#stalking the playlists just to feel like i still know them

[astroyongie]

https://www.tumblr.com/astroyongie/782909605040816128/hi-this-is-my-first-time-requesting-somewhere-so?source=share

Please do for skz too

How Would Stray Kids React To Seeing Their EX Out With Someone Else

-> Astrology based

Bangchan

Oh well it seems like Bangchan is the type that will observe from across the room where you and your new partner are, with a soul-piercing gaze. yet you can't read him, he seems calm and unreadable.

Does not react visibly mostly because he doesn't want you to have the wrong story about him. But the temperature in the room just dropped 10 degrees.

Birth chart based, Chan believes he still has some kinda of psychic ownership over you and it's something he would struggle with a lot. thinks stuff like “That’s mine. Even if it’s not mine anymore.”

Will remember your new partner’s face forever, for strategic reasons. because you never know when he will have to run over someone with his car

Chan possibly walks by, looking hot and untouchable, just to haunt at you as he truly wants to show that he doesn't care.

Minho

I believe that Minho would have a hard time with it and he might react strongly. like, immediate internal explosion: jealousy, betrayal, rage, desire all at once.

the moment he sees you with that new person, he will feel physically ill but pretends not to notice since he doesn't want you to know that he is affected by your presence.

Can’t stop watching. his birth chart also shows that he might stalk your new partner online later for extra info or ask “who the fuck is that?” to your friends or his own

Will spiral into 3 AM obsessive thoughts and possibly ritualistic revenge plotting because well, Minho is just like that really

"No one touches what's mine and gets away with it." that's definitely his energy and thoughts about the whole situation

Changbin

Changbin's first reaction would be: scrutinizes your new partner’s outfit, posture, and job stability. anything he can to show superiority.

I believe that pain would hit in slow, subtle waves. he won’t make a scene, but will judge hard as he sees you laughing with this new partner of yours

Lowkey, i think changbin would think something like, “Do they even floss? I gave them structure, and now this?” like he can be extremely judgy

More bitter than jealous. Might fixate on flaws as self-protection and also to help him feel a little better about the fact that you have moved on.

based on his chart, he is the type that could go home and deep-clean the entire house while overthinking everything or most precisely on his case, going to the gym and sweat a bunch.

Hyunjin

well with Hyunjin.. the moment he sees you with your new partner. it would feel to him like a ghost just walked through him.

based on his chart, he may pretend to be fine, even sweet to you an them, smiling and introducing himself — but internally he is drowning in nostalgia.

"Were you ever real with me?" — cue inner violin solo. No but he would truly feel like his world is just over since you have moved on

Jealousy hits in a tragic, poetic way. Probably writes a vague caption later., writes some lyrics for his musics or even paints to express his emotions

Hyunjin might even dream about you that night and confuse it with reality, or think it means you still want him

Han

Well the moment he sees you with someone, it becomes obvious. Han is painfully aware of how the situation looks to others, but he would try to keep calm and a graceful composure.

Internally, he is hurt but immediately goes into charm mode to outshine your new partner. He wants people to see that you have lost him and not the other way around

Might flirt with someone nearby just to see if you notice. it's also just enough to see if you would get jealous.

Han probably thinks something along the lines of “They downgraded, and that’s embarrassing for me.”, because again his ego would hurt

based on his chart, Han would try to process feelings later over wine, friends, and curated playlists.

Felix

The moment Felix sees you with someone else, you can bet that he will smile automatically and waves even. he wants to avoid awkwardness at all costs.

Doesn’t show jealousy about you or your partner but he feels it intensely under the surface- yet he would try not to show it too much

based on his chart, after the encounter he spiral, and ask himself stuff like “Did I do something wrong? Was I not enough?”

Possibly compares himself as someone who is unfavorably to the new partner in your life. to him you deserve better and he hopes you will be able to realize it

for sure, Felix would text three friends of yours to ask if you are doing okay and also to have info about your relationship

Seungmin

the moment he sees you with a new someone, segueing would be laughing too loudly, flips his hair, but he does not ignore you, his little evil side showing.

based on his chart. Seungmin would passive-aggressively flirt with someone hotter while keeping you in his peripheral vision to see if you were looking.

Lowkey hopes the your new partner trips or spills something and makes themselves a fool so he can judge it later.

but honestly things are easy with him: Jealousy turns to pettiness, which turns to self-doubt, which turns to online stalking.

he might post a fire selfie captioned “unbothered 💅” on his social media to send you hints but then he would cry 10 minutes later in his bedroom

Jeongin

I think that jeongin would be visibly triggered by your presence with someone else, and he would be instantly hot in jealousy, and even comment out loud something like “Oh? Already??”

but I believe he would react with boldness to the situation, with either flirting with you, confronting your new partner, or makes a dramatic exit.

he wants to win the breakup on sight. “I’ll find someone hotter. Tonight.” he would whisper to your discretely, as if he was trying to get you back

based on his chart, he might act fine, but his body language gives it away. jeongin has fiery eyes and sharp movements shows his jealousy

Could actually hook up with someone just to outdo you and your partner.

[aka-faded]

oh the feeling of listening to and browsing through spotify playlists of old friends you've lost touch with/sort of fell out with because you need to feel like you still kind of know them and it's the only way you feel like you can have any semblance of a relationship with them.

[harrysfolklore]

i see your face in every crowd - op81

summary: the asutralian grand prix is right around the corner and oscar's face is everywhere in melbourne, his ex girlfriend can't help but miss him (he misses her too)

folkie radio: if you know me you know i'm a sucker for an exes to lovers trope, and honestly this one is one of my faves i've ever done. ENJOY AND LEAVE FEEDBACK

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

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yourinstagram back home for a bit... needed some time to reset & breathe. been writing loads lately - the songs are just pouring out 🌊 feeling more inspired than ever tbh. can't wait to share what i've been working on with u all soon. huge thank u for all the love lately, means more than u know xx

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username1 BABYYYY

username2 i'm happy she's home and surrounded by love

sabrinacarpenter miss ur face already 😭 these songs are about to end lives fr

chappellroan THEYRE NOT READY FOR WHAT'S COMING!!! also pls come back to LA soon i'm dying without u

username3 chappellynbrina is a forever thing

username4 the way melbourne gp is gonna be so awkward next month...

└ username1 why does everyone have to make everything about that 🙄 let them live

└ username2 no fr like can we focus on the music instead

username5 oscar ain't shit anyway, ur so much better without him queen

└ username3 y'all don't even know what happened, stop being toxic

└ username6 they literally both asked for privacy can u respect that maybe

alexandrasaintmleux being home suits u sm! can't wait for the new era

└ username2 once a wag always a wag

username7 THE BREAKUP ALBUM IS COMING AND IM HERE FOR IT

username8 take all the time u need but also pls drop a song soon we're starving 😩

lando yooo text me when you get the chance !

└ username1 THEIR FRIENDSHIP LIVES

└username2 oscar piastri you can't break this one

username9 some of y'all are being so mean for no reason, they were cute together and now they're not, it happens

username10 manifesting a collab with sabrina on this album 🕯️

liked by lando, alex_albon and 467,958 others

oscarpiastri Last few days of prep before heading home for the season opener. Ready 💪

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username1 THATS MY BABY GOAT

username2 we're so taking that wdc this year

lando looking a bit weak mate might need another few months of training

└ oscarpiastri stick to gaming mate

└ carlossainz55 Children, behave 😂

└ username1 THIS INTERACTION

username3 we're so back. man's entering his thirst trap era and we love to see it

└ username1 healing through gym pics, real

username4 the transformation from rookie to absolute unit we love to see it

username5 melbourne's gonna go crazy for him

└ username2 the city will be pretty much covered with his face

username7 the post-breakup glow >>>>>>

username8 bro said watch me get faster AND hotter

username9 yn is stronger than me bc i definitely would've given him another chance

georgerussell63 Looking strong 💪🏼

└ lando but still slower than me

└ oscarpiastri We'll see about that mate

└ username3 WHAT IS LANDO'S PROBLEM

aussiegp Our hometown hero getting ready to give us a show 🇦🇺

username10 YN GET BACK WITH HIM I BEGGG

liked by shortandbrina, livbedumb and 119 others

definitelynotyn not me stalking his instagram at 2am with a glass of rosé in hand... why he gotta post gym pics looking like THAT 😭 someone take my phone away fr because what if i do something stupid like text him rn???? also why does he have to look so good while training I HATE HIM

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shortandbrina girl DELETE instagram rn i'm not joking!! calling u in 2 mins

└ definitelynotyn too late i already watched his story 3 times help

midwestprincess this is why we don't drink wine alone bestie... coming over with ice cream and we're watching mean girls

└ definitelynotyn pls hurry before i do something stupid like listen to our playlist

livbedumb first rule of breakups: BLOCK THE GYM PROGRESS POSTS!!!! trust me on this one

└ definitelynotyn but what if i just want to check if he's doing okay 🥲

└ gracieeeeee she's lost it completely someone intervene

arithegood not me literally writing a song about this exact situation last week 💀 wine drunk stalking is universal bestie

└ definitelynotyn pls send me the song i just know it'll hurt so good

phoebenotbuffay okay but like... we've all been there 😭 remember when i almost texted #him after he decided to walk around in those short shorts

└ definitelynotyn at least urs wasn't wearing race suits that make his arms look like THAT

whostaylorswiftanyway time to write a song about it bestie x

└ definitelynotyn already got three verses and a bridge done ngl

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f1updates Melbourne is getting ready for the Australian GP! The city is covered in @/oscarpiastri billboards and posters as they prepare to welcome their home hero

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username1 imagine being yn trying to get coffee and boom there's your ex's face on a 50ft billboard 💀

username2 the way you literally can't escape his face anywhere in the cbd this week

username3 the way this gp would've been so different if they were still together... remember last year?

└ username1 they were the cutest in the paddock

└ username2 pls she probably won't even be in melbourne this year

username4 our boy is everywhere and we love to see it!!

username5 the promotional team really said oscar piastri world domination

username6 the billboards are giving everything they need to give tbh

username7 maybe she should drop the breakup album during race week for maximum chaos

└ username1 now that would be iconic behavior

└ username3 the way the charts and the podium would be fighting for his attention

username8 MELBOURNE IS OSCARLAND

username9 imagine not being an oscar fan rn… or worse, being his ex

username10 CAN SOMEBODY THINK OF OUR GIRL YN

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liked by lando, charles_leclerc and 597,388 others

oscarpiastri Seems like there's a few of me around Melbourne at the moment... has anyone noticed? 😅

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username1 OSCAR FUCKING PIASTRI

username2 HE DID NOT

lando bit of an upgrade for the city tbh └ oscarpiastri Better than your face mate

username3 OH HE'S MESSY FOR THIS ONE

└ username1 posting this RIGHT after her story i'm screaming

username4 he chose violence today and i'm here for it

mclaren Our guy's everywhere! Can't wait for the weekend 🧡

└ username2 admin pretending they don't see what's happening here

username5 THE TIMING OF THIS POST??? someone's feeling petty

username6 he really said "oh you can't escape me? let me show you why" 💀

georgerussell63 Just ran into your face in the airport

username7 the way he probably had these pics ready and WAITED

username8 bro saw her story and chose chaos

danielricciardo looking good mate! although i remember when it was my face everywhere 👴 └ oscarpiastri Times change old man

username9 it's giving "oh you miss seeing me? here's more" energy actually

username10 focusing on the important stuff: he looks good in every single billboard

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liked by harrystyles, sabrinacarpenter and 1,389,647 others

yourinstagram missing tour life so much today! can't wait to get back on the road and see all your beautiful faces again 💕 thankful for the memories we've made together x

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username1 MY GIRL I MISS HER

username2 the way she posted this exactly after THAT story... we see you

└ username3 damage control era

troyesivan SUPERSTAR 🤩🤩

username4 girl we know what (who) you're really missing

└ username2 not her trying to distract us 😭

username5 we're not fooled bestie but we support you

sabrinacarpenter miss you too angel!! ❤️

└ yourinstagram love you sabs 🥺

username6 NOT THE DAMAGE CONTROL POST

username7 WE NEED A TOUR ASAP

gracieabrams I miss being on the road with you 🥹🥹

username8 EVERYONE TALKIG ABOUT OSCAR HELP

username9 can we talk about how good she looked on tour though??

username10 the way she's probably sitting with sabrina rn planning damage control posts

└ username11 the group chat must be WILD right now

liked by midwestprincess, livbedumb and 109 others

definitelynotyn well. something just came in the mail and i think i might actually throw up. universe really said "you thought that instagram story wasn't enough embarrassment for one day?"

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shortnbrina GIRL CHECK YOUR TEXTS RN

└ definitelynotyn I'M HAVING A CRISIS

midwestprincess the way i SPRINTED here when you texted

└ definitelynotyn help what do i do

└ midwestprincess BREATHE FIRST

gracieeee wait is that what i think it is? 🏁

└ definitelynotyn 🙃🙃🙃

└ gracieeee OH MY GOD????

livbedumb the timing… someone's been plotting

└ definitelynotyn don't. i can't think about that.

maddiebeer okay but like… are you going?

└ definitelynotyn MADS PLS I'M ALREADY SPIRALING

└ maddiebeer that's not a no 👀

arithegood manifesting a rain delay so you have to stay longer

└ definitelynotyn I HAVEN'T EVEN DECIDED IF I'M GOING

└ arithegood sure jan

phoebenotbuffay imagine if you'd actually posted this on main too

└ definitelynotyn DON'T EVEN JOKE ABOUT THAT

└ phoebenotbuffay too soon? 😂

dulapeep at least you have time to plan outfits

└ definitelynotyn NOT HELPING

└ dulapeep the green dress. trust me.

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liked by lando, charles_leclerc and 665,583 others

oscarpiastri Close. Bring on tomorrow

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username1 THATS MY BABY GOAT

username2 oscar piastri man of few words

username3 pole position if he was still with yn

mclaren Our home champ 🧡

username4 OKAY CHAT DO WE THINK YN WILL ATTEND THE RACE??

└ username1 maybe focus on racing?? this isn't about his ex

lando sorry about that

└ oscarpiastri Should've just let me keep it

username5 can't help but think about yn in parc fermé for his win tomorrow but they're not together anymore

username6 HES WINNING TOMORROW THERE'S NOTHING THAT CAN CHANGE THAT

charles_leclerc An existential crisis later

└ carlossainz55 Let him breathe

└ username1 HUUUH WHAT ARE THEY TALKING ABOUT

username7 brb listening to yn's songs about him.. specially lover

liked by midwestprincess, shortandbrina and 107 others

definitelynotyn watching from my couch because apparently i'm the biggest coward in the universe. the pass is literally staring at me from my coffee table. i hate myself.

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shortnbrina GET IN YOUR CAR RIGHT NOW

└ definitelynotyn I CAN'T

└ shortnbrina YES YOU CAN I'M CALLING YOU AN UBER

midwestprincess GIRL THERE'S STILL 40 LAPS YOU CAN LITERALLY MAKE IT

└ definitelynotyn and then what?? walk in mid-race??

└ midwestprincess YES EXACTLY LIKE A MAIN CHARACTER WOULD

livbedumb not you watching his every move on tv when you could be there

└ definitelynotyn this is less scary ok

└ livbedumb is it though??

maddiebeer remember when you said you'd never be that girl who's too scared to face her feelings?

└ definitelynotyn low blow mads

whostaylorswiftanyway THE PASS IS RIGHT THERE GO GET YOUR MAN

└ definitelynotyn STOP YELLING AT ME

└ whostaylorswiftanyway NO

gracieeee remember when you said his note was the sweetest thing ever? remember crying about how much you missed him? but sure stay on your couch

└ definitelynotyn this is emotional manipulation

definitelynotyn FINE YALL WIN. CALLING A CAR RN

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liked by shortnbrina, landitooooo and 113 others

definitelynotyn we did some talking. then we did some kissing. then we did some more talking. then we did some more kissing. might have cried a bit (him too). wearing his sweatshirt again. life's funny sometimes.

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midwestprincess OH GOD FINALLY

gracieeee I'M SOBBING

leclercccccc FINALLY you accepted the follow request

└ definitelynotyn oh my god

└ leclercccccc i helped with the speech you know

└ notoscarpiastri mate.

└ leclercccccc you're welcome btw

landitooooo took you both long enough bloody hell

└ notoscarpiastri says you

└ landitooooo oi what's that supposed to mean

└ shortnbrina no idea really

└ definitelynotyn lando norris and sabrina carpenter... there's stuff you need to explain

arithegood THE TIMELINE HAS BEEN RESTORED

└ definitelynotyn dramatic much

└ arithegood says the girl who showed up mid-race

whostaylorswiftanyway I expect a full debrief tomorrow but I'm happy for you my girl

notoscarpiastri Can we go back to the kissing?

└ definitelynotyn please

liked by username1, username2 and 8,594 others

popbuzz YN AND OSCAR PIASTRI SPOTTED TOGETHER IN MELBOURNE

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username1 THE SWEATSHIRT THE SWEATSHIRT THE SWEATSHIRT

└ username2 SHE'S WEARING HIS CLOTHES AGAIN

username3 FROM SPINNING OUT TO BREAKFAST DATES IN 24 HOURS

└ username2 character development at its finest

username4 IM GOING TO CRY THEY'RE BACK TOGETHER

username5 Sources say he went to her place last night...

└ username1 and didn't leave 👀

username6 I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY REALLY GOT BACK TOGETHER

username7 this is proof that crying over your ex on main actually works

username8 YN IS A WAG AGAIN OMFG

username9 everybody say thank you australia gp billboards with oscar's face

username10 OSCAR LOVE SONGS ARE SO BACK

username11 WE WON SO HARD

liked by yourinstagram, lando and 876,494 others

oscarpiastri Home race took some unexpected turns both on and off track. P9 wasn't the result we wanted, but somehow still ended up winning this weekend.

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username1 HE'S SOOOO

username2 LOST THE RACE BUT GOT THE GIRL??

lando mate that's actually smooth

└ oscarpiastri Learned from the best

mclaren We'll take this kind of victory too 🧡

username3 THE THIRD PICTURE IM SOBBING

username4 mans really said forget p9 i got the girl

username5 HE'S SO BOYFRIEND WE'RE SO BACK

nicolepiastri ❤️

username6 OSCAR PIASTRI THE MAN THAT YOU ARE

username7 oscar's guide to get back with your ex with just ten simple steps

sabrinacarpenter FINALLY !!! OUR GIRL CAN STOP MOPING AROUND

└ chappellroan now we need oscar's friend to grow some balls too

└ oscarpiastri @/lando

└ lando well...

└ username1 OMFG LANDO AND SABRINA??

└ username2 WHAT JUST HAPPENED

username8 I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS IS REAL LIFE

yourinstagram 🥺🥺 i love you

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 || 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary_ when you declined to play Ddakji with a man, the least you expected was him stalking you, even less expected when you oblige him to lick your bleeding wound after seeing him kill a man and escaping him.

warnings_ MDNI, age gap (not specified but legal) reader is a foreigner (implied American but not specified again), stalking, NO KIDNAPPING NOR ABUSE HERE, blood play, dom!salesman, switch!reader, toxic till the end, sexual innuendos, manipulation, questionable morals, do not romanticize this irl pls, NO PROOFREAD YET

notes_ I’ll just drop this fic and leave it there bc why am i feeling so horny for an Asian sociopath? me la estoy pasando bien raro (i like it)

♫ ♪ the worst playlist 4 this man

✰ Index (+ fics here)

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Everything was irritating. The class you had was canceled last minute, the crowd at the train station was loud, the tapping of a kid in a window was constant, and the message you received asking for your campus ID to keep using your student account was sudden and required immediate action. Your cramps and migraine only aggravate everything.

You were steps away from the stairs when you stopped to take the damn picture of your ID and be done with that. But of course, you couldn’t find your wallet at first glance, so you moved aside to take a better look.

You worried about kneeling and ruining your black coat with the dirtiness of the floor at the station, but at the same time, you thought it was just stupid.

A trail of curses flooded your mind as you tried to find your wallet, making you oblivious to a random man walking in your direction.

“Excuse me, Miss… Would you like to play Ddakji?” Said man asked you in Korean. You were occupied with a hand inside your thrifted designer tote, and your mind unconsciously prepared an answer in English.

“Sorry, I don’t have time” When you realized your mid-answer you sighed, just as you fished out your wallet. “For every win of yours, you’ll earn a great sum of cash”

Once you stood up, you met the face of the man who now answered in English as well. Very tall, handsome, innocent smile and in a suit; a businessman. You knew it was wrong to judge but there was something behind the smile he offered you that resulted eerie.

Like behind that seemingly blameless expression, the man was hiding his true intentions.

Might’ve been your eyes or hair that caught his attention. You weren’t native, and he didn’t want to think he could take advantage, yet his feet dragged him to you.

Placing your bag over your shoulder again, you grab your sunglasses and phone with tangled EarPods. You give the man one last look. You are not having a good day and you don’t have time to deal with this.

“What do you say?” He asks feigning kindness, eyeing you subtly without your knowledge.

“No, thank you. I don’t even know how the game works”

“You look like you are a natural. You might be surprised if you try. You just have to pick a color and try to flip the opposing tile”

The rich always trying to fuck the one who isn’t. This was just a new way. The urge to roll your eyes grew but you remained still.

“Look, I’m sorry. But I bet you do this just to see how desperate people who need money can go. I won’t be one of them. If not, sorry for misjudging you, sir” you harshly say before putting on your EarPods and leaving the station. You leave him perplexed, huffing in disbelief and igniting a fire of curiosity inside him.

And you completely forgot about the Ddakji man as you made it to your little apartment, not knowing he would turn upside down your upcoming days.

…

Warm days in winter were exciting for you. They boosted your energy and made you want to be out all day.

You had the luck of living in a beautiful complex because it was once from a friend of your mother who married years ago and now had her single apartment for rent.

It had long warm hallways that hosted at least eight apartments by floor. With orange and pink subtle lights and uneven edges. It was truly a sight despite how little the apartments were. One bedroom with closet and bathroom, a tiny studio, small kitchen, enough space for a dining table, another small bathroom, and a living room with balcony.

Your loneliness was well-balanced because you loved your home. But even on warm days, you wanted to be out.

Your red shoes contrasted with everything you stepped on. You carried a bag with a bunch of books and another one with thrifted clothes you bought.

At the park you always walked by, there was a fair amount of people as usual. You don’t care much to look around but someone makes you stare longer than needed.

The same man who asked if you wanted to play a game at the station was at the park. Another impeccable suit dressing him, looking attractive like the first time and already looking at you.

He offered you a smile, to which you didn’t reply. You looked at the ground, feeling like you had frozen.

What a weirdo, he offered bread and a random paper to a lonely man.

Simultaneously, you wondered if the man found you attractive enough to stare like that. With your mind that often became nihilistic, you thought you were delusional and that you should just keep walking.

His eyes remained glued to you. As his prey was thinking about what was better to choose, he contemplated you walking again.

The salesman realized he had made you nervous and that made him feel eager to end his job and follow you again.

Once he realized you lived in a good neighborhood, where his elegant suits matched the vibe, he got even more excited to see you again.

So now, it was meant to be.

How sweet, sophisticated, and innocent you looked.

Something shifted, as you passed by his side, only having a view of his back, you assumed he worked out, his hair looked perfectly fine, and his big hands offered two things. Perhaps you had misjudged him and he really wanted to help. But your inner voice said otherwise. In a sudden change of events, you decided to look back once you were almost at the exit of the park.

With his deep gaze still set on you, your lips formed a smile.

And he took it as a first win in the games that had begun between you two.

…

Once again, you find yourself in the library. Inside one of the biggest malls you’ve been to, you are leaning at a counter, asking if they have an English translation of a book you were interested in.

Your Korean isn’t good enough yet, so as the nice librarian disappeared to find your request, you are working on your next reply, with a translation app.

“Do you recommend me this one?” your back arched as a startled reflex. You quickly stand straight and turn around to see the person you grew anxious to avoid and see again. The salesman is there, looking up and down at you with a perfectly orchestrated smile.

“Huh?” you ask disconcertingly, he shows you a book, his face looking like he had found a wounded little bird. But it was only you, startled and nervous by his strong presence.

The book is The Divine Comedy. Dante Alighieri.

“Certainly is a good one. A lot of heavenly justice…” you say trying to sound confident, looking at the cover of the book. Displaying the layers that separated heaven from hell. “Do you believe in heavenly justice, miss?”

“I don’t know. We can’t call someone a sinner without a proper trial beforehand” he chuckles, which makes you frown for a second. He truly was unpredictable and you didn’t like that. “Ah, sinners. Always misjudged and harshly punished for being the ones who have the guts to make things…” his deep voice and tone made you wonder if he was self-perceived as a sinner, which made you feel worse.

“You sound like an ethnocentric…”

“I don’t think I’m far into that type of thinking, y/n” Your eyes almost popped out, leaving your hands in an anxious tremble.

“How is it possible that you know my name?” Before he can even answer, you add more. “You are stalking me”

His demonic smile makes your heart stop. The smile you once thought had innocence can’t blind you anymore. He isn’t innocent. He literally confirmed he was stalking you and you didn’t know how to feel.

“I don’t like the idea that conveys the word ‘stalking’. We can call it predestination…” you huff in disbelief. “What do you want with me?”

“I would like to get to know the woman who rejected my Ddakji offer. And ask for one more game” Your lips form a line, and quietly you are hating how much you are enjoying the conversation.

“Hmm, I’m bad at most games, so I’m afraid I will reject you once again” You turned back again to see if the librarian was coming when you felt him stepping closer, which made you feel nervous again.

“I might believe you. I always win…” he whispered in your ear, sending shivers through your spine and creating a lot of tension.

Your psycho mode almost made you lean forward again, daring to see if some friction was possible. But you didn’t, trying to be prudent and acting sane.

“I would’ve wanted a normal first interaction and this time you should’ve asked me out on a date. That’s how it works where I come from but… here, I guess not” he stepped aside as the librarian handed you the book. And as you thanked her and turned to leave and pay somewhere else, he took out a card and handed it to you.

“I’m sure we can work on some sort of arrangement. Here, you may call me…” slightly irritated that he didn’t say much about your inquiry, you snatched the card and walked away.

The cathartic feelings of wanting to keep talking to him and running away from him at the same time resulted in excruciating. It didn’t make sense, the point of him was to nowhere. Being clueless about his age, name, and everything made it feel wrong. Yet, curiosity was starting to burn you.

…

Like a miracle, the heavens moved and sprinkled some luck above you. You found some friends on campus, they spoke English like you and were foreigners as well. One of them was a friend of the owner of a club and invited you for the night.

The invitation made you forgetful about your salesman, whom you hadn’t talked with since the encounter in the library. The card he handed the last time rested between the book you bought the same day, making you unable to read more because it reminded you of the last encounter with him.

It resulted unknown to you when was that your life had turned over the edge of becoming twisted. Your feelings for a mysterious man who seemed more accusable than appeared remained undecided.

He made you feel like a wildfire and a caged bird at the same time. Delicate but menacing.

He seemed older than you, professional in a field, mature and imposing. Which you didn’t mind when he appeared to ask you about The Divine Comedy. Either way, you were playing but couldn’t risk anything. Especially in a country where you didn’t know how everything worked.

After getting out of the shower, your thoughts on the salesman are completely faded. You slip on a sequin dress and paint your eyes with glitter and a smokey style.

Thereafter, at the club you let yourself go and have a wild night. Between classes, essays, and the issue with the salesman, you needed a time out.

Everything feels nice when you take a bathroom break and you smile at your reflection. You know you are close to be drunk, it’s the most enjoyable stage of ingesting alcohol.

“Hey, let’s go dancing, I couldn’t find you before!” Yells one of your friends after you reunite with the little group. You nod excitedly, taking her hand and letting her take you to the dance floor.

The music reminded you of that time when spinnin records music was a trend and everyone played their mixes at parties back at home. As you move along the track, you don’t look at anything in particular, you just feel interesting and sexy. But your eyes end up giving a quick glance at one table, almost making you stop your euphoric moment.

You swore you saw your salesman.

Looking around you don’t see him, so you return dancing but the odd sensation in your chest doesn’t let you rest.

“What happens?” Asks another friend, looking worried.

“Nothing. Just thought I saw someone. Never mind…” you shake your head, smiling and convincing them that everything is fine.

But once they got more drunk to notice your departure, you walked out, despite curiosity, you wanted to confirm if the tall gorgeous man was near you.

Rarely you bring up to question your life decisions. Not because you thought you were perfect, but because you easily accepted your errors.

And it wasn’t hard to accept you completely messed up by getting out of the club. Where the night was colder, and some steps away from the main entrance, the crowd was loud. A man could be heard pleading and sobbing, which made you fearful but eager to see what was happening.

You peeked at the alley beside the club. A wave of shock flooded you once you noticed another man was punching the one who yelped and sobbed for forgiveness.

Your salesman was the attacker.

“Please! I’ll pay everything back!” Your mind raced back to the moment you spotted your salesman inside the club minutes ago.

His dark grey suit didn’t fit the aura of the place, but he seemed to be talking with the same man he was now punching.

It was obvious at that point that he wasn’t a good man. He made fun of making people play his seemingly innocent games to later laugh in their faces whenever they lost. He was never flirting with you, the odd feeling of uncertainty you felt with him was right.

You had to go. You had to burn the card he gave you, avoid the station where you met him, and forget about his face.

There’s panic in your system, your heart beats fast and nausea starts coming up your throat.

You want to get immediately drunk and forget everything you saw with a hangover. You need it.

But you don’t get very far. Midway through the stairs that conduct to the club, a hand holds your forearm with extreme pressure and drags you inside a private room.

Your salesman finally found you.

…

“You just killed a man!” you almost yelled as soon as he pushed you inside and closed the door.

The room was very fancy like the club. It had a big desk near a window, flower-shaped hanging lamps, black sparkly floor tiles, and a sage velvet couch.

Your salesman slides his fingers through his hair and looks at the ceiling before turning to you. One hand still carrying the murder weapon.

“He deserved it” was all he answered and you take a breath. In need of an alibi, you opened a random fridge in the room and grabbed a beer. Your salesman watched how you sipped at the can. He knew you were feeling a mix of curiosity and disgust for him.

Once you drink at least half of the content, you sigh, brushing aside some hair and walking towards him.

“Who are you?” you ask pleadingly, desperate to know how far you’ve gone for him.

“Eventually you’ll know” he sounds cold, calculating, and menacing. “You didn’t call…”

He was taking advantage of your vulnerability.

“I met you a week ago, I don’t even know your name” you admit with shame and dissatisfaction.

For the first time, he genuinely touches you. Hands straight to your waist, making gasp in surprise.

“You’re smart and will eventually understand. You’re my good girl”

His good girl….

What was left to do when you have a sociopath holding your waist with the same hands he had used to kill a man? Play along, even if you are terrified.

What had been your horrified face, slowly ends up in a smirk, tilting your head, squandering cheekiness. “I’m not your good girl, sir”

He slowly leaned back, taking a seat on the sage couch, one of his hands going straight to rest behind his head, against the wall. He twirled the knife against his knee, making you uneasy, but confident about your upcoming words.

“If I walk away, you can’t do much with me, I’m a foreigner. Sure the authorities would dismantle whatever dirty job you’re into and that’s a big no-no” you explain, and feeling a little too bold, you step between his legs.

“Your lack of ignorance amazes me” he admits, offering you a cocky smile. “It makes me even more infatuated”

Your left knee pushed aside his hand twirling the knife. He remained still but sure seemed slightly surprised when you ended up straddling him. With your hands glued to his dark tie, putting it into place.

“Hmm, well, be careful. I am no threat, I barely have valuable skills to get rid of you but I know I could be a problem. So I guess I won, sir…” you allow yourself to smile, following a path with your fingers, from his tie to his cheeks and nose, softly tracing his pale skin.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart” You knew he was trying to be in control, and the best part was that you weren’t fighting for it.

“There’s a lot I might not understand. I’m just a girl who happened to be in this city for a temporary academic project” When your lips brushed his, you couldn’t deny he was so fucking hot, you wished he wasn’t so weird and probably part of a mafia or cult or whatever. “You are the grown-ass man who got obsessed with me”

“I just find you an odd but interesting player, sweet girl” he tried to use his innocent smile but it was useless when you grabbed him by the shoulders and finally dared to kiss him.

He controlled it the moment he touched you again. His hands had a possessive sting and firmly grabbed you by the hips. One of them still holding the knife.

Feeling bold, with adrenaline flowing freely, you softly bit his lower lip. You knew it was over when he almost let out a moan, and after checking he had his eyes closed, you literally jumped away from him.

Without looking back, you started running. Your clumsy steps turn frantic, knowing damn well he would start following you soon. As you literally start pushing people to get out, your heart beats faster than ever and you have a growing anxiety, begging you to stop and breathe.

Once the cold air hit you, as you took a cab and saw no sign of your salesman, confusion struck you and you saw the blood in your chest and arm.

“Are you alright, girl?” The driver asked, also watching your bleeding state.

“Yes, just an accident, I’m okay” he nods unsure, but starts driving after you give him your destination.

His knife must’ve sliced your skin when you stood up from his lap. When he moved one of his big hands to caress your chin.

It wasn’t that you were scared of him, of your salesman. Although you should be; but you weren’t. Could it be that the worst part was that you were attracted to him? Even after watching him kill a man? You were screwed.

You realize the reason why you always ran away from him is because you don’t know how to face his unpredictable demeanor.

At that point, you didn’t know what he wanted. Only that he was obsessed with you. But his intentions remained a mystery unsolved.

Before getting out of the cab, you pay and send your friends a message that you left early because you got a headache after vomiting. This didn’t happen, but would’ve been better to not experience it as a young woman in her twenties.

…

When you opened the door, he was already inside. The worst part is that you weren’t surprised anymore. You only stood at the feet of the door, looking at him with uneasiness.

“You got me worried,” he says, stopping his movements around your table. “You left some blood stains and I thought it was serious”

“You accidentally showed me your true nature. A little bit of blood shouldn’t scare you” his shirt indeed had some bloody spots, his blazer was gone, and the sleeves of his messy shirt were rolled up. You hated that your first thought was that he looked very hot.

He moved and took a seat at one of your tables. He sighed and you realized that perhaps he was also screwed up. For letting himself go too far for you.

“I don’t regret any encounter we’ve had,” he says. “Me neither”

He can’t stop staring at your bloodstained dress and you notice.

Fuck everything, you thought.

I’m attracted to him, he’s attracted to me, What’s the worst thing that could happen? (I don’t want to know).

“Silly boy, look what you did to me,” you say looking at the soaked fabric.

Something possessed you at that moment. Your hands went straight to lift your dress. His eyes trailed your sparkly underwear, your lower belly, and your ribs that rose and fell as you breathed.

Your hands twirl behind your back to unhook your bra; also soaked, throwing it to the floor.

Your salesman is quiet, his innocent smile about to fall because you know you have taken him by surprise.

Likely you’ll get a scar. The wound being slightly deep, an uneven line that passed from your neck to your shoulder.

You step forward, confidently eyeing him.

“Clean it” he tried to stand up, probably to grab a med kit but you stopped him with your heel. “With your mouth. Lick it clean…”

He gulped.

His manspread became the only thing you could care about. How he eyed you with lust and possession for some seconds, and then to lean forwards.

Once again his hands landed on the curves of your hips and he made you step up, leaving him inches away from you.

Your sudden surgation grew and his hot tongue finally made contact with your skin.

You savored the feeling of his tongue, knowing he wouldn’t clean anything but the semi-dry blood over your breast. He was only making a mess.

Then, he lifts his head and catches your lips in a sullied kiss. The way he held you, made you understand how he always wanted control. Above anything.

“I will be gone within time. You can ruin me while it lasts…” you blurt out, panting for air.

“I’ll ruin you. But I don’t want to rip you apart. That’s pointless…” he admits in your lips, blood near your chin that he wipes out. “You’re the most fun I’ve had in years. My little toy…”

“Alright, I’ll be your toy” he nods, kissing you again. “Know that my lips are sealed when it comes to you”

“And you won’t have to worry about anything again…” you moan on his lips when he pulls your hair and finally makes you lay on your once new carpet, now displaying some splotches of blood.

“I don’t need your money”

“Don’t you want to make your mother proud and relieved from student debts? From rent?” You can’t think straight. “It’s not correct…”

“None of this is, y/n. Now shut your mouth and spread your legs, toy”

It’s wrong, immoral, a complete madness. You know everything will change once the night dies and the morning comes. But as much as you tried to communicate to him that you weren’t scared, you knew it was over, you’ve gotten too deep into his shit.

“Farewell to my purity” you whisper in his ear and it’s enough to make his eyes turn darker, full of lust.

Everything that consoles purity would be gone from you. And the fact that you were ready scared you. But once his hands started meeting places across your body, you welcomed the sin.

As well as your mind seized thinking. Not caring about the consequences.

_______________________________________________

If you ask for more I will provide

Quién me manda a escribir estas mamadas? I’m just ovulating.

[nemo-writes]

𝗮𝗯𝘀𝗼𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 I chapter two

(dr. jack abbot x nurse!reader)

⤿ chapter summary: your day off opens in a quiet, comforting way. errands and small talk feel almost enough to keep the world steady. but scattered signs—disturbed spaces, cryptic messages—suggest unseen eyes on you.

⤿ warning(s): stalking

⟡ story masterlist ; previous I next

✦ word count: 1.9k

Your first day off in twelve shifts begins the way small miracles do: with sunlight, silence, and the smell of good food.  

You stand in the kitchen, spatula in hand, watching thick‑cut slices of bacon curl and pop in the cast‑iron. A pot of full black beans simmers beside them, spiced with a dash of chipotle, and sourdough toasts slowly in the oven. The kettle whistles; you pour the water over loose‑leaf tea—then carry everything to the coffee table.  

You sink into the couch, remote in one hand, plate balanced carefully on your knees. The History Channel flickers to life on the TV—some World War II documentary already mid-narration. A gravelly voice drones about tank strategies and bitter winters while you dig into your breakfast: bacon, beans, toast, and two sunny-side-up eggs. When the video ends you queue another—street‑food vendors in Oaxaca—then another—an eight‑hour lo‑fi playlist you’ll never finish. Breakfast stretches into morning, warm and unhurried, crumbs gathering on your pajama pants.  

By ten you’re upright, mug refilled, windows cracked to let in crisp river air. You sweep, wipe counters, toss sheets into the washer, and chase a rogue dust bunny across the hallway with the broom. Domestic quiet feels luxurious, almost decadent.  

Suddenly, a sharp voice drifts through the open window. “Again?! Seriously?!”  

You peer through the window and down into the courtyard. Mr. Donnelly—gray beard, Steelers cap—stands by the communal trash corral, hands on hips. Black bags are shredded, cardboard flaps torn open, and yesterday’s takeout containers scatter like confetti. The mess is worst around your bin: coffee grounds, chicken bones, a tea packet glinting foil in the sun.  

You lean on the sill. “Everything okay, Mr. D?”  

He looks up, exasperation softening when he sees you. “Raccoons, maybe cats. Little bandits had themselves a buffet!”  

“Roger. I’ll be right down.”  

You pull on jeans, an old hoodie, and rubber gloves. Downstairs you and Donnelly work side by side, scooping refuse into fresh bags, tying double knots. He mutters about city pest control; you crack jokes about raccoon Michelin ratings.  

Halfway through, he wipes his brow with a sleeve. “Hey—off topic. My daughter mailed me a bottle of turmeric pills, swears they’re good for my joints. That true, or is it Facebook nonsense?”  

“Turmeric can help a little with inflammation,” you say, cinching a bag, “but it’s no substitute for your prescription NSAID—and it can mess with blood thinners, so clear it with your doc first.”  

He nods—ever since you spotted that odd, pearly mole on his temple last year, the one he thought was just an age spot until the biopsy came back melanoma, he treats your word like gospel. “Good to know. She also sent me a link about apple‑cider‑vinegar cures, but I figured that was bunk.”  

“ACV is great on salad,” you dead‑pan, hefting another sack, “and terrible for curing anything else.”  

Donnelly barks a laugh. “Knew it.”  

It’s odd that only your bin is mauled, but he chalks it up to the smell of your bacon‑grease jar and you let the theory stand. When everything’s tidy you hose the concrete, angle the spray under the bins, and he grips your shoulder in a grateful squeeze.  

“You’ve saved my hide twice now—first the cancer, now the critter fiasco.”  

“Just doing the neighborhood rounds,” you reply, stripping off your gloves.  

“Still. I owe you. If you ever need a ride anywhere, you call me.”  

“Deal.”  

You thank him again, head back upstairs for a shower, and let the steam rinse away trash‑day grime—and the faint, nagging thought that raccoons rarely prefer bacon grease to everyone else’s leftovers.  

Upstairs, you kick off your shoes and head straight for the bathroom. Steam is already fogging the mirror by the time your hoodie hits the hamper. You stand under a scalding spray until your shoulders unknot, grit swirling away in ribbons. Shampoo, coconut body wash, a quick exfoliating scrub over the calluses that surgical gloves never let your skin forget—small rituals that reset your head as much as your body.  

Fresh out, you wrap yourself in an oversized towel, pad to the bedroom, and let the day‑off uniform choose itself. You massage lotion into your hands—cuticles forever dry from incessant scrubbing—then slip your phone from the charger to check the time.  

11:58. Perfect.  

In the kitchen you pack a canvas tote: your wallet, a couple of mesh produce bags, the prescription bottle that needs refilling, and that one pair of trousers with a busted hem for the tailor. You make a quick mental note to add swing by the thrift store to the list on your phone; you’ve been meaning to hunt for a new lamp for a good month now.  

Just as you bend to lace your boots, the phone buzzes. The screen lights with a photo: Jack's hand—broad knuckles, faint surgical nicks—cradling a steaming ceramic mug. Beneath, his caption:  

4‑minute steep, no boil. 👍  

A laugh snorts out before you can stop it. Jack, with the earnest proof‑of‑completion energy of a dad texting his first selfie. You thumb a reply:  

Gold star, Doctor. Welcome to the leaf side.  

Before you hit send, another buzz stacks above Jack’s thread. The preview text looks like a cat walked across a keyboard: ahsdklfhasdklfhaskl hi.

No name. No profile pic. A number you don’t recognize.  You swiftly block the number without opening the message.  Probably just spam.

Outside, the hallway smells of floor wax and warm laundry tumbling in the communal dryer—normal, safe scents. You lock the apartment, test the knob twice, then head for the stairwell, reciting the grocery list in your head like a mantra: eggs, oranges, rice and a sweet treat, maybe two or even three.

By the time your boots hit the sidewalk, sunlight on your face and the city’s Saturday hum around you, the odd text and the midnight raccoons have folded into a corner of your mind labeled later. Today is still yours, and you intend to spend every mundane minute of it.  

. . .  

When you swing past the Riverfront Market, the parking lot looks like a disaster drill—SUVs circling like vultures, carts jammed in every corral. You mutter a tactical retreat, swing back onto the boulevard, and promise yourself groceries will be the final stop. And so, you knock out your errands with efficiency: trousers dropped at the tailor (“two centimeters, blind hem, please”), prescription refilled, and lastly, a quick victory lap through the thrift shop where you score a tiffany desk lamp for five bucks.  

An hour later, you roll into the same lot to find it blissfully tamer—maybe half‑full, the Saturday rush already migrating to lunch. Perfect. You snag a space near the cart return, grab your canvas tote, and head inside.  

The produce aisle is crisp with the scent of misted greens when a familiar voice rings out behind you. “There she is—my favorite surgical saint!”  

You turn as Dana—her sharp blonde bob swinging over her shoulders—eases her cart into yours with a playful thunk. Her niece, a round‑cheeked toddler in star‑print leggings, claps at the gentle collision, squealing when you reach out to give her belly a quick tickle, thumb and forefinger pinching her marshmallow cheeks just enough to earn a giggle.  

“Hi there!” you laugh, straightening as you look up at a beaming charge nurse. “I thought your day off was reserved for sweatpants and true‑crime podcasts.”  

“Tiny tyrant wanted blueberries,” she says, ruffling the toddler’s hair. “And my daughter wanted thirty uninterrupted minutes, so Nana came to the rescue.” She drops a pint of berries into her cart, then peers into yours. “Real vegetables? Bakery bread? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a functioning adult.”  

“Shh,” you whisper. “I have a reputation to ruin.”

You angle your cart toward the tomatoes; Dana falls in beside you, matching your lazy pace. Her niece lunges for every bright piece of produce, and Dana buys temporary peace with a steady drip of bunny‑shaped crackers. Between grabs you trade life bulletins: you ask with genuine interest about how Benji’s woodworking side hustle is faring—“He finally sold that live‑edge coffee table,” Dana crows, “and now he thinks he’s Etsy royalty”—and she fires back, wanting to know if you ever sent in that application for the citywide cook‑off. You confess you chickened out at the last minute, then admit you’ve been taking weekend pottery instead, which makes her whoop loud enough to startle the toddler. “Look at us,” she says, snagging a ripe Roma, “two adrenaline junkies pretending we have hobbies like normal people.”

Halfway through the avocado display, Dana’s tone slips to mock‑casual. “So,” she drawls, examining you like a crystal ball, “rumor is our favorite former combat medic traded sludge‑grade coffee for—” she waves at the tea section up ahead “—fancy tea.”  

Heat blooms at your ears. “Abbot can drink whatever he wants.”  

Dana’s blue eyes sparkle. “ Just Abbot, huh? Funny—heard you called him Jack on the radio last week.”  

Your mouth opens, shuts. “Slip of the tongue.”  

“Sure,” she teases, easing a grin. “There’s a betting pool, you know. Odds on why the caffeine king is suddenly brewing leaves.”  

“You people will gamble on anything.”  

Dana parks the cart and crosses her arms. “Current theories: secret detox, midlife crisis, or”—she lifts her brows—“a certain pretty surgical nurse’s influence.”  

You snort. “Please. Nothing’s going on. Just two over‑worked fossils hydrating.”  

“Nothing she says, using his first name like a lullaby.” Dana winks. “Spill it.”  

You bag a head of romaine. “He’s…nice. Listens. That’s all.”  

“Uh‑huh. Well, when Jack starts smuggling in single‑origin Darjeeling, I’m cashing out.”  

Before you can reply, Dana’s niece launches a blueberry skyward; it splats harmlessly on Dana’s sleeve and she plucks it off, unfazed.

“Speaking of chaos—yesterday in The Pitt? One guy comes in with a nail‑gun through his boot and tries to livestream it. Robby has to confiscate the phone while Collins hunts for tetanus history. And—get this—one of the med‑students faints into the sharps bin. We’re calling him Porcupine now.”  

You laugh so hard you nearly drop your lettuce. “Porcupine! That’s savage, even for you.”  

“Pitt rules: if you pass out, you earn a nickname.” She scoops animal crackers into her niece’s hands. “Anyway, enjoy your day off. And remember, the house cut on the Abbot‑tea pool is twenty percent.”  

“Fine,” you sigh, pushing your cart. “But if you win, I’m taking half and buying enough loose‑leaf to convert the whole unit.”  

Dana salutes with a blueberry. “I’ll hold you to it, Jack‑whisperer.”  

You roll your eyes, but the name lingers sweet on your tongue as you both trundle toward the bakery—two nurses off‑duty, carts bumping, hearts lighter than any official chart will ever note.  

. . .  

By late afternoon you’re back in the apartment, juggling your against your ribs while your new lamp shines prettily near the entrance. You drop everything on the kitchen table and reach for your phone to tick “groceries” off the to‑do list—only to find three new notifications from the another strange number.

The previews are nonsense again—random consonants, stray emojis, one line that looks like Morse code smashed by a cat. You thumb through, equal parts annoyed and curious, until you hit the most recent message:  

Green suits you, pretty girl.  

A pulse hammers once, hard, in your throat.  

You set the phone down very carefully, as though it might explode, and listen—really listen—to the apartment. The fridge hums. Upstairs pipes clank. No footsteps, no voices, but suddenly every shadow feels occupied.  

Groceries forgotten, you sweep the place like you would on the trauma bay: bedroom closet first (just winter coats), bathroom cabinet (towels and aspirin), hall linen closet (sheets, vacuum hose), kitchen pantry (cereal boxes, nothing human). You kneel to peer under the bed, heart pounding like you sprinted stairs, then check every window lock twice, tugging to be sure.  

Finally you drag the spare dining chair across the floor and wedge its back under the doorknob—an old trick your grandmother swore by. It won’t stop a battering ram, but it buys time. Time feels like oxygen right now.  

Only then do you remember the milk on the counter, sweating through the carton. You shove perishables into the fridge on autopilot, not taking the care to arrange it like you usually would, hands trembling just enough to clink jars together. The phone stays facedown on the table, screen black, as though eye contact might invite more.  

Night falls, the apartment settles.

You brew the strongest sleep‑blend tea you own—valerian, chamomile, skullcap—and pour it into your largest mug. Scissors from the junk drawer go onto the vanity beside your bed, blades half‑open like a steel moth. Overreacting? Maybe. Under‑reacting because you haven’t called the police? Possibly. What you know is this: control is a ladder, and tonight every rung you can hold matters.  

You sip the smooth brew, crawl beneath the duvet, and stare at the ceiling until the tea’s heaviness drags your eyelids down. The phone is silenced, the chair braces the door, scissors glint in the street‑lamp glow. It isn’t much, but it’s a perimeter—thin, improvised, yours.  

You let the darkness take you, counting breaths, willing morning to hurry.

divider credit

[burnforyou]

PLEASEEE can we have sweet luigi bc weve had so much of him being like a dick LMAO i feel like kinda sweet geeky lu would be so cute

i know!!! i just know he is the sweetest boyfriend ever…

SWEET BOYFRIEND!LU who got nervous when you approached him with a question during office hours, even though he’s a TA and gets questions from so many other people.

SWEET BOYFRIEND!LU who would bring you flowers before every date. from little, sweet wildflowers he pulled over on the side of the road to pick, to beautiful magnolia bouquets he ordered from a florist. one date he brought you lego flowers and you two had a lego date night.

SWEET BOYFRIEND!LU who knows he is inexperienced in dating, but doesn’t want you to know, so he googles “how to kiss a girl” in a private browser.

SWEET BOYFRIEND!LU who didn’t know he pouts his lips everytime he’s deep in thought until you point it out and start pressing little kisses on his lips when he pouts.

SWEET BOYFRIEND!LU who just stares at you when you cuddle for the first time, not really sure how to hold you.

SWEET BOYFRIEND!LU who asks his sisters for advice. they tease him about having his first ever girlfriend.

SWEET BOYFRIEND!LU whose love language is acts of service, so he offers to do all your maths and science homework. you feel guilty every time, but you really need the extra help, so you agree to let him do it.

SWEET BOYFRIEND!LU whose love language is acts of service, so he’ll take off your heels after a date night and carry you back to your house.

SWEET BOYFRIEND!LU who never mansplains to you. he’s very aware of not being an asshole when he’s explaining something to you.

SWEET BOYFRIEND!LU who’s kinda ashamed of how nerdy he really is because he doesn’t want you to think he’s really weird.

SWEET BOYFRIEND!LU who wants to tell you he loves you very early on because he genuinely feels like he wants to be with you forever and doesn’t know what love bombing is.

SWEET BOYFRIEND!LU who’s still a little shy around your friends, but he tries really hard to be funny around them and you think it’s so cute 😭😭😭😭.

SWEET BOYFRIEND!LU who falls asleep everytime you two are just laying around and hanging out at your houses. especially if he’s at your place, there’s something that’s so relaxing to him about your house and the smell of it. he considers you his comfort place, somewhere where he can let go of all his stress and pain and just lay in your arms.

SWEET BOYFRIEND!LU who asks you to go to his frat’s halloween party with a matching costume, luigi and princess daisy <3

SWEET BOYFRIEND!LU who’s confused when you sigh when he puts on the fuck ass bali shirt.

SWEET BOYFRIEND!LU who purchased an old camera at a thrift store and became obsessed with capturing you through his eyes.

SWEET BOYFRIEND!LU who really wants to introduce you to his family.

SWEET BOYFRIEND!LU who doesn’t get mad when he’s jealous, he just gets sad. but when his asshole cousin flirts with you at his family function, that changes.

SWEET BOYFRIEND!LU who whimpers when you two are intimate.

SWEET BOYFRIEND!LU who sends you songs and says they remind him of you.

SWEET BOYFRIEND!LU who stalked your spotify playlists and then started incorporating your favorite songs and artists into his playlists. he’d purposely play the playlist he made that was mixed with yours and his favorite songs so you’d gasp everytime your songs played. “i didn’t know you knew this song!”

SWEET BOYFRIEND!LU who usually never let anyone touch his curls because his sisters used to mess with them when he was growing up. until you came around. then your fingers are almost always twirled around his little curls. he starts growing his hair out more when you tell him how much you love it.

[bjlipss]

— bug, part ii.

contents: college!sukuna x weird!reader. weird as in just odd and confusing behaviour but nonetheless cute, nothing pervy-weird. reader wears glasses because yes. really awkward and silly hehe

part i <- part ii -> part iii

day 2.

he figures it’s a one-time thing.

a glitch in the matrix. some weird campus cryptid latched onto him for ten minutes and then slithered back into whatever art building crawlspace you crawled out of.

he doesn’t even think about you again. not really.

not until the next afternoon.

he’s cutting across the east courtyard this time. earbuds in. hoodie up. gym bag slung over his shoulder like a threat. the sun’s too bright, his hangover’s kicking in, and someone spilled smoothie on the locker room bench this morning—so now his favorite hoodie smells like artificial strawberries and spite.

he’s halfway to the library steps, scowl already locked and loaded, when he hears it.

that same soft, off-key hum. buggy and breathy, like it’s being piped through a tin can.

he stops mid-step, completely still.

his playlist fades under the sound, like the world’s being tuned to your specific radio frequency.

no way. no fucking way.

slowly—too slowly, like a man turning to face a monster in a horror movie—he cranes his neck.

and there you are.

sitting under the big oak tree like it’s a throne made just for you.

same enormous sweatshirt swallowing your frame. same huge glasses slipping down your nose. bandaid still on your neck, but now there’s a little cartoon worm doodled on it in purple pen. legs swinging rhythmically like a little kid at the doctor’s office. there’s a juice box next to you—grape, he thinks—and you’re peeling a banana in slow motion. reverent.

you’re also staring directly at him.

unblinking.

he blinks once. then again.

you tilt your head.

he scowls.

“…are you fucking stalking me?”

“no,” you chirp, like this is a completely reasonable situation. “you’re just really easy to find.”

you tap your temple. “i have a sukuna sense.”

his jaw flexes. he’s genuinely not sure if you’re kidding or if you’ve genuinely installed some sort of psychic sukuna-tracker in your skull.

“stop saying weird shit.”

you pat the space next to you on the bench. casual. like this is a sitcom and you’re inviting your reluctant co-star to deliver his lines.

he doesn’t move. just glares.

you pat it again.

smile wider this time. not creepy—just patient. like you’re confident he’ll get tired eventually and choose to be around you.

“you’re not my friend,” he mutters.

“yet,” you say cheerfully, and punctuate it with a loud slurp from your juice box.

he stares at you like you’re an invasive species.

then snorts, half in disbelief, and stomps off without another word.

he doesn’t look back, not even once.

but the weird thing is—he’s not as annoyed as he should be.

day 3.

he’s at his locker. post-lift. sore, sweaty, halfway dead. earbuds in, head down. all he wants is a protein bar and a goddamn nap.

he spins the dial, opens the door—

—and three red skittles roll out and clatter onto the floor.

he freezes.

so do the guys around him.

one of them snorts. another mutters, “yo, what the hell?”

but sukuna doesn’t move. just stares at the skittles like they’re a warning. or a bomb.

he crouches, picks one up between his thumb and forefinger. there’s a tiny smiley face drawn on it in ink. the lines are a little shaky. probably drawn in a rush.

he grits his teeth. he doesn’t even like candy.

he glances down the hallway instinctively. doesn’t see you. doesn’t hear you. but something in the air feels off. staticky.

he tosses the skittle into his bag and slams the locker shut a little harder than necessary.

the next two he keeps in his palm.

he doesn’t know why.

day 4.

today he changes his route entirely. cuts around the humanities building. skirts the edge of the quad like it’s lava. ditches his usual corner table at the library and slinks into the back of the dining hall, behind a dusty fake ficus that smells like cheap plastic and desperation.

finally. finally.

no bug. no hum. no weird banana rituals or unsolicited commentary.

he grabs a tray, sits down, and pulls out his phone. opens it to scroll aimlessly. silence surrounds him.

for thirty blissful seconds.

then—

“hi.”

he flinches. audibly. jerks his head up so fast he nearly knocks over his drink.

you’re standing in front of him.

holding a tupperware container. it has a sticker on the lid that says “this is NOT poison” with a smiley face next to it.

“…how the fuck do you keep finding me?”

you blink innocently. “i told you. sukuna sense.”

he glares. “you are not funny.”

you shrug. “not trying to be.”

you pop the lid open and hold it out. inside: a peanut butter sandwich. no crusts. cut into the shape of a bat. it’s kind of ugly, if he’s honest, but also strangely… deliberate.

“it’s a snackrifice,” you say. “in exchange for your continued tolerance.”

he opens his mouth. ready to tell you to take it and leave. to stop harassing him. to go find a new person to haunt.

but the crusts are cut off and it smells kinda good.

he snatches it from your hands like a feral raccoon and mutters, “you’re so fucking weird.”

you beam and plop down across from him. he doesn’t kick you out. he eats the sandwich in silence.

day 5.

he gets to class early. because he has to. he’s not going to sit in the back like some loser just because you’ve wormed your way into his territory.

but when he walks in—you’re already in his seat.

you’re humming. chewing on a pen labeled penjamin in sparkly marker.

there’s a tiny paper crane perched next to your notes. it has googly eyes stuck on it and what looks like a cape made from a gum wrapper.

he stops in the aisle. glares at you. hard.

you look up. blink once.

and then calmly pat the seat beside you.

he stares. you pat again.

he makes a low sound in the back of his throat, somewhere between a growl and a sigh, and drops his bag onto the floor with a thud.

sits beside you.

you don’t say anything. just grin like a cat who’s claimed a sunbeam. your knee bumps his under the table.

he tells himself not to react.

he fails.

day 6.

you don’t show up.

he notices immediately. not consciously—but something feels off. like the sound in the world is too clear. too unbothered.

he walks across the courtyard. eyes skim the oak tree. it’s empty. the bench is cold.

he tells himself that’s good. peaceful.

but then he lingers by the vending machines. glances around the quad. checks his locker twice.

finally, right before his next class, he opens the locker again.

and finds it.

a sticky note, crooked and half-folded, clinging to the inside wall. your handwriting is messy and weirdly round:

can’t bug you today. sick. dying probably. rip me. save me a seat. ps: don’t eat skittles from strangers. except me. i’m trustworthy.

underneath is a tiny doodle of a skull with glasses. and… a cape?

he stares at it for a long moment.

then slowly, carefully, peels it off and folds it into his hoodie pocket.

his hand stays there longer than it needs to. just in case.

—

after that, he doesn’t try to shake you anymore.

he eats lunch on the quad, and you’re there.

he waits for practice in the locker room hallway, and you’re there, too.

you show up like bad weather. like background noise.

but weirdly… you’re quiet.

you don’t talk unless you want to. you don’t interrupt or cling. you don’t demand anything from him.

you just exist beside him.

chewing on pens. humming under your breath. sometimes reading a book upside down, like that’s normal. you wear socks with frogs on them and have a bandaid on your hand even when you’re not bleeding.

you remind him of static electricity. of flickering lights. of a broken clock that’s still somehow right twice a day.

you make his eye twitch.

and yet—

every time he glares at you, and you smile back like he’s just being so funny, something in his chest stirs. something small and stupid. something flickering like a lighter on its last spark.

he tells himself he hates it.

he hates you.

but he doesn’t tell you to leave anymore.

and that’s how he knows he’s fucked.

[ofbatsandballads]

please take this. I made myself cry writing it and I have nothing to say except that putting ya’aburnee and darling by halsey on my jason playlist was a brutal choice. also look up flower language if you want additional feelings.

There’s so many things you want for Jason Todd.

You want him to get a good night’s sleep for once. You let him close his pretty seafoam eyes and lay his head in the crook of your neck as you scratch gently at his scalp. It always calms him down, grounds him in the here and now. Your arms around him, your fingers carding through his hair, the rise and fall of your chest that’s synced with his–it all reminds him that he’s safe, that he’s home. You want that feeling to follow him into his dreams, to let him find true rest. So when his body goes tense and his breathing gets labored, you hold him closer and hum gently into his ear until whatever haunts him in his sleep is chased away by the comfort you bring.

You want to make sure he’s protected. You wish you could deflect every hit, blade, and bullet away from his body. You wish he would see his body as something worth protecting. He would stop if you asked, would settle into a normal life as best as he could. You would never ask because to do so would be to deny the part of him you love most: his heart that beats to help others. So you protect him in the ways that you can. You stitch cuts and treat burns, you mend his jackets and help clean his guns. More than anything, you guard his peace of mind like it’s the most valuable thing in the world. You’re never cruel to him, never scream vicious words or toss him out into the cold night. You call Bruce and thank him for the first edition Jane Austen novels that arrived on your doorstep on August 16th when Jason just…can’t. You let him grip your hand brutally tight under the table when you go to the manor for Thanksgiving for the first time. And when it gets really bad? When he feels the burning of green waters that breathed life into him that he didn’t want, when hideous laughter echoes in a place it’s never been? You do something no one has ever done for him. You wait. You stay. You stay by his side until he can breathe again, until dawn breaks and he can see the light again. And always, always you, haloed in it like an angel he doesn’t think he deserves. He does.

You want him to have a good cup of hot chocolate. He told you about it once when he came home after a long winter patrol. Half delirious from exhaustion, he reminisced about how Bruce would make them both a cup of hot chocolate after particularly rough or successful patrols in December. How this specific hot chocolate had no equal—even Alfred couldn’t replicate the richness and warmth. You noticed the fondness in his voice, the longing so intense that it still makes your heart ache for him. So you do some light stalking and hunt down Tim Drake, demand that he give you the information you want or else you’ll disclose how he really lost his spleen to Bruce (why he was dense enough to tell Jason, you’ll never know). And that is how Bruce Wayne, billionaire philanthropist single father and the Batman, receives an email with the subject line “URGENT: Recipe Request” that reads as follows:

To whom it may concern,

I have been made aware that you have a remarkably compelling hot chocolate recipe that is hitherto unparalleled by cafes, franchises, and butlers alike. I am emailing you to inquire about my being sent this recipe post-haste. This is less a request than a demand. I will do my best to ensure that you, at some point in time not specified (it will take great effort on my part), are able to witness the consumption of the hot chocolate by the individual that will be receiving the product of the recipe.

Best regards,

Someone who loves your son.

Bruce sends the recipe the second he receives the email. He has to sneak his phone under the conference table at the Wayne Enterprises board meeting to do it, but he still manages to reply in two minutes and forty-seven seconds. And you make good on your promise. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Jason shine as brightly as he does that Christmas, lit up by the lights on the twelve foot tree as he sips his hot chocolate from the same red mug that’s been sitting in the kitchen cabinet since he last drank from it. The matching black mug is clasped in the hands of the hot chocolate connoisseur himself, who smiles softly like the magic of the season has returned to his life for the first time in ages.

You want him to heal. It’s a big ask; you know that. But you’ve never been one for giving up hope, and if anyone can manage to achieve the impossible, it’s Jason. So you tell him it’s a great idea when he jokes about getting a therapist. You wait for him in the car the first time he goes and you let him open up to you in his own time when he comes out of the appointment body tight as a bowstring and eyes bloodshot. You watch quietly and celebrate the little victories you see him win. He can call his father first now; he doesn’t do it often, but he can. He can talk to his younger brother without hating his hands and the blood that’s been spilled on them, without going out on patrol and intentionally letting all the worst hits make contact. He can go out to lunch with his older brother and his youngest, can laugh with them over that ridiculous thing Bruce did at a gala once to make them all laugh. He can bear his birthday a little bit better now, can accept the cake you bake and actually make a wish when he blows out the candles. But you’ll never know about the moment that you start to get what you want. Jason goes to visit his own grave on the anniversary of his death and finds a bouquet of red carnations, baby’s breath, and honeysuckle with a note in your handwriting that reads “Someone told me once that you were magic, that that was the best thing about you. I think it’s far more important that you were loved. I don’t know what you could’ve been. I don’t wonder about it like those that loved you did because all I know is who you became. He’s wonderful. He’s still magic. I think you’d be proud of him. I’ll do my best to take care of him for you.” He sits there for an hour in tears. Then he takes one bud of each flower and the note, goes home and presses them into the pages of his favorite book. He holds you in his arms in bed that night and feels, for the first time in a long time, a sense of peace down to his very bones.

You want—above all else—Jason Todd to feel loved. You want him to feel so cherished and wanted that he cannot possibly look at himself without realizing that he is something precious, something beloved. So you tell him that you love him and you accept his warm embrace as his way of saying it back. You make him chocolate chip cookies and sneak one into the pocket of his tactical pants when he goes on patrol (they’re soft, they don’t get crunched when he’s thrown from a roof). You read his favorite books to understand what he’s saying when he goes off on tangents about class and social hierarchy and how they governed life in the 19th century. You trace his scars and kiss away his tears when he can’t believe that he could be transformed from a being marred by brutality into a man revered with gentleness. You will love him until the day you both die. You will love him in death, until whatever atoms made up you and him come together again. You will love him until everything that ever is or ever was ceases to be in a supernova of light. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll love him in whatever is born after.

[spookyserenades]

Sanctity - Chapter Two

Pairing(s); BTS OT7 x Reader

Genre/Themes; Vampire!AU, yandere!AU, horror, themes of the supernatural and mythology, historical topics, vampiric powers, religious themes, violence, romance

Rated; 18+ for swearing, violence/gore, toxic behavior including stalking, torture, and manipulation, future sexual themes. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Word Count; 20.3k

Sanctity Masterlist

Sanctity Playlist

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Ko-fi 💜

WELCOME BACK! I love you all. I'd like to highlight some warnings here for this chapter straight off the bat: there are major dub-con moments in this chapter of sexual nature. Multiple character deaths, suicidal thoughts, abuse, and quite a bit of graphic gory scenes are included in this update. Please know this is a work of HORROR FICTION as well! This got especially macabre because it's like ice age in New England LMAO. I hope you all enjoy this update and kisses from yours truly, Dana <3

WARNING! There are instances of DEATH, gore and dubious consent. This work of fiction does not remotely reflect members of BTS in reality. The boys are written to be toxic in Sanctity (yandere). Please be warned if this is triggering to you.

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

How much time passed, Y/N did not, nor would she ever, know. Bit by bit, the first thing that returned to her was her sense of smell– something thick and smoky filling her nostrils, maybe an offertory incense blend from the chapel. The second sense was her hearing, and still expecting the Sanctuary’s bell tower to wake her up, her body went stiff when she heard old-timey music and several different male voices. Shit– the next thing she was aware of was her recent memories. 

Eyes flying open, she was laying down on some kind of upholstered settee, still wearing the velvet mini dress from dinner, which was almost hiked up around her hips. Horrified and woozy from both her blood being drained, multiple glasses of wine and liquor, and her state of exposure, she sat up abruptly. Staring down at her freshly polished toes, bare and lacking the fancy heels she was wearing earlier, Y/N froze at the sound of her name being called while she pulled her dress back down, her mind jumping to a conclusion that one of them actually touched her while she was unconscious. 

“Finally awake? You’d think after that meal, you’d at least be able to stand on your feet once Seokjin bit you. He hardly took anything,” Jeongguk approached her first, holding a cue stick and staring down at her with a smirk. He had ditched his sports jacket, the first few buttons on his white shirt pulled free and his tie hanging limply around his neck.

Scrambling to a fully seated position, Y/N saw that her shoes were nowhere to be seen, and she had been carried by someone into the billiard’s room adjoining the space where they had dinner. Perhaps one of the vampires removed her shoes so she couldn’t use the stilettos as a pointed weapon. Sick to the back teeth of being teased and manipulated, especially when she felt her neck and wrist throbbing and saw how perfectly healthy Jeongguk had become after drinking her blood, her eyes narrowed nearly shut. 

“I’m sure it was the fucking wine glass he slit my wrist into was what prevented me from having normal goddamn footing,” Y/N fumed as best she could with a completely dried-out throat, Jeongguk’s smirk widening and showing his teeth at the outburst. 

“What a filthy mouth you’ve got, ma chérie,” Hoseok teased through laughter, all while leaning over a massive pool table and aiming his cue at a white ball. The new nickname from the ex-pirate, whatever language it came from, had her feeling belittled and repulsed– even if Hoseok’s drawl was soulful and spellbinding. It was as if in her slumber, she had managed to grow an even stronger spine. 

“My name’s Y/N, not whatever you just called me. Not pet, not ‘little girl,’ not ‘dove’. If you’re all going to torture me, at least afford me the favor of not patronizing me,” Y/N stood, making sure to make pointed eye-contact with both Hoseok and Jimin; the latter of which was lazily draped on another settee across the room with a cordial glass and a lit cigar. 

“Ah, true colors. I hoped you were as meek as you pretended to be yesterday afternoon, but it seems my initial suspicions were correct. How tiring,” Seokjin was by the fireplace, not sparing her a glance as the flames illuminated his side profile. He appeared to be the only one with his suit still flawlessly intact, one of his hands buried in the pocket of his slacks while the other braced his weight on the marble mantle. 

“Who carried me in here?” Y/N ignored Seokjin, trying to find her shoes. For some reason, her bare feet on the marble had her feeling more vulnerable than her disheveled dress. 

“No one violated you, girl,” Seokjin snapped, all while ignoring her request to remove pet names from his vocabulary. The fog of Jeongguk entering her mind and offering up her secret thoughts to the eldest vampire made Y/N wince, spurring her foolish outburst to go beyond the reach of her control.

“That wasn’t my question,” Y/N’s hands balled into fists, so blind with rage and the instinct to battle for her life that she snapped. “Stay out of my head, you!” 

Y/N all but spat at Jeongguk while pointing at him, the young vampire still wearing that infuriating grin, Y/N storming past him with her feet slapping against the Italian marble to confront Seokjin. Again, a part of her was screaming that Jeongguk could be her kin as he watched, with his youthful appearance– the only thing that had her storming by was the demonic color of his irises. 

At first, she was blasting by the youngest vampire and barreling towards Seokjin, however, a palm covered in buttery leather wrapped around the base of her throat that stopped her in her tracks effectively, harshly. Met with cold, glowing red eyes, Y/N could hardly crane her neck up at Namjoon towering over her, Seokjin sighing from behind Namjoon. 

“If you must know, pest, I brought you in here. Watch your tongue and know your place,” Namjoon’s fingers flexed against the sides of her throat, dark hair in his eyes when Y/N felt the rush of blood in her arteries frantically trying to find a place to go. Paired with the sting of the leather rubbing against Seokjin’s earlier bite, Y/N heeded Namjoon’s warning and nodded as best she could just so he would let her go. 

“Did you not see what Namjoon-ah could do during dinner? If his power can affect Jimin that strongly, what do you think it can do to you?” Seokjin cut in softly, snapping his fingers once. With the sharp sound that contrasted the vampire’s dulcet tone, Namjoon released Y/N’s throat immediately, leaving her to double over and gasp for breath. “Let’s make one thing clear. You can curse at us as much as you please, but do not think you are above being punished for rash actions. I can promise you, I am not a merciful man– Namjoon-ah even less so.”

Y/N felt defeat again, the spark of rebellion in her extinguished thoroughly. The shiny black shoes and pressed pants in front of her seemed blurry, Namjoon towering over her like a steel wall. When she could straighten up again, Y/N flinched at the vampire’s expression: hateful, but the mean smile on his face created sweet little dimples on his cheeks, which contradicted just about everything else about the vampire. His expression, in the best translation Y/N could come up with, was someone contemplating just how to tear another piece by piece with relish.

“Will you drain me dry like your last acolyte?” ​​Y/N rasped, addressing Seokjin but still staring straight at Namjoon, as if one small movement from her would have him lunging. 

Hearing Jimin’s light snickering from across the room did nothing but heighten Y/N’s  humiliation about being put in her place once more. Glancing at him, she spotted Yoongi in the corner, a sketchbook in his lap and apparently not paying any attention to the spectacle. Also disinterested was Taehyung, leafing through a newspaper and puffing on a cigar he was sharing with Jimin. 

“Maybe,” Seokjin hummed, letting Namjoon fall back into the shadows beside an old phonograph still playing age-weathered music. “Maybe not. Behave, and there’s no reason to fear for your life.”

“She wants to shorten her sentence, Seokjin,” Yoongi finally interjected, fingertips covered in inky charcoal. Darkly, Y/N thought that perhaps Yoongi might be the one with the most sense, and that wasn’t saying much. 

“Ever play pool, Y/N?” Hoseok asked suddenly, injecting enough snark into the girl’s name rolling off of his tongue to have her grimacing. 

“Doubt she’s ever even played checkers, Hoseok,” Jeongguk replied, yanking his tie dangling over his shoulder and tossing it on the floor. While leaning over the table to take his own shot, Y/N’s vision focused on the lean, hard-muscled frame Jeongguk had: the thin button-down he had on strained against his toned arms and his sides as he lined up the pool cue between his index and middle fingers. Namjoon aside– there would be no way she could ever be a match to Jeongguk alone.  

“Is it permitted for me to retire now?” Y/N spoke through gritted teeth, muscles in her legs twitching when the petty side of her personality threatened to theatrically curtsy. Distantly, Jeongguk’s mouth corner curled up in amusement– catching the mental image she conjured.

“Say goodnight first, won’t you now?” Jimin trilled, voice curling seductively over the mosaic ceiling, and right when Y/N thought that she had recovered from Namjoon’s chokehold, Jimin was casting another deeply-rooted spell on her. “Taehyung has a question, don’t you?”

Taehyung. The one who so casually dared to impersonate someone close to her, to pretend to be Joseph. While she dreaded nothing more than even looking at the very vampire, Jimin’s roots were so quickly penetrating her bones she found with horror that she was no more than a puppet on a string for him. 

Not even seconds later, Y/N was stumbling over her own bare feet to get to the seating area where the two young vampires were– Yoongi still off to the side, Taehyung lowering his newspaper and passing the lit cigar to Jimin. While hyper aware of Jimin’s hold on her, Y/N’s attention was conquered by Taehyung’s intense, stony expression. Clearing his throat, the shiny gel that was previously taming his midnight waves during dinner was cracking, leaving piecey curls hanging in his face. 

“Tell me, now. Was my answer sufficient?” Taehyung began, tracing his pointer finger over his moistened lower lip, almost cherry red in color thanks to her blood affording him a complexion. 

Y/N’s eyebrows knit in confusion, every nerve in her body pulsing with a dim throb the longer Jimin kept her docile and hypnotized. 

“Huh?” Y/N’s eyelids were heavy, so she found herself batting her eyelashes more frequently than she normally did. “I didn’t ask you anything.”

“Master Taehyung was referring to his reply to you during dinner. Was his reply more or less something ‘Joseph’ would say? Was it enough, dove?”

 Jimin was staring at his nails, one of his trim shoulders slipping out from under his loose shirt collar, and Y/N– to her mortification– immediately thought that the garment had become quite useless, so why was Jimin even bothering to keep it on at all? To deepen her mortification, an amused snicker coming from Jeongguk had her wishing the stained glass lamp above him would come loose and sever his head from his shoulders. Jeongguk’s laughter only became louder when reading her murderous thoughts, the sound of it lively and boyish– not the laughter of a lethal creature. 

Y/N paused, rewinding her memory to dinner. At that time, she really believed that her friend Joseph had been permitted to visit her. Like a bucket of glacial water dumped over her head when realizing her own naivety, she also realized it wasn’t just Jeongguk who could reach into her mind– Jimin could do it, Seokjin could do it and share the way into her head with everyone else. Jeongguk wasn’t laughing anymore. 

“Joe– oh. You, I suppose. You said something about never forgetting me and writing frequently, no?” Y/N, under the puppet strings Jimin was using to keep her steady, was able to study Taehyung’s face with rapt interest; her rational self locked away in some dark corner of her mind. “I think that’s when the coherent part of me sensed something wrong. Joseph hates writing letters, and he’d never talk so sentimentally. Yeah, we were close, but like cat-and-mouse siblings.”

“Still, hyung. Jeongguk mentioned he could not accurately understand the girl’s thoughts at that moment. It seems… peculiar,” Namjoon’s voice, all velvet, filled the room, addressing the eldest vampire still watching the flames in the fireplace. 

“Peculiar? No. The most sound theory is that her thoughts were too animal and stupid for Jeongguk to hear, Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin wasn’t fond of entertaining mysteries or anything that required him to put time and energy into, particularly if the subject matter surrounded a human being. “Forget it. We always deal with issues promptly, and I’m not deeming the girl’s slow mind an issue yet.”

“I suppose I can’t blame myself for not knowing what your acquaintance would say word for word. Jeongguk only had time to go through a handful of memories.”

Y/N didn’t like Taehyung’s dry, holier-than-thou attitude. He had zero decency to look her in the eye, rather looking through her and down his nose. Y/N sensed he was the type of man who had never heard the word ‘no’ in regards to anything. 

“Things have to happen in a timely manner, Y/N, you see? Everything is about timing– that is something I’ve learned again and again– Jeongguk had about half a second to comb through your mind before you would dissolve into complete hysterics. Complete hysteria from you, you’d have a drunk pirate giving you something worse to cry about,” Taehyung continued, giving Hoseok a deliberate, uninterested look when mentioning the ‘drunk pirate’. Hoseok wasn’t paying attention, too busy chalking up his pool cue to bother participating in the conversation. 

For a moment, all that Y/N could hear was a whooshing in her ears as Jimin’s hypnosis began to withdraw, her body promptly trembling with exhaustion as she stood before Taehyung. His tan suit, perfectly pressed, complimented his skin tone now that it was darker, his complexion probably resembling the healthiest peak of his human life. The gray veins over his temples were gone, and there were moles here and there splattered across his face. 

“That’s all… hmm, Jimin. Why don’t you call up to the second floor to make sure the human’s chambers are prepared for the night,” Taehyung gave Y/N one last cursory glance before plucking up his newspaper again. 

Y/N didn’t even hear Jimin waltz his way to an old-fashioned intercom system, murmuring something seductive into the device while his shirt began to pool around his elbows and expose nearly his entire chest and back. She only tuned in when she felt bizarre about standing in front of Taehyung so clearly dismissing her, a spark of hope at the idea of the privacy of her bedroom making her abruptly turn on her bare heels. 

“Awww, Juliana. That won’t do. Make sure her sheets are heated, too,” Jimin purred, Y/N getting the feeling that he was purposefully trying to prolong her time spent in the billiard’s room. “There will be a frost, come morning…”

Y/N separated herself from Taehyung’s proximity, trying to edge her way to the closest door, but unfortunately it was the one that was being watched by Namjoon still cloaked in the shadows. As she tried to look for an escape while hoping Jeongguk was distracted to notice her plotting, Y/N silently began to shuffle sideways.

Not that she got very far– as soon as Y/N reached a leather ottoman halfway to an unguarded door, she yelped when she lost feeling in her legs and promptly crumpled onto the piece of furniture. Her arms tried to brace her fall, but those limbs, too, were limp and refusing her brain’s command to move herself. 

“Nngh, ow! W-what?! What’s happening to me?” Y/N panicked, voice shrill and bouncing around the lofty room. Her body was completely limp, unable to flinch away even when someone began to arrange her legs by parting them, her dress riding up the back of her thighs again. 

Ascertaining who was touching her sans-permission was impossible, due to the fact that her cheek was squished against the ottoman and her line of sight was limited to a glass case filled with cigars. Humiliation licked Y/N’s skin with white-hot heat, no doubt in her mind the scrap of lace covering her modesty was somewhat on display as she was shaped to be bent over the ottoman. 

“Stop, s-stop, please. I can’t move—”

“Silenzio,” a deep, gritty voice was mere inches from her ear, the foreign word close enough to silence for her to get the hint. The record that was playing on the gramophone began to crackle, the needle scratching the label and needing to be flipped. “Stay put.”

“Like she can help it. You’ve paralyzed her,” Hoseok scoffed, trying to hide the fact that he was getting off on beating Jeongguk at their game of pool. It was looking like Hoseok would be driving Jeongguk’s Mercedes around town come morning. 

Paralyzed. Y/N had not a semblance of an idea of what she had done to cause offense to Yoongi, who was carding her hair over her shoulders methodically, but all she could do was lay there helplessly. His fingertips were warm on her forearm when he draped tresses over her waist in a sensual position, even going as far as to adjust how her fingers were splayed over her hip. 

“Master… master Y-yoongi…?” Y/N’s breath came out choppy, her diaphragm somewhat crushed thanks to her awkward weight distribution against the ottoman. 

“Noisy,” Yoongi murmured to himself, detached. Rolling his eyes, Hoseok set his cue down, approaching Yoongi and his current model with his hands on his hips. 

“If she’s so noisy, paralyze her face. You’re a complainer who hates solutions,” Hoseok watched while Yoongi gingerly stretched one of the girl’s arms out so it was hanging off the furniture.

Yoongi would go on and on about how he was capturing ‘yearning’, but to a vampire (and former buccaneer) who stole art for value, the girl was being positioned to get fucked against the ottoman. Pushing a hand through his hair, Hoseok snorted to himself. Now that he had a sufficient, consistent nutrient source, he could visit the girls at the cabaret again. It had been far too long since a woman had been under him and his mercy. 

“To paralyze the face would make the subject unworthy of being painted,” Yoongi replied plainly, like it was a practiced response, and with emphasis on his words the artist ever so slightly turned the girl’s head with a loose grip on her jaw. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and pretty crystalline tears gathered in her eyelashes, eyeliner smudging perfectly. It was like Yoongi’s lucky day. 

“You’re an odd–”

“Hoseok. Let Yoongi be done with it so she can leave,” Seokjin cut Hoseok off before he could start a cock fight. Jimin was already shivering with excitement at the idea of a dramatic altercation, and Seokjin caught it before he’d have to discipline him again. 

“You’re an odd immortal,” Hoseok ignored Seokjin, though physically, he retreated. That was good enough for Seokjin, who kept one eye on the younger vampire returning to his rum and billiard’s game. 

All the while, Y/N locked herself away in her own head. Perhaps, if she could reach some kind of meditative state, she could compartmentalize. The best she could do was focus on keeping her eyes shut so she wouldn’t have to look at the vampires for a second longer, and the sensation of tears dripping down her cheeks. 

“Are you resurrecting your proclivity for lewd portraiture, Yoongi?” Namjoon commented, straightening up at the sweet scent of hopeless tears, greedily soaking up the sight across the room. “That original collection of yours remains your finest work.” 

From where he was, he could see the arch of the girl’s back jutting her hips backwards, and in consequence, and the fleshy curves of her ass cheeks were just exposed enough to reveal lace between her legs. Namjoon, with amusement, knew that if he got just a little closer, he’d be able to smell her. 

“I wouldn’t coin that as lewd, Namjoon, just sloppy and lacking all of Yoongi’s former risk. It must have been some time since you have lain with a woman,” Jeongguk disagreed, aware that he was toeing a very thin line between a cold scoff from the elder vampire or experiencing his molten wrath. 

Namjoon, in a rare moment of mercy, hardened his expression, tearing his gaze from the apex of the acolyte’s thighs. The leverage that Jeongguk caught a perverted thought coming from Namjoon was enough, apparently. On the other hand, the youngest vampire was enjoying a morsel of information he pried out of the girl’s mind seconds prior all to himself, just for that moment: the acolyte did not mirror dirty thoughts that the coven was having. In fact, the more Jeongguk sifted through her memories, he realized with delight that she didn’t know the feeling of her own arousal– yet. Maybe Yoongi had observed that, keenly taking it upon himself to milk her confused, humiliated response. 

“Give Yoongi a month. He’ll have that acolyte stripped down completely and posing face down, ass up by then.”

Electric, enticing fear zapped through Y/N at the blithe, unflinching prediction that came from Seokjin out of the blue, and the scent of it triggered a heavy spill of lust to settle over the room. Jeongguk could feel it, and he knew his elders did too– though Seokjin was the picture of nonchalance. Jeongguk couldn’t think of a time when Seokjin preoccupied himself with pursuits of the flesh over the last century, therefore hearing him speak with plain vulgarity was jarring. 

“I’ll have to sit in on that session,” Jimin purred, hanging up the intercom with a grin. By then, he was aggravated with his infernal top, letting it fall from his elbows and pool to the floor in a heap.

In a flash, he was behind Yoongi, eyes sweeping over the charcoal sketch the elder vampire was working on. Yoongi’s hand moved so quickly across the paper, it was almost impossible to track. In fact, Yoongi had already sketched four different versions of the scene in front of him and used up an entire box of charcoal. Yoongi, with aggravated sigh, set his sketchbook down and tossed the empty box of charcoal across the room and into the roaring fire. Jimin, slyly, leafed through the sketches, comparing each to the actual model, a flirtatious impressed hum leaving his chest. 

“You should see these, dove. If you had wings, they’d be broken…” Jimin caught her eye, his posture stiffening at the tear her teeth made into her lower lip. He knew she was incredibly frightened, though he couldn’t help it, he wanted to up the intensity; the reward was far too tempting. Turning on the charm again, Jimin started to stalk towards her with one hand on his belt. 

“N-no!” Y/N whimpered pathetically, immediately thinking the worst when Jimin began to get closer. No matter how hard she tried to squeeze her thighs together, she couldn’t curl in on herself like she wanted to. “Oh, please–”

“‘If you had wings, they’d be broken’. God, is that how you made your fortune in theater and movies?”

“Hoseok, you still haven’t read Jimin’s plays? Or seen one of his films at the cinema?” Jeongguk spoke through chortles, really starting to feel the nourishment of the acolyte’s blood in his body. He felt alive again. 

“Usually sleep through ‘em, or I’m getting blow–”

“Yoongi, release her from Paralysis if you’re finished. Hoseok, head to the cabaret if you wish to keep drinking and whoring,” Seokjin finally moved away from the fire, his expensive loafers clicking against the floors. 

Jimin was only a few feet from Y/N, the vampire half-clothed and eager to rile her up a bit more before Seokjin could spoil the fun. To Jimin’s surprise, however, Y/N’s fear spiked acutely when Seokjin appeared, the eldest vampire kneeling beside her and blocking her view of him. With Seokjin so close, so suddenly, and fearing his status, Y/N’s tears came faster. 

“Please, just please! I just want to go upstairs! I d-don’t– I don’t want to…” Y/N broke down, and with Seokjin’s request to lift Paralysis, Yoongi watched as his power left her and the girl began to shake like a newborn fawn. Seokjin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Master S-seokjin, please, I want mmph–!”

Seokjin pressed his palm over the young acolyte’s mouth, half to shut her up, half to somewhat cover up the scent of her bloody lip. It was a charged situation– one he had complete control over, of course– but keeping the peace was important to Seokjin. 

It was abhorrent to him that he needed that nuisance of a little girl, one causing so much unrest, as he scanned the ruined makeup running down her cheeks. Though, the vitality thrumming through him and the rest of the coven was undeniable, thanks to her. Seokjin was about to call for the acolyte’s maids, lips dropping open, when she made things infinitely more dangerous. 

Since she had never been paralyzed by Yoongi, her body didn’t know how to come down from his influence. With her desperate pent up energy, unable to engage in fight or flight, once her shivering dissolved, Y/N’s limbs began jerking. With Seokjin’s hand still over her mouth, her back arched in order to get air to her crushed diaphragm, and instinctively, her thighs snapped shut. 

However, something unexpected struck through her when her legs pressed together, something she could only describe as warm and aching, and it caught her so off-guard that a strangled, confused moan left her lips and was muffled against Seokjin’s palm. A primal and unfamiliar urge had her wanting to chase that feeling, Seokjin’s surprised, wide eyes in front of her had the throb return, if not for a second– her hips squirming against the ottoman eagerly.

Studying him through watery eyes, Y/N felt like she needed to light a candle to Seokjin’s beauty, the jitteriness that came with Yoongi releasing her from paralysis causing her to seek out stability. Her index finger curled around Seokjin’s blazer cuff as if to anchor herself. It felt like minutes, but it was likely seconds, where every vampire in the room froze completely, not a whisper of sound following her muffled mew.

“Astonishing,” Taehyung broke the silence, setting his newspaper down and getting to his feet. Things took an interesting turn, for once. 

“Do not,” Seokjin commanded, but a breath though still firm. Y/N fidgeted, attempting to moisten her dry lips but only managing to give Seokjin’s palm an embarrassing kitten lick– which had him recoiling and pressing his hand more harshly against her face. “Control yourself, acolyte.”

Y/N didn’t know what that meant. Sure, the raw fear was still there, vehement hate flooding her body when Taehyung entered her line of sight, but the seductive drag of his fingertip tracing over her fragile shoulder blade elicited another unsure whimper.

“P-puh-mm,” Y/N switched to pleading again, wanting to jump off the great cliff where the mansion was settled beside more than ever. Seokjin’s gaze hardened, his throat bobbing. 

“Seokjin, come on. Look at her!” Hoseok was positively delighted, spotting arousal pulsing between her legs from miles away– not to mention smelling it. “Moaning and crying like a bitch in heat.”

“Enough,” Seokjin barked, though the demand was strangled.

Do not speak a word.

The eldest vampire’s voice cut through the fog in Y/N’s head urgently, and at once, he removed his hand from her face. With absence, he wiped the blood from her torn lip on his pristine pant leg, Y/N breathing heavily from her mouth now that it was free.

One word from you and I’ll leave you here with the young ones.

That was a dark enough threat from Y/N, though with mortification, she thinly whined at the thought of Seokjin making good on his promise– mistake. Bonelessly, she started to lift her torso from the ottoman, her skin hot and tacky, all while each vampire in the room tracked her every movement.

“Is she going to get sick?” Yoongi remarked with disgust, tucking his sketchbook away. He was decidedly ready to paint; and yes, it would be something to toy with the flustered acolyte, but capturing her misery would end up being more erotic to him.

“She doesn’t know what she’s feeling,” Jeongguk revealed blandly, smugly, leaning one of his trim hips against the billiards table. “She wants– probably you, Seokjin, to touch her, but she’s too dim to know that.”

“So all of that ‘purity’ propaganda about Sanctuary acolytes is true? They’re clueless virgins?” Hoseok had to swallow a great laugh, almost pitying the mortals.

“Just like the old days… Most girls had not the slightest idea what happened in the bedroom,” Jimin contributed to the conversation, an unsettling edge to his voice that had Y/N sniffling. 

Jeongguk began to fish around in her head more intensely, but Y/N felt her cheeks grow hot while her thighs squeezed together in pulses. Reading the acolyte’s thoughts, he hummed wickedly at the girl wondering what was so bad about being compared to the Virgin– the revered mother the Sanctuary worshipped. 

“She’s untouched,” Jeongguk revealed, Hoseok’s interest piquing sevenfold. Eyes glowing, Hoseok was standing beside Taehyung in a flash, a forearm resting on the younger vampire’s shoulder. Venom was flooding Hoseok’s mouth as soon as he caught a whiff of the wetness beginning to seep into the acolyte’s underwear, and Taehyung was thinking about all of the ways he could break her. 

Again, Y/N had no idea what the vampires were talking about. Nor did she know what was happening to her body, her skin sweaty and hyper-sensitive, and she couldn’t bear to look away from Seokjin. He looked like he was thinking very hard, red eyes sweeping over her body struggling to release what was building up inside of her. It took every ounce of strength she had left, but Y/N managed to struggle off of the ottoman, rocking backwards on her bare heels to a kneeling position. All the while, the finger curled around Seokjin’s jacket turned into a fistful of desperate fabric, the eldest vampire’s breath catching in shock over her sheer audacity.

“Help, it h-hurts,” Y/N whispered, throat dry. Beginning to come to the conclusion that coming down from Yoongi’s paralysis was what was making her feel so raw with nerves, she tried to plead with Seokjin despite his threat to leave her with the young vampires– the ones looking at her like she was dessert. “Master Seokj-jin, please, I want to–”

“Fuck?” Hoseok cut the acolyte off helpfully, filling in the blank that she was unaware existed. Things were spiraling out of control, and Hoseok was so entertained by Seokjin’s patience hanging by a thread that he decided to take things up a notch– perhaps finding out if he could elicit more of her slick to ruin her underwear. “A virgin begging for cock like a slut. Soaked pussy just from a few simple touches and words.”

The foreign, husky words from Hoseok had Y/N’s pulse quickening, humiliation licking her skin. To add to her mortification, she felt something wet rolling down one of her thighs, and when she looked down between her legs, she squeaked in alarm. With her free hand, shakily, her fingers swiped through the slick thinking it was sweat, but when she brought her hand up to take a closer look at filmy strings coating her digits, all hell broke loose. Seokjin cursed, sending out seven different mental commands– with additional forceful suggestions for staff that was still working– but even that wasn’t enough, so with a borderline bone-crushing embrace, Y/N was caged in his arms and as far away from the youngest vampires as possible. Jeongguk, Taehyung, and Jimin stared hungrily at the girl, trembling like a lamb, edible. 

“Hoseok, I told you if you wanted to fuck like a rutting animal, go see your whores,” Seokjin’s voice was loud, furious, and Y/N couldn’t breathe in his arms. Despite her acute fear and dislike for Seokjin, Y/N’s body reacted on its own, pressing backwards against his strong chest for protection. “Leave, Hoseok. Yoongi, this is your doing and there will be consequences. Remove the fledglings from the room. Go.”

There was no space to argue with Seokjin. His covenmates hadn’t seen Seokjin so enraged, not for decades, and before Jimin could pout and add fuel to the flames (or sink his teeth into the delicious acolyte), he was torn from the room with Yoongi’s grip around his wrist. One by one, in a split second, Yoongi collected the youngest vampires, and Hoseok was long out the door with the cabaret set as his destination. 

Once the immediate threats were gone, Seokjin all but shoved Y/N out of his reach, the girl caught by someone else before she could hit the floor. Nearly collapsing into his weight completely, leather gloves slipping over her dewy shoulders, Y/N at least knew who was touching her this time. That time, too, she realized she didn’t mind Namjoon touching her. After a prolonged period of time absorbed with Seokjin’s presence, Y/N was ashamed to admit that Namjoon could steal it effortlessly. Namjoon, like Seokjin, was infuriated; Y/N could tell by the way his jaw clenched dangerously. 

“Get her out of my sight before I do something I’ll regret,” Seokjin spoke through his teeth, but the volume of his demand was deadly quiet. The sound of it had a tingle rolling down Y/N’s spine, her skull still throbbing from Jeongguk sifting through her past, and Y/N thought that she might faint again. “Exercise restraint, Namjoon-ah.”

Surprise flickered in Namjoon’s eyes. Seokjin, normally, would have had him using Pain Illusion on the acolyte for her little stunt– even if she couldn’t help it. 

“Hyung?”

“I have calls to make. Take her upstairs,” Seokjin pushed a hand through his short choppy bangs, and he disappeared like he never was there in the first place.

Y/N winced when Namjoon tightened his hold on her with purpose, his expression turning rock-solid. The throb between her legs didn’t grow any weaker. Namjoon’s nostrils flaring, Y/N’s fear returned when a cold grin spread across the vampire’s face, his sharp fangs on display. However, if it weren’t for the fangs, Namjoon had one of the loveliest smiles in the world, and that broke Y/N’s heart, distantly. The vampire cocked his head and misread her train of thought.

“You’re absolutely terrified of me, aren’t you?”

Y/N’s head snapped up to make eye contact when Namjoon spoke, realizing her attention was lingering on the shape of his lips. Going rigid when the vampire stooped low, he got a firm hold of her naked calves. With one swift movement, Y/N was hoisted into the air and slung over Namjoon’s bulky shoulder. The immortal speed made her nauseous, a strangled sound coming from the back of her throat, one gloved hand squeezing the arm slung over his opposite shoulder, and the other cupped over the sensitive backs of her knees. Not allowing her to recover at all, Namjoon had the girl inside of her bedroom before she could take a breath. 

“Do not make me ask again, woman,” Namjoon cruelly dropped the girl from his hold only to pin her to a nearby wall by her hip. She groaned, Namjoon noting that if he applied just the slightest additional force, he could shatter her hip bone. 

“I need to s-sit down… where is N-nadia?” Y/N managed to get out, at war with how to answer him and praying furiously for someone to save her. She was having a primordial reaction to everything that had happened, and it was sapping the energy out of her. Namjoon snatched up one of her forearms in annoyance, the limb like a twig under his leather gloves. “No! Ow, no, I mean y-yes!”

Y/N could not take it anymore. She was hot, cold, contorting in pain and shivering with something else. She offered the truth. Sure, she was scared, but there was something else that was nameless to her. Was it… curiosity she felt?

“No? Let me offer you some advice,” Namjoon tsked, briefly wishing he could look into her mind like Jeongguk. “Don’t lie like that to Seokjin. Next time, he’ll have me skewer you.”

Y/N flinched, remembering the sword Namjoon had strapped to his back, and the fact that he was once commissioned to cut people down. His smile returned, scenting the dread pressing down on her. 

“See? Though, didn’t the butler tell you not to reveal your fear?” Namjoon ignored the venom that was pooling on his tongue, swallowing it quickly so he could keep up the taunts. Seokjin didn’t want to punish the human, but Namjoon wanted to. “Now we know what fear does to you.”

The girl was blinking at him, which had the immortal pausing. She was fixated on his mouth again, which caused a snarl to rip from behind his teeth. 

“What are you looking at? Are you so consumed by lust that your brain has melted?” Namjoon paired his words with a vicious yank of her arm, the hand on her hip moving to pinch her jaw. The back of her head hit the wall, Y/N crying out and completely powerless to self-preserve. “Tell me what you were staring at.”

“I don’t want to.”

Namjoon, in all his years of dealing with acolytes, had never encountered such a stubborn one. It had something dark possessing him, the thrum of her frightened pulse a stark contrast to the song her body was singing. Then, when he realized how close he had brought her wrist to his face, Namjoon caught the acolyte’s arousal still clinging to her fingers and acted on a baser desire that he hadn’t experienced in centuries. With one last pull, the acolyte’s fingers were in Namjoon’s mouth, the girl squealing in surprise.

“What are you doing?! That’s d-dirty,” Y/N cried, Namjoon’s wet tongue curling around her digits, his gaze still menacing and unfeeling. She dissolved on his palate, and with a quiet groan, Namjoon realized that her arousal tasted just as good as her blood. “I, hngh–”

Y/N focused back on Namjoon’s lips, which is what got her in that situation in the first place. Pursed around her soaked digits, she felt one of his fangs scrape against her index finger, and she pictured his smile in her mind again; the polar opposite to the demonic expression he was wearing at that moment. Perhaps, if she told him what she was looking at, he’d finally leave her alone. 

“Please! I was just admiring your smile!”

Whatever Namjoon was expecting the acolyte to say with her fingers nearly down his throat, it wasn’t that. Almost as if she dumped water over him, Namjoon’s eyes glazed over, his grip growing just weak enough for Y/N to pull her hand away from his mouth and fangs. Catching her breath, Y/N used his distraction to slip away, ducking under his arm. She knew that she wouldn’t get very far; indeed, Namjoon was quick to grab her by the back of her dress, the material tearing slightly with the force. 

“What did you just say to me?” Namjoon, for the first time to Y/N’s ears, spoke softly. The vampire, appearing to be unseeing, scanned her face, and Y/N almost got the feeling that he was seeing someone else in front of him. 

“I-I mean, you scare me, but when you, um. Your smile? It’s–” Y/N gulped, relieved that whatever was making her body produce what Namjoon had sucked off of her fingers was beginning to subside, pure exhaustion and defeat gripping her instead. “Beautiful. It’s beautiful, makes you less s-scary. I’m sorry if that offends you! Master Namjoon, but please, can you let me go?”

Y/N’s pleas barely had effort behind them. Bone-deep fatigue and confusion had her bedroom fading in and out of view, and all she desired was the down quilt on her bed to sink into. Soaking in her response, Namjoon released the girl, ancient memories coming back to him and making him promptly turn on his heel. He needed to come to his senses– the dim acolyte was not the woman in those memories, no matter that those precise words had only been spoken to him only once before, under very different circumstances. He was at the door before the human could collapse onto her bed, still aroused and uncertain. 

“One more piece of advice, acolyte,” Namjoon, still in the same, low tone, spoke. “Rather, a warning.”

A muffled, sad little moan came from Y/N, who was turned away on her side. She hadn’t even bothered to clean herself up, ignoring the uncomfortable sensation of the air hitting the damper areas of her body and the dull agony of her fresh wounds. 

“Innocence is a dangerous thing to possess around a vampire. Wise up, or you’ll be swallowed whole.”

Y/N was sick of hearing things she didn’t understand paired with threats, so she offered no verbal acknowledgement to his stupid advice. Not that Namjoon stuck around, the door shutting and leaving Y/N finally, finally alone. 

Her elation over that fact was temporary. A metal tinkling sound coming from where Namjoon was just standing had her eyebrows furrowing, something heavy sliding into place resolutely. That was when Y/N bolted upright with horror, the movement opening the punctures created by Seokjin’s earlier bite. 

Namjoon had locked her into the bedroom from the outside. 

“You reek of cum,” Taehyung, irritated that the elder strolling into the office was late, unbathed, and had a lace bralette hanging out of his suit pants. Taehyung, bitter venom filling his mouth, stuffed his pocket watch back into the pocket of his suit vest. “Abhorrent.”

“No showers at the cabaret. Let’s get this over with,” Hoseok shrugged, not as eager to prolong a dramatic meeting of the minds after he had fucked his way through the showgirls all night. 

“Sit down. I’ll make this brief,” Seokjin was all business. He spent the better part of his morning jumping down Yoongi’s throat, the artist still literally licking his wounds– tongue swiping over a bloodied– thanks to the acolyte– and torn lip. 

“Where’s Namjoon?” Hoseok interrupted Seokjin, realizing the immortal that filled any room with negative energy was absent. “You’re agonizing over my lateness, Taehyung, but not his?”

“Namjoon-ah and I will talk after,” Seokjin’s temple throbbed, using a handkerchief to clean the blood from one of his rings that cut into Yoongi’s lip. 

It was a gloomy, dark morning. The sun had barely even risen, so the low sources of lighting in the already moody office came from lit sconces and the fireplace. Jeongguk, by the window, tracked droplets of water coasting down the glass plane. With immortal eyes, he could detect the warps and imperfections in the hundred year old glass. It was far more entertaining than getting chewed up by Seokjin. Absently, the youngest vampire rolled up the sleeves of his cream colored sweater, caught off guard by the healthy caramel glow to his skin in contrast. He must have been walking around like a specter for too long, without a good donor. 

“Yoongi has been told to keep his work to his bedroom. From now on, if he wishes to have the acolyte model, it will be contained to that space,” Seokjin began, giving Yoongi a scathing glare. Yoongi’s mind was elsewhere, the front of his button down stained with blood and muted pigments of paint. 

“Well, that doesn’t seem so bad, hm? You aren’t going soft, are you, Seokjin?” Jimin, a touch tipsy from the night before and dressed in nothing but a patterned silk robe, was leafing through a first-edition copy of one of his early plays– something Hoseok collected years ago, apparently. “Hoseok! Where did you get this? You don’t even have the decency to read my tragedies, but you are comfortable stealing valuable copies?”

“Ah. That was from some gout-ridden aristocrat’s collection when we docked in Jamaica–”

“Last night will not be repeated,” Seokjin cut through the idle, infuriating chit-chat, Taehyung appearing just as relieved that the eldest was moving things along in a timely manner. “I will not allow this coven to be reduced to a pack of animals simply because of a human. I do not care if she is a tempting muse to you, an entertaining plaything, or a virgin to defile. No one is to touch the girl unless to feed.”

The silence would be considered unsettling by anybody, mortal or otherwise. Yoongi was the only one who wasn’t absolutely bewildered by the strictness of Seokjin’s order, considering he had already been briefed during his beat down. Normally, the head of the coven would let the six younger vampires toy with their acolytes as they pleased, indifferent– but not that time around.

“How are we to feed without touching her, Seokjin? Are we koi in your royal garden, waiting for you to decide when our next meal is? You had the first bite. Before now, you didn’t take issue with us having our share of fun with the acolytes,” Taehyung frowned, hands in the pockets of his suit curling into fists. “Perhaps Seokjin has decided to return to how we fed when I first joined the coven,” Jeongguk offered softly, Seokjin nodding in the slightest. A dismayed harrumph came from Jimin, who was rolling his eyes and pulling a mother-of-pearl comb through his raven hair. 

 Jeongguk began to remember his early days as an immortal, head tilted, and tried to flick through Seokjin’s head in curiosity. He was met with the usual iron wall that surrounded it. Seokjin raised a manicured brow, Jeongguk’s gaze returning to the window. 

“So… That’s all well and good. But why are there layers to this? Yoongi can arrange her into Kama Sutra positions but we aren’t to touch her point blank?” Hoseok wasn’t exactly broken up over the fact that he wasn’t to touch the acolyte, just annoyed with the special exceptions. 

“You are being dull on purpose,” Seokjin sang blandly, leaning back in his leather chair. “I meant none of you are to engage in anything sexual with her. Fledglings– and immortals with no self control, such as yourself, Hoseok– do not do well entangling themselves with acolytes such as… Y/N.”

“Such as ‘Y/N’? Elaborate?” Taehyung politely requested, leaning against the door of the office. His office, really, the one he built for his summer holidays a century ago, he noted with mild bitterness, smoothing out his tweed suit with precise pats. At wit’s end, Seokjin put his head in his hands, so exasperated he cursed in his ancient native tongue. 

“Her innocence and purity draws you in like a moth to a flame, I realize that, but I’m tired of applying for new acolytes. Two things are of greater importance that deserve my attention. First, I refuse to let you all revert yourselves into baser creatures thus tarnishing our reputation, which directly affects the second pressing matter. This week, the gala we are hosting with Berwind. Everything has to go smoothly.”

“... So, we can touch her. Just not–”

“Spare me, Hoseok,” Seokjin’s voice was hoarse, strained, and he had dealt with more tumor-inducing conversations in the past 24 hours than he had in decades. “Push her around if you want, I don’t give a shit. Do not try to seduce her.”

“But she thinks we’re all so handsome,” Jeongguk murmured, half amused, half kicking the hornet’s nest. “That’s like asking us to walk around with satchels over our heads.”

“All humans think we’re handsome,” Jimin countered, bored. He’d find it an insult worthy of death if the girl didn’t revere his beauty. 

“Stop whining and do as I say. You all have work to do before the gala. Taehyung, have Edmund fetch Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin snapped, the scent of mortals filling the room and making him cover his nose and mouth with a delicate palm to block it. 

“Alright, ‘boss’. Let’s see how long these new rules last,” Hoseok let his fangs drip with venom. He despised being ordered around, but the benefits of remaining in the coven and under Seokjin’s protection outweighed the cons. Seokjin usually came around, especially once the human would begin to get on Seokjin’s bad side. “I’m taking a bath until dinner.”

“That means he’ll be piss drunk again,” Jeongguk pointed out, once Hoseok had ditched the room, and Yoongi slowly rose from his seat. 

Yoongi had been fiddling with a filbert paint brush during the entire conversation, mind solely focused on the painting he had spent the whole night working on. As he began to excuse himself from the room, Jimin caught a hold of the tail of Yoongi’s untucked button down. Often, he’d let Jimin watch him paint; Jimin wrote screenplays while Yoongi would stretch canvases in peaceful silence. Yoongi, paying no mind to his younger covenmate, used the filbert brush to pin up his shoulder-length paint-caked locks with a fledgling anchored to the back of his shirt.

The artist was rather grateful Seokjin hadn’t torn into him as much as he could have– Yoongi chalked it up to good behavior and keeping to himself for the better half of the last century. Sure, he was agitated that Seokjin warned him to keep the Paralysis to a minimum, which was a nuisance, but perhaps it would be an artistic challenge for him. With a melodic hum, Yoongi licked the last of the blood off of his lips, eyes glowing when he and Jimin both left the office quietly. 

Though, Jimin was quiet for other reasons. Like Hoseok, Jimin was a spiteful vampire. The young acolyte already proved to be the brightest spark of entertainment he had seen from humanity since Old Hollywood, the excessive comparison floating around in Jimin’s lofty mind making Jeongguk dread the upcoming few days. With that, Taehyung and Jeongguk considered themselves dismissed, Seokjin only getting a moment to recover from the theatrics before launching into somewhat of a show himself. 

“Namjoon-ah, come in, please,” Seokjin, hand still dragging over his face, hadn’t the slightest explanation for Namjoon’s lapse in judgement the previous night. The sting of betrayal from somebody who quite literally died for loyalty, sacrificing his very soul, was so strong it had even Seokjin’s chest tightening. 

The doors swung open, Namjoon’s powerful strides bringing him into the office in less than three steps. Unfortunately, the human girl that was ushered into the room behind her had Namjoon freezing, carmine eyes narrowing. 

Y/N, who had been scrubbed utterly raw by her maids that morning as per Seokjin’s request, was currently entirely under Seokjin’s influence. From the moment her eyes opened at dawn, Seokjin could sense her panic from the bedroom above her– and to prevent any further nonsense, he mentally Compelled her to be nothing but his temporary puppet. Namjoon, as if he sensed he’d be in some hot water that morning, had his sword strapped to his broad back, his large gloved hands settling over the leather belt strapped around his hips. 

“Hyung. I felt you were too lenient on her,” Namjoon began, the picture of confidence. It elicited a low chuckle from Seokjin, torn between being too fond of Namjoon and ready to exact his punishment without mercy. 

“Okay, little acolyte. You can sit now,” Seokjin released Y/N from his spell only after she absently perched on a seat on the opposite side of the mahogany desk. Sucking in a deep breath, he waited for the girl to start babbling stupidly. 

“OH! You,” Y/N’s fingernails cut into the upholstered chair she sagged into, one hand shooting up to the back of her neck urgently, her outrage focused on her former mental captor. If Jeongguk’s power crushed her skull, and Jimin’s bruised her marrow; Seokjin melted her very spinal cord. 

“You too, Namjoon-ah, sit.”

Namjoon’s jaw worked, Seokjin staring at him through his dark curtain of eyelashes and waiting for him to ultimately obey. He always did. 

“I did what I thought had to be done. She’s completely unharmed,” Namjoon impulsively came up with a half-baked excuse, Seokjin pausing with a cocked head in his palms to remember that not so long ago, Namjoon was one of the fledglings too. 

“What!? Not true! Y-you! He! He locked me into the room!” Y/N exploded, pointing angrily at Namjoon like an unruly child. 

“I know.”

“You’re angry I locked her in? We do that to all of the acolytes,” Namjoon scoffed, suddenly wishing he had just shown the human to her early grave when she cursed at him under her breath. 

“I’m angry that you went over my head. This is unlike you, Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin projected the scene of Namjoon taking the acolyte’s soaked fingers into his mouth into his mind, from Namjoon’s very own perspective. Namjoon swore, thinking Jeongguk deserved his neck wrung for daring to use his maddening mind-reading on him. 

“Excuse me. Did you just say you lock in all of the acolytes?” Y/N spluttered, body sagging into the chair even further when she realized Seokjin didn’t care she was imprisoned overnight. She was ignored by both vampires coldly.

“You’re going to punish me.”

“No.”

“No?” Namjoon leaned back in his seat, settling an ankle over the opposite knee, again drilling holes into the side of the human woman’s face with a glare. None of the arousal that clung to her the night before was evident, just a cocktail of edginess and despair. “Then what, Seokjin? I’ve proved my loyalty. Perhaps I had too much to drink.”

“You’ve proved your loyalty,” Seokjin repeated in agreement, rising from his seat with his hands clasped behind his back. “Which is why I’m giving you a new task. Around the clock.”

“Okay,” Namjoon drew out the syllables of his response, Y/N wiggling in her seat like she wanted to bolt. Why was she even there? When Namjoon thought he knew Seokjin’s every move, he was proven otherwise time and time again. It must have been instinctual for an eternal crown prince to keep his subjects on their toes.

“The gala we’re hosting for Edmund Berwind is just the first of many this winter,” Seokjin began to slowly pace around the intimidatingly masculine office, Y/N comparing him to a lethal black snake circling its next meal. “Last night aside. Besides myself, Namjoon-ah, you hold the most power in the coven. This winter I have to play politics and I will not have time to make sure this acolyte stays alive in order to sustain us.”

Y/N shuddered, not needing to be a vampire to feel the electric tension steadily climbing to a fever pitch. Namjoon, pearly dust coating his tongue from grinding his teeth so intensely, fiddled with the hilt of his sword, eyes liquid red. 

“What do you need from me, hyung?” Namjoon stared at Seokjin’s back, turned to him and the acolyte by a large bay window. Namjoon wondered if Seokjin was taking any pleasure in drawing things out. 

“Namjoon-ah. Since you seem to take a particular interest in the little girl, I imagine that to a vampire with weaker restraint, she’s a duck sitting in a pot of potatoes and leeks,” Seokjin began, head turning slightly so Y/N could gape at his flawless side profile– his lips, nose, and long lashes were highlighted by early morning light. 

“Particular interest–?”

“You’re to be her bodyguard.”

Again, there was a ghostly silence, one that Seokjin relished in. The girl was still somewhat loopy from him controlling her all morning, but Namjoon’s outright shock had Seokjin humming. 

“Bodyguard? Seokjin hyung, you know I respect you. Jeongguk was a former bodyguard. He is more suited for the job. I do not want to be near this woman,” Namjoon protested sharply, unaware that that was the precise reason Seokjin selected playing bodyguard as punishment for Namjoon. Y/N, in similar fashion, recoiled and clutched her roiling gut. 

“Jeongguk is the youngest fledgling,” Seokjin quickly replied, as if Namjoon was daft to even suggest such a thing. “Jeongguk also has the mind of a stunted teenager. He has tenderness that lingers. He cannot be tasked with something like this, not yet. You are to watch the acolyte and make sure she is not only protected from our guests, but the rest of the coven as well.”

“This is a test.”

“This is a warning, Namjoon!” Seokjin hissed, spinning around. “Remember yourself. Wake up, and do your job. Give me her bedroom key.”

Seokjin, in a blur, was standing above Namjoon, a palm dangling in front of the younger’s face. Namjoon’s fangs flashed, digging around in the pocket of his slacks, and offered up a gilded skeleton key with grave reluctance– almost like it was his death sentence. Smart enough to realize that she had absolutely no irons in the fire to protest, Y/N numbly watched Seokjin fashion a necklace for Namjoon out of a fine spool of wire produced from the desk, one with the key to her bedroom dangling as its grand pendant. Namjoon, still as ever, held his breath when Seokjin dropped the necklace over his head. 

“Take her to the Sanctuary to pick out acolytes for Saturday evening. Bring Jeongguk to weed out the weak of mind,” Seokjin upped the ante by sending Namjoon on an errand with the acolyte, the addition of Jeongguk monitoring his thoughts no doubt sending Namjoon into murderous rage. “Keep your hands to yourself and your mouth shut, acolyte. Go.”

Dismissing the two, Namjoon’s power crackling like electricity over his knuckles, Seokjin leaned a hip on the desk, plucking up the landline receiver. Y/N’s mouth was agape at the mention of the Sanctuary– the run-down Gothic cathedral a place she never knew she could miss, but did, desperately. 

While processing the possibility that she might get to see her friends once more, even if it was just to give them a proper goodbye, Y/N was yanked upwards by the back of her sweater. Namjoon had a fistful of her wool collar in his glove-clad fist, the vampire so enraged by his newly appointed ‘job’ that he didn’t even have words of malice in his vocabulary to spit back at Seokjin that could encapsulate it. 

“I can walk,” Y/N righted herself with a scoff, shockingly cognizant despite everything that had already happened the first hour she was awake. Namjoon let go of her sweater, his striking face twisted up in disgust, tearing from the office like his heels were on fire. 

Y/N adjusted the fit of her sweater, swallowing down her trepidation. Many things became clear to her, as she eyed Seokjin speaking to someone on the phone in a lilting foreign language. First and foremost, she had just become the most well-protected acolyte in the nation with Namjoon as her bodyguard. Second, Seokjin had not only inadvertently confirmed how necessary her well-being and survival was to not only the entire coven, but to himself as well. Y/N accepted that fear would always be there, and she’d endure moments of humiliation like she had the night prior. She’d experience pain and psychological torment. But she’d survive. 

“아니, 창덕��은 아니고–” Seokjin’s eyes flashed, angry that the acolyte was gawking at him like a dolt and not following her newly appointed bodyguard. He lowered the phone from his lips slightly, snarling a threat. “Get going, little girl, before I bite you again.”

Scowling, Y/N cupped a palm over the punctures he left in her neck, barely covered by the cut of her sweater’s collar. The vampire was still barking into the phone when one of the staff members began to shut the office doors behind Y/N, his voice carrying into the hall.

“내 생각에는 경복궁이 우리의 필요에 더 잘 맞을 것 같아요–”

The grand wooden doors cut off Seokjin’s dulcet tones effectively with a hollow clang, and paired with it, three maids surrounded her in a flurry of winter hats and coats to bundle her up. 

“Oh, Nadia–” Y/N gasped, a friendly face appearing before her at long last. Her maid fastened a pair of fur earmuffs over Y/N’s head securely. “Please tell me you’ll be coming along on this errand!”

“Afraid not, Miss. Typically, I would join you, but with the gala preparations this week, I must send you with a list to take to the market. The masters will accompany you on the way to the Sanctuary,” Nadia gestured to the large ballroom overlooking the sea, dozens of staff members on their hands and knees scrubbing the marble floors. “You’ll have a merry time at the market this time of year, Miss. I’m sure the masters will treat you to a hot drink.”

Y/N thought diamonds raining from the sky seemed more likely than Namjoon or Jeongguk willingly purchasing her a treat, the latter of the two vampires unfortunately coming into her view when Nadia led her to the mansion’s front door. Y/N hadn’t seen the youngest immortal since Yoongi escorted him from the billiard’s room the night prior. Y/N’s heart was doing something funny in her chest at the sight of him, like it was taking dips and tumbles in the cavity, Jeongguk’s cream-colored sweater giving the vampire an almost innocent appearance. 

“Nadia, don’t you have a scarf for the acolyte?” Jeongguk ignored the desperate desire to use Telepathy on Y/N, who was reluctantly waddling over to him with a pout on her small mouth. “It’s important for human women to keep their thyroid warm in the winter.”

Y/N coughed back an incredulous laugh, not believing for a single second that Jeongguk truly gave a rat’s ass about her thyroid. If anything, the comment gave her the creeps, shattering the angelic image he was falsely projecting. 

“Yes Master Jeongguk, I have this cashmere–”

“Give it to me, Nadia,” Jeongguk cut the maid off, crooking a finger at Y/N and beckoning her forward. He snatched an oversized scarf from Nadia with graceful finesse, wrapping the material around his palms.

Y/N was at the point, so early in the morning and already tired of games, that she simply slouched her way to the captor summoning her without putting up a fight. Besides, Namjoon was probably around the corner, and Y/N knew she was pretty much invincible with him as her ‘bodyguard’. She could endure some teasing from Jeongguk, she told herself, as she anxiously focused on the faint scar on one of his cheeks. 

“Here you go,” Jeongguk was murmuring pleasantly, beginning to wind the scarf around Y/N’s neck. While stiff, she maintained her composure, not wanting Jeongguk to get the best of her when he started tucking the ends of the scarf into her coat’s collar. “All bundled up, there you go.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

Y/N’s cheeks burned, sincere words coming from Jeongguk tainted by a condescending cadence. Without thinking, she brushed his knuckles away from her jawline, Jeongguk snickering and limply dropping his hand to his side. 

“Developing an attitude problem now that you’ve become Seokjin’s princess?” Jeongguk stooped, his large doe eyes sparkling with youthful mischief. It made Y/N’s heart act up again. “Even Namjoon’s to be waiting on your hand and foot. Pretty nice setup, huh?”

“Isn’t it too early for this?” Y/N squinted, backing up several paces so Jeongguk’s sweet breath wasn’t wafting over her face anymore. “Sure, I have an attitude. Wouldn’t you?”

“You know, you’d make a fairly interesting immortal,” Jeongguk crossed his arms over his chest, broad back resting against a solid pillar by the front door. Y/N couldn’t hear it, but Namjoon was tearing up a training room in the basement just below their feet, picturing the martial arts foam dummy down there was the acolyte he was eviscerating with his sword. 

“That… sounds like a threat. Or a death sentence,” Y/N squeaked, never considering the possibility that she herself could be turned. Jeongguk’s face split into a grin, picturing the girl frozen in time forever, pure and skittish, her eyes like rubies. 

“It’s two sides of the same coin, Y/N. It’s a threat, and it would be a death sentence,” Jeongguk, all but purring, watched the wheels turn in her head. She was confused once more, her weight shifting from foot to foot. While the fledgling enjoyed her nervous response to his presence, he realized, with a frown, that the acolyte seemed to find him the most approachable amongst the coven members. He’d have to change that, swiftly. “Don’t you know how vampires are made?”

“I don’t wish to know,” Y/N quickly shook her head, striding to the grand front door in order to get a move on with the dreaded errands. Besides, Jeongguk looked far too eager to describe something unpleasant.

“Well, to start. We’d have to drain you of almost all of your blood,” Jeongguk disregarded her, not that Y/N was surprised, her fingernails scraping against the front door when thunderous footsteps pounded up a stairwell just beyond Jeongguk’s shoulder. “You’d be dying. Before you’d take your last breath, however…”

“We’re going,” Namjoon stormed by Y/N and the taunting fledgling, Y/N gulping audibly when she saw the sweat rolling down his temples and the unsheathed sword in his grasp. 

Finding it the perfect opportunity to leave Jeongguk and his gory stories in the dust, Y/N made haste after Namjoon, the length of her coat’s skirt collecting dust and moisture from the previous night’s storm. 

“Get in the back,” Namjoon jutted his chin towards the cushy black sedan she remembered seeing the day she met the vampires, the car already running and filling the air with silky looking exhaust.

Clamming herself up, Y/N obediently slid into the back seat of the sedan when Namjoon yanked the door open for her, a mew of awe leaving her when she landed on the soft leather booth. Taking in the cabin, Y/N traced over the vents closest to her, the glossy wood buffed to a bright shine. 

“Oof–” Y/N grunted, a heavy object tossed over her lap. With a shriek, she shoved Namjoon’s sword off of her and onto the floor, relieved that it was sheathed but horrified that she was anywhere near it. Namjoon slammed the door shut, cutting the chill that was coming from outside, the sheer force of the action jolting the car around.

“Put that on the seat next to you. If you had any idea how much that was worth, you’d be kneeling on a chapel floor until you bled,” Namjoon was suddenly in the seat directly in front of her, not even turning to make eye contact when he addressed her. 

With trembling hands, she lifted the sword, the scabbard made of a black lacquered wood, urgently placing it as far away as she could. There was a blood red tassel hanging off it, the strings somewhat frayed with time, and engraved inscriptions along the sides of the scabbard that Y/N could not read. 

“Hoseok fucked with my seat again,” Jeongguk dropped into the driver’s seat, his fast movements a blur as he adjusted his mirrors. “You never let me finish, either, Y/N.”

Y/N wished she could go back in time and smack herself for insisting on the vampires calling her by her actual name. Something about a deadly creature knowing and using that particular intimacy felt wrong, Y/N nervously biting her lip as Jeongguk turned to pull out of the carport. Flashing his fangs at her, Jeongguk paid no attention to Namjoon burying himself in some boring book about martial arts to distract himself, the girl shrinking into her scarf for feeble protection.

“When you’re drained, taking your last breath… one of us could either kill you or wait for you to die,” Jeongguk switched the radio on, quiet hip-hop pulsing through the expensive speakers in the cabin. “Then you have to be fed.”

“What are you even talking about? How can you feed me if I’ve been murdered?” Y/N narrowed her eyes, wondering if Jeongguk thought she was slow. 

“One of us would feed you immortal blood, and it would revive you as an immortal yourself. A fledgling,” Jeongguk went on as if she hadn’t poked holes in his tale, the iron gates at the front of the property swinging open to a wintery, meticulously paved street. 

“Why on earth would we ever turn that pest?” Namjoon murmured blandly, the sound of his leather gloves rustling against the pages of a book again sparking Y/N’s interest. It appeared that Namjoon never actually took those gloves off, for some elusive reason. “Can’t we carry out this task in silence?”

Jeongguk chuckled, but knew not to push his luck. Namjoon was one toe out of line from taking his frustrations out on bystanders at the market, which would be a pain to clean up. He settled into his seat and rolled down the windows, his skin sensitive to the elements with the acolyte’s blood nourishing it. As cool rain ran over his forearm, Jeongguk smirked to himself– it was only a matter of time until Jimin would be requesting pints of the acolyte’s blood to dump in his nightly bath. He was ripped from his thoughts of Jimin bathing in a marble pool of crimson when the girl actually dared to speak, almost mocking Namjoon’s final comment.

“Why on earth would I ever want to be turned? I’m already chained to you for the rest of my human life. To be trapped with you in immortality would be an eternal hell that I would have no escape from. Not even death would be kind to me.”

“Hosting parties here in the winter is something I never envisioned during construction,” Taehyung wound the silver chain to his pocket watch around his wrist, a line of maids brushing by with armfuls of holiday decorations. “It was intentionally designed for summer parties, keeping outsiders out.”

“You’ve mentioned that before, Master Taehyung. Especially during the winter holidays. You must detest them,” Edmund managed to keep up with his immortal employer by breaking into a near jog, scratching down a list of to-do’s as he went. The old butler had a weight lifted off his shoulder that morning, the acolyte off-property and out of the lion’s den, at least for a while. 

“The loggias open to the lawn and gardens. They’re useless in the winter. We should be hosting in the New York townhouses,” Taehyung continued to complain, using the butler as a sounding board. 

“Shall I order the evergreens today?”

Taehyung sighed, his delicate nose wrinkling up as he imagined the sappy, pungent smell of Christmas trees permeating through his estate. From where he was in the great hall, he could simply tilt his head just so, and with vampiric vision he could make out every brushstroke painted onto the ceiling fifty feet into the sky. Similarly, his hearing picked up every whisper from the servants in the hall, their heartbeats, and the continuous ticking of his pocket watch. Passing a hand over his gelled curls, Taehyung resumed his lap around the first floor. 

“I suppose. I cannot believe Seokjin put me on decorating duty. He can be such a… prince,” Taehyung frowned deeply, mulling over how he had managed to get himself in that spot. 

Sure, Taehyung was still a ‘fledgling’, but he was older than Jeongguk, who was actually permitted to take the acolyte on a trip to town with Namjoon. Classic Seokjin, showing favoritism for both the youngest vampire and the second-in-command. It made Taehyung want to spit venom onto the floor, but he always considered himself a gentleman, so he swallowed it down with a wince. 

“Like the holidays, Master, you seem to detest town, too,” Edmund, with mild amusement, made sure to prioritize Taehyung’s preferences for the decor– if he didn’t follow the businessman's directions to the letter, there would be cruel and unusual punishments. “Perhaps he was sparing you from the throngs of people asking for your audience.”

“Do not kiss my ass, Edmund,” Taehyung peered down through his thick lashes, hands stuffed in his pockets. There was no bite to his words, Taehyung actually appreciating Edmund’s discreet and meticulous work over the years, but he still had to maintain his immortal authority. “Seokjin picks punishments that create a slow torture, ones that unravel a person. I didn’t do too much to offend this time, but I still have to handle ‘festivities’ when I’d rather focus on the business.”

“I heard…” Edmund’s cerulean eyes darted around the hall before he and the fledgling reached the secluded grotto beneath the marble staircase. “Namjoon has been appointed as a sort of bodyguard to the acolyte.”

“Wherever did you hear that, old friend?” Taehyung grinned maliciously, stooping to get a good look at the elderly human. After years of being worn down without losing his mind, Taehyung didn’t mind that Edmund possessed an agenda, as long as it wasn’t conflicting with his own. “Eavesdropping again?”

“Simply trying to get up to speed on how things will be working from now on,” Edmund, even with his years of service, always preferred to deal with the vampires when they had recently fed, their appearances closer to humans than the ghoulish, starving versions of themselves. Presently, Taehyung appeared like a healthy young man that stepped forward in time from the Gilded Age. “You don’t mind filling me in, do you?”

“Namjoon cannot tolerate humans, especially ones that lack the intelligence of the world. Being a bodyguard to one is the ultimate punishment for him, so he must have royally fucked up somehow. Jeongguk is the only one who knows how Namjoon fucked up other than Seokjin, which is why he’s driving Namjoon around. Insult to injury. That, and Seokjin is testing Jeongguk’s self-control, which will wear thin quickly.”

 Taehyung knelt on one knee, dipping his hand into the chest pocket of his vest. Using a Prussian blue handkerchief, the silk slippery when he used it to polish a spot of marble making up the basin of the grotto beneath the main staircase.

“Forcing Yoongi to paint without Paralysis is torture for him. Being barred from playing his little games is no doubt leading up to a spell of hysteria from Jimin,” Taehyung folded the handkerchief with care, then tested the febrile water bubbling in the grotto with a satisfied hum. “As for Hoseok… Well, he escalated things with his vulgarities last night. Seokjin’s response was to send him to local churches to keep up on our donations.”

“Which leaves dealing with the cabaret to you,” Edmund, though considered to be ‘old’ for a human, was quite sharp. Taehyung hated many things: tardiness, interacting with extroverts, dealing with party planning, but most of all, Taehyung despised lowly human perversions. 

“Come sundown I’ll be at a cattle auction hosted in a brothel,” Taehyung grunted, straightening up and trying to hide his surprise that his limbs moved so fluidly. “No use in fighting it. Seokjin is manipulative, but it is how we have stayed powerful for so long.”

“Manipulative? That is one of the kindest ways you have described me in decades, Taehyung,” Seokjin, melting into the crooks and nannies of the vast estate, made his presence known, the head chef cowering behind the eldest vampire. “You’ve hardly finished coordinating decorations. You wouldn’t have to traipse around the red-light district after sundown if you lit a fire under your ass.”

“Are you implying that I’m lazy?” Taehyung scoffed incredulously, Edmund excusing himself to ‘order the evergreens’. “The greatest businessman in history. Lazy?”

“The greatest businessman in American history. You still brag about your achievements like a petulant child of nepotism,” Seokjin glanced at the clipboard the head chef was holding with trembling hands, pointing at something and clicking his tongue. Taehyung felt his skin rippling, like Glamor was trying to turn him into a demon with leathery skin. “Leave the rest to Edmund and just go to the cabaret now.”

“Hoseok usually handles the cabaret. What am I even supposed to be negotiating in that cesspool?” 

“You’re supposed to be picking out entertainment for the lecherous variety of guests that will be here this week. Must I spell it out for you?” Seokjin was out of sight as soon as he was in it, ordering the chef around again. “Has anyone unpacked the crates of liquor yet–”

Taehyung’s face split into a disbelieving grin, a rough chuckle tearing through his chest. There were days Taehyung longed for Seokjin’s power and influence, and moments where reality struck him. With his skin still threatening to take on the appearance of something otherworldly– beyond his control– could Taehyung even wield the power it took to head a vampiric coven properly? 

Glancing around the grand summer home he painstakingly designed for himself a lifetime ago, Taehyung sighed as he began to transform himself into a man who no one would recognize in the streets. Not only a widely known vampire in town, but the businessman who put Newport, Rhode Island on the map many years ago, Taehyung morphed into the perfect replica of the young man handing him his car keys– who stumbled sideways in shock when he saw a clone of himself staring back. 

Gentle, fuzzy orchestral music played loudly enough to have bottles of turpentine rattling against each other, Yoongi groaning from behind the wet canvas he was agonizing over. A pile of discarded palettes sat at his feet, unsatisfactory swatches of colors smeared all over the plastic heightening his aggravation. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the shade of the acolyte’s hair just right. 

“On the average day, I admire your process. Judging by appearances, you’ve deviated from that process. Where am I to sit, your lap?” Jimin returned from his ‘break’ from writing in Yoongi’s bedroom to take a leisurely two-hour long bath, dressed in his typical satin attire. 

Yoongi, out of pure frustration, launched a palette knife across the room and out of the half-cracked bay window. It was true: at least fifteen canvases in various sizes were tossed about the room, paint still tacky and smudged, the fabric tarp protecting the Oriental carpets caked was in pigments, and not even Yoongi’s bed– where Jimin typically lounged to pen down his screenplays– had a free spot where a box of supplies didn’t occupy. Yoongi himself looked like a trainwreck, long glossy hair gathered into a ragged knot at the back of his head, reeking of paint thinner, and clothes basically destroyed by the mediums he was using. 

Jimin, slightly mournful that his silk pajamas were going to be ruined, dropped himself onto one of Yoongi���s thighs, raising an eyebrow at Yoongi’s agitated expression. Usually, he would have pushed Jimin off by then, too wrapped up in what he was painting to endure Jimin’s flirting. Blinking, Jimin turned his head, leaning forward on Yoongi’s thigh to get a look at the painting causing the older vampire so much grief. 

His work was as fine as ever. In fact, Jimin had half a mind to smack Yoongi across the face. Of course, the painting was of the acolyte, but it portrayed her taking a sip from a champagne flute during the previous night’s dinner. The colors were vibrant and lifelike, and the acolyte was so well depicted that Jimin could imagine the girl stepping out of the canvas. Yoongi even managed to capture how beautiful the ruby necklace Jimin picked out for the acolyte was, which made Jimin spring up from his perch and place his hands on his hips. 

“You’re being ridiculous. How could you possibly be unhappy with that portrait?” Jimin accused, the cloud over Yoongi’s head darkening. “The hair isn’t right,” Yoongi murmured, plucking up another tube of paint to lighten the tones on the top of the acolyte’s head, where the chandelier picked up on her natural highlights. “I can’t get it right without her here.”

“Well, she’s playing with others right now. It’s not your turn,” Jimin snarked, finding the notebook he was using for his latest screenplay under an old smock Yoongi only used to wipe paint from his hands. “Besides, is she Botticelli’s Venus? How complicated can her hair color possibly be?”

“You were too preoccupied with how her tits spilled out of the top of her dress to notice her hair,” Yoongi went for a petty low blow, which was unlike him. Jimin paused, clutching his notebook to his chest and studying his elder for a moment. 

Jimin always thought Yoongi was beautiful, but when Yoongi found a new muse, he glowed and took on something angelic. However, that particular time his glow was dimmed, thanks to Seokjin’s restrictions on Yoongi’s access to his newfound muse, and stress brought on by perfectionism was extinguishing the light almost completely. 

“You haven’t been this neurotic about details since the portraits you worked on for Marilyn Monroe, and that acolyte is nowhere near that level of femme fatale,” Jimin cocked his head, perturbed that Yoongi wasn’t giving him the time of day. He couldn’t have that. “Yoongi, put the blasted paint down.”

With practiced ease, Jimin used a stronger dose of Hypnosis on Yoongi than he did the acolyte. Yoongi, promptly, felt his filbert brush clatter to the ground, a gritty purr coming from the artist. He didn’t have the patience to entertain Jimin that day, but it seemed Jimin had other ideas, pushing the palette out of Yoongi’s grasp and using a crooked finger to tilt his chip up. 

“Release me, Jimin,” Yoongi narrowed his eyes, his ancient bones aching from Hypnosis wrapping around them. “You do not need to Hypnotize me to gain my attention.”

“Clearly that’s not the case,” Jimin snapped, letting go of his elder covenmate and withdrawing his power slowly. “You’re completely consumed. She’s your latest muse.”

Jimin watched, with an almost human interest, blood pool in Yoongi’s cheeks. When a vampire has fed, within moments the mortal blood revives the stagnant vampiric blood– black in color– and the immortal’s body is restored to its height of health. Essentially, the mortal and vampiric blood become one; the blush across Yoongi’s cheeks was something Jimin had not seen in at least fifteen years. It was worse than he thought. 

“I would not go that far… muse…” Yoongi looked away, out the window and towards the sea. “No. Just a new subject to paint.”

“Sure,” Jimin scoffed, bored suddenly. With a huff, he meanly pushed a stack of sketchbooks off of Yoongi’s bed with a bare foot, collapsing on his side and cracking open his leather bound manuscripts-in-progress. “I have no issues admitting the acolyte has inspired my work. You know I’ve suffered from a block lately. Your stubbornness vexes me.”

“If it ‘vexes’ you so much, go entertain yourself with the girl’s maids. Pick out her wardrobe for the week and leave me in peace,” Yoongi retrieved his paint brush from the floor, using featherlight pressure to diffuse the harsh lines making up a lock of hair on the acolyte’s head. “Turn down the music while you’re at it.”

“Cold,” Jimin grinned, one of his fangs piercing through the cap of his pen once he brought it to his mouth. “Turn the music down yourself. I’m comfortable now.”

It was diverting to bicker with Yoongi, who usually behaved like a mute hermit living in the mountains– the artist could stoop to a level of sarcasm that Jimin perfected before he even became immortal. Yoongi grunted noncommittally, only breaking away from his canvas for a moment in order to slam the radio off, built-up strength in his limbs due to Paralysis begging to be used. 

Yoongi couldn’t remember what it was like to work without Paralysis. In the beginning, when Yoongi was a young, human man, he took any menial job he could to keep him off the streets of Tuscany. Not once, prior to meeting his mentor, did Yoongi allow himself the luxury of dream of being a fine artist. He was too busy exterminating vermin that often holed up in his ramshackle one-room thatched-roof mud hut while he was selling fruits in an open air market to have dreams. Yoongi shook out his arms and legs, the sounds of Jimin scrawling his loopy cursive over parchment grating on his delicate ears.

“Are you writing a play or a movie script?” Yoongi mumbled, jealous that Jimin’s creativity seemed to be flowing like a babbling brook. The jealousy spiked when Jimin flipped through his notebook, revealing that he had written what seemed to be two different productions already– Paralysis started to stiffen Yoongi’s own body spitefully.

“Actually, I wrote a ballet and a short horror film. Working on something more classical now, a novel… think Mary Shelley…”

“You wrote a ballet,” Yoongi confirmed flatly, Jimin giggling and setting his pen down to tease an obviously envious Yoongi. “When was the last time you even danced ballet, let alone create a show?”

“Just because you’ve stopped dropping by during my practice times, doesn’t mean I’ve quit, Yoongi,” Jimin, in a singsong voice, rolled over on his stomach to kick his legs in the air, already envisioning complicated choreography and elaborate, decadent costumes gracing worldwide stages. “Enough of this. Take a walk, you’re distracting me.”

Jimin, with glee, returned to his manuscript, loving that he could gloat. Sure, a part of him– a part the size of perhaps a grain of rice– that felt bad for Yoongi, but it was so overshadowed by centuries of immortal narcissism that Jimin didn’t even realize that part of him still existed.

“You’re the eldest fledgling, but you behave like the youngest. Disgraceful. Messy,” Yoongi changed the subject, kneeling to the floor by the bed. Face level with Jimin, Yoongi tilted his head. “Hedonistic.”

“I’m a vampire, Yoongi,” Jimin didn’t spare his elder a glance, and even though he was writing at a nearly impossible to see speed, no ink stained his sturdy fingertips. “Maybe you should lean into your nature like you used to, and you’ll paint something actually worth viewing.”

“You’re suggesting I ignore Seokjin’s orders.”

“Since when have you obeyed them? Seokjin gives you a rather long leash because you’re boring. He gave you an out. He doesn’t care if you Paralyze the acolyte, he just wants it contained to this bedroom. If anything, that should excite you,” Jimin put down his pen, fangs on display when his mischievous smile returned. With a manicured nail, he scraped umber pigment off of Yoongi’s cheek, directly below one of his eyes. 

Yoongi considered this, letting the fledgling remove paint from his face and hair, something dark and twisted steeping into his system. Jimin was absolutely right, and it pained Yoongi to admit that to himself. Since when had he been so idle?

“Jeongguk accused me of lacking risk…”

“Normally, I’d tell you not to listen to that cretin. But the point remains,” Jimin curled his lip up in disgust, picturing the brute youngest fledgling, who had none of the artistic proclivities he and Yoongi shared. 

Yoongi seemed to be processing things, his eyes almost wine-colored as he stared at Jimin. At one point, there was a time Yoongi couldn’t stop painting him; the round false innocence of his cheeks and lips, his graceful dancer’s figure. It then dawned on him, his entire expression brightening, which had Jimin halting his task of removing Yoongi’s turpentine-soaked oxford shirt. 

“Sit in next time. Model with her,” Yoongi grasped onto one of Jimin’s wrists, his sharp nails cutting into the fledgling’s creamy skin. A trickle of blood, a shade of pinot noir, slid down his wrist bone: the shade of Jimin and the acolyte entwined. 

“Oh?” Jimin’s grin only widened seductively. “There’s the risk that made your fortune.”

Reinvigorated, Yoongi let Jimin shrug off his grip, the playwright dragging his tongue over the crescent-shaped cuts marring his perfect skin. As Yoongi stood, his shirt dropped to the floor, his chest the only part of his body spared from paint splatters. 

“After the gala, when Seokjin is less concerned with appearances to the outside world, we’ll see how a session goes,” Yoongi turned, raking a hand through his filthy hair. Under his nose, Jimin was slyly using the callbox to fetch a staff member to run another hot bath. “Just the three of us.”

Yoongi frowned at the idea of Jimin inviting Hoseok– who enjoyed partaking in some of Jimin’s twisted, sometimes perverted, games. Sniffing indignantly, Jimin got the message loud and clear. 

“Well, Hoseok can–”

Jimin was swiftly shut down when Yoongi was hovering over him again, his wrist recaptured. Body loosening deliciously when Paralysis washed over him, Jimin watched Yoongi plant a large palm beside him on the bed, trapping the fledgling in place. 

“Just the three of us.”

Yoongi repeated himself firmly, squeezing Jimin’s wrist enough to have his breath catch, and without a smart retort, Yoongi smirked at the blood flowing from his cuts. Almost like he was consummating a grave, corrupted promise, Yoongi wrapped his lips around the wounds he created, sampling both the fledgling and the human girl as if it was the fountain of youth. Outside, thunder cracked down over the glacial sea, disguising blissful, selfish sighs. 

“Miss? You seem distracted this afternoon,” Juliana’s voice is what cut through the fog, Y/N absently gazing into the polished silver mirror. 

Her cheeks had filled out with the consistent rich foods she was being fed around the clock. There was no attention paid by her to the butterfly needle sticking out of her arm, drawings now a daily– sometimes twice daily– occurrence. Y/N suspected that the blood bags were delivered bedroom to bedroom like room service, and though she hated needles, her maids drawing her blood was much better than teeth in her neck.  

It had been a couple of days since her outing with the two vampires, and Y/N felt herself moving through her life like a mechanical part of something much larger. It was the afternoon of the great ‘gala’ that the coven was throwing, which meant Y/N was roused from her bed prior to sunrise for a hasty breakfast before being manicured to perfection. 

It was a miracle, but the vampires had mostly left her alone after she had returned from the Sanctuary with Namjoon and Jeongguk. With convenient bags of her blood for them to feed on, it really wasn’t necessary for the coven to interact with her. In fact, other than Namjoon’s constant presence lurking in her shadow, the only other vampire she had to speak with was Seokjin, who gave her a detailed list of how to behave at the gala. 

Y/N didn’t know why she even had to be present during the event. She would have much preferred holing up in her bedroom with perhaps a book all night. Wincing when Juliana pulled the needle from her arm, Y/N cleared her throat, eagerly spreading a soothing ointment over the injection site. 

“Miss?”

“Hm?” Y/N shivered, fingers twisting into the fur blanket draped over her lap. Y/N had become intimately familiar with the vanity she was sitting in front of; sometimes, she swore she saw spirits in the silver mirror. “Sorry?”

“I mentioned that you seem distracted. Perhaps anticipation for the gala? The decorations look glorious,” Juliana was merry, all of the staff was, but it hardly rubbed off on Y/N. She had never been to any kind of party, and not knowing what to expect had her stomach turning. 

“Oh… yes. Anticipation,” Y/N lied, drawing the corner of her mouth up into a half-smile. Dressed in only a silk nightgown, Y/N too consumed by her anxiety to bother covering up her nipples peeking through the fabric, she was spun around on her stool. Her bed was littered with gowns, all shades of cream or off-white. “What am I wearing?”

Another thing Y/N got used to, much like Namjoon keeping close tabs on her even if he wasn’t physically present, was Jimin picking out her clothes. Not just outfits for dinner, but her daily attire as well, down to the jewelry and shoes. Y/N no longer had much agency at all, and that was revealed to her when she was taken to the Sanctuary. 

Two Days Prior to the Gala

Y/N had a lump forming in her throat when Jeongguk pulled his car into the Sanctuary’s gravel drive, the stone cathedral exactly how she remembered it just a week ago. Her legs were still cold from walking around the market, where she was treated like a ball-and-chain by the two vampires in the front seat. She was correct, earlier: there were several stands serving hot chocolate to the wealthy citizens of Newport, but neither Namjoon or Jeongguk offered to purchase one for her, even if it was to stop the chattering of her teeth. 

Jeongguk was sent into various shops by Namjoon, who remained by Y/N’s side on the cobblestone sidewalks. At one point, while Jeongguk was inside a flower shop ordering centerpieces, Y/N strayed all but three feet away from Namjoon to take a look at a stall selling roasted chestnuts. It had been a mistake: Y/N was yanked backwards promptly, and the rest of the time spent at the market involved her being led around like a dog on a leash– Namjoon dragging her by the scarf around her neck. 

In a blur she could hardly understand, Y/N was toted from the backseat and began to chase after Namjoon before he could choke her with her own scarf. The Sanctuary was unchanged, and though it had been just shy of a week, Y/N took in the sights of the front drive like it was brand new to her. Instinctively, when she spotted Mrs. Sloane at the entrance, Y/N flinched sharply into a solid body beside her– Jeongguk– and at that moment, she didn’t know who she’d rather be left alone with. 

“I–I thought vampires could not come onto Sanctuary grounds,” Y/N breathed, thinking of Meredith and how horrified she’d be to know that two wolves were amongst the lambs. 

“Quiet, AB-. I see you continue to flap your gums despite the honor you were bestowed,” Mrs. Sloane greeted Y/N in the only way the old woman probably knew how: nastily. While Namjoon simply copied the stone gargoyles beside the entrance, still, Jeongguk snickered at Y/N’s scolding. “Good day, Masters. It has been some time since we have had the pleasure.”

Y/N wanted to bust a gut like a rabid hyena. Jeongguk appeared increasingly smug, puffing out his chest importantly, while Namjoon simply adjusted the fit of his leather gloves. 

“We’ve gathered a group of acolytes for you to choose from for your gala.”

Y/N’s friends and acquaintances. With a wobbly lower lip, she and the two vampires were led to a detached office building beside the Sanctuary, where only wardens were permitted to enter. 

“You believe that moronic propaganda? Did you think we’d burst into flames stepping foot on sacred ground?” Jeongguk leaned forward, his voice floating over Y/N’s shoulder, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. Promptly ignoring him, Y/N edged closer to Mrs. Sloane of all people. Though Mrs. Sloane had treated her like livestock, she still had her humanity. 

The room the three of them were led to was quite large, perhaps the size of a gymnasium, and it was apparently treated like a storage room. There were boxes of incense and votive candles stacked everywhere, as well as phlebotomy equipment. Jeongguk, with amusement, rifled through a box of tourniquets. 

“Bring them in,” Mrs. Sloane barked towards an open door, the acid in Y/N’s stomach steadily climbing up her throat when she heard shuffling. 

A handful of acolytes, mostly from the AB+ group, were pushed into the room hastily in a rush of white linens. The sight of the bleached and starched clothing Y/N used to wear day in and day out had her feeling dizzy, and if things couldn’t get any worse, an acolyte no older than seven was part of the group as well. 

“The acolyte beside you is the only one in the area with AB- blood. We’ve brought in all of our AB+ and B- typed acolytes, for your choosing. The head of your coven requested how many–?”

“Fifteen.”

Just one word was the first thing Namjoon uttered since they arrived, and the sharpness of his tone had even Mrs. Sloane stiffening. Y/N, helpless, squirmed in place as the acolytes she had lived with for years stared at her like a Hollywood star. She must have been something to behold; dressed in a fine designer coat, matching cashmere mittens and scarf, and well groomed and fed. Y/N didn’t realize how starved for nutrients she truly was, as she noticed the lack of color in the other acolyte’s complexions, the thinness of their cheeks. 

“Remove the children from the room,” Namjoon crossed his arms over his chest, his sword tucked into the crook of his elbow. “Feeding on children is a waste of time and energy.”

“Yes, Master,” Mrs. Sloane snapped her fingers, and Y/N sagged in relief when four acolytes under the age of eighteen were escorted back to safety. “Now… how will you select the group of fifteen?”

Namjoon’s jaw clenched, lips pursing, as he scanned the line of humans cowering in fear and awe. None of them had the same perfume-scented blood Y/N had, but Namjoon was expecting that. He really didn’t care either way which acolytes were picked, it wasn’t like Namjoon himself was going to be feeding from them. 

“I have an idea,” Jeongguk, who Y/N temporarily forgot was even present, dropped a pack of blood tubes onto the concrete floor and stepped forward. Trying not to budge, Y/N’s breath caught when Jeongguk hummed and looked her way. “Y/N, you go ahead and pick them out of us.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open. Jeongguk wanted her to select people she grew up with for hordes of vampires to feed on at a party? Once aware that the coven she was placed with held little humanity, it was revealed that they had none. Jeongguk’s expression was positively delighted, taking in Y/N’s abject horror. 

“Go ahead, AB-,” Mrs. Sloane encouraged, her tone dripping with either jealousy or spite. Y/N thought if Mrs. Sloane wanted to serve vampires so badly, perhaps she should have taken her career to the cabaret. “Make haste. These acolytes have work to do, unlike yourself.”

“I cannot choose,” Y/N breathed, the twinkle in Jeongguk’s eyes brightening when she shrunk backwards. The acolytes in front of her began to murmur, as disobeying orders from a vampire was a serious offense. “Please, don’t make me…”

“Very well,” Jeongguk grabbed her by the shoulder, making her look directly into his soulless eyes. Y/N knew what was coming before Jeongguk even entered her mind, her skull starting to pound as he sorted through memories. “Warden. We’ll take the thirteen healthiest in this room.”

Y/N’s lower lip was wobbling again, noises all around of people being shuffled to and fro. 

“That’s two short–”

“Find me the acolyte Joseph. Y/N will be pleased to see him at the gala, no? And…” Jeongguk held up his hand to cut Mrs. Sloane off, eyes narrowing playfully when he found what he was looking for. Y/N frantically began to shake her head and chant ‘no’, but it was far too late. “The pretty blonde girl with the princess curls. Meredith.”

The memory had Y/N’s anxiety spiking acutely. Agonizing for days over the fact that her inability to fulfill Jeongguk’s request resulted in putting her friends in danger, she hardly got much sleep. Juliana meticulously hid her dark circles behind a skin tone matched concealer, and despite the inner wars she was fighting, Y/N’s appearance was sparkly and flawless. 

Skimming a hand over one of the gossamer dresses laying on the bed, nausea reared its ugly head. The cream color of the garment had her thinking about the uniforms of the acolytes. While Juliana was busy comparing the gowns to one another, Y/N began to pace slowly, trying to come up with some elaborate scheme to save her friends. When contemplating escape routes and disguises, Y/N got a whiff of sea salt and cedarwood. A pleasant smell, yes, but one Y/N had just begun to associate with a particular immortal. 

“Are you trying to pace your way through the floor, ma chérie?” Hoseok was in her doorframe once more, and apparently Seokjin had managed to convince him to wear a suit. It was the most dressed up Y/N had ever seen him, and she hated to admit to herself that he looked good in pressed black pants. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

Y/N looked down, her silk nightgown skimming her thighs and hugging parts of her body too closely. Swiftly, she wrapped her arms around herself to shield from Hoseok’s greedy roaming eyes. Hoseok loved to act falsely concerned about Y/N and her well being, but Y/N quickly found out that all Hoseok was was a drunken lech. In fact, once Y/N got over the size of the watch on his slim wrist, she saw the bottle of rum he was taking swigs from. 

“Do you not like the dresses Jimin picked out for you? How rude,” Hoseok tore his gaze from the swell of the girl’s hips to get a look at the gaudy gowns littered around the room. Turning up his nose, he scoffed at the selection. “It’s like he’s trying to turn you into Dracula’s bride.”

“I hate the color white,” Y/N blurted out, her maids all stopping what they were doing to gape at her. During the handful of incidents when Y/N dared to complain to the vampires, staff was not around. “The acolytes. We always had to wear white linens. I never wish to wear the color again.”

“Do you?” Hoseok purred, setting his rum onto one of her nightstands. Running his tongue over his fangs, Hoseok found the human girl’s terrible filter entertaining. “Then don’t wear white. Simple as that.”

“What?” Y/N stopped pacing, gawking at Hoseok like he grew a second head. He couldn’t be serious, Y/N’s brief astonishment washing away into suspicion at a hat’s drop. 

“Don’t wear white, chérie. There’s a storage room in the basement stuffed with gowns flown in from every fashion capital in the world, all tailored to your size. What color do you want to wear?” Hoseok liked to play with his food, and the sickly-sweet tablespoon of hope directed towards him from the human girl was enough to keep up the ‘nice guy’ act. 

“Are you toying with me?” Y/N saw through the act, drinking in his sharp jawline and alcohol reddened cheeks. “Won’t… Master Jimin be upset?”

“Jimin will survive. He’ll pout, but he can’t help his melodramatic tendencies. So pick a color, Y/N,” Hoseok grew impatient, the friendly act starting to become forced.

Y/N, still processing the unnatural consideration from Hoseok, studied the vampire. He was just as handsome as all the others, in an almost elvish way, his features angular. Truly, he was a vision– even down to his sun-weathered hands. Her mind then went to colors, but all the vibrant hues dancing through her mind made her frown. 

“Black.”

“Fitting,” Hoseok shook his head, snapping his fingers. “Juliana, fetch the girl her black dresses. The rest of you, get rid of anything remotely off-white in her closet. Happy, chérie?”

“Why do you talk like that?” Y/N spoke through the flurry of her maids tripping over their feet to fulfill Hoseok’s request, the vampire’s drawl odd to Y/N’s ears. 

“Are you referring to my accent?” Hoseok raised a brow, plucking up his bottle of rum again. “I’ve spent centuries in New Orleans, pet. I believe humans call it a Southern drawl.”

Y/N nodded without understanding. The furthest south Y/N ever went was Little Compton, which was still in the state of Rhode Island. Taking a swig of his rum, Hoseok smirked as the beginnings of trust in him began to form in the acolyte’s head. Before she could go completely schoolgirl on him, Hoseok began to take his leave with a threat filling the air. 

“By the way, chérie. I believe you’ve forgotten I can predict your every move. You will not successfully take yourself and your friends away from here tonight. I can Track you to the ends of the Earth.”

Despite the fact that it was November, Y/N ended up selecting a sleeveless, short floaty dress made of chiffon. The garment was unlike anything she had ever seen, rippled fabric attachments slipping over her elbows, and it displayed some of the parts of her body she was growing fond of: her legs and chest. After Hoseok’s reminder that she was trapped, instead of cowering in fear, Y/N decided to play the game. 

It was futile to try and escape. It was dangerous to try and help her friends. What Y/N could do was exploit some of the weaknesses of the coven– hence the sultry dress– and keep one eye on her friends during the gala, if possible. Wrapping her hand around the banister she was guided to by Juliana, Y/N took a moment to look down at the bustling, decked-out great hall. 

Pine trees studded with multicolored lights outlined the hall, and the empty room was transformed into a festive holiday party. Cocktail tables were placed, candles and trays of libations placed on top, and there was an orchestra clumped in one corner of the room playing lively music. The fires roaring had the room feeling quite toasty, but the sight of dozens of vampires milling around in finery has a shiver rolling down her spine. With the cursory glance, Y/N did not spot Sanctuary whites, which had her heart sinking. Clearing her throat, Y/N rolled her shoulders back and began her descent down the red carpeted staircase. 

Mingle, but do not say anything moronic. Eat, drink, dance. Do not cause any kind of scene. Do not let vampires touch you outside of the coven. You are here as an accessory. Do not embarrass us. 

Seokjin’s voice entered her mind, Y/N miraculously not tripping down the stairs in her stilettos, turning her chin to the side. Near the center of the room, Seokjin was speaking to a vampire that physically appeared to be in his late forties. His short hair was swept off his forehead, and he was in a fine tuxedo that Y/N had no doubt cost a small fortune. A strong hand pinching a champagne glass, Y/N watched him actually smile at the vampire he was talking to, but the grin never quite reached his carmine eyes. 

“Oh! Thank you,” Y/N was approached by a staff member almost as soon as she reached the bottom of the stairs, handing her a glass of bubbly. In one go, Y/N drained the flute, and it was replaced with a fresh one straight away. Glossed lips wrapping around the glass, her eyes narrowed when Jimin started slinking towards her. “Here we fucking go…”

“Dove, that’s not what I chose for you,” Jimin cocked his head, the buttons on his shirt loose and revealing his jutting collar bones. “Though… this is quite the choice, too.”

Jimin dragged his eyes up and down the girl’s figure, which was softer and curvier than it was just a week ago. Mouth filled with venom, Jimin giggled and threaded an arm through the girl’s, reveling in her stiffness when he started to pull her through the crowd. 

“That there is Sarah Berwind. She’s the guest of honor’s wife,” Jimin pointed to an elegant female vampire, dressed in a midnight blue gown. Her silvery blonde hair reminded her of Meredith, though when the vampire turned her head, there were kohl-lined red eyes giving her a reality check. “Over there, a few artists Yoongi invited. Yuki, the lovely woman in gold, she made her fortune in jewelry…”

Y/N didn’t particularly care about any of the vampires Jimin was pointing out. Her focus was solely on finding her friends, to somehow protect them from excessive harm. She knew Meredith was probably beside herself. Her attention was stolen when Jimin came to a stop, near the edge of the room. Jimin had led her straight to Yoongi at the edge of the cleared dancefloor. Y/N blamed Yoongi entirely for Seokjin assigning Namjoon to her as a bodyguard. The artist was listening to a gangly looking vampire, Yoongi’s long hair glossy under all of the lights. 

“So this is your newest source of inspiration. Bellissima,” the gangly vampire drank her in, Y/N’s skin crawling as his eyes lingered over her breasts. “I hear you are to begin modeling with Mr. Park here.”

Y/N was lucky she had been practicing her poker face all night. She had not a semblance of an idea of what the vampire was talking about, but the thought of sitting with Jimin for hours in various poses made her want to vomit into a passing by champagne bucket. Yoongi’s expression was stormy when she didn’t reply right away, Y/N translating the look into a warning. 

“Yes, sir. I can hardly wait,” Y/N lied, her voice high and sweet. Yoongi, stone faced, thought the girl was laying it on too thickly, but the dolt of an immortal beside him bought the lie instantly. Fledglings. “When are we to start modeling, again, Master Yoongi?”

“Wow. Your coven still has acolytes using titles?”

“Our coven is old-school, and that’s the way it should be. That’s all, Damien,” Yoongi waved a hand, the vampire Damien sucking his teeth but getting the hint. He disappeared into the crowd. “You do not have to be a sarcastic little bitch, acolyte.”

“Excuse me?” Y/N squeaked like she was slapped, Jimin laughing and stroking the back of her head. 

“Your behavior tonight is being watched. I suggest you hold your honeyed tongue,” Yoongi’s voice was gruff and low, and Y/N could feel it in her chest. Before she could respond, the music cut off, and someone was clinking a knife against a glass. 

“Welcome to The Breakers. The orchestra has composed a waltz for tonight, and I’d like to invite you all to the dance floor,” Seokjin, the perfect picture of geniality, addressed the partygoers. “As the designer of this estate, Taehyung Kim will be leading the dance, accompanied by our coven’s acolyte.”

Y/N’s head swiveled like a barn owl’s, dozens of pairs of vampiric eyes were on her. Seokjin’s wicked smile finally reached his eyes, knowing Y/N would be mortified by the spectacle. The silence deafening, Jimin’s arm was replaced, that time by an arm clad in familiar tweed. Taehyung, with his shiny gelled waves, peered down at her impassively. 

“I do not know how to dance the waltz,” Y/N panicked, knowing that every immortal in the room could hear her strained whisper into Taehyung’s ear. 

“You will,” Taehyung murmured darkly, and Y/N’s spine went rigid when a new skill was downloaded into her head from Seokjin. If Seokjin could simply Compell knowledge into her head on a moment’s notice, what else could he make her believe?

In the center of the dance floor, Y/N knew exactly how to stand, effortlessly collecting Taehyung’s broad palm, her free hand sliding up the lapel of his grey jacket and resting over his sluggishly beating heart. Like he had done thousands of times before, Taehyung slung his forearm around the small of Y/N’s back. Without further ado, the orchestra struck up a swelling, vibrant tune, and they were off. Y/N didn’t even have to think as her feet moved in time with her partner, maintaining eye-contact as they danced across the floor. In mere seconds, couples of vampires joined the two of them, so at the very least, Y/N wasn’t the complete center of attention. 

Taehyung was one of the most elusive vampires, aside from Yoongi. In fact, she had spoken to Taehyung the least during the week she had spent at The Breakers, mostly because he was often away on business or walking the grounds of the estate by himself. Though undead, his palm was warm against hers, and Y/N slotted her fingers between his just to feel how her blood brought him back to life. He moved gracefully, leading them around the dance floor, all while drinking in every inch of her face. 

“Where are my friends?” Y/N asked after a few moments, on edge that she hadn’t seen a single human aside from staff since the evening began. For all she knew, Meredith or Joseph could have four vampires latched onto them while she danced with the devil. 

“What’s the point in telling you? Nothing you do can change their fate,” Taehyung’s baritone voice was flat, punctuating his point by dipping Y/N low to the ground. He was so close to her face, Y/N could see that his eyelids were different from one another. 

“Then there’s no harm in telling me where they are. I simply want to say goodbye,” Y/N argued, slightly breathless when Taehyung pulled her back up. One of her long, pointed nails traced along the handkerchief tucked into his breast pocket. 

“I thought you were told not to weave fallacies. You continue to believe you can outsmart us,” Taehyung spat back quietly, the fact that they were quite close to the wind section of the orchestra disguising his words from other guests. The set of the human girl’s mouth was firm and unbudging, Taehyung somewhat respecting her for digging her heels in. She might look meek and mild, but the acolyte had a strong moral compass– a death sentence. He decided to throw her a bone. “The acolytes are in the library, the cabaret girls were placed in the music room. Seokjin doesn’t want you near either of those rooms tonight.”

“He seems preoccupied schmoozing with the ‘guest of honor’,” Y/N couldn’t even see Seokjin, but the last time she did, he was still chatting away with the graying vampire named ‘Berwind’. “If there’s nothing I can do to protect them, afford me the decency to apologize to them.”

“Apologize? Isn’t it a great honor for you holy rollers to even be in the presence of vampires? With that logic, they should be kissing your feet for the opportunity to be here.”

“Obviously, that’s not the case. While I might still hold onto the hope that I can outsmart one of you, you hold onto the belief that acolytes end up at Sanctuaries on their own volition.”

There was a count of eight where Taehyung and Y/N stared each other down, flawlessly in sync as they waltzed. She spoke no more, nor did Taehyung, for the remainder of the song, dewy sweat coating her skin from both the undivided attention and exertion from dancing. When a final note of a viola rang out into the air, Y/N held her breath as they bowed to each other, Taehyung brushing his lips over the back of the girl’s hand reluctantly. 

“Do what you want, but reap what you sow.”

Taehyung evaporated like smoke. His duties were carried out, he played the game. Decorated, played nice, and danced with the human girl. Whatever happened after that, Taehyung couldn’t find it in him to care. 

Meanwhile, arms still extended and molded to Taehyung’s shape, Y/N was left entirely by herself, by the grace of God. It was comical, really, how she was able to scamper from the dance floor, clinging to the walls and feeling her way to the library. Another song was already beginning, mortal vital fluid and liquor intoxicated vampires elegantly swaying in throngs. Peripheral vision caught Jeongguk pouring his champagne flute over the décolletage of a short, dark skinned vampire woman, his fingers tangled in her silken braids and his tongue dragging down the skin of her throat. 

Jittery, Y/N was halfway to the library when she heard something quite queer. A muffled, high-pitched sound coming from the front entrance of the mansion had her freezing. The foyer had twin doors on the right and left: the ladies’ reception room, and the male counterpart directly across. Ice crystals formed in her gut, the sounds growing more agonized. It was a chorus of voices wailing, Y/N ducking into a hallway that connected to the foyer in order to find the source of the sounds. Not a soul was in the foyer, not even the human boys that handled valet, Y/N’s knees knocking together when a particularly horrendous female scream pierced her ears. 

“HELP, PLEASE! OH GOD, PLEASE! DON’T KILL ME!” 

Y/N’s skin flashed ice cold. Of course, she stupidly sprung into action, her stilettos falling off in the process, darting towards the gentleman’s reception room. She was human, after all. A desperate cry for help could not be ignored. 

“N-NO! NO, NO, YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED T-TO, YOU! YOU, YOU–”

Y/N pushed the heavy door open, bewildered, not understanding the sight in front of her at all. It was like the most horrific nightmare her brain could conjure, but it was real, it had to be. Her subconscious never considered something so evil. 

There was a young woman dressed in a fringed flapper dress, crouched and cornered on the floor and trembling so hard Y/N thought she was seizing. That, and she was nearly doused in crimson blood, shielding herself from the vampire standing over her, his foot crushing her ankle bone with a sickening crunch. The woman shrieked horribly, the whole floor covered in streaks of crimson. That wasn’t even the worst of it. Not even three paces away was a messy heap of limbs, limp and useless. 

Delicate, white-blonde curls matted with blood. A dimpled smile ironed out into a slack-jawed scream of desperation. White linens now permanently stained with clots of gore, motionless and skin nearly blue. Tossed in a pile, mangled and drained, were Meredith and Joseph, open-eyed and dead. 

The scream that came from Y/N was molten core in origin. It pierced through the merriment of the holiday party like banshee’s wail, the last piece of Y/N’s heart exploding into pieces. Joseph’s beautiful amber eyes were glassy and unseeing. Meredith’s hand was weakly curled around Joseph’s stained shirt sleeve. Nothing but the sound of her own screams registered to Y/N. 

What happened next, Y/N would never be able to get out of her mind. By the time her howling brought the orchestra rooms over to a startling halt, the vampire tormenting the young cabaret worker had Y/N pinned to the wall by her throat. It was Edmund Berwind, the moustached ‘guest of honor’ who had drained her two closest friends dry, stinking of liquor and death. Crushing her vocal chords, Y/N’s screams turned into choked barks, her nails scraping fabric wallpaper from behind her. 

“Aren’t you sweet, honey? I’ve heard–”

Y/N didn’t get the chance to hear what else Berwind was about to taunt her with. While the cabaret girl sobbed in agony, cradling her flattened ankle, Berwin was torn from her and Y/N could only collapse beside the corpses of her friends. 

He entered the room like the Grim Reaper. Whooshing through the air with precision was a metallic sound followed by wet, repulsive squelching. Namjoon, in one fell swoop, unsheathed his sword and slashed forward, severing Berwind’s top half from the bottom. Arterial spurts of blackened immortal blood sprayed the entire reception room, as well as dowsing Y/N completely, the viscous hot fluid running down her face. 

The body fell directly next to Y/N. Desiccated intestines spilled from both cavities of the bodies, followed by other equally ancient organs, Y/N’s skin coated with the blood of her former friends and the gore of a slain vampire. Berwind’s body was still twitching, the severed lower half contorting grotesquely while the top gushed liters of blood, gore, and tissue. Y/N was still screaming, soaking in gore, waiting for the angel of death. She hadn’t been able to spare her friends in time, and she was sure to meet her end considering how furious her ‘bodyguard’ seemed. It was all over. 

Namjoon found a spare pillow set on a cushy chair, using it to mop the filthy mess Berwind made on his sword. With disgust, he used the wallpaper to clean his gloves, large streaky prints staining the walls. Weeping hollowly, Y/N stroked Meredith’s lifeless curls from her face, anticipating her momentary death. One hand slipping over one of Berwind’s eviscerated kidneys spilling onto the floor, Y/N glanced at Namjoon one last time. 

“I Compelled her to avoid being touched.”

Namjoon didn’t answer Seokjin, who promptly locked the door to the reception room. Namjoon kicked the top half of Berwind’s hemorrhaging corpse, fat with too much blood, off to the corner of the room. Using his jacket sleeve to remove eviscerated organs from his face, Namjoon sheathed his sword and laughed at his elder. 

“I’ll leave you to clean up the mess this time, hyung.”

Please do not repost or translate my work. Thank you!

[dexteri0us]

now i’m breathin' like i’m runnin' 'cause you're taking me there; don’t you know you spin me out of control?

pairing: dexter morgan x f!reader

warnings: reader is a freak, mentions of corpses, smut - dom!dexter (but he's soft<3), sir kink, oral (f and m receiving), some slapping, some pussy slapping, bondage, knife play, brush play, wartenberg wheel (all sterilized of course).

summary: you, being an annoying girlfriend, and dexter, being an incredible boyfriend. (be careful though, he might as well just off you one day if you keep asking for it).

w/c: around 7,280

a/n: no pun intended. if i forgot any warnings, let me know, my brain is kinda fried

Dexter hadn’t exactly told you that he was a killer. A murderer, a criminal, or whatever label fit his particular shade of darkness. But he also never denied it when your insinuations crept too close to the truth. He knew that you knew, and that was enough for you. Knowing that he was okay with that was enough for you. Well, until recently.

He’d given you a blurry picture of what he did to his victims. Not because he offered it, but you had a knack for prodding, especially when you sensed he was buttered up just enough. You knew a crime scene or a sample of blood brought a smile to his face, but you didn’t exactly have that kind of power to bring those things to him. You found your own ways to make Dexter smile. Leaving a post-it note on his coffee machine that read “Kill the day”. Buying him a new shirt for work or a romantic dinner. Making him a playlist for his late-night boat rides. Or you’d plan a quiet night with nature docs to stimulate his intellect.

And if you were feeling bold, you’d cook. Well, try to cook. Homemade pizza was your speciality. Your best and only. Dexter never complained, though, always giving you a small, approving nod as he chewed slowly.

Still, he didn’t give you the exact answers either. He might roll his eyes, sigh heavily, or offer a cryptic one-word response, but you could always tell when you’d hit the nail on the head.

“Do you have a special place where you do it? Like a basement or something?”

Roll of his eyes. No.

“Do you ever regret it? Like, afterward?”

No.

“Do you stalk them?”

Side eye. Yes.

“Do you talk to them first? Like, try to scare them or mess with their heads:”

...Yes?

You played this game as if it was the most normal thing in the world, without batting an eye. It was fun for you until you headed in an unpleasant direction of the questions.

“Does it get messy? What do you use to clean up? What about their clothes? Do you get them naked before getting rid of the body?”

Yes.

Oh. “…Before killing them?”

Yes.

The wheels in your head began to turn, your thoughts spiraling into uncharted territory. “Even the women?”

Yes.

Huh. Suddenly, the game wasn’t so fun anymore. You didn’t know how you felt about that. You pictured the men and women you didn’t know, beautiful, vulnerable, dead. It was stupid to feel jealous of corpses, but you couldn’t help it. It clawed at you.

For a while, you stopped asking questions. Not because you didn’t want to know, but because you were too distracted by the answers you’d already gotten. And maybe you were afraid of what else you’d uncover.

If you were jealous of them before, now that jealousy skyrocketed into different dimensions.

You were in the middle of baking banana bread, working the batter longer than necessary. It was your fourth loaf this week, and you’d already had to give a few away to Deb and Joey, because you weren’t capable of eating all of it.

You were happy that Deb and Joey appreciated it because Dexter didn’t even like banana bread that much. He ate it because you made it. Which was sweet. But still, he seemed to enjoy talking to naked strangers more than eating your baked goods.

What the fuck is his problem?

“Another banana bread?” Dexter’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. “You know, it’s gonna lose its sweetness if you keep mixing all the frustration into it.”

Normally, you’d snort at the deadpan delivery of his stupid joke, but now was really not the time to remind you of the mood you were trying to suppress.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked is all seriousness now, coming over to you and leaning one hip against the counter. You didn’t look at him, keeping your focus on the batter. “Okay, you’re not. What can I do?” he asked, waiting patiently for you to open up.

“Nothing.”

He stood there and you felt his eyes on you, probably trying to read you. You still didn’t acknowledge him, but his presence pressed against you and it was starting to make you uncomfortable. He knew better than to push; it would only make you more frustrated, but he wasn’t one to just walk away either. Besides, he knew you’d crack eventually. And you did, dropping the spatula into the bowl and turning to face him.

“Why don’t you like my banana bread?”

He squinted his eyes, trying to decide if you were joking or not.

“I like your banana bread. Just… an appropriate amount. Not five loaves in a week.”

“Four,” you corrected.

“Five,” he countered, not missing a beat. “You made two yesterday, one on Monday and one on Wednesday.”

Shit, he was right. But could he blame you? He was driving you nuts. Well, you were driving yourself nuts, but it was because of him!

“Hey, I know my brain is limited, but is that really what’s bothering you? Will you help me out, or should I try to piece it together on my own?” he said softly.

He always did that, giving you space but never giving up on saving you from the sea of worrisome thoughts, never ignoring your closed off behavior. He’d always told you that you were like a puzzle to him. And he claimed he liked puzzles.

But you didn’t want to be a puzzle this time. You knew keeping him guessing wouldn't be healthy, so you spilled it out. You told him about your stupid insecurity and the stupid jealousy, the anger and frustration that boiled over when he told you about how he stripped his victims naked. And he couldn’t have had a more baffled expression on his face

For the first time, he told you a little bit about his hobby without you having to pull it from him. He reassured you that there was no sexual motivation behind it whatsoever. None. That the people he killed were disgusting and vile human beings who didn’t deserve even the faintest semblance of intimacy. Well, not that kind of intimacy. They deserved nothing but to die.

“I promise,” he said as he brushed his thumb over your cheek, “the only body I admire is yours. It’s an unhealthy obsession, really. Unhealthier than the other one.”

And with that, he finally made you laugh and roll your eyes at him. You gave him a playful shove, making him smile as you turned back to your batter. He moved closer one more time, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple, then your cheek. As he stepped back, he gave your triceps a playful pinch, leaving you to your baking.

You didn’t have a reason not to trust him. Even though he held onto a big secret, he never outright lied. He just never told you the whole truth, and you respected that. He’d told you it was better this way, something about plausible deniability. And yes, you made it a little hard for him, but what can you say, you were nosy.

Later that night, he went out of his way to worship your body, to prove that you were truly his number one obsession. He looked you in the eye as he fucked you, making you see how you made him feel and showing you every ounce of devotion he had for you. When he put his tongue on you, he didn’t stop eating your pussy until you had to push him away.

Afterward, you lay on your stomach while Dexter rested beside you, propped on one elbow, his other hand tracing invisible shapes on your back.

He let you guess what he drew or wrote with his fingers, and you both giggled when you guessed something ridiculous when he drew something completely simple. It was your favorite kind of peace, lying in his arms, your warm skin against his. You almost couldn’t believe that these same arms were capable of something else.

It wouldn’t be you if you weren’t greedy, though. And sometimes, when your mood was just right, that greed turned you into a bit of a brat.

You were on your way from the farmer’s market, the basket of fresh carrots and strawberries balanced on your lap as Dexter focused on the road, one hand casually resting on the wheel.

You were just telling him how you wanted to have a garden of your own one day, grow your own fruits and veggies, maybe even have a little flock of chickens.

“Can you imagine? You’d have fresh eggs for breakfast every morning, and I could make you a fruit salad to take to work.”

He glanced over, just briefly, before fixing his eyes back on the road. “You’d want me to share that with you?”

You felt a small tug of your heart. It made you reach out to gently tug the short hair behind his ear. He liked that. He’d said it was soothing when you played with his hair, especially around the ears, and you made a mental note to do more of it later tonight.

“Dex, you’re stuck with me. You’ll need to kill me to get rid of me,” you joked and he shot you a look, but you giggled at your own quip.  

Truthfully, it broke your heart sometimes, the way he thought so little of himself. Sure, he was confident, sometimes even a little too sure of his skills, and it could momentarily turn him into a smug asshole. But you worried that he’d never feel how loved he actually was. How many people cared about him.

Before you could spiral too far into those thoughts, his phone buzzed. He was being called to a scene, and he initially wanted to drop you off at home, but you convinced him there was no point. It was literally on the way, and you could just wait in the car.

“Alright,” he said as he gathered his things, “half an hour, tops.” You nodded and he stepped out of the car.

You watched him work from the car, though you could barely make him out through the crowd of people that gathered at the scene. Still, you admired how focused and precise he was, the way he was handling the camera and the lifeless body.

It was impossible not to think about how those same hands had touched you, traced every curve and dip of your skin. Fuck, you were sick. He was professionally documenting death for Christ's sake.

Still, your mind couldn’t help but wander elsewhere, wondering if he handled them with the same care. So, once you were back on the road, you couldn’t help yourself.

“You know, I thought of a way you could prove your ‘obsession’ with my body.”

He paused, glancing at you with furrowed brow, confused. “I thought we were past that.”

“Well, you know, it does something to a girl, knowing her boyfriend’s hobby involves working with naked bodies.”

“I can’t believe that that’s what bothers you about this whole situation.”

You shrugged, letting the silence hang for a moment.

“Alright, I’ll bite. What’d you have in mind?”

“I want to experience it.”

“'It'. Try to be a little more specific.”

“You know… the setup. Like, a roleplay kinda thing. You’ll be you, and I’ll be your victim. Or like a 'draw me like one of your french girls' kinda situation."

You honestly thought that it was a good idea, but you just proved to him how much little you understood about the whole serial killer thing, which he let you know quite candidly.

Don’t get me wrong, he adored you, but he didn’t have a problem with calling you out on your stupidity and reminding you how close you sometimes got to crossing lines you didn’t fully understand. That’s what made your relationship great.

“First of all, why would you think they are French?" he asked, confused by the movie reference, but you jusrt rolled your eyes. "And second of all, I actually wonder whether it’s you or me who’s sick in the head here,” he scoffed, shaking his head as he went on to tell you that it wasn't a fucking game that you played. He is a serial killer. “I actually like your body intact.”

“But you wouldn’t actually –”

“No.”

“Come on, wouldn’t you like to see me all tied up, immobilized, completely at your mercy?”

His jaw tightened just slightly before he answered. Oh?

“No. End of discussion.”

“Fine,” you groaned with a sigh, sinking back into your seat like a scolded child, your fingers idly tracing the ridges of the basket in your lap.

You wanted to be petty about it but instead, you decided to be on your best behavior. The reason? You’d definitely gotten into his head. You didn’t know if he’d started fantasizing about you like that, or if he was coming to the realization that you might actually need a psychiatric evaluation. You hoped it was the former, so when you caught him lost in thought, his gaze lingering on you as if he were in a trance, you resisted the urge to poke the bear, only sending a sweet smile his way.

The sex had gotten more… intense. Also more frequent, and you had a theory that it correlated with his early returns from his hunts. He never seemed to be satisfied, always came home frustrated with himself and he took it out on you. He’d take you against the nearest surface he could find; the couch, the kitchen counter, even the floor. You thought there wasn’t a single surface in his apartment that wasn’t defiled.

Once, when he’d gotten home before you, he threatened to take you outside in the external corridor where his neighbors could see and hear everything. Well, you wouldn’t mind, but he was a flying-under-the-radar kind of guy.

Either way, you’d struck a chord. And while you still hadn’t gotten exactly what you wanted, you couldn’t deny you enjoyed the way he’d been lately.

You just got out of shower, slipped into your pajamas and plopped onto the couch, turning on some white noise on your phone as you pulled out some notes for your upcoming exam. No, you weren’t capable of studying after you changed into your sleeping attire, but it was better than doing nothing.

Your eyes skimmed mindlessly across the words when you heard the door unlock, revealing Dexter in his khaki henley and cargos. You greeted him with a smile, sending him into kitchen where his take-out was, before turning your head back to your notes.

You didn’t register him moving closer to you, until you felt the nylon of a cuff around your wrist.

“What the fuck?” you murmured and looked at your wrist. It wasn’t your first time he used bondage on you, of course, but this was weird. You tugged instinctively at the chain, but his firm grip on the other buckle didn’t allow you much movement. “Dex, I don’t have time for this now.”

“My victims don’t really get to pick when their time is up.”

You looked at him, the confusion apparent on your face, but then when you locked eyes with him, it started to gradually dawn on you. Your eyes flicked from his face, to his clothes, to the chain around your wrist.

Was this what you thought it was? You didn’t want to celebrate too early.

And just like that, Dexter gave a sharp tug on the chain, pulling you to your feet.

“The first thing that usually happens,” he began, leading you to the bedroom, “is the weight of their tranquilized bodies pulls them to the ground.”

Before you could react, he slammed the door shut behind you and in one swift motion, your back hit the hard wood. Your other wrist was caught and cuffed too, the chain between them yanked taut as he raised your arms above your head, hooking the chain on the hook mounted on the door, leaving you stertched out.

It was too high and the position forced you onto your tiptoes, your whole body arching and making your ass press firmly against the door.

Dexter grabbed your jaw and kissed you aggressively, your teeth clanking against each other and your tongues tangling together, making your mixed saliva drip down your chin.

He looked at you with that signature intensity, eyes hooded and plush lips parted slightly. His hot breath fanned across your chin as he spread the spit over your cheek and jawline, massaging it into your skin.

You admired the way his hair curled at his forehead and around his ears, it gave him this innocent vibe that put him into contrast with those strong features of his face.

Then he kissed you again, this time more softly, snaking his arm into the space between the door and your arched back, pressing himself against you and making you feel the hardness in his cargo pants. His hand slid lower, over the curve of your lower back, slipping beneath your shirt to cup your ass firmly. His fingers kneaded your flesh before grasping the hem of your panties and tugging up, the fabric pressing tightly against your pussy.

The pressure sent a jolt of pleasure straight through you, the cloth stimulating your clit as he gave it individual tugs. You whimpered into his mouth, your body writhing against him even though it was almost physically impossible. To amplify the pleasure, Dexter's thigh slid between your legs, the textured fabric of his cargos creating a delicious sensation.

When he was satisfied with the wet spot you created on his pants, he dropped to his knees. He teased you some more, licking along the hem of your panties, placing wet kisses on your thighs and burying his nose against your heat, telling you how good you smell.

“Dex,” you whined. Your cunt screamed for release as well as your strained arms. You wanted nothing more than to tangle your fingers in his hair and grind yourself against his mouth until the dam broke.

He had told you before that his face was made for you to sit on. Once, Deb had jokingly called him a chair, which turned out to be a thought her therapist had passed on to her. Your mind couldn’t help but wander to the nights when he made you sit on his cock as he went over his subjects. He blindfolded you each time, naturally.

And from the look on your face, Deb knew instantly where your thoughts had gone, and said that she didn’t need that mental image in her head. You both laughed about it later. Honestly, you two loved sharing your sexcapades with each other.

Dexter found out through Quinn, because of course Deb would share, especially if you gave her inspiration. And he couldn't resist taking a jab at Dexter.

“I didn’t know you were such an animal, Dex,” Joey had told him with that smug grin of his.

Dex had given you an earful about how you had kind of compromised his privacy. It was only a matter of time until Masuka learned about this, and he was already exasperating. Dexter was afraid Masuka would take it as a shared hobby, something they could finally, really talk about with passion, like two guys. Ugh, the thought alone made him uncomfortable already.

But you'd told him that Deb was your best friend, and that girlfriends just had to talk about this stuff.

“It’s like therapy.”

“Don’t you say that about sex too?”

“Depends on the circumstances. Besides, it’s good for tips. You should thank her. If you thought making me squirt was all your talent, think again.”

After that, you made a deal not to bring up your sex club discussions in front of Dexter, and Deb made Quinn promise he wouldn’t say a word in front of Vince.

However, you did joke about the chair thing often, because he did provide the best seat in the house, whether it was his lap or his face.

But this time, he wasn't giving it up so easily. He wanted to make you earn it, but you couldn’t do anything except to wait.

When he finally did put his tongue on you, he didn’t take your panties off. He made you cum with them on, licking your clit over your panties, sometimes brushing his thumb over the sensitive bundle of nerves before sliding to your hole and pushing against the cloth, to the point your underwear became uncomfortable from how soaked it was with your cum.

Then he finally pushed your panties aside, the wet material sticking to your skin. He shuffled closer, his forehead grazing your stomach and his hair tickling your skin as he looked down at you, sliding his fingers through your folds and over your sensitive clit. you begged him to make you cum again, thinking he’d finally eat you out properly, but he just used his fingers.

He stayed on his knees for a while, admiring your shiny pussy and grazing his fingernails over your clit, teasing you, before standing up to his full height and properly fucking you hard with his fingers.

He wrapped his arm around you once again, bracing himself to your side as he started snapping his palm against your clit, two of his fingers sliding in and out of you and filling the room with wet sounds.

When you started cumming again, his other hand, that was resting on your hip reached down and tugged on your panties again, positioning the crotch back between your pussy lips and pulling, wiggling it to create stimulation against your clit.

“That’s it,” he growled, his lower jaw dropping down as he admired your squirming body.

You cried out from the sensation, your head banging against the door and one of your legs bending in the knee as you pressed your thighs together, trying to escape from the overstimulation.

You were so consumed by coming down from your high that you didn’t expect Dexter to unhitch the chain from the hook on the door, making you lose your balance. You would have surely fallen to the ground if Dexter hadn’t been there, but he was ready to catch you.

He shifted your body, picking you up bridal style. You thought that he’d lay you down onto the bed and fuck you there, but instead, he opened the door and headed out of the room. And as you rested in the comfort of his strong arms, your head against his shoulder, you noticed that his shirt smelt differently. It wasn’t the usual sweat and blood, or different human remains. It was a laundry detergent, meaning he truly did this just for you. It was your night.

He carried you through the living room, making his way toward his desk where he sat you down.

Unlike every other day, the computer was gone, as well as the photo of him and Deb. In fact, it was completely cleared out.

How have you not noticed that?

He stood between your thighs, working the cuffs to separate them from each other before pulling your sleep shirt over your head, leaving you exposed to him. His hand reached out, pinching your nipple as he kissed you, sharing the taste of your pussy with you. He pressed himself against you, the button of his cargos grazing your clit and making you moan. You were still sensitive, but you loved every second of it.

He leaned into you, forcing you to lie down, the coldness of the desk hitting your back and spreading goosebumps over your skin. He positioned you to his liking, moving you up so your feet rested on the top of the desk.

“I make sure they can’t escape,” he continued his description of the way he’d done things, pulling out another set of cuffs from the desk drawer and clasping each around your ankles before cuffing them to your wrist cuffs. You weren’t unfamiliar with any of this, but then he pulled out two other clasps and attached the ankle cuffs to the D-rings built in the desk.

Were those always there?

Now, you were all spread out for him, your nipples stiff for him to feed on, your legs bent in the knees and putting the outline of your cunt under your ruined panties on full display. You were capable of minimal movement with your ankles attached to the desk and your hands dependent on the movement of your legs. You weren’t going anywhere. Not that you wanted to.

“Are you good?” he asked, making sure he wasn’t doing anything you weren’t up to.

“Yes.”

“What’s your safe word?”

“Magazine.”

You watched as Dexter moved around the apartment, disappearing from your sight to retrieve a black, flat bag. When he returned to the kitchen counter, he seemed to unroll the bag, his back to you. You had to crane your neck to see, the vertebrae in your neck squishing together as you tried to get a glimpse of what lay inside. Something steely caught the light as he pulled it out. Then Dexter turned around, a pointed tool spinning under the force of his index finger. A Wartenberg wheel.

Your throat tightened, chills coursing down your spine as your body shifted in anticipation. Nothing could have prepared you for the next set of events. You were sure the next time you and Deb swapped stories, she would be the one taking notes.

Dexter tortured the fuck out of you.

He started with the pinwheel, rolling it all over your body. The pins were sharp enough to prickle your skin as they trailed along your arms, but it didn’t hurt. At first, it was even nice, relaxing almost. Then he moved to your chest, the wheel gliding from the hollow of your neck, down between your breasts and over you stomach.

As it neared the waistband of your soaked panties, you thought he’d continue further down and toward your aching pussy. But just as it reached below your navel, the wheel disappeared, making you huff.

That was your mistake. You’d worked yourself up by stupidly thinking that he’d go there right away. Foolish.

“I cut them up.”

You flinched at the sudden sound, startled, but he didn’t comment. The pinwheel resumed its path, drawing invisible lines across your wrists, elbows, shoulders, mimicking incisions. You closed your eyes, letting your imagination take over.

“Into evenly cut pieces,” he added.

Now the tool traveled lower, grazing your legs, running from your ankle to your bent knee, then up the sensitive skin of inner thigh. You trembled under his touch, your breath catching in your throat.

You reveled in the thought of this man, this predator, choosing to worship you instead of discarding you. Who knows, maybe one day, he would snap. But the possibility only made your body quake more.

He noticed, stopping the wheel just where your thigh met your hip. “Are you scared?”

“No.” you said, though your voice betrayed you, shaking on the single syllable.

But you really weren’t. If you were truly scared, you wouldn’t have misbehaved just now.

Before you could think about what would happen next, his hand struck, his palm landing sharply against your clothed pussy, and it was just then that you noticed he had put on his gloves, the leather making the sting more searing. You gasped, your hips jerking from the impact.

“If you thought you’d get a free pass, you were sorely mistaken.” He leaned over you, his hand sliding from your core to your thigh, squeezing the flesh. “Let’s try again. Are you scared?”

“No, sir.”

Other times, if you failed to call him sir right away, you’d get a warning. Maybe a slap to your thigh, or a firm squeeze of your neck. Never your pussy. Not at first.

“Such a brave girl.” This time, he ran the pinwheel slowly from your waist toward your chest. He altered its course, pressing it against your breast, applying more pressure as he reached your nipple, the sharp points dragging over it. “See? They could never measure up to you.”

Dexter turned the wheel again, guiding it slowly down your heaving stomach. You swore one of the metallic points grazed the bow on your panties, but he halted the motion, the wheel twisting 90 degrees to trace the hem of your underwear instead. Your hips tilted upwards instinctively, a desperate attempt to bring your pussy closer to his hand, but it was useless.

He continued to tease you, switching from one thigh to another, running it so close to your center, but never quite touching it. You kept waiting for that moment, but it never came.

“This is getting boring. I’ll go get something else,” he said nonchalantly, making his way toward the counter. Fucker.

“Wait,” you blurted without thinking. “I mean, please, sir…”

His footsteps paused, then drew closer again, stopping beside your head and smiling down at you.

“Did you want something?”

“Can you please touch my pussy?”

“Of course,” he said, a mocking lilt in his voice. “I just have to make my hands free,” he replied, taking a step toward the counter again, but you were quick to react.

“No!” You immediately regretted your words as he returned to the same spot. Dexter’s hand tilted your head, his gloved fingers squeezing your cheeks. The leather was firm and hot against your face. “I’m sorry, sir,” you added quickly, your voice muffled under his grip.

He leaned in closer. “You’d better realize your place, sweetheart. Or I’ll make sure this won’t be a fun experience.”

You apologized again, not forgetting the title, and he released your face, giving you a nod.

“Can you please touch my pussy with… that?”

Fuck your pride, right?

He raised his hand in front of his face, inspecting the pinwheel as though it had just appeared in his hand.

“Oh, this?” he said, feigning ignorance, clearly mocking you. “You want me to–” He moved the tool lazily through the air above your body, stopping just over your lower half “Touch you here?”

With a swift motion, the wheel skimmed between your legs, the pins grazing your panties. You didn’t even have the time to register it before he removed it again, but the electrifying sensation that came and went made you moan as your clit pulsed with excitement.  

“Yes, please.”

His nose brushed against yours as he leaned over again, and you thought he was going to kiss you. Instead, he mocked you again, his voice dripping with condescension as he cupped your chin. “Aw, you’re such a dirty girl, huh?”

His head dropped, his hair tickling your cheek as he glanced downward, watching his hand between your thighs. He made another contact with your pussy, slowly this time, focused. A mix of relief and hunger flooded you as he ran it up and down your wet underwear, the prickling sensation shooting through your nerves. “You want me to fuck you with it too? Are you that sick, hm?”

When you didn’t respond, he stopped and his head snapped towards you. His gloved hand left your face, only to land a slap across your cheek. The sting spread across your face, your skin burning under the impact.

“I didn’t fucking hear you.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

What can you say? Slapping didn’t really work on you. He knew that, it’s the reason he did it. So he could do it again.

The corner of his mouth twitched. He slapped you again, this time harder, the leather stinging even more than his bare hand.  

“If that’s what you wanted, sir, I’d take it.” You managed to keep your voice steady despite the heat in your cheek.

His lips curved into a smile. He stood up, walking towards the counter. “Jesus Christ,” he said with a shake of his head. “You’re lucky you found me. Anyone else would’ve committed your ass to a psychiatric hospital.”

“Fate,” you commented, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t punish you. Meaning you made him smile.

Dexter returned with a knife, and he dragged it across the chains, the clinking sound of metal scraping against metal echoing in the room.

He focused on your pussy now, rubbing the flat side of the knife against your clit, occasionally tapping it against you, and you half-expected he might nick the skin of your thighs if he wasn’t careful.

Then, Dexter flipped the knife again, teasing you with its blunt edge before bringing it to your breasts. He drew circles around your nipples with the tip of the knife, sharper than the pinwheel.

His body moved again, positioning himself behind you. His face, upside down, loomed above, gently cupping the underside of your chin, tilting your head back. The leather of his gloves gave you an unnerving sensation as his fingers held you in place. You felt the cold steel of the knife at your throat, running from one carotid to the other.

“Sometimes I cut their throats. But it’s not really my favorite style,” he said, the blade left your neck, drifting downward until it hovered over your left breast, settling directly above your wildly beating heart. He pressed the tip of the knife just enough for your skin to dip under its force. He could do anything to you. He could kill you right then and there.

“I love you,” you confessed for what felt like umpteenth time.

Dexter smiled, leaning down and placing a tender kiss on your forehead, all while controlling the force he still had on the knife.

He straightened, moving to your side again. His gloved fingers trailed over your stomach as he slid the knife under the hem of your underwear. The sharp edge pressed upwards, and you felt the fabric give way with a faint snick as the first small tear formed.

He moved the blade lower, repeating the motion. Each cut widened the tear, revealing the top of your clit. He shredded the panties until they were completely off, leaving you slickness glistening in the dim light and dripping onto the table beneath you.

Dexter removed his gloves and slid his fingers between your pussy lips, coating them in your wetness, before he brought them to his mouth. He just made you cum with his mouth, surely he wouldn’t–

But before you could finish your thought, he bent down over your torso and in a millisecond, his head was between your thighs. Mouth wide open, his tongue resting on his chin as he pressed it flat against your clit, and his upper lip collecting your juices straight from the source.

It was a single, devastating taste, but it was enough to make your legs tremble, the chains stopping you from closing them.

“Shit, I might as well eat you out again.”

Yeah, he might. Without anything in the way this time.  

It was just stroking your ego. It really made you proud, how his tongue was addicted to your pussy.

He brought the final tool of the night – a small brush that looked like it belonged in a makeup kit. It also looked like the softest instrumentof the night, but turned out to be the most torturing one.

The bristles touched your clit with featherlight strokes, maddeningly soft. The individual bristles tickled and stimulated every single nerve ending, sending vibrations through your entire body.

You gasped, your hips jerking involuntarily. Dexter worked the brush in slow, torturous circles, teasing your clit to the brink. Just as you thought you couldn’t take any more, he stuffed two fingers inside your hole, wiggling them inside to massage the spot that made your eyes roll back in your head.

The synergy was overwhelming. Your body writhed against the chains, chasing the orgasm building rapidly within you. But just as the climax was about to crash over you, he stopped. His fingers withdrew and the brush disappeared, your back arching in desperation as you felt the pleasure simmer out, leaving your abdomen hollow and aching from the loss.

“Please, sir, can I come?”

“Of course you can,” he said in a soft voice.

But he didn’t let you. He edged you again and again, pushing you to the brink, only to yank you back. He was playing with you, letting you know that your body wasn’t yours tonight. It was under his control. You were his.

The brush was drenched in your juices at this point, ruined just like your panties and your throbbing cunt. A few tears slipped from your eyes, mixing with the sweat slicking your skin. So you begged, desperate for the release. You begged until he finally finger-fucked, plunging his fingers into you and pumping them relentlessly. His thumb rubbed your puffy clit, sending you spiraling into an earth-shattering orgasm.

You came hard, your juices spilling over his hand and splattering onto his watch. He only pulled his fingers out to spank your clit, amplifying the intensity of your orgasm. At one point, he reached for the discarded glove, fisting it and placing harsh smacks against your sore pussy. You screamed, and after he landed his last smack, feeling you were nearing another orgasm, he switched the rough sensation of the leather for the softness of his tongue, firmly pressing against you and shaking his head from side to side, letting you cum into you his mouth.

You could barely take it and you were scared he might pull out a vibrator, because he liked to do that when you came twice in the span of two minutes. But he didn’t, removing his glistening face from your center and standing up. You just laid there, your body a racing circuit for the endorphins and oxytocin at this point.

Dexter gave you only a few second before he undid the chains, the clinking of metal barely audible over the pounding in your ears. He didn’t let you move, though, keeping you sprawled on table as he shifted your body higher until your head hung off the edge.

He stood in front of your face, and you knew what he wanted. You reached for the button of his cargo pants, undoing them and pulling them down along with his underwear. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy. Gorgeous. You didn’t waste a moment, leaning forward, licking the bead of precum from his tip before taking him into your mouth.

Dexter groaned, the sound vibrating through you. Soon, he took over, thrusting into your throat as he held you down. One hand pressed against your neck, feeling the way you swallowed his cock, while the other pinched and tugged at your nipples.

You gagged around him, bubbles forming in the corners of your mouth as you struggled to keep up. This time, your eyes outright stung from the tears that were forcing their way out, but you didn’t stop. It wasn’t until you coughed, your throat tightening involuntarily and squeezing around him, that he pulled out with a groan.

You gasped for air, your chest heaving, but he didn’t give you long to recover. His hand gripped your neck and yanked you up, forcing you into a kneeling position on the table. You just sat there, dazed, your hands resting in your lap like the picture of innocence. Messy hair, glassy eyes, and swollen lips.

Dexter kissed them, shoving his tongue into your mouth, tasting himself and making you taste yourself again. His beard scratched against your sensitive skin, adding to the long list of stimuli.

You dared to sneak your hand away from your lap, circling your fingers around his cock and stroking him slowly. Your thumb swiped over the sensitive head and he moaned into your mouth before his head fell back. You leaned forward, your lips brushing against Dexter’s neck, sucking on his pulse point and grazing it with your teeth.

You moved your hand up and down, and Dexter’s moans and gasps grew louder and more frantic. You quickened your pace, his hips jerking into your hand as he chased his own orgasm. You twisted your hand, and he came with a guttural groan. His cum spilled onto your stomach, warm and sticky, and his hand shot out to grip the hair at the back of your neck, yanking you into another kiss as he came down from his high.

When his breathing slowed, you awkwardly shifted your legs over the edge of the table, letting them dangle as you wrapped your arms around his waist. You pulled him close, burying your face in his chest, a content sigh escaping you as you enjoyed the warmth, the softness of his body.

He cupped your head, his thumb brushing small crescents against your scalp with returned tenderness as he let out a soft sigh of his own, his chest rising and falling against you.

“Are you okay?”

You didn’t pull away to look at him, your body too spent to do much more than to snuggle deeper into his chest and squeeze his torso.

“Better than,” you mumbled.

“I know this wasn’t what you wanted,” he said.

That made you lift your head. You looked at him, your brows drawing together in confusion.

“But this,” he gestured to the table, his brow raising, “is the only table I want to see you on. The only restraints I ever want to see on you. And I need you to get it through that thick skull of yours that there’s nothing sexy about what I do.”

“In my dreams there is,” you said, your lips curving into a teasing smile.

“YN,” he warned.

“I know,” you relented with a roll of your eyes, his brows raising, daring you to be a brat in this moment. “For the record, it was better than what I wanted.”

You smiled and he kissed you again, silencing any further rebellion. When you shivered against him, he pulled back and cleaned you up before ordering you to throw on a shirt.

“Yes, sir,” you replied cheekily, adding a playful salute for good measure.

“I will spank your ass if you don’t get it in the shower in ten seconds,” he said, pulling his own pants up. Would that be so bad? You bit your lip to keep from grinning and headed into the bathroom, while he cleaned the table.

By the time you switched places, you felt refreshed, fucked out just right as every muscle in your body ached with a sweet kind of soreness. You heated up his dinner while making yourself a quick sandwich. Just as you set his plate down, he walked out of the bathroom. You grabbed your sandwich and set down, with Dexter soon joining you.

When you finished your meals, the two of you migrated to the couch. He rested his head on your stomach, while you draped your legs over his shoulders.

Your fingers played with the freshly washed hair, soft and silky from the shampoo. You twirled the strands around your fingers lazily, and his quiet purrs filled the room as you trailed your fingertips along the curve of his ears, scraping gently at the sensitive spots behind them. That sound, half sigh, half growl, might’ve been your favorite thing in the world.

You bent down, the movement uncomfortable and your muscles protesting as you pressed a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. But the way it scrunched affectionately under your touch made the discomfort worth it.

[cupofteatoyou]

What if she chose me pt3

You’ve been at Barça long enough now to know the drills by heart. Long enough to stop second-guessing yourself every time Jonatan calls your name. Long enough to know who’s watching you—and who’s really watching you.

Most of the team? You’re good with them.

Vicky laughs first at your dumb jokes and always asks for the playlist when you DJ warmups.

Ingrid brings you coffee when you show up looking like you got hit by a bus.

Aitana sends you playlists that are half bangers, half emotional damage.

Even Marta, usually composed and unreadable, offered you a quiet “bien jugado” last week that felt like a rare stamp of approval.

But Jana and Alexia?

They don’t warm. They burn.

Alexia only speaks to you when necessary—and every word feels like it's been dipped in frost and sharpened for efficiency.

Jana never speaks. Just watches. Just waits.

You gave up trying to win them over week ago.

You’re not here to be liked. You’re here to work. You can tolerate whatever agenda they have with you for few more months.

Still, some days? The air feels thick with everything that’s not being said.

The ball’s live, the pace is brutal, and the coaching staff is watching closely. You’re working on tight rotations—three defenders against two attackers, trying to close space before it opens.

You see the pass coming—Jana streaking up the center, Alexia closing on your right. You read it. Step forward. Just half a beat too slow.

The ball slips past your foot like it knew you were coming. Jana’s already moving. She scoops it up, cuts left, squares it to Alexia.

One touch.

Top corner.

Whistle.

“Reset,” Jonatan calls, but he doesn’t need to.

Because Alexia’s already on you.

“What was that?” she barks, walking straight toward you. “That step was pathetic. Either intercept or stay the hell out of the lane.”

You straighten, breath still high, sweat clinging to your neck. “I saw it late. My bad.”

“No shit it’s your bad,” she snaps. “You don’t see it. You feel it. If you wait for the ball to announce itself, you’re already too late.”

You nod once, trying to stay level.

But she’s not done.

“This isn’t some trial squad, alright? We’re not here to coddle learning curves. You want to keep up? Move your damn feet.”

The field goes quiet around you. Not silent—but quiet in that dangerous way. Like everyone’s waiting to see what happens next.

And then—

From the sideline, stretching out her legs with all the grace of a goblin in recovery, Mapi, loud enough to carry

“This level of tension requires preparation. I did zero.”

Laughter breaks across a few players—Aitana snorts into her bib, even Vicky chokes back a grin.

Alexia doesn’t laugh. But she stops.

Her jaw tightens. She shakes her head once like she’s brushing off a mosquito and stalks back into position.

You don’t look at Mapi. But you feel the look she gives you—quick, dry, full of mischief and mischief’s twin loyalty.

As the drill resets, she jogs up next to you and mutters

“Next time you hesitate, just scream ‘I volunteer as tribute!’ and go full chaos. If you’re going down, make it iconic.”

You huff a laugh despite yourself. It breaks some of the heat on your skin.

And when Jana passes you on her jog back to the line, she doesn’t say anything. just watching.

You’ve had a decent week.

No major screw-ups. No Alexia-level snipes.

Even Jana’s been… less icy. Not warm, not kind—but no stares that could peel paint. That counts for something.

The drills have been brutal though. Tight rotations, overlapping runs, one-vs-one marking that leaves your calves screaming and your head buzzing.

You’re mid-sprint when it happens—three sharp whistles from Jonatan. A pause. Then the call

“Bring it in!” Everyone slows—some jogging, some walking.

You grab your water and jog toward the circle forming around him.

The sun presses heavy on your back as Jonatan flips open his clipboard.

He doesn’t waste time.

“Ona’s out. Ankle’s recovering, but we’re not risking it this weekend.”

A subtle shift in the group.

People glance around. You already know what’s coming.

You’d heard the whispers. You’d seen the physio’s expression two days ago. Most of all ona has told you herself.

Still—knowing doesn’t make it easier.

“Starting at right back this weekend…” A beat.

“…Y/N.”

And just like that, the field goes quiet. Not silent—but still. Focused. Then—

Vicky whistles low. “Let’s gooo!”

Mapi yells, arms flung wide like she’s introducing you at a concert. “LET’S GO NORUEGA!”

Aitana claps—that short, precise, rhythmic kind of clap that says “hell yeah” without saying it.

You nod. Just once. Controlled. You’re not making it a moment. But next to you— You feel the shift. Jana doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t clap. But her stance changes—just slightly. Her weight rocks onto one foot. Shoulders pull tighter.

You glance her way, but she’s already looking past you. Like you’re just a space the sun fills.

Alexia, on your other side, stays completely still. No reaction. No comment. Just unreadable eyes locked somewhere beyond the pitch, like she didn’t even hear it.

But she did. You know she did.

Because when Jonatan moves on, giving reminders about press triggers and defensive lines, she turns slightly toward Jana.

And that is the real moment.

She looks at her. Just for a second. And Jana doesn’t look back.

She keeps staring forward like her jaw’s wired shut, like if she lets herself speak or blink, the whole thing will crack open.

The lineup’s been set.

Your name’s on it. And whether you wanted it or not, some of them treating it like a declaration of war.

Jonatan blows the whistle. Full-pitch scrimmage. Eleven versus eleven. Game speed. No holding back. You’re sharp early—tracking runners, holding your line, getting touches in tight spaces. But every time you’re near the ball, it feels like you’re being hunted.

Jana’s on you fast.

She presses harder than usual—shoulder checks, hip into your ribs, no space to breathe.

You shove back once. She doesn’t flinch.

Next play, she clips your ankle just enough to throw you off balance.

You stumble, catch yourself.

You don’t say anything.

Because maybe it’s not a foul. Maybe it’s just football. Maybe you’re imagining the edge to it.

Then Alexia cuts through midfield and calls for the switch. You track the play, fall back into position. You’re focused—locked in. You see the run coming, time your step, shift to intercept— And Jana’s already there.

You go shoulder to shoulder—too close, too much. Her elbow rides up, unintentionally or not, and hits you square in the ribs.

You hit the grass. Hard.

The whistle doesn’t come.

You sit up, coughing, wincing as the burn spreads under your ribs.

And then, over the thud of your own pulse, you hear it

“WHAT the hell, Jana?!”

Everyone freezes. Because that voice? That wasn’t Mapi. That wasn’t Vicky.

That was Ingrid. Loud. Sharp. Furious.

You’ve never heard her like this.

“You call that a challenge?!” she’s already stomping toward Jana. “She didn’t even have the ball.”

Jana stands over you, mouth tight, but for the first time—you see her hesitate.

Her eyes flick from you to Ingrid.

Then to the rest of the team, who have all gone dead quiet.

Alexia walks over, slow, casual—but there’s something cold in her stance.

“It’s a contact sport,” she says flatly, barely looking at Ingrid.

Ingrid turns.

And that’s when even Mapi steps in.

“Okay,” she says quickly, walking between them. “Whoa. Everybody breathe.”

But Ingrid’s not budging.

“It’s not contact,” she snaps. “It’s targeting. And I don’t care if she’s new or starting or replacing someone’s favorite—this is Barça, not some glorified grudge match.”

Mapi touches her arm. Gentle. Careful.

“Bebita…”

Ingrid doesn’t even look at her.

“Don’t ‘bebita’ me right now.”

Everyone goes still. Even Mapi’s eyes widen.

You’d never seen Ingrid look at her like that.

Like even she isn’t safe from the fallout.

You finally get to your feet, biting back the sting in your ribs.

“I’m fine,” you mutter.

No one listens.

Jonatan finally blows the whistle again. Hard.

“That’s enough. Take five.”

Everyone disperses slowly. Quietly. No chatter. No jokes.

Just space.

Mapi turns to you once Ingrid walks off. Her voice is low.

“You okay?”

You nod. She studies you. Then mutters— “Remind me never to piss off my girlfriend. Jesus.”

You exhale, hands on your hips, watching Ingrid pace toward the bench with the same energy she uses when she’s shutting down the world’s best attackers.

You can’t tell if she was defending you or defending Barça.

Maybe both. But one thing’s clear This isn’t about football anymore.

You don’t bother knocking anymore.

You stopped doing that weeks ago—somewhere between the second round of ankle sprains and the third box of cookies you dropped off “just because.” By now, Ona’s apartment might as well have a welcome mat that says come in, loser.

You nudge the door open with your foot, your arms full of whatever random snack Mapi shoved at you as a bribe-slash-offering "She’s injured. Let her eat like a raccoon."and two cans of recovery drink you grabbed out of habit.

Ona’s voice floats in from the couch before you’re even halfway through the door.

“You’re late.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“I’m immobile. I get to be dramatic.”

You roll your eyes as you kick off your shoes and make your way in. The living room’s exactly as you left it two days ago—throw blanket half-off the couch, a half-zipped physio bag on the coffee table, and a tangle of athletic tape and snack wrappers in the corner like some chaotic altar to the football gods.

She’s sprawled across the couch like she’s auditioning for a very casual soap opera. One foot elevated, ankle still wrapped, hoodie two sizes too big—probably borrowed from Aitana or stolen from lost and found—and a heating pad balanced precariously across her knee.

“I brought bribes,” you announce, tossing the bag of snacks onto her lap.

“If it’s not sugar and it doesn’t crunch, I don’t want it.”

“You’re so ungrateful.”

“I’m injured,” she says, mouth already full of something chocolate-covered. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“You sprained your ankle. You didn’t get exiled.”

“Same thing.”

You toss your own drink onto the rug, plop down on the floor next to her usual side of the couch, and reach for the remote. She smacks your hand away without looking.

“It’s already on.”

The TV’s playing a rerun of a La Liga match—one of those mid-table disasters where no one can finish and the camera crew looks bored.

“You’re really out here watching this voluntarily?”

“It’s either this or rewatch the 2021 Champions League final for the fiftieth time. And I’m trying not to feel powerful today.”

You laugh as you grab a cushion and settle in, back against the couch. The room smells faintly of menthol cream, warmed fabric, and that weird minty candle she always forgets to blow out.

It’s easy here.

The kind of easy that doesn’t ask for anything. Just shared space and steady breathing.

“You’re lucky I like you,” you say eventually, opening your drink.

“You say that every time.”

“And yet, I keep showing up.”

“Because I have an espresso machine and no rules.”

“No. Because your playlists are cursed and I feel bad for you.”

She gasps, half-chokes on a cookie, and throws a pillow at your head.

“My playlists are elite.”

“Your playlists have mood swings.”

“They have range.”

You dodge the second pillow, barely.

She grins, smug. You grin back, half-annoyed, fully like at home.

And for a few minutes—between the trash talking and the commercial breaks—everything feels like it’s exactly where it should be.

The match on TV drones on in the background—commentators saying a lot of words without meaning much. You and Ona sit in that familiar stretch of silence that only exists between people who don’t need to fill it.

Until she speaks.

“They still acting weird?”

You don’t ask who she means.

You know.

You keep your eyes on the bottle in your hand, rolling it back and forth across your palm.

“Weird isn’t the word,” you mutter. “More like… cold. Sharp.”

Ona hums. “Alexia?”

You nod.

“And Jana.”

She nods once, slowly. Like she expected that answer. Maybe everyone did.

“They still haven’t said anything?”

“Alexia only talks to me when it’s tactical. Like I’m an extra cone in the drill.”

“And Jana?”

You sigh.

“She doesn’t talk at all. Just stares. Like she’s waiting for me to fuck up.”

“She’s not.” You glance over. Ona shrugs.

“She already thinks you did.”

That sits heavy for a second. Because it’s true. Because the day Jonatan announced the lineup, you felt the crack in the air between you and Jana—sharp, invisible, immediate.

Like she’d drawn a new boundary in her head. One you didn’t ask to cross, but still somehow did.

“You think they hate me?”

“No,” Ona says. “I think they don’t know what to do with you.”

You blink. “What?”

She turns toward you a little, one leg still propped up under a cushion, mug nestled in her lap.

“You didn’t just show up and survive. You showed up and thrived. Fast. Too fast for people like them.”

“People like them?”

“People who were already comfortable,” she says simply. “People who don’t like being unsettled.”

You don’t reply. Not right away. Because part of you wonders if she’s right. If that’s what this is.

Not resentment. Not jealousy. Discomfort.

You’ve disrupted the balance.

And the ones who had control before—don’t anymore.

“It’s weird,” you say finally. “Feeling like you earned something and still being treated like a thief.”

Ona doesn’t argue.

She just sips her drink and leans her head back against the couch.

“You didn’t steal anything,” she says. “You were given something you worked for. If they can’t see that, it’s on them.”

A pause. Then, quieter “Let them figure themselves out. You don’t owe them comfort.”

You stare at the ceiling for a long second. Let the quiet come back. Let it settle in your bones. You don’t say thank you. You don’t need to. She already knows.

you and Ona just sit there for a while—TV still murmuring in the background, bottles slowly emptying, that easy kind of tired pressing into your limbs.

Until she shifts suddenly and looks at you.

“Okay,” she says. “So, if Alexia says something slick to you this weekend, what’s your move?”

You blink. “...what?”

“Like if she comes at you with one of those cold, condescending, Queen-of-Ice lines. What do you do?”

You pause. Think.

“Probably nod. Keep playing. Maybe mutter something under my breath when she walks away.”

Ona shakes her head with mock disappointment.

“No. Unacceptable. We’re going full unhinged this time.”

“You want me to yell at the captain mid-training?”

“Yes. Call her ‘Your Highness’ and then nutmeg her in front of everyone.”

You laugh, sharp and sudden. “Jesus, Ona.”

“She needs to be humbled.”

“You say that like I’m capable of that.”

“You are,” she says, dead serious. “I’ve seen you in tight drills. You move like vengeance in Nikes.”

You stare at her.

“That’s the nicest—and most terrifying—thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Good,” she grins. “Use it.”

You shake your head, but the tension in your chest loosens another notch.

Then—

“And if Jana tries to body you again,” Ona continues, shifting slightly on the couch, “I will limp across the pitch and throw my brace at her.”

“You’re not even cleared to jog.”

“Exactly. Imagine how unhinged I’ll look. Screaming while swinging a knee brace like a medieval weapon.”

“That’s not protection. That’s terrorism.”

“That’s loyalty.”

You laugh again, too hard this time. She grins wide, proud of herself.

“You’re insane.”

“I’m injured and bored. Let me have this.”

You lean back against the couch, shaking your head, a smile lingering on your lips despite everything.

Then she adds, quieter—but still her

“Seriously though. If they come for you, I’ve got your back. Even if I have to roll up on a scooter and swing on someone with a crutch.”

You look at her.

No teasing this time. Just gratitude.

“You’re the weirdest friend I’ve ever had.”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

She nudges your shoulder with her sock-covered foot.

[rika-mmendmethings]

Against Blood & Water l Sylus

Chapter 3

Ch 2|Ch 4

Summary: Seventeen years ago, your life had taken a turn for the worse when your newborn twins were separated from you by a cruel twist of fate. The same fate had led you to the N109 Zone, to your children who were all grown up now. Reconciliation with your boys would've been slightly easier had they somehow not acquired a father figure over the years who wasn't letting them go anytime soon.

Warning(s): Subject to change as we progress further into the story. For this chapter: mentions and drugs, stalking, first meeting with Mephisto

Word count: 2.1k

Playlist coming soon.

Notes: New chapter every Thursday! The schedule for this and Interdimensional Epiphany has been switched! The reader comes across Elysium and its special dishes. Just who do you think could've sent that for her? This story is for the Sylus girlies' who consider Luke and Kieran their babies. A little information on the timeline: in this story, the reader is 35 with Luke and Kieran being 17. Sylus never felt like 28 to me, so he's a hot-ass 39-year-old man (bear with me). The timeline is a bit confusing, I know, but soon it'll be cleared, too. If you have any more questions, feel free to ask me, and I'll try my best to give you a proper answer without revealing too much. Let me know if you wish to be added to the tag list for this series. ♥

Tag list: @babyx91 @pillarofsnow @beyond-the-stars-fairy @yuki-sama6 @sylviewrites @idiashusband @sadmonke @monophobix @lunarvolley @stxrrielle @fries11 @gremlinartstudio @lillycore @novthirty @animegamerfox @cathedralofaudra @nm4565natty @69-gojos-wife-69 @eolivy @namjoons-toenails @silverianni @nezuswritingdesk @beaconsxd @justpassingdontworry @ruyaya @browneyedgirl22 @rafayelridesfisheatsfish @sneakysnakeysstuff @midiplier @colonelcalebs-pipsqueak @dana-nite @lazeriii @into-deepspace @nommingonfood @eden-axe

“They work for… who?” You choked on your drink, one hand clutching your chest as you struggled to regain control of your lungs.

Ginerva didn’t even spare you a glance. She continued wiping the glasses with an air of aloofness, repeating herself with unnerving calm. “Onchyinus. Luke and Kieran work directly under the leader of Onchyinus.”

You could barely breathe. You clenched your fist against your mouth, brows knitted tightly, body rigid with tension. The initial shock had worn off, and now, panic began to rise like an insidious tide in your chest, relentless and consuming.

Your entire day had been spent combing through the N109 Zone in search of any scrap of information about your twins. Every time you mentioned their crow-themed outfits, or their apparent role as some kind of henchmen, people recoiled as if you had spoken of demons. Some were visibly shaken, others too frightened to speak. But one thing remained constant: no one would offer you any answers. Despite your best efforts — and an obscene amount of money — they dismissed you, fear clouding their expressions.

It wasn’t until one particularly kind soul directed you to a hidden intel hub masquerading as a bar — Elysium — that you finally felt you were getting closer. The cost was steep, but you didn’t care. You handed over the money without hesitation.

The woman behind the counter — Ginerva, you learned — seemed surprised by your inquiry, but she hadn’t dismissed you outright. She’d been more than willing to share what she knew, though you were beginning to regret your pursuit.

Now, you rubbed your temples as the beginnings of a migraine pulsed beneath your skull. With the haze of shock still clouding your thoughts, you managed to ask, “Are you absolutely sure this information is accurate?”

Ginerva paused her task, her gaze sharp as she turned toward you. Her voice was flat, devoid of any warmth. “I’ve run this place for years.”

You didn’t argue. After all it’s better to not tell a professional about their profession, you had plenty of experience on that. Leaning back in your chair, you swirled the last of your drink around in the glass, trying to gather your thoughts. “How long have they worked for Onchyinus?”

Ginerva seemed to deliberate for a moment. “I’d say one or two years. Before that, their history is unknown.”

Your heart constricted painfully, and you swallowed the remainder of your drink in one go. The bitter liquid burned its way down your throat, but it did little to extinguish the fire of dread spreading through your chest. You would’ve preferred to think of your children being under Onchyinus’s wing from the start — if only to imagine they had been protected from the horrors of the streets. At least there would have been food, shelter, some semblance of care. Whatever twisted morality they’d adopted under the faction’s influence would have been easier to accept than the thought of them suffering alone, vulnerable to the world’s cruelties.

You shoved the guilt, raw and uninvited, back into the darkest corners of your mind. Now was not the time to revisit your worst nightmares. You needed a plan, a way to infiltrate the damned place, to find them.

You were deep in thought when a plate was suddenly set down in front of you by a small girl — probably Aislinn, Ginerva's niece. She handed you a menu displaying the day's special and said, “Today’s special is for the lady, and none other.” With that, she left, leaving you both perplexed and curious.

Today’s Special: Friend’s Incentive

Midnight black sesame tart, cacao nibs, bourbon-infused syrup, Victorian-era rhododendrons, and twin mirrors facing each other.

Description: Read the opposite.

A frown creased your brow as you read the menu again, trying to make sense of it. Friend’s Incentive? The idea that today’s special had been sponsored by someone specifically for you made no sense. You didn’t know a single person in the N109 Zone. You glanced down at the dish in front of you, and sure enough, a midnight black sesame tart sat in the center, garnished with cacao nibs and a dollop of what you presumed to be bourbon-infused syrup.

Next to the plate was a small bouquet of four orange rhododendrons, but something about it felt off. Three of the flowers were wrapped in newspaper, while the fourth one was left exposed, not inside the wrapping and attached to the bouquet only by a white ribbon. You blinked in confusion. What an unusual way to arrange a bouquet.

You shrugged off the oddities and took a large bite of the free dessert. The bittersweetness hit your taste buds immediately, making you scrunch your nose in reaction. You set your spoon down after finishing the dessert, but something in the back of your mind kept gnawing at you. You looked back at the menu, staring at it intently. It was bothering you. The more you examined it, the more it didn’t sit right.

Your mind, trained in law, began to analyze the situation more critically. A strange arrangement of flowers, a dessert meant only for you, and the vague description of the dish — there was something hidden here. One thing at a time, you told yourself. You needed to figure out what the description meant.

“Read the opposite.” But which word was the opposite? It couldn’t be the ingredients themselves, so it must be the title.

What, then, was the opposite of “Friend’s Incentive”? You pondered this for a moment and quickly pulled out your phone to check the most accurate antonyms for each word. For “friend,” the options were: enemy, nemesis, rival, and... fiend. For “incentive,” the antonyms included: damper, curb, hindrance, and... deterrent.

You paused as the realization hit. In this context, the most fitting opposite to “Friend’s Incentive” would be “Fiend’s Deterrent.”

Was this… a warning? Someone sinister could have sent you this to dissuade you from your path. The dessert, bittersweet, seemed to speak volumes. Could it imply that someone is sweetly telling you to step away before their patience turns bitter over a prolonged time? The odd arrangement of the flowers — one stray blossom hanging outside the wrapping, yet still tethered to the bouquet by a white ribbon — might suggest a complex message: they don’t want you to be part of something you are already entangled with, yet the bond remains, reluctantly. And the choice of flowers being rhododendrons — those flowers that, in Victorian floriography, symbolized danger, warning, and caution — was a direct message, a harbinger of something more ominous.

But what of the twin mirrors facing each other? What did that mean? Something connected to your children, perhaps, but it remained unclear, slipping just beyond your reach.

It somehow felt like it was all pointed to Luke and Kieran.

But who, exactly, was trying to steer you off course — and, more importantly, why?

You caught a glimpse of Aislinn walking past the corner, and instinctively, you called out to her. "Aislinn, who sponsored today's special?"

The little girl paused, shaking her head, her eyes downcast. "We aren’t allowed to disclose any personal information about our sponsors. Sorry." She offered a quick, apologetic smile before skipping away with her empty tray.

You sighed, folding the menu neatly and tucking it into your pocket. You snapped a few photos of the eerie bouquet, certain you'd need them as evidence to add to your ever-growing conspiracy board.

As you walked down the musty lanes of the street, the occasional sound of a wing flapping tickled your ear, followed by that unmistakable sensation — one which usually occurs when the opposition lawyer drilled holes in your head or in simpler terms, when you were being watched.

The events of today have only sharpened your caution and given the times you’ve been chased by goons of wealthy criminals so that you’d give up their cases — you were willing to take any measures for your safety if danger arose any moment now. You took shallow breaths, increasing your pace. Each step was deliberate, each turn smooth, as you made sharp corners, trying to lose the stalker in a maze of alleyways.

You had been running for a while when it became clear: your pursuer wasn’t human. It was most likely a drone or some mechanical contraption, a tool sent to monitor your every move. This deduction meant that actually catching said-stalking-object had very slim chances. 

You ducked behind a small billboard and pressed your clasped hands to your chest. In a matter of few seconds, you felt the familiar sense of clarity in your mind as your evol influenced all the possible outcomes, manipulating probabilities in your favor. 

A strained caw broke the silence, and your eyes immediately snapped to the source of the sound. There, perched on a streetlight, was a crow — except it wasn’t a crow at all. Its metallic sheen and erratic movements betrayed it for what it was: a mechanical bird.

You reached for your gun, drawing it with practiced ease, aiming at the strange creature. Your palms tingled as you steadied your aim and squeezed the trigger. The crow dropped from its perch in a graceful, fluid arc, landing with a muted thud.

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, slipping the gun back into its holster beneath your coat. You moved toward the fallen mechanical bird, your mind racing with questions about who would send such a thing after you.

Perks of having a probability evol was altering all chances of any kind of event in your favor and the bird at your feet, broken and twitching with its damaged wing, was a testament to that. 

You carefully picked up the mechanical bird, examining it with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. The bullet had torn through its left wing, but it still whirred faintly, as though alive and with the way it was cawing, you almost felt bad for the insentient being. But then again, someone had planted it on your back, intending to keep tabs on whatever you do, so you couldn’t brush this off easily. 

Without further hesitation, you stuffed the damaged bird into your handy tote bag and made your way back to your apartment. Once inside, you immediately locked all windows and doors, ensuring your sanctuary was secure.

The first thing you did after that was duct tape the bird to your newly constructed conspiracy board. As you affixed it with care, you added the unsettling polaroid of the bouquet and the menu you had pocketed, the items now firmly part of the growing puzzle you had yet to solve. You double-checked the bird, making sure it was securely taped in place, though you knew it wouldn’t be going anywhere with its broken wing.

After freshening up, you hurried back to your conspiracy board, a steaming bowl of cup noodles in hand. As your gaze fell upon your previous board — the one centered on exposing the infamous drug lord — you felt an undeniable wave of guilt cloud your thoughts. You had been supposed to gather enough evidence and bring the case to court as soon as possible, to deliver justice to the victims’ families. But here you were, tangled in a web of your own problems, dealing with something far more personal — your children.

On days like this, you couldn’t help but resent your profession. It never allowed you the luxury of selfishness. You rubbed your face in frustration, tears threatening to well in your eyes. Maybe you could juggle both cases? Pursue whichever lead came your way first? Surely, that could work... right? It had to.

You shoved your emotions aside and paced the room, your mind racing. Occasionally, you found yourself locking eyes with the mechanical bird — its red, beady gaze a constant reminder of the unknown forces circling you. After walking laps around your couch, an idea hit you like a lightning bolt. Without hesitation, you rushed to the bird, ripping it free from its tape restraints and inspecting it closely.

You noticed a small red LED light blinking beneath its talon. Years of experience told you immediately that it was a long-range tracker. 

That meant whoever had planted it on you knew exactly where it was at all times.

Before you could fully process this, a sharp knock at the door jolted you from your thoughts. Panic instantly flooded your system. You instinctively reached for your gun and inched closer to the door, heart hammering in your chest. Gods, was this it? Was this how it ended? And for all the legal battles you fought, you didn’t even have a will in place. 

Was fate going to rip you apart from your twins once again after all this time?

Check out my other works if you liked this ♥

[smartkookiee]

How to Lose A Guy in 30 Days! || Ch.3 — jjk.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。 ❥pairing: Jungkook x Reader (she/her, afab) ❥genre/rating: strangers to lovers, 18+ ❥chapter warnings/tags: software engineer!Jungkook, writer!Reader, fluff, 2000 rom com vibes, making out, flirting. drinking, swearing, crying, sweet pining Jungkook, Jungkooks past comes up (boooooo), ex situationship thingsss, its a sweet chapter and they make out and I love it, legit the easiest chapter I have written so far ❥word-count: 10.7k ❥Series Masterlist Previous Chapter ||❥|| Next chapter ❥Playlist fic is cross posted to ao3 - send an ask or comment on post to be added to the tag list. ❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Day 3

“And you really believe this guy is going to work for this?” Yoongi said, looking over your notes and layout of the entire plan you had.

“Absolutely sir.” You nod. 

It was the Tuesday following you and Jungkook’s date. You two had gotten some dinner and then you went home. You tried not to let that text ruin your mood but it did bring you down for the meal. You and Jungkook just talked more about what you do and things you liked. Just easy conversation and sharing social media, small things that you could mask your disappointment with and give cheerful and in depth answers. 

That text sucked to see. It sucked to see that he made this promise to be serious but he was just playing you. To be fair, you didn’t know him. It was your first date and he didn’t owe you anything. It would just make this easier. 

"Already past the first date. You’re jumping in head first." Yoongi mused, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "So, what’s next?"

"The plan is to keep things moving. I only have thirty days, so I wanted to start strong. The first date was just to break the ice. Now, I'm aiming to stay in touch throughout the weeks—get more involved and annoying to make sure I stay on his radar." 

Yoongi chuckled. "And what does annoying entail in this case?"

You grinned, feeling a mischievous spark. "I was thinking some things like being a little too clingy. Getting a bit too personal too soon. Social media stalking, maybe even acting overly sensitive to anything he says about 'dating' or 'us.' Just... trying to inch my way into his daily life, so he can’t quite shake me off. Then next week I will take things to the next step."

Yoongi nodded in approval. "I like it. Thorough and unexpected, just what we want. Let’s round back around next week and check-in. We’ll go over your progress and adjust as needed. You’re off to a good start."

You gave him a grateful nod. "Thank you, sir."

With a wave of his hand, “Now go write, be amazing.” Yoongi dismissed you, and you returned to your desk, your mind already spinning with ideas. You were ready to dive into this full force, but there was one small snag, a small but persistent worry. You’d sent Jungkook a quick text yesterday, just a light “good morning” and a note about enjoying the date, but there hadn’t been a reply yet.

It wasn’t a big deal but already not responding to a text after a whole day was not sitting well with you.

Settling yourself down into your chair, that small disappointment from seeing that text on Jungkook's phone was still nagging at you. Your friends had warned you not to get attached, to keep things light, but you’d ignored them. They called this from a million miles away and you, like an idiot, let your guard down like always. 

Well, not this time. This was just a job. No more emotional slip-ups. 

“Damn it, I’m a writer.” You mumbled under your breath. “This is just research. He’s just a random guy.”

With renewed determination, you opened your laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard as you drafted the first section of your article. Reliving the details of your first date, you kept it light and short because this wasn’t about how the first date went great, it’ll be about everything that happens now. You had your plan ready for action.

You were finally hitting a flow, words forming exactly as you wanted, when you heard footsteps stop just outside your cubicle. 

“Special delivery!” Ann, one of the front-desk clerks, appeared with a bright smile, holding a small bouquet. "Someone’s got an admirer!"

She set down a small bouquet of sunflowers. The choice of flower surprised you most of all, you loved sunflowers. They were tied together with a purple ribbon and card attached to the end. Opening it, “A little bit of sun for a rainy first date. Thank you for listening to my fish facts. JK.” 

“Aww, that’s so sweet.” Ann cooed, lingering a moment to admire the flowers. She shot you a wink before heading back to the front, and you tried to keep your reaction composed.

You couldn't help but feel that small spark of joy, despite yourself, as you read the card. The sunflowers, your favorite, were unexpected and so charming. Tied with a cute ribbon that added a touch of thoughtfulness. You’d never been given flowers by anyone other than your parents and that one college boyfriend. Yet here they were, sent to your office, just for you.

If this had been any other situation, you’d probably be blushing and grinning like an idiot, falling head over heels way too fast. But the reminder of what you knew—what he was likely doing, the kind of guy he really was—kept you grounded. 

As you stared at the bouquet, lost in thought, the telltale squeak of a chair wheeling over caught your attention.

“Wow someone’s special.” Ronnie rolled right next to you. “Are those from who I think they are from?” 

 "Looks like it." You replied casually, flashing her the card. "Just… a little thank you gift."

Ronnie waggled her eyebrows. "Oh, just a thank you gift? The guy sent you your favorite flowers, after only one date. You sure you aren’t already planning your future house décor with him?"

Rolling your eyes, you turned back to your laptop, brushing off the teasing. "Maybe," But the flicker of disappointment crept back in. "If he hadn't got that text on our date. Then maybe this would be a sweet gesture. There's no way I'm getting attached to someone who’s probably chatting up another girl at the same time."

Ronnie gave you a skeptical look. "You still haven’t told me what it said, just that you went from mildly hopeful to permanently sour about him. Especially after you begged me and Jin to let you pick another guy before the date even ended."

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. "It was… friendly , if you know what I mean."

“Oh, friendly friendly?” She echoed, her voice heavy with implication. She winced sympathetically. "I’m sorry."

You shook your head, swiveling to face her. "No, no. We’re not doing the whole pity party thing. No look at Y/N she got fooled by another asshole again. This is work.  I knew what I was signing up for with this guy, and it’s why we chose him. I can handle it."

Ronnie raised her brows. "Yeah, sure. You sound totally fine."

“I am fine.” You insisted, forcing a smile. “It’s all part of the assignment, right? A totally detached, unbiased observation. Think of me as an objective researcher.”

“Okay Dr. Detachment. How are you going to respond to these?” Ronnie glanced down to the flowers and then back up to you. 

You opened your mouth to answer but paused, glancing at the flowers. You already knew what you wanted to do, but still… you weren’t quite sure how to play it yet. 

Meanwhile, across town, Jungkook was still buzzing from his own bold move. He and Hoseok were walking down the street on their lunch break, and Hoseok eyed him suspiciously. Jungkook filled him on the details with a little too much spring in his step, never a way Hoseok had ever seen Jungkook act after a date. 

“So… the date went that well, huh?” Hoseok finally asked, giving Jungkook a smirk. “You’re practically skipping.”

“Hey, I am not. ” Jungkook grumbled, trying to keep his voice casual as he filled Hoseok in on the date. It had gone smoother than he’d expected, and he couldn’t ignore that spark of excitement. 

Jungkook had done a little social media stalking when he spent the day with his parents yesterday. You used a sunflower in your bio and in a lot of your posts, so he took a guess that they may have been your favorite flower. It did take him a little tracking down though, since sunflowers were going out of season. 

Hoseok grinned, giving Jungkook an approving nod. “So… flowers and a corny note? You’re going for gold.”

“Exactly,” Jungkook replied, a proud glint in his eyes. “I’m hoping she liked it. She’s into romantic movies and such so I thought it would be a good gesture.” Plus it was a perfect opening note since sending flowers is another classic romantic movie troupe. “She should have gotten them by now.” He checked his phone yet again, his screen still frustratingly blank.

Hoseok raised an eyebrow to him, “Does it bother you that she’s not immediately giving you all of her attention.” 

Jungkook snorted, “No.” He paused but the silence between them hung a little too long for Hoseok to be convinced, “Okay maybe a little.” 

Hoseok let out a laugh, shaking his head with an amused grin. "Wow. Didn’t know you were secretly a heartthrob under all that cool indifference. Who are you, and what did you do with Jungkook?"

“Shut up.” Jungkook muttered, fighting a smile as he looked away. “I’m just… giving this a real shot. Like I said I would.”

“And you’re stressing out over whether she liked your flowers or not.” Hoseok added, raising an eyebrow. “Must be a real first for you.”

Jungkook shrugged, feeling his cheeks heat up. “I just thought I’d make an effort, alright? ” He glanced at his phone again, his thumb hovering over the screen before he stuffed it back into his pocket.

“Why do I feel like the grand romantic gesture wasn’t entirely about the bet?” Hoseok chuckled, giving him a playful nudge.

“It’s not because I’m actually dating her remember?” Jungkook replied, a little too quickly, then caught himself. 

“You know,” Hoseok said, tilting his head, “there’s no law that says you can’t text her first, right? Might even make you seem… interested.”

Jungkook scoffed, his gaze glued to the sidewalk. “I don’t want to look desperate.”

“Dude, come on. Desperate is sending $50 sunflowers in November.” Hoseok replied, laughing as Jungkook scowled.

Jungkook sighed, but a faint smile tugged at his lips. “I just really enjoyed spending time with her. It’s different.”

“So shoot her a text, lover boy.” Hoseok urged, hit Jungkook lightly on the back of the head. “All the smooth moves in the world won’t matter if she doesn’t know you’re into her.”

Jungkook’s phone buzzed just as Hoseok delivered his advice, catching him off guard. He glanced down and saw your name on the screen. His eyes lit up, and a grin broke across his face—so wide and giddy that it almost unnerved Hoseok.

“Speak of the devil.” Jungkook muttered, barely containing his excitement.

“Well answer it.” He shoves his shoulder.

 Jungkook fumbles with his phone and steps off to the side to answer, “You’ve reached Sunflowers on the Go. How may I be of service?” 

You hum on the other end of the line in amusement, “So it’s the strangest thing. I got this delivery of sunflowers here on my desk but I don’t remember placing an order.” 

“Hmm, strange indeed.” Jungkook replied, grinning. “Turns out we only deliver to Composure magazine. No one else.”

What Jungkook wasn't aware of is you had him on speaker phone so Ronnie was also able to hear him. She brought her hand to her face at his cheesy responses. You also shook your head at absurdity. 

“Oh, is that so?” You teased. “Well, there was a little card attached… signed by someone named ‘JK.’”

“Yep, that’s the guy. Don’t know him personally, but he seems pretty cool.” Jungkook said, leaning into the joke. Looking over at Hoseok who was drawing hearts in the air around Jungkook, Jungkook just rolled his eyes.

“Hmmm, I don’t know anyone named ‘JK’. Guess I’ll just have to throw these away then.” You play with the ribbon in your fingers.

“Whoa, whoa, hey! That’s mean!” He protested, laughing. You laughed as well at his protest.

“Okay but seriously how did you know these were my favorite?” You touch one of the petals, sunflowers were definitely out of season so he had to go to some work to find really fresh ones. “Or was it just a lucky guess?”

“I may or may not have noticed a pattern on your socials.” His tone was sheepish and you just shook your head.

“Ah, so you were stalking me.” You nod, you notice Ronnie roll on over back to her desk. Coming back with her phone in hand. She was typing frantically.

“Maybe a little bit.” Jungkook let a beat pass, “I guess more importantly do you like them?” 

“They are very beautiful. Especially for this time of year.” You sigh, the gesture really was sweet. Might be fast for Jungkook to send flowers this early on but still sweet.

Jungkook let out a sigh he hadn't realized he had even been holding in, “I do have to confess something. I was hoping this would make an opening for me to invite you to dinner.” He shifted from side to side, “Well I would be making dinner.”

“Inviting me over? Wow, bold move. So soon.” You smile, Ronnie giving you a knowing look and you brushing her off. “Would I have to do anything?”

“I will take care of it all, I need to prove I can make a mean carbonara.” Hoseok gave Jungkook a look like he had no idea he had any cooking skill. “How about tonight?”

“I have plans tonight.” Which wasn’t a lie, you were going to work on some writing tonight. “How about Thursday?” 

“Perfect. You’re gonna be impressed, I already know it.” Jungkook chewed on his bottom lip. 

“I’m sure I will.” 

With some goodbyes you both hung up the phone. You could suddenly feel your heart racing in your chest and you mentally scolded yourself. You needed to remember none of this was long term. Which Ronnie was taking the lead in reminding you about.

“For someone who claims to be totally normal about all of this, you sure are smitten.” She crossed her arms and eyebrow raised observing you, “He totally knew these would work on you.” 

“I am totally normal about all of this. This is perfect, we are going on a second date and I get to start implementing my plan. Everything is on track.” You say but Ronnie is looking back to her phone, “What are you looking at?”

“I’m trying to find his Instagram.” She continued typing, not looking back up to you. 

“Oh he doesn’t have one.” You remembered from dinner on Sunday. It wasn’t abnormal for someone to not have one but Ronnie was surprised. 

“Boo, how am I supposed to dig up dirt on him?” Ronnie slumped down into her chair. You had actually done a little digging of your own the evening before though. 

“Pretty sure that’s my job and I already did. He has twitter but he doesn’t post often. He keeps a pretty low presence online so I wasn’t able to learn much that way.” You sigh, it was actually a little refreshing although it did leave you guessing. Makes it tough to be intrusive in the next steps of your plan. “By the way, can you cry on command?”

Ronnie raises an eyebrow at your request, “I don’t but I think we both know who might.” 

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀ • *₊

Day 5

Thursday arrived, you and Jungkook spent the entire day texting back and forth just talking about whatever came to your minds. You found any excuse to ask him any random question. Send him random things you genuinely thought were funny. He also had something funny to say back or respond with. So you just let that be it, just texting and talking as much as possible. 

Jungkook had spent the night before doing a practice carbonara. Watching some guy on youtube walking him through the steps. It turned out pretty good but he knew he could make a better one tonight. He got really nice ingredients that hopefully would push it over the edge. He really wanted to make a good first impression with his cooking. He had no issue inviting you over so soon after knowing you, he felt really comfortable with you already. 

He hoped it wasn’t too forward, but you didn’t seem to mind. 

He had a bottle of mid tier white wine in his fridge and he also got a red one because he wasn’t sure what you would prefer. He also wasn't sure what would pair better with a carbonara. Jungkook dressed his table up all nice, it was nothing special but a candle classes it up a little bit. Classic romantic things. It felt somewhat awkward and made him cringe but also no one else was around to see his effort but you, and you would appreciate it. 

Or at least he hoped you would. 

He then heard a knock from his front door. He thought it was a little early for you to be here but he didn’t mind, he still was making the food and he could pour you a glass while you waited. He trotted to his door, a smile on his face as he swung the door open with some gusto, only to have his features fall. 

“Channel?” Jungkook's face twisted into a confused but unamused expression, as she brushed past him into the apartment. “Please, come on in.” He said, his voice clearly sarcastic.

Channel looked like she was dressed for a night out and not for a very cold November evening at that. She had her hair curled and bouncy like it usually was, and the highest heel she could comfortably wear, clicking her way around Jungkook's apartment.

“I want my scarf back,” She had her arms crossed, strolling into the apartment with ease. She had been here enough times to know where everything was. “and since you won’t respond to my calls, here I am in person.”

“Okay, you couldn’t have texted me about this?” Jungkook let his front door close and followed after her through his apartment, as she tried to look under things and around furniture. 

She laughed bitterly, “Last I checked, you’ve been avoiding my texts as well.” She continued her hunt around his space. Jungkook getting a little peeved since he spent a good amount of time trying to make his space look good for your arrival. Your arrival which would be really soon and this was not a good look for a guy as you clocked as ‘unserious’.

"I kind of have a life, you know? I can’t answer every text you send.” Jungkook kept his eyes peeled for the scarf, more than ready for this encounter to end.

“Yeah, right.” Channel’s voice dripped with disbelief as she followed him further into the apartment, her arms crossed. “I could tell Hoseok was covering for you.” She paused mid-sentence, catching sight of the dining table set for two, a soft candle flickering in the center. Her expression turned suspicious. “And… what is that ?”

Jungkook looked back to the table and then back to her, acting like it’s always looked like that. “Nothing, now where is that scarf?”

“Your place is so… spotless.” She murmured, her eyes scanning every corner of his living room, taking in the lit lamps, the neatly arranged coffee table, and the faint smell of food coming from the kitchen. “Setting a mood , are we?”

“I mean, I clean often. I’m not a slob.” He replied defensively, trying to wave off her assumptions, though he could see she was putting it all together, one detail at a time.

Channel sniffs the air for a moment and then stalks over to the kitchen, “You’re cooking? You don’t cook.”

“Whenever he hung out, cooking really wasn’t a part of the schedule.” He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, aware that he was pushing her buttons. “I cook all the time.” 

“Oh, I see.” She replied, her tone flat but her eyes flashing. She tilted her head, a cruel smile tugging at her lips. “So, who is she, then?” 

Jungkook sighed, not fighting her anymore, “No one, and she is coming over soon, let’s find your scarf so you can leave.” 

But Channel didn’t budge, her eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms tighter. 

“Oh no, no, no. You’re not brushing this off like that. Nice napkins, a candle? You set a damn table , Jungkook. What is this, some kind of date?” Her voice grew sharper with each word, anger and betrayal clear in her expression.

“That’s not really your business is it?” Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck, he needed to get her out of here. 

Channel let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Not my business? You know what’s funny? All this time, I thought maybe we were building toward something real. And now, I see you’re doing that with someone else ?” She scoffed, her face hardening. “What, you just didn’t want this with me?”

Her words hung in the air, clear betrayal laced them. Him and Channel only had a sexual relationship, it’s what they agreed upon from the start. Sometime in there Channel developed some feelings for him and after a few months asked if they could take this more seriously. Jungkook wasn’t ready for that kind of step so they ended it all together. So now this all looks really bad. 

Except, he thought, it’s none of her business if he did change his mind. He never lied to her, and he was always very clear that he did not want a relationship. He really didn’t, and this thing with you, although a part of a bet, was something he was dipping his toes into. 

“Channel, that’s not it.” Jungkook said, sighing. “I really didn’t want a relationship.” He hesitated, then finally admitted, “But I met someone, and…we’re trying things out and it’s brand new. So please leave.”

Channel’s face twisted in anger, her voice rising as she spat, “Oh, I get it.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, looking around his place with fresh resentment. “I bet you’ll dump her as soon as you’ve slept together a few more times. Because that’s what you do , Jungkook.”

He clenched his fists, frustrated but trying to stay calm. “You know, I’ve had enough of this.” He said quietly, finally spotting the scarf stuffed into a seat cushion. He pulled it out, tossing it to her.

She caught it and threw it around her neck with a sneer. “So what is it about her, huh? What makes her so ‘special’ that suddenly you’re willing to commit ?” She shot him a glare, stepping closer. “Maybe I should stick around and meet this one-of-a-kind woman. See what all the fuss is about.”

“No,” Jungkook said firmly, guiding her toward the door. “You’re leaving, now.”

She jerked away from his touch, folding her arms defiantly. “What? Is she going to be here soon?” Her eyes gleamed with spite. “You don’t want her to know what you’re really like?”

Jungkook let out a slow breath, gathering his patience. “No. I think she would be an adult and actually talk with me about it.” He replied, surprising himself with the honesty in his voice. “Whatever she finds out—that’s for me to tell her and her to decide. So, goodnight, Channel.”

She stared at him, anger simmering as she pulled open the door, glancing back with an icy glare. “Screw you, Jungkook.” With that, she stormed out, letting the door slam behind her.

At the same time she opened the door, you were stepping out of the elevator and onto Jungkook’s floor. You spotted a girl storming down the hallway after yelling inside a doorway, as she passed you muttering a quick “Excuse me” without a second glance. You had an uneasy feeling about her, especially as she walked away from the very apartment number Jungkook had given you. You double-checked, confirming the number on your phone with the one she had just exited, and the sinking feeling intensified.

“Jesus Jungkook. At least have some class and spread out your dates so we don’t bump into each other in the hall.” You whisper under your breath, but you still had to go through with this as if you didn’t immediately feel a sense of dread. 

You took a steadying breath, willing yourself to ignore the uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. After all, you were here now, and nothing had technically happened to prove your suspicions. So you pushed them down, knocked on the door, and tried to keep your expression neutral, reminding yourself you were maybe a minute early—nothing too crazy.

The door opened after a brief pause, and Jungkook’s face shifted from guarded to bright relief when he saw you standing there. His lips curled into a wide, easy smile, like he was genuinely glad to see you. His hair was a little tousled, his shirt a snug, tucked into jeans that fit him perfectly, emphasizing his lean frame. He looked relaxed, casually put together, which was somehow infuriatingly charming.

“Hey,” He greeted, his voice warm, stepping aside so you could enter. “Come on in.”

“Hi.” You replied, acting as if nothing felt off. 

You stepped past him, letting your eyes flick around the apartment, taking in the details—the tidy coffee table, a low hum of music playing through the room. He had a nice living room set up around a TV on the wall, the dining setup with an actual candle in the center. He’d put thought into this, that much was obvious. You couldn’t deny it was sweet, even if it left you slightly off-balance, considering what you’d walked past in the hallway moments ago.

“Okay now looking at it, the candle maybe was a little cheesy.” Jungkook cringed at himself looking at the little set up. You shake your head and wave him off. 

“No, I think it's adorable. You even got a scentless one so it doesn’t cover the smell of the food.” You take a seat at the table, “I’m prepared to be wow’d like you promised me.” 

“I unfortunately got a little bit delayed so I am not quite done yet.” Jungkook was shuffling his way back into the kitchen, “But make yourself at home.”

“Okay.” You smile as he rounds his way back into his kitchen, he watches you get back up and walk around his living space. Almost like he was waiting for approval. Luckily Channel hadn’t trashed the place. 

You took note of all of the little things he chose to have on display, some books, a few polaroid cameras and some polaroid's on the walls, as well as a record collection that was lined the side of the living room on some shelves. You thumbed through some of them to see what was available. Impressed with some of his picks, some similar to your own. His place wasn’t terribly big. Classic little bachelor pad. You had noticed he had chosen to keep what you could only assume was his bedroom door closed. 

It was something Jungkook thought way too hard about, if he left it open was it like saying he wanted to sleep with you tonight? Would it be way too forward? Or was closing it just as weird? Was closing it like telling you that he didn’t really want you in his space? He went back and forth and then opted to close it to maybe say he wasn’t expecting anything to happen, although he wouldn’t mind if it did. 

You on the other hand didn’t barely give it a thought other than noticing it. You picked up one of his polaroid cameras and brought it with you. You round your way back to his kitchen and stand off to the side watching him work. He was pretty zoned in on what he was doing, everything was really smelling great. You usually found it pretty hot if a guy could cook well. 

Jungkook took an opportunity to try some of his work and you took a photo right at the moment he took a bite, his eyes widened right at the moment he realized he'd been caught.

The picture came out and you set it down to develop. 

“I’m sure that will be super cute.” You laugh, setting down his camera as well. He laughs and you look over his shoulder to see how close he is to being done.

“Coming to inspect my work?” Jungkook glances to his side, seeing you peering over his shoulder to see what he was doing. He was almost done cooking. 

“Maybe.” You tease, “I’m a sucker for people who can cook. I’m just… okay at it.” 

“Well,” Jungkook stops what he is doing and reaches for a drawer next to him pulling out a fork and twirling some of the noodles onto it. Then holding the fork out to you. “I’m ready for your final score.”

You paused. Debating if you should eat the food off the fork or if you should take the fork. Would it send the wrong message if you ate off it? Or was that exactly what he was doing? The fork wasn’t very close to your mouth but not crazy far. You decided to just take the fork from him and take the bite. 

It ended up being really good carbonara. 

“Oh my god.” You smile chewing, “It’s really fucking good. Ten out of ten.” 

Jungkook did a small fist pump to himself, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth hiding a smile. “I’ll admit, I did a practice run yesterday and it was just okay but I’m glad this one is good.” Jungkook then took a bite of it himself with another fork. Jungkook upon tasting his own food smacking his own forehead and leaning back. 

Causing you to laugh at his dramatic reaction. 

You glanced at the polaroid on the counter picking it up to see if it had developed yet, it wasn’t fully done but you could see mostly what the picture would look like. You showed it to Jungkook and he smiled, “Ten out of ten picture. Best one of me yet.” 

You looked at it and he did look like a deer caught in the headlights but it was funny, you absentmindedly put it in your pocket. 

“I’ll admit I’m wowed, to be fair I’ve only had carbonara like one other time.” You lean against one of his kitchen counters watching him as he plates the pasta for the two of you.

“I’ll still take the high praise. Now, should we do a white or a red wine?” 

“Hmm, a red works better with this I think.” You nod. 

Jungkook tells you where you can find his bottle opener and some glasses. You managed to get the cork screw into the cork but seem to be lacking the ability to actually pull the cork out of the bottle. Jungkook finds some amusement in watching your struggle but you persist. You’ve opened plenty of wine bottles in the past, this shouldn’t be difficult. 

“Having some trouble?” Jungkook watched you try and fail to pull the cork out a third time.

“Absolutely not. The cork and I are just having a disagreement.” You shake off your hand a few times and then get a better grip on the screw pulling upward as best you can. With some pathetic struggle, you really swear you can feel the cork moving. You let out a sigh as you let it go again. 

“May I?” 

“I swear I’m not that weak.” This honestly was just embarrassing at this point, so much so you have to face away from Jungkook at your next attempt. 

You make one final grip on the corkscrew and twist and tug, finally the corkscrew and cork pop free. Not before your hand comes straight, hard and fast, into your own face.

“Oh shit,” Jungkook’s face changes as he sees you basically punch your own face. “Are you okay?” 

You did dizzy yourself slightly but you set the bottle down. Feeling your face, hoping you hadn’t broken your nose although it certainly would be bruised or sore at least, “Okay maybe I should never open wine ever again.” 

Your nose then began to pulse with pain, this definitely wasn’t a part of your plan for sure. You covered it with one of your hands but Jungkook pulled it away. “Here let me look at it.”

“Please tell me it’s not bleeding.” You groan, and Jungkook places his hands on both of your cheeks looking at it. You match his face and he looks genuinely concerned. 

“Well, I’m not a doctor but you’re still pretty cute.” He then smiles and rubs one of his thumbs on your cheek. “That’s my professional assessment anyways.”

“Okay, but it still really hurts.” You say, letting your own hands rest on his wrists. 

“Hey, it’s probably just a bit sore—no blood, no bruise.” He gently tilts your head from side to side in a silly, exaggerated inspection that makes you giggle. 

It’s quiet between you both for a moment, Jungkook still holding your face. He just looks over your face for a moment, your nose was red but it was probably going to be okay. He had hurt his own nose a few times to know if it was broken. 

Jungkook’s hands still on your cheeks, eyes meeting as he studies your face. It’s easy to get lost in the warmth of his gaze and how close he is. A little too easy. For a second, you find yourself softening, tempted by the thought of leaning in and just letting yourself enjoy this. But then, just in time, you snap back to reality, realizing you can use this little mishap to your advantage. This damage to your nose might have actually opened up a window for what you had been working yourself up too.

You pull your face away from Jungkook and shake your head, breathing in a heavy breath. Jungkook looked a little confused but then after a moment you were crying. You were crying? 

“Hey,” He placed a hand on your shoulder, “I was just teasing you.” 

You wave your hands in a frantic show, your voice cracking just a little. “No, no, it’s not you. It’s just….” You let out a little sob. “I’m just so clumsy! And you made this beautiful dinner, and I’ve totally ruined it!”

Jungkook looks utterly bewildered now, glancing around as if the answer to your sudden breakdown might be hiding in his kitchen cabinets. “Really, I promise, you didn’t mess anything up. I’m just glad you’re okay.” He squeezes your shoulder reassuringly, almost nervously.

“Ugh, I can't believe this. I’m totally ruining the mood.” You wipe your tears away. 

It was a good little performance. One that was planned.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀ • *₊

The evening before.

Day 04

“The art of crying on command.” Here you were again. Ronnie sitting next to you. Jin pacing back and forth with his notepad once again. Unfortunately for you, Jin was the person to have expertise on this subject being an acting teacher. 

“Okay I already regret this.” You try to stand up but Ronnie pulls you back down onto Jin’s couch. 

“This will help you!” Ronnie protested and leaned on you once you were settled back in. “This can be a part of your over dramatic persona you use.” 

“Exactly! It gives you another tool in the toolbox for the charade you signed up for!” Jin pointed at you with his pen and waving it around. 

“Fine, continue.” You wave for him to go on and Jin grins. 

“Thank you! Now, there are three main techniques for crying on command.” he begins, pacing dramatically. “Some people can just… do it. They snap their fingers and—bam! Tears.” He snaps his fingers for effect. “Others need to go to a sad memory. Something personal and emotional, something that really tugs at the heartstrings. And then, of course, some people have to resort to…ahem, creative methods. Pepper in the sinuses, maybe a little poke to the eye…”

“Let’s please avoid self-injury.” You interrupt dryly, giving him a look.

“Fair enough. Let’s start with the basics and see if you’re a natural.” Jin says, jotting a note on his pad. “Close your eyes, focus, and let’s see if you can will the tears into existence.”

You sit up straight, trying your best to summon tears on command, forcing your eyes to feel…sad? Your face contorts into what you hope is a tearful expression, but as you blink, nothing happens. Your eyes are as dry as ever.

“Nothing?” Jin sighs and makes a dramatic strike-through on his notepad, looking deeply disappointed.

“Yeah, sorry.” You mutter. “Nothing.”

“Okay,” Jin strikes something out on his notepad and you roll your eyes at his dramatics. “ Cannot cry on command. So let’s try a memory, or is there a movie scene you can’t think about because it gets you teared up?” 

You sit and think, you have some sad memories from your childhood that you bring to the front of your mind. Reminiscing on them, although some things are sad or bittersweet, nothing tear jerking. 

“Dry.” Ronnie leans over and looks closely in your eyes, so much so you have to shove her face away from you. 

“Dry.” Jin repeats and writes on his notepad. 

“Maybe try going to the dark place?” Ronnie snaps and looks at you. “You always get really teary eyed when you think about dying alone.”

“Okay rude.” You sigh, it wasn’t untrue. Whenever you came back from dates that were unsuccessful or you wasted your time on someone who just wanted something casual you found yourself going to, what you and Ronnie have deemed, the dark place. “I don’t like thinking about that.” 

“It’s for science!” Ronnie cheers, throwing her arms up like it's supposed to make it more fun or something. 

You groan, sinking deeper into the couch.  “I don’t know if this is such a great idea, honestly. When I start spiraling about my love life, it’s not exactly…mild.” You look down, already feeling a little prick of sadness starting to stir.

Jin comes and squats in front of you, “Well then just go to the edge of it and don’t think about the whole picture. What about dying alone usually gets you crying?” 

You think for a second, and finally, the words come out quietly. “I guess… I cry when I start thinking that maybe I won’t ever find someone who’s…just right for me.”

Ronnie lets out a soft “aww” and nudges you gently.

You let yourself feel it for a moment—the uncertainty, the nagging doubt that, maybe, you’ll keep hitting dead ends. And with that, you feel a familiar, bittersweet ache starting to well up.

Jin nods approvingly, seeing a slight glimmer in your eyes. “Excellent.” He says, jotting down, potential crying trigger identified.

The vulnerability hangs in the air, and you let yourself lean into it a little. Lately, it felt harder and harder to keep going on dates, to believe that love might work out someday. You always seemed to be either too much or not enough—loving too deeply, too slowly, too intensely. It left you feeling drained, to the point where dating felt less like romance and more like a chore.

But with Jungkook, for once, you’d felt...hopeful. Like there was someone who genuinely wanted to share a moment, who put effort into making sure you had a good time. As unintentional as it was, you’d started to feel a little spark, considering the circumstances of your forced meeting. But as soon as you’d started to believe it, you reminded yourself it was all part of the act. You couldn’t let yourself actually believe it. You got your hopes up again , and they were ripped out from under you… again . 

So you had slowly felt as time went on, you were losing sight of finding the one.  

Then without even realizing it, you had a few stray tears fall from your eyes. 

“Boom!” Jin erupted and sprang to his feet, “We have tears!”

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀ • *₊

You gripped onto that feeling you let it force a few more tears out of your eyes. Unfortunately you did not avoid the personal injury part of the tears. So this was going really well for you. 

You take a shaky breath, letting a few more tears roll down, making sure the sniffle that follows sounds especially pitiful. “Maybe I should just go home.” You say, voice wavering. “This along with my day… it’s all just been too much. You probably think I’m completely insane.”

You manage to start walking toward the door. Jungkook then panics for a moment, how did we go from laughing at you injuring your nose to crying and saying you’re going home? He felt like he had jumped three steps or something. You start toward the front door but Jungkook stepped around you, stopping you. 

“Wait what?” Jungkook looked confused, “How did we get here? I don’t want you to leave.”

You sniff even louder, adding just the right amount of snotty dramatics. “No, I should. You barely know me, and here I am—an emotional wreck in your kitchen. It’s… it’s too much.”

“And? You just hit yourself in the nose really hard. I would be a little embarrassed and want to leave too.” Jungkook places a hand on your arm, trying to comfort you. “Besides, isn't the whole point of going on dates to get to know each other better?”

“I guess.” You wipe your face again, “I don’t know… I didn’t mean to just… fall apart like this.”

Jungkook sighs a little relieved, that could have spiraled further. “And just so you know, I don’t think you’re crazy at all.”

“Well it’s still early, I haven't had a chance to go full blown crazy yet.” Which gets a laugh out of both you and Jungkook. 

“Well I can deal with that I think.” He gives you a small, reassuring smile. “Besides, the food is still good. Wine is still out and last I checked a bruised nose doesn’t stop you from eating.” 

“Wait, is it actually bruising?” You reflexively go up to touch it, definitely tender to the touch and Jungkook chuckles a little. 

“I’m teasing. It’s only a little red.” He takes your hand and pulls you back into his apartment, with a little reluctance from you. “Stay, at least for a little while. I’m not going to let you walk out of here feeling like this.”

You blink up at him, playing up a hint of uncertainty, but inside, you’re genuinely a little taken aback. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do.” He tilts his head to the side trying to meet your eyes, that had been darting everywhere else out of real embarrassment. “Look, I don’t care if you cry, I’m the biggest cry baby I know!”

You manage a small, hesitant smile, as if he’s starting to get through to you. “I find that hard to believe.” 

Jungkook scoffs, feigning insult. “Oh, don’t underestimate me. Those ‘lost puppy finds his way home’ commercials? I’m done. I’m over here pretending there’s dust in my eyes.”

You laugh again, shaking your head. “Okay, maybe I believe you… just a little.”

“There we go!” He looks genuinely pleased, his expression softening as he sees you relax. “So, if I’m willing to admit my crybaby tendencies, it’s only fair you stick around for dinner, right?” He tucks his bottom lip into his mouth in anticipation of your answer. 

“Alright, I’ll stay.” You say it with an air of nonchalance, trying to mask the small spark of mischief hidden behind your agreement. It earns you a relieved, borderline triumphant smile from Jungkook.

“Phew! You’re sparing me from a whole night of wondering if my cooking scared you off for good.” He grins, his dramatic sigh punctuating his relief.

“Oh, please.” You say, rolling your eyes, feeling the perfect opening for a light jab. “If anything, the food is what convinced me to stay.”

Jungkook then serves dinner for the both of you. You both fall into easy conversation as you eat, he really did do a great job with the food. He was very considerate of making sure you needed anything else or pouring more wine when you wanted it. As well as making you laugh at almost every single turn. You really do get it why he got girls to go home with him so easily, between this and your first date the amount of confidence and charm that exudes from him is palpable in the air. 

Jungkook would never show it but his lack of practice with dating has actually made this date and your last the most nervous he has been in a while. Jungkook’s mind is racing, carefully cataloging every response you make, every laugh, every nod. He wants—needs—this to go well, not just because he’d prefer to win $300 rather than lose it, but because, in his gut, he actually likes seeing you here, across from him. He catches himself wondering if he’s oversharing when he starts a story, or if he’s going on too long when he recounts his last trip. When you laugh at one of his stupid jokes, he relaxes a bit, but he still can’t quite shake that uncertainty. 

You decided no more theatrics for the evening and let this play out naturally, how you would play out any other evening. Anything else would tip him off that maybe you were doing this on purpose. 

After a while the two of you had moved into the living room, you had been flipping through his records again, you didn’t take a chance to look at them all earlier. He had a decent collection for sure so you got a good sense of the type of music he liked. You both had a few glasses of wine now and so the conversation had turned more and more flirtatious. 

Noting the variety of music—jazz, a little classic rock, some alternative stuff. “You’ve got a good taste.” You say, glancing back at him. “This one,” you pull a record out with a slight smirk, “definitely says something about you.”

“Oh yeah?” He grins, leaning on the side of his couch as he watches you move around his shelves. “And what exactly does it say?”

You tilt your head, pretending to give it serious thought. “That you’re trying really hard to be cool. Just edgy enough.”

He laughs, though you notice he flushes slightly, brushing off your joke with a casual shrug. “Hey, everyone needs a little mystery. Or at least…a halfway-decent record collection.”

“Is that what you’re hiding?” You tease. “A mysterious vinyl collection? Or is it just your immense amount of fish facts?”

“Well, you’ll have to stick around to find out.” The words slip out before he can stop them, and he immediately kicks himself. It feels too... eager, a bit too close to something genuine. But he manages to recover, putting on a self-assured smile. “Not everyone gets to see my hidden jazz albums.”

You laugh, setting the record back and looking at him with a raised brow. “Guess I’ll have to consider myself lucky, then.” Finding a spot back on the couch with him. 

Jungkook shifted in his spot so his body was completely facing you now. With the alcohol having set in, his eyes were a little droopy and he was smiling but he looked boyish. He found the more he was learning about you the more he felt fine with telling you things about himself. 

“You look tired.” You poke his forehead. “Maybe I really should go.” 

“It’s barely even late.” Jungkook takes your hand, lacing your fingers with his. “I’m not tired at all.” 

“Your eyes tell a different story.” You laugh, leaning your head against the back of his couch. 

“Well what else are they saying?” He smirks, finding any reason to get a compliment from you. 

You stare at them for a minute, you were trying to come up with something clever. “Well if I am translating this right… I can’t handle my wine. ”

You laugh and Jungkook rolls his eyes, “Wow how did you know?” 

“I have a thing for reading people.” You shrug. “What do mine say?”

He leans in really close looking between them. “Wow this guy is so hot and charming I really want to kiss him again .” Jungkook then gasps dramatically leaning away. “That’s scandalous, Y/N.”

“Shut up.” You laugh and get up from the couch trying to leave, Jungkook's hand pulling you back to standing in front of him. “You’re really full of yourself.”

“I’d like to think just a healthy amount.” He grins, Jungkook then places one of his hands on the back of your thigh. The warmth of his hand sends a shiver up your spine, but you do your best to keep your cool, not letting him see just how much his touch is affecting you.

You scoff with a half smile, “We’ll see about that.” 

Jungkook's smile widens sitting forward on his couch, both of his hands finding their way to your hips. Tracing small circles with his thumbs, making it impossible for you to think. The way he looks at you—intense, unflinching, like he’s trying to figure you out—has you second-guessing your plans  all over again, just for a second. This is what makes this hard, because the way he looks at you makes you believe every single word.

Many guys before have looked at you like this and you always fall for it, you always let yourself go for it. 

It’s a little difficult to remember that right now though, your mind is clouded by the wine. 

You glance down to his lap for a moment then back up to his eyes that haven’t left yours. “Can I?” 

Jungkook just nods, allowing you to take your place on his lap. Lifting your legs to either side of his hips. Jungkook really was not intending for this night to go this way but he wasn’t complaining if it had. He would do whatever you wanted. His hands stayed planted on your hips as you found what felt comfortable. 

“You’re pretty.” He says with a shine in his eyes, he really did find you gorgeous and would tell you again and again if it wouldn’t be weird. The compliment makes you blush and hum. 

“You’re pretty too.” You lace your arms around his neck. Both of your faces are coming so close together now. Breathes intermingling for a moment, asking the same question. “You were right though.” 

“About what?”

“I do want to kiss you again.” You catch the slight hitch in Jungkook's breath at your words, the way his fingers tighten on your hips, grounding you even as your heart races. His eyes flicker from your mouth to your eyes, searching your face as though he’s almost afraid this moment might slip away.

“I’m not one to protest.” Jungkook swallows for a moment, before you took no time to close the distance between you. Pressing your lips against his soft but certain. Jungkook immediately responds tilting his head to deepen it. One of Jungkook's hands sliding up your back to bring you closer to him. The moment makes you forget everything else, as you slide your tongue into his mouth. 

For a moment, you allow yourself to sink into it, into the surprising tenderness of his touch, the quiet intensity of his kiss. You move your hands to cup his face, relishing in how warm you are now. You felt your whole entire body heat up, and small wetness in between your legs. Oh this was not good, you cannot sleep with him this soon. 

Oh he probably knew exactly what he was doing though.

He would know exactly where to touch you and exactly how to make you moan and you had very little issues with wanting to let him do that. It would be so worth it, it would be so good. Except it cannot go past this, for your sanity at least. You needed to cut this off somehow. His tongue in your mouth was making it incredibly difficult to be logical. You could feel him probably already getting a semi and you really could not stop thinking about grinding on him. 

You needed to stop though. Because this is a great opportunity to drive in that wedge between the two of you. One more way to mess this situationship up, but not ruin it completely.

As you pull away from him, leaving his lap, you mutter, “Okay… Goodnight.” You force yourself to stand, feigning nonchalance as you gather your things, even though every cell in your body is screaming at you to turn back around. Jungkook is left blinking at you, visibly caught off guard, his hands awkwardly suspended in the air where your hips just were. He clears his throat, collecting himself as he scrambles to follow you.

Clearing his throat. “Hey… um woah… was that not good or whatever?” 

You pick up some of your stuff into your arm, “It was, it was good. It was great.” 

Oh god it was great, he was a really good kisser and your whole body was screaming at you but you fought through. 

Jungkook was confused by your answer and shook his head, as he continued to follow you, “Did… did I misread something? Because I was getting a vibe.”

You glance over your shoulder and manage to flash a casual smile. “No, you didn’t misread anything. I just… don’t usually sleep with someone on the second date. Kind of a rule.” You bite your lip, keeping the truth of it hidden.

“Oh.” Jungkook nods, a look of relief mixed with mild confusion crossing his face as he adjusts his shirt. “Right, totally. Cool cool cool. That’s more than okay and Makes sense, makes sense… you should have said something.”

“It’s a bit of a mood killer to say ‘hey, by the way, you’re not getting any,’ don’t you think?” You raise an eyebrow, suppressing a grin.

You gather your things, amused by his honesty, and start toward the door. Jungkook trails behind you, letting out a small puff of air as he stares at the floor. Then, after a beat, he glances up with a sly grin. “So… just out of pure curiosity, not trying to be weird or anything, but what date number are we talking about here? Fourth, fifth…?”

You can’t help but laugh at his question, knowing full well he has no idea you’re just messing with him. “More than that.”

He frowns, looking genuinely curious now. “Sixth?”

“Nope.”

“Seventh?” He leans in closer, eyes narrowed like he’s reading the answer off your face.

“Higher.”

“Okay, when do you usually?” 

You cross your arms, “Twelfth.” 

Jungkook’s face barely changes, but you can see his jaw tighten just a little as he processes this. “Twelve… dates.” he repeats slowly, nodding as if he’s mentally mapping it out. “I mean, sure. That’s totally reasonable. Not a problem.”

“Really?” You ask, surprised at his lack of pushback.

"Yeah.” He shrugs, putting on a confident smile. “Guess I just have to plan ten more killer dates.”

“Uh huh. I’ll believe it when I see them.” Jungkook then opens the front door for you. 

“You're going to keep me on my toes aren’t you?” He watches you slowly step out the door with a wide grin on your face. He finds it cute and playful, he could tell you liked the chase. 

“Goodnight Jungkook.” You say in a sing song voice, giving him a flirtatious wave as you walk up the hallway to his elevator. 

Before you could get too far Jungkook decided to leave with something. Trotting up the hallway so he could catch you, taking your wrist and stopping you. “One last thing.” 

Jungkook places a hand on your cheek and then kisses you. It surprises you but you welcome him, its one of those kisses that is so passionate and it makes your knees want to buckle out from under you in response. He uses just a little bit of  tongue to send a shiver through your whole body, his hand warm against your cheek as he continues to kiss you just long enough to make you lose track of the hallway, the elevator, and everything else. 

When he finally pulls back, his eyes are twinkling with that trademark cockiness, but there’s something softer underneath, something that makes your heart do an unwelcome little flip. He grins, his hand lingering on your cheek for just a moment longer before letting go. “Goodnight.”

He goes back into his apartment as you retreat to the elevator. As you ride down, you let out a shaky breath, trying to process what just happened, and trying even harder to remind yourself why you’re supposed to be making him miserable. But as your lips still tingle from his kiss, you’re the one who is being thrown off balance now. This was continuing to prove to be difficult.

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Day 6

Jungkook is floating on air as he gets through his next work day. So much so Hoseok has taken notice of Jungkook's change in attitude. Really his whole attitude had been different all week. Not that he was particularly grumpy before or even usually in a bad mood, but he was just in a  really good mood. 

It was Friday night, and the familiar hum of the weekend buzzed in the air as Jimin and Taehyung once again convinced Jungkook and Hoseok to come out for a night of fun. Jungkook had been hesitant, his thoughts lingering on you. He’d been so busy lately, and while the dates had been great, there was something about tonight that made him want to see what plans you had before fully committing to the night out. But eventually, he decided he should just go—time with his friends, after all, was good too. Plus, there was that whole bet to think about, and he had a chance to subtly show Jimin and Taehyung how smoothly things were going with you.

When Jungkook and Hoseok arrived at the booth, they were greeted with their usual boisterous energy. Taehyung raised his glass, grinning widely. “Look who it is!” He said, motioning to the empty seats. As they sat down, the drinks flowed easily, and the conversation began to buzz.

However, Jimin and Taehyung had something else on their minds—Jungkook’s unusually good mood. While their conversation about random topics picked up, they were both trying to pinpoint exactly what had changed in him.

“So,” Jimin leaned forward, his voice a bit more teasing than usual, “what’s going on with you tonight? You’ve been, like, way too chill. It’s freaking me out.”

Jungkook paused for a moment, a little taken aback by the sudden observation. “What do you mean?”

Jimin gestured at him with a mock-serious face, “You're usually the one trying to take the night to the next level . Trying to make things more interesting. Tonight, you're just sitting here, all calm, looking like you’re, I don’t know, at peace or something?”

Taehyung chuckled at the thought, leaning in with a grin. “Yeah, what happened to the Jungkook who was out here doing whatever it took to keep things fun and exciting? You usually make sure the whole night has a direction. Right now, you’re, like... engaged in our conversation about cyber-security. That’s... not you.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, trying to play it cool, but he could feel the pressure mounting. He knew his friends had caught on to something, but they didn’t know why he was acting different. “I’m just… having a good day.” His voice light and casual. “Nothing wrong with that, right?”

Hoseok snorted next to him and Jungkook gave him a side eye. 

“You definitely would have gotten someone’s number by now but your eyes have been glued on us or on your phone this whole time.” Taehyung added on, which was usually true but Jungkook was glued to his phone. Hoping maybe he would see another text from you, secretly. Casually, in a totally normal way. 

“So what gives?” Jimin pokes Jungkook in the arm. 

“It’s nothing.” Jungkook shrugged and took a sip of his drink. 

Hoseok rolled his eyes, “It’s Y/N. The girl you set him up with for this stupid bet.” 

“Oh.” It all clicked into place for the both of them but it was still weird, Jimin continues.“She totally see through your act yet?” 

Jungkook was caught off guard, the question cutting deeper than he expected. He shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “Actually,” He began, his voice softening, “No. We had a really nice date last night. There is nothing to see through, I’ve been completely genuine.”

“Oh, really?” Jimin raised a skeptical eyebrow, a grin tugging at his lips.

Hoseok, who had been mostly observing, finally chimed in with a sigh. “He’s been in such a good mood about it all day, I’ve actually been avoiding him.”

Jungkook shot him a glare, nudging his arm. “So you were dodging me earlier?”

Hoseok shrugged, chuckling. “Sorry, man, I just couldn’t listen to you go on about Y/N again today.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, glancing back at Jimin and Taehyung. “You guys are acting like it’s such a big deal. It’s just… going well.”

Taehyung raised a skeptical brow, his tone a bit annoyed. “So, you’re hitting it off?”

Jungkook smirked, raising his glass. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

That earned a laugh from Jimin and Taehyung. “Yeah, right.” Jimin scoffed, shaking his head.

“All I’m saying,” Jungkook replied, his smirk widening, “is you two better get your wallets ready. In 24 days, you’re going to owe me big time.”

With a final grin, Jungkook set his glass down and excused himself, heading off to the bathroom. As soon as he was out of earshot, Jimin leaned closer to Hoseok, lowering his voice. “Okay, is it actually going well, or is he just messing with us?”

Hoseok took a sip of his drink, letting the suspense hang in the air for a moment before answering. “All I’ll say is… he sent flowers.”

Jimin’s jaw dropped, and Taehyung’s eyes widened. “Flowers?” They exchanged looks of disbelief, struggling to picture Jungkook—who hadn’t done more than text after a night out for years—sending flowers.

“What kind?” Taehyung asked, still dubious. “If they were just roses, it might’ve been for show.”

Hoseok gave an exasperated look. “Sunflowers. They’re her favorite.”

Jimin blinked in disbelief, his jaw still halfway dropped as he processed Hoseok's words. “Sunflowers?” He repeated, as if the specific flower choice made it even more surreal. “You’re telling me Jungkook not only sent flowers but remembered her favorite kind?”

Hoseok nodded, his expression one of mild amusement. “It’s like he’s on some kind of mission. Didn’t even blink when he mentioned it either—used it as his way to get the second date they had this week.”

Taehyung shook his head, laughing under his breath. “I don’t know who this new Jungkook is, but he’s full of surprises. Sunflowers? That’s not just impressive; that’s borderline romantic.”

“Borderline?” Jimin laughed, still trying to wrap his head around it. “He’s gone full-on romance novel, and for someone he’s been seeing for, what, a week? This has to be the longest he’s been interested in anyone, like, ever.”

Taehyung let out a low whistle, chewing on his lip as he processed the surprising information. “Damn. This is serious.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok said with a small smile, finding some pride in a changed Jungkook. “So he’s not wrong when he says you guys are going to owe him. He’s actually putting in the effort.”

Jimin and Taehyung exchanged a look, stunned but slightly impressed. Watching Jungkook send flowers, remember favorites, and put his best foot forward was new—and honestly? They both knew they might just end up eating their own words. Which made them think, was there a way for them to slow this down, make it come to a halt?

It wasn’t an insane amount of money for either of them to lose, but it was much more entertaining to see Jungkook lose. Was there something they could do to mess this up but in a non asshole way?

If they didn’t, Jungkook was going to win the bet, but it had already become much more than a bet at this point for him.

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[cherbii]

KILL BILL | Toji Fushiguro

synapses -> Toji Fushiguro was the water to your oil, the gasoline to your fire. He was the one to break your heart and ruin your make up in one breath. Toji Fushiguro is also your ex you swore you wouldn’t go back to, but, he’d crawling back to you.

warnings -> (frat)TOXIC!EX!Toji x TOXIC!BITCHY!Reader, alcohol use, cheating, fingering, bathroom sexual activities mdni

You didn’t even want to come, but you showed up anyway. If there was one thing about you, it’s that you never missed the opportunity to remind people who the fuck you were. That, and you were bored.

The second you walked into the frat house, it hit you. Cheap beer, bad decisions, and the same recycled playlist blasting in every room. Someone already spilled a drink. Some girl was crying in the hallway. Nothing changed.

You looked perfect. Short black dress, heels that clicked loud when you walked, lip gloss so shiny it looked weaponized. Every girl glanced at you. Every guy stared too long. You knew. You didn’t care. You were already sick of the attention and you’d been there five minutes.

Keisuke—your plaything, was behind you, trailing like a lost dog. He had one hand on your lower back and the other holding two drinks. One for him, one for you, like you couldn’t have gotten it yourself.

“Hey, babe,” he said in your ear, already too close. “I missed you today.”

You blinked at him. “Okay.”

He laughed like it was cute. It wasn’t. You took the drink, barely nodded, and walked deeper into the house. The living room was packed, bodies everywhere, and someone already started beer pong. Same tired game. Same loser frat boys thinking a trick shot meant they deserved head.

You leaned against the wall and sipped. Weak drink. Tasted like juice and regret. Keisuke tried to pull you closer, arm around your waist. You slipped out of it easily. “Don’t get clingy. It’s embarrassing.”

His smile faltered, just for a second. You liked that. You didn’t come here to be coddled. You came here to be seen.

You scanned the room with disinterest. Recognized a few girls you hated. One was wearing your dress from two months ago. You smirked. She didn’t fill it out like you did.

“Wanna go say hi to Jiro and them?” Keisuke asked. He was trying again. He was always trying.

You didn’t even look at him. “No.”

“Oh… okay.”

“I’m gonna get a real drink.” You walked away without waiting for him to follow. You could already feel him getting insecure. Good. He was boring anyway.

In the kitchen, someone handed you vodka straight from the bottle. You took a swig like it was nothing. It burned a little. You didn’t react. You turned around to lean on the counter, cup in hand, heels crossed at the ankle, bored out of your mind. Some guy tried to talk to you. You shut it down with a glance.

Then you felt it.

Not the drink. Not the music. Not even the high from knowing every girl in the room wished they were you.

You felt him.

Your eyes flicked up. You didn’t react. You didn’t have to. You already knew what you were about to see.

Toji.

Same spot as always. Leaning against the doorway like he owned it. Fitted black shirt stretched across his chest. Chain visible. Arms crossed. That face. Same cocky mouth. Same look like nothing surprised him, except maybe the fact that you looked better than ever.

He had no right looking that good.

You held his stare for half a second then looked away, like he wasn’t worth the energy. You sipped again. Slowly. Like you didn’t feel the heat in your chest start to creep.

He was already walking towards you. You didn’t even get annoyed. You expected it. He stopped in front of you. Close. Too close. Like he forgot what space was. Or maybe he knew you’d never really asked for it.

“You come here with that pretty little boy?” he asked, voice low.

You didn’t even blink. “You still stalking me?”

He smiled. That smug, hot-ass smile. “Didn’t need to. You always show up when I stop thinking about you.”

“Funny. I don’t think about you at all.”

“That why you wore my favorite dress?”

You laughed. “You think this is about you? That’s cute.”

“It’s always about me.”

You looked him up and down, slow and obvious. He looked good. Too good. You hated him for it. “You really haven’t changed,” you said.

He stepped in closer. You didn’t move. “Why would I?” he said. “Shit worked for you.”

“It didn’t.”

He leaned in like he wanted to say something in your ear. You leaned back just slightly. He noticed. Smiled again. “You still get wet when I look at you like that?”

You sipped your drink. Unbothered. “No. But I dry up fast when you open your mouth.”

Toji laughed, low and rough. Like you were the funniest fucking thing in the world. “Still sharp, ma.”

“Still desperate, Toji.”

He tilted his head. “If I’m desperate, what’s that make you? You’re the one with some soft little boyfriend and you still showed up here looking for a reaction.”

“I showed up because I was bored.”

“No,” he said, voice low. “You showed up because no one fucks you like I did.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re not special.”

“I was the best you ever had.”

“And I’ve had better since.”

“Lying doesn’t suit you.” He reached for your chin, gentle but cocky, like he still thought he had the right. You slapped his hand away hard enough to make a few heads turn. He smiled like you kissed him. “Still a brat,” he said.

“Still a bitch,” you shot back.

The tension sat between you, heavy but familiar. You both liked it there. You wouldn’t admit it, but this was what you missed. The push, the bite, the feeling of being matched.

“Go back to your little girlfriend,” you said. “I’m not playing this game with you.”

He leaned in one last time, his breath hot against your cheek. “She’s not you,” he said. “That’s the problem.”

You turned away before he could see you react. Your chest was tight, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Not now. Not ever.

You left the kitchen like nothing happened. Made your way back to Keisuke. He looked relieved to see you. Like he thought you were gonna ditch him.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Fine.”

“You look mad.”

“I’m fine.”

“Wanna dance or something?”

You stared at him. “No.”

He tried to laugh it off. You didn’t. You finished your drink in one go, grabbed his hand, and pulled him toward the stairs.

“Let’s go upstairs,” you said.

He stumbled behind you, eager like always. You didn’t care. You weren’t thinking about him. You weren’t even thinking about what you were about to do.

You were thinking about Toji.

You didn’t even close the door all the way. Keisuke fumbled behind you, breathless, already acting like he couldn’t believe his luck. He had that look, like he thought he finally won something, like he’d unlocked the golden fucking prize. You rolled your eyes. Guys like him were always easy. Always too eager. Too available. You never had to chase him, and that was the problem.

He sat on the edge of the bed like he was waiting for instructions. You let your dress ride higher up your thighs as you walked toward the window, pretending to be interested in the view outside. It was dark. Loud. You could hear people yelling downstairs. Your eyes scanned the yard for a second. You didn’t know what you were looking for. Or maybe you did.

Keisuke’s voice broke through. “You okay?”

You turned around slowly. “Do I look not okay?”

He blinked. “No, no—you just seem… distracted.”

You stepped forward, close enough to stand between his knees. “Then focus me.”

His hands landed on your waist like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. You didn’t move. Just stared down at him, waiting to feel anything. You didn’t.

You tilted your head when he leaned up to kiss you, let it happen because you were already here. His lips were soft, almost unsure, and his hands were too polite. Like he thought he was handling something breakable. It made your skin crawl.

You pushed him down against the mattress and climbed over him, straddling his lap. He let out this shaky little breath like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. You bit back a laugh. His hands slid down your hips. Too slow. Too hesitant.

“You’re stiff,” you said, bored.

“I—I’m just nervous.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“I dunno. You’re just… hot.”

You stared at him, completely unimpressed. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

“I didn’t mean it like that—.”

You leaned forward, your lips almost brushing his ear. “Relax. It’s not that deep. You don’t have to pretend like you know what you’re doing.”

That shut him up.

You rolled your hips against his lap, slowly. His hands tightened on your waist and his breath stuttered. He was hard already. Of course he was. You could get a guy hard just by breathing. That’s how easy they were.

But your mind was somewhere else. You hated that it was, but it was. Because no matter how deep you sank into Keisuke’s lap, no matter how many compliments he whispered, you kept thinking about the way Toji looked at you downstairs. Like he already knew no one would ever compare.

And the worst part? He was right.

Toji wasn’t just the best you ever had. He was the only one who ever knew how to really handle you. You didn’t need someone who treated you like you were soft. You needed someone who matched your energy, who pushed back, who didn’t care how pretty you looked when you were pissed.

Keisuke couldn’t do that. He couldn’t even touch you like he meant it.

You pulled back suddenly and sat on the edge of the bed, fixing your dress. Keisuke looked dazed.

“You okay?” He asked again.

“I’m over it,” you said, flat.

“What?”

You stood up and checked your reflection in the mirror across the room. Your lip gloss was still perfect. Hair still fine. Not a smudge out of place. “I said I’m over it,” you repeated. “I’m bored. This isn’t fun.”

His face dropped. “Wait. What the hell?”

“You’re sweet,” you said, adjusting your straps. “Just not what I need.”

He stood up too fast. “Are you serious?”

You didn’t even look at him. “Dead serious.”

“You dragged me up here—.”

“You followed,” you cut in. “Don’t act like I begged you.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but you weren’t listening anymore. You already had your hand on the door.

“You should go,” you said, opening it. “Before I get really mean.”

And you left.

You didn’t go back downstairs right away. You leaned against the wall in the hallway, scrolling through your phone like nothing happened. You knew what this looked like. Your walk of shame. You didn’t care. You looked good. Your dress was still tight, still short. Your face was still beat. Your legs still smooth and crossed at the ankle.

Girls gave you looks when you passed. You smirked at them. Guys stared. You didn’t stop.

Back in the kitchen, the music was louder. The crowd had changed. More people. More chaos. You pushed past some drunk couple making out against the counter and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge.

Then you felt him again. That stupid pull. That tension that settled right between your shoulder blades when he was nearby.

You turned your head.

Toji was leaning against the same doorway. Alone this time. No girl on his arm. Just a red cup in hand and that smirk like he already knew what happened upstairs.

“Back so soon, ma?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes and took a sip of your water. “Don’t call me that.”

“You used to love it.”

“I used to love a lot of things that make me cringe now.”

He pushed off the doorframe and stepped closer, just slow enough to piss you off. “He couldn’t fuck you right, huh?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Your silence said more than words ever could.

Toji chuckled, low and smug. “You always come back.”

“I didn’t come back. I was never with you.”

“You were,” he said. “Every damn night for months.”

“And now I’m not.”

He stepped even closer, close enough that you had to tilt your chin to meet his eyes. “You miss me.”

You scoffed. “I miss the dick. That’s it.”

“That’s what I meant.”

You hated him for being right. You hated him for still smelling good. For standing too close. For looking at you like he’d already won and you hadn’t even decided if you were playing yet.

He brushed a strand of hair off your shoulder. You let him. “You know he can’t fuck you like I did.”

You tilted your head. “You think that’s all I care about?”

“It’s the only thing that ever shut you up.”

You laughed. “That’s rich coming from the man who used to blow my phone up every time I ghosted him.”

He smiled. “Yeah, but you always came back.”

Your breath hitched just slightly. Not enough for him to catch it. But you felt it. That slip. You looked at him, face unreadable. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“You don’t need to say it, ma. I see it all over your face.”

He leaned in, real close, and for a second you didn’t move.

Then you did. You stepped back.He raised a brow.

“Don’t get cocky,” you said. “I’m not letting you touch me again.”

He smiled. “You will.”

And then he walked away like he knew you were watching.

Because you were.

After that, you got blackout drunk.

You woke up with your makeup still on and your heels still by the door. The sun leaking through your blinds was too fucking loud. Your throat was dry, your phone was blowing up, and someone had definitely taken a video of you storming out of that frat house last night. You didn’t bother checking.

You didn’t dream, or maybe you did, but it didn’t matter. You’d been running on autopilot lately. Party. Pose. Play the part. The high never lasted but you liked the attention. You liked walking in and making bitches uncomfortable just by existing. You liked knowing everyone in the room either wanted you or wanted to be you.

But today your body felt sore in that useless way, tight from irritation, not pleasure. You dragged yourself to the bathroom and stared in the mirror. Lip gloss smudged. Lashes crooked. Still hot.

You tied your hair back, brushed your teeth, and threw on a tiny crop top with some low-rise jeans you knew would piss someone off. You were already twenty minutes late for brunch with the girls but you didn’t care. They’d wait.

You Ubered with sunglasses on and your phone in your hand. Two missed calls from Keisuke. One long text. You didn’t even read it. He was lucky you didn’t block him. He bored you.

The brunch spot was one of those places that tried too hard to be “cool.” Faux vintage decor. Neon signs. Pink drinks. Trendy for the sake of being trendy. You hated it. But it was perfect for pretending everything was fine.

You walked in and saw them right away.

Mika. Yuna. Reina. All overdressed like usual. All sipping mimosas like they weren’t already on their third round. They lit up when they saw you, like the star of the show had finally arrived.

“There she is,” Reina said, sliding over. “We were about to order for you.”

“Cute of you to think I trust your taste,” you said, sliding into the booth and taking Mika’s drink right out of her hand.

“You look hot,” Yuna said, chewing on ice.

“You look tired,” you said, sipping.

They laughed. You didn’t.

“So,” Mika said, leaning forward. “Spill. What the fuck happened last night?”

You raised a brow. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb. You left with Keisuke. Then came down looking like you wanted to commit murder. And then Toji started acting weird as hell. Did you see him? He looked like he was about to beat the shit out of someone.”

You kept sipping.

“I mean I know he’s always a little possessive,” Reina added, “but that was different. He looked pissed.”

“Maybe because she reminded him what he lost,” Yuna said with a smirk.

You glanced at her, slow. “You say that like I’m something you can lose.”

They giggled like they weren’t scared of you. Like you wouldn’t rip someone apart over a shared look. Maybe they’d gotten comfortable. Maybe you’d been too quiet lately.

You leaned back and stretched your arms, eyes scanning the table. Everyone was watching you. Waiting. You were the center, as usual. You gave them a lazy smile. “Toji’s just mad because I don’t care anymore.”

Mika tilted her head. “Are you sure?”

“Don’t be dumb,” you said. “I’ve moved on.”

Yuna raised her glass. “To moving on.”

You didn’t toast. You just downed the rest of the mimosa and flagged the waiter for another.

But deep down, your stomach tightened.

You hadn’t told them about the conversation in the kitchen. About how close Toji got. About the way he still smelled like heat and bad decisions. About the way your heart spiked when he called you ma, like nothing had changed. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That it was just habit. That he was just doing what he always did, getting in your head.

Still, your phone burned in your pocket. You hadn’t blocked his number. You hadn’t even muted it. If you opened your messages, you knew you’d see his name. But you didn’t. You weren’t giving him that.

“You should come out tonight,” Reina said, refilling her glass. “It’s that rooftop party downtown. Super exclusive.”

You yawned. “Sounds exhausting.”

“You love exclusive.”

“I love attention. That’s different.”

“We’ll get you drunk,” Mika said.

“I was drunk last night,” you replied. “Didn’t help.”

They all stared for a beat too long. Like they were waiting for the real you to show up. The one who didn’t care. The one who laughed at her own chaos and made it look good.

So you smiled. Sharp and fake. “Fine. I’ll come.” They cheered like you just saved the night. But inside, your thoughts were still stuck on one thing. One person.

You hated that he still got to you. Hated that your body remembered him. Hated that no one else had ever made you feel like a fire waiting to go off.

Keisuke was sweet. Soft. Predictable. Toji was everything he wasn’t. Messy. Toxic. Addictive. And you? You were built for destruction. Built to ruin and be ruined. You were never meant to be good. That’s why it worked. That’s why it still haunted you.

You felt your phone buzz in your back pocket. You pulled it out. One new message.

Toji (DNI)

You looked good last night. Like you wanted me to ruin you again.

You stared at the screen.

Mika leaned in. “Who is it?”

“No one,” you said, locking it.

But your hand stayed on the phone, thumb brushing the side like it might burn if you held it too long.

Reina noticed. “Is it him?”

“No.”

Yuna raised a brow. “Liar.” You didn’t say anything. The silence stretched long enough to feel real. Then you smiled again. “So what are we wearing tonight?”

And just like that, the topic shifted. Clothes. Nails. Boys. Plans.

But Toji was still there, in the pit of your stomach, in the back of your mind, in the memory of his hands and the way he said your name like it belonged to him.

You didn’t want to want him.

But you did.

And that was the problem.

The evening came around.

The rooftop was packed. Bodies everywhere. Loud music, soft lighting, girls taking videos they’d pretend not to care about tomorrow. It smelled like perfume and champagne and everyone trying too hard. You didn’t have to try. You just walked in and eyes turned. You didn’t bother hiding the smirk on your face. Let them stare. Let them talk. That’s what they were going to do either way.

You were in something light blue and tight. It hugged your body and stopped right below your ass. Thin straps. Chest out. Back bare. Soft makeup, lips glossed up, hair loose over your shoulders. You weren’t overdressed. Everyone else was just under you.

Mika spotted you first. She waved you over to the table they claimed near the DJ booth. Reina and Yuna were already there, drinks in hand, looking way too eager. You gave them a quick once-over and then sat without saying a word.

“You look insane,” Yuna said, her voice already two drinks in.

You sipped the champagne someone handed you and crossed your legs. “I know.”

Mika leaned forward. “He’s here.”

You didn’t even look up. “Okay?”

“You don’t care?”

You licked gloss from your bottom lip, slow. “Why would I?”

Reina looked past your shoulder toward the bar. “He’s with the frat guys. Hasn’t looked over yet.”

You didn’t turn. Didn’t flinch. You didn’t come for him. You didn’t need to. He’d come to you. He always did.

“Last night wasn’t enough for him?” Yuna asked, nudging you with her shoulder.

You raised a brow. “We talked.”

Mika snorted. “Yeah. We saw the way he was looking at you. That was not just talking.”

“He can look all he wants. That’s all he gets.”

But that wasn’t exactly true. Not with how your skin still burned from the way he said your name last night. Not with how your thighs clenched a little just remembering the way he stared at your mouth when you weren’t even speaking. You hadn’t touched. Hadn’t kissed. He didn’t even get close enough to breathe on you. But it lingered. Still did.

And he knew it.

Your phone buzzed. You didn’t check it. You already knew who it was.

Instead, you stood. “I’m getting a drink.”

“You still have one,” Reina said.

“Not cold enough.”

You didn’t wait for a reply. You walked across the floor with your head high, hips swaying just enough. You didn’t look to see if he was watching. You didn’t need to. He was.

The bar was crowded. You pushed between two girls who were too busy giggling over their tabs to notice. The bartender moved toward you immediately.

“Vodka soda. Tall. No lime.” You said it clean. Loud enough to be heard. Calm enough to sound bored. It took exactly three seconds before a shadow slid up beside you.

“Blue looks good on you.”

You turned your head slightly. “Toji.”

He smirked. “Didn’t think you’d show.”

“I didn’t show for you.”

“No?”

“Get over yourself.”

He looked at you like he wanted to laugh. “Can’t. You made sure of that.”

You grabbed your drink when it came, took a slow sip, eyes still on his. He looked good. White tee. Jeans slung low on his hips. Chain against his skin. Hair messy like he didn’t even try. He probably didn’t. He didn’t have to.

“You ignoring my texts now?” He asked.

“You bored?”

He stepped in closer. “You’re the one who said never again. Just making sure you meant it.”

You leaned against the bar, your dress tightening at the waist as you shifted. “I did.”

His eyes dropped once, quick, sharp, then dragged back up to your mouth. “Shame. You’re still acting like mine.”

You laughed once, low and bitchy. “You wish.”

He took another step forward. Not touching. But close enough that your bare arm almost brushed his chest. “If I wanted to fuck you, I’d already have you in the back of someone’s car right now.”

Your smile dropped a little. “If you were that good, you wouldn’t have to talk about it.

His grin spread, slow and cocky. “I don’t talk. I make you beg.”

You tilted your head. “That’s funny. I don’t remember begging.”

He leaned in, breath just barely brushing your cheek. “You remember how I made you cum.”

You didn’t blink. “You’re not special.”

“I’m the best you’ve had and you know it.”

“You were just loud,” you said, eyes sharp. “Loud doesn’t mean good.”

He chuckled under his breath. “You’re real bold for someone who couldn’t even walk straight the day after.”

You reached up and adjusted your strap. Letting his eyes follow your fingers for a second before saying, “You’re real confident for someone I won’t fuck again.”

Toji looked down at your drink, then back up. “You’re already soaking through that dress and I haven’t even touched you.”

You didn’t react. Not with your face. But your legs pressed tighter under the bar. You lifted your glass to your lips. “You know what’s sad?”

“What.”

“That you think talking to me like this is gonna change anything.”

He gave you that half smile again. “You saying no with your mouth but yes everywhere else.”

“You’ve been replaced, Toji.”

“By who? Your little tennis boyfriend?”

You blinked. “He doesn’t lie to me.”

“Because he doesn’t know you. Not like I do.”

“He doesn’t need to.”

Toji tilted his head. “So why are you wet right now, ma?”

Your jaw twitched. He saw it. You wanted to slap him. You wanted to drag him somewhere private and ruin him. You hated him. You hated how right he was.

He leaned in closer. “Let me remind you.”

“You’re not touching me.”

“I won’t need to.”

You shoved your drink into his chest. Not hard. Not gentle either.

“Keep dreaming,” you said.

And then you turned. Walked away. Didn’t look back.

But you felt him staring the whole way.

And you hated how bad you wanted him to follow.

You didn’t flinch until you made it back to the table. And even then, barely. You smoothed your dress, took a sip of champagne, ignored the questions already in Reina’s throat. Yuna opened her mouth to say something. You gave her a look. She shut it.

You didn’t talk about Toji.

You didn’t need to.

It was all over your face. The flush in your cheeks. The slight shake in your hand. The way your thighs were pressed together under the table like your body was betraying you in real time.

He still had you.

And you fucking loathed it.

You reached for your clutch, checking your lip gloss in the compact mirror, giving yourself something to do while you calmed down. You were fine. You were composed. Nothing happened. Just words. Just heat. No contact. No slip. Nothing.

Except your panties were damp and your breathing was shallow and your chest felt tight.

Whatever. You’d seen better. Had better.

Right?

The music shifted. Bass heavy. Something slow. Something slutty. Mika dragged you up to dance. You didn’t want to. You went anyway. You moved. You smiled. You kept it cute. You felt eyes on you the whole time.

Not just his. Everyone’s.

But especially his.

You didn’t turn. You made him watch.

And when his hand curled around your wrist from behind, you didn’t jump. Didn’t pull away. You just looked over your shoulder with a deadpan stare.

“Toji...”

“You walked away.”

“I tend to do that when someone’s full of shit.”

He pulled you off the floor like he didn’t care who was watching. Like he knew no one would stop him. You didn’t resist. You let him lead you down the stairs and out the back door into the night air. You were done pretending you didn’t want it.

But you weren’t gonna make it easy for him.

He backed you against the wall. Not touching. Just looking. Like he couldn’t believe he got you here. Like he was already picturing what he’d do next.

“You gonna hit me or kiss me?” You asked, breath even, voice sharp.

“I’m gonna make you say please.”

You snorted. “I’d rather choke.”

His eyes dropped to your mouth. “Say less.”

And then he kissed you. Rough. Hot. Like he’d been starving. His hands slid up your waist, slow, squeezing your hips like he missed the feel of your skin under his fingers. Your lips parted out of instinct. He took it as an invitation.

You kissed him back. Harder. Meaner. You bit his lip. He groaned against your mouth and shoved you harder into the wall. You liked the way he lost control for you. You liked knowing no one else got this side of him.

His hands slid up to your chest. You grabbed his wrists. “You think I’m easy?”

He looked you dead in the eyes. “No. I think you’re desperate.”

You slapped him.

His jaw tensed. He licked the corner of his mouth, eyes wild.

Then he kissed you again, deeper this time. His hand tangled in your hair. Your hands were on his chest, his neck, his chain. You yanked it once. He didn’t flinch.

“You miss this,” he said against your mouth.

“Shut up.”

“You gonna let me fuck you, ma?”

You stared at him, chest rising. “You really think you deserve it?”

“I know I do.”

He moved his hand under your dress. You grabbed it. Tight.

“No touching.”

He smiled. “That how it is?”

“You want it?” you asked, nails digging into his wrist. “Earn it.”

Toji stepped back. Breathing heavy. Eyes dark. His boner was obvious through his jeans. You made a point not to look. Not to give him the satisfaction.

You fixed your strap again. Patted your hair. Rolled your lip gloss back over your mouth.

“You’re not fucking me tonight.”

“I’m not?”

“No.”

“You’re gonna go back to your girls and act like I didn’t have you up against a wall?”

“You didn’t have shit.”

He stepped back toward you again. Close. Nose brushing yours. “You’ll be thinking about it all night.”

You stared him down. “I’ve got better things to do.”

“Like who?”

You leaned in, lips at his ear. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Then you walked off.

And you made sure your ass swayed with every step.

You didn’t even look back.

But you knew.

He was watching.

You didn’t go back to the table. You didn’t say a word.

Your hands were shaking. Not enough to be obvious, but enough that you noticed when you reached for the champagne and your fingers wrapped around the stem too tight. You hated it. You hated that he still had that much control. That just a kiss and a few words had you so wet it was distracting.

You kept your legs crossed under the table and your mouth shut. You didn’t want questions. You didn’t want looks. You wanted silence.

But Reina was already eyeing you.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t even say anything—”

“You don’t need to.”

You downed the rest of your drink and grabbed your phone, not even looking at them when you stood. “I’ll be back.”

You didn’t even wait for a response before you headed for the bathroom.

You didn’t lock the stall this time. You just leaned back against the wall, one heel popped up behind you, staring blankly at your reflection in the metal. You looked perfect. You always did. Dress still in place. Lip gloss still glossy. Hair still exactly how you styled it. No smudges. No signs of what just happened.

Except the way your chest was rising a little too fast.

Except the way your thighs were pressed too tightly together.

Except the way your mind kept replaying the look on his face when you walked away from him.

You pulled out your phone. No texts. Not yet.

You waited another minute.

Still nothing.

And then.

Toji

open the door

don’t make me knock again

ma

last warning

You rolled your eyes.

You waited.

Then you unlocked the stall and opened it.

He was already inside before you could say anything. Closed the door behind him. Locked it. Backed you up without a word.

You should’ve shoved him. Should’ve screamed. Should’ve said no again.

But you didn’t.

You let him crowd you. Let him box you in with his arms on either side of your head. Let him stare.

“Still pretending you don’t want it?” He asked, voice low.

You scoffed. “Still pretending you have a chance?”

“You’re not leaving this stall unless you say it.”

“Say what?”

“That you’re mine.”

You laughed in his face. “You really think I’m that easy?”

“I think your thighs are clenched like you’re about to cum just from me breathing on you.”

Your jaw tensed.

“You don’t know shit.”

He leaned in, mouth barely brushing your cheek. “Then why are you shaking?”

You hated him. You hated that he wasn’t wrong. You hated that his cologne was already in your nose and under your skin. You hated how his breath was warm on your neck and how he still smelled like weed and sweat and the best fuck you ever had.

“Don’t touch me,” you whispered.

“Say please.”

You met his eyes. “You’re disgusting.”

“You’re wet.”

You slapped his chest. He didn’t move.

“You wanna hit me again, ma?” he said, smiling like he loved it. “Go ahead. I can take it.”

“I should call my boyfriend.”

“Then do it.” He pulled out his phone and handed it to you. “Call him. Let him hear how wet you are right now.”

You didn’t take the phone.

“You’re sick.”

“No,” he said, dropping the phone back in his pocket. “I’m the best you’ve ever had.”You bit your lip. He stepped closer. His mouth brushed your ear. “You gonna lie to me again?”

You pushed at his chest. “I said don’t touch me.”

He didn’t listen. His hand went to your waist. Slow. Confident. He dragged it up your side, resting right under your ribs.

“You’re not even gonna stop me,” he murmured.

You stared him down. “You think you have that kind of pull?”

“I know I do.”

He leaned down and kissed your neck. Just once. Just enough to make your whole body stiffen.

“You’re not fucking me in this bathroom,” you said, voice low.

“Didn’t say I was,” he said, kissing lower. “I’m just reminding you who this pussy belongs to.”

You gasped and slapped him again. Harder.

His hand shot out and grabbed your wrist.

You didn’t pull away.

He stared at you. Inches away. Breathing heavy. Fingers tight around your wrist.

“I’ll stop,” he said, voice calm, too calm. “All you gotta do is tell me you don’t want it.”

You didn’t say anything.

You couldn’t.

Your whole body was buzzing. Your legs were shaking. Your panties were ruined. And you still weren’t giving in. Not yet. Not fully.

But god, you wanted to.

He let your wrist go.

And stepped back.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Didn’t think so.”

You hated him.

You hated yourself more.

You should’ve left.

You should’ve shoved him off and stormed out with your head high and your thighs clenched like it didn’t affect you. Like you weren’t dripping for him. Like you didn’t need his mouth on you, his hands, his voice. But you didn’t move. You just stared him down, breathing too hard, your pride barely holding together.

Toji leaned in, real fucking slow, eyes locked on yours like he was waiting.

“You gonna keep running that mouth,” he said, voice low, “or you gonna be a good girl and say it?”

Your jaw clenched.

He grinned. “What, ma? You scared of telling the truth?”

“I don’t beg,” you snapped.

He laughed once under his breath and stepped into you. His hand found your thigh again. Palm warm, fingers rough. He didn’t even try to tease this time. Just dragged your panties to the side and slid a thick finger through your folds like he owned it.

You sucked in a breath.

“Fuck,” he muttered, licking his lips. “You’re soaked.”

“Don’t—.” You whispered, but your voice cracked.

He kissed your neck. Just once. Just enough. His voice dropped.

“Say it.”

“No.”

His thumb circled your clit. Your hips jerked.

“Say it.”

You swallowed.

“You think I don’t know how to break you?” He whispered.

His fingers moved slow. Deep. Two inside you now. Curling just right. Your legs shook.

“You think I don’t remember every spot that makes you melt?”

You tried to keep your face blank. You really did. But your body had already betrayed you. Your head was tipped back. Your chest was rising too fast. Your thighs were parting just a little wider. You felt him smile against your skin.

“You gonna say it, ma,” he murmured, tongue flicking the shell of your ear. “Or you want me to stop?”

He slowed his fingers to a crawl.

You whimpered.

“I hate you,” you breathed.

His thumb paused.

“Try again.”

You snapped. “Fine—fuck—Toji—just—please.”

His eyes locked on yours. “Say it.”

You blinked, chest tight. “I want it.”

“What do you want?”

You were absolutely going to put a bullet in your head.

“You.”

He raised a brow. “Say it right.”

You groaned, voice cracking. “I want you.”

He pressed a kiss to your jaw, then your cheek, then your lips. Soft. Like a reward. Then his hand picked up pace, fucking you with his fingers like he knew exactly how close you were.

“Good girl.”

You moaned.

“Louder.”

You grabbed his shoulder. “Fuck—Toji—don’t stop—.”

He chuckled against your throat. “Not planning to.”

His thumb pressed tight circles against your clit, his fingers fucking into you harder, faster. You were panting now, grinding against his hand, body betraying you completely.

“Say it again.”

“Toji—!”

“Say you missed it.”

“I missed it,” you gasped, hips jerking. “I fucking missed it.”

He kissed you this time, deep, hot, tongue sliding against yours while he fingered you through it. You came, with a whimper in his mouth, body convulsing, thighs squeezing his wrist, his hand not stopping until you were twitching and pushing him back.

He pulled his fingers out, smirking. Slick coating them all the way down to his knuckles.

“Told you you’d cave.”

You didn’t answer.

You were too busy catching your breath, dress wrinkled, panties ruined, and hate burning behind your eyes.

He licked his fingers slow. “Still taste the same.”

You wanted to slap him again.

Instead, you fixed your dress, yanked the door open, and walked out first.

Not a single word.

But he was smiling when he followed.

Like he already won.

[slowdrawl]

Shear Luck | joel miller x f!reader | [masterlist] {18+ minors DNI}

|part 2| Smoke and Smirnoff | 2.8k words|

Joel Miller, a single dad, came into your salon for a haircut, but he never expected to leave with a crush. Sarah's alive, tension's are high, the jokes are bad and the chemistry is crazy!

Fluff ?✔️ Slow burn? ✔️ Age gap? ✔️ Puns? ✔️

sprinkle in a little bit of smut 🔥 and dbf!joel energy and BOOM. You got this sweet-feel good fic.

“You open the fridge door, catching the pack of Smirnoff Ice in there—giving you a dumb idea and you snicker to yourself, giddy like a teen. ‘Hey—’ You grab the drinks and whip around, launching one in his direction ‘Get Iced big guy!’ He leans for it, stumbling a bit into the counter but catches the bottle and gives you an unimpressed look—but you can see the smile creeping underneath. ‘You’re a menace, know that?’ he says, twisting off the cap and getting down on one knee. ‘You ever act your age before?" |A/N I'm so happy that y'all liked the first part of this lil series, your comments and reblogs are giving me life!! (plz gimme more) This story is so cute and self-indulgent for me, I'm having an absolute blast with it!!! hope you like this next part! 🥹

Warnings: Mild language, flirting, fluff, puns, age gap (Joel's 38, reader's 23). eventual smut, alcohol use, YEARNING.

The backyard is chaos, with hordes of kids from the block running around, throwing bocce balls like baseballs, splashing in the pool, and screaming. The grill is hot, smoke filling the air, your dad stands beside it smiling big, Corona in one hand, spatula in the other; flipping burger after burger.

You and Kim are lounging in camping chairs next to the fence, half covered by the shade, with drinks in hand. You’ve been catching up on gossip, you—work, her—school, it's a good day, easy, warm. A playlist of stomp-and-holler, country, and as always—dad rock blaring through speakers, one of your dad's favourite mixes. The drinks are going down easy and nobody’s blown themselves up yet, so it’s wins all around—until your stomach drops.

Sarah sees you before he does, and she tugs his arm—hard, skipping towards you. You turn, locking your eyes with Kim, who gives you a questioning look, then moves her eyes up to them, quickly making the connection.

He looks even better in natural light, no fluorescence to dull the golden hue of his skin, his hair glows amber in the sunlight; which looks fuckin’ perfect still, thanks to you… and pomade.

He’s swapped his regular uniform of jeans and flannel for the BBQ equivalent, some kinda’ athletic shorts, and a very ‘dad-coded’’ button down. He looks a little like a tourist, but a hot tourist nonetheless.

“Oh no fucking way, that’s him isn’t it?” She says, jaw wide, then smiling at you.”God damn, girl, dilf is right! I’d hit it!”

“I knew he looked familiar. ‘Course he's fuckin’ buddies with my Dad—so cool—love this for me.” Your throat feels dry, stomach woozy, and it's not from the heat or the vodka.

Your eyes connect from across the yard—shifty like you don’t know if you should act like strangers or not, Sarah would blow that one pretty quickly anyway.

You slam what's left of your drink and brace for impact, they’re closing in quick, and you try to shake it off and act cool.

“Hey, trouble,” he says, his smile too fuckin’ smug right now, “told you you’d figure it out,”

“If you wanted to see me outside of the shop you could have just asked, Joel, didn't need to stalk me to my damn house,” you bite, holding back your own grin, head shaking in disbelief.

You reach for Sarah, tugging her close and covering her ears, looking up at him to say “un-fuckin-believable!” just loud enough for her not to hear you.

He just smiles, shit-eating grin on his face like he’s proud, like he's won some game—Sarah pipes up, “Dad you’re staring again, weirdo, stop flirting.”

Joel looks down at her and glares, dad mode setting in, “go play with the other kids, brat.” but he can’t keep his face straight. He's smiling through harsh words, face flushing “Beat it before I throw you in the pool.” Sarah just lets out a huff, rolls her eyes at him, and walks towards a group of girls sitting on the edge of the pool.

“So you’re the old guy.” Kim chimes, “I’m Kim,” she holds her hand out towards him and you shoot her a death glare.

That little bitch!

Joel’s expression falters for a second, but he still gives Kim a firm handshake before shifting his gaze to yours, “Old guy? Damn, kid. I’m hurt.” he says, pouting and clutching his chest. He looks back to Kim, “What's she been sayin’ bout’ me? I bet you she's lyin’.”

Kim stares back at you, half-apology, half-mischief in her eyes. “Not, tellin', don’t think she was lying though.” She lifts her hand to her mouth, motioning like she's zipping it closed and throwing the key away.

The backyard continues to hum, more neighbors trickling in as the afternoon goes on. Kids shrieking, playlist pumping out Eagles and Van Halen like it's a legal requirement, firecrackers popping. You’re perched on the edge of your camping chair, Kim’s smirking beside you, and Joel’s standing there, with—you guessed it, his hands in his fucking pockets again. He’s looking far too good in the afternoon light, thanks to you and your expert eye for detail when it comes to men’s grooming. Sarah’s playing marco polo in the pool with her new crew, leaving the three of you sitting in this weird little triangle of tension and teasing.

Eventually, your dad wanders over, Corona sweating in one hand, spatula waving like a conductor in the other. He takes a good look at Joel, squinting and tilting his head. “Who did that to your hair man? Shoulda’ let her do it,” he points to you with his beer, “looks like someone let Edward Scissorhands loose on you, bet she could fix you up.”

Joel's eyebrows shoot up, he rubs the back of his neck, a nervous tic you’ve already clocked as his tell. “That so? Maybe I should try her out, huh?” His eyes dart to you, quickly, like he’s trying to test the waters.

You choke on your beer laughing, leaning forward in your chair, tipping it on the front feet.

Yeah, no fuckin way I'm letting that slide, fat chance.

“Ouch, thanks for that one, asshole. Guess we can call me Eddie from now on.” You shoot your dad a mock glare before you swing it back to Joel, smirking. “You don’t gotta play dumb for me, Miller, let him have a taste of his own foot—I saved your life with that haircut and we all know it.”

Your dad blinks, looking at you dumbfounded while the gears turn in his hopp-filled brain.

“Wait, you cut it? How the hell do y’all know each other?” he asks.

“So, there's this thing about being a hairdresser, dad. You sometimes cut strangers' hair,” it comes out real cocky, “and then eventually, they stop being strangers and turn into clients, and sometimes they happen to be buddies with you!” You explain it real slow, like he's six—just to piss him off.

“You’re a fuckin’ smart ass, kid. When did this happen?” his eyebrows are raised, facing Joel instead of you now.

“Went in a few weeks back, then the other day, Sarah’s been on my ass for looking like a lumberjack, and your kid’s pretty good with the scissors, didn’t lose an ear or nothin’!”

“Pretty good,” you mock his drawl, leaning in a bit closer so your knee is brushing his shin, “I made you go from looking like someone got at you with a weed-wacker, to a pretty solid candidate for a GQ cover. You’re fuckin’ welcome, by the way.

Kim’s vibrating with laughter in her chair, slapping her knees, “She’s got you pegged, Joel, I knew she was right when she—” You elbow her in the stomach before she says another word. You don’t need her incriminating you further, especially not with your dad around.

Joel’s lips twitch into a smile, showing off that dumb dimple, “GQ huh? Damn, that's why you charged me double, huh?”

“Damn, straight! Deserved every fuckin’ penny too,” you fire back at him, grinning, “can’t forget that I also had to put up with your grumpy ass. Twice—and the sawdust, it's like you dunk your head in it for fun or something.”

Your dad laughs, thoroughly entertained by the banter between the two of you, having but a clue of how hard y'all are flirting right now.

Bless his heart, sweet, sweet, summer chi—dad.

“I shoulda’ told you to go see her sooner, maybe you’d ave a girlfriend by now.” He nudges Joel’s shoulder playfully, “Glad you found the best in town! She’s been doin’ my hair since she was old enough to hold scissors without cutting her knuckles off.”

Joel just nods, playing it cool, but his eyes linger on you too long. “Guess I got pretty lucky, maybe I’ll have to set up monthly appointments—get me that girl you’re talkin’ ‘bout.” His eyes dart to yours, stupid sparkle in them.

I hate this old man…I need him.

“Oh please do.” You say in a sickeningly sweet, mocking voice. “You keep coming in every three weeks and I’ll be able to save enough to open my own shop,” you wink, “plus, I think Sarah’d appreciate not being seen with a raggamuffin at school drop-off.”

Your dad keeps laughing, slapping his hand on Joel’s shoulder. “Yeah man, better keep her on speed dial. She’s got magic hands!” He wanders back to the grill, that's smoking considerably more now.

“Magic hands, huh?” Joel mutters, low enough that only you and Kim can catch it, his drawl teasing you.

You lean into him, real close smirking, “Don’t you remember purring when I washed your hair? Don’t act like you didn’t already know I know how to use em’.”

Kim giggles, dramatically fanning herself before standing up and announcing, “I’m gonna leave you kids alone, feels like I’m… interrupting.” She gives you a cheeky grin like she's saying ‘get it, girl’. “If you need me, I’ll be getting drunk, I came here to drink and eat, not be a third wheel.” She stumbles her way towards the house, not bothering to look back, saying “Don’t do anything I wouldn't do!

“Pretty low bar, Kimberley!” you holler back, and Joel snorts.

You watch her nearly break an ankle on a bocce ball as she looks over her shoulder, before half screaming, “Use protection!” Shaking her head all the way inside.

You cringe, checking to see if your dad noticed her—but he’s distracted, yelling at some kid to stop throwing watermelon rinds in the pool. Your hand meets your face in embarrassment, feeling the heat creep to it before you get the courage to look at Joel again. When you do he's still grinning like an idiot.

“Sorry they’re—”

“Fun!.” He interrupts you. You can see a faint blush crawling up his neck and he reaches for his nape again.

“Yup… that's a word for it.”

You slouch back in your chair and Joel offers to grab you another drink, which you immediately accept. You watch as he walks over to the pool to check on Sarah, who’s on some kid’s shoulders, playing chicken, curls slick to the side of her face, beaming with joy.

You find yourself staring, and then smiling as you watch him knock her off the kid’s shoulders, embarrassing her. When she resurfaces from the water, she splashes him and shakes her curls like a dog after a bath; spraying water damn near all the way over to you.

After a few minutes, he comes back, drinks in hand, pulling the chair next to you closer and settling in, “You’re trouble, you know that?” he says, voice dropping low, taking a swig of his beer.

“Only the good kind,” you say, nudging his knee with yours. “So, when you gonna stop playing coy and ask me out to dinner like a grown-up?” you ask him like it's no big deal, thanks to the booze in your blood.

He chuckles, shaking his head, molasses eyes shimmering in the waning sunlight.

“We’ll see darlin', be patient.”

The yard is still buzzing, a constant stream of burgers and hotdogs leaving the grill, it feels like the whole town has been through to eat dinner tonight; you’re surprised Dad hasn't had to change the propane tank. The sun starts to dip down low, casting warm shadows over the grass. You and Joel sit, drinking, knees touching, watching the sunset slowly getting painted like some instructional Bob Ross scene—happy little streaks of pink and gold filling the Austin sky.

You’re half-buzzed, feeling bold enough to push, so you do. “Patience huh? Pretty rich coming from a man who fidgets as much as you.” You point at his hand, tapping away at the beer bottle, and then you place your hand to stop the absentminded shaking of his knee.

“Hey now,” he looks at you, furrowing his brows and pouting. “Gotta keep em’ busy, idle hands, trouble—you know the drill.”

“Oh yeah, I’m the trouble expert here, we established that,” you giggle. A young boy sprints through the narrow gap between you two, holding a sparkler, damn near lighting one of you on fire as he does, causing you both to flinch. “Fuckin’ warzone out here!”

He chuckles, looking toward the pool to find Sarah, she's wrapped up in a towel. Hanging with a gaggle of kids her age blowing bubbles, all with popsicle mustaches—red 40 for sure.

“Is anyone even running this circus at this point?” you ask.

Joel points to your dad, who’s on hour four of standing at the grill, batting a kid's hand away from grabbing a hotdog with his bare hands off the grates. “Don’t think so, might need a new ringleader.”

“I vote you do it, you even look the part, I'm sure we could find one of those stupid jackets!” you wheeze rocking your chair, “Can picture it perfectly, top hat n’ everything.”

Joel just laughs, shaking his head at the ground and smiling, muttering a low “stupid fuckin’ jokes.”

You both just watch the chaos for a minute before you groan, “Okay circus master, need a top-up, wanna be a hero?” You flip your empty beer bottle upside down, looking at him for an answer, “Or are you scared to leave me out here unsupervised?”

“Scared of you, maybe,” he drawls, standing with a groan, “c’mon let’s go raid the stash, less likely to get a sparkler in the eye inside.” You jump up off the chair, smoothing out your dress as you do. He whips his head towards the house and grabs you by the shoulder, close enough for you to smell that familiar pine, mixed with a hint of beer from his breath. “Lead the way.”

You both stumble towards the house. Keeping your eyes on the ground, avoiding the full water balloons, half-full paper cups, and kids' toys that have made a minefield out of the yard as you do. His arm falls from your shoulders and he hesitates—hovering right at the small of your back, you scan the yard and find Kim, with a group of old friends from high school, giving you a nod and a wink as you walk into the kitchen.

You click the door shut, sighing as the sweet relief of air-conditioning hits you, noticing the way your ears are ringing in the silence, it's been a long day of screaming kids and Springsteen.

You open the fridge door, catching the pack of Smirnoff ice in there—giving you a dumb idea and you snicker to yourself, giddy like a teen. “Hey—” You grab the drinks and whip around, launching one in his direction “Get Iced big guy!”

He leans for it, stumbling a bit into the counter but catches the bottle and gives you an unimpressed look—but you can see the smile creeping underneath.

“You’re a menace, know that?” he says, twisting off the cap and getting down on one knee. “You ever act your age before?” You mimic his movements, getting down on the floor in front of him yourself, eyes gleaming as you clink his bottle with yours.

“Nope, not once, now drink up, cowboy!” you say, slamming down the drink. You keep eye contact as you chug down the sweet cooler, both trying desperately not to laugh—Smirnoff out the nose is bad fuckin’ news. Joel finishes his first, shaking his head at you, but the lines at the corner of his eyes don’t lie. You finish yours right after him, hiccuping as you do so.

You both kneel there for a second, laughing so hard there are tears in your eyes and he reaches forward—hand cupping your cheek, wiping away one of your tears. Your heart barely has a beat to skip, he yanks you towards him, lips pressing against yours. You’re shocked, a startled gasp swallowed by the kiss, you push back towards him—desperate, hungry, reaching your free hand up to his hair, tugging. He tastes like fruit and hops, kissing you like he’s been holding it in all damn day. It was quick, chaotic, all teeth and —till it was interrupted by the swinging of the back door.

“Shit.” You both say it at the same time.

You lurch back from each other, still on one knee with your empty bottles in hand, you get up off the floor quickly as a feet tap and a voice chimes.

“Dad! Fireworks! They’re starting!” Sarah cuts through as you stifle a laugh, cheeks on fire. Her curls are still wet, plastered to her face, and thankfully she's oblivious to the scene. “C’mon, can’t miss them!”

Joel runs a hand through his hair, neck pink, face flustered. “Yeah, yeah, I’m on my way, brat.”

She grabs both of your arms and tugs you toward the yard.

Your dad’s voice booms through the crowd “Fireworks people! Let's get a move on!” and you stumble towards the crowd, heart hammering, lips still tingling—left wondering how the hell you’re supposed to keep playing it casual now.

[sslizards]

I wish my ex would leave me alone, I’ve never felt worse then when I was with him. I felt so mentally drained and near the end was really contemplating on suicide. I honestly didn’t know how to end the relationship I felt so alone, and I was scared all my friends would hate me if we broke up being even more alone, I am horrible at confrontation I just freeze up I can’t talk and I just start crying.

I felt like an object just there for sex, made to feel bad if I didn’t want to do stuff, I remember crying during sex, I remember one time I cried the whole time without him noticing and at the end I just freaked out couldn’t stop crying couldn’t talk I was so sad and he just yelled at me “ what is wrong with you” . Calling me dumb and degrading me as if he thought he was superior “I could have anyone I want”. I hated him before the allegations, even if I didn’t believe them I still hate him, he’s a fucking creep, he’s grabbed my friends ass in front of me I’ve heard other people talk about how he’s groped them, he is not kind in nature and truly feel as if he doesn’t see woman as people. Made me feel so horrible about myself made me feel so dumb and worthless.

He told me I didn’t need my medication for adhd that I simply just needed to focus harder. I don’t think he can comprehend how other people’s brains can work differently then his, how he made me feel I was weird and didn’t act normal. I was always to scared to talk about my autism, I finally told him at some point in hopes that he would understand the way I was better, I’m overwhelmed so easily and I felt so suffocated by him .He would get mad at me if I just wanted a night alone, I felt I wasn’t even functioning at a point I felt so drained all the time.

He would get mad if i wanted to hangout with my friends, and was upset I stopped inviting him to hangout with my friend’s because he would just talk about them behind my back or make fun of them. I recall a day I called one of my friends a girl, and he mocked me “I take hormones and have boobs now that makes me a girl”.

At some point I told my best friend about my relationship, my best friend told me about a situation that happened a while ago they where hanging out in a group and how my best friend brought his friend along, and my ex just met the friend and was telling him how he was only with me because he felt bad for me. I confronted him about saying this about me and just accused my best friend of just wanting to sleep with me and that he was making it up to get in my pants, it wasn’t out of character for him ,he’s talked behind my back before, and my best friend he has a boyfriend. It started getting really bad and I would only see my friends every few months, I felt very isolated.

I’ve blocked him, he keeps making new accounts and harassing me. The first time I broke up with him he would sleep at the gas station in his car by my house, he has just come in my house without permission before and I’ve been scared. I wish he would realize how much I hate him that he literally scares me, that all I feel when he makes a new account to try and contact me all I feel is anxiety.

It makes me upset that he is making my favorite game about him, all his accounts now having pictures from the game, taking all the music from my playlist and making one of all the stuff from mine and using photos of me on his spotify, I think it’s just a pathetic attempt to make me interested in him, all it does is make me annoyed.

LEAVE ME ALONE!

I’d really like to start posting on here again but the thought of him stalking my page makes me to uncomfortable to do so, I hope things are different in the future.