. “What, you thought I survived purely on protein shakes and takeout?”

You pause, considering. “Honestly? Maybe.”

He laughs, tossing a pinch of salt onto the sizzling pan. “I like cooking,” he admits after a moment, his tone softer now. “It’s one of the few things that slows my brain down.”

You blink, surprised at the admission. “Slows your brain down?”

He nods, focusing on the pan. “Racing is... chaos. My life is chaos, most of the time. But this?” He gestures toward the stove. “This is simple. It’s just me, the ingredients, and making sure I don’t burn anything.”

You watch him for a long moment, something warm settling in your chest.

“You really love it,” you say quietly.

Jungkook glances at you again, an unreadable look flickering across his face before he smirks. “Told you I take my steak very seriously.”

You roll your eyes, but the teasing note in his voice doesn’t hide the truth in what he said.

Silence settles between you for a beat, but it’s comfortable, easy. You sip your wine, letting your gaze drift back to him, to the way he moves. There’s something frustratingly captivating about him, something that makes it hard to look away, no matter how much you try.

Maybe it’s the way he handles the steak, confident but unhurried. Maybe it’s the way his shirt clings to the sharp lines of his back when he reaches for a plate. Or maybe it’s just the way he exists, completely at ease in his skin, the kind of presence that makes it impossible not to notice him.

You take another sip of wine, looking away before your thoughts can spiral any further.

Jungkook plates the food, glancing at you with a triumphant smirk. “Alright, moment of truth. Let’s see if I live up to the hype.”

You set your glass down, taking the plate he hands you and sitting down at his dining table. “If this is terrible, I’m never letting you live it down.”

Jungkook scoffs, sitting down across from you. “I don’t fail at things, especially not steak.”

You raise an eyebrow but take your first bite.

The second the flavor hits your tongue, you freeze.

Jungkook watches, his smirk widening. “Oh, shit. It’s good, isn’t it?”

You chew slowly, narrowing your eyes at him. “I hate you.”

He grins. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “I hate that you’re good at this. I really wanted to make fun of you.”

Jungkook leans back in his chair, smug. “Guess you’ll just have to find another reason to tease me.”

You huff, but there’s no real annoyance behind it.

As the night stretches on, the conversation flows as easily as the wine. Small talk turns into stories—he tells you about his worst race-day rituals, you tell him about the most ridiculous work emails you’ve ever received. He makes you laugh more than you expect to, and for a while, you forget to keep your guard up.

It’s the same pattern you two continually fall into. That’s really what makes it dangerous. Because you don’t even realize how close you’ve gotten until you look up and find him watching you, his eyes dark and unreadable in the dim light.

Your breath catches in your throat.

For a second, neither of you move.

Jungkook licks his lips, the silver glint of his piercing catching the light. His tongue flicks over the ring slowly, a mindless habit, but it sends a shiver down your spine.

You look away, your fingers tightening around your wine glass.

He notices. You know he notices.

But he spares you the embarrassment and doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head, muscles flexing slightly beneath his t-shirt. “So,” he says, voice light, breaking the moment before it can become something else. “What’s next? You gonna let me teach you how to cook something next time?”

You exhale, grateful for the shift. “Absolutely not. I think I like it better when you cook for me.”

Jungkook grins. “Hm, getting used to this, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t fight the small smile on your lips.

Because, maybe… maybe you are. And that’s the scariest part of it all.

Your fingers tighten slightly around your wine glass, the warmth of the alcohol no match for the heat creeping up your neck. You try to play it cool, to roll your eyes, to scoff: but truth is, you are getting used to this. To him.

You lower your gaze, focusing on the deep red swirl of your wine as if it holds all the answers you’re trying to avoid. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you murmur, keeping your voice light.

Jungkook studies you, leaning slightly on the table, his elbow propped as he watches you with that knowing look that makes your pulse flicker. “Where’d you just go?” he asks, tilting his head. “You do that sometimes—you disappear into your head.”

You blink, startled by how easily he catches it. “I do not.”

His lips quirk, unconvinced. “You do.”

You exhale through your nose, schooling your expression. “I was just thinking about how, statistically, I have to endure at least one more meal with you cooking before you let me off the hook.”

It’s an easy deflection, one that comes naturally after years of keeping your thoughts and feelings wrapped up tight. You expect him to let it go, to tease you back, to move on like most people would.

But Jungkook just watches you for a second longer, like he knows there’s something else beneath the surface. Like he sees right through you. It’s unsettling.

But he lets it slide, leaning back in his chair as he stretches, groaning slightly as he rolls out his shoulders.

“Okay, serious question,” he says suddenly, breaking the moment.

You glance at him warily. “That doesn’t sound promising.”

He smirks, but there’s something different in his expression now—something thoughtful. “Do you wanna come to one of my races?”

Your head jerks back slightly. “Wait, what?”

Jungkook nods, as if it’s the most casual thing in the world. “Yeah. Next one’s in two weeks. You should come.”

You blink at him, completely thrown off. “Isn’t that usually reserved for… I don’t know, one of your fan girls?”

Jungkook lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You make it sound like I keep a roster.”

You raise an eyebrow, and he immediately smirks. “Okay, fine, I see why you’d think that,” he admits. “But no, I’m serious. You should come.”

You stare at him, trying to understand why he’s asking this—why he wants you there, of all people.

Jungkook notices the hesitation on your face, and instead of teasing, his expression softens. “Look, I know you think I’m always surrounded by screaming fans or whatever, but I actually don’t invite a lot of people to my races. Not personally, at least.”

You tilt your head slightly. “So why me?”

He shrugs, like the answer is obvious. “Because I want you to be there.”

Your breath catches slightly at his sincerity. You don’t know how to respond. You should say no. But the way he’s looking at you—the way his gaze holds yours, open and unguarded—makes it impossible to refuse outright.

So instead, you sigh, your tongue failing you as you shake your head, as if you’re doing him some grand favor. “Fine. But don’t make it a big deal. I’ll just sit wherever.”

Jungkook grins, his dimple appearing, and your stomach does a little somersault you pretend not to acknowledge.

“Deal,” he says, lifting his wine glass. “To you coming to my race.”

You sigh again, rolling your eyes, but you clink your glass against his anyway.

And as you take a sip, letting the wine settle warm in your chest, you try to ignore the quiet thrill that sparks in your stomach at the thought of seeing him in his element. Somehow, you already know deep somewhere in the confines of your conscious, this is already becoming something you don’t know how to handle.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You should have known better.

You should have known this man would’ve bent the world backwards for you if you meant you would even give him a sliver of your time.

The moment you and Jisoo step into the race venue, the energy is electric: it’s thrumming through the air, a chaotic mix of revving engines, roaring crowds, and the unmistakable scent of burning rubber and fuel. You weren’t sure what to expect when Jungkook handed you the tickets a week ago, telling you to bring a plus one (secretly praying you did not bring a man), but you definitely didn’t expect this.

Front row.

Front and center.

The seats he gave you aren’t just good—they’re the seats. The kind of seats reserved for people who matter, the kind of seats that have Jisoo gripping your arm and practically vibrating with excitement.

“Oh my god,” she hisses, dragging you down to sit before you can even fully process it. “Are you seeing this? Front row?! What the hell did you do to this man?”

You groan, already regretting bringing her. “Jisoo—”

“No, seriously,” she cuts in, shaking your arm like a child hyped up on sugar. “You told me you guys were just friends. Friends don’t give each other front-row tickets to the biggest race of the season.”

You sigh, shifting in your seat, but there’s no arguing with her. She’s right. You should have expected this, should have known that Jungkook wouldn’t just toss you into the general stands like any regular spectator.

But still.. this?

It’s a lot.

And the worst part? You feel it. A small, buzzing thrill at the base of your spine. A quiet excitement curling low in your stomach.

You glance around, taking in the sheer magnitude of it all; the massive grandstands, the towering screens flashing live footage of the track, the flashing lights, the thunder of engines preparing for battle. The energy is palpable, coursing through the crowd, through you.

You don’t mean to look around, it’s not like you’re looking for anything in particular. But your brain is on autopilot, faster than you’d like it to be. Your eyes find him.

Jungkook stands off to the side, near his car, surrounded by his pit crew but somehow still managing to stand out, like the center of gravity has shifted around him.

And god, you’re staring. You can’t help it.

Dressed in a fitted black racing suit that clings to his frame way too well, Jungkook looks every bit the star that he is. The suit is lined with sleek red and white accents, his name and number embroidered across his chest, a few sponsor logos patched onto the sleeves, but none of that matters. What matters is him.

The way his dark hair is slightly tousled beneath his helmet, the way the sun catches on the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his fingers flex around the strap of his gloves as he pulls them on.

And then there’s the tattoos, ink creeping out from his sleeve, peeking past the edge of his suit. The sharp contrast between the black fabric and the intricate designs decorating his skin is enough to make your brain short-circuit.

Your lips part slightly, heat creeping up your neck before you can even process the fact that you’re practically drooling.

Jisoo catches on immediately.

“Oh. My. God.” She turns to you with the slowest smirk you’ve ever seen in your life. “You’re down bad.”

You snap out of it instantly. “I am not!”

“You so are.” She nudges you, grinning. “You were literally eye-fucking him just now.”

Your face burns. “JISOO.”

She cackles. “I mean, I get it. If I were you, I’d be feral for him in that suit.”

You cover your face with your hands. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” she sing-songs, clearly loving this.

You groan, still too warm, still way too aware of the fact that, yes, you were definitely staring. Is it a crime to stare at a man who spends his entire day texting you, his free hours seeing you, and treats you like you’re his entire world? Maybe. Possibly.

Before you can even come back with a witty response for Jisoo, Jungkook turns. For a second, he’s just scanning the crowd, his eyes sweeping across the stands, his expression unreadable. But then, he sees you.

And everything shifts.

His entire face lights up. The moment his eyes lock onto yours, his expression changes, his lips curve into a wide, boyish grin, dimples flashing, his entire posture relaxing as if he’s just spotted something he didn’t even realize he was looking for. He lifts a hand and waves.

At you. Not at the cameras, not at the fans screaming his name—at you.

And just like that, you forget all the autonomic movements that come with breathing.

Your brain stalls, your heart slamming against your ribs as you stare at him, frozen in place.

Jisoo, naturally, is losing her mind.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, gripping your arm again. “He’s so into you.”

You swallow hard, pulse erratic, and force yourself to do something, anything.

Slowly, hesitantly, you lift your hand and give him a small wave back.

Jungkook’s grin somehow widens.

And then, before you can even process what just happened, one of his crew members calls him over, and he turns away, back to business.

But the damage is already done. You’re shaken.

Jisoo is smirking at you like she just won the lottery. “Yeah. Friends, huh?”

You don’t respond. You can’t, not when your heart is still racing, not when you’re still trying to process whatever that was.

Because for all the warnings you’ve given yourself, for all the ways you’ve tried to keep this casual, you can’t shake the feeling that you just crossed an invisible line, and you have no idea how to come back from it.

The atmosphere shifts the moment the engines roar to life.

The sound is deafening: a deep, guttural growl that shakes through your chest, vibrating against your ribs like a war drum. The entire track buzzes with energy, the crowd alive with anticipation, waves of cheers and chants rolling through the grandstands. And it’s only when you hear it—his name, being screamed over and over, an entire sea of voices chanting for him—that you realize just how much of a star he is. Jeon Jungkook isn’t just a driver. He’s the driver.

“Oh my god,” Jisoo breathes beside you, gripping your arm as the racers line up on the grid. “I’m nervous.”

You exhale, trying to steady your own racing pulse, eyes locked on Jungkook’s car—the sleek, jet-black machine adorned with streaks of red, his number bold against the hood. He sits behind the wheel, helmet on, hands flexing over the controls, his focus razor-sharp. A few quick accelerations, testing the power beneath him.

The lights overhead flicker—red, red, red, red, green.

And they’re off.

The force of it is immediate, a blur of motion so fast your breath catches in your throat. The cars launch forward like missiles, tearing down the straightaway at blistering speeds, engines screaming as they battle for position.

Jungkook moves with precision.

He’s aggressive but calculated, weaving between competitors, his car slicing through the pack like a blade. Every turn is razor-thin, every move flawless.

“Shit!” Jisoo yells as another car swerves dangerously close to him, forcing him toward the outer edge of the track.

Your heart stalls.

Jungkook doesn’t panic, doesn’t even flinch.

Instead, he cuts in, barely a breath of space between him and the car beside him, his tires gripping the asphalt with perfect timing. It’s insane. It’s impossible.

And yet, he does it.

You barely have time to process it before the next turn, the next sharp maneuver that has you gripping the edge of your seat.

Lap after lap, he dominates.

He takes corners with precision so tight it makes your stomach drop. He threads through competitors like he’s seeing the race in slow motion while everyone else is barely keeping up.

A car ahead of him loses control, tires skidding, the rear nearly flipping as it veers into Jungkook’s path. It’s a moment of danger, a moment of sheer panic, that elicits a reaction from you, somewhere deep inside you that you nearly leap onto the track.

“Oh my god!” you gasp, gripping Jisoo’s arm hard.

Jungkook reacts instantly, dodging by a hair’s width, cutting across the inside lane with a dangerous amount of speed. His tires nearly lift, nearly flip and your heart stops.

Somehow, before you can cover your eyes and recoil, he corrects. Finds control. Shoots forward, engine roaring as he takes the lead.

The final lap is chaos.

Every racer is fighting for position, the finish line just ahead, but Jungkook is untouchable. He blocks an attempt from behind, barely gives room for anyone to challenge him. He’s flying, faster than anyone on the track, his car a streak of black and red cutting through the final straight.

And before you can even react, or tell Jisoo to stop waving her hands like a madman, the checkered flag waves, declaring the winner. Jeon Jungkook.

The crowd erupts.

Jisoo screams, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you like she’s won the race herself. “HE DID IT! HE DID IT—OH MY GOD!”

Yet you still can’t breathe. Because in the middle of all the noise, all the chaos, your chest is aching with something unfamiliar. Something terrifying. You knew he was good. You knew he was talented. But watching him like this—watching him command the track, watching him own his moment, watching him win—it’s something else entirely.

You feel it in the way your heart swells, in the way your entire body is still pumping with adrenaline, in the way your fingers tremble slightly against the railing. You’re proud of him. So much more than you expected to be.

And as Jungkook slows his car, as he lifts his helmet and runs a hand through his messy, sweat-dampened hair, as he grins like a king who just conquered the world, you realize something else, too.

You’re falling for him.

And you don’t know how to stop.

Your phone vibrates in your hand just as the celebrations on the track begin to settle, the roar of the crowd still echoing in your ears. The rush of it all is still thick in your veins, your heartbeat erratic, your body buzzing.

Jungkook: Come to my locker room. My manager will take you.

You stare at the message for a second, your pulse skipping.

Jisoo, practically bouncing beside you, notices immediately. “What? What is it? Why do you look like that?”

You hesitate before turning your phone to show her.

She screams. “OH MY GOD—”

You slap a hand over her mouth, panic flooding through you. “Jisoo!”

She yanks your hand away, eyes wild. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT THIS MEANS? I’M ABOUT TO MEET JEON JUNGKOOK.”

You exhale, trying to steady yourself, but truthfully? You’re just as rattled. The adrenaline of the race is still coursing through you, mingling with something else. something warmer, dizzier.

You just watched him win. You watched him command the track. And now he wants to see you.

You don’t have time to analyze it further because Jungkook’s manager appears, who you’ve only heard about in passing from Jungkook’s storytelling, nodding in your direction. “[Y/N]? Come with me.”

Jisoo grabs your arm so tightly you lose circulation. “We’re going backstage.”

You try to stay composed as you follow his manager out of your section, through the winding halls of the stadium, but your heart does not slow down. The deeper you go, the quieter the sounds of the crowd become, replaced by the faint hum of voices, the occasional burst of laughter from crew members celebrating, the sound of bottles popping.

You nearly bump into his manager’s shoulder, as he pauses in front of a door. The door. The one marked with his name.

Jisoo grips your arm hard.

“Is this real life?” she whispers, vibrating.

No.

Absolutely not.

But before you can answer, the manager opens the door, and there he is. Jungkook is standing in the middle of the room, grinning like a child, and your breath catches.

He looks unreal.

Still in his racing suit, half unzipped, the sleeves hanging low around his waist, revealing the white compression tank clinging to his chest, his toned biceps flexing as he runs a towel over his damp hair. He’s slightly sweaty, glowing under the dim locker room lights, his skin flushed from exertion, his adrenaline still burning through him.

And god help you, he looks so good. It’s overwhelming. No one should ever look that good.

You feel it instantly, this need to touch him, this pull toward him that makes your skin feel hot. You could mount him right there.

Jisoo, naturally, has no shame.

“OH MY GOD.” She shoves you aside, beaming at Jungkook. “You were incredible! I mean, I knew you were good, but I didn’t know you were that good. Holy shit, I thought you were gonna die like, three times.”

Jungkook laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, that last turn was tight.”

“TIGHT?! I nearly had a heart attack!”

You hover awkwardly at the entrance, shy now, letting Jisoo blabber on while you try to compose yourself.

Jungkook, ever the charmer, grins at her. “Glad you guys came. I figured it’d be fun for you.”

Jisoo clutches her chest dramatically. “Fun? FUN? This was the best day of my life.”

Jungkook chuckles, his eyes finally shifting toward you.

Suddenly, the air changes.

His grin softens, his posture shifts, and the way he looks at you, like you’re the only one in the room. The soles of your feet are glued to the floor.

“You okay?” he asks, voice quieter, gentler.

You nod, feeling your face burn. “Yeah.”

And then, because it’s all you can think to say, because the words tumble out before you can stop them, “You were… really good.”

Jungkook smiles. No, not the cocky, teasing kind. This one is different. Softer. Like your words actually mean something to him.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly. “You think so?”

You swallow hard, nodding again. “Yeah.”

His eyes linger on you, unreadable, something warm beneath them.

You shift on your feet, suddenly overwhelmed, trying so hard to ignore the way your pulse won’t slow down.

Jisoo, of course, being the best (and worst) friend in the world, refuses to let you suffer in silence. She nudges you hard. “That’s it?! That’s all you’re gonna say? You were really good?”

You shoot her a look.

Jungkook laughs, eyes crinkling. “It’s fine. I’ll take it.” He glances back at you, still smiling. “I’m just glad she came.”

Your stomach flips.

You knew this was a mistake. You knew this was another bullet point on the list of bad decisions you’ve ever made in your life. But standing here, watching him look at you like that, you’re starting to think it’s too late to turn back.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

God, you are such a people pleaser (and you resolve to quit that after this night).

You should have made an excuse, told Jungkook that you were exhausted, that you’d had enough excitement for one night. But when he had looked at you—grinning, breathless, alive—when he had asked you and Jisoo to come to the afterparty, something in you had wanted to say yes.

And now, standing in the middle of his post-race celebration, surrounded by his world—models draped in silk, investors swirling whiskey in crystal glasses, celebrities exchanging fake smiles—you regret it.

This isn’t your scene. You feel it instantly, the sharp edge of not belonging.

Jisoo thrives in environments like this. She’s already three conversations deep, flirting with someone who looks like they own half the city, sipping on a drink she didn’t even have to order herself. She blends in effortlessly, her laughter mixing with the low hum of expensive conversations.

But Jungkook… well, Jungkook has been beside you all night. From the moment you arrived, he’s been there, not glued to your side, but near in a way that makes it impossible to forget his presence. He floats in and out of conversations, nodding politely to sponsors, shaking hands with investors, laughing at jokes from other drivers, yet somehow, he always finds his way back to you.

Every few minutes, his eyes flicker in your direction. Every time someone new approaches you, his body angles slightly toward yours, like he’s keeping you in his orbit, like he’s subtly making it clear that you’re with him.

You, on the other hand, feel exposed.

The dress Jisoo made you wear—something too pretty, too delicate, too much—clings to your skin, the champagne in your hand suddenly feeling like an accessory you don’t know how to hold. You stick to the edges of the room, quietly observing, trying not to feel like an outsider.

And Jungkook still finds you.

Like he knew you’d be here, lingering at the margins, trying not to take up space.

His presence is immediate, undeniable, and the moment he steps beside you, the air shifts, your pulse reacting before you can tell it not to.

“You look like you want to be anywhere but here,” he murmurs, his voice low, just for you.

You huff a quiet laugh, keeping your eyes on the glittering crowd in front of you. “That obvious?”

Jungkook smirks, his gaze flickering between you and the room. “Only to me.”

You roll your eyes, but your chest feels warmer than it should.

Jungkook nudges your arm lightly, his tone teasing but genuinely curious. “So? What’d you really think?”

You blink. “About what?”

He gives you a look. “The race.”

“Oh.” You clear your throat, suddenly shy under his direct attention. “I mean… it was insane. I don’t know how you do it. You were flying out there.”

Jungkook grins, his dimple making an appearance. “That’s the goal.”

Jisoo’s voice echoes in your head. He almost died like three times.

You shift slightly, hesitant before murmuring, “That one moment… when that guy lost control in front of you—”

Jungkook hums, like he knows exactly which moment you mean. “That was close.”

You glance up at him. “Did it scare you?”

He tilts his head, considering. “Not in the way you think.”

You frown. “What does that mean?”

He leans a little closer, voice softer now. “It means I don’t get scared in the moment. My body just reacts. But after?” He shrugs, exhaling. “Sometimes I think about what could’ve happened.”

You study him, something tightening in your chest. “And does that ever make you want to stop?”

Jungkook meets your gaze, and for a moment, the noise around you fades. “No.”

There’s something about the certainty in his voice, the way he owns his answer, that makes your stomach flip.

You clear your throat, trying to ground yourself. “Well… you won.”

He grins. “I did.”

“And you deserved it.”

His smirk softens slightly, something warmer creeping into his eyes. “Yeah?”

You nod, glancing away, suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah.”

Jungkook hums, leaning slightly against the wall beside you, his body angled toward yours. He’s close, but not too close. Just enough that you feel him.

“Why’d you come tonight?” he asks, voice softer now.

You hesitate, fingers tightening around the stem of your glass. You don’t want to say it. You don’t want to admit that it was for him. So you shrug. “Jisoo wanted to come.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond right away. You can feel him watching you, reading you, peeling back layers you didn’t realize were so easy for him to unravel.

“Come with me,” he says.

You blink, turning toward him. “What?”

He doesn’t explain, just gently tugs your glass from your fingers, sets it down on the nearest table, and takes your wrist lightly, barely a touch, but guiding.

You let him. Because of course you do. You haven’t denied the man once since he met you (beside when you told him you weren’t ready to be a relationship.)

He leads you through the crowd, past the chaos, through a side door that spills into a quieter space, a private balcony overlooking the city, the cool night air brushing against your skin like a reminder that this is real.

Jungkook exhales, rolling his shoulders, finally free of the noise. “Much better.”

You cross your arms, leaning against the railing. “Are you avoiding your own party?”

He smirks, stepping beside you. “Just the parts I don’t care about.”

You shake your head, but there’s something softer in your chest now, something that shouldn’t feel like relief.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

The city stretches beneath you, lights flickering like stars, the distant hum of traffic filling the silence between words.

“You were really something out there today,” you murmur, surprising yourself when you blurt out the words.

Jungkook glances at you. “Yeah?”

You nod, keeping your eyes on the skyline. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

He exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “It’s the only time my head goes quiet.”

You turn to him, surprised.

Jungkook chuckles, but there’s something honest beneath it. “When I’m driving, nothing else matters. It’s just the track, the speed, the next move.” He pauses. “It’s the only thing in my life that’s completely mine.”

You study him, the way his eyes flicker in the night, the way his shoulders seem just a little lighter out here, away from the noise, the expectations.

“I think I get that,” you admit softly.

Jungkook tilts his head, watching you. “Yeah?”

You nod, inhaling. “Sometimes I think I like being alone so much because it’s the only time I don’t have to be anything for anyone else.”

Jungkook hums, thoughtful. “That’s kinda why I wanted you here tonight. I feel like that about you.”

You choke on an inhale you didn’t even know you were holding. Jungkook shifts slightly, turning to face you fully now, the space between you suddenly too small, too much. Your heart stumbles. There’s something different in his gaze—something you know you should step away from, something you shouldn’t let yourself get pulled into.

He reaches out, brushing the lightest touch against your wrist. It’s barely anything. Somehow, it still wrecks you.

Your pulse skips, your skin burning beneath his touch, and Jungkook feels it. You know he does. Because his eyes drop to your lips. It’s so quick, barely a flicker, but it undoes you.

He’s going to kiss you.

You know it.

And for a second—just one millisecond—you think about letting him. About leaning in, about closing the distance, about ruining everything.

But something in your body wakes up, an electric zap of massive proportions. You take a step back. It’s small. Barely noticeable. But it’s enough.

Jungkook blinks a few times, like he’s waking himself up to reality.

You swallow, exhaling shakily. “We’re just friends.”

It’s not a rejection. It’s a reminder.

Jungkook holds your gaze for a long moment.

Then, slowly, he smiles knowingly. “I know.”

You don’t know what to say to that. So you just nod, looking away, trying to steady yourself, trying to breathe.

Jungkook lets the silence stretch for a second longer before he exhales, rolling his shoulders again. “Wanna go back in?”

You nod, forcing a small smile. “Yeah.”

But as he leads you back inside, the warmth of his touch still lingering on your skin, you know you’re not fooling anyone. Least of all, yourself.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The next morning, the office hums with the familiar rhythm of ringing phones, clicking keyboards, and quiet conversations spilling over office walls. You slip into your routine effortlessly—emails, reports, client updates—anything to ground yourself after last night.

But Jisoo?

Jisoo is still talking about the race.

“I mean, I knew he was good,” she says, leaning against your desk, her coffee cup balanced between her fingers, “but holy shit. Watching it in person? I think I actually ascended.”

You barely glance up from your screen, typing out a quick response to a client. “Mm-hmm.”

Jisoo narrows her eyes. “That’s all you have to say?”

You sigh, finally looking at her. “It was… cool.”

Jisoo scoffs. “Cool? Are you kidding me? That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. He was insane out there. He almost flipped his car. You were screaming. Don’t act like you weren’t losing your mind.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch. “I was concerned for his safety.”

Jisoo grins knowingly. “Concerned. Right.”

You shake your head, clicking open another spreadsheet. “Drop it, Jisoo.”

She sighs dramatically but relents, pushing off your desk. “Fine. But only because I have actual work to do.”

You hum in approval, barely registering the way she grumbles under her breath about boring friends who refuse to admit they’re in love with race car drivers.

And for a while, the office settles. You dive back into your work, drowning in numbers and emails, your morning slipping by in a comfortable blur.

Until an hour later, when Jisoo circles back. But this time, something’s clearly wrong. She approaches your desk hesitantly, fingers gripping her phone, her entire demeanor different from before, no teasing, no smug smirks. Just… hesitation.

You glance up at her, eyebrows pulling together. “What?”

Jisoo doesn’t speak.

Instead, she exhales through her nose and shoves her phone into your face.

Your heart stalls. Because on the screen in front of you is Jungkook. And her. The headline practically burns into your retinas.

JEON JUNGKOOK SPOTTED LAST NIGHT WITH STUNNING MODEL AT POST-RACE EVENT

The article is accompanied by a photo, one that’s grainy but clear enough. Jungkook, in his outfit you remember well, effortlessly magnetic even in motion. And beside him, a woman. A woman that is most definitely not you.

She’s beautiful. Painfully beautiful. Tall, effortlessly poised, the kind of woman who turns heads without trying. Long, sleek dark hair cascading down her back, designer dress hugging her curves in a way that makes her look sculpted rather than human. Everything about her is refined, elegant, polished. You look down at your black pantsuit, the one you’ve worn thousands of times that suddenly feels too big for you.

You can’t breathe. Something heavy lodges itself in your chest, pressing against your ribs, suffocating.

He’s your friend.

That’s what you tell yourself. That’s what you remind yourself as you force your eyes to move away from Jisoo’s phone, as you push it gently back toward her, as you swallow past the sudden, inexplicable lump in your throat.

“Why are you showing me this?” you ask, and your voice comes out steady, too steady that it’s absolutely suspicious why you’re not crumbling to your knees at the sight.

Jisoo studies you carefully, her lips pressing together. “I just… thought you should see it.”

You let out a breath, forcing a small smile. “Jisoo, this is his life. He can be with whoever he wants.”

She tilts her head. “I know that.”

“So why does it feel like you’re waiting for me to react?”

Jisoo hesitates, as if she’s debating how much to say. “Because I saw the way he looked at you last night.”

Your stomach tightens. You shake your head, laughing lightly. “You’re reading too much into things.”

“Am I?”

You don’t answer.

Because the truth is, you don’t know why you feel like this. You don’t know why your hands feel clammy, why your chest feels too tight, why your heart is pounding as if you just ran a marathon. He’s your friend. That’s all. But why does it feel like something inside you is breaking?

You pull out your own phone, stare at the screen for far too long before finally typing out a message. You don’t even notice when Jisoo stalks back to her desk in silence, a defeated look on her face.

You: How’d the rest of your night go after I left?

It’s casual. Simple. Just a normal text to a friend, which is what he is. That’s what you keep reminding your brain. That’s what you did to yourself. The response comes quicker than you expect.

Jungkook: Good. Missed you after.

Your fingers pause, hover against the keyboard.

You weren’t expecting that.

He missed you? What does that even mean? You left early before the party really unraveled, before the night bled into the kind of company he was used to keeping. Before her. You shouldn’t care, yet your fingers move before you can stop them.

You: Did you? Seems like you had good company.

The second you press send, you regret it.

Your stomach knots as you stare at the message, at the way it hangs there in the chat, too heavy, too obvious. You should have deleted it. Should have just played it cool.

But now it’s too late. Three little dots appear at the bottom of the screen.

Jungkook: What?

Your chest tightens.

You should clarify. Should laugh it off, make it seem like you were just teasing, keep it light, but you don’t. Instead, you turn your phone over, pressing it screen-down against your desk like it can stop the way your thoughts are spiraling.

You hate this feeling. The insecurity. The comparison. This is exactly why you didn’t want to get involved with him in the first place. You know you’re shy. You know you’re not the kind of person who commands a room, who slips into spaces like the one last night and belongs there. You know that if Jungkook wanted someone, it should be her.

The kind of woman who looks effortless in silk and diamonds, who knows how to handle a world that you barely understand. The kind of woman who doesn’t hesitate, who doesn’t stand on the sidelines, convincing herself she doesn’t want something that she clearly does.

Your phone buzzes again. You don’t want to look. Your body betrays you yet again.

Jungkook: What’s up with you?

Your fingers tighten around the device, your heart pounding. Before you can overthink it, another message comes through.

Jungkook: Come over.

You hesitate. You shouldn’t. You should make up an excuse, tell him you’re busy, put distance between whatever this is before it starts feeling like something it’s not supposed to be.

Jungkook: Just hang out. Like always. You in?

Like always. Your pulse slows, just a fraction. It’s what you’ve been doing for weeks—drinking wine, playing video games, sitting on his couch while he talks about his day like you belong in his space.

He’s your friend. He’s been your friend. God, the words are beginning to sound so foreign to you.

Your fingers move before your brain catches up.

You: Sure. Be there after I wrap up these reports.

And as you grab your things, as you tell yourself this is normal, as you step out into the cold air, you try not to think about how much you kinda, maybe, want it to be more.

The drive to his house feels longer than usual. Your fingers grip the steering wheel a little too tightly, knuckles pale against the soft leather. The city blurs past you, neon signs flickering in the quiet hum of the night, but all you can hear is the echo of your own heartbeat, uneven, frantic, betraying every lie you’ve told yourself.

This is nothing. You’re just friends.

So why does it feel like you’re hurtling toward something you can’t control?

Your thoughts spiral, tangled in images you don’t want to picture—her. The model. Stunning, effortless, the kind of woman who belongs in his world.

And you? You’re just you. A girl who crunches numbers and wears neutral blazers, a girl whose biggest risks involve high-stakes contracts, not hundred-mile-an-hour races.

You try to shake it off, to remind yourself that Jungkook is Jungkook—charming, unattainable, someone who exists in spaces you were never meant to fit into. Why did he tell you he missed you? Why did he ask you to come over, like it was you he wanted to see?

The questions lodge themselves deep, threading through the doubt, the fear, the quiet ache you don’t know how to decipher.

And by the time you pull into his driveway, your heart is still racing for all the wrong reasons.

You stand outside his door, fingers hovering just above the wood, heart pounding in a way that feels completely unreasonable. It’s just Jungkook. It’s just another night. Your body doesn’t seem to believe that anymore.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you knock, just two quick, light taps.

The door swings open almost immediately, like he was already standing on the other side, waiting. You gulp down all the saliva left in your mouth, hand still hanging up in the air in a knocking motion. Because Jungkook is there, standing in the soft glow of his entryway, looking so effortlessly good that it actually makes you lightheaded.

Grey sweatpants, hanging low on his hips. A fitted black t-shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders, the fabric clinging to every defined line of muscle. His dark hair is slightly tousled, like he’s just run his fingers through it, and the warm lighting casts soft shadows over the sharp cut of his jaw.

It’s unfair. It’s so unfair.

His lips pull into an easy smile, completely unaware of the mess he’s making of you.

“Hey,” he says, stepping aside to let you in. “That was fast.”

You clear your throat, stepping past him, trying so hard not to inhale the faint scent of his cologne, something deep and clean, with a hint of warmth that lingers in the air.

The familiar scent of ramen fills the house, the rich, savory aroma curling around you like something comforting.

“Did you eat yet?” he asks, closing the door behind you. “Figured you wouldn’t say no to ramen.”

You shake your head wordlessly, stepping further inside, slipping off your coat.

Jungkook watches you, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe leading to the kitchen, arms crossed lazily. “You okay?”

You force a small nod. “Yeah.”

It’s a lie. You can just tell Jungkook knows it.

He tilts his head, studying you, his eyes scanning over your face like he’s reading a script only he can see. “You’re quiet,” he muses. “That’s new.”

You huff a soft breath, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I don’t talk that much to begin with.”

Jungkook’s brow lifts. “You do around me.”

Your stomach tightens. You glance away, your fingers tightening slightly around the hem of your sweater. You don’t know what’s wrong with you. Nothing has happened. Nothing changed. Except everything has fucking changed and it couldn’t be worse. All you can see is that article, that picture of him walking with her, looking like he belongs with people like her, women who are beautiful in a way you feel like you will never be.

And suddenly, standing here in his house, surrounded by his things, with his scent in the air, his presence so overwhelming, it feels wrong, like you shouldn’t be here, like this was never meant to be yours.

Jungkook notices.

Of course, he does. The man has been nothing but the observer since the day you met him.

He straightens slightly, his expression shifting, still light, still casual, but tinged with something else now. Curiosity.

“What’s up with you?” he asks, voice softer now. “Something happen?”

You shake your head too quickly. “No. Just tired.”

Jungkook doesn’t look convinced.

And the worst part? He doesn’t push. He just watches you for another second, like he’s debating whether to let it go.

He exhales, rolling his shoulders, before nodding toward the kitchen. “Come on,” he says, voice easy again. “Before the noodles get soggy.”

You nod, following him. But even as you take a seat at his kitchen table, even as he ladles steaming broth into a bowl and sets it in front of you, even as you curl your hands around the warmth of it, you still feel cold.

The air between you feels off.

You know it. Jungkook knows it. A higher power above both of you knows it.

But he still tries.

He slides into the seat across from you, chopsticks twirling between his fingers, his expression relaxed, but his eyes are sharp, watching you too closely.

“So,” he says, leaning forward slightly, “how was corporate life today? Any thrilling financial scandals? A hostile takeover, maybe?”

You barely register the question, your fingers absently stirring your noodles, dragging them in slow circles through the broth. The scent of garlic and spice curls into the air, warm and familiar, but you can’t seem to focus on it.

Your mind is obviously elsewhere.

Jungkook clears his throat, trying again. “Did you finally tell your boss he’s the worst?”

You blink, barely lifting your gaze. “Huh?”

Jungkook exhales through his nose, setting his chopsticks down with a quiet clink. “Okay.” He leans back in his seat, crossing his arms, tilting his head slightly. “What’s going on with you?”

Your fingers tighten around your chopsticks. “Nothing.”

Jungkook scoffs. “Right.” He gives you a pointed look. “You’re barely eating. That’s not like you.”

You swallow, pushing your noodles around again, your stomach feeling too tight to eat.

After a beat, you finally say it. “How did your night end up after I left?”

Jungkook blinks. He wasn’t expecting that.“What?”

You keep your eyes down. “Last night. After the race. After I left.” Your voice is light, too light. “How did it go?”

Jungkook frowns slightly, like he’s trying to figure out where you’re going with this. “Uh… good?” He lifts a shoulder. “I stayed at the party for a little while, had a few drinks. Talked to some sponsors.”

You nod, still dragging your chopsticks through the broth. “That’s it?”

Jungkook raises a brow. “What answer are you looking for?”

You hesitate.

You shouldn’t ask. But your lips move faster than your brain can catch up. “Did you… leave with anyone?”

Jungkook stills. Suddenly, you hate the silence. Your throat tightens, your heart thudding against your ribs.

Something shifts in his eyes. Understanding. Realization. Slow, creeping, settling between you like a quiet storm. When he finally speaks, his voice is steady. Careful. “Do you care that I did?”

Your stomach drops. You should have seen this coming. You walked right into it, let yourself slip, let him catch something you weren’t supposed to be showing. You don’t panic, you don’t react. Instead, you do what you always do: you pretend.

You force a small chuckle, shaking your head lightly. “No. Just making conversation.”

Jungkook watches you carefully, his jaw ticking slightly, like he doesn’t quite believe you. He lets it slide for now.

You lift your chopsticks, finally taking a bite, ignoring the way the noodles feel heavy in your throat. But even as you chew, even as you pretend like nothing happened, you know that something has. And there’s no undoing it now.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything more at first. He just picks up his chopsticks, twirling his noodles around in the broth, his movements slow, almost lazy, like he’s thinking.

You keep your gaze down, focusing on the steam curling up from your bowl, pretending you don’t feel his eyes on you.

“So,” he murmurs, “how’d you find out?”

Your grip on your chopsticks tightens. “Find out what?”

He lifts a brow. “About my good company last night.”

Your stomach clenches. You force yourself to lift your spoon, to take a sip of the warm broth, to act normal. “Jisoo saw it online.”

Jungkook hums, swirling his chopsticks through his noodles. “And she showed you?”

All you can muster is a nod.

He exhales through his nose, nodding slightly. “Right.”

A beat of silence.

“So,” he says again, voice casual, “you don’t care, right?”

You look up, meeting his gaze.

His eyes are unreadable, but there’s something else there, something careful, like he’s waiting for you to slip, waiting for something in you to crack.

You steel yourself. “No. Why would I?”

Jungkook tilts his head slightly. “I don’t know. You just seem kinda… I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Jealous.”

A slow, sharp heat creeps up your spine. You set your spoon down, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not.”

He smirks. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You bristle. “You can hook up with whoever you want, Jungkook. It’s your life.”

His smirk doesn’t fade. If anything, it deepens. “Right. Because we’re just friends.”

Jungkook leans forward slightly, resting his elbow on the table. “Remind me—whose fault is that again?”

The words are light, teasing. But they hit.

Your jaw tightens, fingers curling into your lap, heat rising to your face. He’s never spoken to you like this before, never challenged you like this. You hate that it’s working. You let out a slow breath, forcing yourself to keep your voice even. “I don’t care who you sleep with.”

Jungkook watches you carefully. “Okay.”

There’s a question that bubbles in you, one that lingered in your mind from the second you saw the headline. You know the answer to it; that was primarily the reason Jisoo showed you. Yet, confirmation is what you need. You hate yourself for it. But you ask. “Did you?”

Jungkook lifts a brow. “Did I what?”

You swallow, hating the way your pulse refuses to stay steady. “Did you… hook up with her?”

It’s stupid to ask. You know what the answer is.

And yet he doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his eyes flicker over your face, scanning your expression, your posture, the way your fingers have curled into your palms.

And then, finally, “Yeah,” he says.

One word. One syllable, and you suddenly feel too big in his chair. Your heart drops. You don’t react. You can’t react. Because if you do, it’s over. If you do, he’ll know. So instead, you nod, small, sharp. “Okay.”

Jungkook’s gaze doesn’t waver. But you do notice the way he shifts. The way his smirk fades just slightly, the way his eyes soften, like he sees something in you he wasn’t supposed to see, like he just watched something in you break.

You clear your throat, reaching for your chopsticks, acting like this is just another conversation, like his words didn’t just carve a hollow space inside your chest. “That’s great,” you say lightly, forcing a small smile. “Glad you had fun.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply.

And for the first time since you’ve known him, he looks unsettled. He just stares at you, his chopsticks hovering over his bowl, his expression unreadable. The playful smirk from earlier is gone now, replaced by something sharper, something quieter. “Why are you being like this?”

You glance up at him, forcing an innocent expression. “Being like what?”

Jungkook exhales, setting his chopsticks down with a soft clink. “Like this,” he says, gesturing toward you. “Like you’re pissed off at me, but you won’t just say it.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “I’m not pissed off.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

Jungkook tilts his head, watching you closely. “You don’t seem fine.”

“Well, I am,” you snap, sharper than you intend.

Jungkook lifts a brow, clearly catching the shift in your tone. But he doesn’t back off. Instead, he leans forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, his gaze locked onto yours. “Are you seeing other guys?”

You nearly fall out of your chair. “What?”

He shrugs. “I’m just asking.”

“Why?” You shift in your chair uncomfortably.

Jungkook doesn’t blink. “Because you’re acting weird about me seeing someone.”

Suddenly, it’s too much. All of it. The article, the photo, the way it made you feel like something inside of you had cracked wide open. The way you hatedthe thought of him leaving with someone else, touching someone else, being with someone else. The way you have no right to feel that way. He’s not yours, and you made sure of that.

Your chopsticks clatter against the side of your bowl as you sit back in your chair, arms crossing over your chest. “No,” you say, voice clipped. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

Jungkook doesn’t react, just nods slowly, still watching you. “Why not?”

You blink. “What?”

Jungkook leans back, stretching an arm over the back of his chair. “I just figured. You’re beautiful. Smart. Cool. Thought you’d be dating someone.”

You hate the way your stomach flips at his words. You hate the way your pulse reacts to his voice, his attention, his everything. So instead of acknowledging it, you let something else rise to the surface, something sharper.

“I’m not into all that,” you snap.

Jungkook’s brow furrows. “Into what?”

You exhale, rubbing a hand over your face. “Hookups. Dating. Whatever.”

Jungkook tilts his head, his gaze unreadable. “Why not?”

Your jaw clenches. “Because I’m not.”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you, his expression shifting into something you can’t quite place. You hate being seen like this. Hate the way he’s peeling you open, poking at something you haven’t unpacked in years.

So you do something you never do. You snap.

“Not all of us are like you, Jungkook,” you bite out, your voice sharper than you meant it to be. “Not all of us have someone waiting for us after every party. Not all of us want that.”

Jungkook still doesn’t react. He just blinks, his face impossibly calm, like he’s letting you get it out, letting you burn.

But you don’t stop.

“You wanna know why I’m not seeing anyone?” you ask, voice quieter now, but no less biting. “Because I’ve only ever had one boyfriend. One. And I’m not the kind of person who just… moves on like it’s nothing.”

Jungkook finally reacts to that. His expression shifts, subtle, but there. The slightest pull of his brows, the smallest flicker of surprise in his eyes, like he’s realizing something new about you, like he’s seeing you differently.

The silence stretches, thick and suffocating.

Your chest rises and falls, your pulse erratic, your hands curling into fists beneath the table. You feel sick. Sick with jealousy, with insecurity, with all the things you don’t want to feel but can’t seem to stop. Sick with how much he affects you, how much he gets under your skin, how much you wish you could rewind time and just not care.

But you do. You do. And Jungkook knows it, even if you’ll never admit it.

Jungkook leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable, but there’s something different in his eyes now, something softer. Like he’s peeling through everything you just said, looking past the sharpness of your voice and into the raw truth beneath it.

“How long were you together?” he asks, voice quieter now.

You inhale slowly. “A few years.”

Jungkook nods, his fingers tracing the rim of his bowl absentmindedly. “First love?”

You hesitate. Then nod. “Yeah.”

His gaze flickers over your face, taking in the way your shoulders have tightened, the way you’re suddenly so aware of your own breathing. He’s quiet for a second, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll keep going.

And for some reason, you do.

“I thought it was forever,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “I really did.”

Jungkook doesn’t speak, just listens.

You swallow. “But it wasn’t.”

There’s something fragile about those words, like even now, a part of you still carries the weight of them. The reality that forever is just a word, not a promise.

Jungkook watches you, something unspoken behind his eyes. “Did he hurt you?”

You exhale through your nose, shaking your head. “Not in the way you think.” You look down at your hands. “I think I just… loved him more than he loved me.”

It’s the first time you’ve said it out loud, andit makes you feel those feelings all over again.

Jungkook doesn’t react immediately. But when he does, his voice is steady. “That’s a shitty feeling.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “Yeah.”

Another silence stretches between you. But this one isn’t tense. It’s reminiscent.

Jungkook tilts his head, watching you carefully. “Is that why you don’t date now?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know.”

“You’re scared,” he says simply.

You freeze. He says it so easily. So matter-of-fact, like he’s known. Maybe he does. He always has.

“I just…” you sigh, pressing your fingers to your temples. “I don’t know, Jungkook. I don’t even know what I’m thinking anymore.”

He doesn’t push. But he’s still watching you, still waiting.

And then, before you can stop yourself, the words slip out. Soft, hesitant, almost afraid. “Would you care if I saw someone?”

The shift is instant. His jaw ticks slightly. His fingers tighten around his chopsticks. And when he finally speaks, his voice is steady. Honest. “Yes.”

You weren’t expecting that. You don’t know what you were expecting. But it sure as hell wasn’t this.

Jungkook doesn’t take his eyes off you. “You know exactly how I feel about you.”

Your mouth is dry, fingers uncurling from your sleeves, your whole body on fire. You do. It’s the only thing you’ve been sure of in these past few weeks. And yet, hearing him say it, feeling the weight of his words settle between you, makes it so much worse.

Your throat tightens. “So then why did you hook up with her?”

Jungkook blinks.

For a second, he just looks at you. You realize, maybe you caught him off guard. Maybe he wasn’t expecting that question. But you’re not taking it back, you need to know.

Jungkook exhales slowly, leaning back, running a hand through his hair. “Because I was trying not to think about you.”

Your breath stalls. He says it so simply. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like it’s just fact. And yet, It wrecks you. Because it means all the things you don’t want it to mean.That he does think about you. That this has never been one-sided. That you’re not the only one caught in this slow, unraveling mess.

Your hands tighten around the edge of the table. Suddenly, you don’t know what to say. Because if you let yourself respond, you might admit that you’re just as lost as he is.

You just stare at him. What the hell are you supposed to say to that? Jungkook just admitted—without hesitation, without flinching—that he hooked up with someone else because he was trying not to think about you.

The words hang in the space between you, electric and raw, making the air too thick, too heavy. And so, like always, you deflect.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you murmur, forcing yourself to breathe, forcing your voice to stay steady. “We’re just friends.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before shaking his head. “Yeah,” he mutters, voice laced with frustration. “I fucking know.”

His jaw is tight, his fingers curling into the fabric of his sweatpants. “It’s all I think about,” he continues, voice lower now, rougher. “How you keep saying it. How I have to keep pretending like I don’t want more.”

You don’t realize you’re gripping the edge of the table until your knuckles ache. Your heart is pounding. You knew the extent of his little crush but not the honesty, not the way his words cut through you like they belong inside of you.

You swallow, trying to keep your breathing even. “Jungkook—”

But he shakes his head. “Forget it.”

“No,” you press, voice quieter now. “Talk to me.”

Jungkook leans back in his chair, exhaling through his nose, his shoulders rising and falling with the weight of it. His eyes flicker up to yours, darker than usual. You feel it immediately —the tension that’s been simmering beneath the surface for weeks, spilling over the edges now, too much to contain.

So you do something stupid, something reckless, something that feels like pressing a bruise, just to see if it still hurts.

“I’m not seeing anyone,” you say, keeping your voice even, controlled. “But maybe I should.”

Jungkook’s head snaps up. His entire body goes still.

“Maybe it would be easier for both of us,” you murmur, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “If I—”

“Don’t.”

The single word is sharp. Final.

Your lips part slightly, caught off guard by the way his expression hardens.

Jungkook exhales through his nose, rolling his jaw. His fingers tap against the edge of his bowl, his posture tense, like he’s reeling himself back in.

Then, after a beat, his voice shifts.

“Or, I don’t know — Whatever,” he mutters, shaking his head as he grabs his chopsticks again. “You wanna see someone, go ahead. It’s none of my business.”

You know he doesn’t mean that, but he doesn’t let you linger on it. Instead, he changes the subject.

“Anyway,” he says, forcing an easy smile, “are you gonna help me build that stupid puzzle you made me buy, or am I suffering alone?”

And just like that, the moment ends.

He’s back to being Jungkook, your friend, the boy who teases you about your boring corporate job and buys you ramen without asking.

Yet, it lingers within you. The weight of everything unsaid. The way his words are still lingering, pressing against your ribs, filling every inch of the silence between you.

And no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop thinking about it.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

taglist ; @yooniepot @bookstoread199 @pipipipiiiii @someonegoood @vintagemoonsstuff @kittisuuuuu @ttanniett @loonareads @jincapableoflove @jkxlvrr @taekrve @jenniebyrubies @senaqsstuff @somisarchive @somehowukook @mysjammy @busanbby-jjk @mimi1097 @mikrokosmosellen @indyuhhhhh @vantelover1306 @haru-jiminn @sky-23s-world @minimoninini @bighitfics @outofworldvy @smartkive @dontcallmeelle @beomluvrr @tatamicc @seokout @ashslight @avawants2havefun @bjoriis @jjeonjjk7 @mar-lo-pap @parkinglot-nights @coletaehyung @mellyyyyyyx

#jeon jungkook #bts #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #bts army #bts fanfic #bts x reader

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car-o-line · 16 days ago

Note

I absolutely love your work!! Keep it up!! :D

May I request Doey(trios!!) with a reader that’s seriously injured and is a teenager doing Poppy’s work?

Have a nice day/afternoon/night!! <33

Sincerely, a person named Aiden!

AAHH IM ADDING THAT PICTURE TO MY CAMARA ROLL HE’S A CUTIE!!! everyone say thank you to Aiden for gracing us with this request and if you don’t Kevin WILL come for you(NOT CLICKBAIT 3:00AM CHALLENGE)

Doey’s spirits dealing with a teenager that’s injured(as player)

Warning: Blood, injury😱😱😱

editing me anyway poppy and Kev are the same color but I’m pretty sure you can tell who’s who

Matthew Hallard:

Okay so first of all-

He was reluctant to let you continue doing tasks for Poppy because you’re still erm A TEEN. And the last thing he wants is another child being brought up into this mess, especially when you’re probably so tired and worn out.

But with some whining to him on your end and Poppy’s nagging he finally gave in. He did say that if you couldn’t come back that this was Poppy’s fault(you can do no wrong in his eyes <3)

Before you left Safe Haven, Matthew had to push Jack or Kevin out of Doeys control just so he could make sure you have everything you need.

“Do you have a snack?”

“Mhm..”

“Water for the snack?”

“Yea.”

“Bandages in case you get hurts? A plushy so you won’t be alone?”

“I’m not five Doey-”

Not even 10 minutes later after you left Safe Haven, Kissy swore to everything pink she heard a scream, that sounded just like you. She didn’t say it verbally but Poppy understood what she meant and quickly told Doey to go find you.

Long story short, it was Yarnaby. You were trying to collect the Omi-hand and you ran into the fuzzy lion.

The creature tried to bite your arm off but thankfully your Grab-pack pulled you up towards a vent. Sadly, he did manage to bite your arm, just not completely off.

Matthew immediately panicked and went searching for you right away, he was upset at Poppy for letting you go but he could speak with her another time, right now his focus was on you not dying.

Once he got to you, your whole arm was covered blood. He was even more panicked at the sight and quickly picked you up with his gentle arms and hurriedly brought you back to Safe Haven.

On the way back if your arm like uhm, wasn’t bleeding everywhere you would’ve hear him mumbling, “Back to Safe Haven, back to Safe Haven.”

Once you both were back he didn’t waste any time getting you to and bed and calling the medic, all the other toys were horrified. The blood from your arm splashing onto the ground from how quickly Doey was going.

When you started crying from the pain he tried his best to relax himself so he can relax you. Like distracting you from the Medic who was putting pressure on your wound, maybe reading a book to you or speaking about the random thoughts he has.

After you recovered he knows one thing for sure, you are not to leave Safe Haven for a while until your arm has fully healed and even then when you do leave he or Kissy Missy will accompany you during that time.

Kevin Barnes:

Okay so he actually didn’t care that much when he found out “Poppy’s Angel” was just a young teen. He believed that you were just another troubled kid like the rest of them except you just weren’t an experiment.

But he did slightly care, you’re still a kid at the end of the day. Not a toy, experiment, just a human.

Anyway, Poppy told you to collect food for yourself and the other toys, unlike Matt, Kevin actually encouraged it as well. Everyone was starving and who could be the best candidate for collecting food other than someone who killed Mommy Longlegs and Catnap?

Poppy wished you well as you left Safe Haven.

“Hey Kev..”

“What?”

“Don’t you think it’s worrying Y/n isn’t back yet, it’s been a long time.”

“Hm..Jacks right, we should go check on them.”

And so that’s what Kevin did, he didn’t tell anyone, just leaving(Much to Matthew’s dismay)

When he was going around the outsides of Safe Haven he spotted a figure in the distance, crawling on the ground from what he could tell. He thought it was a humanoid toy until he heard your voice, calling his name.

That’s when Kevin started to act and ran towards you, stopping near you and staring at you bloodied body.

What happened was, the doctor kinda cooked ur ass up<3

You were going to get food but the mf had like a villain entrance and went after you. You were so close to killing him, but you got distracted by a smiling critter and didn’t see one of the doctor’s clones after you. It was then too late when the doctor stabbed your leg with his sharp fingers. Running off by adrenaline you ran as fast as you could but eventually passed out and when you woke up, no one was there to help you causing you to crawl your way back to Safe Haven.

Kevin was embarrassingly(in his words) freaking out and surprised by how you lasted this long.

“HOW DID Y/N NOT EVEN DIE”

“THAT DOESN’T MATTER RIGHT NOW, THE FACT WAS THAT YOU WANTED TO BE IN CHARGE SO BRING THEM TO SAFE HAVEN KEVIN”

So he did, but unlike Matt(I’m so tired of saying Matthew istg), he was a bittttttt rough. So Matt had to yell at him to be more gentle.

Once he got back he dropped you off on a bed and started yelling at the Medic to do their job.

Once both you and him calmed down he told you that you’re never leaving Safe Haven ever again.

He also told you that you had to publicly apologize to all the other toys for worrying them so much(you didn’t because Jack told him to stop yelling at you and then he forgot about it)

After that he’d be a little nicer, he knows what you went was painful physically and emotionally so there’s no real reason to be that mad at you for messing it up.

“I told you not to go.”

“You encouraged me actually!”

“You encouraged me actually🤓☝️”

Jack Ayers:

Him being the stupid little ############# that he is he was actually happy that you were young!

In his mind that meant you would play with him and the other toys more than if you were an adult.

But when Matt told him everything you’ve been through he felt sad, buttttttttt he felt happy again when he realized that you’re in Safe Haven now and nothing could hurt you anymore.

But then,

“Hey Y/n..”

“Poppy go away I’m making something.”

“You know this is serious right?”

“…”

“…What are you making?”

“Hopscotch mat!”

“Oh! That should be fun..hm. Anyway, like I was about to say you need to get use some extra batteries.”

That made you frown instantly, but! Since you’re such a good person you went anyway.

Jack, who was in charge at the time, asked you where you were going when you were just about to leave. You told him the truth and he wished you luck.

It had been about 7 hours since you’ve left and Jack was worried sick, he kept insisting that he should go look for you but Poppy said that you were probably just taking your time.

That was until a loud crash was heard outside of Safe Haven, a loud, loud, one.

Jack didn’t even wait a second before making Doey sprint out that door, even if Kevin was yelling and him not to.

Finally after about 25 minutes he found your body next to a battery, unconscious and under a large machine, what happened was that when you used your grab pack to collect the battery from the machine. You pulled too hard and the whole machine collapsed onto you.

Jack was rightly horrified and started sobbing on the spot, so much that Matthew had to take over and lifted the heavy machinery off you just to pick up your body.

Running as quickly as he could he finally made it to Safe Haven and called the Medic over frantically.

Jack soon convinced Matthew to let him in charge so he could watch over you, he didn’t sleep at all that night, just making sure he was awake so you wouldn’t be alone in the tent when you woke up.

When you did wake up Jack was thrilled and almost started crying again, he gently held your hand in his and promised you that he wouldn’t let you get hurt anymore.

Not after that.

Idk why this took me so long, it was really fun to do this tho!🤪

#poppy playtime x reader #poppy playtime #poppy playtime doey #doey ppt #ppt x reader #doey the doughman #doey x reader #doey #jack ayers #matthew hallard #kevin barnes #platonic #you are all so skibidi and sigma🙏🙏#I have a love hate relationship with Poppy #Like she’s nice I GUESS but that Wendy’s head literally HSH LALSMSHAYGACSVSVSBSJS

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fanfics-i-find-here · 3 months ago

Text

Do I know You? Part 3

Jason Todd x Reader (no reader character this chapter)

Synopsis: Jason's family is far too nosey for their own good.

Notes: This chapter is a little different. I wanted to try Jason's POV and add the rest of the family. If any of them seem out of character, you’re probably right. Again, this was just an attempt to add a little drama to move the story forward and please enjoy.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Masterlist

Jason had experienced a lot of things in life, but he really hated family dinners. It’s not that he hated his family (only sometimes). It's that it always felt awkward. His guard was constantly up. He had wronged just about everyone in the room one way or another. Not that they ever physically showed repulsion towards him, he didn’t believe that they had forgiven him, not in the slightest. He just thinks they have all collectively decided if we don’t talk about things, they didn’t happen. Which was fine with him, but it apparently made himself less intimidating to them, considering how Dick was currently draped over his shoulder, yammering on about something that happened in Bludhaven.

“and then I said ‘That’s not a very nice thing-‘” Jason cuts him off.

“No offense, Dickwad, I don’t know what you're talking about.” He says gruffly, crossing his arms in front of him. He had been led into a trap he thinks. Dick had texted him and told him dinner would be at 5:30 tonight instead of the usual 6. He should have seen it as the red flag it was since Alfred usually calls him about family dinners. Dick promptly pouts and dramatically lays himself across the couch beside Jason.

“that’s so mean, little wing, I’m trying to tell you a story.”

“Yeah, a story you’ve told everyone, like, five times” Tim jumps into the conversation where he sits upside down on the couch with Steph playing an old-school Gameboy.

“TT, I agree with Drake and Todd. If you tell this story again, Grayson, I may choose physical violence against you.” Damian adds from where he sketches a charcoal drawing of Titus and Cass. Jason chuckles at the fact that both Damian and Tim agree with him, but his body stays tense, he takes periodic looks in the direction of the kitchen, willing Alfred to move quicker. He contemplates just going to help Alfred instead of staying here when he tunes back into the conversation.

“-no one else around,” Steph says not looking up from her phone in her upside-down position.

“you guys are no fun” Dick continues to pout as he sits back up, clearly not having gained an ounce of sympathy in his pose. He turns to Jason with a look in his eye that worries him.

“So, Barbara says you’ve stopped by Aparo Park a lot on your patrols. What's that about?”

Jason didn’t know his body could tense more than it already was. You lived two blocks from Aparo Park, and he had made a routine as of the last two weeks to check if you were home safe. Tonight was the first time he wouldn’t be stopping by. It's why he went to see you at the coffee shop and walked you home, to make sure you got there. He forgot that Oracle tracks everyone during patrol and silently curses her for sharing that information with Dick of all people.

“Changing up patrol” he answers casually and that should be enough. They all constantly change their patrol routes so it's harder for anyone to track their movements. Apparently, it's not enough because Steph perks up from her seat.

“Are you sure about that?” She questions with a smirk. Oh, she knows something. Dick had looked like he was going to drop it but at Steph’s comment, he leans back in.

“Not Patrol, then?” He looks at Jason expectantly and Jason pointedly ignores him to glare at Steph to keep her mouth shut. She just shrugs like she's not an instigator in this conversation. When Jason doesn’t speak up, Tim does.

“No, he's been seeing a girl.”

Jason seriously contemplates if it would be bad if he chose to beat Tim up again and drag him back to Titans Tower to make it real reminiscent of the old days when Jason was trying to kill everyone.

“A girl?” Duke interjected. He had been blissfully silent during the entire conversation, and Jason was hoping to keep him as a sibling he liked. Apparently, it would be just Cass and Damian who sat quietly as Damian sketched.

“Yeah, she's real pretty and she's a waitress at a bookshop,” Steph adds like Jason isn’t there.

“She's also not from Gotham, moved here like three years ago over some family drama,” Tim says, and Jason again resists the urge to strangle him.

“You’ve been Stalking her,” Jason states. So much for you only having one ‘Stalker’.

“So, it is a girl!” Jason turns to see Dick grinning widely. “I'm so proud of you little wing!” Dick looks like he's going to dive in for a hug, so Jason stands and ignores the “Oof” of Dick hitting the couch. He points a finger at Steph and Tim.

“Stop stalking her and don’t tell Dick anything.” He points at Duke, who hides a grin behind his hand. “You were doing so well man; you were on my favorite sibling list.” He drops his hand. “I'm going to help Alfred.” He turns and walks through a door and heads for the kitchen. As the door closes, he hears Dick screech, “You have a favorite Sibling list!”

He shakes his head as he walks down the hallway. So much for having a personal life. He doubts Steph had done any stalking, but he knows Tim tells her just about everything and she tells Cass everything, so Cass is definitely in the know too. But Cass also knows when to play the right cards. He was anxious to see when that would be. With Dick, you give him an inch and he’ll take a mile. There’s no doubt he's in there pestering Tim about the Details. Thank God Damian couldn’t care less about this stuff. He continues his way towards the kitchen when he meets Bruce in the hallway.

“Bruce” Jason says formally

“Jason” Bruce says in a similar manner. He pauses and then says “Your early”

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens with a manipulative family.” It comes out harsher than he means it to, but he's still peeved with his siblings. Bruce says nothing so Jason adds “I'm going to help Alfred.”

He doesn’t wait for Bruce to say anything as he continues to the kitchen. Part of him wants to kick himself for letting his emotions get the better of him. While he was tense with the family, things had been getting better and he didn’t want to break that good record because he got emotional over you. He just wanted something good (You) to be just his. But apparently, that was too much to ask.

As he entered the kitchen, the aroma of toasted tomatoes, warm cheese, cooked pasta, and basil overtook his senses. An undertone of melted chocolate and oven-baked cookies hidden underneath it.

“Master Jason, What pleasant surprise, you're early.” The soft tone of the older man draws Jason in. Apparently, Dick didn’t share his scheming with everyone. First Bruce and now Alfred. He wonders for a moment if they think he's trying to reach out or something, but he pushes down the thought.

“Dick’s fault.” He muttered. The way he says Dick’s name implies that he’s not using his actual name.

“Ah, Master Dick does like his way of things. Would you mind stirring the tomato sauce for me while I finish these Cookies?” Alfred asks. Jason moves to the stove. He knows it’s a simple task and one that could have waited until Alfred was done with the cookies but as always Alfred can read Jason in a way the rest of his family sometimes can't.

He stirs it quietly as Alfred works at the island. For a moment he’s reminded of a time before everything went sour. Back when he was Robin and it was just him, Bruce, and Alfred at the Manor, Dick was off doing his own thing. On days he didn’t have school, but Bruce still had to work he would shadow Alfred. The kitchen became its own sanctuary from the hero-ing lifestyle, (Since Bruce was banned from the kitchen after a microwave incident). He would sit at the counter and help stir whatever it was Alfred needed, always giggling as he stole licks and bites here and there. Looking back, he's sure Alfred was intentionally oblivious. The old man had a sharp eye, and he definitely knew. But Jason had been small, malnourished from his time living on the streets. Alfred always gave him what he thought was too large a portion.

“Are you alright?” Alfred’s voice shakes him from his thoughts.

“I’ll be fine.” He huffs out and then backtracks, turning to face Alfred. “I'm just a little upset. My siblings don’t know anything about privacy.”

“I presume this is in reference to your friend.”

Of course, Alfred knows. Jason rolls his eyes but responds quietly, “Yeah”

Alfred is silent before he responds.

“it's only because they care. You’ve come a long way, Master Jason, but you still have lengths to go, as do we all.” He says as he turns back to the cookie tray and places it into the oven. “I do hope, when you're ready, I will meet this girl.”

“Course, Alfred,” Jason says easily. Out of everyone in his family, Alfred would be the person he wants you to meet. Not that you two were anywhere close to that or heading in said direction. He’d barely had a number of short conversations with you, but he couldn't help but hope. There was just something about you that drew him in, and it had grown ten times when your life had been on the line.

Over the next ten minutes, he helped set the table and the food out, thankfully avoiding his siblings. But peace doesn’t last forever. One by one they slowly straggle into the dining room. In the time he had been gone, Barbara had gotten there. He’s almost prepared to share a few choice words with her but his conversation with Alfred stops him from saying anything out loud. It doesn't stop him from thinking it though.

Jason is thankful when Cass takes the seat next to him, but it lasts only so long as Dick takes the one on the other side. He waits expectantly for Dick to say something to him but is surprised when it's Cass that talks to him first.

“She would be good for you,” she says quietly and pats him on the arm. “You need to get her first.” And just like that the conversation is over as she starts dishing up her plate. Out of everything he had expected out of Cass, that wasn’t it. He stares shocked for a moment before Dick interrupts the moment.

“Am I on your favorite sibling list?”

“No”

“Why not?”

“Take a guess.” He answers as he serves himself some food.

Dick silents as the clattering of everyone getting food fills the space, along with the sounds of other personal conversations. After a moment Dick speaks up again more serious than before.

“I’m sorry, Jay. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot earlier, just wanted to check in with my baby brother.”

Jason lets out a sigh, “Alright, Dick, your forgiven. Besides you’re not the one stalking her.” He pointedly glares at Tim who only glances at him before going back to talking to Bruce.

“Now drop it.”

To Dick’s merit, he doesn’t say anything finally content with silence. The rest of dinner goes on without any more incidents. Bruce does his normal check-ins running down the line. Dick’s been chasing down a drug trafficking ring showing face in Bludhaven, Tim was planning a new mission with the Titans, Cass, Steph, and Barbara were planning a girl's day out with some of the other Birds of Prey, Duke had had a few slow weeks of day time patrol, and Damain went into a myriad of reasons on why he shouldn’t have to go to school. It was nice to just listen to everyone, living their own lives. When it came to Jason’s turn, he gave a quick rundown of the last three outlaw missions he’d dealt with. Nobody else commented on you, something he was truly grateful for.

At the end of the night, as everyone went their separate ways, Bruce pulled him to the side. He waited nervously to be berated about something. He couldn’t remember killing anyone recently, so it wouldn’t be that type of conversation. Bruce stared him down before setting a firm hand on his shoulder.

“I heard something about a girl.” Jason rolled his eyes. Of course, Tim told Bruce, the whole household knew now. Before Jason could speak Bruce continued.

“Don’t worry. I'm not here to pry. I just want to say I'm proud and I hope to meet her someday.” Bruce squeezed his shoulder before dropping his hand.

“Get home safe and we’ll see you on patrol.” With that, Bruce left him in the foyer. Jason stood shocked for a moment before making his way to his bike. Who knew his family could care and be so invasive at the same time.

Additional Note: Thank you to everyone who reads! I'm currently figuring out where I want this story to go in terms of plot because it feels like it should be going somewhere. This chapter was an attempt to get more characters and again if they feel out of character, they most likely are. I know more about fanon versions than canon versions. Thank you, Thank you, everyone! Someone did request a tag list, so I am creating one. You can ask to be added but if you have commented in the past I will just be adding you. If you would like to be removed please let me know!

Tag list: @little-miss-naill, @nikilolo787, @joonunivrs

#Do I know you?#jason todd x reader #Red Hood x reader #kandywrites #fanfics-i-find-here

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ch0llies · 2 months ago

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REVIVAL | CHRIS STURNIOLO

A story in which a messy breakup lands you in your best friend’s Boston apartment a year after high school, and you find yourself face-to-face again with Christopher Sturniolo—your first love. As your paths cross again, the bitterness of how you left him still lingers, fueling every hated glance. But with your best friend dating his brother, you know is there’s no escaping Chris—or the tension that refuses to die. Is this revival destined to reignite, or will it crumble under the weight of your unresolved past?

story warning: this story includes very toxic and abusive behavior. none of the actions or words in this series are justified and are written exclusively for entertainment purposes only. under no circumstances are they personally associated with chris other than just using him as the main character. read at your own discretion. now that that is cleared up, there will be filthy smut, angst, swearing, underage drinking, underage drug use, abusive behavior, morally skewed choices, toxic relationships, and overall mature themes. if any of this upsets you... don't read!

word count: 9k

CHAPTER FOUR:

The next morning, sunlight streamed through your blinds, and you groaned, pulling the blanket over your head. Your body ached from the chaos of the night before, and your head felt foggy from the alcohol. You had no idea what time it was, but the silence in the apartment told you one thing—everyone else was already gone.

Your door creaked open, and you heard Ava’s voice, light and teasing. “Rise and shine, sleepyhead.”

You peeked out from under the blanket, squinting at her. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon,” she said, leaning against the doorframe. “Matt, Nick, and Chris left a couple of hours ago. They had some stuff to do today.”

Your stomach twisted slightly at the mention of Chris, but you shoved the thought aside. “And you didn’t wake me up?” you grumbled, sitting up and running a hand through your messy hair.

Ava rolled her eyes. “You looked dead to the world. Plus, I ordered breakfast for us, so you can’t be mad.”

At the mention of food, your stomach growled, and you sighed. “Fine. You’re forgiven.”

She smirked and turned on her heel. “Come on. It should be here any minute.”

You dragged yourself out of bed, pulling on a hoodie and sweats before heading downstairs. The smell of coffee hit you first, followed by the sight of Ava unpacking a delivery bag on the kitchen counter. She’d ordered pancakes, eggs, and bacon, along with a large iced coffee that she handed to you as soon as you walked in.

“Here,” she said, sliding the coffee across the counter. “Figured you’d need this.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, taking a sip and sighing in relief. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

Ava grinned, sitting down with her plate. “Well, there’s another party tonight at the campus. Same crowd as last time, but it’s supposed to be bigger. Figured we could go and, you know, network.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Network?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow as you sat across from her. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

She laughed, taking a bite of her pancake. “I mean, it’s technically true. We wanna go to that school, right? Think of it as research.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Right. Research.”

“Seriously, though,” Ava said, her tone shifting slightly. “It’s a good chance to check out the vibe, meet people, and maybe get your mind off certain… distractions.”

You didn’t need her to elaborate. The events of the night before—Chris’s hands on your waist, his lips leaving trails of heat along your skin—flashed through your mind, and you quickly shoved the thought away.

“Yeah, maybe,” you said, focusing on your plate. “We’ll see.”

Ava narrowed her eyes at you, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she took another sip of her coffee and started scrolling through her phone. “Party starts around nine. We’ll leave around nine, sound good?”

You nodded, trying to act casual even as your mind raced. The idea of running into Chris again—after everything—left you both nervous and excited, though you’d never admit it out loud. Whatever had happened between you last night felt like the beginning of something… dangerous. But as much as you wanted to avoid it, a part of you couldn’t help but feel drawn to him.

“Alright,” Ava said, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Finish your coffee, and let’s figure out what the hell we’re wearing tonight.”

You groaned, already dreading the hours of outfit planning ahead. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the anticipation building in your chest. Tonight could either be a fresh start—or the beginning of something you weren’t sure you were ready for.

As you sat across from Ava, finishing your breakfast, she glanced up from her phone, a sly grin tugging at her lips. “Oh, by the way,” she said, her tone casual in a way that immediately made you suspicious, “Matt wants to come to the party tonight.”

You raised an eyebrow, already piecing together where this was going. “Okay, and?”

“And,” she continued, drawing the word out as she took another sip of her coffee, “I already asked Chris if he wanted to come, too.”

You nearly choked on your iced coffee, setting it down with a loud clink. “What the fuck, Ava? Why would you do that?”

She shrugged, entirely unbothered. “Because I know the way your mind works.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you snapped, though your cheeks were already burning.

Ava leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand as she fixed you with a knowing look. “It means I can tell he wants you bad, Y/N.”

Your stomach twisted, and you glared at her. “No, he doesn’t. Not like that.” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “I fucked him over. He’s still pissed at me. He literally said it.”

Ava rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair. “Please. He might be pissed, but trust me—he’ll get over it. You saw the way he was looking at you last night. He was insane when you kissed Matt and had crazy jealous eyes all night!”

You crossed your arms, your irritation growing. “That doesn’t mean anything. Chris looks at everyone like that. He’s become a whore! Was that not already obvious?”

“Sure,” Ava said, her smirk widening. “But he doesn’t pull everyone into his lap and suck on their tits for five minutes straight.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Oh my God, Ava.”

She laughed, clearly enjoying your embarrassment. “What? I’m just stating the obvious. You two have some serious tension, and this party is the perfect opportunity to, I don’t know, work it out.”

You peeked at her through your fingers, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah, because a college party is definitely the place to resolve years of awkwardness and bad decisions.”

“Better than nothing,” Ava said with a shrug. “Look, all I’m saying is, he wouldn’t have let things get as far as they did last night if he didn’t want you. And judging by the way you’re acting, I’m guessing you want him, too.”

Your face burned as you stood, grabbing your empty plate and coffee cup. “I’m done having this conversation.”

“Suit yourself,” Ava said, still grinning as you walked to the sink. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when he shows up tonight and makes it very obvious how he feels.”

You didn’t reply, your thoughts too jumbled to form a coherent response.

An hour later, the familiar sound of a car horn echoed outside your apartment. You and Ava were lounging on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through your phones when she suddenly jumped up. “That’s Matt!” she said, grabbing her purse.

“Why is he honking like we’re in a middle school carpool?” you muttered, but you stood up anyway, slipping into your sneakers and grabbing your jacket.

“Because he’s Matt,” Ava said with a shrug, as if that explained everything.

When you stepped outside, Matt was leaning halfway out of the driver’s seat window, grinning like a maniac. “Come on, ladies! We’ve got groceries to buy, and I’m not spending all day waiting for your asses!”

“Matt. Shut the fuck up.” you called, rolling your eyes as you slid into the backseat.

“Yeah fuck you. What are you, someone’s dad?” Ava teased as she got into the passenger seat.

Matt smirked, pushing his sunglasses up onto his head. “No, but I am someone’s boyfriend. And I’ve got a say in what goes into your fridge if I’m spending half my life here.”

“Oh, you’ve got a say now?” Ava asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Damn right I do,” Matt shot back, turning the car out of your driveway. “Last time I opened your fridge, the only thing in there was a bag of shredded cheese and half a bottle of ketchup. That’s a crime.” He faked gagging at the ketchup.

“That’s survival,” Ava corrected, crossing her arms.

“Survival for a raccoon,” you chimed in from the backseat, laughing when Ava flipped you off over her shoulder.

“See? Y/N agrees with me,” Matt said smugly.

The bickering continued all the way to Market Basket, with Ava teasing Matt about his questionable eating habits and Matt firing back about how she always stole his leftovers. By the time you all parked and made your way into the store, the three of you were already laughing like idiots.

Inside the store, the chaos continued. Ava grabbed a cart, but Matt insisted on pushing it, claiming it was “a man’s job.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Ava said, smirking as Matt dramatically flexed his arms.

“Gotta make myself useful,” he said with a wink, steering the cart toward the produce section. “Alright, what’s first on the list?”

“We need veggies,” you said, pulling out your phone to check the list Ava had scribbled down earlier.

“Boring,” Matt said, wrinkling his nose. “Let’s skip that and go straight to frozen pizza.”

“No way,” Ava said, grabbing a head of lettuce and tossing it into the cart. “You eat like a toddler, Matt. We’re getting real food.”

“You say that like frozen pizza isn’t real food,” he argued, but Ava ignored him, reaching for a bag of carrots.

You grabbed a cucumber and held it up, grinning. “Matt, does this count as real food?”

“Depends,” Matt said, smirking. “Are you eating it or using it to fuck yourself?”

“Both,” you replied, making Ava laugh so hard she nearly dropped the carrots.

The three of you weaved through the aisles, picking out snacks, debating over cereal brands, and occasionally tossing random items into the cart just to annoy each other. At one point, Matt grabbed a jumbo box of Pop-Tarts and held it up like it was a trophy.

“Ava,” he said seriously, “this is essential.”

Ava stared at him, deadpan. “Put it back.”

“But it’s essential,” he whined, clutching the box dramatically.

“No,” she said firmly, trying not to smile.

You snatched the box from him and put it in the cart. “She’s no fun, Matt. I got you.”

“You’re my favorite,” he said, grinning as Ava rolled her eyes.

When you got to the candy aisle, Ava and Matt’s playful dynamic was on full display. Ava grabbed a bag of Sour Patch Kids, and Matt immediately grabbed it out of her hand, holding it high above her head.

“Matt!” she shrieked, jumping to grab it.

“Say please,” he said smugly, holding it just out of reach.

“Matt, I swear to God—”

“Say it!”

“Fine!” Ava huffed, crossing her arms and looking up at him with her big eyes that she knew got him every time. “Please.”

Matt handed her the bag with a smirk, and she smacked him on the arm. “You’re so annoying.”

“Yeah but you’re still gonna let me tap that later,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and kissing the top of her head.

You watched the two of them with a mix of amusement and affection. Their dynamic was chaotic but sweet, and it was impossible not to smile at the way they teased each other.

By the time you reached the checkout line, the cart was overflowing with a mix of essentials, junk food, and impulse buys. Matt grabbed a pack of gum from the rack and tossed it into the cart, smirking when Ava glared at him.

“You don’t even chew gum,” she said.

“Maybe I’m starting a new habit,” he replied, grinning and as the final products crossed the checkout he didn’t hesitate to swipe his card, paying for it all despite Ava’s protest.

As you helped unload the cart, Matt turned to you with a playful grin. “You know, Y/N, you’re like my honorary sister in law at this point.”

“Oh, great,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Another sibling to annoy me.”

“Exactly,” he said, ruffling your hair like you were a kid.

Ava laughed, handing you a bag of groceries. “Does that mean you’re gonna put a ring on it soon?”

“If I told you it would ruin the surprise, sweetheart,” Matt said, wrapping an arm around her waist as the three of you headed back to the car.

The drive back to the apartment was just as chaotic as the rest of the trip, with Matt singing off-key to the radio and Ava threatening to throw him out of the car. By the time you got home and started unloading the groceries, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d laughed so much.

Back at the apartment, the three of you stumbled through the door, arms loaded with grocery bags. Ava dropped hers onto the counter with a dramatic groan. “Why do we always buy so much stuff? My arms are going to fall off.”

“Maybe because someone insisted on five kinds of cereal,” Matt quipped, setting his bags down with ease. “And let’s not forget your ‘essential’ lettuce.”

You smirked, grabbing a bag of chips from one of the bags. “And the Pop-Tarts Matt definitely didn’t need.”

“Hey, those are fuel,” Matt said, pointing at you with mock seriousness. “Athlete’s food.”

“For what sport?” Ava teased, unpacking a carton of eggs. “Competitive snacking?”

Matt tossed a bag of apples at her, which she caught with a laugh. “Keep talking, Ava. I’ll remember this when you’re asking me to touch you later.

“What’s the plan? Who’s driving?” you chimed in, setting a loaf of bread on the counter.

“Not me,” Ava said immediately, grabbing a tub of ice cream and sticking it in the freezer. “I want to drink.”

“Same,” you added, popping open a bag of chips. “So… Matt?”

Matt groaned. “Why do I have to do it? I want to drink too.”

“Because you’re responsible,” Ava said, fluttering her lashes dramatically.

Matt rolled his eyes. “Nah, no way.”

“You’re already unloading,” you pointed out, grinning. “Might as well keep the streak alive.”

“Y/N’s got a point,” Ava added with a smirk. “You’re doing great, babe.”

Matt muttered something under his breath about “ungrateful freeloaders,” but he kept unpacking. When he pulled out his phone and glanced at it, Ava tilted her head. “What’re you doing?”

“Calling Chris,” Matt said, holding the phone to his ear. “I always drive. I wanna have drunk sex tonight so Chris can pick up this one for once.”

You and Ava exchanged a look as Matt walked toward the living room, the phone pressed to his ear. After a moment, you heard him start talking.

“Hey, Chris. If you’re coming to the party tonight, you’re driving.”

You heard the faint sound of Chris groaning through the phone.

“You owe me for the last time you accidentally—- Yeah that’s what I thought.” Matt said.

There was a pause, then a muffled, sarcastic response from Chris.

“Perfect,” Matt said, ignoring the tone. “See you soon. And don’t even think about bailing—Y/N and Ava are counting on you.”

He hung up and turned back to the kitchen, a triumphant smirk on his face. “He’s on his way. Under protest, but he’s coming.”

“Shocking,” you muttered, grabbing a drink from the fridge.

As you finished putting the groceries away, Ava turned to Matt with a grin. “Okay, new plan. Skincare.”

Matt frowned. “What? Why?”

“Because,” Ava said. “Your skin needs help, and you’re not going to this party looking like you just rolled out of bed.”

“Come on, Matt,” you added, smirking. “Don’t you want to look glowy and fresh?”

He groaned. “You two are ridiculous.”

But ten minutes later, Matt was sitting on a stool in the bathroom, a headband pushing his hair back as Ava slathered a cleanser onto his face. You sat on the counter, watching the scene unfold with barely contained laughter.

“You look so cute, Matt,” Ava teased and you took out your phone, snapping a picture with.

“Delete that,” he grumbled, though he didn’t move.

“No way. This is gold.”

Ava finished the cleanser and grabbed a serum, patting it onto Matt’s cheeks with exaggerated care. “You’re going to be the it girl tonight,” she teased.

“Yeah, because nothing screams ‘party animal’ like dewy skin,” he muttered, though a faint smile tugged at his lips.

You grabbed a face mask from the counter and held it up. “Ooh, should we do this next?”

Ava grinned. “Yes. Matt, you’re getting the full treatment.”

As Frank Ocean’s American Wedding started playing from Ava’s phone, you and Ava worked together to apply the mask, laughing at Matt’s exaggerated groans of protest. By the time you moved on to moisturizer, the three of you were laughing so hard your sides hurt.

“This is stupid,” Matt said, though he was grinning now.

“Shut up,” Ava said, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she wiped the excess product off her hands.

You leaned over, pretending to inspect Matt’s face. “Wow. A new man. Chris is going to be jealous.”

Matt groaned, pushing your hand away. “If he gives me any shit, I’m blaming you two.”

“Deal,” Ava said, laughing as she started cleaning up.

As Matt sat in the bathroom mirror after finishing his skincare routine, you and Ava stood nearby, wiping your hands with a towel and grinning at his reflection. His skin was glowing, and he looked genuinely refreshed, even if he pretended otherwise.

“You feel good, don’t you?” Ava teased, crossing her arms as she leaned against the sink.

Matt rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “I mean… yeah, I guess it feels kinda nice,” he admitted.

“Knew it,” you said, laughing. “You’re one serum away from becoming a skincare influencer.”

Matt groaned, standing up and shaking his head. “Alright, that’s enough. I’m going to get dressed before you two come up with more ideas to torture me.”

He headed toward Ava’s closet, where he pulled out a few pieces from his designated section. You watched him grab a black fitted t-shirt and a pair of baggy wide legged jeans.

“Your own section in Ava’s closet?” you teased, following him out of the bathroom.

“Don’t judge,” he said, pulling the shirt over his head. “I spend so much time here, she made me clear a drawer. Then it turned into a whole section.”

Ava laughed as she rummaged through her closet for her own outfit. “You’re here more than your own house. It was either this or let you wear your flannels to parties.”

“Hey, my flannels get you wet, don't lie,” Matt muttered, grabbing a pair of sneakers from the bottom of the closet.

“He’s got a point,” you chimed in, dodging a pillow Ava tossed in your direction.

Once Matt was dressed and heading to the kitchen for a drink, you and Ava turned your attention to your own outfits. Ava pulled out a black lace shirt and paired it with a sleek leather mini-skirt and boots. She looked effortlessly cool, as always, her dark makeup and gold jewelry adding the perfect touch.

You opted for a mini cheetah-print skirt and red boots, pairing it with a cropped fitted black tank top that hugged your curves. Your makeup was bold, with a red lip to match your boots, and you styled your hair into loose waves that framed your face perfectly.

“Okay, we look hot,” Ava declared, spinning in front of the mirror and fluffing her hair.

“We really do,” you agreed, checking your reflection one last time as you finished curling the ends of your hair.

Just as Ava was spritzing perfume, the doorbell rang, followed by the sound of the door opening. “I’m here,” Chris’s voice called out, his tone already laced with annoyance.

Ava groaned. “Could he ever just walk in normally?”

You rolled your eyes as you turned back to the mirror to touch up your lipstick. But when Chris walked into the room, his expression shifted immediately. His eyes landed on you, narrowing as he took in your outfit.

“What the hell are you wearing?” he snapped, his tone sharp and angry.

You turned to him, startled by the hostility in his voice. “What do you mean?”

Chris’s jaw clenched as he gestured toward your outfit. “That. You’re dressed like a—” He stopped himself, his face twisting with frustration before continuing. “You look like a goddamn hooker, Y/N.”

Your stomach dropped as the words hit you, and Ava immediately stepped forward, her face a mix of shock and anger. “Chris, what the fuck?” she snapped.

“You’re asking for it,” Chris continued, ignoring her. “Walking around in that, at some party full of drunk assholes? Do you want something to happen to you?”

Your shock turned to rage as you stepped toward him, your hands balled into fists. “Excuse me?” you said, your voice shaking with fury. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

Chris didn’t back down, his eyes blazing. “You heard me. You’re dressed like a slut, Y/N. Don’t act surprised when people treat you like one.”

Without thinking, you raised your hand and slapped him across the face, the sound echoing through the room. Chris stumbled back slightly, his hand going to his cheek as he glared at you, his jaw tightening.

“Fuck you, Chris,” you spat, your voice trembling with anger. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”

Before he could say anything else, Matt stormed into the room, his expression dark. “Chris, that’s enough,” he said firmly, stepping between you.

“Matt, stay out of this,” Chris snapped, but Matt grabbed his arm, dragging him toward the door.

“No,” Matt said sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re done. Go cool off, and don’t come back in here until you’re ready to shut the fuck up.”

Chris hesitated, his gaze flicking between you and Matt. Finally, he let out a frustrated sigh, wrenching his arm out of Matt’s grip and storming out of the room.

Matt turned to you, his face softening. “You okay?”

You nodded, though your chest was still tight with anger. “Yeah,” you said quietly.

Ava came up beside you, placing a hand on your arm. “Don’t listen to him,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “You look amazing.”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm in your chest. “Thanks,” you muttered, glancing toward the door where Chris had disappeared.

Matt sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll go check on him in a minute,” he said. “But seriously, don’t let him ruin your night. You’re killing it, Y/N.”

After the tense moment with Chris, you and Ava worked to shake it off, determined not to let his mood ruin the night. You both finished your makeup and touched up your hair, the energy between you lightening as Ava turned the music louder.

“Alright,” Ava said, twirling in front of the mirror. “We look hot as hell. Time for photos before we go.”

You grinned, grabbing your digital camera from your dresser. Ava struck a pose in the mirror, her black lace shirt and leather mini-skirt looking flawless under the warm lighting.

“Okay, okay, one of you now!” Ava grabbed the camera and pointed it at you.

You stood against the wall, popping one hip and adjusting your cheetah-print skirt. With a quick flash, Ava snapped a few shots.

“Alright,” she said, handing the camera back. “These are going on the fridge. Let’s go.”

When you walked outside, Matt was already leaning against his car, scrolling on his phone. He looked up as Ava approached, immediately straightening and jogging around the car to open her door.

“Your chariot awaits, my lady,” he said with a mock bow, making Ava laugh as she climbed in.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as Chris leaned against the passenger door, clearly waiting for you to get in.

“You just gonna stand there?” he muttered, his tone sharp.

You smirked, refusing to move. “Well, Matt got Ava’s door. Where’s my gentlemanly treatment?”

Chris rolled his eyes but pushed off the car and yanked the door open for you. “Get in,” he growled, stepping back.

You gave him a sugary sweet smile, climbing in slowly. He slammed the door shut a little harder than necessary, stalking around to the driver’s seat and muttering something under his breath. When he got in, the car roared to life, and he pulled out of the driveway faster than usual, his jaw tight with frustration.

As the car sped toward the party, you and Ava were already giggling, snapping pictures with your digital camera. Ava struck a few playful poses before grabbing your hands and pulling them over her chest.

“Here, cup my boobs for this one,” she said with a laugh.

“Wait, wait,” you said, adjusting your hands. “Let me make them look good.”

Ava threw her head back in laughter as you snapped a picture, both of you dissolving into fits of giggles.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, handing her the camera as she grabbed your hands again and adjusted them over her chest.

“Do me now,” she said, snapping a few provocative shots of you with your hands on your own chest, pouting at the camera dramatically.

Chris’s sharp voice cut through the laughter. “Can you two stop?”

You looked up, catching his glare through the rearview mirror. His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, his jaw tight.

“What’s the matter, Chris?” Ava teased, smirking. “Jealous?”

“Not even close,” he snapped, but his eyes flicked to you for a split second before returning to the road.

You leaned back, smirking to yourself. His irritation only made you push further, holding the camera up to snap another photo of Ava adjusting her top.

Matt groaned, glancing back at the two of you. “You guys are insane,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement.

By the time you arrived, the tension in the car had reached its peak. Chris parked sharply, and before he could say anything, you and Ava were already out, linking arms as you headed toward the party.

The music was thumping, the bass reverberating through the house as you stepped inside. The place was packed, bodies swaying and people laughing as the party was already in full swing.

“Drinks first,” Ava said, dragging you toward the makeshift bar in the corner.

You grabbed cups of whatever punch was available, clinking them together before downing half in one go. It was sweet and strong, and you felt the warmth hit your chest immediately.

“Let’s dance!” Ava said, pulling you toward the crowded living room where people were already moving to the beat of the music.

The two of you joined the crowd, letting the music take over as you swayed and laughed together. The punch had loosened you up, and it wasn’t long before you were lost in the rhythm, the stress of the day melting away.

A while later, Matt appeared, weaving through the crowd until he reached you and Ava. “Found you!” he said, smiling as he grabbed Ava’s hand and spun her into him.

Ava laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck as they danced. You couldn’t help but smile at how effortlessly they moved together, their connection undeniable.

When Ava eventually left to grab another drink, Matt turned to you, holding out his hand. “C’mon, let’s keep dancing.”

You laughed, taking his hand. “Matt, you’re such a softie.”

“Shut up,” he said, grinning as he spun you playfully.

The two of you danced in a goofy, carefree way, your movements more about having fun than keeping rhythm. It felt easy, like dancing with an older brother, and you couldn’t help but laugh when Matt twirled you again, nearly sending you spinning into the crowd.

When Ava returned, she wasted no time stealing Matt back. You stepped aside, watching as they moved together, their bodies pressed close as they kissed and laughed, completely lost in each other.

The sight made you smile, but it also reminded you of the tension lingering between you and Chris. The thought made your chest tighten, and you decided to slip away, weaving through the crowd toward the quieter side of the party.

The party was buzzing, the energy intoxicating as you wandered through the house. With Ava and Matt lost in their own little world on the dance floor, you decided to entertain yourself, leaning into the freedom the night provided. It wasn’t long before the attention started coming your way—guys approaching you left and right, their flirtation dripping with confidence and curiosity.

The first was a tall, broad-shouldered guy who introduced himself as Landon. He had a dimpled smile and a cocky demeanor, leaning against the wall as he asked where you were from. You bantered back easily, his smirk widening with every clever reply you threw his way. But before the conversation could deepen, someone else swooped in—Jordan, a shaggy-haired skater who offered you a drink and made you laugh with his over-the-top party stories.

The attention felt good, and you basked in it, letting the night carry you from one flirtatious exchange to the next. There was Ryan, who complimented your boots and offered to teach you a dance move, and then Alex, who was a little too drunk but charming in his clumsy attempts to keep your attention.

But then, Cam approached.

He was tall with dark eyes and a sharp jawline, his confidence radiating as he leaned against the doorframe and locked eyes with you from across the room. His smile was slow, deliberate, and devastatingly attractive.

“Hey,” he said smoothly, stepping closer. “I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been lighting up this whole room tonight.”

You laughed, a little taken aback by his boldness but not entirely opposed to it. “Oh yeah? Is that your go-to line?”

“Nope,” he replied, grinning. “You’re the first person I’ve used it on. So, what’s your name?”

You told him, and the two of you fell into easy conversation. Cam was funny, quick-witted, and knew exactly how to keep your attention. His flirtation was bold but not overbearing, and you found yourself matching his energy effortlessly.

At one point, his hand brushed against your arm, and you didn’t pull away. His touch was light, almost teasing, as he leaned in closer. “You’re trouble, aren’t you?” he murmured, his voice low.

“You have no idea,” you shot back, your lips curving into a sly smile.

Before you knew it, Cam’s hand was on your waist, pulling you closer as his lips found yours. The kiss was hot and electric, his hands roaming as he pressed you against the wall. You didn’t care who was watching or what anyone thought—you were lost in the moment, letting the buzz of the party and the heat of his touch take over.

But just as his hand slid down to grip your ass, he was yanked backward, nearly stumbling as someone shoved him hard.

“What the fuck?” Cam snapped, glaring at whoever had interrupted.

Chris.

His eyes were blazing, his jaw tight as he stepped between you and Cam, his body practically vibrating with anger. “Back off,” Chris growled, his voice low and dangerous.

“Who the hell are you?” Cam asked, straightening up and stepping closer to Chris, his tone challenging.

Chris didn’t flinch, his gaze unwavering. “Doesn’t matter. You’re done here.”

Cam scoffed, looking between you and Chris like he couldn’t believe what was happening. “Dude, she’s into it. Why don’t you mind your own business?”

Chris didn’t say anything. Instead, he shoved Cam again, harder this time, sending him stumbling back into the crowd. The music seemed to fade as people started to notice the commotion, a circle forming around the two of them.

“Chris, stop!” you yelled, grabbing his arm, but he shook you off without even glancing your way.

“You need to leave,” Chris said to Cam, his voice cold and firm.

Cam raised his hands in mock surrender, his expression twisted with frustration and amusement. “Alright, man. Fuck you. She’s not worth the trouble.” He shot you a glare before disappearing into the crowd.

The tension hung in the air as Chris turned to you, his expression unreadable. “What the fuck was that?” you demanded, your voice shaking with anger and embarrassment.

Chris didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed your arm, his grip firm but not painful, and started dragging you toward the front door.

“Chris, let me go!” you yelled, trying to pull free. “What the hell are you doing?”

He didn’t respond, his jaw set as he continued pulling you through the house. Once outside, you tried again to wrench your arm from his grip, but he was too strong.

“Let me go!” you shouted, your voice rising. “You can’t just—”

Before you could finish, Chris bent down and slung you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. You gasped, your fists pounding against his back as he carried you toward the car.

“Chris, put me down! This is insane!”

But he didn’t listen. His hand pressed firmly over your ass, covering you protectively as he moved through the crowd of lingering partygoers. When he reached the car, he opened the back door and practically threw you inside, his movements controlled but rough enough to make a point.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” you yelled, scrambling upright as he slammed the door shut behind you.

Chris didn’t respond. He climbed into the driver’s seat, locked the doors, and started the engine, his face stony and unreadable.

“Chris, where are you taking me?” you demanded, your voice rising in frustration.

Still, he said nothing. The car sped off into the night, leaving the party behind as you sat in the backseat, fuming and confused. You didn’t know what his problem was, but the intensity in his eyes and the set of his jaw made it clear he wasn’t about to explain himself anytime soon.

The silence in the car was suffocating as Chris drove, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. You glared at the back of his head, the anger boiling inside you making it impossible to stay quiet.

“Chris, what the fuck is your problem?” you demanded, leaning forward in your seat. “You can’t just manhandle me like that and drag me out of a party!”

He didn’t respond. His jaw was tight, his eyes locked on the road ahead like he was trying to block out your voice.

“Seriously?” you snapped, leaning even closer. “You’re just not going to say anything? After all of that?”

Nothing.

Your frustration hit a breaking point. Without thinking, you climbed up onto your knees and leaned into the front seat, reaching for his arm. “Chris—”

“Sit down,” he growled, his voice low and commanding.

When you didn’t listen, he shot his arm out and pushed you back into your seat, his grip firm but not rough. “I said sit down.”

You stared at him, stunned for a moment, before letting out an exasperated huff. “You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, crossing your arms and slumping back into your seat.

The rest of the drive passed in tense silence, your mind racing as you tried to make sense of what had just happened. When Chris finally pulled up to your apartment, he got out without a word, walking around to your side of the car.

As he opened your door, you jumped out before he could touch you. “Don’t,” you snapped, holding up a hand. “I can walk myself.”

He said nothing, just stepped back and waited as you stormed toward the stairs. You could feel his presence behind you as you climbed, his silence heavy and imposing. When you reached your apartment, you fumbled with your keys, the anger and adrenaline making your hands shake.

As soon as you stepped inside, Chris followed, closing the door behind him.

“What the hell is your problem?” you yelled, spinning around to face him.

Chris leaned against the door, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable. “My problem?” he said finally, his voice sharp. “What the fuck were you doing with that guy?”

“Oh, here we go,” you snapped, throwing your hands in the air. “I was having fun, Chris. You know, something you clearly wouldn’t understand.”

“Having fun?” he repeated, stepping closer. “Letting some random asshole put his hands all over you is your idea of fun?”

“What the fuck does it matter to you?” you shot back, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You don’t get to police what I do or who I do it with.”

Chris’s eyes darkened as he stepped closer, towering over you. “It matters because you’re too fucking stupid to see when someone’s taking advantage of you.”

“Stupid?” you hissed, shoving him hard against his chest. “You’re the one who started a fucking fight like a goddamn caveman.”

Chris didn’t budge, his body solid as you shoved him again. “You’re out of control,” you said, your voice trembling with rage. “You don’t get to act like you care all of a sudden. Not after everything.”

“I don’t care,” he snapped, though his voice wavered slightly. “I just don’t want to watch you throw yourself at someone who doesn’t give a shit about you.”

“Like you care about me?” you countered, shoving him harder this time, your hands slamming against his chest. “Fuck you, Chris.”

“Enough,” he growled, grabbing your wrists before you could push him again. His grip was strong, his hands practically burning against your skin as he forced you back against the wall.

You gasped, your back hitting the cold surface as Chris loomed over you, his face inches from yours. His breath was heavy, his eyes blazing with something between anger and… something else.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “You never fucking get it.”

The words hung in the air, the tension between you crackling like electricity. For a moment, neither of you moved, the only sound in the room, your ragged breathing.

Then, as if something inside you snapped, you surged forward, your lips crashing against his. Chris didn’t hesitate, his hands releasing your wrists to grab your waist, pulling you flush against him. The kiss was frantic, messy, and fueled by all the anger and frustration that had been simmering between you.

Your hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer as his lips moved against yours with an intensity that left you breathless. His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging into your skin as he pressed you harder against the wall.

Chris’s teeth grazed your bottom lip, and you gasped, giving him the opening he needed to deepen the kiss. His tongue slid against yours, the heat between you growing impossibly hotter as the tension that had been building for so long finally exploded.

It was intense, and overwhelming—and you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to. All the anger, the hurt, the unresolved feelings—it was all spilling out in this moment, in the way his hands gripped your body like he couldn’t get enough, in the way your lips collided like they were meant to.

Chris’s lips moved against yours with an intensity that made your head spin. His hands were everywhere—on your waist, your back, sliding up your sides like he couldn’t decide where to touch you first. The aggression in his movements only added to the heat building between you, and you clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you upright.

He pressed you harder against the wall, his body flush against yours. One hand gripped your hip tightly, while the other slid up to tangle in your hair, tugging just hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth. The sound seemed to spur him on, his kisses growing rougher, deeper, as if he was trying to devour every inch of you.

“Chris,” you murmured against his lips, though it came out more like a plea than anything else.

“What?” he growled, his voice low and rough as he broke the kiss just enough to look at you. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot against your lips. “What do you want, Y/N?”

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you pulled him back down to you, your lips crashing against his with renewed fervor. His hand slid down from your hip to your thigh, gripping it firmly as he hitched your leg up around his waist. The movement pressed him closer, and you couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped you when you felt just how hard he was against you.

Chris smirked against your lips, his voice a low rasp. “You like that, huh?”

“Shut up,” you muttered, but the way your nails raked down his back gave you away.

His lips moved to your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the curve of your throat. He bit down gently at a particularly sensitive spot, and you arched against him, your hands threading into his hair as a soft whimper escaped you. His name slipped from your lips like a prayer, and it only seemed to fuel him further.

His hand slid up your thigh, squeezing as his lips continued their assault on your neck. When his hand skimmed under the hem of your skirt, you shivered, the roughness of his touch sending sparks through your entire body.

“You drive me fucking insane,” he muttered against your skin, his voice rough and breathless.

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, though your voice wavered as his hand inched higher.

Chris pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and filled with something primal. His lips were red and swollen, and the sight of him looking so wrecked only made you want him more.

His lips moved against yours, bruising and demanding, leaving you breathless and desperate. His fingers trailed higher under your skirt, gripping your thigh like he owned you, and your body arched into him, craving more.

But then, suddenly, he stopped.

His hands left your body entirely, and the cold air against your skin made you shiver. You let out an involuntary whine, reaching for him instinctively, but he stepped back, his jaw tight and his eyes blazing with fury.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice sharp and laced with venom. “Not getting enough attention now?”

You blinked up at him, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. “Chris, don’t stop,” you murmured, the words tumbling out before you could think.

He let out a dark, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, now you want me to keep going?” He stepped closer, his presence suffocating as he stared you down. “Should’ve thought about that before you started acting like a slut at the party.”

His words hit you like a slap, and your cheeks burned with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. “I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he interrupted, his voice cold and cutting. He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. “You were all over him, weren’t you? Letting him put his hands on you like it was nothing.”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Wasn’t it?” he shot back, his voice rising slightly. “Because it sure as hell looked like it.”

You reached for him again, desperate to close the distance, but he grabbed your wrists and pinned them to the wall beside your head. His grip was firm, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to make you squirm.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “You don’t get how fucking infuriating you are.”

Your breath hitched. “Chris, please,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Please what?” he growled, his grip on your wrists tightening. “What do you want from me, Y/N? You think I’m just going to forget everything you’ve done? Forget the way you’ve been acting all night?”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “I just—”

“Stop,” he snapped, cutting you off. He released your wrists abruptly, stepping back as if the distance would somehow extinguish the fire burning between you. His chest was heaving, his jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might snap.

You stayed pressed against the wall, your hands still hovering where he’d pinned them, your body aching from the absence of his touch.

Chris stepped back more, breaking the heated tension in the air. His sharp eyes bore into yours, his expression unreadable yet burning with intensity. The absence of his touch left your body humming with frustration, and you clenched your fists to keep yourself grounded.

He reached out, his fingers brushing under your chin before patting your cheek twice, condescendingly light. The motion made your cheeks flush with a mixture of humiliation and anger, but the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

Chris’s gaze raked over you slowly, his eyes traveling from your disheveled hair to your bare legs, still trembling slightly. “Go upstairs,” he said, his voice calm but commanding, leaving no room for argument. “Fix yourself.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening. His tone was infuriating, like he was dismissing you as nothing more than a problem to be solved.

When you didn’t move immediately, his smirk deepened, and he raised an eyebrow. “Now,” he added, his voice dropping lower.

The weight of his stare pushed you into action, and you turned, storming toward the stairs. You could feel his eyes on your back, that same patronizing smirk practically burning into your skin as you climbed, your frustration boiling over.

Upstairs, your body still buzzed with the aftermath of everything that had just happened. The tension, the way he’d touched you, the way he’d looked at you—it was maddening. You couldn’t stop replaying it in your head, every detail etched into your mind like a taunt.

Frustrated and desperate, you found yourself slipping under the covers, your hands wandering as your mind stayed locked on him. The anger you felt toward him was tangled with something else, something you didn’t want to admit. The way he commanded you, the way he took control—it left you aching, needing relief he hadn’t given you.

You spent the next hour trying to satisfy yourself, your mind unable to think of anything but his touch, his voice, the way he’d looked at you like he owned you. But no matter what you did, it wasn’t enough. The tension refused to leave your body, settling into your chest like a heavy weight.

Eventually, you gave up and took off your makeup, changed your clothes, and made your way downstairs, your body still buzzing with frustration. You found Chris sitting on the couch, his posture relaxed as if nothing had happened. He looked up when he heard your footsteps, his eyes softening slightly as they met yours.

“You look better,” he said, his voice unexpectedly kind. It threw you off, the sharp contrast to his earlier aggression making you hesitate.

You crossed your arms, wary of his tone. “What are you still doing here?”

Chris stood, moving toward you slowly. His hand found your waist, his touch light but deliberate. He looked down at you, his gaze softer now, almost tender, though something darker still lingered beneath the surface.

“You don’t need all that makeup,” he said, his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You’re beautiful without it. And it’s better you’re here—safe. Not out there with people who don’t care about you.”

His words felt like a trap, laced with something you couldn’t quite place. You stepped back slightly, your eyes narrowing. “Chris, stop. You can’t keep acting like this.”

“Like what?” he asked, his voice calm, though his grip on your waist tightened slightly.

“Like you get to decide where I go or who I’m with,” you said firmly. “It’s not your job to control me.”

His jaw tightened, the softness in his eyes replaced by something harder. “I’m not controlling you,” he said, though his tone carried an edge. “I’m keeping you from making stupid decisions.”

You pulled away from his touch, your frustration bubbling to the surface again. “I’m not a child, Chris. If I want to go back and get Ava and Matt, I will.”

His expression darkened at your words, and he stepped closer, towering over you. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said firmly, his voice low and dangerous.

“Chris—”

“Stay here,” he snapped, his tone brooking no argument.

You glared up at him, your hands trembling at your sides. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

His eyes locked onto yours, his jaw tightening as he leaned down, his voice dropping even lower. “You’re not leaving, Y/N. End of discussion.”.

Your frustration boiled over as you squared up to Chris, shoving against his chest as hard as you could. “You don’t get to tell me what to do!” you snapped, your voice trembling with anger. “I’m going to get them whether you like it or not.”

Chris didn’t budge, his body solid and unmoving, his jaw tightening as he glared down at you. “No, you’re not,” he said, his voice dangerously low.

“Yes, I am!” you yelled, shoving him again.

In a split second, Chris grabbed your wrists, pulling you close until his face was mere inches from yours. His eyes blazed with something fierce and unrelenting, his voice steady but laced with a threatening edge. “No,” he growled. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to turn your beautiful ass around, sit your stubborn self back on that couch, and stay there. Do you understand me?”

The words hit you like a punch, the force behind them leaving you speechless. The way he looked at you—intense, commanding, and so sure of himself—made your knees weak despite your anger. He released your wrists, his hand brushing lightly against your cheek, and you hated how it made your chest tighten, how it made you want to obey him.

“And when I get back,” he added, his voice softening just enough to make it even more infuriating, “I better find you exactly where I left you. Don’t make me regret trusting you.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the way his eyes bore into yours made the words catch in your throat. Your resolve crumbled as he stepped back, grabbing his keys off the counter. Without another word, he left, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing in the silence.

You stood there, your heart racing and your fists clenched at your sides. Against every instinct screaming at you to follow him, you turned back toward the couch, sinking into the cushions with a huff.

About twenty minutes later, the door swung open, and Chris stepped inside, his arm steadying Matt, who was grinning like an idiot. Ava stumbled in behind them, laughing loudly as she clung to Chris’s other arm.

“We’re back!” Matt declared, his voice loud and slurred. “And we are feeling amazing!”

“Clearly,” Chris muttered, his tone dry as he guided them into the apartment.

Ava giggled, her cheeks flushed as she looked up at Matt. “We should go upstairs,” she said. “You know, for… reasons.”

Matt grinned, nodding enthusiastically. “Absolutely. Drunk sex! Best idea you’ve had all night.”

They started toward the stairs, stumbling slightly, but Ava paused and turned to you, her brow furrowing slightly despite her drunken state. “Wait, Y/N—what happened? You okay?”

Before you could respond, Chris stepped in, his hand lightly gripping Ava’s shoulder. “She’ll explain when you’re in a better space,” he said smoothly, his voice calm and reassuring. “Right now, you need to get to bed.”

Ava blinked up at him, clearly too drunk to argue. “Okay,” she mumbled, letting Matt pull her up the stairs. The two of them disappeared into her room, their muffled laughter followed by the sound of the door closing.

Chris turned back to you, his expression unreadable as he stepped closer. His presence filled the room, the tension from earlier creeping back in like an unwelcome guest.

“You stayed,” he said, his voice low and almost… pleased.

You glared at him, crossing your arms. “Because you told me to.”

His lips twitched into a faint smirk, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and leaned against the counter, his eyes never leaving yours. The room felt too quiet, too charged, and you couldn’t tell if it was the aftermath of your earlier fight or the fact that Chris was still looking at you like he had all the control in the world.

And the worst part? You hated how much of it you were willing to give him.

MASTERLIST

tags: @mattsobvimyfav @ilovejohnnieguilbertsblog @mattsturnii @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @watercolorskyy @strangecatpeach @katie1002 @1ovesiick @slut4christopherr @mattgirl4eva @mayalovesturn @chriss-slutt

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f1rodrigo · 1 year ago

Text

the mclaren boy mystery | part two

l. norris / o. piastri

summary: in which your boyfriend is a formula one driver for team mclaren and when you finally decide it's time to start hinting to the world, the internet is confused on exactly which driver is your boyfriend. pairing: social media au || lando norris / oscar piastri x reader fc: jazmyn makenna

a/n: sorry this took a little longer than i expected! it was so fun to make though. i didn't want to say who she's actually with because i feel like it's fun for the readers to have to figure that out too! so please share any guesses you have lol i'm interested to see what people think the outcome will be. hope you enjoy and thank you sm for reading<3

part one | part three

sweet relief series | valentine's day drabble

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liked by yourbrother, maxverstappen1, and 101,225 others

yourusername happy birthday to my favorite brother, i love you and am so grateful to know i have someone in my life who looks after me like you do<3 here's my fav pics of us of course they're all racing related lol, our first love

view all 982 comments

yourbrother "my favorite brother"... As far as I know I am your only brother 😐

⤷ yourusername 🥱🥱🥱🥱 technicalities

yourbrother Thank you least favorite sister, miss those days. Have to get back out on the karting track, been too long since I've beaten you

⤷ yourusername been too long since you've been beaten, you mean?

⤷ yourbrother Yeah, yeah we'll let the track times speak for themselves

⤷ user1 ok but we have to admit the brother sister banter is kind of adorable

⤷ user2 no bc she seems so sweet 😭

user3 nah because what is max verstappen doing in this girls likes now????

⤷ user4 and the plot thickens 😯

user5 she saw everyone calling her a fake f1 fan and said take a look at this

user6 yn hater club how you guys feeling right about now

⤷ user7 🤡🤡🤡🤡

user8 honestly kind of hope she's dating one of them

⤷ user9 yall switch up so fast please 😭😭

user10 seriously..... you HAD to only post f1 related photos lmfao so totally pandering to the landoscar fans

user11 f1 school of wags next graduate

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liked by mclaren, yourusername, and 1,891,218 others

landonorris DOUBLE PODIUM!!!!!!!! couldn't have asked for a better race, congrats @/oscarpiastri and a huge thanks as always to @/mclaren 🧡

view all 5,871 comments

user1 I SAY THATS MY BABY AND IM SO PROUD 😭

user2 mclaren double podium... oh i used to pray for times like these

user3 oscar piastri you are insane omfg

user4 MY POOKIES LOOK AT THEM !!!!!!!!! 🫂

user5 save me landoscar SAVE ME

yourusername jumping up and down screaming and crying losing my mind

⤷ landonorris you should probably get that checked out....

⤷ user6 THATS IT, ITS YN AND LANDO IM CALLING IT

⤷ user7 nah nah nah this is so giving gf of the bestie banter

⤷ user8 agreed hopping on the oscaryn train 💪🏻

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yourusername added to their story

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oscarpiastri added to their story

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liked by kellypiquet, oscarpiastri, and 789,012 others

yourusername qatar gp smiles <3 practice timeeee

📸 @/kellypiquet

view all 1,281 comments

kellypiquet so beautiful

⤷ yourusername all you

landonorris eye spy a mclaren car down there?

⤷ yourusername ? i just see a tractor

⤷ landonorris not funny. 😐

⤷ yourusername i certainly laughed

⤷ oscarpiastri same actually

⤷ user1 i dont know how much longer i can take this

⤷ user2 GUYSSSS i am telling you its so oscaryn

⤷ user3 WHAT literally look at the Proof its so landoyn 🥱

⤷ user4 i am giggling we're literally in a shipwar

user5 she's so pretty i'm sorry guys i love her 😵‍💫

⤷ user6 well yes!

user7 patiently waiting for one of the mcl boys to main feed post her then we know for sure ‼️

⤷ user8 at this rate it still won't clear anything up

lilymhe miss u beautiful

⤷ yourusername omg i miss u more ms lily

⤷ user9 she has The wag stamp of approval WE MOVE!

user10 theres four e's at the end of 'time'....... landos number is 4 i've got it guys 😃😃

⤷ user11 seek medical attention STAT

⤷ user12 bro thinks this is a taylor swift album release

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liked by mclaren, landonorris, and 789,012 others

yourusername oscar piastri sprint race winner AND mclaren double podium, better start calling me the good luck charm

view all 1,281 comments

user1 nah bc you're onto something.....

user2 she can't be serious 😐

⤷ user3 well no shit it's just an instagram caption

user4 i cannot be the only one who finds the caption extremely weird

⤷ user5 nah i'm with you i've never liked her 🙄

⤷ user6 its just so odd like forcing yourself into the mclaren narrative completely taking away from the boys achievements writing it off as your own doing...

⤷ user7 omfg yall are so dramatic just say you're jealous they're not dating you lmfao

⤷ user8 no fr because it is not that serious it's clearly a joke like she loves them cmon now

mclaren BRB getting your paddock passes for the duration of the season

⤷ yourusername i'm giggling, i love you guys 😙

⤷ user9 see mclaren is fine with it so yall should be too

⤷ user10 now i'm going to need all the haters to sit DOWN and shut the fuck UP

oscarpiastri wait can you send me that picture

⤷ yourusername i literally did already but okay

⤷ oscarpiastri ok could do with less attitude

⤷ yourusername you have not seen real attitude piastri

⤷ oscarpiastri 😧

⤷ user11 i think this just converted me to team oscar

⤷ user12 nah this is literally landoyn confirmation

landonorris 🍀

⤷ user13 i am picking up what he's putting down

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part one | part three

sweet relief series | valentine's day drabble

taglist:

@landoscar-f1 , @urfavnoirette , @imsiriuslyreal

#lando norris #formula 1 #lando norris x reader #formula one #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #lando norris smau #f1 2024 #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #f1rodrigo

916 notes · View notes

galactic-magick · 1 month ago

Text

Flirting Failures: Mr. Milchick x Reader

A story in which you are the fifth member of MDR and try to flirt with your supervisor, Mr. Milchick.

Words: 2.3k

(I had so much fun with this lol. Gender-neutral reader, use of Y/N, and no S2 spoilers in this btw)

“None of you have every tried to seduce him? Seriously?”

Your fellow workers in MDR just stare at you, still a bit rigid from Mr. Milchick’s latest check-in. Well, everyone except Helly, who’s already out of her seat again.

“If you can figure out how to break that guy go ahead, but I’d much rather spend my time trying to get out of here.” she makes her way to the supply closet, searching for another subtle way she could send a message to the outside world. She’s tried everything she can think of—writing on herself, attempting to ingest notes, trying different exits, recording videos to her outie—nothing’s worked. But Helly is nothing if not determined.

“Come on guys, isn’t flirting with you boss a go-to tactic for getting what you want?” you continue. “Just because we’re severed doesn’t mean we don’t know about these things.”

Mark shakes his head.

“I don’t think we should mess with him, Y/N. You haven’t been here long, you don’t know what he’s capable of.” he warns.

You huff, a bit in disbelief that no one else is on board with your idea. Clearly nothing Helly has done so far is working, so why are they so against trying a new tactic? Besides, this tactic sounds much more fun.

After a few moments, Irving speaks up.

“Maybe we should hear them out. He definitely treats Y/N better than the rest of us. And he is handsome, I suppose.”

“Shit, Irv, can you quit having the hots for our co-workers for five seconds?” Dylan rolls his eyes.

“All I’m saying is Y/N might already have an advantage. Haven’t you noticed the way Milchick looks at them? And he’s never sent them to the break room for things he would certainly send the rest of us there for. Maybe he already has feelings for them.”

“Yeah, right.” Helly cackled, coming out of the supply closet with handfuls of materials. None of these people give a shit about us. They don’t even see us as human beings. He would never.”

“Look, Y/N, we just don’t want you to get hurt.” Mark reiterates. “Be careful.”

Ignoring the advice from most of your co-workers, you attempt your first move on your lunch break that day. You find your target by the vending machine, and he notices you approaching immediately.

“How are you, Mr. Milchick?” you ask innocently, stepping closer to him.

“Very well, thank you.” he nods with that wide, chilling smile. “And yourself?”

“Great! I’m almost done with my file.” you grin. “Is there a prize for finishing early?”

“Why, yes there is.” he replies. “Your choice. A waffle party, a dance party, or a wellness session. Whichever your heart desires.”

“What if I want something else?”

He cocks his head at you, “I’m sorry, those are the only rewards available at this time.”

“I see,” you sigh dramatically. “What about you then? What rewards do you get for your work?”

“I don’t believe I can disclose that information.”

Damn, he’s stubborn. You’re not getting anywhere with this.

“Aren’t we friends, Mr. Milchick? Can’t you trust me?”

“Of course, Y/N. But I am your superior. There is only so far our rel—our friendship—can go.”

He’s playing that card? Really?

Your co-workers are watching you from across the room intently, curious if you’ll be able to pull this off. You’re embarrassed that you can’t, especially after going into the challenge so confidently, at least not yet. Maybe Irving was wrong, maybe Milchick really doesn’t see you as a person, just a plaything he gets to boss around. Who are you to think you’re special? You’re just a bug he could easily crush under his shoe. He holds infinitely more power over you as an unsevered man, with the knowledge of both the inside and outside world. You’re nothing to these managers, just like the rest of your friends.

“What is it you want, Y/N?” he speaks up again, noticing your face falling. “If you truly aren’t happy with your work compensation, I may be able to negotiate—“

“No, Mr. Milchick, you don’t have to do that.” you cut him off. “What I really want is something you’re probably not allowed to give me.”

“And what would that be?”

Seth Milchick has been fighting his attraction to you for weeks now.

He’s not supposed to care about innies. He’s supposed to keep them in line. He’s supposed to keep them in line. He’s supposed to make sure they meet quota and that’s it.

But you...you’re a force he can’t ignore. He’s know there was something special about you since the moment he met your outie, helping them through the process of severance and meeting the new version of you. He still speaks to your outie every so often, giving them updates on how your innie is doing when you ask. He simply can never say no to you, even if it puts him at risk.

And now, your innie is before him asking for something else. Something he likely can’t give you without dire consequences. There’s so much you don’t understand, so much you’re unaware of in this place. He can’t protect you from everything. Even if he desperately wants you, he can’t be selfish. He has to keep you at a distance for your own good.

“I...I want to know more about you,” you finally say. “It can’t be wrong to want to know more about my boss, can it?”

Of course he wants you to know him, just like he wants to know everything about you in both of your forms. But that is not a privilege he possesses.

“Boundaries at work are important.”

“Oh come on, Mr. Mil—“

“You need to drop this, Y/N.” he says sternly.

He pivots and walks out of the room, leaving you in silence.

“Well, I tried.” you shrug as you return to your friends in defeat. “I guess he’s harder to crack than I thought.”

“Would’ve worked on me,” Helly snorts.

“Thanks, Helly.”

Dylan scoffs, “Not me. Your flirting game is pathetic.”

“You want to try next?”

“Hell, no. I’m not getting sent to the break room again.”

You slump down in a seat, beginning to munch on your snacks that aren’t even that good. If Helly can’t figure out a way to escape, and you can’t seduce Mr. Milchick to let you out, what hope is there? Mark has tried his fair of tactics, and so did Petey, as you’ve heard. Irving cares too much about the rules to try anything serious, and Dylan is happy here as long as he’s getting his prizes.

Maybe it’s worth it to keep trying.

You must be approaching this all wrong. Maybe he just doesn’t respond to direct signs of interest, maybe you need to play the long game. Although it’s not like you actually know what you’re doing in general. You have no memory of any successful romantic encounters, or unsuccessful for that matter. You have no idea if your outie has a partner, or if they’re married.

Wait—Mr. Milchick isn’t severed. He knows you on the outside. What if your outie is married, and that’s why he won’t flirt back? At least he’s respectful.

Either way, you’re going to try again.

A few days later, while the others are focused on their files, you take some time to make Mr. Milchick a thank you card. Maybe a heartfelt gesture will be enough to make him believe you care.

Dear Mr. Milchick, you write.

Thank you for being a great supervisor to the MDR team. We all appreciate you, especially me. You’ve been very kind and patient with me even when I do things wrong. Thank you for all you’ve done to help me and I hope we continue to work well together. I enjoy seeing your smile everyday.

Sincerely, Y/N.

You fold it up and stuff it in an envelope, setting it aside for you to remember to give him on your way out. You return to refining you file, finally starting to get the hang of it.

“You cannot allow this to continue, Seth.” Ms. Cobel’s gaze is piercing, watching you write your letter on her screen. She zooms in, reading what you wrote. “Pitiful.”

“They’re harmless, I assure you.” Mr. Milchick looks straight ahead, attempting to keep his true feelings from Ms. Cobel’s awareness. “It’s just a silly work crush. I won’t encourage it, but I don’t believe it’s a danger.”

“See that you don’t.” Ms. Cobel seethes through her teeth, turning off the screen.

He should warn you, shouldn’t he?

With Cobel onto you now, he may not be able to keep protecting you from consequences. And if he continues to show any favor towards you, her suspicion will only increase. He has to shut you down, and he has to do it fast.

He enters MDR, counting every member except you.

“Where’s Y/N?”

“They just went to the bathroom.” Dylan says, barely looking up from his computer.

Mr. Milchick goes in after you, hearing a couple protests from MDR on his way in. Thankfully you’re at the sink washing your hands and he didn’t walk in on you indecent.

“Mr. Milchick? What are you—“

“I need to talk to you. And this is the only place I can do it completely in private.”

“...Okay?” your brows furrow in confusion.

He takes a deep breath, “Ms. Cobel was watching the security cameras while you were writing that card for me. You’ll be in major trouble if you keep doing things like that.”

“What the fuck? I was just trying to make something nice for you!” you gasp, shocked that not only the surprise is ruined, but Ms. Cobel is being a bitch about it. “What, is she jealous I didn’t make her a card too?”

“No,” he chuckles. “It’s not that.”

“Then what?” you cross your arms.

“She thinks you have um...romantic intentions towards me.” he says it like it’s a curse word, forbidden.

“And so what if I do, huh?”

“It’s. Not. Allowed.” he emphasizes. “We could both be fired. You don’t want that, do you?”

“I don’t care. It’s my outie’s problem.”

He glares at you, then swiftly grabs your wrist, pulling you out of the bathroom. The others stumble back from listening at the door, shouting after you as Mr. Milchick drags you down the halls.

You know exactly where you’re going. He’s never sent you there before, but clearly you crossed a line this time.

“Forgive me for the harm I have caused this world. None may atone for my actions but me and only in me shall their stain live on. I am thankful to have been caught, my fall cut short by those with wizened hands. All I can be is sorry, and that is all I am.”

“Again.”

“How many times do I have to say this shit?”

“Until you mean it.”

“But I don’t mean it. And I never will. I’m not sorry. I did nothing wrong!”

“We have to do this, Y/N. It’s for your own good.”

“You don’t give a shit about my good! Helly’s right, you guys don’t even see us as human beings, just husks you can exploit. And to think I tried to flirt with you!”

You get up and shove all the lie-detecting equipment away, stomping towards the dark hallway before he stops you.

“Y/N, stop.” his grip isn’t as rough as it was before. “Please.”

You look at him, your eyes fighting tears.

“I do see you as a human being. My favorite human being, in fact. Only person tied for that title is your outie. But there are serious repercussions for breaking protocol here. I can’t act on those feelings, do you understand?”

So the suspicions were right. He does care about you.

But you were just faking infatuation to get what you want, right? So how come when he’s telling you directly that he can’t give you what you want, you’re still drawn to him?

You look down, laughing to yourself at the absurdity of this situation.

“I guess it never would’ve worked out anyway. It’s not like I can leave this place, so we could never go on a date.”

He joins in your laughter, “Exactly.”

“Can we at least be friends? Is that allowed?” There’s a desperation in your voice now, fearing the loss of your connection with him completely.

“Of course.” he smiles.

You glance at the equipment splayed all over the floor, “What are you going to tell Cobel?”

“I’ll tell her I knocked some sense into you in the Break Room, and that’ll you’ll never try anything again. Can you work with me to keep that statement accurate?”

You nod, and he gives you the okay to leave. Before you open the door, you look back.

“Can you tell my outie how you feel? Maybe this can’t work with me, but maybe it could work with them?”

“I’ll think about it.”

The door shuts behind you, and you make your way back to MDR, coming up with a number in your head to tell your friends. You read that stupid thing plenty of times, but who knows what the final count was.

“How was your first time in the Break Room?” Dylan asks upon your return.

“Horrible. I had to repeat the same thing like 300 times.”

“Light work. I had to do over a thousand.” Helly cringes at the memory. “So what’s up with him and Cobel being onto you?”

“They figured out my plan to seduce him and threatened me. I told them I don’t care if they fire me, but maybe there’s something worse than termination. Milchick made it sound really serious.”

“What did I tell you about just listening to him? It’s better for everyone.” Mark says.

“Yeah, yeah, you were right, Mark.” you roll your eyes.

You sit back down at your seat, booting up your computer. You’re not quite sure what to do anymore, you last idea having failed, along with a new awareness of emotions.

Maybe your outie can have a love you can’t.

(if there's interest I might continue this!)

#severance #mr milchick #seth milchick #mr milkshake #severance x reader #mr milchick x reader #seth milchick x reader

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dreamwritesimagines · 6 months ago

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The Eye of the Hurricane [38] - The End

A.N: The last chapter! ❤️ Thank you so much for your wonderful support throughout the story my loves, you're amazing! ❤️

Summary: The heir becomes the boss.

Word Count: 3537

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Violence, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship, mentions of sex. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

The week after you almost died was chaotic, and not even for the reasons you had assumed earlier.

Needless to say, everyone in your life was out for blood, but the problem was that there was a specific lack of people to take revenge on.

“Do you think it’ll go back to how it used to be?” you asked Bucky as you turned your head to inspect your nose in the hallway mirror while he kept pacing in the living room, gritting his teeth while he typed something into his phone.

“We should kill every person who worked for Ian.”

“Because Sarah said it would go back to normal but it doesn’t feel like it.”

“I bet Ryan can give us a list, and—”

“Ryan already killed his inner circle that night.”

“There has to be some people left,” Bucky insisted and you heaved a sigh.

“Bucky, you can’t kill people just because they worked for Ian,” you said. “Most of them switched sides already—”

“That’s not enough, and once a traitor always a traitor.”

You rolled your eyes and made your way to him to stop his pacing, cupping his cheek. He took a deep breath, his blue eyes locked in yours as he clenched his jaw like he was trying to keep it together.

“Buck.”

“They hurt you.”

“Not really, the ones who hurt me are dead,” you said. “I killed one of them, Ryan killed the rest.”

“I need to do something,” he insisted through his teeth. “I…it’s bad enough that I let you get hurt—”

“You didn’t let me get hurt.”

“I was supposed to protect you,” he said. “Not…not you or Ryan.”

“I’ll let the next person who tries to kill me know about that.”

“Charm.”

“Bucky,” you said with a small laugh. “I’m fine. I promise.”

“Your nose is broken,” he reminded you. “There are stitches on your head.”

“Both of those things are temporary,” you assured him. “Seriously. Besides I…you know, it’ll be a good look for the sit down tomorrow night. I’ll look badass.”

He opened his mouth to argue but you both turned your heads when someone knocked on the door.

“Come in,” you called out and the front door opened before Ryan stepped into the apartment, his hands clasped behind him, his back completely straight in the perfect soldier pose.

“Ma’am,” he said. “Mr. Barnes.”

“Ryan, hi!” you said. “You’re back already?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said before stealing a look at Bucky and you waved a hand in the air.

“You can say whatever you want to say in front of Bucky.”

“When I asked to have the morning off, I took the liberty of visiting Mr. Ian’s warehouse,” Ryan said, making you tilt your head.

“He had a warehouse?”

“Yes ma’am. I wanted to make sure we have cleaned out everyone who might still support him or pose a threat to you, so…” he trailed off and pulled out a flash drive from his pocket, extending his hand. You took it from him, then heaved a sigh.

“Anyone we know?”

“I didn’t check what’s inside, ma’am,” he said. “The only reason why I didn’t say where I was going was because I wasn’t sure if there was anything inside that warehouse, but there was. We found it in the safe.”

“We?” Bucky repeated and Ryan nodded.

“One of my trusted men, sir, he can crack open any case.”

You pressed your lips together as you plugged the drive into your laptop, then clicked on the first file and let out a breath, staring at the screen.

“That fucker…” you murmured. “Ah. Well now it makes sense.”

“What?” Bucky asked and you licked your lips.

“Check out the name here.”

Bucky came closer to see the screen, then raised his brows.

“Should’ve known,” he muttered. “If there was going to be anyone HYDRA had its claws in, it’d be Ian.”

“I didn’t think he was this big of an idiot.”

“Did you know he was making deals with HYDRA?” Bucky asked Ryan who shook his head.

“No sir, I wasn’t allowed in most of the meetings. Mrs. Barnes saw it before.”

“Yeah, he kept him outside,” you said. “Figures. Oh, my dad will hate this.”

“Will you tell the others?”

You paused for a moment, then shook your head.

“No,” you said. “This stays in the family—that includes you as well, Ryan.”

Ryan bowed slightly. “Of course, ma’am.”

“Will you give us a moment please?” you asked him and he nodded, then walked out of the room. You turned to Bucky, tapping your fingertips on the kitchen island.

“This is how they had all those attacks on everyone’s territory—everyone’s but ours,” you told him. “That’s how Ian knew it wasn’t HYDRA, but us.”

“I guess he’s lucky you killed him already,” Bucky said. “This is betrayal. People would be racing each other to kill him.”

“Working with HYDRA though?” you insisted. “That doesn’t just mean betraying others, it means betraying the family. Forget the other bosses, my dad would kill him if he heard about this.”

Bucky grinned. “That argument should come in handy. This afternoon.”

You shook your head.

“I am not looking forward to that,” you murmured. “Especially with my aunt there.”

“She’s still here?”

“She’s leaving the city today, apparently,” you said. “I doubt she’ll go without giving me a piece of her mind first.”

“Want me to come with you?”

“No,” you said. “You have your own stuff for preparation for tomorrow, to—”

“Don’t worry about that,” he cut you off. “There won’t be anyone against you being there, we already know that.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to make sure.”

He nodded his head and came closer to carefully kiss you on the top of your head while you pocketed the flash drive, then looked up at him with a small grin.

“Seriously, how bad do I look?” you asked him and he let out a chuckle.

“You look breathtaking as usual, baby.”

“You’re such a liar,” you said with a small push to his arm and he caught your hand, entwining his fingers with yours.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m serious. Broken nose or not, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen my whole life.”

You could feel a smile curling your lips.

“And not fucking you until you get better will be torture,” Bucky added, making you scoff a laugh.

“So romantic.”

“Only for you,” he played along and slapped your butt. “Come on. We both have things to do, boss.”

“Aw I can get used to that,” you said, still grinning, then walked out of the apartment. Ryan was already waiting for you by the entrance, and straightened his back as soon as he saw you.

“Ma’am.”

“Let’s go pay a visit to my dear father,” you said and walked to the elevator with him following you.

Your father had been furious when he saw you at the hospital, so much that you thought he would’ve killed Ian if you hadn’t.

Well, technically Bucky would kill Ian before him but…

So you knew he was going to be happy to see you but you weren’t so sure if the feeling was gonna last when he heard what you were going to say to him.

Your aunt was on her way out, loading her suitcases to the car when your car pulled over in front of the house and you heaved a sigh, then gritted your teeth. It wasn’t that you didn’t see this conversation coming, yet that did nothing to put you at ease.

“Here we go,” you murmured as the driver opened your door for you and you stepped out, your aunt gritting her teeth the moment she saw you.

“Auntie,” you said and she held up a hand, gesturing you to be silent.

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t call me that.”

“Is father inside?”

“You’re a monster,” she spat and you pursed your lips together.

“He was going to kill me,” you told her. “You know the rules, and so did he. Don’t blame me if he was too stupid to win.”

She eyed you up and down, making Ryan take a step closer but you motioned at him to stop.

“It’s fine Ryan, thank you,” you told him before your aunt let out a hysterical laugh.

“I see you surround yourself with traitors already.”

“Ryan is my right hand auntie, you need to respect him,” you told her, making Ryan give you a proud smile before his expression turned stony again upon turning to look at your aunt.

“I do hope you and Bucky have a son,” your aunt said through her teeth. “Because trust me, I will take him away from you.”

You managed to keep your expression completely calm despite the small shudder running down your spine.

“You can try,” you told her and she scoffed, then got into the car and slammed the door. You shook your head slightly, climbing the stairs to walk through the front door.

“I apologize on her behalf, Ryan,” you told him and he shook his head.

“Don’t, ma’am,” he said. “You have nothing to apologize for. She’s a mother, it’s normal that she’s angry at me.”

“Well if my mother were here, she would tear her apart for what her son tried to do,” you muttered as you stopped by the door to your father’s office. The men waiting there nodded at you and you knocked on the door, then peeked your head in.

“Dad?”

“Oh sweetheart, come in!” he said, standing up from his seat. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Good things I hope,” you muttered, letting him kiss your cheek before you sat down on the armchair across from his desk. He filled you a glass of whiskey and put it in front of you, then filled his glass as well and went behind his desk to sit down.

“Any word on that traitorous bastard?”

“Ethan?” you said. “Not yet but any day now. We know he’s not in Chicago, a couple of Bucky’s men are already waiting for him at his hometown and…” you trailed off. “It’s honestly just a matter of who will get him first, you or Bucky or Rhett.”

“Do they know not to kill him yet?”

You grinned. “Oh trust me. Both Bucky and Rhett have a lot of…creative ideas.”

“So do I,” your father murmured and you pulled out the flash drive from your pocket.

“Speaking of traitors,” you said, “You might want to know Ian was working with HYDRA.”

Your father stared at you for a couple of seconds in silence. “What?”

“That’s how they got in,” you said. “And that’s why our territory was never attacked and everyone else’s was.”

“Our territory was attacked.”

“Not by HYDRA.”

“We don’t—” he started, then raised his brows, heaving a deep sigh. “You.”

“Well Ian is dead now so it doesn’t really matter,” you said. “But yeah.”

“I asked you and you said no.”

“Can you blame me?” you asked. “I didn’t exactly have leverage yet, nor had I proven myself. I will use the names in the file to track them down, I figured you wouldn’t want anyone else to get involved, especially the other bosses.”

“You thought right,” he said. “Especially the sit down tomorrow…”

“That’s actually why I’m here,” you said, your heart beating in your ears and he pulled his brows together, then scoffed a laugh.

“Sweetheart, obviously I will name you my heir tomorrow.”

You took a sip of the whiskey, then heaved a sigh.

“Yeah I figured you’d say that,” you said. “That’s the problem.”

“The problem?”

“I didn’t almost die just so that you can name me your heir,” you said, looking him in the eye. “That’s not how it works. You know how cage fight works, I’ve been through worse. Being named heir is not going to be enough.”

He frowned at you as if he was confused before a look of realization dawned on his face and he leaned back on his seat, his eyes locked in yours.

“Is this a hostile takeover?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Doesn’t have to be hostile.”

A silence fell upon the room while he stared at you, then let out a breath.

“And you think you’re ready?”

“I know I am.”

“Just out of curiosity,” he said. “What would happen if I refused?”

“You can refuse,” you said, your voice completely calm. “But it’s not going to change anything. I have the support from other bosses, I have proven myself and your latest choice of heir fucked over everyone, which could backfire on you. So, I’m sitting at the head of that table tomorrow, whether you like it or not.”

An impressed smile curled his lips before he heaved a sigh, then stood up and opened up his arms.

“Come here,” he said, making you frown.

“If you’re planning on stabbing me father—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, come here,” he said and you got up from the armchair, then stepped into his embrace. He hugged you tight, then pressed a kiss on your hair and pulled back to look at you better.

“My little girl all grown up to threaten me,” he said and you shrugged your shoulders.

“I mean I’d rather not, to be honest with you,” you muttered. “I’m just saying, there’s family and there’s business. I’m threatening the former boss right now, not my father.”

He hummed, still smiling softly.

“You have one thing right, you have proven yourself, over and over again,” he said. “Even before that bastard pulled a gun on you. I’m sorry for not seeing it sooner, Y/N. That right there was exactly what I was trying to protect you from.”

“Yeah, protecting me from business,” you said. “You should’ve known I wouldn’t have let him take it from me, dad. One of us was going to end up dead either way.”

That made him clench his jaw. “I didn’t think he’d have the guts to do that to you,” he said. “That will be on my conscience forever.”

“It shouldn’t,” you said. “I mean yeah you fucked up but you know, there’s no one who doesn’t take me seriously in the business after that whole fight. I doubt it’d have the same impact if you handed it to me, so…it’ll work in my favor.”

“Will you forgive me?”

“My father has nothing to worry about,” you told him. “And the former boss is paying for that mistake with me replacing him. Hostile takeover and all that.”

He let out a chuckle, then hugged you again.

“Perhaps I’ll buy another boat,” he said. “I should ask George what he does with all the time he has in retirement.”

A laugh escaped from you and you held up your hands. “Hey, if you want to be a cliché, I can’t stop you,” you said and checked your wristwatch. “I need to go and meet Bucky, we’re having lunch.”

“Alright,” he said. “Tell him I said hi.”

“Of course,” you said and kissed him on the cheek, then walked to the door before turning to look at him. “And thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not making this harder than it should be,” you told him and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Well,” he said. “You’re the head of the family business now. It’s your rules, the rest will follow your orders. Including the former boss.”

You let a smile curl your lips, then walked out of the office and passed through the hallway to step outside, your heels echoing on the marble floor.

There had been numerous sit downs at this place but this was the first one that you would attend as a boss, so needless to say you were way too impatient.

Ever since you had stepped a foot in your father’s house, you couldn’t stop tapping your foot. The guests were beginning to arrive one by one, and you desperately needed a drink but you knew you had to keep a completely clear head so you couldn’t exactly drink what the rest were drinking.

“Here,” Bucky said, touching the small of your back with one hand while giving you a glass of water with the other.

“Thank you,” you said and he pressed a kiss on your temple, making you frown and pull back. “Nope.”

“What?”

“This is a work meeting,” you told him, nodding at Clint and Natasha by the corner of the living room while Tony talked to your father and Bucky frowned.

“They already know we’re married, Charm.”

“Well we can’t be too lovey-dovey!” you whispered through your teeth and he chuckled.

“Babe, it’s going to be fine,” he said. “You’ll do great, I promise.”

“Right?” you felt the need to ask and he nodded.

“Yeah.”

“I love you, you know that right?” you asked and Bucky smirked.

“I love you too,” he said. “And you’re not going to war. It’s your first meeting as a boss, but it is still a meeting.”

You nodded your head, taking a huge sip of your water and turned your head when you heard the familiar chatter. Sarah and Becca walked into the living room, making your jaw drop.

“Hey,” Becca said as soon as she reached you. “Girl talk Buck, beat it.”

“Nice to see you too,” Bucky told her with a roll of his eyes, then turned to Sarah. “Hey.”

“Hi Bucky. Sam and Steve are in the hallway.”

“Great,” he said and walked away from you. You pulled Sarah into a hug, then pulled back to hug Becca.

“Oh my God,” you said. “What are you both doing here?”

“Well it’s your first day on the job,” Becca said. “You know, emotional support.”

“What she said,” Sarah said. “And I figured you’d be nervous, so…”

“I was,” you said with a smile. “Guys, you’re amazing.”

“I even brought a cactus,” Becca said. “Apparently that’s what people get people when they start jobs, who knew?”

“They usually get them flowers, Becca,” Sarah said and Becca waved a hand in the air.

“I haven't worked a day in my life in case you guys forgot,” she said. “Oh and Leila said ‘kick everyone’s ass’.”

“Tell her I said thank you,” you said and took a deep breath. “It’ll go well, right?”

“It’ll go great,” Sarah said, lifting your chin a bit to check your nose from the side. “It is healing nicely. The stitches too.”

“Thanks to my awesome doctor,” you said with a smile and Becca looked around.

“Your bitch of an aunt isn’t here then?”

“Nope,” you said. “She left earlier.”

“Without making a scene?” Sarah asked, disbelief apparent in her tone and you shook your head.

“Of course not,” you said. “She…she told me something.”

“What?”

“That she hopes Bucky and I have a son,” you said. “So that she can take him away from me, the same way I took Ian away from her.”

Sarah rolled her eyes and Becca raised a brow.

“Oh please,” she said. “She does know that when Bucky and you have a child, that child will be like, the most protected heir in the entire world, right?”

“I guess,” you said and Sarah frowned.

“You can’t let that get to you,” she said and you shook your head again.

“I’m not,” you said. “That’s not it.”

Becca pulled back slightly, then eyed the water glass in your hand.

“Please don’t tell me you’re pregnant,” she said, making your eyes widen.

“No!” you said. “No, I’m just not drinking because I’m trying to keep my head clear, it’s my first meeting with everyone else as a boss—no, I’m just worried I guess.”

“I agree with Becca,” Sarah said. “First of all, that child will be the most protected heir in the city, with your people and Bucky’s people. Second of all, who’s going to take your aunt seriously?”

“No one,” you admitted with a small laugh. “Yeah. Like I said, I’m just worried.”

“Don’t be—” Sarah started but you heard Ryan’s voice by the door.

“The meeting room is ready,” he said and everyone walked out of the living room one by one. Your father gave you a soft smile and you smiled at him back, then turned to Sarah and Becca.

“Wish me luck.”

“You got this,” Sarah said and Becca squeezed your hand.

“You were born for this,” she told you. “Go get ‘em tiger.”

You let out a breath, then made your way out of the living room to the meeting room before you stepped inside, your heart beating in your ears. Bucky was walking to his own seat and you brushed your hand against his as subtly as you could while you walked past him. He winked at you before sitting down as well, making you bite back a smile.

You got this.

Becca was right. You were born for this.

You took your seat at the head of the table, Ryan approaching to place a file in front of you and you cleared your throat, then lifted your head to look at everyone around the table.

“So,” you said, your voice completely calm. “Shall we begin?”

The End.

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sillygoosealert · 8 months ago

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Daisy, hi! How did you come up with the user sillygoodealert? Bc that concubine fic had such a silly ending 🥲🙂 lmao jk but seriously I was thinking what if before the maid concubine reader offs herself, we see her side of being treated like shit by the other girls and staff and sukuna himself during the day and then trying to not be shell shocked when he treats her so sweetly in his chambers. especially when he continuously humiliates her and one day eve punishes her extra harshly in front of everyone after she makes a mistake and then he still expects her to pretend as if it didn’t even happen when he wishes to spend time with her that same night.

Who knows just thinking further about the story you created, ty for sharing your work it’s so delish 🤤

In the morning - Just a week later

That's my legal name because i am the mayor of silly town

I had a BAD day so ANGST NO COMFORT NO COMFORT 😠😠

Dub-con(so there is a little bit of smut 😲) he's kinda abusive?? uhhh mention of blood

If someone asked Sukuna if he was ever satisfied with everything he had, the answer would be no. But once, he got very close to it.

To be satisfied is to settle, and Sukuna never settled. Not for anything or anyone. However, one night, while you laid next to him, it almost felt like he would be okay with living like that.

Knowing he could have more than what he had at the time stopped him from deeming it satisfactory.

So he strived for more. A more significant and fulfilling feeling, more.

What waited for him in the morning was a clean room and a cold bed. Although you were supposed to be beside him as of now, there was a cold, neatly made spot in replacement.

After 8 minutes of stretching, 2 minutes of sitting and silence, and deciding what kimono he would like to adorn today- he came out of his enclosure.

Standing just a few feet from his door, you were unhurriedly dusting off the chandeliers scattered across the ceiling- on a ladder, without anyone supporting it from the bottom.

After a few quick strides, he kicks the ladder from its place. There isn't a real reason why he did it. It was more impulsive than anything. But as he watches your body hit the floor, blood dribble out of your nose, a feeling of superiority overcomes him.

Even though he was the one to do this to you, he still helps you up and carries you to bed in his arms. Your blood is smearing across his arms and hands as he wipes away tears that come out as you shake and beg for him to stop. It's no longer a quiet morning, but he got what he wanted- a warmer bed and a more obedient woman.

Nothing good comes out of upsetting Sukuna- or sometimes just being around him. He doesn't have to be in a bad mood to take things out on you. The bruises on your body should be enough evidence of that. Sometimes, you question if it's enough to feel pity on you, though.

There will always be someone to ask what you did. Occasionally, that someone is you. Late at night, curled up listening to him treating another woman with something similar to adoration.

His voice isn't necessarily loud, but it's the only thing you can hear when it is well past curfew.

He coos encouragement and praise while gentle skin-on-skin can be heard if you listen for it.

At the moment, you're jealous. That should be you. When that is you, though, you dread walking into his enclosure.

The day after you watched him toss away any love or respect he had, for 15 minutes of sugar-coated sex, something changed with him.

He held your waist as he guided you to the edge of his bed, an eager grin plastered on his face. Lifting you and laying you on the one-too-many pillows he suddenly had.

One hand found yours as something wet licked your pussy. It was slimy and unwanted, and you kept quiet because you were in complete shock.

You saw how clean the sheets were when you walked in. You hoped it was a sick coincidence. But the feeling of Déjà vu sank deep into your body, as well as his tongue did. And as you checked to make sure- the pillows were fluffed up. The smell of a specific woody soap was stuck to him, and he was gripping your hand a little harder each time your breath started to increase.

"My Lord-" You wanted to ask him to stop, but the words couldn't come out as fluently as your tears would.

When you started to sob, he pulled away and looked at you with disarray. All you could do was shake your head and wrap your arms around yourself.

He sent you back to your own room without a word.

The other concubines must have noticed the shift in your status- or maybe he complained to them about you. That is one of life's great mysteries.

They treat you noticeably differently than they did before- for the worse. A thought that crosses through your mind is they were scared to be anything less than indifferent to you before, for they would most definitely receive a punishment. But now? The treatment of your counterparts and the King of Curses is almost equal- with him being the only one to break your trust, as the other concubines made it clear they were not your friends from the start.

As of now, they weren't afraid to push you aside in the hallways or scold you for nearly slipping on the freshly mopped floor.

Your new nickname is Lummox- which means a clumsy, stupid person. That's not too far off from what you are, so you don't take too much offense.

But people now use it to call out to you and grab your attention it becomes all you can use to describe yourself when you think about what you did to get here.

Even now, as you curl into yourself late in the night, what keeps you up is what will now wait for you in the morning.

I have such a massive hatetrid for my own writting it's almost astonishing I put anything out. I can't re-read anything I put out because I get so upset that I can not put into words how I feel- the one thing people expect of me.

Tag List- @mangiswig @rubyrubyruuu @maskedpacific @bbysnw @belluuu @cindywasneverhere @uniquenicefangirl @m0rganit3 @jinniebby2 @babyblexu @connierk690 @suguru-nugget @geniejunn @astro-stars @honeybee54321

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lie-lacdreams · 4 months ago

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Thermodynamics and Turmoil (Curly x Reader pt. 1)

Hello! I'm putting out my very first piece ever and I'm so excited to feed the masses as much Mouthwashing content as they deserve :) This game has a lot of sensitive topics to it and as such I'll try my best to bring them up as appropriately as possible. The story is gonna start off slow and elaborative because I love all of the Tulpar crew so much (except for Jollof rice, Jimneva convention) and they all have such interesting personalities that I couldn't help but to explore their wants and aspirations. This story will feature an alternative ending to the game because I cannot stomach sad things they make me very sad </3

engineer! reader x curly TW: a bad word or two, I think word count ~ 1.9K

Curly was back in the medical bay for his routine psychological evaluation with Anya. With all of the questions answered and out of the way, the both of them were just chatting before he had to go back to the cockpit and finish up his duties for the afternoon.

“You’re all good to go, Captain. Seems like there isn’t much change from your answers like last time, as usual.” Anya let out a tired sigh.

“That should be a good thing, given we’ve already been on this trip for almost two months now. We should all be used to the routine around here at this point. Has everybody else been adjusting alright?” Curly stood up from his chair, Anya following suit as they moved towards the door.

“For the most part, everyone’s been well but I wish they would open up or take the assessment seriously. I mean, at least Daisuke has been making my job a little easier – he just talks and talks.” she mused. Curly gave a little chuckle in response, thinking about the last-minute intern that the Pony Express decided to add on board to their journey. He wasn’t exactly the most helpful – at least according to Swansea – but he brought an air of lightheartedness that they all needed in a cut-corners, shitty working environment like the Tulpar. “Oh, actually, have you seen (Y/N) lately?”

Curly thought for a moment. Along with Daisuke, (Y/N) was another late addition to the crew. The Tulpar has started showing its age and as such, there were increasingly consistent problems with the water pipes, life support, and fuel usage. However, instead of giving the crew a new ship, they handed the responsibility of keeping the ship up and running to the passengers. After their previous trip, Swansea went straight to the higher-ups and ripped them a new one, stating that “he couldn’t be expected to perform miracles”. When the crew was assigned this trip, they were all surprised that corporate had listened to Swansea’s complaints and granted them with another engineer. (Y/N) was self-sufficient, only really needing to work with Swansea to consult him on how best to move forward and with Daisuke when Swansea needed a break from his overzealousness. As a result, Curly saw and knew very little about her. “No, I’m afraid I haven’t. Why?”

“She’s due for her check-in as well but I haven’t seen her these past two days to tell her that. Go figure. We share a room yet recently she’s been waking up earlier and sleeping later than I have. When I went to ask Swansea and Daisuke if they’d seen her, they said that they haven’t seen her at all today.”

“Huh. She’ll show up eventually. This ship only has so many places a person can be. If I see her, I’ll let her know to go straight to you. Thanks, Anya.” He patted her shoulder lightly before heading out, making his way back to the cockpit to fulfill his duties.

In the evening, the crew convened at the table for dinner. Curly always looked forward to this time of day, where everyone had finished all of their tasks and could open up with light hearted banter. With only the six of them on the ship for over a year, all they had were each other, and he cherished all of his crew members. Anya and Swansea were chatting to the left of him about Swansea’s kids back on Earth. To his right, he saw Jimmy get increasingly agitated as Daisuke tried convincing him to swap dinners with him. That’s when he spotted the empty chair across from him and realized that (Y/N) was still missing.

No one was concerned by her absence; it was a common occurrence, and he trusted Daisuke and Swansea to be in the loop about what she was up to and would report to him if anything happened. During the work day, everyone was so consumed with their jobs and couldn’t afford to worry about the whereabouts of the others, unless they needed to lend a hand. Curly wasn’t an exception to this. As the captain it was his responsibility to make sure his crew members were okay and that things were moving along nicely, and so far there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary that indicated otherwise. With everyone finishing up their dinner, clean up began before people bid each other goodnight.

In the middle of the night, he woke up parched. Debating whether or not to get a glass of water, he finally got out of bed and made his way to the lounge where the kitchen was. Leaving his room, he could hear a faint clacking noise grow slightly louder the closer he got to the lounge entrance. Opening the door to the lounge, he was finally met with the sixth crew member whom no one had seen all day. Sitting at the dining table, (Y/N) rested her feet on the seat of her chair and had her knees drawn up to her chest. All around her were books and loose papers scattered about. Her hair was messed up, likely a direct cause of the hand she kept on her head, fingernails digging into her scalp. Curly gently cleared his throat, trying to make her aware of his presence. Shooting a tired glance his way, her eyes widened a bit before immediately sitting up straight and tidying her hair. She looked guilty, like she was caught in the middle of doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing.

“Finally, we get to see her. Where have you been, Miss Absentee?” He sent a small smile her way, walking over to her.

“C-Captain! What are you doing up? It’s quite late.” (Y/N) nervously fidgeted.

“Just up for a glass of water. What are you doing up so late is the real question.” He crossed his arms.

“Just doing a bit of work. Can’t get enough of it.” She joked dryly. Curly frowned and pulled the chair next to her to take a seat. She sighed and leaned back, finally relaxing from tensing up after seeing Curly enter the room. (Y/N) didn’t know her captain well, and as such she always tried her best to save face and remain professional with him, but at this hour of the night, she was too tired to keep up with decorum.

He leaned on the table, facing her. “I know we may not be as close as you are with Swansea and Daisuke, or even Anya, but as your captain I care about how you’re doing and I want you to open up to me.” Her expression became hesitant as she shifted in her seat. “We’re all busy and even though it’s common for you to go missing during meal times, seeing you like this now is making me worried about how you’re doing.”

(Y/N) kept quiet for a second, looking like she was mulling something over before picking up the object right in front of her. “Do you know what this is?”

“An abacus. Interesting that you have one.” he said.

“Yeah.” she sighed. She moved her gaze from Curly to the plastic Polle statue in the corner of the room. “Before I got on the Tulpar, they had given me all of the supplies I needed to fulfill my duties and do what they asked of me. I had met Swansea only briefly before so he could give me manuals and maps of the ship’s layout. I got the uniform, the steel-toed boots, notebooks, writing utensils, and a solar-powered calculator.” (Y/N) shook her head. “You’d think that would be enough to prepare me to be here, but no . If only there was a way to have a bit of sunlight in outer space in a ship with no windows. They gave me something so crucial but useless out here. I had brought the abacus on board with me for sentimental reasons, but ironically enough it’s the only thing here that allows me to do my job.” She glanced back at him. “I’m not sure if you were aware, but Pony Express lied and said this was an internship for graduate students. Little did I know I’d be thrown into something I wasn’t going to have much guidance in. I needed a break from my PhD and even though the pay wasn’t that great, I was desperate for some sort of escape from academia. I thought going to space would give me that, but every day I wake up is a constant reminder that I’m so underqualified. Swansea is an expert with the mechanical side of the ship and he’s helped me a great deal, but the fluid mechanics and thermodynamics of it all are things he knows nothing about. So I’m here, trying my best to play catch-up and praying that I figure out a solution so that this ship has enough fuel, enough air to last us an entire year, and that the Tulpar doesn’t pop like a pressurized soda bottle while we’re out here.”

“(Y/N)...” Curly’s voice died at her name, shocked at this revelation and disappointed he somehow didn’t know about her struggle sooner. “I had no idea what you were going through. You always seemed to have a grasp on your tasks and Swansea always praised the work you did, so I just assumed you weren’t having a hard time adjusting. Have you told any of this to Anya during your evaluations?”

“No… I really wanted to believe that I could do it and stick it out, and so far, thank God, I’ve just barely made it every time. I really wanted you and the rest of the crew to believe I was capable and worthy of being here.” He cautiously put a hand on her shoulder, testing the waters on how he should comfort her.

“You are worthy of being here. The fact that we’ve been having such a smooth trip with no complications so far makes that obvious. I really appreciate you opening up to me now. I want to do everything I can to make sure you aren’t stressed about your work. You need to get rest and eat like the rest of us. Sure, none of us are a chemical engineering smarty pants like you, but you can always ask for help, even if it’s just for something like bringing you food or running errands around the ship.” He smiled at her, and she weakly reciprocated the gesture.

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time. Thank you, Curly.” Too tired to remember formalities, (Y/N) let out a big yawn, much to his amusement.

“So are you gonna go to bed?” He asked. She threw her head back and groaned in defeat, murmuring a “yes”. “Good! I hope I get to see more of you around now that you’ll be asking for help, yes?”

“Yes, of course, Captain. I’ll see you tomorrow.” The both of them stood up, (Y/N) to head to her quarters and Curly to finally get his glass of water. Before completely leaving, she paused and turned back. “Oh, and Captain?”

“Hmm?” He raised his head up to look at her again.

“I know you have a lot of responsibility on your shoulders looking after all of us. Please, rely on me too.” She smiled gently.

“Goodnight, (Y/N).” He called after her as she slipped through the door. He felt content that he was making good progress to gaining the trust of the crew member he knew the least. It always made him feel good to be the reliable captain he hoped everyone viewed him as. Having that conversation with (Y/N) made him a little more relaxed now that she had opened up to him for the first time.

#mouth washing #curly mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #curly x reader #mouthwashing x reader #Thermo & Turmo

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lis-likes-fics · 5 months ago

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Strung Up (Cont.)

Pairing(s): Eddie Munson x Reader Word Count: 32.8k words Warnings: NSFW, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat (violence), graphic descriptions of violence, graphic descriptions of death, murder, blood, gore, anxiety, panic attack, implications of stalking, frequent swearing, drug use, alcohol use, manipulation, degradation (not always in the sexy way), dubious consent, light praise kink, fingering, groping, oral sex, multiple orgasms, spanking, titty fucking, masturbation, vaguely masochistic tendencies… A/N: IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ: Not all of the warnings are listed above, but the full list of warnings is provided here. The only reason they're not all here is to avoid spoilers throughout the story, but none of the warnings unlisted here should be trigger warnings. If you're still unsure, please feel free to check the list. But if you want to go into this blind, go right ahead! A/N II: Okay so...I did finish the last two scenes at 3 o'clock in the morning last night, but hey! We finished! This is the last upload for my Kinktober 2024 event. I'm glad I was able to finish just in time, and I hope you all enjoy this just as much as I did (even though I almost gave up five different times but that's not important.) Thank you so much and Happy Halloween! A/N III: The story is too long so Tumblr won't let me post this. Because of this, I will ahve to split it into two parts (which is annoying bc it will really damage notes and stuff and it's harder to manage >:( )

The warmth of Eddie's hand on your back is very comforting. As soon as he ushers you out of the car, his hand falls to the small of your back and holds you there to guide you into the very large house.

“I'm back!” she shouts, mindful of your ears. He leads you into the living room where everyone is gathered with blankets and pillows and beer.

There's a mess of greetings as you enter the room with Eddie.

“What's up, Back? The name's Argyle, my dude.” He holds his hand out with a grin.

Eddie rolls his eyes and takes his previous seat on the floor, pillows and blankets included, and gestures for you to sit next to him. “You think you're funny, but you're not,” Eddie lightly scolds, offering you a beer. You take it.

His hands shoot up as he shakes his head. “Hey, hey, hey! Pump the brakes, duderino. Just a lil joke, it's good to laugh.” Argyle chuckles before finally looking over at you. His smile drops, and he looks at you with reddened eyes. “Woah. Who's the girl you got with you, Eddie?”

Jonathan looks at him with a brow raised in confusion. “Argyle, you’ve met her before.”

He just shakes his head, his long flowing locks swishing with the movement. “I don’t think so. I remember every face that passes my perimeter, and I don’t remember her. Fess up.”

Now Robin’s confused (as are you, because you’ve definitely had conversations with this boy before). “She’s sat at our table many times.”

He crosses his arms now. “I have no recollection of this whatsoever.”

“Seriously?” Jonathan lightly smacks his hand against his shoulder.

Argyle’s character breaks. He starts laughing as he nods and pats his knee. “Ha, ha! I’m just kidding.” He holds his hand out for you to slap, which you do. “What’s up, dudette? How’s it hangin’?”

You shrug, smiling a bit. “Well, it's hangin’.”

“Right on,” he nods. “Come and join the party. We were just tryna decide which horror movie we should put on.”

You tuck your legs beneath you, leaning back against the couch behind you where Steve and Robin are. “You're seriously watching horror movies? With everything going on?”

Robin tsks as she shakes her head. “I told them it was distasteful.”

Nancy, perched on the single sofa, shrugs as she offers her suggestion “We could watch Gremlins.”

Eddie scoffs, glancing over at her as he throws his arms back on the couch. This brings an arm almost draping over your shoulder, which you hardly blink at. You're used to Eddie and all his touchiness, the way he’s always touching you, holding you. It’s comforting, if nothing else.

“That is, arguably, not a horror movie,” he says.

Argyle tilts his head from side to side, considering that and deciding he disagrees. “I don’t know. Some of those little critters were pretty spooky to me.”

Jonathan rolls his eyes. “Then you’re a wuss. Gremlins isn’t scary.”

“Friday the 13th?” Steve’s quite proud of that suggestion as he chirps up from behind you and Eddie. “That one’s a really good one.”

Robin smacks him, scoffing loudly when his hand covers where she hit him. “A movie about a bunch of teenagers being slaughtered in the middle of the woods by a masked killer?” She rolls her eyes. “That’s not insensitive at all.”

He scowls at her. “We’re not in the woods.” He shoves her.

“And none of the victims were found in the woods either,” Jonathan pipes up. There’s something mischievous in his tone that doesn’t sit right with you. “Carver was strung up and gutted. Cassidy was stabbed, and her throat was cut so deep her head almost came clean off. Tommy H and Carol Perkins were sliced up like bacon.”

His depictions swirl in your gut and make you feel a little sick. Images of the last two victims flash in your mind, their unblinking eyes, their bloodied faces, their chests like overused pin cushions, insides on the outside. You don’t realize it when you scoot closer to Eddie. His arm officially falls to your shoulders.

“Hey, man,” Argyle speaks up. “I like bacon! Don’t say that.”

Steve rolls his eyes, staring at Jonathan. “Dude, it’s called tact.” You register his hand nudging your shoulder, gently rubbing a tiny circle with his knuckle. You assume he’d noticed your unease.

Jonathan waves a hand. “All I’m saying is, Mrs. Voorhees isn’t gonna getcha.”

You raise a brow, speaking like it’s obvious (because it is). “Yeah, but Ghostface might.” You bring the can to your lips, taking a drink of your beer and scowling. Then with a sigh and a roll of your eyes, you take another drink.

“Wait,” Nancy mutters. “I thought Jason was the killer in that movie.”

Argyle flinches. “Oh, that’s just bad timing.”

You drop your head in your hands at his point out. Either way, you shake your head. “No,” you look up, “the original killer was his mom. Jason didn’t show up ‘til the sequel.”

Eddie smacks a hand over his chest. “Ugh!” he swoons. “A woman after my own heart.”

You smack him yourself, rolling your eyes. “Oh, please.”

“Anyway,” Jonathan corrects, “Ghostface isn’t going to come after us because we’re in a group. Lone killers don’t strike groups, it’s why you’re never supposed to split up in a horror movie.”

Argyle nods. “It’s a low level rule. Doesn’t guarantee survival, but it’s a good measure to follow.” He holds his hands up with a smile. “We follow the rules and none of us get sliced and diced.”

“The rules?” Eddie wonders, glancing at you to see if you know what they’re talking about. You just shrug.

“The horror movie rules.” Jonathan shrugs like it’s obvious. (It’s not.) You glance behind you to glance at Robin, who’s just as confused as you are.

“What are you talking about?” you ask.

Jonathan seems to be in completely disbelief as he whips his head to Argyle, who’s sharing similar feelings. “You don’t know the rules of being in a horror movie? Everyone knows them.”

Robin rolls her eyes. “Obviously not if we’re asking.”

Argyle crosses his legs, straightening his back as he holds his arms out. “Take a seat and let us teach you the ways, younglings.”

Eddie vaguely gestures to Steve as he raises a brow. “We’re older than you.”

Neither of them pay attention to him. “Rule number one,” Jonathan begins, “Never—never—drink or do drugs.”

Steve clears his throat, raising his can in the air. Everyone in the room slowly follows suit, some clinking as if to toast to the rule. “We kinda beat you to that,” Nancy says as she brings the lip of the can to her own.

“You’re high, Gyle,” Robin points out.

Argyle shrugs. “So is Jonathan, and Eddie’s a dealer. Sometimes you just got plot armor.”

“So we’re all going to die?” Eddie wonders.

“Nope,” Jonathan says. “You need a survivor, or your movie’s bland. And the survivor’s always a girl, so one of you probably has crazy plot protection.” He points out each of the girls in the room.

“Wrong!” Eddie almost shouts it. “Evil Dead. Survivor’s a guy—it was Ash Williams.”

“And the Friday the 13th series has, like, three male survivors,” Steve adds. “And The Thing has no survivors.”

“Neither does Night of the Living Dead.” Eddie beams at your contribution.

Argyle dismisses everything, waving his hands at you all. “We’re not talking about monster movies, man.”

“And just be glad this isn't a sequel, otherwise everyone here would be on the chopping block.” Jonathan says it with little remorse.

Argyle huddles toward him, lowering his voice ineffectively. “Well, they don't needa know that. Not tryna scare ‘em, man.”

“Shit,” Jonathan mutters, covering his mouth. “You're right.”

Argyle nods enthusiastically. “Anyway, plot armor. You guys probably have it, it's okay.”

“You're comic relief though, right?” Robin quips. She smirks, “Don't comic reliefs usually die in slashers?”

A look of horror crosses Argyle’s face. “Oh, shit,” he gasps, snapping his head to Jonathan. “You think I'm gonna die, Byers?”

Jonathan, who is now worried about the same thing, shakes his head with no amount of certainty. “No…” he says, in no way convincing. “No, man. You're…” He pats his shoulder, looking away. “You'll be fine.”

“Promise?”

Jonathan actually shakes his head as he says, “Yeah, man… Promise.”

Argyle smiles, somehow reassured. He looks back at Robin, his brows furrowed. “Hey! Stop distracting. We're tryna save your lives here.”

Stifling her laugh, Nancy moves forward. “What's number two?”

“Oh, right. Número dos,” he continues. “Never. Have. Sex. Ever.” He points at each of you to make his point. “If you participate in the Devil's Tango at any point in the story, you die.”

“Virgins always live,” Jonathan nods.

You swallow thickly, glancing down at your hands as you recall the day before: Jake's wandering hands, his lips on your neck, his body…

“Think I'd rather die,” Eddie comments. Steve shoves Eddie, and a collective murmur of agreement floats between nearly everyone, pulling you enough from your thoughts to scoff.

“Slut,” you mutter, directed toward Eddie.

He smiles, beaming from ear to ear. “Okay, little miss Mary. Where are you on the virginity scale?”

You press your smile into a thin line, turning back to Argyle as you clear your throat. “Rule three?”

Eddie snickers, but it sounds half-hearted.

“I like the way you roll,” Argyle laughs. He turns to Jonathan. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” They stare at each other as they count down from three.

“Never–” “Don't–”

“Seriously?” Jonathan exclaims, snapping back around to his friend.

“Ah, shit, man. I’m sorry, man.” Argyle shakes his head woefully. “That was me,” he admits.

Jonathan shakes his head, disappointed by their lack of coordination. “Never say you’ll be right back,” he says without any of the flair he intended. “Because you won’t.”

Eddie stands, adjusting his shirt as he waves a hand at them. “I’m gonna go pick up my sweet Mary Jane,” he says, fondly placing his hands over his heart. “Anyone want some?”

“Eddie,” Argyle sighs, smiling just as fondly. “That sounds like a delectable idea.”

“Awesome. Hey,” he smirks mischievously, walking backwards toward the door. “I’ll be right back!”

There’s a lot of laughter, some protests, Steve tosses a crushed beer can at him—which clatters against the wall and falls to the floor, completely missing him. He’s laughing on his way out the front door. When it closes behind him, a bad feeling settles in your stomach.

Everyone else has already moved on to the next thing, still debating movies and the validity of these supposed “rules”. While they’re distracted, you decide to follow Eddie out. You don’t want to leave him alone and risk him getting hurt, and you’re paranoid enough to believe it will happen.

As you begin to leave the living room, Steve’s head perks up. “Hey, you okay?” he asks, his voice soft enough to keep the conversation between the two of you.

You nod, gesturing toward the door. “Yeah. Goin’ after Eddie.”

“No, I mean…” He gets up to join you, following you to the door as you both stop in the small hall. “Are you okay? You seemed pretty distressed on the phone.”

“Oh,” you mumble, scratching your neck and looking down at your shoes. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. I just..” You take in a deep breath, willing yourself to look at Steve as you nod. “Trouble is paradise, I guess,” you shrug.

Steve nods a bit, scratching his own neck. “Ah,” he says with an understanding that puts you at ease.

“Yeah.” You sigh. “But I’ll be okay.” You start to turn back to the door, but he gently grabs your wrist. He doesn’t hurt you, and it’s not invasive.

“You sure?” He lets you go and gestures to his house. “Always welcome here if you need it.”

You smile, looking over his face, so kind and so gentle. “Thanks,” you grin. “I’ll be okay.” You say it a little more definitely now, offering him a smile that seems more believable now.

He smiles gently, nodding as he slowly steps away from you. “Alright,” he says, raising his hand and waving a little. “Go make sure he doesn’t get himself killed or anything.”

Your eyes widen in a playful kind of horror. “Don’t say that!” you exclaim quietly, a gentle scold. He laughs, turning on his heel to return to the living room. You push the front door open, turning as well to see the boy you were looking for.

“Eddie,” you call gently from the door, spotting him at the door of his van.

He turns on his heels, smiling at you and gesturing you forward. “Hey, sweetheart. You gonna be my knight in shining armor?” He bobs his brows where they disappear in the fringe of his wild hair.

You chuckle lightly. “Sure.”

“Well, c’mon then.” He makes a grand sweeping gesture with his hand, encouraging you forward. You follow after him. He throws the back doors of his van open, bowing dramatically to offer you entry. You shake your head playfully as you climb in with him following right after. He closes the doors behind him and sits across from you, his shoe bumping yours as he does.

“We’re not going back inside?” you wonder.

He shrugs. “They’ll be fine without us for a bit.” He reaches over his body to grab something, his shirt riding up his side with the stretch. Your eyes trail down at the movement, but you quickly correct yourself. He grabs his lunchbox, shaking it toward you with a smile. “Do you want one?”

You chuckle lightly, raising a brow. “I’m not gonna die?”

“Never.” He says it with more intensity than you’d anticipated. “I’ll protect you from the mean and scary Ghostface.”

You don’t mean to be so genuine when you say it, but you are and he doesn’t bat an eye. “Promise?”

Eddie’s hand falls to his chest, right over where his heart sits. “On my life,” he promises.

You swallow thickly, looking away as bashfulness nips at your fingertips. “Can’t say things like that,” you tell him, glancing up. “Our lives are what’s at stake.”

Eddie opens the box, looking up at you with all the sincerity he has. “That’s exactly why I’m saying it,” he shakes like it’s nothing. Like it’s the easiest thing to promise—to protect you with his life. You look away again, unsure of whether you want to smile because he’s so sweet or cry because he’s too sweet.

A comfortable silence settles in the space between you, which he fills with the task of rolling his blunt. You take this opportunity to look at him, while he’s too distracted to do the same.

You like looking at Eddie. He’s always been very pretty to you. He’s got these wild locks of hair, entirely unruly to reflect his rebellion. His eyes are these big, dark pools of honey. They’re always so warm and reassuring, and they make you feel nice (even when sometimes, the warmth seems a little forced…like he’s struggling to maintain it when there’s the option of just…being upset.)

Beyond his hair and his eyes, there’s his smile. He’s got plump lips made for kissing, plump lips he’s always got screwed into a smile simmering with care and heat. Though he denies it, his nose is so lightly sprinkled with these precious freckles. If you look close enough in the right light, you can see a light dust beneath his eyes.

You glance down at his hands where they crush little green buds. He’s got nice hands, decorated with giant silver rings that make him look like a rockstar. You really like his hands.

“So…” Your attention shifts back to his face. “Why did you fight?” He looks up at you through his fringe, soft eyes simmering something a little difficult to place. It takes you a moment to gather the courage to respond. You pick at your nails, pulling your knee to your chest. Eddie corrects himself. He holds his hand up, “You don’t have to tell me if you're not comfortable.”

His concern warms your chest. “Eddie,” you say, “if there’s anyone I’m comfortable around, it’s you.”

He tilts his head to his shoulder, fluttering his lashes. “Aww,” he grins.

You snort, glad when he looks away. You chew on your bottom lip, trying to decide how to phrase it. You don’t want Eddie to misunderstand. “I was telling them about…” You consider telling him about the letter, but quickly decide against it. That’s what got you in this mess anyway.

Besides…it’s likely nothing at all…

“About how afraid all of this was making me,” you respond hesitantly, “and they weren’t listening to me. They…never listen to me.” You stare blankly at your nails where your cuticles have been abused by the amount of stress you’ve been under.

Eddie watches you carefully, his eyes always soft. His foot nudges yours again so gently, you almost don’t feel it. “Are you afraid now?”

You look up at him, smiling gently. “Not in this moment.”

He tilts his head. “What was scaring you?”

“Just some…” you shrug, trying to clear your head. You didn’t want to think about it right now. “Some stupid joke. Someone playing a trick on me, probably. It’s nothing.”

He raises a brow. You can tell he doesn’t believe you, but his gaze isn’t entirely of gentle encouragement as it is of a strange suspicion. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you nod, giving him a strained smile. He stares at you for a while, assessing the look on your face. After a moment, he gives up with a sigh, nodding gently and continuing his task.

You're tired.

It's tiring being scared and anxious all the time. Everything that's been happening, the murders and the letters, they've only been stacked on top of all the other emotions going through your head, and you're tired. You hadn't realized it until now.

The more silence that lingers, the more time you have to think…mostly about what Jake had told you. You supposed you'd been so distracted by the glitz and glams of having a lover that you didn't even consider the idea that he wasn't…a lover.

You never realized that he, in fact, did not want you.

And then you think…maybe you were a bit dramatic. He's under a lot of stress, and people say things they don't mean when they're upset—it happens all the time. Maybe you're looking for excuses now to leave. And if you are, does that make you a bad person for not wanting to deal with him anymore or are you just dumb for trying to find an excuse to defend him—or! Maybe you're just trying to find a reason to be upset, because it's not like you talk to anyone for any other reason than your problems.

And here you are in Eddie's van. You made it about you again. God, you just wish you were normal. You wish you weren't such a pain in the ass.

“Eddie?” You hadn't meant to call his name. It was an impulse, and you don't actually want to ask what you were going to ask.

“Hm?”

You shake your head. “Nothing. Sorry.”

He looks up, concern creasing his brows. “What's wrong?” he insists.

You shake your head with a little more desperation. You want to drop it because you don't want him to be right. “It's nothing. Sorry.”

“Hey.” He reaches over and nudges you. He looks at you through his bangs, his eyes nothing if not puppy-like. “Tell me.”

You swallow thickly. Your eyes feel hot, but you blink to ignore the heat anyway. “Do you…” you clear your throat when it comes out raspy, “...think I'm whiny?”

His hands pause entirely on his task, and he stares at you with a look that you don't think you've ever seen before. It's a kind of warmth that feels like you'll burn alive. You notice the slightest tightening of his jaw, his fingers flexing on his lunchbox as he seals the latch.

His eyes flit from yours to your necklace. You notice the slightest movement of his bobbing Adam's apple. “Did he tell you that?” he asks, his voice low.

There's a long pause where you hesitate to speak. You've never seen him so…serious. You look down at your hands, twiddling your thumbs as you swallow down the lump in your throat.

When you don't say anything, he locks eyes with you once more. “What did he say?”

You rub your arm anxiously. “He called me delusional. He said…” You look away from him again, your voice so quiet that it's almost a whisper. “He said, ‘Why do you have to be such a whiny little bitch?’”

You hear him sigh. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't even look at you as he processes what you've told him.

The moment is still, though there's a slight brewing of something solemn in the space between you.

Then Eddie takes a deep breath in, pauses, and without blinking an eye, says, “I'm gonna kill him.”

Your lips threaten to break into a grin, and your eyes go wide as dimes. “Eddie!” you exclaim, lightly smacking him. You shake your head scoldingly. “You can’t say that.”

“I am,” he repeats, humor returning to his tone as he smiles at you, holding an arm up to shield from your swatting hand. He makes sure to articulate this time. “I’m going to kill him.”

You laugh, though it quickly becomes weak. “It’s fine, really,” you say, trying to keep the happy mood you’d been able to lift the two of you into. But it’s hard because you just keep thinking about everything, and everything hurts. “I just…” You swallow thickly, breathing in with more effort than it should take. “It doesn’t bother…” Your breath catches. “I… I don’t feel–”

Eddie’s hands are already reaching out for you upon hearing the tremble in his voice. His smile drops once more, and he sighs when he’s got you pulled closely to his chest. He shushes you gently, petting you in warm, soothing strokes with you tucked beneath his chin.

You can’t keep the tears in. It comes crashing down again, and hot tears rush down your cheeks. You hadn’t meant to cry. You’re not supposed to be crying. Your head hurts as you nuzzle into his chest, pressing your nose to his shirt and inhaling the scent of his cologne, his detergent, his skin. It’s a comforting smell that turns your heaving chest to gentle tremors of breath.

It takes some time for the erratic breaths to calm, but Eddie doesn’t seem bothered by the time. His hands are gentle, he’s warm and inviting. He soothes you with the gentle hush of his voice whispering, “Hey, it’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay. Okay? Hm?”

It does make you feel better.

You get it together faster than he thought you would. He doesn’t pull away from you as he speaks gently, the sounds reverberating in his chest with a deep hum. “You know you don’t have to take care of me, right?”

You sniffle, pulling away from him. He doesn’t let you go too far. Still within his arms, you shift so you sit beside him and rest your head on his shoulder. “I know, but…” You wipe your face roughly. You settle your voice enough to sound a little more in control, the strained sound made from tears and aching breaths channeled into something more forceful in an attempt to sound stronger than you feel. “You shouldn’t have to deal with me and my stupid feelings. You always have to deal with me and my stupid feelings.” You mumble that last part mostly to yourself.

His arm is tucked behind you, rubbing gentle circles into the small of your back. “They’re not stupid,” he promises. “Your boyfriend fucking sucks. God, I hate that guy.” He rolls his eyes, and gives a hard look to the wall of the van just so that he’s not glaring at you when he says it. His head turns back to you, a genuine question full of opposition falling from his tongue. “Why don’t you break up with him?”

You turn your face on his shoulder so your forehead rests against the bump of it, shaking your head and sniffling still. “I just…” You sigh woefully. “Everyone keeps telling me we’ll be high school sweethearts.” Your voice lifts a little with false hope. “And it sounds so nice, finding that person you want to be with young and then…spending your life with them.” You speak as if from a distant dream. You blink a few tears from your eyes. You mutter under your breath so softly that he wouldn’t have heard you if you weren’t so close. “Stupid.”

Eddie stares at you, his lashes kissing his cheeks and his head tilted just slightly to his left. “Hey,” he mutters, his large palm engulfing your cheek to encourage you to look at him. There is only sincerity in his voice when he speaks. His other hand finds you and holds your face.

“Nothing about you is stupid. I think the only stupid thing you’ve ever done was date that guy. He’s an asshole, and he doesn’t deserve you.” He shakes his head, wild hair shifting. “Because you’re perfect. You hear me?”

The slightest echo of words you shoved to the back of your mind arises. You breathe gently, slowly nodding your head. “Yeah…” you sigh. “I hear you.”

He wipes your tears away with his thumbs. “Please don’t cry.”

His voice is so small and soft, you almost feel bad for crying (and then you remember that he doesn’t want you to feel bad, and then you do your best not to).

You encourage his hands from your face, scooting close to him for the warmth and letting your head drop to your hands. You stay there for a long time, stewing. “I feel like I’m losing my mind,” you muffle into your palms. “And you’re the only one who ever listens to me.”

He scoffs, and though it’s an attempt at humor to lift your spirits, it lacks the humor he’s wanting. “That’s ‘cause you have shit friends. Except for me, of course.”

When you laugh, his smile is genuine. You’re already sounding better. “Except for you,” you mutter as you pull yourself from your hands. You sniff, and then look at him. You notice the tears on the fabric of his shirt from a moment ago and wince lightly. “Sorry for crying on your shirt.”

His brows furrow funnily. “You kidding?” He laughs lightly. “I’ll never wash this shirt again.”

You scrunch your nose. “That’s gross.”

He chuckles, bringing his hands to wipe under your eyelids where the remnants of your tears still lay. You sigh, and it's the kind of sigh that releases all the tension in your body. You slump into his hands, and he smiles.

Eddie lets go of you in favor of grabbing the blunt he'd made. He brings it between his fingers and shows it off to you like ancient treasure. “Here,” he smiles. “You can have the first hit.”

You grab it without looking, lingering there for a moment. “Thank you,” you murmur, your voice heavy with emotion.

He smirks, furrowing his brow. “It's just a hit.”

“Not that, dummy,” you say, pushing him lightly. He laughs whole-heartedly. “Thank you for being here. It means a lot to me.”

He smiles, his lashes kissing in a slow blink. “Anytime,” he breathes. He nudges your shoulder lightly, “Hey. You know you can trust me, right?”

Your lips pull in a brief smile. You're focusing on not staring down at his lips, so close to you and moving so gently with each word. “Yeah. I know.”

It's silent as you stare at one another. His eyes are more brown in the gentle light of his van when you're this close to him. They almost look like glass in the way that they shine, glossy and smooth.

You hadn't realized it when you leaned in, but you do notice when his soft breaths fan over your lashes. You lick your lip as you lean away again, looking down at the blunt between your fingers as you silently scold yourself for doing such a thing…trying to kiss Eddie. There was something wrong with you, deeply wrong.

You shake it off, setting the blunt between your lips and looking back at him. Eddie watched you for a moment before wordlessly fetching his lighter. He flicks the flame to life and sets it beneath the end.

You take the first drag, already anticipating the relief it'll bring you once it kicks in. You slowly blow out the smoke as you pass it to Eddie, who takes it graciously.

He closes his eyes as his lips wrap around the blunt. He lingers there perhaps a bit longer than he should, and then smiles at you as the smoke shoots from his mouth.

“Guys, wake up.”

You're woken up rather rudely. It'd been a long day, you were exhausted. The sun has barely risen in the sky, and someone's voice is ripping you from your slumber. You get up slowly, pushing yourself to get your head off the pillow from your spot on the couch. Eddie’s slumped on the floor, blankets and pillows cushioning his spot. He blindly reaches a hand up to feel for your own, though he doesn’t move to sit up as he mumbles something under his breath. (Something along the lines of “Just one more goddamn minute, please.”)

Robin sounds half-asleep as she hoists herself up from her curled up position in Steve’s single-sofa too quickly to be kind. “What? What’s going on?” she stumbles, looking around to find Nancy in the middle of the living room.

“Principal Higgins is dead.”

You’re awake now.

It’s only then when you notice the quiet droning of the television, the sound so low that it was easy to miss. There are police lights and caution tape and crowds of people being kept out by authorities. It’s all very unsettling.

Steve sits up quickly, his tousled brown hair a mess on his head. “What?” His gaze snaps to the television, where everyone else follows. You wipe your face quickly, grabbing Eddie’s hand when it finally finds yours.

“How?” you question when you find your voice.

“They found him strung up on the goal post.” Nancy turns up the sound. “They’re shutting down the school until further notice.”

Jonathan sits up, though his face has fallen in seriosity, his tone doesn’t match. “I mean…” he mutters, “score for school being out.”

“Jonathan!” Robin yells.

Argyle shakes his head, combing his fingers through his hair to fix the straight locks. “I never liked him too much, but killin’ the dude?” He sighs, “Not cool, man.”

You shove yourself off the couch to sit next to Eddie, who’s arm instinctively moves to pull you in. You let yourself be comforted by him as you shake your head. “What did Higgins even do?”

Argyle shrugs. “Everyone wants to kill the principal.”

You roll your eyes at his remark; although true, not entirely helpful. “Yeah, but no one actually does it.”

The phone rings suddenly, a very loud sound that slices through the thick air and makes everyone jump. Nancy rushes to grab it, as she’s already standing. “Hello?” There’s a pause. Her eyes fall on someone in the room, and she holds the phone out. “Robin, it’s your grandmother.”

Robin moves to stand, walking over to grab the phone from Nancy. She holds it up to her ear, mumbles something over the phone, and then hangs up. “She wants me home. She doesn’t feel safe with me out of the house.”

It only takes a couple minutes for the phone to ring again and again and again. Joyce Byers, Karen Wheeler, Wayne Munson. Everyone is called home ASAP (except for you, of course). Your parents are still away on a business trip, entirely unaware that there is a serial killer in Hawkins who’s going around killing teenagers, while their only daughter stays home alone with no one to protect her…

Eddie ends up taking you home. When he drops you off, his leg is bouncing and he seems entirely displeased by the fact that you’re insisting on being here. Something about “in case my parents call” or whatever. Really, you just don’t want Eddie to get tired of you by being around so much…and you don’t want to burden him with the responsibility of protecting you.

“You sure you don’t want to stay with me? I promise Wayne won’t mind.”

His brows are frowning like even they are concerned. You open the door, ignoring the way your hand trembles at the aspect of staying home alone in this circumstance. You hope he doesn’t notice as you give him the most reassuring smile you can handle.

“I’ll be fine,” you insist in an effort to convince even yourself.

Eddie doesn’t believe it. He reaches a hand out to cover yours. “You sure?” He sighs, “I really don’t mind. I can even convince Wayne to let me stay with you tonight, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You shake your head. “I’ll be okay,” you quiet your voice in the hopes that he will hear you better. “Just…call me.”

He stares at you for a long time, shaking his head and looking very upset by the idea of leaving you here alone. With a defeated sigh, he runs a hand down his face and nods. Then she shakes his head. “I’m gonna pick you up before curfew.”

You groan. “Eddie–”

“No,” he says, his tone firm and without room for argument. “I’ll be back at curfew, and you’ll stay the night with me. Okay?”

You hate that it makes you feel better, but it does. With a sigh of half-defeat, you open the door. “Okay.”

He squeezes your hand gently. “Be safe. Lock the doors.”

And the windows, you think to yourself. “I will,” you agree.

You hesitate before grabbing your things and stepping out of his van. You close the door behind you and slowly make your way to your front door. Eddie watches you the whole way, refusing to leave you until you’re safely inside with the door locked.

You unlock the front door with shaky hands, closing your eyes and hoping against all hope that there’s no note waiting for you when you return. You step inside and close the door a little harder than you’re supposed to. It’s at least a solid minute before you hear Eddie’s van driving away.

Now you’re alone.

When they’re a knock at the door, you’re surprised you didn’t hear Eddie pull up. It’s usually very clear when Eddie arrives, he makes sure his entrance is note-worthy. You pull your door open to greet him, having come to terms with the fact that you are happy to be with Eddie tonight. But when the door is open, your shoulders tense and your face falls into something less excited.

“What do you want?” you ask, your tone flat as you stare at the girl on the other side of the door. “You’re not supposed to be out here, it’s almost past curfew.”

Brynn crosses her arms over her chest. “And you’re not supposed to be alone.” When your expression doesn’t change, and you still look very upset, she sighs and holds her hands up in a truce. “I came to apologize.”

You want to turn her away…but it is almost past curfew, and part of you does want to hear what she has to say. You consider it a moment longer and then sigh as you step back to let her in.

You close the door behind her, locking it tight. You pass by Brynn on your way to the kitchen, putting the island between the two of you simply to show her where you’re at. She doesn’t speak right away. She looks like she's trying to decide what to say to you. She reaches for her arm, stroking it lightly before beginning.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “You were right, I should've been on your side, and I wasn’t.” She cards her fingers through her hair. “It’s just been crazy with all these psycho murders, and Jake was out of line for saying that shit to you.”

You cross your arms, though the action is half-hearted. You shift on your feet, nodding slightly. “Yes, he was.”

“I’m really sorry, hon,” she repeats, tilting her head to the side. She steps forward, placing a hand on the island as an olive branch. “Walk me through it. What’s been going on?”

You stare at her for a long time, debating whether you should tell her or not. All you’ve been wanting from her for a long time is just for her to listen to you. Now she’s here offering to do just that, and you’re not even sure you want it anymore…

But, with a sigh, you concede. “I–”

The harsh ringing of the phone cuts you off. You look at it quickly wondering if it’s Eddie saying that he’s on his way. You don’t know who else it could be.

You pick up the phone, bringing it to your ear to greet. “Hello?”

“Hello, my little puppet.”

You practically slam the phone back down. A wave of shock and fear crashes through you, your eyes wide and your heart racing as you stumble back. Brynn is startled into the same state as she clutches her chest. “It’s him.” Your voice trembles, and tears are already springing to your eyes. You didn’t recognize the voice, so you’re still no closer to figuring out who this psycho is.

“Who?” she insists, stepping over to you.

“Fucking—him. The killer,” you stumble over your words, your tongue tied with each syllable you try to get out. “Fucking Ghostface!”

The phone rings again, and you move away from it as quickly as possible. You look frantically to Brynn, as if she’ll have all the answers. As if she knows how to make it stop.

She marches over to the phone, picking it up with a determined look on her face. “Listen–”

You watch her face widen in horror. Her grip on the phone trembles as she seems to stop breathing. She glances over at you, swallowing thickly before quietly passing the phone back to you. You shake your head quickly, still moving away with clumsy steps.

“I don’t want to,” you nearly whisper.

She clears her throat a bit. “I don’t think you have a choice.”

Your fearful sigh trembles as it passes from your lungs. You close your eyes shut, steeling your nerves before reaching out and grabbing the phone. You try to keep your voice steady, but it proves to be futile as your voice wavers on your words. “What do you want?”

“Woah, woah, woah,” the voice says. It’s a strange voice. It sounds almost artificial. “I just wanna talk, sweet girl. I know you’ve been getting my letters, and I know you keep them locked away in your closet to think of me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to contain your sob. Your eyes find Brynn after a moment, who’s terrified by what’s going on. These things aren’t supposed to happen in real life, and yet here you are.

“You’re crazy.”

“Crazy in love with you,” he chuckles.

“What do you want?”

There’s a pause. You hear him inhale. “I want to give you another token of my love,” he says. “Turn on the back porch light.”

Your blood runs cold. You think you literally feel your heart stop in your chest, and you’re almost gasping for air at the feeling. You whip your head to Brynn, then to the glass sliding door in the living room. Your breaths are heavy through the phone. “I don’t–”

“Do it.” His voice lowers to something scarier, and you startle at the sound.

You walk with shaky legs slowly to the living room. Brynn follows you, her movements just as hesitant as she reaches a hand out to grab yours. You squeeze it tight, bracing yourself as you lift your hand to the lightswitch.

You both scream.

Jake sits on the other side of the door with duct tape slapped over his mouth. He’s covered in blood, muffled screams forcing against the tape to no avail. He squirms as he tries to break free of his bindings that keep him stuck to the chair. You try to look away, but he doesn’t like that.

“Look at him,” he says. A sob shakes you as you force your head back. “I got him just for you. I had to break his foot and his arm just to get him here.” You wipe the tears from your face. It’s becoming hard to see. “Don’t be scared, everything’s gonna be just fine.” His voice is a purr in your ear, but not in a way that’s particularly pleasant. Your gut twists uneasily.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Your boyfriend is not as good as you think.” He sounds incredibly upset. You actually hear him growl as he continues. “Think about it, puppet. He ignores you, he makes you feel like you’re crazy, he fucking uses you for sex like you’re some cheap whore. Do you even enjoy when he touches you? When he fucks you?”

You swallow thickly, refusing to answer him as you lift your hand to press against the glass. Jake stares at you, still struggling against his restraints with all the energy he has. You can hear his muffled cries through the door. You open your mouth to speak, struggling to find the words. “Please don’t hurt him,” your voice is weak when you say this.

“And why shouldn’t I?” he questions.

“Because I’m asking you to.” You close your eyes, trying to steady your breath. “If… If you really love me, you won’t hurt him. Please.”

He laughs. “Oh, puppet.” He seems to tsk when he says it. “I’m doing this for you.” His voice takes on a sudden softness that you refuse to admit provides the slightest amount of soothing. “I promise, once this is over, you’ll feel like a brand new you. You don’t need him. You don’t need this. You deserve so much more, so much better than a jockey piece of shit like him.”

You don’t know if your sobs have stopped coming because of his words or because of the fatigue that comes with it. You hope it’s the latter.

“And it’s because I love you that I’m letting you say goodbye.”

Your heart siezes in your chest. “No, no, please!” Your scream triggers Byrnn’s, and she’s pulling your arm to try to figure out what’s going on.

“You have five seconds.” You shout protests, banging on the window and shaking your head in an attempt to stop him, but he doesn't care. “Four, three, two–”

“Bye! Goodbye! Please!”

“Good girl.”

A figure cloaked in a shroud of darkness appears outside the window. It happens so quickly, you don't even have time to process it. He swoops out behind him, a knife glinting in the porch light. Screams fill the house when the knife goes in, and then out, and then in, and then out, and then in and out and in and out–

You grab Brynn’s hand, tearing her away from the window to run. You don’t think about it too much when you do. Brynn is stumbling behind you, having trouble seeing beyond her tears. If he’s outside, surely you can make it to the door fast enough to escape.

You’re quickly proven wrong when you’re stopped right at the threshold of the living room. It can’t be.

You stare right into the face of a ghost, stepping back slowly. He tilts his head slowly to the side, raising his hand and waving one of your kitchen knives from side to side.

“Now where do you think you're going?” He takes two slow, calculated steps toward the both of you. Brynn moves away as you stay planted in your spot. That same warped voice leaks from the mask.

Brynn tugs on your arm, pulling you toward the back door. When you look, the other Ghostface is gone. It's only when she yanks the door open that he jumps in front of you with a teasing “Boo!”

Your throat is scratched rough from your screams. Jake's blood covers his hands and up the length of his arms.

In your haste to get away, to fight, to do anything, you throw your fist out in an attempt to hit him. He catches your wrist with ease, and your stomach flips when he walks you back. He never lets go. You try to hit him again and again and again, to no avail. He turns you in his arms and pulls you to his chest. You feel the sticky, hot blood on your skin. You shout as you will the tears to come.

“Why?” you ramble incoherently. “Why did you have to kill him? Why did you—fuck!”

“Hey, now!” he exclaims, still laughing in your ear. The flat side of his bloodied knife taps your cheek, and you flinch. “You're so excited, and we haven't even gotten to the big surprise.”

You shake your head, struggling to get away from him. “I don't want it. Please, I don't want it.”

He leans down closer to your ear, to the crook of your neck. “Hey, hey. Shh,” he coos.

Your cries calm, turning to stuttering breaths as you stare at the other cloaked man in the room. You almost forget about Brynn.

“Please don't hurt me,” you mutter.

“Hurt you?” He scoffs, letting you go. He turns you around to see him, and you watch his head tilt down to his shoulder. “I would never hurt you, sweetheart.”

Your lips part, and you furrow your brow at his pet name. There's only one person in the world who calls you sweetheart. But the idea of it, of him…

“Why…” You step away. “Why did you call me that?”

He stands there for a moment, contemplating. Then he laughs, raising his gloved hands to his waist and shaking his head. “Well, fuck. Guess I outed myself, huh?” He turns his head to look past you, glancing at his duplicate through dark, empty eyes. “Guess the cat's outta the bag now.”

He reaches his hand to his mask, tucking his fingers beneath it before slowly peeling the mask like skin off his face.

There's an ache in your chest and a twist in your gut when brown eyes stare back at you, smiling, glinting with joy. The tears that slip down your face burn your cheeks like molten lava. Your mind is clouded with the haze of memories flashing in your mind. All the times you held his hand, the same hand that plunged a blade into your boyfriend's chest. All the times you laughed with the same voice now sore with screams. All the times you looked into his brown eyes with the same joyous shine he has in them now. You'd always thought they looked normal. You don't understand how you missed it, the glinting.

Your voice trembles as you struggle to speak, cracking on the apex of his name. “Eddie?”

“Hello, puppet.” He grins with a kind of mischief that takes on a different tone now.

You shake your head and struggle to find the words. “Why? Why would you– I thought– You–”

He pulls you back into him, flush against his chest with his arms around your body. You feel the shape of the blade pressing against your back and try not to move. “Shh, it's okay.” He strokes your back soothingly.

When you pull away you feel the blood he'd smeared on your cheek stick to his cloak. You look down at your clothes, now stained in red, and feel your heart thrumming frantically.

“Hey. C’mon,” the other says. You turn to face him when you hear him closer than you anticipated. You clamp a hand over your mouth when tousled brown hair falls in Steve's face. He runs a hand through his curls and smiles. “No one's gonna hurt you. You're the one we're tryna help here.”

Brynn startles at that, stepping back so quickly she stumbles. You move away from Eddie, backing up to the side so you stand between them and Brynn, so you can face them both and not feel so cornered.

You try to gather the strength to sound threatening, but you don't. You know you don't. “How is this helping me? I thought you were my fucking friends! You– You tricked me!”

“We tricked you?” Steve scoffs. “Honey, we're not the ones sneaking around behind your back.” A tiny smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. “Not really, anyway.”

You pause, your brows knitting together in confusion. “What–” You shake your head, “What do you mean?”

Eddie looks past you, his eyes locking with Brynn’s. They darken in a way that you've only ever seen once or twice before. A hardness takes over the expression on his face until you almost don't recognize the boy you're looking at.

“Go on, then, Brittany.” His voice nearly takes on a growl. There's no humor in his words, no joy. It creates a chill that rushes down your spine as he raises his knife toward her. “Tell her.”

You turn, looking at her from her place on the floor. “Tell me what?”

She slowly rises from the floor, her hands up in defense. “I don't know what they're talking about,” she says slowly. She begins to back into the kitchen, inching away from you as you advance, Steve behind you and Eddie at your side.

You know she's lying. You can hear it in her voice, and you can see it on her face. She's gotten better at it over the years, but she's never been good.

“Tell me what?”

Her eyes go wide at your accusation. Surely there's no way you're going to believe two murderers over her. “Don't listen to them!” She never blinks, she never looks away. Her gaze is sharp.

Eddie walks toward her, the tip of his blade taunting her as she moves away. Eddie’s voice is low and rough, and you’ve never heard him sound so…terrifying. “Tell her how you were letting Jacob plow you every time she looked away.”

“What?” It almost comes out as a whisper. You knew she’d been lying to you about something, but you didn’t know it was this. You wish you could have picked up clues from Jake, but unlike her, he’s a great liar, and you would believe him if he told you he was some long-lost prince of a fairytale kingdom.

But this… You’d hoped for better.

“They’re fucking lying!” she shouts. Her eyes never blink. “They just fucking killed Jake, and now you’re gonna let these fucking psychopaths–”

She’s cut off when a strange sound echoes in the room. You know what it is, you know who it must be. When your eyes fall to the source of the sound, Steve holds out a camera that you recognize from Jake’s room. “Look familiar?” she asks, offering it to you. You glance at Brynn and watch her face shift into something fearful once more. She mutters your name.

You grab the camera, sliding your hand through the band and watching the video playing on the little screen. Your face falls, fear and suspicion being stripped away to something solemn.

It’s taken from within Jake’s bedroom, the desk beneath his window. Your shoulders drop when you see them. Brynn’s on her knees, between his. You watch her head bob as she grips his thighs. You watch his fingers grab a hold of her hair. You listen to him groan, to her gag. You flex your jaw and flex your fingers.

You look up at her as the sounds continue to play, taunting you, mocking you. “You…” You let out a shaky sigh. Your voice is too soft and too calm. “He was cheating on me? With you?” She watches your lip twitch. Your eyes close when you hear the sound of his grunt as he curses, and you know he’s cumming down her lying throat. Her giggle follows soon after.

She shakes her head. “It wasn’t like that. We–” She bumps into the kitchen island, but she doesn’t blink. “We were drunk, and-and it happened so fast—it was only one time!”

“Go to the next video,” Steve says, his voice so close to your ear. You don’t flinch as you take in a slow breath and do as he says.

Your sigh shakes your chest. It feels like someone’s punched you in the chest as you see Brynn on her hands and knees, Jake’s hands on her waist, his hips smacking into her as they moan and grunt and curse. The date is different. In fact, the date is your birthday.

You swallow thickly, quickly passing the camera back to Steve as you bring a hand to your neck. You stare at the floor, unable to look at her as you close your eyes and beg Steve to turn it off. You can still hear them…laughing at you. What a stupid girl. A stupid girl who thinks we love her.

“Why…” You don’t finish your question, supposing that’s enough. “How could you do this to me?” Your voice trembles, and you can’t find it within you to care. She doesn’t say anything, she just keeps staring. Your voice gets a little stronger, a little louder. “You were supposed to be my friend. You were supposed to be my best friend.”

She licks her lips. “Look, I–”

“You were fucking him behind my back!” you shout, walking toward her again. Every step you take toward her, she takes back. “How long?”

“Listen–”

“Shut your mouth,” Steve snaps.

Eddie almost startles you when you hear him at your side. You feel the warmth of his presence against your shoulder, you hear his voice by your ear. “She betrayed you,” he whispers in your ear in a clear disgust, his voice a low hum. “Just like Jacob, she ignored you and made you think you were crazy. She fucked your boyfriend. She’s supposed to be your closest friend, and she hurt you like this.” He shakes his head. His breath is warm against the shell of your ear. “Doesn’t it just make you wanna hurt her?”

You blink blankly. “I… No, I don’t…” You sigh, “I don’t want…to hurt her.” You don’t sound so sure. You don’t feel so sure. And that scares you.

“Don’t you?” Steve wonders. You turn to look at him and the glare in his eyes. You hear Eddie huff when Steve wraps an arm around your midsection, pulling your side into his chest. “She's been lying to you this whole time. I mean, how do you know she wasn't just using you to be close to him, huh?”

She shakes her head. “That's not true. We were friends before–”

“Shut up!” you yell, your head snapping back to her as you shove Steve's arm from you. You can't keep it in, the anger is boiling in your chest and it feels like poison in your throat. You just have to get it out. “Don't say a goddamn word, you lying whore.”

You scare her into silence. The anger shifts into something sad, and you hate that your lips tremble.

Your voice, though quiet now, is rough when you speak. “You never spent time with me, you weren't there for me when I needed you. I told you about the letters, and you didn't believe me. You fucking—You betrayed me.”

“That’s right!” Eddie exclaims. His hand comes to cup the side of your neck, pulling your temple to his lips as he nods giddily. He presses his mouth to your skin, and you hate to admit that his kiss feels nice. “She did. She betrayed you and your trust, and she should pay for it. Shouldn't she, puppet?”

Brynn’s fear twists into pure disgust. “You’re fucking crazy–”

“See, she keeps saying that,” he says, raising the knife at her again. He keeps hold of you, murmuring in your ear like a demon on your shoulder. “But I’m the only person who’s had your back all this time. I’ve listened to your problems, I’ve helped you through them. I’ve been there for you.” He breathes in the scent of your hair. “Me and Steve, we did all this for you.”

Steve’s in your other ear, his hand crossing over your midsection once more. You’re stuck between them, boxed in by their warm bodies as they whisper in your ear. You make no move to stop them. “And didn’t she call you crazy, too?” He smiles, “You told her about Ed’s love letters, and they said you were delusional. You told them you were afraid, he called you a whiny bitch. You ran out of the house with a killer on the loose, and neither of them went after you.”

“But you’re not delusional, are you? You’re not a whiny bitch. You know what you are?” Eddie kisses your temple once more, “You’re just like us. You’re hurt, and you want to destroy the thing that hurt you.” The idea makes you warm, and you assume it’s the rage. “And she’s hurt you so bad, you could just…kill her, couldn’t you?”

“Fuck you!”

Her voice breaks you from their embrace. You all turn to look at her, watching her now confident with anger. Eddie and Steve take a step away, letting you go. They want to see what you’ll do.

“I fucking told you he was fucking crazy,” she spits. “We kept telling you there was something wrong with him, and you never fucking listened to us. And now? Now six people are fucking dead—Jake is fucking dead. And it’s all your fault–!”

A scream rises from your chest and into your throat, but it’s not the type of scream that reaches the top of your voice and screeches. It’s the kind of scream that stays in your throat. It’s rough and it’s guttural. You clench your fist and rush toward her with nothing but red in your sight.

You don’t even fully realize it when you hit her. It’s like you black out, letting go and dissolving yourself to your most basic instincts as you knock her to the floor. She shouts, and when you kick her in the side, she moans out loud in pain and fear. It only fuels you, fuels the heat in your fists, in your head, curling in your chest.

You wrestle her onto her back and straddle her waist, punching her again when she tries to protest. She screams and cries and the blood that comes from her mouth or the cuts on her face makes it worse. You keep punching her, but each punch isn’t enough to quell the scream in your throat. Your skin of your knuckles split, your fists become covered in your blood and hers.

Eddie and Steve are cheering you on, but Eddie’s voice is the loudest. He laughs and claps his hands, yelling, “That’s it! Yes, my good fuckin’ girl, make her pay for what she did to you.” The excitement and the anger keep mixing in his tone, and there’s so much of it that he can’t even control what he wants. “Make her pay for breaking your heart.”

You hit and hit and hit until you run out of strength to continue.

She lays there, her head swaying from side to side as she whimpers and coughs, unable to breathe. She looks bad, bloodied and bruised. But it’s still not enough. You sit there, gasping for air as you stare at her.

Something enters your peripheral, and when you see it, it shines. Eddie's gloved hand, still stained with Jake’s blood, wraps around your own. He lifts it to grasp the handle of his knife, squeezing tight to secure your grip. He lets go, and you hold on still, staring at the blade in quiet contemplation.

“Do it,” he whispers. He grabs your other hand, he wraps it around the first. “Do it.” He lets you go and steps back.

You look down at Brittany. Your best friend. Your enemy.

She shakes her head weakly. Her voice is scratchy, unintelligible. “No,” she whimpers, her words sticky. “No, please. Don’t–”

You don’t let her finish.

It takes a lot more effort than you thought it would. When you bring it down, it hardly goes as deep as you meant it. When you pull it back out, it takes a lot of core strength, you have to clench your teeth and flex your abdomen. You try again and again and again. It feels good. Fuck that, it feels amazing. You shove the blade into her chest and the blood stains your hands, and you seek out the feeling over and over.

You hadn’t expected it to be so quiet.

Eddie makes no noise, neither does Steve. Your grunts feel silent in your ear. Even the squelch of the knife tearing from flesh and meat and bone sounds like nothing. Your blood thrums in your ears, and your heart thumps in your chest. It’s a silent rush that reaches a pique, and once it’s met, you feel the strength and the rage and all the intense emotion pouring out of you like the crashing fall of water.

You gasp for breath as you sit there, and it’s the only sound you hear.

Your eyes find your hands still grasping the handle, soaked in crimson and dripping. You huff, staring at it. It’s all you can do, stare.

It hits you all at once as you let the blade clatter to the floor. It’s the only sound you hear. You rush off of her, looking down at your clothes, stained. Everything is stained, everything is red. Your heart is rushing, your breath is catching, your hands are dripping.

You look at her face, deformed from your fists, stained with more red. She stares at the ceiling. She never blinks.

“Wha–” You huff, looking at your hands and her face and her chest and your clothes and– “Wha-What did I do? What– I, no, I ca–” You drop your head to your hands and then shout when you feel sticky blood on your skin. “Oh, God, I–” You turn to Eddie, so overwhelmed that you can’t even cry. Your clothes feel too tight, and you can’t see straight. And the lights, and the floor. The fucking—the walls are too close. And– “You—Oh, my fucking G– I–” Your breaths turn into a broken, tearless sob. “Eddie– I… Fuck. Eddie, I c–” You’re getting too dizzy, and you start to feel sick. “E– Fuck, wha–”

Eddie scoops you up into his arms. You fight his embrace at first, but that just makes everything worse. He shushes you and pets your hair. He pulls you against his body and tries to calm you, so you cling with all the strength you have left. “Hey, shh, shh. It’s okay, sweetheart. Hey, baby, you’re okay. Shh, shh.”

Your breaths slow enough for the spinning to stop. You slump into his body when the tension leaves you. When Eddie hears your breaths even out and feels your weight in his arms, he pulls you away from him to see your face. His hand cups your face as his thumb strokes your cheek gently.

“You’re just like us now,” he whispers. “You’re not crazy, you’re free.” He brushes stray hairs from your forehead and brushes his knuckles along the underside of your jaw. “Free of Jason Carver, who called me a freak. Free of Cassidy Franklin, who threatened your job.”

Steve continues. “Free of Tommy H, who insulted you and treated me like shit.”

Eddie nods, seeming particularly proud. “Free of your cheating boyfriend, who didn’t give a fuck about you.”

“Free of your lying friend, who betrayed your trust.”

Eddie takes your face in his hands, watching you with eyes that never show you anything but affection. “You can be whoever you want to be. And we’ll always be here for you. I will always be here for you. I can be what you need.”

You swallow thickly, searching his eyes for a lie. But he’s never had a reason to truly lie to you. You’ve always been able to trust him. He’s always been there for you. All he’s ever done was to make you happy. Your lips part in a sigh. “You will?”

“Yes, sweetheart. I love you,” he says. His voice is brimming with his confession. His hands tighten just the slightest around your head as he pulls you closer. “You are everything to me. I would kill for you. I would die for you. I would die without you.”

Eddie leans in quickly, and you panic.

You turn your head, feeling his lips on your cheek. You use your arms to separate you, holding your fists to your chest and shaking your head. “N-No,” you mutter. It's not right.

“Shh,” he whispers, turning your face with gentle movements. “Everything's gonna be okay, puppet.”

He kisses you. You breathe into it, trying not to fall for the feeling of his lips pressing into yours, but finding it inevitable. You close your eyes and feel yourself melt. You flatten your hands against his chest, and then ball the fabric of his robe in your fists. When the slightest whimper slips between your lips, Eddie groans into your mouth and his kiss becomes less affectionate.

He bites your lip, moving one hand to the back of your neck and the other to wrap around your waist. You sigh, biting back and tugging on his shirt. When his hand wanders to your side, and then up to your chest, your lips go slack against his when he gropes your breast through your shirt.

It pulls you from the depth you’d gotten lost in. He slides his hand beneath your shirt, and the chilly air makes you shrink away from him. You let go of his shirt, pushing him away with a grunt. “No.”

“Hey,” he tries to soothe. “It’s okay.”

You shake your head. This is wrong. You should not be holding him, kissing him. You push him off of you, shoving him away as you rush to stand. You remember Steve when he steps forward. You continue to back away, you need to get away.

Eddie calls your name, but you only shake your head once more. He reaches for you. You scramble to your feet and run. They don’t chase you right away. Not when you make for the stairs because they’re blocking your exits. Not when you slam your bedroom door shut and lock it tight. Not when you open your bedroom window and stare down at the bottom, unsure of your ability to make the jump.

When you hear their footsteps on the stairs, you panic again. You keep the window open, rushing to the closet and closing the door behind you as you hide behind the clothes hung around you. You can see the letters on the floor, the rose, the doll.

“Open the door, baby,” Eddie’s voice comes, muffled from your spot in the closet. He knocks on the door three slow times. You close your eyes and cover your mouth and nose. You can feel yourself shaking, your lungs struggling to keep up with your attempt at silence.

“We’re not gonna hurt you,” Steve joins. “We pinky promise.”

“Is this a game?”

“Do you like playing games?”

“Do you wanna play with us?”

“Unlock the door, and we can play all night long.”

You hear the door knob jiggle. The faintest sound of the lock clicking makes your blood run cold, and you stop moving entirely upon hearing the door open.

Deep footsteps are heard as they step into the room, their heavy boots adding to your impending doom. Your gut twists, your lungs seize, your heart pounds in your chest. You’re silent as a mouse, better than that.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Eddie sings.

“There’s only so many places you can hide.”

You hear their boots stomp over to the window. Then there’s a pause. You stare wide-eyed in the darkness, seeing nothing but the doors and hearing everything outside of the sound of your blood rushing through your ears. “Come on, sweetheart, you know we’re gonna find you. And when we do, we’ll treat you right.” He sighs gently, his voice still sing-songy as he wonders aloud. “I wonder where she could be…”

His footfalls stop in front of the closet doors, and you feel the tension releasing from your body as you feel yourself giving up. The doors open in a slow, taunting manner, and the mask stares back at you with a tilted head.

“Boo.”

He grabs you, though his grip is not unkind. Eddie crowds you as he brings you to your bed, blocking your hands when you try to hit him, escaping your legs when you try to kick him. He shushes you again, though he’s still laughing.

“What’s the matter, puppet? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

He continues to wrestle with you until you feel the fight leaving you, ounce by ounce until you lay on the bed with limbs heavy with exhaustion. He pins your wrists at either side of your head, watching reluctant tears slip down the side of your face and disappear into your hairline.

You shake your head weakly. “Please don’t hurt me, Eddie.” Your voice is nearly a whisper.

He tilts his head. “I would never hurt you.” He leans down to whisper in your ear, and the fabric tickles the skin of your neck when it brushes you. “I just need you to know just how much I love you.”

You shiver, still shaking your head and trying to stifle the feelings in your body. It’s too much to focus on, too much to think about. “It’s not right,” you cry. “I killed Brynn. You killed Jake and Cassidy and–” You cut yourself off. “I just want it to be over.”

“It is over.” Eddie gathers your wrists into one hand, the other trailing down the length of your arm. You shudder and feel yourself trying to squirm away from him (you assume). “Everyone who hurt us is gone.” His hand presses into your side. “Anyone who would hurt us will be.” You sigh when his hand strokes your thigh. “We can be together, finally.” Your breath stutters when you feel his hand slip between your thighs, where you’ve pressed them tightly together. You bite down hard on your bottom lip when his hand cups your clothed cunt.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

His palm grinds into your mound, and you stifle your sigh as you squeeze your eyes shut. Steve’s voice fills your ears. “C’mon, honey,” he says, his voice almost as breathy as Eddie’s has become. “He just wants you to be happy.”

Your breath hitches when you feel him undoing your pants. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” His hand slips past the band of your panties, beneath the fabric that had been keeping him from you. Your lips part slightly when you feel the warm pad of his finger press against your clit. You squeeze your thighs tight. “I want you to be happy.”

You moan when he circles your clit, feeling the uneasy pleasure begin to tease your nerves. He stays there for a moment before letting his finger part your folds. You whine against your tight lips when you feel another hand find your thigh. Steve spreads them apart, and you hate how exposed you feel. You hate how little you care about being exposed to them.

Eddie’s hand in your panties, his finger teasing the opening of your pussy. It swirls in your mind and makes it hard to focus on resisting. It feels good, and you hate that it feels good. It’s a sick, twisted pleasure that makes you feel uneasy but oh, so good.

“Safe,” he coos, pressing his thick finger into the warmth of your cunt with a sigh. Your mouth falls open with every inch he puts inside of you. Your legs spread on their own accord, and you open your eyes as you stare down the empty eyes of a ghost.

He strokes his finger in and out of you, a steady pace that sets every nerve ending on fire. You find your hips rolling into his hand, searching for more and then squirming away and then searching him out once more. When your back arches as he curls his finger, his voice sounds almost strained as he watches you. “Loved.”

You moan as he picks up the pace, the steady stroke of his finger becoming an insistent thrust of two long digits inside of you. You bite your lip and moans as he fucks you with his fingers, curling and thrusting and making you feel the pleasure he knows you deserve.

When you catch sight of Steve, it’s the first time you notice the camera. The red light stares you down as he films the way you wet Eddie’s hand with your arousal, the way you arch your back with each movement, the way your mouth falls open and breathy moans come out of you.

“That’s it, baby. Watch the camera,” Steve grunts.

Eddie laughs breathily. “Such a good girl,” he rasps. “A good, greedy girl. A greedy girl who wants to cum on my fingers. Huh? You gonna cum on my fingers, greedy girl?”

You tug at your wrists, and he lets one of them go just to see what you'll do. When you grip his forearm, holding onto him tight as you keen into him, he groans.

“Don't…” It's so quiet, he doesn't catch it. Eddie leans in and hums, coaxing you to speak again as you look at him with hazy eyes. “Don't stop.”

Eddie has no choice but to stop. When you whine, he almost loses his head. His eyes never tear away from your own after he pulls the mask off his head. You watch as he begins to strip, dropping his robes, and then his shirt and his pants. He takes off everything he's got on until he's standing naked in front of you.

You flush at the sight of him in all his glory. The lines of his muscles are soft and entrancing. Black ink decorates his pale skin, and your breath catches as you stare at all the illustrations. God, he's perfect. His smooth skin, his wild hair, the curve of his long cock stiff and flushed.

“You like what you see?” Eddie chuckles deeply. “What about Steve, hm?”

You tear your eyes away from him to see the boy in question. You watch as he follows suit, stripping to nothing but skin. You stare at the patch of hair on his chest, the shape of his abs (soft, but not as soft as Eddie's), the thickness of his cock heavy between his legs.

“Don't stare too long, puppet,” Eddie mutters. “I'll let him have a taste of you, but you're mine.”

You swallow thickly, staring at Eddie, his darkened brown eyes—though offering a different kind of clarity now—still the same ones that comforted you when you were upset about your boyfriend. The same eyes you saw when he gave you a ride home in the middle of the night. The same eyes that want you and only you.

Your timid fingers reach up and brush the skin of his cheek. “Eddie,” you whisper. He gazes back at you. You lick your lips, letting out a sigh and deciding in that moment. He loves you more than anyone else ever could.

“I'm yours,” you agree. “I'm yours.”

Eddie kisses you like he's afraid to lose you again. He kisses you like he thinks you might run away again. But why run away from someone who's only ever protected you? Why run away from someone who has freed you from those who have only hurt you? Why run away from someone who loves you more than you could possibly know?

You wrap your hand around the back of his head and keep him close, tasting his lips against yours, along with the faint metallic taste of blood on your tongue. You moan into his mouth, seeking more of him as you bite down on his lip and grasp his tongue between your teeth.

You let him go, your breaths shallow and bated. “Make me yours,” you whisper.

Eddie attacks your lips, dipping his head into the crook of your neck and marking you up with teeth and tongue. He red and purples your skin, claiming you as his own.

You roll your body into his, seeking out the pleasure he intends to give. His hands find your clothes, both of them gripping the top of your shirt. You yelp when he rips it down the middle, tearing your shirt in two until you shed it like skin. He pulls your pants off of your body with no love or remorse for the fabric, crueler with your panties and bra as he rips them apart.

Steve snatches your underwear up, bringing them to his nose and letting his eyes flutter shut as he inhales your sweet scent. “Fuck,” he sighs thickly. “She's amazing.”

“You're telling me,” Eddie says, his tongue laving along your nipple. You arch your back up into him, reveling in the feeling of his hot mouth on your skin.

Steve kneels on the bed, filming you with one hand stroking his cock. Eddie's lips find the spot below your belly button, kissing with teeth before dipping low once more.

Your hand grips the sheets beneath you when Eddie's mouth finds your cunt. His lips wrap around you as he laps at your folds. His tongue dips inside of your hole, licking into you with a deep moan that sends shivers down your spine.

Your fingers find his hair, tangling themselves in his messy locks and tugging hard. In return, he claws at your thighs and at the meat of your ass with dull nails, pulling you as close as he can get you as he breathes in your scent and devours you like he's been starved for a thousand years.

The heat and the pleasure and the pain mix together into this unintelligible mess. You allow yourself to be lost to the sensations, to drown in the darkness that surrounds you.

It's sort of poetic.

All your life, all you have ever done was for the pleasure and the benefit of everyone around you. You smiled when you were told to smile, you've cared for people who have never cared for you. You've let your parents leave you, you've let your best friend forget about you, you've let your boyfriend use your mouth and your body for his pleasure and leave you to rot.

But Eddie is different. He doesn’t care. You taint yourself with the blood of a friend, and he kisses your reddened lips, he holds your crimson-soaked hands, he licks the slick from your dripping cunt with the fervor of a mad man. Eddie whispers his love and devotion in your ear and tells you he will always love you.

Steve's mouth on yours is unexpected, but you take it in stride. Your nose bumps his chin as you suck on his top lip. His roaming hand strokes your side, finding your chest and squeezing your tit in his greedy palm. You moan, reveling in the attention—Eddie’s tongue lapping between your legs, Steve’s tongue licking at your chest. You card your fingers through their hair. You grasp and grip and tug. When they moan, you tug again. When you moan, they suck and hold you tighter.

When Eddie pulls away from his spot between your thighs, he shoves Steve’s head to the side so he can see your face. “Hey,” he mutters, though the hostility is half-hearted. He sits back, focusing on keeping the camera on you once more.

Eddie’s fingers return to the seam of your cunt, filling you and making you gasp. “Does it feel good, puppet?” he asks. “Getting all this attention from us? Do you like when I eat out this greedy little pussy? Do you like when Steve sucks on your tits?”

You can’t think with the rhythm of his fingers inside of you. They thrust and curl, and you moan as you find yourself grinding your hips into his palm. “Please,” you murmur, struggling to find the words to properly beg him.

“She’s so sweet, isn’t she?” Steve asks, still reaching for your breasts to flick the nipple. You hold onto Eddie’s arm, trying to keep him where he’s at as you continue to grind into his palm.

“She’s greedy. That’s what she is,” he smiles. “You wanna cum, sweetheart? Do you want to come on my hands?” You nod, feeling him pumping his fingers in and out of you. “You look so nice like this, moaning on my hands, covered in blood. Like a fucking angel.”

You’d almost forgotten about the blood. By now, with everything you’ve just gone through, with your choice to be with Eddie, with your decision to stop caring and let Eddie love you, you find that you don’t mind much. Eddie loves you, and if he loves you covered in blood as well, then you’ll gladly let it smear.

Eddie sighs longingly when you moan, arching your back and riding his palm. “That’s it, baby. Use my hand to get off. There you go,” he rambles, thrusting and curling his fingers to get you closer to where he wants you to be.

“Eddie,” you moan. “Eddie, I’m gonna cum.” He gets back to his knees, still fingering you as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. He licks and laps and does all that he can to feel you unravel by his hands, by his lips, by his touch.

Steve strokes his cock as he watches, letting heavy sighs fall past his lips. “Fuck, she looks so fuckin’ pretty.” He gropes you, flicking your nipple and massaging your tit and loving the way you gasp. “Keep going just like that, Ed. She's almost there.”

Your hips jerk up into his mouth. Eddie leans forward and holds you down, becoming more and more insistent in tasting you. He's completely consumed by your perfect thighs at either side of his head, clamping down around him as you reach the apex of your pleasure.

When you cum, your hands tug at his hair and your moan is more reminiscent of a sob as he licks you through it. “Oh, fuck,” you gasp. You moan his name and ride his face, and almost ignore the fact that he needs to breathe.

When your body stops trembling and your moans turn to heavy breaths, he pulls away from you. His chin glistens with your arousal, and he licks his pink, swollen lips with a thick sigh.

You're surprised when Eddie's hand smacks your thigh. A slight shout escapes your throat, and you wince at the pain that spreads along your body. He soothes the skin with his palm, gripping the flesh once more before delivering another smack. You stifle your cry this time.

“Does that hurt, baby?” he asks, his tone not as sympathetic. You nod. “Do you want me to stop?”

You open your eyes and shake your head. “No.”

His smile is nothing if not malicious. “Perfect.” He bends down, and his kiss is all-consuming. For a moment, you struggle to keep up, but finding your footing isn't difficult. When his hand wraps around the back of your head, you nip his tongue. When he grunts, you tilt your head. When he pulls away, you tug on his lip before letting it slap against his bottom teeth.

He smiles, letting out a long breath. “Your lips are so soft.” He kisses you quickly. “I wonder how they'd feel wrapped around my dick.”

You whine, sitting up and grabbing his shirt in your balled fist. You feel Steve behind you, pressing his body into your back to sandwich you between them. His lips brush your ear, you can tell he's struggling not to kiss you.

Eddie pulls back, diving his face into your shoulder and biting into your flesh. You turn your head toward Steve, feeling his lips at the corner of your mouth.

“Do you wanna kiss me?” you whisper to Steve, who ignores your question and dips his head into your neck. You feel their lips and teeth and tongue against your skin.

You close your eyes, breathing through thinly parted lips as they taste your skin, having their fill of you. Steve's head switches to the other side, bumping Eddie's gently. He looks up, staring at Steve. You see him offer a grin, leaning in and biting his lip.

Eddie shoves Steve back, his actions playful but definite. Steve looks back at him with a grin and hooded eyes. You get shoved next, laying flat on your back. Eddie steps back, walking around the bed until he's bending down to kiss you again, just as Steve had done to you before.

“Open your mouth,” he mutters against your lips. You open your eyes to look at him, letting your mouth fall open just as he told you. You want him to feel as good as he made you.

Eddie takes his cock in his hand, stroking it a couple times before placing his tip at the plush of your lips. You dart your tongue out to lick at the slit of his cock, eliciting the slightest wince. One of his hands covers the length of your throat, the other cradles the back of your head. Eddie pushes his cock past your lips and into the warmth of your mouth, sighing at the feeling as you close your lips around him.

“Fuck, that’s nice,” he groans, sliding in and out of your mouth in slow strokes.

“I bet it is,” Steve mutters. He watches, envy soaked into his skin as he holds the camera still.

The bed dips when Steve gets on it. Eddie’s head is thrown back in bliss as he thrusts his cock slowly into your mouth, going deeper and deeper with each thrust until he can feel the length of him stretching your throat. He can tell you’ve had practice because you don’t immediately gag. He pushes his cock so far into your mouth that your chin presses against his pelvis.

Steve straddles you, bending down to your chest and wetting your chest with his tongue. He sucks on your nipples, bites the flesh of your tits. He paints the valley of your breasts with saliva before moving himself further up your body and pressing your tits together.

You gag on Eddie's cock when Steve's slides between the split of your tits. His moan is deep and broken as he throws his head back. “Fuck,” he breathes. “God, she's perfect.”

You press your hand to Eddie's waist, pushing him back until his dick slips from the warmth of your mouth. You turn your head to the side to cough, catching your breath as your mind races with the strange sensation of Steve thrusting between your tits.

When Eddie thinks you've gotten enough air, he tilts your head back again to push himself back inside. Your throat is tight around his cock. It squeezes around his length, and you struggle to take him as your lungs seize and your gagging stalls.

He curses, feeling the way your pretty throat bulges. Steve grabs your hands, guiding you to hold your tits together so he can grab the camera from its propped position on the bed.

“Got a good shot?” Eddie asks, his laughter mixing with a grunt.

“Fuckin’ perfect shot,” he says. “Shit, she might finish me like that.”

Precum leaks from his aching tip, spilling onto your chest, your neck. When Eddie pulls out to let you breathe, you gasp and cough once more, letting your breathy moans fill the air and imagining how ruined you must look covered in blood and precum with Steve fucking your tits and Eddie fucking your throat.

God, it's a sinful sight, and you just hope they'll let you watch the video when this is all over.

Your thoughts are interrupted by Eddie when he opens your mouth again to shove his cock back into it.

Steve sounds absolutely dreadful. The camera is unstill as he struggles to keep it together, his hips moving too fast. He's sure he's going to blow soon if he doesn't let up, but how is he supposed to when you're pressing your breasts so tightly together around his cock.

You don't see it, but you hear the way their lips briefly smack together over the sound of your gags and your glistening skin.

“F-fuck,” Eddie grunts, pressing his cock down your throat and keeping it there for just a moment before he pulls out. You gasp for breath as he grips the base of his cock, staving off his release with a rough sigh.

He hears the way Steve's sounds have begun to rise, and his chuckle is almost evil as he pulls your hands away to let them fall away from him. Steve huffs, grabbing your tits himself, but ultimately being pushed off of you by his “friend”.

Steve, pent up and frustrated as he feels his release declining into something bitter, hits the bed with a heavy palm and lets himself fall forward onto your chest. He sits there for a moment, balling his fist and trying not to punch something.

“Fuck, I was so close.” He shouts at Eddie, shoving him away. “Why’d you do that? She's mine, too!”

Eddie moves over to him, crowding his space with that same malicious grin on his face. “I said you could fuck her tits, but you can't go inside or cum on her.”

“Stupid rules. I'm not gonna cum in her,” he argued, shoving him again.

Eddie feeds off of it, and Steve can tell. “My girl, my rules.” A third shoves satiates Steve enough to stand down, shaking his head and muttering about fairness.

Eddie wraps his hand around the back of his neck and brings him in close. “You can cum on her next time,” he promises.

Steve thinks about it, looking Eddie's face up and down in thoughtful silence. When his eyes find yours, he smiles a little and nods. “Fine.”

Eddie pats his cheek before turning back to you. “Sorry, baby. Where were we?”

On one hand, you should be annoyed that Eddie is trying to pass you around like a whore. On the other, it feels nice to be desired like this. They're fighting over you, and you're flattered. A shiver runs down your spine at the aspect of letting Steve use your body, and then paint it in his gratitude. You're excited for next time…

You move to stand, walking toward him and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You bring him down to kiss you again, moaning into his mouth and making sure he can taste himself on your lips just as much as you can taste yourself on his.

When Eddie gets excited, he shows you by shoving you back by your chest. You stare at him as he walks forward, turning you around harshly with your back pinned to his front. He whispers in your ear, “I'm gonna fuck you better than Jake ever could.”

A wave rushes down your spine, and you shudder. “Please,” you whisper. “I need you, Eddie.”

His sigh is shaky. His hands tighten around your arms, pulling you impossibly closer. “Want me to use this little pussy? Fuck it so hard, it's puffy and sore?”

You curse under your breath, nodding as you struggle to keep it together. “Yes, Eddie. Please. I need you.”

He pushes you down onto the bed, bending you over by the waist and feeling the round of your ass with greedy hands.

Steve snatches up the camera from the bed once more, holding it still and making sure to capture Eddie's hand slapping down against your ass. You yelp, your body jerking at the sensations.

Eddie doesn't bother soothing over the spot this time. He just hits you again and again and again. He hits you with uncaring hands until your bottom is sore and flushed with color. “Fuck, I love this pretty little ass.” He grabs it harshly, hitting you again.

The tears at your eyes can only be described as pathetic. You grip the sheets, your face messy with your tears.

Eddie wraps his arm around your neck and pulls you up harshly. “You still need me? Hm?” His voice is heavy, and he sounds almost upset. “You still want me fuck this little cunt of yours?”

He brings his other hand to your stomach and rakes his dull fingers across. You clench your jaw and close your eyes at the pain that spreads across your body. You flex your stomach when his nails reach the other side of your chest, your breaths picking up once he finishes.

“You still want me?” He asks darkly. “Do you still love me?”

After a moment, the stinging mixes into something strange and you nearly feel yourself going limp in his arms. He holds you up, his face still tucked in your neck.

“Yes,” you answer breathlessly. “I love you, Eddie. There's nothing you could do that would make me stop loving you.”

Eddie's heavy breaths fill the silence between you. “Yeah?”

You nod, your voice quieter but no less genuine. “Yes. Please fuck me. Cum in me and make me yours.”

Eddie curses as he pushes you back down onto the bed. He spreads your legs wide making sure your pussy is ready for him as he thrust a finger into the wet heat.

Eddie's cock sits deep inside of you. He holds you tightly by your waist as he thrusts so far that you think you can feel him in your fucking throat.

You grip the sheets, moaning and sighing as you try to adjust to him. Eddie's hands press against your back and push you more into the bed as he pulls out slowly. When he thrusts back in, it makes a loud smacking sound that makes you wet and dripping.

Soon, Eddie's thrusts are cruel. He fucks you in fast, rough strokes of his cock. You moan in whiny breaths, your voice high and heavy. The tears are returning, and you can't keep them at bay.

“That’s it,” Steve rasps. “Fuck her hard, Eddie. Make her cry for the camera.”

The feeling of Eddie's cock pushing against a deep spot within you has your eyes rolling. You melt into the bed and moan every time his hips snap into you. He fucks you ruthlessly and without remorse. You cry out and reach for something to hold.

You ramble nonsensically, telling him how good he feels, how good you feel. You tell him not to stop, and you tell him that you love him.

Steve tugs on his cock, desperately fisting himself in search of the same pleasure he'd had in his hands before Eddie took it away from him. He continues to encourage Eddie, who continues to fuck you. You let yourself succumb to the pleasure of Eddie's thrusts and the occasional smack that spread like wildfire through your skin. You let yourself succumb to Steve's words, filling your mind with dirty phrases and nothing more.

Your limbs are like jelly, and you decide that it feels better not to think as you let yourself be fucked.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Doin’ so good f’me.” “God, that's it. Take it like a little whore.” “Take it, take it, take it.” “You like being fucked like a slut for Eddie, hm?”

Their words mix together into a messy blurb in your head. You let it garble up, because at the end of the day, it feels good and it's white noise that makes you squelch around his cock.

You nearly cry when Eddie pulls out of you. It's a sudden thing that takes you by surprise and tears your pleasure away. He has to stop you with his hand over your mouth as he turns you over onto your back.

“Lemme see your pretty face while I fuckin’ ruin you.” He spreads your lower lips, thrusting his fingers inside of you once more and feeling how wet you are as you moan. “No one else is gonna be able to touch you after this. You know that right? No one is going to be able to fuck you as good as us. Isn't that right, Stevie?”

He kisses your temple. “That's right,” he huffs. “This pussy is ours. You understand?”

You nod, keening for their touch. “Yes. Yes, I understand.” You push your chest up to show it off, looking straight down the camera as Steve shoves it in your face. “Ruin me, please.”

It's hard not to concede after that.

Eddie thrusts inside of you once more, and you're so wet that he slips in with ease. Your eyes flutter, and you blindly reach out for Steve before grasping his cock in your hand. Steve lets you jerk him off, tugging and twisting, squeezing his cock in your tiny palm and letting his head fall back when you do.

Eddie holds your waist tight as he fucks you, his cruelty as blissful punch inside of you. The pad of his thumb circles your clit, encouraging your pleasure as you moan and whimper for this man who would do anything for you.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, accompanied by moans and rough grunts and ramblings. A light sheen of sweat coats your body as the heat fills you inside and out.

Eddie bends down, tucking his face in your neck as his nose traces the shell of your ear. “Do you feel good, puppet?” You nod, your vision hazy and your mind numb. “You promise?”

Again you nod. “Yeah.”

A rough thrust makes his whole body flex, makes you cry into his ear. “Good,“ he says. “I love you, and I'm gonna make sure this perfect fucking cunt knows it. I'm gonna be so good to you, sweetheart. You know that?”

You nod, wrapping your legs around him as you continue to tug at Steve's cock. One of his hands wraps around yours, tightening and keeping you steady as he huffs.

“Love you,” you mumble, your mind so jumbled that the words are almost incoherent. “‘M yours.”

He moans, his thrusts becoming shorter and harder. You can feel yourself getting closer with every circle of his thumb.

“All mine,” he grunts.

Steve listens to the pattern of your breaths, the lilts of your moans. He smiles and strokes a little faster. “Just like that, Eddie. She's gonna cum.”

“I know she is,” he laughs. “Perfect little slut’s gonna cum on my cock like the whore she is. She's gonna moan, and she's gonna scream my fuckin’ name. Aren't you, baby?”

You nod, going on about something in the haze of pleasure.

When Eddie's deep grunts turn into weaker sounding moans, you know he's close. When your belly flexes and he can feel you clamping around him, Eddie knows you're close. When Steve jerks your hand too quickly back and forth along the head of him, you know he's close.

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” Eddie moans, feeling his coming.

You do as you're told, and you do as you want. You go blind with pleasure, and your back arches as your release comes crashing down around you. You gasp and cry out Eddie's name on a broken sob as the pleasure wrecks you in the most beautiful way.

As you flutter around his cock, clenching and gushing, Eddie loses his head. He fist clenches in the sheets, still circling your clit in lazy circles as he fucks his cock deep inside of you. His groans are weak as he lets his mouth hang open, taking in the smell of you as he spills deep inside of your wet heat.

Steve, envious of your closeness, follows after, imagining the shape of your cunt, how'd you squeeze him. His warmth spills out over the sheets and into the palm of your hand, his sounds joining with yours until it's a symphony of heavy breaths and gasping moans and lazy strokes of skin on skin.

The air is thick and charged for a while, all of you refusing to slow down as you continue to drag this out for as long as you can. When you physically can't prolong it anymore, you feel your limbs grow heavy and your body releases all the tension left inside. You let yourself go limp on the sheets, still filled by Eddie as you continue to give Steve slow, lazy strokes.

Eddie brushes hair from your face, pulling back enough to kiss you sweetly. When you can see his face, you smile at the sight of his sweetness returning. It's the Eddie you're used to, the Eddie you first loved. You're getting to love all of these versions of himself.

Eddie kisses all over your face, seemingly unphased by the taste of nearly dried blood. “I love you,” he whispers into your skin with every kiss until he's kissed every last inch of you, covering you with his love. “How do you feel, baby?”

You smile lazily at him, holding his face in your hands. “Good.”

“Yeah?” he asks, brushing hair from your face. He glances at Steve, gesturing for him to join you. He goes to put the camera away to do just that. “You still love me?” he wonders.

You smile, nodding again. “Yes, Eddie,” you whisper. “I'll always love you.”

He grins wide, his dark eyes shining with adoration. “That's good.”

When Steve joins, he bumps your nose with his. “We're gonna take care of you,” he whispers. “But first, we have to make sure we don't get caught.”

Eddie sighs, unraveling himself from you as he stands up straighter. He pulls you to sit up on the bed.

You take each of their hands. “What do we do?”

Eddie cups your cheek. “First, you need to get dressed again.”

“Do I clean up?” you wonder, feeling the uncomfortable sensation of the drying blood on your face.

“Yeah, but not too much,” Steve says. Your heart thuds in your chest. “We needa get more blood on you.”

“Can you do that for us?” Eddie asks, his eyes soft. “For me?”

You nod. “Yes.”

“Good girl,” he smiles.

“Me and Eddie will handle everything else.” Steve kisses your forehead before leaving you to by yourself. Eddie lingers only for a moment, staring at your face in quiet adoration before kissing you and following after Steve.

You stand on shaky legs, disappearing into your bathroom and flicking on the light. You're almost surprised by what you see.

Red covers your face, along with tear streaks on your cheeks and saliva on your chin. You're covered in blood and spit and sweat. You look terrible. But it's the clearest you've seen yourself in a very long time.

For once, you don't feel so artificial. Strangely, in this moment, with love from a boy who truly loves you and protection from two people who want nothing but the best for you, you feel like yourself. It feels good not to hide.

You wipe off the blood, you wipe off the sweat, you clean yourself up until you don't look so guilty. When you open your closet, you see the doll lying on the floor. You move to your knees picking it up and looking over it once more. Guilt seeps into your veins as you stare at the stitches of her face.

The door opens after a while, but you don't turn to look. You know who it is.

“You okay?”

Eddie walks farther into the room, coming to kneel beside you with an arm around your body. You stroke the cheek of his gift, sighing gently.

“I'm sorry I treated her so badly.”

Eddie considers the versatility of your apology. The doll is meant to represent you, after all. He pulls you in, kissing your temple. “It's okay,” he promises. “You didn't understand yet, but now you do. Now everything's perfect.”

You look up at him with a soft smile. “Did you make her yourself?”

He nods gently, easing the doll from your hands to look over his handiwork. “Yeah. Not great work but–”

You reclaim her, holding her to your chest. “She's perfect. Thank you.”

He smiles wide, all teeth and glistening sweetness. It only gets worse when you kiss him. God, he's been waiting so long for this moment.

“I love you, Eddie,” you whisper against his lips.

He shudders at your confession. “Promise?”

You nod, echoing his words from just the night before. “On my life.”

He sighs dreamily. “I love you, too.” Then his pauses, and his face falls into something a little more solemn. He takes your hand, squeezing it tight with a sigh.

“Do you trust me?”

“Always.”

He nods gently. “I'm gonna have to hurt you.”

You smile a bit, and it's contagious. “How badly?”

Eddie beams, standing to his feet and holding out his hand. You take it with pleasure, and he helps you dress.

He leads you back downstairs, where Steve is breaking things around the living room. Brynn is still in the same spot as before, entirely undisturbed as she stares at the ceiling.

This time, when you see her, you don't feel upset. You don't get sad or scared. You don't gasp or shrink away. Strangely, you feel proud of what you've done. She can no longer lie to you. She no longer has reason to. You're both free of it, for the rest of your lives, one much shorter than the other.

You look up at Eddie and smile, and he's not sure if he can love you anymore than he already does.

“What do we do?” you ask as Steve joins you. They both walk you through it, the sequence. The story.

Brynn came by to apologize for yesterday. Jake was behaving strangely, but she was too afraid to stand up for you. When Jake shows up, he kills Brynn first because he's a witness. When he reveals himself to you as a killer, you reject him, and it sends him into a blind rage where he tries to kill you.

Steve and Eddie come to pick you up. Eddie catches Jake in the act and tries to stop him. He gets knocked out, but not before getting a couple hits on him first, weakening him enough for you to have to upperhand.

You try to escape, but you only make it to the patio. This is where you kill him in self-defense.

Steve comes in when Eddie's been gone too long. He couldn't hear over the music in the van. He sees what's happened and calls 911, wrapping everything in a nice little bow.

Eddie takes your hand in his, stroking his thumbs over the back of them with gentle touches. “Have it make it look believable, okay? I have to hit you. Is that okay, sweetheart?”

You don’t hesitate when you nod. You trust me. He only wants what’s best. “Yes. Do what you have to do.” He gives you a look, one last chance to decline. When you meet him with no fear, he nods.

The first slap really fucking hurts. Your head whips to the side, and you taste blood in your mouth as your teeth cut into your cheeks. The sensations begin as an invading heat before twisting into pain, and then into something not as bad.

You turn back to him, licking the blood from your lips as a look he’s never seen before crosses his eyes. You stare at him for a moment, and then feel your lips tugging into a grin that matches the mischief he’s reflected in his own tonight. “Do it again,” you whisper.

Eddie actually laughs, giddy with the look in your eyes. He soothes your cheek with a loving hand, kissing you quickly before striking you once more. You stumble this time, bending down and holding your face in your hands to try to soothe the aching. Eddie goes to you quickly, pulling you to him to see if you’re okay. You huff, nodding and looking up at him again. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” You wipe at your lip, seeing blood and darting your tongue out to taste it. “It actually feels kind of good…after a second.” He shakes his head and mutters something about you potentially being actually crazy. You just laugh weakly.

He helps you stand, taking your face in his hands. He sighs, shaking his head gently before continuing. “We're gonna have to stab you,” Eddie says. “Not too much, just enough to get the point across.”

You nod, swallowing thickly. “Okay.”

“We also have to get some of your blood all over this room.” Steve gestures in the general area.

“Okay.”

“Still trust me?” Eddie asks.

“Yes.”

Steve hands Eddie a pair of gloves. He slips them on and takes the knife firmly in his grip.

“Is it gonna hurt a lot?”

Eddie positions the end of if at your side, his hands steady as he looks at you. “Not at first. But it will.”

“How bad?”

“A lot.”

You sigh, nodding. “I'm ready.”

“Look me in the eyes,” Eddie instructs. You do as you're told, watching him as you breathe in deep, long breaths to keep from hyperventilating.

He's right. The pain isn't immediate, but it's hot and this guttural sound falls out of you at the feeling. Eddie pulls the knife out, and you feel the hot blood rushing from the wound.

Eddie and Steve are quick to work, trying to keep you calm and keep your focus on them so you don't feel too much of the pain too quickly. They bring you outside where Jake is dressed in the robes, the mask was discarded somewhere in the room. They've already torn up the fabric to match the stab wounds.

You find that the sight of him like this makes you happy. He can't hurt you anymore. And that's all you wanted.

Eddie lays you on the ground next to Jake's body. “I'm gonna stab you again.”

“Do it,” you tell him, your breathing labored. “I trust you.”

He smiles, glimmering with pride. “Can't wait to see the scars.” He stabs you again in the middle of your pained laugh. You hold onto his loved hands, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to steady your breath.

He pulls it out, and the sensation is so strange. He kisses you. Steve busies himself with coating your hands with the pool of Jake's blood.

“We'll be here the whole time,” Eddie promises. He seems to be bracing himself for something, his jaw clenched and his face determined.

“Are you o–”

Steve thrusts the knife into Eddie's side, ripping it out with a grunt. Eddie bends over, holding the spot and straining to be calm. “Fuck, I'm sorry, sweetheart.” The knife clatters by you.

While he's down, he kisses your cheek again before being helped up by Steve. “Everything's gonna work out.” They go back inside, and you lay back against the concrete as your unfocused eyes stare at the sky.

You look over at Jake, staring at the stars with you. You think he looks better like this, sweeter. You look back to the stars and smile, letting your eyes close as darkness teases your peripheral.

Once they’re all gone, we will be together…

You’re woken up by someone yelling. The bright, white lights of the hospital room glare in your face as you open your eyes. You move to sit up, groaning as you wrap an arm around the bandages wrapped tightly around your waist.

You glance over at Eddie, still sitting by your bed as he had been before. He’s slumped over, holding his side. They’ve given you both morphine for the pain. He was only stabbed once, but he looks a lot worse than you. Steve had to beat the shit out of him. His face is bruised and cut, and he’s got a few more along the skin you can see. (It looks kind of hot.)

“Oh, my God!”

Robin rushes into the room first, going straight to your bedside and helping you sit up. The rest of the group floods in, Steve leading them inside.

“Are you okay?” Nancy asks quickly, looking at the state of you and wincing at the way your bruises have turned out.

Jonathan looks relatively sober, worry taking over every crease in his face. “What the hell happened?”

“I guess you do have plot armor,” Argyle says in awe. “Because, in all honesty, you shoulda died, man.”

Nancy scolds him with a smack to the shoulder. He over-exaggerates the strike, seemingly betrayed by such a thing. Eddie reaches over and grabs your hand, and you smile at him before looking at everyone around you.

It feels good to have so much attention. You notice the flowers in Nancy’s hands, to join the million others in the room, along with all the gift baskets and the balloons and cards. Everyone has been so kind, and the attention is going straight to your head.

“I’m okay, guys,” you say, glancing at Steve. “I promise.”

Robin chuckles lightly, though she still sounds worried. “Who knew he was that crazy?” She scoops up your free hand to hold it, nudging Steve in his side. “You know, it’s said that some sports, like football, can make people more aggressive. I mean, I know Jake didn’t play football, but I’m sure the sport isn’t that important in this case.” She pauses. “I guess that’s why so many of them are bullies.”

“I played basketball,” Steve points out.

She looks at him and shrugs. “And, if I recall, Steven, you were also a bully for a while. Didn’t Jonathan be the shit out of you a while back?”

Jonathan finds humor in this, but it’s all in good fun. They made up a long time ago. Steve just rolls his eyes. You laugh a little, but it hurts. You wince and cover your wounds, where you’ve been stitched up and patched. “Thanks, Robin,” you say in reference to her facts.

“It’s a good thing they got there in time, huh?” Nancy asks, adding her gift to your collection.

Eddie chuckles a little, looking at you. “Good thing I didn’t let you stay home alone all night.”

You grant him a look, trying to mask the humor there into a different kind to avoid suspicion. “Har, har,” you mutter. “Yes. I’m very fortunate.”

Argyle scratches his head. “So are you guys, like, together now?”

“Argyle!” Jonathan exclaims softly.

He shrugs. “I’m just asking, man. Look at ‘em! All holding hands and shit with the goo-goo eyes.” He waves his hand in dismissal.

Eddie squeezes your hand, and you all share a very brief look between the three of you. Your little secret. You look at Jonathan. “It’s okay.” You smile, “I think it’s safe to say that Eddie and I will be together a lot more often from now on.”

Robin sort makes this lovey-dovey kind of sigh, tilting her head with a smile. “You know, I always liked you two together.”

You grin, clasping his hand in both of yours and remembering the night before. Eddie’s fingers inside of you, Steve’s lips at your breasts. The three of you, stained with blood and sweat. What a night!

“Yeah,” you chuckle. “Me, too.”

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