#this was supposed to be part 2 of a set of drawings but i think it's funnier to post this on its own with zero context lmao

[rafesapologist]

strangers ─ drew starkey; ch. 2

summary: getting casted on outer banks threw you into overnight stardom, and an unforeseeable off-screen romance with one of hollywood's newest and biggest heartthrobs.

warnings: unedited, tension (kind of)

author's note: the info in this story about drew is mostly made up!! some of these scenarios and 'facts' are not things that have happened in real life, this is all merely part of the plot of the story.

As if the expectations of being cast onto one of the biggest shows wasn't enough, you were in for the surprise of your life when your manager called and told you that the directors wanted you to start spending time off-screen with your soon-to-be co-star.

"They think it'll make the chemistry on the show more believable if you guys get to know each other more in real life," Kendra sighed and you could practically hear her shrug over the phone.

"Okay?" You responded with a subtle temperament in your tone that went ignored by your manager, "I auditioned for the show, not to become some PR stunt for ratings." You rebutted firmly, crossing your arms as if it made your testament any more earnest.

"Not PR, just friends. If you're gonna work with somebody for who knows how long, you need to at least be acquainted with them," she reaffirmed blithely and you could hear her light up another cigarette over the line, as if her raucous smoker's voice wasn't prominent enough already.

"Then what are we supposed to do that doesn't make it look like we're dating? Cause anything we do is gonna draw attention," you asked, pointing out the burning question in your mind. Drew was a rising star in Hollywood, and it didn’t take much for the media to latch onto any spark of gossip, let alone the proximity between two co-stars. You could already imagine the headlines—"New Romance on Set?" or "Chemistry Beyond the Screen?"—flashing across tabloids, fueling rumors neither of you had any control over. The mere thought made your stomach twist, but at the same time, you couldn't deny the pull of curiosity.

"I don’t know, just grab lunch, go over lines, anything normal," Kendra responded with a casualness that felt at odds with the gravity of the situation. "The point is to make you two comfortable around each other, not to stage some fake romance. But hey, if the chemistry works out in your favor, it's not a bad thing, right?" Her tone was light, but you could sense the subtle hint of persuasion.

You bit your lip, considering the reality of it. Drew—charming, talented, and devastatingly handsome—had already made an impression during the audition, and though his professional demeanor had been disarming, you couldn’t ignore the undercurrent of tension that had crackled between you both. But off-screen was a different game altogether, one where your vulnerability wasn’t masked by a script or camera angles. The idea of spending more time with him outside the confines of rehearsals left you feeling exposed in a way you weren’t sure you were ready for.

"Fine, I’ll do it. But if this turns into some media circus, you owe me a long vacation after this project is over," you finally agreed, letting out a deep breath that didn’t quite ease the knot in your chest.

Kendra laughed, the sound raspy yet full of amusement. "Deal. Besides, you never know what might happen. Worst-case scenario, you make a new friend, right?"

But even as you nodded, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this arrangement than just bonding over scripts and coffee. Drew's name carried weight, and being linked to him—professionally or otherwise—was bound to stir something bigger than either of you could control. And for a brief moment, you wondered if it was the career boost you’d always needed, or a risk you weren’t prepared to take.

"Alright," Kendra continued, breaking the silence. "I’ll set something up. Keep your schedule open for tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" You almost choked on the word, your pulse quickening at how soon this was all happening.

"Yep. No time like the present." Kendra’s voice was cheerful, almost too cheerful. "You’ve got this, kid. Trust me."

The call ended before you could protest, leaving you standing alone in your apartment, staring at your phone. You sighed, running a hand through your hair as the reality of tomorrow loomed over you. There was no backing out now, no escaping what was already set into motion.

You treaded over to your fridge, the soft hum of it the only sound in your quiet apartment. Pulling out the bottle of sangria you’d been saving for a special occasion—though right now felt more like an emergency—you unscrewed the cap with a small sigh of relief. The deep, ruby liquid swirled into the stemware glass, filling it halfway as you watched the dark red hues glisten under the dim kitchen light.

It wasn’t a celebration, not yet, but it was something—a moment to collect yourself before you plunged headfirst into whatever tomorrow would bring. You took a slow sip, letting the sweet, tangy taste linger on your tongue, savoring the small comfort it provided. The cool glass felt grounding in your hand, a quiet contrast to the chaos spinning in your mind.

With your hands pressed firmly against the cool countertop, your head hung low as you silently questioned how you ended up in this whirlwind of events. The soft buzz of your phone broke the stillness, pulling you back to reality. You glanced at the screen, and there it was—a text from Kendra.

"I talked to Drew’s managers, they said he suggested having lunch tomorrow at 2. I'll have a driver booked for you around 1:30."

Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest, the words sinking in as you scanned the message over and over. Tomorrow. Lunch. With Drew. And with little to no time to prepare, your anxiety came to life, flooding your mind with a thousand what-ifs.

You stood there, staring at your phone, trying to piece together how you were supposed to handle this. Drew seemed perfectly polite at the chemistry read—cordial even—but one-on-one? Would he be the same, or was that all just an act for the directors?

Your mind raced through every worst-case scenario like a rapid-fire slideshow: what if your mind went blank, and you sat there fumbling for words like an awkward mess? What if you somehow got food stuck in your teeth, making a fool of yourself in front of him? Or worse yet, what if he wasn’t the nice guy he seemed to be? What if Drew, the rising star with all that charisma on-screen, turned out to be an arrogant asshole in real life?

The swirling thoughts made your stomach churn as you stood in the quiet of your kitchen, your fingers gripping the counter tighter. It felt like the universe was pulling you into something far beyond your control, leaving you standing on the edge of tomorrow, unprepared and vulnerable.

You gulped down the remainder of your wine, feeling its chill cascade down your throat, sending a fleeting shiver through your chest. The slight buzz gave you a brief surge of energy, enough to momentarily push aside the weight of tomorrow’s uncertainty. In that brief spark of clarity, an idea—unusual but oddly practical—struck you.

Without hesitation, you darted over to the couch, grabbed your laptop, and flipped it open with renewed purpose. The glow of the screen illuminated your face as you typed in the familiar search bar. But your focus wavered for a moment as the homepage tempted you with random recommendations—cooking tutorials, music videos, travel vlogs—each one a distraction you almost fell for.

You shook your head, quickly typing in the search: Drew Starkey.

As soon as you hit enter, the screen flooded with clips of interviews, behind-the-scenes footage, and fan-made compilations of your soon-to-be co-star.. You clicked on the first interview, your heart picking up pace as his face appeared on screen. There he was—laughing, smiling, completely at ease in front of the camera. His presence was magnetic, the same kind of charm you witnessed during the chemistry read, but now you were analyzing him in a different light. You weren’t watching an actor—no, you were trying to get to know the man behind the character.

Each video you watched painted a picture of Drew’s personality, his mannerisms, the way he laughed mid-sentence, his casual but thoughtful way of answering questions. It was easy to see why he’d become such a rising star. He had that effortless charisma that made him seem approachable yet untouchable all at once.

As you watched one of his MTV interviews, something about a particular one shifted your perspective. Drew was talking about his methods for diving into a character—how he found little pieces of himself in each role and let that guide his performance. But it wasn’t just the professional insight that caught your attention; it was the casual, almost vulnerable tone of his voice as he spoke about his life beyond acting.

He talked about college, how he had balanced classes and part-time jobs, how uncertain he’d felt back then—just like anyone else trying to figure out their future. He laughed about the odd jobs he worked before landing his first big role, like waiting tables and doing temp work. It was such a stark contrast to the larger-than-life persona the media often painted around actors. In that moment, Drew wasn’t just the rising star you'd auditioned with; he was a regular guy who had worked hard to get where he was.

Suddenly, the looming anxiety of tomorrow’s lunch didn’t seem as unbearable. If anything, the idea of talking to him felt almost comforting. You realized he was probably more grounded than you gave him credit for—despite the fame, despite the rising spotlight. It was refreshing, and it put a part of your mind at ease. You’d been so caught up in the idea of him as a powerful actor, you hadn’t considered that, like you, he might just be navigating this career with a sense of uncertainty, too.

You closed the laptop and leaned back, exhaling a long breath. Maybe tomorrow would be more casual than you imagined—just two people talking, finding their rhythm, building that off-screen chemistry in the same way you had in front of the directors. For the first time, the thought of sitting across from Drew didn’t feel like a storm waiting to hit. Instead, it felt manageable. And maybe, just maybe, it would even be enjoyable.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

“Seriously, Kendra, what should I wear?” you huffed, your phone perched precariously on the edge of your bed as you sifted through the chaos of your closet. Fabrics of every texture spilled over your arms as you frantically flipped through hangers, eyeing each piece with increasing frustration. Nothing felt right. You didn’t want to come off like you’d tried too hard, but showing up looking too casual to lunch with Drew Starkey didn’t feel right either.

“It’s just lunch, Y/N,” Kendra's voice came through the phone, nonchalant and steady as usual. “Just dress like you normally would. No need to overthink it.”

You paused, clutching an emerald green blouse in one hand, a simple beige sundress in the other. “But what if I show up looking like a total slob, or worse, like I’m trying too hard? I don’t want him to think I’m one of those actors.”

Kendra sighed on the other end, and you could practically see her lighting another cigarette in her usual blasé way. “Look, you already met him. He’s seen you act. It’s not a pageant, it’s lunch. Just wear something you feel comfortable in and go be yourself. You’ve already impressed him—trust me, your wardrobe is the least of anyone’s concerns.”

She made it sound so simple, but the weight of it all still sat heavy on your chest. You weren’t just meeting up with Drew Starkey; you were being thrown into this situation with someone whose presence alone had enough gravity to throw you off balance. Even though he’d been polite, kind, even reassuring at the chemistry read, today felt different. More personal, more exposed. What if you said the wrong thing? Or worse, what if there was nothing to say at all?

Your eyes landed on the black sundress, a light fabric that flowed in all the right ways—comfortable, but still enough to make you feel put-together. You plucked it off the hanger and held it up in front of the mirror, examining its soft, understated elegance.

“Okay, okay, I think I found something,” you said, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “A sundress. It’s casual, right?”

“Perfect,” Kendra replied, almost as if she wasn’t really paying attention. “Remember, Y/N, this is supposed to be easy. You’re overthinking it. Just go, have lunch, talk. You’ve got nothing to prove to him—you’re already Maisy.”

You nodded at her words, trying to absorb her confidence. “Yeah, I know… You’re right. I’ll text you after, okay?”

“Good luck, kid. Don’t sweat it.”

The call ended, leaving you alone with your thoughts. The room suddenly felt too quiet, and you found yourself staring at the sundress again, smoothing out the wrinkles. Kendra was right—this wasn’t an audition, not anymore. It was just lunch. But the thought of being alone with Drew Starkey for more than five minutes made your stomach flutter with anticipation.

It was already 1:30 before you knew it, and the driver was waiting outside your apartment complex just as Kendra had promised. You stood in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection, the black sundress clinging to your figure in a way that made you feel both presentable and oddly exposed. The sun streamed in through the windows, casting golden streaks across the floor, but all you could feel was the thrum of nervous energy buzzing through your veins.

You took a deep breath, throwing your bag over your shoulder as you prepared to step out the door. But just as your hand touched the doorknob, an impulse hit you, a wild flicker of hesitation. One more thing, you thought, as if something—anything—could make the looming lunch with Drew feel more manageable.

Without a second thought, you turned back and hurried over to the fridge. The cold hum of the appliance felt almost calming as you pulled out a bottle of liquor, the glass cool beneath your fingers. You reached for the shot glass on the counter, the one you hadn’t touched in weeks, and quickly poured yourself a small measure of liquid courage.

With a swift motion you knocked back the shot. The bitter burn hit your throat like fire, and you winced as it traveled down your chest, leaving a searing heat in its wake. The burn did nothing to dull the nervous energy that coiled in your stomach, but it brought with it a flash of warmth—maybe just enough to get you out the door.

You set the glass down with a clink, exhaling sharply. Okay. Just get this over with.

The city noise hummed in the background as you locked the door behind you, your heels clicking softly against the floor as you descended the stairs. By the time you stepped outside, the black SUV was already waiting, sleek and ominous, like a portal to the unknown. The driver glanced up at you from his phone, offering a quick nod as you approached.

This was it. You were about to spend the next hour or so sitting across from Drew Starkey, face to face, with no script to guide you. Just conversation—easy, simple conversation. You repeated the words like a mantra in your mind as the driver opened the door for you, and you slid into the backseat.

The drive to the coffee shop felt like a blur, as though time had folded in on itself. Twenty minutes passed in what felt like mere moments, your mind a carousel of spiraling thoughts. Each new scenario played out in flashes—awkward silences, fumbling over your words, or worse, making a terrible first impression. You barely noticed the city streets, the buildings slipping by as your pulse quickened.

Before you knew it, the car slowed to a stop. You glanced out the window and felt a jolt in your chest—the café stood before you, quaint and modern with wide, floor-to-ceiling windows that seemed to strip away all your defenses. You could already imagine Drew inside, perhaps sipping on his coffee, glancing up to see you through the glass. The thought made your stomach flip.

Your driver stepped out and came around to open the door for you, his gentle nod barely registering as you mumbled a quiet "thank you" and handed him a tip. As your feet touched the ground, the sunlight was warmer than you'd anticipated, but it did nothing to chase away the cold wave of anxiety coursing through your veins.

You stood there for a moment, frozen in place as you stared at the entrance of the shop. The cheerful chatter and soft clinking of cups inside only heightened your nerves. You could feel your heart beating harder, faster, each step toward the door a battle against your own hesitation.

He’s just a person, you reminded yourself, trying to quell the panic rising in your throat. But it didn’t feel that simple. Drew Starkey, with his effortless charm and natural presence, was far from just a person in your eyes. This wasn’t a screen test or a scripted scene; this was real, and the vulnerability of it all felt like stepping into a spotlight with no lines to recite.

Taking a deep breath, you smoothed down the front of your dress, squaring your shoulders as you approached the door. The reflection in the glass showed a version of yourself that seemed far more composed than you felt inside.

The moment you stepped through the door, it hit you—a wave of vulnerability like never before. The cozy warmth of the café felt stifling, too intimate, too exposing. Every eye seemed like it could be on you, but none more so than the one pair you hadn’t yet found. Your heart thudded in your chest, your breath quickened as your gaze darted around the room, desperate for a familiar face.

Heat flooded your cheeks, and you prayed Drew hadn’t noticed your awkward search. You fidgeted with your purse, shifting it from one shoulder to the other in a vain attempt to appear more casual, less like a deer caught in headlights. Your arms instinctively crossed in front of you, a small shield against the sudden discomfort that surged through your veins.

Your eyes swept over the café, landing on tables filled with groups of friends, couples huddled in cozy corners, and lone patrons with their noses in books or laptops. And then—thank God—there he was. A tall figure with broad shoulders, his back to the door, sitting by the window.

Drew.

Relief rushed through you, as if finding him tethered you back to reality. He was alone, his posture relaxed, almost casual, as if this was just another day for him. You took a slow breath, allowing yourself a second to gather what remained of your composure. The butterflies in your stomach still fluttered, but at least now you had a destination, a focus that made the swirling anxieties just a little more bearable.

With as much confidence as you could muster, you made your way toward him, every step feeling like it stretched on forever.

"Hi," you greeted softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you approached the table. You pulled out the chair opposite him, your nerves fluttering beneath your skin. "Thanks for taking the time to do this. I know you're probably super busy." The words left your lips with a quiet, breathy chuckle, an attempt to mask the awkwardness that clung to you like a shadow.

Drew looked up from his coffee, his eyes warm and inviting, as if to assure you that there was no need for nerves. A soft smile tugged at his lips, and he shook his head. "Actually, I have this week off before we start filming season 4," he explained with an easy laugh, his thumbs tracing the rim of his cup absentmindedly. "I needed to get out of the house anyway."

You laughed softly at his comment, reaching for one of the menus to give yourself a brief moment of reprieve from his gaze. Drew straightened in his chair, the subtle movement drawing your attention just before he cleared his throat.

“So, how did you get into acting?” His question was direct, almost startlingly so, his eyes fixed on you in a way that made you feel suddenly seen—too seen. You weren’t used to such earnestness from someone you'd only just met, but in a way, it was a relief. At least he wasn’t skirting around small talk.

You shifted in your seat, caught off guard by his boldness, but grateful all the same. "Uh, well..." You started, your fingers tightening around the menu. "I was in college for a while, studying psychology, but..." You hesitated, glancing down as if the table could offer some solace. Opening up so quickly wasn’t something you were accustomed to, especially with someone like him. Still, there was something disarming in the way he listened, waiting for you to continue.

"It didn’t feel right," you confessed quietly, your voice softening. "I always had this dream of becoming an actress, ever since I was a kid. So, eventually, I just... dropped out and moved to L.A." You let the words hang there, reluctant but honest. You weren’t sure why you felt the need to lay your cards on the table like this, but it seemed to happen naturally with him in that moment.

Drew’s gaze never wavered from you, his attention unwavering in a way that both flattered and unnerved you. You weren’t used to being the center of someone’s focus like this, especially not someone with his kind of presence. But his expression was kind, reassuring even, and you found some comfort in that.

“There’s no shame in that,” he said with a gentle shrug, his voice warm and understanding. “I took acting in college, but if I had done anything else, I probably would’ve left, too.”

His words brought a flicker of relief to your chest, causing you to sit up a bit straighter. You tilted your head slightly, your eyes tracing over his face, searching for any trace of insincerity but finding none.

“Really?” you asked, a light chuckle escaping your lips. “I don’t think my school even offered that.” You tugged at your bottom lip for a moment, a nervous habit you hadn’t realized you were doing until now. “Besides, I couldn’t have done that anyway. I only went to school because my parents wanted me to. I was basically just trying to make them proud.”

Your confession came out more candidly than you intended, but in the quiet of the café and under Drew’s steady gaze, it felt natural to share. For a moment, you expected him to change the subject, to keep things surface-level, but instead, he continued to pry.

"How did they feel when you came to L.A. to act?"

Your eyes widened slightly at his question, taken aback by his curiosity. It was such a personal, almost mundane topic, yet he was genuinely interested. "They were… wary about it," you replied, your gaze drifting down to the table as you absently picked at your nails. "But they told me they’d support whatever I wanted to do. Though, I’m pretty sure they thought I wouldn’t make it very far, deep down."

You laughed softly, the sound half-hearted, as if trying to ease the seriousness of your own words. You didn’t want to come off as too open or vulnerable so soon, but there was something about his attention that made it difficult to hold back.

Drew didn’t look away. His focus on you never wavered, the intensity of his gaze somehow soft yet unrelenting, making you feel both exposed and heard.

"That’s tough," he murmured, his voice low and reflective. "It’s hard enough chasing something you love, but doing it without knowing if the people who matter most really believe in you… that’s even harder."

His words surprised you. Most people would brush off a confession like that or try to lighten the mood, but Drew leaned in, showing a depth of understanding that made you pause. You glanced back up at him, searching his expression. He wasn’t offering empty sympathy. It was like he genuinely got it.

“Yeah,” you responded quietly, nodding in agreement, “I guess I’ve always had that in the back of my mind, like this little voice telling me I need to prove something.” You hesitated, wondering if you should go deeper, but there was something safe in the atmosphere between you two. “I think that’s why landing this role means so much. It’s not just for me—it’s to show them I wasn’t wrong for following my gut.”

A silence settled between you both after that, but it wasn’t awkward. It felt purposeful, like both of you were letting the weight of your words sink in.

Drew gave a small smile, one that seemed to reach his eyes, softening the intensity of his stare. "Well, I think you’ve already proven that. You nailed the audition, and now here we are. You’re here for a reason."

For a moment, the two of you sat there, enduring a silence that wasn’t awkward, but the tension felt almost suffocating. Drew's gaze lingered on you, so intense that it felt like it was burning through you. Heat rose to your cheeks as his blue eyes seemed to analyze every inch of your face. You wondered if he was searching for flaws, or maybe even finding them. You felt small under his stare, like you wanted to say something to break the tension, but the words wouldn’t come. You were simply speechless under his trance.

"Have you ever taken a role like this?" Drew suddenly asked, breaking the silence as he took a sip of his coffee.

You blinked, momentarily thrown off by the question. "What do you mean?"

"Like playing a love interest," he clarified, his voice calm, almost too casual for the depth of his question. "Have you done that before?"

Your brows furrowed slightly as you processed his words, feeling the weight of them sink in. "No, not really," you replied slowly, your voice quiet but steady. "I’ve done smaller roles, but nothing like this. It’s… new for me."

Drew’s eyes softened, his expression shifting from curiosity to understanding. He nodded as if he expected that answer, but the way he watched you made it clear he wasn’t just asking about acting. There was something deeper to the question, a vulnerability you couldn’t quite place.

"That’s interesting," he said, leaning back in his chair, his gaze never leaving you. "Because it doesn’t seem like it. You handle it like a natural."

His words caught you off guard, the compliment landing heavier than you anticipated. For a second, you weren’t sure if he was still talking about the role or about something else entirely. The air between you thickened again, the tension suffocating, though not entirely uncomfortable. It was the kind of tension that made your heart race, the kind that left you wondering where the line between professional and personal blurred.

"Thanks," you murmured, trying to shake off the growing heat in your chest. You didn’t trust yourself to say more. You could still feel his eyes on you, studying your reaction, and it made your pulse quicken.

“It can be intimidating at first,” he admitted, his tone reassuring as he leaned slightly forward, elbows resting on the table. There was a sincerity in his voice that made you feel at ease, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. “But I’ll make sure you’re always comfortable. They can write some pretty crazy plot lines in there, so just let me know if you ever feel uncomfortable doing a scene. I’ll talk to Jonah if I have to.”

His words hit you suddenly, unexpected in their warmth and assertiveness. You paused, lips pursed in contemplation, trying to grasp the significance of his commitment to protect you from any overwhelming scenes. The air between you seemed to thicken with unspoken understanding as you wondered if this was the kind of guy he was towards everyone—protective and kind—or if this consideration was reserved solely for you, his co-star.

Regardless of the reason, you felt flattered, a soft blush creeping to your cheeks as a sense of security enveloped you, wrapping around you like a soft blanket. His presence across the table offered a calming reassurance that you hadn’t anticipated.

“Oh, well thank you,” you finally replied, sincerity coloring your voice. “Nobody has ever done that for me.”

There was a moment of silence, and in it, you could see a flicker of understanding pass between you—a shared acknowledgment of what was ahead. His blue eyes held yours with an intensity that made your heart race, as if he was searching for something deeper within you.

“It’s important,” he said softly, his tone earnest. “Acting can be raw and vulnerable. It’s easy to get lost in it all, especially when the emotions run high. I just want to make sure you feel safe.”

You nodded, a swirl of emotions churning within you as you searched for the right words. The moment felt fragile, hanging delicately in the air between you, and you didn’t want to shatter it with any misstep. Yet, the intensity of his demeanor made you feel small and nervous, as if the weight of his gaze was both exhilarating and suffocating.

Breathless, you sat across from him, the man who was still practically a stranger, yet in this moment, it felt as if you had known him for years. There was a strange familiarity in the way he looked at you, a connection that ran deeper than surface-level pleasantries.

“Thank you, Drew,” you finally managed to say, your voice softer than you intended, tinged with sincerity.

His smile widened, a warm and genuine expression that sent a flutter through your chest. “Of course. I’d be happy to do that for you,” he admitted, softly biting down on his bottom lip as his eyes flickered between yours and your lips, as if caught in a moment of contemplation. It was a fleeting look, but it made your heart race, igniting a mix of anticipation and curiosity within you.

“And I’m sure the rest of the cast will do the same. They’re great to work with,” he added, taking it upon himself to shift the mood, straightening his posture as if shedding the weight of the moment. You couldn’t help but feel a tinge of disappointment at the change in direction, yet a part of you understood the necessity of pacing yourself. Maybe diving too deep too soon was better left for later.

“Yeah, I’ve heard great things about them. I’m excited to meet them next,” you replied, attempting to mask your intrigue with enthusiasm.

Drew nodded, his expression brightening as he spoke about the cast. “You’ll love them. We all hang out outside of filming too. It’s like a little family, you know? Makes the long hours much more bearable.”

You giggled slightly at his comment, a lightness in your chest blooming as you absorbed the warmth of his enthusiasm. “Well, I’m honored to now be a part of it,” you joked back, a playful lilt in your voice.

Drew’s eyes sparkled at your smile, the corners of his lips curving upward in a genuine grin that seemed to radiate joy. It was as if your lightheartedness sparked something within him, and for a brief moment, the café around you faded into a backdrop.

“I think you’ll fit right in,” he replied, his tone sincere and warm, and you could sense the unspoken camaraderie beginning to take root between you. It felt refreshing, as if he was offering a piece of reassurance that made going ahead seem a little less daunting.

You felt a surge of confidence at the playfulness in his tone, fueling the conversation further. “And what makes you so sure of that?” you teased, a hint of mischief in your voice, as if daring him to justify his statement.

Drew’s tongue grazed across his teeth as he pondered your question, his blue eyes narrowing slightly in thought. The pause between you was brief, yet charged with a subtle tension, the kind that comes when two people are testing the boundaries of familiarity. His gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, you felt as though he could see right through you.

“You just seem like a likable person,” he replied, his voice soft yet confident, the corners of his mouth lifting in a sly smile. His tone was earnest, but there was something about the way he said it that made your pulse quicken—like he knew more than he was letting on, like he could already sense there was more to you than what lay on the surface.

You couldn’t help but smirk, leaning slightly forward as if to match his energy. “Is that your professional actor assessment?” you quipped, raising a brow, trying to mask the flutter in your chest with humor.

His grin widened as if your playful retort amused him. “Maybe,” he shrugged, leaning back in his chair, completely relaxed yet fully engaged. “Or maybe I’m just good at reading people.” His eyes glimmered with something more—an invitation, perhaps, to challenge him further.

Your heart raced slightly as you matched his stare, the game between you intensifying without either of you needing to acknowledge it. You felt emboldened by the easy rapport, as though you could push the conversation anywhere, and it would still feel natural, still flow effortlessly. There was something refreshing about it, and it left you wanting to keep the banter going just a little longer.

“Well, you could be wrong, you know,” you shot back, your voice lilting with amusement. “I could be the least likable person you’ve ever met, and you wouldn’t even know it yet.”

Drew chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Somehow, I seriously doubt that,” he said, his tone low and smooth, leaving just enough mystery in his words to keep you guessing.

“I guess we’ll have to see,” you shrugged nonchalantly, playing into the lighthearted banter. Drew’s eyes sparkled with amusement, as if your coy responses were entertaining him in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Despite the casual nature of the conversation, there was something in the air between you that made it feel deeper, more charged.

He leaned in slightly over the table, his body angled toward you, his presence suddenly filling the small space between you. “You know,” he began, his tone shifting to something a little more serious, yet still playful, “if we’re going to be working so closely together, why don’t we start hanging out more? It’ll make everything on-screen more believable.”

His suggestion hung in the air, sending your mind reeling. Your initial instinct was to question it—was this about the job or something more? His words seemed casual, but the way he looked at you now, with a sincerity that felt more personal than professional, told you there might be another layer to his offer.

You tilted your head slightly, trying to read him, your lips curling into a small smile. “You think so?” you asked, your voice soft but teasing, leaning just enough into the moment to keep things light, while still acknowledging the subtle tension between you.

Drew’s gaze didn’t falter. “Yeah,” he nodded, his smile widening. “The better we know each other, the easier it’ll be to build that connection on-screen.” He paused for a second, watching your reaction, and then added with a smirk, “Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to get to know you a little better off-screen too.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you couldn’t help but smile back, trying to keep your cool. You glanced down at your hands for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “I guess that makes sense,” you replied, your voice light and playful, though you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks.

The suggestion seemed innocent enough on the surface, but the underlying implications—the chance to spend more time together, to see if this chemistry extended beyond the lines you’d be reading—made your pulse race just a little faster.

“Alright,” you said, leaning back in your chair with a shrug, pretending to be more nonchalant than you felt. “Let’s give it a try. See if we can make this whole thing more believable.”

Drew smiled in agreement, his eyes lighting up with a warmth that seemed to settle the tension between you. He opened his mouth, about to say something more, but was interrupted by the soft buzz of his phone lighting up with a text. He glanced down at it briefly before shifting his attention back to you, his smile still faint but genuine.

“It’s been nice getting to know you a little more. I really enjoyed this,” he admitted, his voice sincere. You noticed his gaze flicker toward the window, as though he was checking for something or someone, before returning to you. “Why don’t I give you my number so we can plan something soon?”

Your heart skipped at the casual offer, but you maintained your composure, feeling the air between you both shift into something more comfortable, yet still charged with potential. “Yeah, that sounds good,” you replied with a small smile, trying to keep things light despite the slight flutter in your chest.

Drew pulled out his phone, tapping on the screen before handing it over to you. You quickly typed in your number, handing it back to him, your fingers brushing briefly as you exchanged devices.

“Great,” he said, locking the phone and slipping it back into his pocket, his smile widening. “I’ll text you later, and we can figure something out. Maybe something less... formal,” he added with a playful wink, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Sounds like a plan.”

"I'll see you later, Y/N." Drew’s voice was soft, still carrying that same warmth and kindness that had made you feel so at ease throughout the afternoon. He offered you one last smile before gathering his belongings and heading toward the door.

You watched him as he stepped outside, the sunlight casting a soft glow on him as he made his way to the black SUV parked out front. There was something effortlessly graceful about the way he moved, the casualness of it, yet it left you with a feeling of weightlessness. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered as you saw him disappear into the car, the sound of the engine starting up almost muted by the rush of your thoughts.

The café around you sounded with the usual hum of life, but your mind was far from the present moment. Instead, it replayed every detail of the past hour—the way he had smiled at you, the easy flow of conversation, the unspoken connection that had blossomed between the two of you. You could still feel the warmth of his gaze, the way it made you feel seen in a way that felt both exhilarating and unsettling.

As you sat there, a small smile crept onto your lips. The butterflies in your chest wouldn’t settle, and you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted them to. Something about today had changed things, and as you grabbed your bag and stood up to leave, you realized the anticipation for whatever came next was already beginning to build.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

taglist: @romantic-punch, @cl4uus, @clearpoetryobservation-blog, @willowpains, @simp4f1, @kaiparkerwifes, @cali-888, @allthoughtsmindfull, @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account

[iknowwhereyousleepatnight]

i hate doing laundry ough it's The Worst

[autistic-katara]

bitches making scenes with their ocs/blorbos in their head: 😄

bitches when they need to actually draw/write those scenes for other ppl to see them: 😡

[somelazyassartist]

Wonderful things are happening in the Infinite Dungeon today

[andwordsarefutiledevicess]

press relations

stanford!artdonaldson x sportsjournalist!reader

summary: assigned to write a profile of stanford's rising tennis star, you get to know art better. much better.

warnings: smut, dry humping, b0ner alert, implied consent

a/n: this does have a *hint* of art x patrick x reader undertones at the end! any (constructive) feedback is appreciated :)

you get the message as you exit the lecture hall and head to the cafeteria for lunch. “other writers are busy. can you take the art donaldson profile?” reads the text from your editor. having written for the stanford daily as a sports reporter for the past year, you’re no stranger to turning a dull interview with a rather dim-witted football player into an oh-so-riveting piece. however, this is out of your comfort zone.

tennis is…boring. sure, you’d happily tagged along to a couple of tashi duncan’s matches, unwilling to pass up the opportunity to see an olympic-bound athlete in her prime, but it isn’t your ideal way to spend a saturday afternoon. 

and yet, that is exactly what you are doing. the donaldson interview is lined up for directly after his match with a ucla player. “he’s got a tight schedule, so we need to accommodate him,” said your editor when you questioned why you had to sit through a match and then manage to cram in an interview in the men’s fucking lockerroom. 

art donaldson is a year above you, living in the same dorm. you recognize most athletes at this point—in part because they’re constantly (obnoxiously) sporting team merch, and because of your job—but art is known by most for his friendship with tashi duncan. neither are particularly social, keeping their circle tight amongst fellow tennis players, both at stanford and professionals. 

it’s difficult not to stick out in the bleachers. while other players, including a brown-haired boy cheering quite loudly, observe the game, it’s by no means packed. as donaldson pauses for water after the first set, he catches your gaze, giving an awkward wave in acknowledgement as he wipes the sweat from his face. you silently pray that he knows you’re the reporter he’s supposed to speak to, and doesn’t just think you’re some crazed tashi duncan fangirl. 

his playing is statuesque, long limbs sweeping across the court (but not entirely stripped of the boyish energy that defined his success as a high school student). after beating his opponent 2-0, donaldson steps off the court, dramatically embraced by the brown-haired spectator, who you have since realized is his former doubles partner, patrick zweig, and you take this as a signal to get this interview started before he becomes swept up in celebrations. 

climbing down the bleachers, you see art duck down into the hallway, making his way into the locker rooms. in all your time as a sports reporter, you hadn’t had such an…unconventional… interview location, and you feel a bit sick as the sound of the shower draws closer. 

“art donaldson?” you say, standing just outside the open door of the locker room. 

“yeah” he calls back, as though he was expecting you, but not entirely welcoming the intrusion. the shower turns off, and the soft sound of his steps on the tiles echo. “well, come in,” he calls again. 

you step into the steam-filled space with your eyes directed down. “i understand you have physical therapy shortly, so i’ll try to keep this quick—,” you say, taken aback as you finally draw your eyes upward. he’s managed to pull on a pair of checkered boxers, fabric sticking to his still-damp body. 

you can’t imagine you look particularly composed, hair sticking to your face from the steam with a burning blush spread across your cheeks. you watch as art bites his cheek and awkwardly motions for you to sit on the bench across from him as he methodically changes the overgrip on his racket. 

“so,” you say, clearing your throat, “how did you first become interested in tennis?” he glances up from his task. “my parents needed someone to watch me, and my grandma was busy, so they stuck me in a local tennis camp. i doubt they realized that they were signing up for over a decade of tennis running my—and their—lives.”

you hum in agreement. “and what specific areas of your game are you hoping to improve on this season?” you follow up. his gaze becomes more intent—more focused. setting the racket to his side, art stands, before quickly realizing he’s still only boxer-clad. you stare at the opposite wall, hoping to save him the embarrassment, and you see him fumble to slip on shorts out of the corner of your eye. he clears his throat. “ – um – yeah, i’m trying to get faster on my feet. sorry, i—” he says, before you cut him off in protest. “no, no, i should have given you a moment to clean up after your match, it’s my fault,” you say, rising off of the bench awkwardly, avoiding his gaze. 

but with the lingering steam, and your downward gaze, your fumble to exit the locker room instead lands you into direct contact with his chest. “shit! sorry,” you exclaim, drawing your chin up. a wash of heat cascades from your head, nipples taut, despite the warmth of the room, as your body reacts to the sudden proximity. art is equally flushed, pink lips slightly parted and chest rocking as he concentrates on breathing deeply, trying to lower his racing heart. you can smell him, fresh with a hint of that post-game sweat, a droplet of water falling from a blonde curl. 

he brings a calloused hand to your hair, brushing it behind your shoulder, as if to ask permission. the slight nod and glaze of your tongue over your lips is enough for him to understand, his breath heavy against your face as your noses are close enough to touch. that final centimeter is finally closed, and it’s as though air rushes back into you while inhibition is tossed out. without thinking, your hair tangles into his mess of damp hair, and you feel his soft moan against your lips. you gasp as his hand grabs your ass, drawing you into contact with his erection (for how much of that interview was he hard?). 

“you—ah—you have physical th-therapy,” you say, breathless as he works his mouth down your jaw and neck. “just…five more minutes,” he says in between kisses, like a teenager wishing to sleep in, causing you to chuckle. bringing your left knee up, your hips are suddenly flush against his, and the new contact sends you both reeling, his cock twitching in his shorts. you tentatively rock, again, against his groin, and you both seem to realize that that hit the spot. pushing your back against a locker, art draws his groin against yours again, and again, his soft pants becoming near whimpers as your lips meet for a desperate, sloppy kiss. 

you’re lost in the rhythm the two of you have found, ignoring the rattle of the lockers with each thrust. fuck you’re embarrassingly close (that’s what a two month dry spell will do for you) but before you have to worry about coming too early, you hear his strangled voice in your ear. “ – f-fuck, s-sorry i’m close, was so pent up.” before you’re able to reply, your body has taken this as permission to let the orgasm wash over you at last. still reeling from your own orgasm, you feel the warm spread of art’s cum seep through the thin fabric of his shorts, as he continues to rut against you. 

bringing your arms up to hurriedly fix your now-tangled hair, you draw away from art. a fresh blush comes to your cheeks at the realization of how silly you feel, grinding like a pubescent teen. art seems tired, yes, but not embarrassed, slipping off his pants and boxers and replacing them with clean ones. before he’s got his wits back, you’re out the door, praying no one managed to overhear the encounter. to your dismay, patrick zweig, smug as ever, sits outside the locker room.

[bweirdart]

EVENT OVER! THANKS EVERYONE WHO JOINED IN U ALL DID AN AMAZING JOB <3 SEE YOU AGAIN NEXT YEAR IN MARCH FOR #mARTch OR NEXT OCTOBER (2024) FOR A NEW SET OF PROMPTS!!!!!

OC-TOBER 2023 PROMPTS!!

general tag: #oc-tober / my prompts: #bweirdOCtober

F.A.Q:

Do I have to draw EVERY DAY?

NO! I highly encourage skipping as many days as you need to avoid burnout! There are 10 main days in the event (marked with a ⭐ star) that you can focus on if you don't feel up to doing every day, or you can choose your own adventure and just do the prompts you personally like!

Do I have to DRAW?

NO! You can also write fanfiction snippets, repost older art that fits the theme, tweet headcanons/backstory, roleplay in-character as your oc ... genuinely anything that fits the theme is OK!!

Can I start early?

YES! I understand some people work at a slower pace and might need a head start! So long as you wait until October to post it, you can start working as early as you need!

I missed the start of the event .. do I have to catch up?

NO! Please don't stress about days you missed, you're allowed to just skip to the current prompt!

RULES:

1. MAKE FRIENDS! The community is the best part of this event .. please try to follow new people, ask questions about ocs you like, compliment people's styles, ask friends to create with you, etc!

2. TAKE IT EASY! Skip a day if you're tired, busy or just not interested in the prompt. You don't have to catch up on it later. This is supposed to be fun, not work!

3. BE KIND! Please think about the people around you - don't give people unwarranted harsh criticism, content warn for themes/imagery in your work that could trigger someone, don't create anything hateful, etc

MORE:

text version / tips and ideas on bweird.art or below ↓

star = main prompts | no star = optional

INTRO WEEK

1: FAVE OC ⭐

-Which of your characters is your favourite right now?

2: NEW OC

-Who is your newest OC?

-Design a new OC right now

3: OLD OC ⭐

-Do you remember the first OC you ever made?

-Is there an OC you haven't drawn in a long time?

4: RE-DESIGN

-An OC who has changed a lot over the years

-Take an old OC and update their design right now

 

BACKSTORY WEEK

5: RELATIONSHIPS ⭐

-Who is important to your OC?

-Do they have a partner?

-Do they have a best friend?

-Are they close to their family?

6: SYMBOL

-What imagery do you associate with your oc?

-Are there any colours, flowers, animals or concepts that symbolize them?

7: PERSONALITY ⭐

-How does your OC behave?

-What are their positive traits?

-What are their negative traits?

-Are they extroverted or introverted?

8: PAST

-What was your OC like as a child?

-Where did they grow up?

-Are there any significant moments from their past that shaped who they are?

9: FUTURE ⭐

-Does your OC have a goal they're working towards?

-What will your OC look like when they get older

-Do you have a planned ending for their story?

PALETTE WEEK

10: pumpkin patch palette

#251604 #1E3807 #5B5E1A #A2A657 #EBA00F #F3ECCC

11: hot cocoa palette

#520B13 #BB382E #E27E6D #88392C #AF5D40 #E1AFA4

12: midnight zone palette

#000007 #000049 #183885 #004D4F #0E8788 #FFF1C0

13: peachy palette

#DE6450 #DB9171 #FFC1AE #FEE1AD #FFF2E0 #D9D8D8

14: haunted house palette

#552506 #6E25AA #ED690B #F925A0 #8F8BA7 #A6C1AA

FUN + GAMES WEEK

15: MEME ⭐

-Post memes that remind you of your OC

-Draw your OC as a meme

-Fill out a character meme (classic deviantart style)

16: FOOD

-What is your OC's favourite food?

-What is their least favourite?

-Can they cook?

17: EYES-CLOSED ⭐

-Draw your OC with your eyes closed! No cheating!

-Write a scene without looking at the keyboard! Keep the typos in!

18: SWAP

-Swap the style or aesthetic of two of your OCs

-Species or gender swap AU

-Invert an OC's colour scheme

19: INSPIRATION ⭐

-Is your OC inspired by any pre-existing characters?

-Are there any particular songs/lyrics that inspired something about one of your OCs

-Do you have a dedicated pinterest moodboard for your character?

20: INVENTORY

-What does your OC carry around with them on a daily basis?

-Are there any objects that have sentimental value for them?

-Loot drop for your DnD OC

 

FRIENDS WEEK

21-25:

There's no specific daily prompts for this week, but here are some ideas you can try ...

-Art trades with friends who are doing the event with you

-Your OC interacting with a friend's OC

-Gift art for someone whose OCs you like

-Work together and collaborate on something with a friend

-Roleplay an OC scene together with someone

 

HALLOWEEN WEEK

26: FEAR ⭐

-What is your OC scared of?

-Draw one of your OCs trying to scare the others

27: MONSTER

-Do you have any monster OCs? (eg: vampires, werewolves, creatures, ghosts...)

-Draw a human OC as a monster

-Design a new monster

28: TRICK

-Play a trick on an OC

-Do you have an OC who would play tricks on people?

29: TREAT

-What is your OC's favourite halloween candy?

-Give an OC a special treat to make up for yesterday's trick

30: MAGIC

-Do any of your characters have magical powers?

-Give an OC a magical or cursed artifact

-Create a magic-using OC like a witch or wizard

27: COSTUME ⭐

-What is your OC dressing as for halloween?

[oreganocactus]

i don't participate in any sort of svsss fandom stuff so my apologies if this has been said already but a HUGE part of the humor of that book comes from how it parodies typical isekai harem tropes and not just in the way you might think. there's the typical "wow so cheaply derived porn trope" humor but part of the humor is also in that despite LBH being the original protag, the book SVSSS itself features SQQ as the protagonist.....

ppl like to joke about SQQ's "harem" but the humor of the harem isn't just in that he has one at all (when normally that would be LBH's role), it's how every "member" of that harem fulfills a typical isekai harem role in an inverted way!!!!!!

most obvious example is LBH. he's an inversion in that he's originally intended to be an all-powerful demon king who's a housewife in SVSSS, but (imo) the humor in his "role" is that he's supposed to fulfill the trope of the young abused battle-hardened "demon" girl who longs for peace and housewifery and latches onto the older man who showed him kindness -- except instead of being a moe anime girl, he's an all-powerful protagonist-style power insert hero. so, not so much an inversion of "this demon king is actually a housewife??" and moreso "this housewife is actually a male demon king" (which might not sound like much of a difference at all, but it's moreso about how the MEN fulfill harem girl tropes and not the other way around.)

another example is YGY - set up as a "big brother" figure and clearly has history with SQQ. he's meant to fulfill the trope of the clingy "older sister" childhood friend who promises marriage to the protagonist and has clear history w/him but is insecure about his role because he's not as "appealing" as the other options. his humor as a "romance option" comes from 1. him being a man (you might notice this is the case for a lot of these LOL) and 2. actually, in fact, being immensely powerful - it's another inversion of the trope of the physically weak "starter" harem girl who agonizes over being unable to do more for her beloved childhood friend in their journey.

my favorite example: LQG is the most obvious "tsundere tomboy" trope ever. physically powerful, out of touch with her emotions, gets flustered and aggressive with her crush, focuses on getting stronger above all else yet somehow extraordinarily beautiful -- all of these are extremely obvious tropes assigned to this "tsundere tomboy" trope, with the humor lying in the contrast of LQG actually being a man. the succubus extra is hilarious not just because of the awkward situation and their reactions, but because it's an EXACT setup of an extremely common scene in isekai harem novels. the cold tsundere beauty gets affected by succubi, doesn't know what to do, goes to the protagonist for help - it's the exact kind of situation that would have the protagonist pushing her down and saying lines like "you shouldn't act like this - i'm a man too, don't you know?" and making her aware that she's a woman and "in danger" around him. it's funny because LQG is very much a man, and indeed SVSSS parodies this directly by having SQQ tell LQG that he's a man too, he'll understand if he needs to jerk off! no worries!

even ZZL falls into the trope of the typical beast-kin girl who's saved by the protagonist and falls into his harem, subverted by his loyalty to someone ELSE besides SQQ and nonchalance as he does it.

it's the main draw of the humor of the novel for me and i surprisingly feel like not enough people talk about just how much SVSSS really leans into being a parody of a harem-collecting isekai....

and if you're curious about my credentials for making this post: if you name a shitty isekai novel, i've almost definitely already read it all. i read too many midsekais. it's like an addiction.

[blossomingmoonlight]

⭑ This is more than a sick love story (Pt.2) ⭑

Part 2 to; "The ballad of the raven and the dragon, Part 1.

Pairing: Benjicot ("Davos") Blackwood x targ!princess!reader

Summary: Returning home after that evening was harder than you thought, the risky letters don't help either. Would it really hurt to meet again?

Warnings: NSFW, mdni, +18, heavy yearning, sexting in medieval times, mastrubation, pillow humping, making out, grinding, handjob, oral both m and f receiving. And some fluff <3.

Word count: 3k

POV: Benjicot Blackwood

A mixture of iron and salt coats his tongue, the clashing of swords and screaming of men fills his ears. Yet another man's blood spraying over his face and garbs. House Bracken wanted revenge for their fallen men and when they heard of the princesses departure they made their move. Even Benjicot could taste the cowardice in their blood. At this point the battle could barely be called a battle anymore as house Bracken had already suffered heavy losses. 

Benjicot couldn’t even keep up with the amount of Brackens he killed now, mind in a blur due to the adrenaline and violence. Even the cows didn’t survive. His men killed the remaining of the intruders and the battle was clearly won by house Blackwood. It had only been a week after the princess left and already his heart had a gaping hole which only could be filled by her. She promised she would write secretly, using ravens that would only ever make their way to him. 

The sun began to set as they left the sea of bodies behind them, making their way back to Raventree Hall. Upon arrival the gods had clearly answered his prayers because just when he got off his horse and handed him to one of the stable boys a raven flew towards him. Quickly taking the letter he made his way to his only place of privacy, and just like everyday he passed the dining hall. His cock stiffens every time he’s in or passes that room now, memories of the intimacy he shared with the princess flooding his mind. He finally got to his bedchamber and locked the door behind him once inside. Benjicot didn’t even bother to clean himself first, he ripped the unmarked seal off the letter and rolled it open.

Dear B,

I hope you are well, I wrote this as soon as I got home but I suppose the raven will take a bit to get back to you. The whole way back I couldn’t stop thinking about your handsome face, or your hands tracing my body. You are and will be on my mind until I get to see you again, however the idea of maybe never meeting you again strikes fear into my heart. I never thought that that one evening with you would change me so. I was too afraid to tell you this in person but you are the most fearsome, handsome and astounding man I have ever met. We have to meet again, I would not survive without your touch. Even thinking about that evening now sets my chest aflutter and my thighs soaking. You don’t even understand how badly I need you again. I hope you think of me as well. I hope you use my chemise every night to get off to the thought of me. I have thought long and hard about a place we could meet. I think the Whispering Wood is perfect, it is near enough for you to sneak out to and I can easily hide my dragon along the coast of Iron Man Bay. I hope you write back to me soon. 

Love, your pretty princess.

His mouth was still agape when there was a knock on his door. “My lord shall I draw a bath for you?” He could hear one of his servants' muffled voice. He rapidly stuffed the letter in his pocket, opened the door and let the servant do her work. Once the bath was drawn he dismissed the servant, he always washed himself since he never liked people just watching him be naked. With the door closing he removed the letter from his pocket and smelled. And like he suspected it smelt of ink, smoke and her perfume oil. Benjicot placed the letter on the small table beside the bath and swiftly removed his clothes. His cock already hard and leaking from reading the letter. 

He got in the warm bath with a sigh, he thought for a moment and grabbed the letter from the table next to him. His eyes scanned the words again and he felt his poor weeping cock begging for attention, so he read the letter once again, now grazing his thumb over the leaking slit on the head of his hard member. A mixture of a hiss and groan leaving his lips, he was so horny he didn’t even care if someone heard him. His eyes never leaving the letter he started to roughly jerk off his cock, the words on the paper relighting the memories of their shameful evening. 

His perverted mind only added fuel to the fire by imagining new scenarios with you, gods he’d fuck you on his bed, on his chair, on the settee, on the floor, against the wall, fuck even in the bath. The last image really spurred him on, moaning at the thought, he put the letter down for a moment to massage his seed filled balls as well as fisting his cock. Softly chanting your name through the room. “Please- please- fuck me- ride me baby just like that- ah fuck- I can’t-” 

Seven Hells even his own dirty little words made the fantasy feel real. Your cunt enveloping his hard sensitive cock, water splashing everywhere as both your moans filled the room. He could feel the familiar knot starting to snap in his belly, he fetched the letter from beside him again, thrusted into his fist a few more times and released ropes of his seed all over your letter. The words blurring as his cum covered them. He panted and shuddered at the sight. 

When Benjicot had calmed down from his orgasm he put the letter aside and now actually washed himself, even after he had dried himself off, had hidden the letter, and crawled into bed he still felt aroused. His cock hardening once again he knew his hand wouldn’t do so he threw the sheets of himself, removed his breeches and grabbed his pillow to position it just like he had you bend over the table. 

He then grabbed his again leaking precum member and positioned it against the pillow, the texture on his angry red tip feeling like pure bliss, he started humping against the pillow wishing it was you on his bed instead. Fucking the pillow harder and harder he decided it was better to release in his hand instead. So with a cuss and loud moan he spurted his cum in his hand imagining it was your cunt he was filling instead. After having cleaned off his hand in a basin, pulling his breeches back on he could finally fall asleep.

The next morning he immediately fetched paper and ink and started on a letter to write you back, when he was pleased with it he sent it by raven and hoped it would fall into your hands. Afterwards getting on with his duties as lord of Raventree Hall. 

Your POV:

A raven flew into the open window of Dragon Stone, the sun had set and you were in your chambers reading a book to your brother Joffrey. It had been two weeks since you sent that letter and you were beginning to get worried but relief washed over you at the sight of the raven. The second the raven landed on your settee you sent Joffrey back to his chambers guided by your handmaiden and told her that she was free for the night. She eyed you suspiciously but has always followed you loyally. When they left you grabbed the letter from the raven which flew away again and opened the unmarked seal, heart beating in your chest, you rolled the letter open.

My dear beloved,

Your raven arrived safely into my hands, I had to open it alone which proved to be needed because of your passionate writing. I am well unless you count the way in which you have plagued my mind. I can’t do any work without thinking, ‘what would my love think of this’ or ‘I wish my love could help me with this’. Seven hells, I can’t even walk in or pass my dining room anymore without my cock growing stiff in my pants. Any thought about you turns sinful, you have perverted me and turned me into a monster. Especially now without your touch. Last night when I read your letter, I read it in my bath. And you know what I did? I fucked my hand imagining it was your sweet cunt instead and when I reached my peak, I came all over your pretty handwriting. Your letter made me so horny I later fucked my pillow in bed too. So it is safe to say I need your touch too. So fucking badly. When you get this letter, try to leave as quickly as possible and head to our location. I will be waiting under the ruse of a solo hunting trip. Don’t make me wait too long my love. 

Love your B.

You went to bed with an uncontrollable smile on your face, your skin hot and folds wet at the thought of seeing your Benji again. The next morning you told one of the servants to inform your mother about your “flight to patrol the sea” so you could actually quickly get dressed and leave on dragon back to the Whispering Wood. The entire flight you thought about how meeting him again would go. High above the clouds your mind floods with impure thoughts of Benjicot Blackwood. When you knew you were about to be close to the shore of Iron Man Islands you still stayed high but descended out of the clouds so you could see. And you were right, no one was in sight when you landed with your dragon on the shore. 

So you began your pretty short walk to the Whispering Wood, nerves and excitement reeling through your body. Your walk through the Whispering Wood was different, anxiety started to take hold instead. What if he wasn’t able to come? What if someone caught you? However your fears began to ease when you could see the back of Benji’s hair and body who was standing near a small lake in the middle of the forest.

You walked as quietly as possible, wanting to surprise him. When you were near him you cupped your hands over his eyes and heard him laugh. He removed your hands and immediately turned around. He wasted no time crashing his lips on yours making you moan at his roughness. After some time he finally let go. “I have-” “I missed-” You both laughed at both of your attempts to speak first. So he started instead. “I am glad you got my letter, I can’t bear being without your touch and your voice any longer.” You smiled and a blush creeped onto your skin. “I couldn’t wait either. I don’t know what type of spell you casted on me but I don’t ever want to get rid of it.” He grinned at your words and took you in his arms once more.

“I don’t know if I can let you leave again. It would be too painful.” He confessed, holding your head against his chest with one hand and holding your waist with the other. “I don’t ever want to leave you again either but I don’t know how I would ever tell my family about this. And in the middle of a dragon war too.” He held you tighter and kissed the top of your head. “What did you tell them when you left?” Benji asked. “I told one of our servants to tell my mother that I went to patrol the seas, so I hope she bought it. I didn’t want to face her today.” You explained, your hands wrapping around him tighter. 

Benji held your chin and made you look at him. He softly licked his lips before devouring yours again like he did mere minutes ago. Except now both of your desires were growing strong. You felt like you were in heat every time he touched you. He kissed you like it was his last day on earth. You had kissed before but this time it was different. Who knew when you would see each other again?

He bit your bottom lip so he could let his tongue enter your mouth. Your feverent kiss turned into a full make out as he sucked and licked your tongue. He couldn’t hold his own groan back and let his hand slide to your ass cheeks, which he gripped harshly to pull you against him just like he did on your special evening. Which earned him a moan from you as you grazed his teeth with your tongue. Never did you think a kiss could turn so ravenous. “Benji-” You gasped against his lips when his hand began to massage your ass harshly. 

Making your two fronts grind against each other, his clothed already hard cock hitting your clothed wet cunt just right. He knew exactly what you liked and would do everything in his power to leave you shaking and trembling beneath his touch. “You want this fucking cock baby? You want it that fucking bad?” He pants against your lips, you could only moan a ‘please’ in response. 

He removed himself from you and helped you remove your clothes, you had never seen him this touch starved. He was truly acting like an animal. Benji got on his knees in front of you and swung your right leg over his shoulder for better access to where you needed him so badly. Your cunt was throbbing and almost hurting from how aroused Ben made you, your slick already coating your inner thighs. Benji held you steady and began to lap at your soaked folds, moaning at the taste of your sweet arousal. 

“Benji- please- I can’t take it-” Your want for him made you more sensitive than normal and all you could think about was how good his tongue was fucking you. It was so warm and wet and the way he used it to lap at your clit made you see stars. He took it a step further and entered a finger into your tight hole. It slipped in with ease and Benji grunted at the feeling, his own cock feeling tight in his breeches.

It didn’t take long for your orgasm to take hold of you, with the way he was fingering you and sucking and lapping at your clit, made you dizzy. You could only let out gasps and moans, your entire vocabulary being thrown out the window. With one last scream of his name he let go off you, already removing his pants and breeches ready to fuck you dumb but to his surprise you stopped him. “I want to do to you what you just did to me Benji.” You pleaded already looking up at him with your lashes. He took in a sharp breath and watched you sink to your knees.

Grabbing his leaking cock by the base you decided to lick up the precum and see how he would react. “Fuck- baby do that again. Don’t stop.” He gasped. You did as he commanded and this time sucked at his tip, resulting in him throwing his head back and moaning out of pleasure. The salty precum on your tongue motivated you to swirl your tongue around his tip and continue sucking. His groans and pants and ramblings of your name filled you with need but first you wanted his seed in your mouth again.

You continued to suck on his tip but now took him further in your mouth, earning you quite the explicit and long moan. Finally he looked down at you and softly held your head by your hair, guiding you a bit deeper. “Seven hells, look at you, swallowing my cock like that- You love it don’t you. Me using you as if your a common wench- Fuck- Just like that baby c’mon-” Him talking to you in such a manner made you reach for your clit, which made Benji smile and pant at the sight. Chasing your own release he helped you by guiding your head faster down his cock. Spit and precum drooling down your chin, hair all messed up. How would you even explain that to your family? 

“C’mon baby- I’m gonna fucking cum- You want my spent down your throat- Of course you do- Yes- Yes- Fuck!” The view of you cumming rubbing your clit finished him. You basically drank his cum as he filled your throat all while he gasped for air and moaned your name. When he pulled back from you, you licked your lips and smiled up at him. Never had you felt such power over a man. It felt way to fucking good. He pulled you back up and kissed you again. “You have no idea what you do to me.” He laughed breathlessly. 

“I think it’s about the same as what you do to me.” You smiled. He kissed your forehead before handing you your clothes again. While you both got dressed that heated, exciting and blissful mood turned quiet and solemn. You both knew you had to get back soon. After you were both dressed he sat down on the ground motioning for you to sit on his lap. You giggled as you joined him on the ground, pushing him back so you could lay on top of him, holding each other close. “I think I love you.” He suddenly blurted out. You looked at him with flushed cheeks and grazed your hand across his, over his lips and through his hair. “I think I love you as well.” He sat back up at your words and kissed you deeply. 

“Please, you can’t leave me.” He begged once he removed his lips from yours. “I don’t want to leave you.” You admitted. “You belong to me. You were made for me. I will destroy the world if that’s what it takes to make you my wife.” He rubbed your cheek with his hand as he spoke. “Come with me to Dragon Stone and ask my mother for my hand. If she for some reason refuses, I’ll cut through our guard myself if I have to, and we could run away.” He smiled at that and both of you agreed that he would ask for your hand.

[ceaseless-rambler]

Fort Galfridian dashboard simulator

0 notes

☠️ sheriff-stoned Follow

Guys???

🏵 robotfucker69 Follow

I was actually there it was wild, these three just showed up and I think they're all like, in love?? Good for them, actually, but anyways Stone and her gang barely had time to draw before they were all dead, and then the Pendragons, the ones who got rid of them, just sort of set up in Camelot and everything is supposed to be way better now

42,347 notes

🏵 robotfucker69 Follow

Hey anyone else think the hanged man is like. Really hot. God I need me some robot tits

🤖 robotlover420 Follow

But do you ever think about the man behind the tits? Have you ever considered that he could have a beautiful mind? I need to take him on a picnic date

🫖 doublesunn Follow

That is literally the Prophet Merlin, do you guys understand how problematic it is to objectify him like this??? He is a religious figure and it is wildly blasphemous to talk about him in such a way

🧅 xxcactusflowersxx Follow

Tell me you know nothing about The Hanged Acolytes without telling me you know nothing about The Hanged Acolytes

☀️ galahad-336 Follow

Hi! Head Priest of the Hanged Acolytes here! Merlin hot

141,679 notes

🌏 highnoonoveryourmom Follow

Greater Camelot area polycule

12 notes

☀️ galahad-336 Follow

Save me Prophet Merlin

☀️ galahad-336 Follow

Prophet Merlin

☀️ galahad-336 Follow

Prophet Merlin save me

☀️ galahad-336 Follow

Sorry sat in The Chair and witnessed the horrible fiery deaths of everything I know and love and started religionposting it won't happen again (there's no time for it to happen again)

4 notes

🎠 camenot-okay Follow

That preacher has been telling everyone about how we're all gonna burn in hell and I wanted to know

147 notes

🌹robophetprophet Follow

I'm so sorry

0 notes

🌅 therealactualsun Follow

Yall watch how bad I'm about to fuck up everyone's day

🔋thetubesun Follow

It was a pleasure working with you <3

🦂 scorpion Follow

Happy to do my part!

2 notes

🍤 dusteater Follow

Hey did it manage to get hotter somehow

[pomefioredove]

Hiii! I adore your writings especially the vill fics thank you for blessing us vil fans 😭🙏💕

Can you please write soulmate au with vil and the perks of being soulmate with him? Thank youuu

thank you so much, that's so sweet!!! and OHHH soulmate.... so good

summary: soulmates type of post: fic characters: vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, FLUFFY, lovesick vil forever

Vil Schoenheit had always deemed the existence of "soulmates" to be a thing confined in the lines of a poem.

Ever the rationalist, Vil hadn't even entertained the fantasy of meeting his "perfect match", if such a person even existed. His life was not that of a cheesy movie script he'd turn down.

Finding someone who could cope with his strict lifestyle would be a miracle in and of itself.

...And if you had asked Vil Schoenheit what his image of the perfect partner would be, he would say exactly that.

Someone beautiful, intelligent, responsible, with the dedication and discipline to keep up with him.

Spoken with a sardonic smile and honeyed words, Vil knew that his chances of actually finding someone to meet his standards, to keep up with him, were slim.

He couldn't have possibly imagined having to keep up with you, instead.

You were like a shooting star; swift and bright, moving faster than he could fathom, cutting through the dark parts of his life like a hot blade.

Something for him to wish on.

Beautiful.

Like nothing he could have ever imagined.

There was a radiance in everything you did, one that made your skin glow with or without products, a certain warmth that so contrasted the refined and elegant image he'd grown to associate with beauty.

Vil would eagerly tend to your every need. It was a dream just to touch you, to have the honor of pushing your hair out of your face.

He would savor every second of grazing your skin, of tracing your features with delicate fingertips, if only just to cleanse your pores after a long day.

With you, every simple action is beautiful.

Vil enjoys pampering people he cares for, and thus your life is full of high-end products, the best groceries money can buy, and his personal advice from the very second he sets eyes on you.

He would gladly do your personalized skincare routine with you every night and every morning if time allowed it.

2. Intelligent.

In such a way that makes him eager to understand you.

Really, it's your insatiable curiosity that draws him in.

He could spend hours upon hours simply listening to you talk. Your interests begin excite him just as much as they excite you, your passion for learning and creating capture his attention with ease.

There's never a dull moment between the two of you.

What others might consider useless conversations about trivial matters, Vil holds to the highest regard.

It comes to the point where he begins asking you for opinions, even if he knows he'll disagree with your answer, just to hear your perfect voice, just to watch your expression change in the way it does when you're thinking.

He's infatuated with your thought process, with the way your mind works.

Understanding you is not a labor, but a privilege.

3. Responsible.

To where all he could ask for is you and your gentle touch.

You care. Whether you're aware of it or not, you care so deeply about the people in your life, it almost puts Vil to shame.

Paired with your determination and resilience, and your ceaseless sense of independence, it's absolutely irresistible to him.

Vil is so unfamiliar with the way you treat him. Tenderly, and softly, like he's something that needs to be taken care of. You don't put him on a high shelf like a trophy, but carry him at your side, like a beloved doll.

He's never been at the receiving end of such consideration.

On the days where it feels as if the world is coming undone around him, he has somewhere to go. A place to hide, where he can forget all that he's supposed to be, and just simply be instead.

You are a home to him.

Vil knows that the both of you are perfectly capable (exemplary, even) at minding yourselves, though that's exactly what makes this tenderness you share all the better.

Independence is a gift, though one that he'll gladly set aside for a time, to be alone and soft with you.

4. Keeping Up.

Some days, it feels as if he's hanging onto you for dear life.

Afraid that if he looks away for even a moment, you'd vanish, leaving him alone with all of his naive, shallow thoughts on what his soulmate should be.

You're a dream to him. Far better than anything he ever could have asked for, or even imagined. He would be a fool to let you get away, he knows as much.

And perhaps he doesn't have the words to express it yet, perhaps he does. Perhaps these thoughts of his are tucked away in a journal, imbued in the lines of a poem, or in the color choices of a floral arrangement. Perhaps he whispers them to you in the early hours of the morning, still caught in that dreamlike space between sleep and wake.

One thing has become clear to him, though: Vil could never adequately describe all that he wants in a soulmate.

You're far too complex to put in a single sentence.

[retrievablememories]

cherry bomb | part 2 | jungkook (m)

pairing: jungkook x fem reader

summary: after your town goes into lockdown because of the cherry bomb massacre, you find out that the murderer's interest is on you. eventually, you’re left with no choice but to face him.

genre: horror/slasher, angst, smut, college!au

word count: 13.7k

warnings: major character deaths, gaslighting, hallucinations, anxiety/paranoia, grief, trauma, violence (including knife and gun use), torture, blood, gore, descriptions of dead bodies, a funeral scene, fuckboy!JK, oral (fem receiving), fingering, finger-sucking, handjob, cumplay(?), hair-pulling

a/n: this part is quite rougher than the first, so heed the warnings. same notes as the last part—not meant to be entirely realistic since this *is* a slasher. block/filter as needed. i didn’t mention this in part 1 but this fic is not set in present day; more like somewhere in the 2000s? i don’t think this fic would work as well with all this advanced technology/the prevalence of social media now

...also, i had this story all written out and then decided to completely change the plot at the last minute because i figured out a way to write the original plot i had wanted to do from the beginning. 💀 yeah…just leave your thoughts below

taglist is at the very bottom of the fic—for some reason i wasn't able to tag everyone who requested, so please reblog this fic so folks can see it

sources for the fic dividers: one | two

link to part 1

you’re standing in front of some stranger’s house in the early hours of the morning, your body heavy from exhaustion as your adrenaline has run out. this is not at all how you expected your night to end when you left your dorm hours ago. it must’ve taken at least 40 minutes to get to this house, and you’re less familiar with this part of town, which you try not to feel uneasy about. you suppose the farther away from the scene of the carnage, the better.

jungkook bangs on the door, calling out the name yoongi-hyung until the porch light comes on. though it’s illogical, you’re tense with apprehension that the murderer could somehow appear at any moment, and you hope whoever yoongi is lets the both of you in soon. so much for no longer looking over your shoulder.

a man with hair just as long as jungkook’s answers the door, looking disheveled and annoyed. “why the fuck are you banging down my door at nearly 2 am—"

yoongi stops speaking as he eyes the both of you up and down, his gaze going from the bite mark bruises you left on jungkook’s neck to the dried blood on your face to the bullet holes in jungkook’s car. his expression is between surprise and curiosity. “what the fuck is going on here?”

“can we talk inside?” jungkook says, though he doesn’t wait for an invitation before pushing his way past the other man and stepping inside.

“uh…hi. sorry.” you step inside too, glad to not be out in the open anymore.

yoongi takes another look outside the door at the state of jungkook’s car before closing and locking it. “mind explaining this shit? i thought you were going to that party you told me about?

“i did,” jungkook says, his voice full of frustration. “the fucking killer showed up at the party.”

“the fuck are you talking about?”

“you know what i’m talking about. that werewolf-masked freak? he came and just started stabbing people to death. we watched him shoot a fraternity member in front of us, dude. that’s why my car looks the way it does.”

“the campus is probably dangerous,” you add. “that’s why we came here. we just need somewhere safe to stay for the night.”

yoongi goes to the window and draws back the curtain. he peeks out the small holes in the side of the blinds rather than pushing the blinds down to look outside. “and you’re certain he didn’t follow you here? i thought he only killed virgins anyway. why the hell was he shooting at you?” then yoongi turns away from the window and looks at you. “oh. is this why?”

feeling put on the spot, you blurt out: “look, i don’t think that matters much anymore. he seemed to be killing anybody who was in his way.”

“and he was on foot the whole time, so there’s no way he could’ve followed us,” jungkook adds.

yoongi shakes his head and walks away from the window. “whole town is fucked, then. come on.”

you’re relieved to be able to scrub the blood off your face and change into fresh clothes. you initially thought it was peculiar that yoongi had spare clothes ready for you to wear until he alluded to keeping them on hand for any of jungkook’s hookups that he brings over.

“sure—of course.” you’d just nodded and tried not to look embarrassed as you accepted the clothes.

even after showering you don’t feel entirely clean, though. you think it might be impossible to return to feeling anything like your former self after tonight.

the couch has a pull-out bed, so it’s not as uncomfortable as it would be just sleeping on a regular sofa, which you are grateful for. you’re still arranging the pillow and blankets when jungkook walks into the room holding his own bedding.

“i think i should sleep here,” he says.

“there’s no room on the couch for the both of us,” you protest, thinking he means to take your spot.

“i mean on the floor. earlier, you didn’t seem like you wanted to be left alone in here.”

“oh.” you try to take the edge out of your voice; it’s hard to be polite when you’re still so overwhelmed with stress. “that’ll be uncomfortable though.”

jungkook just waves his hand and dumps his pillow and blanket on the floor before going to push the coffee table out of the way. “doesn’t really matter, i think we’ve been through worse tonight than sleeping on a hard floor…”

“thanks,” you say quietly, watching him spread his blanket out on the ground. you want to say something else, but you can’t think of anything.

“it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

after a few more moments of staring at jungkook as he arranges his sleeping area, you finally ask, “i was wondering how’d you meet yoongi? he doesn’t seem like he’s a college student. i’ve never seen him around our campus, at least.”

“he isn’t. he works as a music producer, so he’s out of town a lot, but this is his homebase. as for how we met—it’s a long story. he and my brother actually used to know each other, so…” you think he’ll explain further, but he just shakes his head. “but he’s a good friend.”

“i see. a music producer…nice. how cool for a little town like this.”

after everything is to his liking, jungkook gets under the blanket. “tonight was a lot, so try to get some sleep.”

you nod and turn the lamp off, though you’re doubting you’ll get any peace tonight. “yeah…you too.”

--

SATURDAY MORNING, NOV 4

you wake up around 11 a.m. on a strange couch wearing strange clothes in a strange room. with your brain’s half-conscious state, your terror reawakens; you think maybe you’ve been kidnapped by the murderer and the car ride with jungkook last night was a dream—until yoongi pops into your mind.

you try to regulate your breathing and settle back beneath the blanket, though you know you won’t be going back to sleep.

you haven’t gotten more than an hour of sleep in total, broken up into 20-minute intervals across the hours. every time you’ve tried to close your eyes and drift off, you see the frat member’s skull bursting apart again, shocking your entire nervous system. you can think of nothing but the piles of bodies and the deaths you witnessed. perhaps it’s better that you don’t sleep; you figure your dreams wouldn’t be any more tolerable than your thoughts.

as you shift around on the couch, your whole body screams with soreness. your arms, your ribs, your sides, your legs, and—to a lesser extent—even between your thighs where jungkook was last night.

you glance over and see that he’s still sprawled on the floor, blanket halfway kicked off. he’s actually awake, his face turned away from you as he blinks slowly and stares at nothing, but he doesn’t say anything and so neither do you. with you spending most of your night awake, you saw that he was able to get more rest than you did. lucky him.

it hurts to move, but you reach for your phone and check for any signs of lorelai. none. there is one text from camille, sent 40 minutes ago.

➤ camille: I talked to Lorelai’s sister. She went to go see about a missing persons report. The police took her information but didn’t seem very concerned about it and said she might have just stayed the night with other friends after the party. Apparently a lot of others had the same idea as you. Campus is a ghost town. They’re still identifying all the bodies, so no word yet.

➤ y/n: so we just have to sit here and wait to see if she’ll turn up alive or dead? that’s useless.

➤ camille: As per fucking usual with the pigs.

➤ camille: She also told me there’s supposed to be a lockdown or something. It’s on the news.

➤ y/n: a lockdown???

looking around the room, you spot the TV remote sitting on yoongi’s coffee table a few feet away. you try to sit up, but it takes you a couple minutes longer than you anticipate because of the pain. jungkook notices the movement from the corner of his eye and turns to look at you. “what are you doing?”

“tryna get the remote.”

jungkook grabs it and hands it to you, and you turn the TV to one of the local news channels.

➤ camille: They’re telling people not to leave their homes for anything non-essential while they search for him. Not sure how long that’s supposed to last. I guess now they wanna get serious about this fucking killer? Too late for that.

you and jungkook watch as the newscaster gives a rundown of last night’s events; to your small relief, it looks like the killer didn’t try to go to the campus after the murders at the party house. the newscaster goes on to announce that the police are instating a citywide curfew, which they’ll discuss further at a press conference in the afternoon. in the meantime, they advise everyone to only travel in groups, shelter in place if possible, and keep all windows and doors locked.

you laugh humorlessly, and jungkook glances at you again. “in groups? we were all packed into one damn house at the party, and how much did that help?”

➤ y/n: are you sure you’re okay at the uni?

➤ camille: I’m fine. My roommate brought some of her friends into our room so no one’s left alone. Either way, my dad is coming to help me move some of my things out and come back home.

➤ y/n: okay, please just stay safe.

➤ camille: You too.

“what now?” jungkook says once the newscast goes off. “everybody just stays holed up for like a month while they hunt for that guy?”

you roll your eyes. “people won’t stay in their homes for that long. i don’t know how any of this is gonna work. we wouldn’t be in this mess now if they’d cared when this first started happening.”

“you think so? students would still be getting killed. the only difference is that a good chunk of people would just be sitting at home freaking the fuck out and too scared to go anywhere while the killer would still be on the loose.”

“…damn. it’s truly bleak to assume we’d still be in the same situation. you’re an optimistic one.”

“better than deluding yourself about it.”

“whatever. where’s your family to freak out over you? somebody should be concerned about your whereabouts by now. didn’t you say you have a brother? speaking of, i’m gonna have to call my sister soon…”

jungkook turns back to the TV, and you can tell he’s become more tense than he was seconds ago. “yeah, but i’m estranged from them. yoongi’s my family.”

wrong thing to ask. you wonder about the reason for it but decide it’s probably better not to pry. “ah…that sucks.”

jungkook looks back at you like he’s irked by that response, but he makes a noise resembling a chuckle. “tell me about it.”

later that afternoon, after you’ve reassured your sister veronica on her work break that you are fine and at a “friend’s” house (because you have no clue how to refer to either of these men), you and yoongi sit at the kitchen table with brunch while jungkook goes outside to examine the damage to his car more closely.

it’s difficult to eat, but you do so anyway; you don’t want to be rude by wasting the food yoongi made. the news station still plays loudly from the living room as you wait for the press conference to come on.

“so, about you and jungkook...” yoongi starts, looking at you from over the rim of his cup of coffee.

“what about me and jungkook?”

“we both know he didn’t get those bites on his neck from a wild animal attack.”

you sit up straighter in your seat, a sudden spike of irritation hitting you. “aren’t we all grown here? who cares?” you try to sound unbothered despite feeling very green about all of this. after all, you’d only had sex for the first time last night.

“look, i don’t care. fuck him all you want. i’m just trying to advise you not to get emotionally involved, because that’s not how jungkook operates. the amount of girls i’ve had somehow coming after my neck when their situationship with him doesn’t work out is starting to get really old. it’d be best if you didn’t do the same.”

you’re simultaneously annoyed at his assumption of you and flustered because you want to prove him wrong about acting the same as the other girls. you hate both feelings. “i don’t want anything like that with him. i just needed something done and i got it. it doesn’t matter anymore.”

yoongi shrugs, and you get the sense he’s heard that before and isn’t convinced, but you can’t be bothered going back and forth with him about this.

the press conference comes on TV a few minutes later. they announce that classes at your university are cancelled indefinitely; parents and relatives will need to come move their students out, and the school will be operating with a skeleton staff and increased security presence for any students who can’t leave the campus. the citywide curfew will be at 8 p.m. every night, by which time almost everyone will need to be in their homes, and it will end at 6 a.m each morning.

“fun,” you say sarcastically. “at least i won’t have to worry about finals and trying not to get murdered at the same time.”

when jungkook comes back inside, you let him know about what he missed from the press conference.

“we should just stay here for now.” when you raise your eyebrows, jungkook says, “i basically live here when i’m not on campus for classes. plus yoongi-hyung lets me bring girls here all the time, this is nothing new.”

“if both of you are gonna be hiding out in my place, we’ll need to go to the store,” yoongi says. “more mouths to feed.”

“…or i could just go home?” you propose, your mind reeling at them already making plans. you feel awkward about staying in a stranger’s house for who knows how long. “i think we only really needed to stay here for the night. it’s fine.”

“will you have people there with you?” jungkook asks. “it’s not safe to be alone.”

you’re surprised he seems to be this concerned, but you answer: “well, i mean…my sister works 12-hour shifts as a nurse and she’s the only one living there, so…” you’d chosen your university because your older sister lived in the area, and because it was a tradition for women in your family to attend that school, but there were no other relatives you could turn to. your parents lived a couple of towns away.

yoongi comes to the conclusion so you don’t have to. “in other words, you’ll be alone most of the day.”

“…i guess. but i’m really not tryna impose on you by staying here.”

yoongi tilts his head, a small smirk on his lips. you automatically dislike the look on his face. “why don’t you take jungkook with you, then?”

you and jungkook glance at each other. “but, hyung…”

yoongi shakes his head. “you already know i can take care of myself. seriously, don’t worry about it.” and then yoongi winks at you. you don’t know for sure, but you take that to mean he’s probably packing heat like camille’s dad.

“if you’re sure.” turning to you, jungkook says, “so, how about it?”

“it’s my sister’s house, so i’ll have to ask her,” you say tentatively. “yeah…uh. let me do that now, i guess.” you pull out your phone to text her about it, though you know it’ll be a while before she gets another work break and can answer. “in the meantime…i think we’ll need to go to the store either way. and then to campus to pick our things up.”

“you’re right. let’s go then,” jungkook says.

the store is full of people panic-buying food and necessities in preparation for the curfew and effective lockdown, which you expected. you and jungkook end up going your separate ways to find the things you need because it’s quicker that way, and because you want to get in and out of the store as soon as possible. the crowdedness is too much like the party, and despite yourself, anxiety begins rising in you due to the claustrophobic atmosphere. you try to maintain even breaths as you keep searching for items. just what you need—a shiny new trauma to make your life harder.

you pass by a man in one of the less-crowded aisles before realizing he’s standing in front of what you need to get, examining one of the food packages. you wait a few moments to see if he’ll finish up soon, and when your eyes begin to wander, you see that there’s a long gray hair clinging to the back of his leather jacket, standing out clearly against the black. you probably wouldn’t have noticed this at all on any other day, except your mind has been on high alert for hours now; you find it strange that this strand clearly doesn’t match the shade or length of the hair on his head, which is short and plain brown. the shade of the hair also weirdly reminds you of something, though you can’t quite recall what; it remains just out of your mind’s reach.

you shake your head. he could’ve come to the store with somebody who has long gray hair, or hugged them before he left home, and a strand stuck to his jacket. it’s the least of your issues right now.

the man must feel your presence behind him because he turns around to look at you. you’re a little taken aback by his gaze; his expression isn’t mean per se, but very intense, as if his entire focus is trained on you.

there’s a second’s pause, like he’s thinking about something before he speaks. “am i in your way?” he asks, never breaking eye contact. his voice doesn’t portray any particular emotion.

“i just have to get something really quick.” he steps aside and gestures to the rows of food without a word. you slip in beside him and grab what you need before moving away again. “thanks.” you think about telling him about the hair on his jacket but decide against it; your decision is solidified when you spot a wolf figurine keychain on his keys, faded from time but still distinguishable. it makes your breath catch.

there’s no way it could be him. it was kind of dark in the party house with nothing but string lights and lamps illuminating it, and everything happened so quickly…but you do remember the colors of that mask. red, yellow, black—and that dark gray for the fur.

but maybe it’s really all just a coincidence; how much sense would it make to turn every person with wolf paraphernalia and random stray hairs into a suspect?

you walk down the rest of the aisle and away from the man with growing unease. maybe it’s time to find jungkook so you can get out of here; you can hardly keep yourself together, and despite your best attempts at logic, you can’t stop yourself from getting more frantic about those two things.

speeding up your walk and weaving through people, you look down every aisle in search for jungkook before you find him, rushing over to him as you breathe heavily.

“whoa, what the hell is wrong? did somebody do something?”

“no, i…”

“what happened?”

“it’s the…well, the…i saw, uh…”

“y/n.”

“i saw—the mask. the fur from the mask. do you remember it?”

“…you mean that stupid ass werewolf mask?” you gesture for jungkook to lower his voice. “wait, you’re saying you saw it in here?”

“no, i saw a man who had a strand of hair on his jacket…” it starts sounding ridiculous to your own ears the more you speak, but you continue. “the strand—it was the same color as that fur. the same length! and he—he had some weird wolf keychain…”

jungkook stares at you for a long moment before sighing. “you’re not serious? a random strand of hair that could be from anybody or anything? that could be from someone’s fucking grandma for all we know. plus a keychain…maybe he just likes wolves, y/n.”

you already know that saying i just feel like something is off won’t be enough to convince him. you sigh with a deep sense of defeat, considering that he’s probably right. maybe your initial assumption was the more sensible answer. “…right. i think i’m just really fucked up right now after everything that happened. can we finish up here?”

“yeah, we will. because you definitely need to lay down soon or something. you haven’t had any sleep all night, right?” the way jungkook eyes you with concern as if you’ve lost your mind annoys you. you’re about to give a smart remark when you notice something in the carrying-basket he has.

“…a baseball bat?”

“if the killer comes after us again, duh. we’ll be prepared this time. or at least i will.”

“good luck with that if he happens to have another gun.” rolling your eyes, you brush past jungkook to go to one of the checkout counters.

in the parking lot, you see that the man from earlier has also come out and is putting the last of his grocery bags into his car trunk. there’s really nothing spectacular about his appearance that would make him stand out in a crowd, with his average height and average looks, let alone incriminate him as a serial killer. yet that familiar unease won’t leave.

he sees you and jungkook walking towards the car together, and his eyes dart to the bullet holes in jungkook’s car. then he makes eye contact with you. you give a half-hearted wave, unsure what else to do with his eyes stuck on you. for a moment, his lips turn up into the faintest smile before he shakes his head and gets into his own car.

--

MONDAY, NOV 6

you’ve spent half of saturday and all of sunday trying to get used to living in your sister’s house with jungkook. veronica had been surprisingly okay with having him stay over, though most of it was her being relieved you finally found “a potential boyfriend who’s actually cute.” you didn’t have the energy to argue with her.

you’ve also been constantly checking on camille (to her eventual annoyance) and seeing if there are any more updates on lorelai. still nothing. your dread grows the further away you get from that bloody friday, but you try to keep your thoughts from straying too darkly.

right now, you, veronica, and jungkook all sit on the couch together in a neat little row, a bowl of popcorn in front of you on the coffee table and some science-fiction B-movie playing on the TV. your sister proposed the idea to distract yourselves from everything going on, but so far, you feel like it isn’t very effective. at least not for you. your mind keeps wandering to other things every 5 minutes.

eventually, veronica yawns widely, stretching her arms and legs before rising off the couch. “okay, i’m getting tired as fuck. i need to go to sleep for work tomorrow anyway. you guys enjoy the rest of the movie, okay?” she pats your shoulder as she passes by you on her way out of the room.

jungkook waves. “oh, sure. goodnight.”

“night, sis.”

when jungkook’s attention goes back to the movie, your sister makes eye contact with you and points her finger at you menacingly. you give her a shocked look while she mouths you know what i mean and swirls her finger in jungkook’s direction. embarrassed at the implication, you roll your eyes and turn your head back to the TV screen. having sex with jungkook on your sister’s couch is not high on your list of priorities tonight.

after your sister is gone, jungkook spreads out on the couch like it’s his own living room, placing his legs right over your lap. you sigh, looking over at him—and hoping that your eyes don’t linger too obviously on the expanse of thigh muscle that’s now on display from his shorts riding up higher.

“…really? i don’t want your big ole legs in my lap.”

jungkook just grins. “you should lay down too, it’s more comfortable this way.” you stare at him, and he tries to egg you on by pulling the sleeve of your shirt. “come on.”

“i’m not laying down on top of you, if that’s what you’re after.”

you do end up lying down, but on the opposite side of the couch so that your legs are tangled together, which really just increases the amount of contact between you either way—but whatever.

this makes jungkook laugh more. “ha, it’s like we’re scissoring.”

“so damn corny.”

you two continue watching the rest of the movie, but by the end of it you don’t remember half of what happened. taking the remote, you flip through the channels and try to find something else to look at. there isn’t much interesting to watch on a random monday night—which would be a school night anyway, if not for the current context.

as you search for a channel, jungkook asks: “what would you do if you found out who the killer was?”

you squint your eyes at his odd question. maybe the obvious answer would be to alert the police. but after days of having your anger stoked like a fire, that’s not exactly the answer you’d choose. “maybe i’d kill him.” the words leave your lips easily, and you hardly think twice about them once they’re out.

neither of you speak for a few long moments.

“does that scare you?” you ask, after the silence starts annoying you. you want to laugh, but there’s nothing really funny about the situation.

“…not really. angry women are kinda sexy. so are dangerous ones.”

you scoff. “i’m not tryna be sexy, you fool. and how many dangerous women have you dealt with? seems to me you only have a thing for the innocents.”

“it’s not like i only fuck virgins. you don’t even know me like that.” he nudges your leg with his foot like he’s also annoyed, but his expression doesn’t show any actual irritation.

“…if you want to go back and forth about it, go outside and argue with the wall or something. i’m in no mood, jungkook.” you shove his foot off of you. “just, holy shit. i wish i could have just one hour where i don’t have to think about any of this shit. my mind can’t even breathe.”

he’s actually quiet for a couple minutes after. you think he’s moved on from the conversation until he finally says, “i can give you an hour.”

your body becomes alert at that. the insinuation in his tone is obvious. you glance backwards as if your sister could hear you from upstairs, though you know that’s illogical. “i got what i wanted from you already,” you whisper.

“so? what if i wanted to give you more? you know you’re allowed to have sex with a person more than once, yeah?” he chuckles.

here he is making you this offer, and once again you feel like you’ve been reduced to the state of a confused lamb in front of a hungry wolf. you realize that the idea of letting yourself get more physically entangled with jungkook scares you. he is not someone you can turn into a boyfriend, who wants to be a boyfriend, and you are only looking to save yourself from any potential hurt. “it would just be sex—right? you have to know i’m not looking for anything deeper from you.”

jungkook smirks. like with yoongi, you don’t know if he believes you. “i know.”

you want to undo almost everything from the past few days. you can’t forget, but for a while, you want to just exist outside of the timeline where there’s a killer on the loose and one of your friends is missing. it’s too much to handle; your body is approaching its limits for the amount of stress it can take. you need a balm to numb the pain and the fear, and you dislike that you are giving into your base instincts to do so. you feel guilty, somehow. but pleasure is easy. at least it has been whenever you sought it on your own—and now you have someone else to give it to you. someone who is in front of you now, proposing it with all the willingness in the world. maybe there’s really nothing wrong with saying yes.

“jungkook…”

“hm?”

“please just shut the fuck up and don’t say another word about the outside world right now. i don’t want to think about anything but your…” you falter, still trying to get used to expressing what you want sexually.

jungkook sits up, his hands sliding up your legs and to your hips. “but my what?”

“um, your…” your thoughts end when he leans down and pulls the hem of your sweater up, planting a kiss on your waist where your skin meets the waistband of your sweatpants. one kiss turns into a second, and a third. the fourth becomes an open-mouthed embrace of his lips on your skin, and you make a small noise of pleasure when his tongue gets involved.

“careful. don’t want veronica to come down here, remember?”

you huff. “that isn’t happening any time soon, believe me.”

his kisses continue as he begins to slide your sweatpants down, revealing the waistband of your panties. once they’re fully on display, he leans forward to nuzzle his face between your thighs, his mouth and nose pressing into the seat of your underwear. his actions take you off guard. you actually give a brief chuckle from surprise, though you are also somewhat embarrassed. “now what the hell are you doing?”

“let me savor my meal before i eat it.” his warm breaths tickle your inner thighs as he speaks.

“ugh, don’t turn me off.”

“that’s funny, because i seem to have an easy time getting you wet.” to prove it, his fingers press into the seat of your underwear to feel the wetness that’s seeped into them; you sigh from the brief pleasure his fingers’ movements afford you before he pulls them away.

jungkook drags your panties down next, his lips trailing down your lower abdomen and across the curls of hair covering your pubic mound. your body fills with anticipation at the gradual pace of his actions and the purposeful, wet caresses of his mouth.

when he uses his thumbs to press your lower lips apart and expose you more fully to him, you have half a mind to be self-conscious about it until he places his mouth on you in earnest.

jungkook eats like someone who hasn’t done so in a while and doesn’t know when he’ll get to do it again. his mouth sucks at your clit like he’s desperate for you to come, tongue rolling over the swollen nub in an unrelenting pattern that has your stomach tensing, and you quickly realize you do have to try to silence yourself even if you know it won’t wake veronica up. you twist your hands into the sleeves of your sweater and lean your head back on the couch’s armrest as you arch your hips up closer to jungkook’s face, uncaring about how vulnerable you feel completely offering yourself up to him like this; right now, all you want is to feel good.

“gonna come quick again? maybe we can set a new record?” jungkook pins your knee against the couch with his elbow to keep your legs open as he slides two fingers inside, diving straight in instead of working you up this time. your body breaks out in a sweat and you know you really won’t last long once he does this, the tips of his fingers aiming for that dreadful, wonderful, and overpowering place inside you. you don’t know how people do this—you feel like you’re going to die when he stimulates that spot, and all you want to do is scream even though you can’t.

“a r-record? fuck off…” you choke out, though you begin to rock your hips into the rhythm of his fingers, needing so badly for him to take you over the edge again.

he chuckles. “i don’t think you want me to fuck off right now.”

you have no words for a good comeback when he buries his head between your legs and slurps at your pussy again and crooks his fingers repeatedly to where your orgasm is unexpectedly rushing down upon you, causing your body to tense as you gasp and stifle any sounds that escape with your sweater sleeve.

jungkook doesn’t stop there and you don’t really expect him to, because you’re beginning to learn he isn’t a one-and-done type of man. he keeps sucking and stroking you right into another releasewhile you push the beanie off his head, fist your fingers into his strands, and tremble over the sight of his pitch-black mess of hair between your thighs. something about the visual is so appealing to you.

after he has made you come for the third time, you watch him sit up on his knees to reach into his shorts and pull his dick out, his darkened tip slick with precum. his long hair falls into his face as he glances downward, using the hand he’d been fingering you with to lube himself up with your cum.

“come here,” you tell him, your voice coming out sharper than you intended; but he doesn’t care, because he follows your request without a word and presses himself into your side. the couch is just big enough to accommodate both of you in this position, but it’s still a tight fit, and your bodies are once again tangled together.

“let me touch you,” you say, your palm pressed to his stomach, feeling the firmness of the muscle.

he raises his eyebrows, like you didn’t even need to ask. “of course.”

“no, i mean…” he realizes what you actually mean as you brush his hand away from his shaft and wrap your fingers around it instead.

“should i teach you how?” jungkook brings his hand to overlap yours, though his breath becomes a bit strained when you slide your hand to the base of his cock and back to the tip again, the pads of your fingers rubbing over the sensitive head. seeing your fingers around him turns him on more than he thought it could, and it’s just a simple fucking handjob.

you roll your eyes. “stroking a dickshouldn’t be that hard.”

“everyone likes it differently, though. fast, slow, soft, or rough…just the tip, or the whole shaft.” you can’t deny that—or the way you find yourself throbbing at his words, his voice husky from the pleasure. which is why you let jungkook close his hand more fully around yours and guide your movements.

it’s captivating to observe his reactions from your hand on his skin—the heavy breaths he lets out and the soft moans and even softer whimpers that come in between the exhales. whenever you squeeze his shaft more firmly or rub your thumb against his leaking tip, you find yourself grinning at the rise and fall of his chest and the tongue that darts out of his mouth to lick at his lips. but mostly, your eyes are drawn back to the sight of your hand working him over, his thighs and stomach tensing sporadically.

eventually, you both look away from your joined hands and at each other’s faces. your eyes dart to his lips and back to his gaze again, and you shift your face forward to signal your desire for a kiss. he meets you there by pressing his lips to yours, and it isn’t hard for him to get lost in the meeting of your mouths and the heat from your palm on his shaft.

your free hand returns to his soft hair to tug on it as your tongues slide against each other. he grunts at the burn of his roots being pulled but doesn’t stop you; on the contrary, his body responds favorably as more precum swells from his tip and his nipples poke against the material of his shirt.

“do you like that, jungkook?” you mumble against his mouth.

“you know i do.” at some point, his hand falls away and he lets you stroke him on your own.

jungkook gives a shuddering moan into your mouth when he climaxes minutes later, thick streams of his cum shooting onto his shirt and dripping down your hand. he tries to keep quiet and doesn’t entirely succeed, but it doesn’t much matter.

you squeeze the few remaining drops of cum from his cockhead, trying to make sure you don’t grip hard enough to actually hurt him. you pull your sticky hand away from jungkook when you think he’s finally emptied, but he grabs your wrist and you look at him questioningly. you watch with shocked eyes as jungkook brings your hand up and takes your messy fingers into his mouth, sucking his cum from them. you know instinctively it isn’t the first time he’s done this—not with the look of pure satisfaction on his features as he licks his own seed off your fingers.

his enthusiastic pleasure is part of the reason why you accept when jungkook gives you a crushing kiss, passing his cum from his tongue to yours. you don’t know what you expected it to taste like, but it isn’t gross like you’ve heard others complain about when sharing their sex tales; despite being salty, the overall taste is neutral. still, it takes some getting used to.

when you pull away from each other, noses brushing and lips wet from each other’s spit, you look into his dark brown eyes and get the sudden desire to say something that’s been buried in the back of your mind for days now.

“why did you come straight to me that night?” you whisper. “like you already knew who you were there for.”

jungkook stares back, his lips curving up slightly. “i just wanted to. or i wanted you, more specifically.”

“that’s not an answer.”

“well, it’s my answer.”

“was i another one to knock off your list?”

“you think i have a list?”

“i’m not stupid. it’s not unusual for guys to have a list. plus, plenty of rumors go around.”

jungkook taps his fingers underneath your chin and kisses you on the lips again, though it is brief. “stop believing everything you hear.”

you clearly won’t be getting a straight answer from him tonight. with the moment broken, you sigh and begin pulling your bottoms back on. “…whatever you say, dude.” once you’re dressed, you climb over his body to get off the couch. you poke him in the chest as your eyes roam over him in his disheveled state, his shorts pulled down and his cum staining his black shirt. “might wanna clean yourself up, huh? i’m going to sleep. and, yeah…thanks for the distraction.”

--

TUESDAY, NOV 7

with the weather being as cold as it is and heading toward winter in another month or so, lorelai is surprised by how quickly the bodies began to smell.

she doesn’t know much of anything about bodily decomposition—because, to her parents’ disappointment, she wasn’t about to be a biology major and have to be around cadavers in a dissection lab—but if this were a movie or something, she would’ve thought it would take longer than just one day. the smell started to hit her the saturday after the party.

but ultimately, this isn’t a movie, and the fact that she’s trapped in a decrepit house in some remote part of town is her present reality.

she doesn’t remember anything about how she got to this house; she thinks she must have been concussed before she was brought here. her head has been hurting badly for days, and not even the simple relief of a painkiller is available.

what she does know is that she’s being kept in a dirty living room on an equally dirty mattress, her hands and legs tied by rope and zip-ties. if there were any miniscule chance of her escaping, it would be impossible to go anywhere considering both her ankles are broken, only adding to the amount of physical pain she’s been in for days.

the living room is mostly empty except for the bodies of some other students from the party, which have been scattered around the room. lorelai tries not to look at them—especially not at the ones she knows—but it’s difficult. they become even more terrifying to her when night falls, turning into dark, rotting shadows in the corners of the room. there has been nothing but the company of these corpses for days, and a couple of visits from the killer.

he's never once taken off his wolf mask or his gloves, and every other part of his body stays covered in all black. she doesn’t have the first idea of what he looks like underneath it all. he has spoken to her a few times, but the voice isn’t one she recognizes. his words when she first awoke inside this house still knock around in her mind, filling her with dread.

he’d crouched in front of her, watching her move around on the mattress and try to orient herself. he had the casual air of someone observing a flipped-up bug struggle on the sidewalk before crushing it underfoot. “you aren’t y/n, but you’ll do for now. we’ll have some real fun later on. you’ll help me give her a good scare.”

“how the fuck do you know y/n?” lorelai had struggled against her restraints, but this only made her newly broken ankles hurt worse. tears began to fall from her eyes from the pain and fear.

the killer had said nothing to that—only tilted his head curiously and stared at her, which was unnerving even if she couldn’t see his eyes.

“you have no fucking reason to go after her, she’s not even a virgin anymore you dumb fuck—” with those words, the killer had backhanded her, sending her already injured head into a fresh wave of agony.

“things would’ve been different if not for that fucking party. you students think you’re so fucking clever, yeah? and look how you paid for it.” it was impossible to see any facial expression, but his body language spoke of anger. “no matter, though. virgin or not, i’ll see this through to the end.”

now it’s yet another morning, and he has returned. he has a lot of debris in his hands—stuff like sticks and dry moss and foliage. he’s also carrying a small bag, the contents of it a mystery. everything he does causes alarm for lorelai, but now confusion joins in.

“ready to have some fun?” he asks. with duct tape over her mouth, she can’t answer back. she watches as he arranges the debris on the ground in front of her, her anxiety mounting as he takes a lighter out of his pocket and sets fire to the foliage.

leaning forward, he rips part of the duct tape away from her mouth with his gloved hand, causing her face to sting. “got anything to say?”

“wh-what the fuck are you doing?”

“i’m gonna stoke a nice fire here…get this knife hot enough to hurt.” he brings out his knife then, and lorelai shrinks away from the blade as he drags the flat of it across her throat—but there’s nowhere else to go, as she’s sitting up against the wall. “then i’ll just cut this pretty little body up a bit. the finishing touch…i think i’ll slice your throat open. how does that sound?” he takes the knife away from her neck to hold the blade over the flames.

lorelai’s breath hitches, and her stomach begins to physically hurt from the outpouring of anxiety flowing through her. she starts to sob, trying to speak through the tears and snot and drool. the only question she can muster up is, “wh-why?”

“this is for y/n—remember? i hope that concussion hasn’t fucked with your memory.” the killer watches the reflection of the flames on the blade as it grows hotter. “and…i’m doing someone a favor.” he doesn’t wait for her to speak again before putting the duct tape back in place over her mouth, leaving her to cry to herself and face her rising distress as he heats the knife until it’s burning hot. internally, she wishes there was any way in the world to get out of this situation.

it isn’t much longer before he’s finished. lorelai screams as he approaches her with the knife, and then at the feeling of the red-hot blade scorching her skin, though the sounds are stifled by the duct tape.

“now, be still while i fix you up.”

--

WEDNESDAY, NOV 8

you go outside that afternoon to check the mail and have an excuse to get out of the house; it doesn’t matter if it’s only for a few moments. you’re not used to staying cooped up in one place for so long with absolutely nothing to do, and you feel like you’re not too far off from going mad with cabin fever. it hasn’t even been a week since everything happened.

you open the mailbox, and there are the usual bills along with something strange: a blank envelope with no return address. even your sister’s address isn’t written on it. flipping it over, you see that the envelope was never sealed. someone must’ve just come up and put it inside the mailbox. but who the hell would do that, and for what reason? whenever any of your neighbors have something to give you or your sister, they come straight up to the house to do it.

inside the envelope is a set of polaroids. their content makes you drop the rest of the mail. your legs grow weak, and you end up sitting down hard on the end of the driveway, some of the polaroids slipping from your hands. the pictures show the bodies of some of the students from your university, their corpses posed in odd positions and some bare of clothing—all dead.

you struggle to breathe as you frantically flip through the rest of the pictures. in the center of all the group photos is lorelai, her neck torn open and her wrists and ankles tied. she’s still dressed the way she was the night of the party, though her dress is stained with dark brown blood. there are open cuts all over her bare skin, their appearance rough-looking and uneven as if they’ve been cauterized.

there are several group polaroids, several of lorelai alone, and several angles of the outside of a house, which must be the same one the bodies are being kept in. one photo of lorelai slips out of your shaking hands, and you see there’s barely legible handwriting on the back of it, which reads, “this is just the teaser, y/n.”

you scream and don’t stop screaming until jungkook comes running out of the house holding the baseball bat, as if the killer might’ve gotten bold enough to attack in daylight. a couple of your neighbors peek out of their houses and make their way over with concern on their faces once they see you sitting on the ground, your exclamations ringing through the street.

there’s a disarrayed group of people around you grabbing at your shoulders and asking what’s wrong, what happened, and then gasps and exclamations of shock when they see the polaroids. you feel yourself being pulled to your feet and then lifted up—maybe it’s jungkook, because it smells like him—but you’re too disoriented to make proper sense of anything right now. you can only think of how much time has been wasted, and how little time lorelai actually had left.

--

SUNDAY, NOV 12

in the main lobby of the funeral home, you sit in a chair next to camille, staring into empty space while the other girl tries to cry as quietly as she can. she cries as if she’s ashamed of it, and you wish you could comfort her, but you don’t know what to say or do. for the past few days, you’ve mostly just felt numb.

you’re waiting for veronica to come back out so you can leave, as she’d stayed behind after the service to talk to lorelai’s family for a little longer.

lorelai’s family had opted to have her cremated after seeing the state of her body. a lot of other families did the same after the events of cherry bomb, not even wanting to entertain the idea of a closed-casket funeral. you can understand their feelings about it if you push through the haze in your mind to consider it for long enough. though the morticians have done the best they can over the past week, sometimes knowing that your loved one has multiple stab wounds and eviscerated organs beneath all the makeup and fancy clothing is too much to handle.

when veronica finally comes out, the three of you walk outside to join the rest of the people who’ve started getting in their cars. some still linger in small huddles, shaking their heads and wiping their faces.

jungkook, who’d driven you and veronica to the memorial, waits outside for you all, leaning on the side of the building. you both thought it was probably better for him not to attend the service considering lorelai was never fond of him and he didn’t know her that well.

“is it finished?” he asks.

“it is.” veronica sighs. “god, funerals are so damn…bleak.”

you notice a man waving at your group from the other side of the parking lot and realize it’s camille’s dad. her posture straightens when she catches sight of him, and she hurriedly tries to wipe the rest of her tears before shoving her tissue into her pocket. “i-i think my dad is waiting for me. i…i’ll see you guys later, alright?”

“okay, camille.” the strange absence of emotion that you’ve been trapped in for the past few days suddenly cracks open when you notice camille’s anxious demeanor as she speed-walks away from the rest of you. intense sorrow overtakes you; you don’t want her to leave, but she has to go.

you are crying before you fully understand what’s happening. veronica puts her arms around you and squeezes you against the side of her body. jungkook reaches a thumb up to wipe away your tears, though you don’t let him get very far before turning your head away and into veronica’s shoulder.

“y/n…”

“how am i supposed to go on?” you exclaim, catching the attention of a few people nearby. “the police said maybe she’s just staying with friends. and now look. plus, the killer knows where me and my sister live now…maybe he always knew.”

“we don’t even have a clue who the killer is…” jungkook mumbles. “there’s no one you know of who might have a grudge against you?”

“no, jungkook. the police already gave me all that questioning. and it doesn’t help me feel any better to think maybe all these deaths are somehow my fault.” you scoff.

“y/n, nothing’s your fault because some freak decided to go around killing people; that was his decision.” jungkook argues.

you nod slightly to his words but say nothing else, not wanting to go further into that topic. you don’t know if you can believe him about that.

the parking lot is emptying out now, so you try to pull yourself together so the three of you can leave. “well…you don’t need to keep staying with us if you don’t want to. we have those assigned bodyguards now, so…” you glance in the direction of one other car sitting beside jungkook’s—inside it are two men the police force appointed after the polaroids of the bodies were planted in your sister’s mailbox.

jungkook looks at you as if he’s trying to gauge your expression; he himself looks surprised, though he attempts to play it off. veronica glances between you both, recognizing the awkward shift in the air.

“you don’t want me there anymore? i mean it is your house—” he glances at veronica “—so that’s fine with me if—"

“what? i didn’t say i don’t want you there, neither did veronica, it’s just if you don’t want to be there—"

“i never said i didn’t want to be there, though?”

you both become quiet, jungkook looking at you and you returning his gaze for a few seconds before looking off to the side. veronica is still standing between you both like she’d rather be anywhere else on earth.

“i just figured that maybe…” why are you being so concerned about me? isn’t this the part where we go our separate ways? is what you really want to ask. you have seen and learned enough from your friends’ and even your acquaintances’ experiences to realize that any other one night stand would not have cared so much. that’s how these things go, right? but he isn’t really a one night stand anymore, either.

you don’t even know if you’re considered friends with benefits, but what would that change? you’d still seen others tossed aside without much thought by their FWBs while in times of need. considering his history, you don’t understand why jungkook isn’t following the same template now, and you don’t think you should ask why for fear of breaking the illusion.

fed up with your own confusion, you decide now isn’t the time to lament on your lack of knowledge about these things. “nevermind. that’s fine. so you’ll stay?”

the corner of his mouth lifts in a brief smile. “i’ll stay as long as you won’t try to kick me out.”

you aren’t in the mood to attempt to smile back, but he seems to understand that. “right, well...good.”

“…now that you two have figured that shit out, can we leave?”

--

FRIDAY, NOV 17

jungkook thought that getting outside a bit more would help you feel better and prevent you from developing a complete fear of leaving the house, which is why you’re sitting in this claustrophobic little diner now with him, yoongi, and camille—and of course, your ever-present bodyguards in the booth behind you all. but this outing isn’t doing anything to mitigate your fears.

nearly 10 minutes in, you have to ask jungkook to switch seats with you so you’re not on the outside of the booth, as you��re afraid that it’s too easy-access if anyone—say, the killer, though you’ve been trying not to think so obsessively about him—were to come in and start stabbing you to death right where you sit. being on the inside calms you for a little while until you become anxious about the window beside you; what if he has a gun again and simply shoots through the glass? all he’d have to do is stand on the sidewalk and aim, his werewolf mask laughing at you with its eternally frozen growling expression, and your brains would be all over the table just like that frat guy’s.

your meal sits half-eaten as you get increasingly lost in your anxieties. the others are talking about something, but you can’t hear what. it’s like some of your senses have shut down or begun working incorrectly. the strawberry sauce in camille’s sundae looks too much like blood and even smells like it from the occasional whiffs you get, and you find yourself staring at the sundae dish and wanting to throw it across the restaurant.

jungkook’s hand touches you on the back, and the tension in your body increases. he feels it and draws away, though he keeps trying to meet your eyes. “are you okay?” he whispers.

“why ask that? she obviously isn’t,” yoongi says, like he’s annoyed with the obviousness of jungkook’s question.

“hyung, i’m just trying to help.”

“it was your great idea to come out here when she didn’t want to, though.”

“y/n—” camille starts.

“can’t you throw that out? it smells like blood.” your mouth feels useless and hard to maneuver, but you manage to say those words.

“what?”

“the…that. that thing.” everyone looks at camille’s melting sundae. yoongi raises his eyebrows.

“blood?”

“do you mean it—looks like blood?” jungkook suggests.

you raise your voice in irritation, not understanding how everyone else is unable to perceive the same scent that you do. “no, i-it does, but it smells like blood too! just get rid of it!”

one of the waitresses comes over to the table. “is everything okay over here?”

“um, we’re fine! i’m finished with this though.” camille hurriedly hands the sundae off to her, trying to keep the situation calm.

“oh, well—the rest of you too? that’ll be it, then?” she gathers everyone’s plates and leaves with a smile that attempts to be cordial but is still colored with unease.

her departure leaves a stiff silence in which you all spare glances at each other but try to avoid directly meeting eyes. camille is the first to break it.

“i’ll ask my dad if i can stay over with you,” she suggests. she suddenly sounds much more tired. jungkook’s eyebrows furrow slightly at her words; yoongi silently glances at the younger man. “just, you know…maybe the extra company would help? he’s been treating me like a kid again, but we should be safe with the bodyguards there, so…”

“you don’t have to do that,” you say, though you’re too exhausted to truly argue.

“you’re in shambles, y/n. and it’s not just for your benefit. i’m feeling pretty fucking alone right now, and it’s hard for my dad to understand the emotional side of it, so…” camille plays with her fingers and doesn’t look at anyone as she speaks; you know talking about her father can be a sore spot for her sometimes. “uh, anyway. not to trauma-dump or anything. just let me do this.”

you sigh. “fine…okay. do whatever you have to. can we just leave?”

as you’re all walking outside, jungkook pulls you aside.

“i still worry about you after that incident at the store, you know?” he admits.

you shrug his hand off your arm and glare at him. “you think i’m crazy.”

“i don’t. i just want you to be able to relax and not feel like you’re being hunted 24/7. i don’t think the killer is constantly waiting around the nearest corner for you, y/n.”

“you don’t know how close the killer could be. he knows where i go to sleep at night. so stop the bullshit, jungkook.”

“you’ll be okay. you have me, remember? i protected you that night…i can do it again.”

you examine his face for a long moment and find that you are too overwhelmed with stress and fear to be moved by his words. “i’d like to trust you…but the killer might just murder you too. then who’ll save me?” you don’t wait for his response before walking away to catch up with the other two.

--

LYING IN WAIT...

it’s strange to see the police bodyguards in veronica’s driveway and backyard everyday. it’s not the same two all day—they switch off so that there are two doing a day shift and two doing a night shift.

the security team at the hospital where your sister works is aware of the situation, so you try not to get too worried about her safety when she’s away from the house—but it’s difficult.

there have been no more kills connected to your university since lorelai. it seems like half the town has forgotten their fears and tried to go back to some sense of normalcy while the other half still hides away and lives in perpetual panic, including you. the former group of people has started muddying the waters for the police, with some teenagers getting brave enough to sneak around in wolf masks and vandalize buildings with red-lettered virgin graffiti just to fuck with the cops. there have even been a few people who turned themselves in claiming to be the killer—only their supposed confessions never matched the details of the case.

reporters have tried to hound lorelai’s family and your family several times for any speculations or answers on the killer’s identity, but none of you are willing to spread misinformation just to give them something to write about. however, that hasn’t stopped other residents of your town from sharing their speculations and even implicating their own relatives or neighbors—whether as a fucked-up joke or as genuine revenge just depends on whoever’s speaking. with all of these false leads, the police are still no closer to finding the killer than they’d initially been.

everyday feels like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, though the chances of any more kills are starting to seem improbable; the university is practically empty. but it doesn’t matter to you if the school is nearly deserted, because the killer has his aims set on you now, and you only wish you knew why.

up in your room, you and camille sit on your bed gazing out the window—the window that must always remain locked now, for fear of unwanted ingress. you’ve never been uncomfortable in your sister’s house, but lately you’ve been feeling like you’re boxed in with every wall pressing towards you.

sitting up from your lying-down position, you have to find the appropriate words for a moment before speaking. “camille—i can’t stop feeling like maybe we aren’t entirely safe,” you murmur.

camille raises her eyebrows. “why not? those guys stay outside all day, and we keep everything locked up day and night. literally, the only time the front door opens is for veronica to leave and come back from work everyday.”

“i don’t know. there’s no particular reason for it…it just seems like we’re waiting for something.”

“…yeah? for the killer to be caught.”

“but he’s made no moves recently. you remember the policeman’s daughter, right? i even texted her and she hasn’t heard anything new that we don’t already know. seems like things have slowed down at the police station. it’s not like that abandoned house was in the killer’s name or anything, so what leads would they have?”

camille frowns and rubs her eyes like something’s in them, but when she looks at you directly, you see her eyes are red from unshed tears. “…i want things to be okay, though. i’m tired of living like this. you know how i had to beg just to get my dad to let me leave the house. he’s constantly on edge.” you feel even more unsettled to see camille so distressed lately, as she’s always been the only one able to pull something funny out of a terrible situation—something enough to distract you from the horrors. “all i know is they’ll have to dig his ass out of some hole in the ground at some point. he can’t hide in this town forever.”

“yeah…i guess you’re right.” you still don’t feel reassured, but you don’t voice your doubts.

--

WEDNESDAY, NOV 22

“i think i might go mad,” camille says from her position on the armchair, her limbs splayed haphazardly across it and one hand stuck in a bag of chips.

you sigh. “you’re the one who wanted to watch this thanksgiving movie marathon.”

“the most mid holiday of the season,” jungkook adds.

“no one cares what either of you think, thanks.” it isn’t long before the program is over and the ending credits are rolling. with an exaggerated exhale, camille gets up from the chair and crunches the bag of chips in her hand. “i’m going to your room, y/n. you two just do whatever it is you do down here, since you hate my movie choices so much!”

“means we can finally turn the channel.” jungkook snatches the remote off the coffee table and does just that.

camille goes into the kitchen to throw out the chip bag and wash her hands. your focus returns to the TV. a few seconds later, you hear the upstairs flooring creak above the noise of the water pouring from the tap.

“what’s up, sis? i thought you were sleeping.” veronica is known to be a deep sleeper, so it’s not common for her to be getting up in the middle of the night. there’s no answer to your question. you glance upstairs, but your sister isn’t standing there; she isn’t standing at all, instead being carried by someone wearing an all-too familiar mask.

you scream as the killer tosses your sister over the stair railing. her torso has been sliced open from collarbone to navel, her body leaving a large splatter of blood on the floor where she lands. jungkook jumps to his feet but is momentarily immobilized as he gazes at your sister’s body crumpled on the floor. you slide off the couch and crawl over to her, still crying out, but there’s no life left to try and salvage.

the screaming brings camille rushing to the kitchen doorway. she can barely vocalize what’s wrong? before spotting veronica’s body and stopping in her tracks. in a moment that feels like it takes forever to pass, the killer pulls a gun from his waistband—you recognize it as one of the guns the policemen carry and realize he must’ve killed the bodyguard posted in the backyard—and shoots her in the chest twice.

“camille!” when you go over to where she’s lying on the ground, she is still alive but bleeding intensely and struggling to breathe. your knees slip in the blood that begins pooling around her. “shit, camille…p-please don’t die…” you press your hand against the wounds, but they’re bleeding so much that your efforts don’t help, and the pressure of your hand causes her more pain.

there’s the sound of a gunshot at the front door as the lock is blown off, and the door is banged open a few seconds later by the remaining bodyguard. he has virtually no time to fire off another shot before the killer is shooting him in the head first.

the killer throws the gun aside, taking his knife in his other hand and making his way down the stairs. “your sister left her window cracked open. i waited for days for a slip-up like that. see how much harm can come from a simple mistake? well, she was collateral damage anyway.”

even in your panic, it’s as if all your bodily functions freeze when you recognize the familiarity of the killer’s voice. camille reacts with a rattling gasp, but her body is becoming too weak for her to utter anything; all she can do is watch as the man stops at the bottom of the stairs and pulls his mask off.

“yoongi…” your voice breaks as you try to speak again, but nothing coherent comes out.

he drops the mask on the floor and brushes a hand through his hair. “i guess you weren’t expecting that. good. we kept it up ‘til the end.”

your lips form around the word we, but your vocal cords won’t cooperate. you twist around to look at jungkook, who is still standing by the couch.

the man who you’d gotten too close to for your own good and done so many firsts with, who’d promised you that he’d protect you and was even there for you on the day of lorelai’s memorial, looks at you now with eyes glowing from the thrill as his mouth twitches into a smile—small at first but growing into a full grin. “i almost can’t believe we staged all that shit and it actually worked. you really believed it all, y/n.

not all of those kills were hyung’s, of course...there’s no way i’d miss out on the best parts. you don’t know what it’s like until you kill a person for the first time. crashing cherry bomb was his idea, though. and lorelai was mine. that bitch would’ve kept you away from me, and i needed her gone for this kill to work.”

through tears, you finally muster up the strength to ask, “wh-why have you done this? that night…y-you mean to tell me none of that was real? being shot at—why would you—” your voice rises until you’re shouting. “you-you’ve killed so many people. what was the purpose?!”

jungkook’s smile fades somewhat as he pretends to think about it, acting like he’s reminiscing on wistful memories. “i realized that killing and fucking aren’t that different, y/n. the real ecstasy of it is in taking someone pure…and doing something to them that has never been done before, and can never be done again. there’s a certain eroticism in killing someone, stabbing them, entering them…it’s like sex in the most profane sense.”

“you’re disgusting,” you mutter, glaring at him through your tears. you can’t help but feel shame to think of the times you’d had sex with him. had he simply been imagining murdering you during those moments? it makes you want to throw up.

yoongi steps closer until he’s right in front of you and camille. “and as for me…i just enjoy it. practice really does make perfect. you wouldn’t believe how entertaining it can be to see someone beg for their life.” his lips turn upwards in a dark smile resembling jungkook’s. “but instead of raging at us, i think you have bigger matters to be concerned with.” yoongi gestures his knife hand to camille, and when you look down at her body, you realize she’s no longer moving.

you lift camille’s head up with your hands as if that could make her return your gaze, though you can find no sign of breathing or pulse. “god, no…” you scream in frustration, your hands slipping in her blood. you check once more and again for any signs of life, because there is just no possible way this could’ve happened, but there are none present. “please—i’m sorry…”

“time’s up.” yoongi grabs your arm and yanks you away from camille, jostling you to try to get you on your feet. you flail around in his grip, fruitlessly scratching at his arms that are covered by his thick jacket, before managing to elbow him in the groin with your frantic movements. “shit!” this causes him to loosen his grip, which is enough for you to scramble away from him, slipping in the blood as you go.

you make it to the other side of the room where the officer lies facedown—though there isn’t much left of his face from yoongi’s shot. you snatch the gun from the dead officer’s hand and point it in the direction of both men. the safety is already off; all you’d have to do is pull the trigger and kill either one of them right now. before you can act, yoongi uses his free hand to pull another gun from his waistband—his own.

“as i said before, i know how to take care of myself,” he says, flicking the safety off and aiming for you, though his stance shows he’s still in pain. “please don’t assume it’ll be that easy. do you even know how to shoot a gun?”

you and yoongi are at an impasse as you both point your guns at each other, jungkook looking on with casual amusement coloring his face. “fuck you,” you spit out. you remain hesitant to fire on him, knowing that even if you succeed, he could fatally shoot you at the same time.

“let’s not do it this way,” yoongi says, his voice low and soft in an attempt to be persuasive, though you just find it disturbing. “you were supposed to be a clean kill. a few stabs and it’d all be over. i’ll even let jungkook do it, since you seem to like each other so much. do you really want to be shot down like a dog like camille over there?”

“you and him can both fry in hell!” you shout.

yoongi glances over at jungkook. they both nod before yoongi hands the knife to him, and the younger man takes a few steps in your direction. you don’t know whether to point the gun at him or keep it trained on yoongi; your head is pounding with a headache that you’ve only just realized you have. “don’t come over here. stay away from me!”

you press your back to the wall as jungkook comes closer, inching towards your right side with his knife at the ready. you slide away from him as you keep your back against the wall. “hand it over, y/n. it doesn’t have to be like this.”

“hand it over and let you kill me? are you insane? you lied to me this whole time, you fucking piece of shit.”

jungkook scoffs and looks at yoongi as if to say can you believe this? “why wouldn’t i lie to you? you were always meant to die.”

he won’t stop coming towards you, and you’re running out of room to slide away from him. you grasp for anything to try to reason with him, though you know it’s futile. “you realize that if you kill me now and you conveniently survive, everyone will know it’s you? you’ve been living here for weeks, you jackass!”

“hyung and i have that covered. it’s not for you to worry about, considering you won’t be worrying about anything soon.”

jungkook lunges for you with the knife, thinking he can catch you off guard and overpower you. you scream and pull the trigger in your frenzied state of mind, shooting yoongi. the next few things seem to happen almost simultaneously:

you hear the crash of yoongi’s body hitting the TV stand and the TV falling to the floor.

you feel jungkook’s knife piercing your shoulder, causing you to fire a stray round into the wall from the unexpected burst of pain.

you hear another gunshot that’s not from you; you see and feel jungkook stumble into you, the knife sliding from his fingers and to the floor.

you realize that he’s been shot when his hand flies to the bullet wound on his lower back; he’d been standing in front of you, and yoongi meant to hit you, not him.

“jungkook!” yoongi’s shout is furious and regretful as he steadies himself on the TV stand.

trying to push the pain into the back of your mind, you clumsily grasp jungkook’s fallen knife and run for the stairs. more shots follow you and most of them miss but one, which strikes you in the thigh.  while you cling to the stair railing and try to regain your footing, you are suddenly staring mortality in the face and understanding with a freezing-cold clarity that you will die right now if you don’t do something.

your nervous system vibrates with fear and adrenaline as you tighten your grip on the police officer’s gun and shoot yoongi with it twice—in the same area he’d shot camille.

these last two bullets finish him off immediately. you don’t think it’s fair, with how camille suffered and bled and died in your arms. for a moment, you’re so outraged that you wish he’d come back to life so that you could kill him again. you’re torn from these thoughts by jungkook.

“you bitch…he was my only family after everyone else threw me away. do you understand? i’ll fucking kill you!” jungkook is nearly writhing in the ground from his upset and from the hurt of his injury; it frightens you that this same man is someone you once thought you could grow fond of.

you aim the gun for jungkook next, but the chamber is empty. either way, he currently has no weapon, which leaves you with a small chance to get away before he re-arms himself. throwing the gun away, you stagger up the rest of the steps while his screams continue echoing up to you.

you give no thought to the blood trail you’re leaving behind as you rush to veronica’s room and to the window yoongi had entered through. you begin squeezing yourself through, keeping your grip on your knife all the while, but your injuries make it difficult to move. a few more tears slip out as you try to balance your injured leg on the tree branch beneath the window, and the desperation of wanting to give up clings to you.

you hear jungkook’s heavy and limping footsteps coming up the stairs, and you attempt to hurry, but you’re only halfway out of the window. when he crashes into the room, it’s unnervingly easy for him to grab your arm and yank your body back through the window, uncaring of how you get scraped up in the process.

he jams you up against the nightstand with one of the kitchen knives to your neck to stop your movements; his harsh maneuver causes the objects on the nightstand to rattle. the nightstand’s edge digs into the backs of your thighs, the pressure causing your wounded thigh to hurt more.

“you want to know why i picked you?” jungkook hisses, the knife’s blade stinging your throat as it begins to break skin. “you were just another choice out of many, but i decided you’d be the first one that i’d fuck and kill.”

it’s painful to hear, but it angers you at the same time. “fuck you!” in your rage, you spit in his eyes. jungkook jerks back and the knife shifts from its previous position at your neck; you take those few seconds to grasp the alarm clock off the nightstand and crash it against his head.

“shit—!” he cries out, stumbling and grasping the side of his head. he tries to grab for you again, but you jump onto the bed and crawl away from him, your stomach lurching at all of veronica’s blood soaked into the sheets. you spot a small decorative glass bowl on the dresser—the one filled with little candies that you’d always teased veronica for, saying she was so much like a grandma handing out treats to her grandchildren. when your feet touch the ground again, you clasp your hand around it like it’s a lifeline and fling it at jungkook’s head as hard as you can, just as he makes it around the bed to your side. the shards cut his face when it breaks, slowing him down further as he grabs his slashed and bleeding face. one of his eyes is blinded from the blood and glass.

this will probably be your only chance while he’s struggling to gather himself. you rush towards him with the knife handle tight in both of your hands and drive the blade into the middle of his chest, putting all your strength into that movement—just as his own knife impales your abdomen.

you are both simultaneously struck from the shock of being stabbed, and it takes you a few long moments to piece your mind back together as the pain radiates throughout your body. jungkook groans when you shift the knife around in his wound as you pull it out, letting his blood flow out freely. his breaths become wet and rattling as he chokes on his own blood, the red fluid staining his mouth and dripping down to his neck. he jams his knife further into your wound in retaliation so that the handle is flush against your body, causing your head to spin.

“i-if i die, i’m taking you w-with me.” jungkook gasps with his remaining effort. his body starts to sag from its standing position as he weakens, his hand slipping from the knife handle. he loosely grasps the comforter with one hand as he collapses to his knees, his torso becoming soaked with blood and his head bleeding from your earlier hits.

you drop your knife and lean against the bed too, shifting your body to find a position that could lessen the pain, but it’s impossible with a knife lodged in your abdomen. you know enough to understand that you’ll bleed out faster if you remove it, though, so you resist the urge. “you can rot in hell alone, jungkook.” you watch him struggle for what feels like minutes before his breaths stop altogether and his body slumps to the floor. he is just a blur of clothes and blood through your tears. you’ve never felt so lonely in your life.

you have a thought to call 911, but you’re becoming more and more lightheaded from the blood loss, and you can already hear sirens approaching on your street. you figure one of your neighbors must’ve called after hearing the gunshots; perhaps the bodyguard sent for backup before he was shot. your rescue has come much later than you would’ve preferred—or maybe everything just happened much faster than it seemed. you can’t tell anymore.

you can’t tell anymore, and you no longer want to look at the carnage around you, and nothing makes any sense. so, you close your eyes to it all; and when you feel someone lifting you in their arms—this sensation is so familiar—and maneuvering you onto a stretcher, you allow yourself to relent to it and empty your mind of everything.

@ihatemen55 @cottoncandyclouds-stuff @yunhofingers @heybabesposts @twilight-loveer @whipwhoops @mrsminho @junecat18 @hoshi-is-ult-bbg @okayiamkassandra @witchbitxhxx @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @thaiika @goldentea10 @iloverubberduckiez-blog @katie-tibo @ohsweetmimosa @dream-cvtcher @hoseokteardrop @lpgirl2324 @vanillacupcakefrosting @gukiemochi @jkslaugh97 @ahgasegotarmy116 @jeonjklibs @bangtans-momma @screamertannie @kenzietaetae @han-nah-banana @00frenchfries00 @taiwan0618 @laurynne5 @monvante @ynisthatyou @thiccthighs19 @jeonwiixard

[hiitsm]

Transient Connection: A Meeting of Worlds

Part 2.

You meet a beautiful woman at your workplace, who isn't a professional actress like you.

Fluff

Note: I'm not very well-versed in the acting world, so it's not described in great detail.

Request here

-

Transient Connection: A Meeting of Worlds Series

-

As you and Alexia make your way to the set, you can't shake the feeling of anticipation mixed with a hint of nervousness. The connection you felt with her during your impromptu dance was undeniable, and you hope it translates well into your scene together.

The set is a picturesque stretch of beach, with the sun setting in the background, casting a warm, golden glow over everything. The director, a tall, energetic woman named Lisa, greets you both with a wide smile.

"Alright, ladies, this is a simple scene. It's all about natural chemistry and conversation. Just be yourselves, and remember, less is more," Lisa explains, her hands gesturing animatedly.

You and Alexia nod in understanding, taking your positions on the sand. The scene is supposed to be an intimate conversation between two strangers who find solace in each other's company at the end of a long day. It's a pivotal moment in the movie, meant to showcase vulnerability and genuine connection.

"Action!" Lisa calls out, and you both start the scene.

You look at Alexia, and for a moment, you forget the lines you had memorized. Her eyes, still shimmering from your earlier encounter, draw you in. You remember the dialogue and begin.

"You know, sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger than to people we know," you say, your voice soft and contemplative.

Alexia nods, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "Sí, strangers don't have expectations. They don't judge."

You pause, letting the gentle sound of the waves fill the silence. "But sometimes, talking to a stranger can feel like finding a kindred spirit."

Alexia turns to you, a hint of a smile on her lips. "Like meeting someone who understands a part of you that others don't."

The conversation flows naturally, your characters' lines blending seamlessly with your own thoughts and feelings. You feel the connection deepening with each word, the vulnerability you both share palpable.

"I think everyone needs someone like that," you say, your eyes meeting hers. "Someone who can see them for who they really are."

Alexia's smile widens, her eyes reflecting the warmth of the setting sun. "It's rare to find, but when you do, it's worth holding onto."

The director, Lisa, watches from a distance, a satisfied smile on her face. She can see the authenticity in your performance, the real emotions shining through.

As the scene progresses, you feel a sense of ease, as if you and Alexia are the only two people on the beach. The script fades into the background, and you find yourselves speaking from the heart.

"Maybe that's what this moment is," you say softly. "A chance to be real, to connect without any pretenses."

Alexia nods, her expression serious. "Maybe it is. And maybe, it's a moment we'll both remember."

The scene ends with a shared look of understanding, a silent promise of more to come. Lisa calls cut, and the crew erupts into applause, impressed by the genuine connection they witnessed.

"You two were amazing," Lisa says, walking over to you both. "The chemistry was perfect. It felt so real."

You glance at Alexia, a shy smile on your face. "Thank you. It felt real to us too."

Alexia nods in agreement, her eyes twinkling with a mix of relief and joy. "Gracias. It was… special."

As the applause dies down and the crew begins to pack up, you and Alexia exchange a look filled with unspoken words. The connection you felt during the scene lingers in the air, almost tangible. However, the reality of the situation quickly sets in as Joseph approaches.

"Great job, Alexia," Joseph says, a hint of urgency in his voice. "But we need to get going. The plane is waiting, and you have an important match to prepare for."

Alexia's expression shifts from joy to reluctant acceptance. "Sí, I know," she replies, turning to you with a wistful smile. "Duty calls."

You nod, understanding the demands of her career but feeling a pang of disappointment. "It was amazing working with you, Alexia. I hope our paths cross again."

"Me too," she says softly. "Maybe next time, we won't be so rushed."

Joseph checks his watch, his impatience growing. "We really need to go, Alexia."

"Right," she says, taking a step closer to you. "Thank you for everything today. You made it… special."

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through you. "Likewise, Alexia. Good luck with your match. I'll be rooting for you."

She grins, a spark of excitement in her eyes. "Gracias. It means a lot."

With a final, lingering glance, Alexia turns and follows Joseph towards the waiting car. You watch her go, the sense of longing returning. But you also feel a sense of hope, a belief that this isn't the end of your story with Alexia.

Valentina walks over, a knowing smile on her face. "She likes you, you know."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "We barely know each other."

"Sometimes, that's all it takes," Valentina says with a shrug. "But for now, let's wrap things up here. You've got a big day tomorrow."

As you help the crew finish packing up, your thoughts keep drifting back to Alexia. You replay the moments on the beach, her laughter, and the way her eyes lit up when she smiled. The connection you felt is undeniable, and you can't help but hope for another chance to explore it.

Later that night, as you lie in bed, you check your social media. To your delight, you see a new post from Alexia. It's a picture of the sunset from earlier, accompanied only by a single heart emoji. You instantly recognize the photo, you took it for her. Seeing it there, shared with such simplicity, makes your heart flutter. You know exactly what it represents, and it stirs a mix of emotions within you, hope, connection, and an undeniable sense of something special just beginning.

You stare at the image for a long moment, a smile playing on your lips. The fact that she posted it, even without words, speaks volumes. It’s a silent acknowledgment of the bond you felt today, a reminder that maybe, just maybe, this is the start of something wonderful.

Feeling a warmth spread through you, you double-tap the photo, leaving a discreet like, hoping she sees it and understands that you felt it too.

Several weeks later, you find yourself with a small break in your hectic schedule. After the whirlwind of filming, promotions, and interviews, the idea of escaping to Barcelona feels like a breath of fresh air. You've always loved the city, its vibrant culture, and beautiful architecture. More importantly, it's where Alexia lives, and the thought of possibly seeing her again makes your heart race.

Despite your excitement, there's also a nagging nervousness. You and Alexia had exchanged only a few messages after the shoot, mostly polite and friendly, but nothing deep. The connection you felt on the beach still lingers in your mind, but you're unsure if she felt it as strongly as you did. You've been contemplating whether to message her and let her know you're in her city, but the fear of making the first move holds you back.

Settling into your hotel room, you unpack your bags and take a moment to relax. The memory of your brief but memorable encounter with Alexia lingers, and you wonder what she's been up to. Your thoughts drift back to the sunset photo she posted, and the connection you felt.

Taking a deep breath, you open your social media app and navigate to Alexia's profile. You hesitate for a moment, your fingers hovering over the message button. It's been a few weeks since you last saw her, and although you've thought about reaching out, you haven't had the courage to do so.

Gathering your resolve, you start typing a message:

"Hey Alexia! I'm in Barcelona for a few days and was wondering if you'd like to catch up. Would be great to see you again if you're free. 😊"

You read the message over a few times, feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety. Finally, you hit send, and the message is on its way. The next few minutes feel like hours as you wait for a response, your mind racing with possibilities.

A notification pops up on your screen. It's a message from Alexia.

"Hey! That's amazing, welcome to my city! I'd love to catch up. How about we meet for coffee tomorrow? ☕"

After setting a time and place to meet with Alexia for coffee, you decide to take a leisurely stroll through a nearby park. The evening air is crisp and filled with the aroma of blooming flowers, adding to the sense of anticipation bubbling inside you.

As you walk, you find yourself lost in thought, replaying the upcoming reunion in your mind. You can't help but smile as you imagine catching up with Alexia, wondering how the conversation will flow now that you have the chance to talk without the distractions of a film set.

Finding a cozy spot at a café in the park, you order a coffee and settle in. Pulling out your phone to check the time, you become engrossed in a message from a friend when suddenly, you feel a slight bump and hear a soft apology.

Looking up, you're surprised to see Alexia standing before you, a small Pomeranian dog on a leash beside her. She looks equally surprised, her eyes widening in recognition.

"Hey! I was just…" you start to say, but your voice trails off as you realize she's on a phone call. You catch snippets of the conversation as she continues speaking in Spanish.

"… sí, mañana," Alexia says with a grin, clearly excited about something. "Sí, creo que sí. Gracias, María. Nos vemos mañana. Intentaré invitarla a salir. Adiós María, que tengas una buena tarde. Hablaremos pronto, sí, te avisaré cómo fue, sí, es mañana. ¡Adiós!"

"Hey!" Alexia exclaims with a slight blush when she put her phone away, momentarily caught off guard by the unexpected encounter. She quickly composes herself, flashing you a warm smile. Her small Pomeranian dog, Nala, wags her tail happily at your feet.

"I was just… talking to my friend María," Alexia explains, her cheeks still tinged with a hint of shyness. "She was… uh, teasing me about something."

You chuckle softly, feeling a rush of relief that she's just as flustered as you are. "Sounds like an interesting conversation," you reply, trying to ease the awkwardness.

Alexia nods, regaining her composure. "Yeah, she's… Maria always has a way of getting straight to the point," she says, her smile returning. "But I'm glad I ran into you tonight. I was actually hoping I'd see you."

"Really?" you ask, pleasantly surprised by her admission.

"Yeah," Alexia admits with a sheepish grin. "I mean, I wasn't sure how to reach out after our last chat. And here we are, bumping into each other."

You smile back, feeling a surge of happiness at her candidness. "Well, I'm glad we did," you say sincerely. "It's nice to see you again."

Alexia nods, her gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. "Would you like to take a walk together?" she asks, nodding towards Nala. "Nala could use some more exercise, and I'd love the company."

As you walk together through the tranquil park, Alexia shares stories about Nala's antics and her favorite spots in Barcelona. The conversation flows effortlessly, punctuated by laughter and shared interests that make the time pass too quickly.

As the sun begins its descent, casting a warm orange glow over the park, Alexia suggests heading towards your hotel.

"Let me walk you there," she offers with a gentle smile. "It's getting late, and I want to make sure you get back safely."

You agree, feeling a flutter of anticipation as you walk side by side. When you arrive at your hotel, Alexia looks around, taking in the quiet street and the dimming light of the sunset.

"This is my stop," you say softly, gesturing towards the entrance. "Thank you for walking with me."

Alexia's gaze lingers on yours, her expression softening with a mixture of fondness and something more. "It was my pleasure," she replies, her voice barely above a whisper.

Standing there, the air thick with unspoken desire, Alexia takes a small step closer. The intensity in her eyes draws you in, and without a word, she leans in slowly. Her lips meet yours in the gentlest of kisses, sending a jolt of warmth through you.

Time seems to stand still as you melt into each other, the world around you fading into insignificance. Alexia's touch is tender yet filled with longing, her lips soft against yours.

When she pulls back, a blush colors her cheeks, and she chuckles softly. "I've been wanting to do that since I first saw you again," she admits, her voice husky with emotion.

You smile, your heart racing with happiness and anticipation. "I'm glad you did," you reply softly, reaching for her hand and intertwining your fingers with hers. Leaning in for another kiss.

"So, this means that we are still on for coffee tomorrow?"

[extrajigs]

Wanted to figure out how chimera’s wrote and ended up starting on their written language proper. MASSIVE info dump below! 

Writing

They write using four fingers of one hand, usually the right, coated in ink. Think like a stamp almost. The three middle fingers draw with the tips of the teeth whilst the thumb will alternate between tip and back. All words are written simultaneously inward. The remaining fingers grip the source of ink, usually a length of hardened pigment only wetted on one side OR those who write often could invest in a pen. A pen for a chimera is a fanning brush saturated with ink that the writing teeth brush through when needing to reink. It allows for much faster wetting of the teeth, but can be messy when learning or refilling. 

Most chimera are right handed but left handed individuals exist, they will simply need to learn to use the two fingers opposite the middle in reverse of how someone who is right handed would! Luckily all fingers can move pretty independently of each other and it is an easy task.  As chimera mostly communicate through direct broadcast most find the written word lacking, so it is a common occupation among Chimera to write for others. It is an impressive skill to eloquently convey ideas/feelings through writing. Though their language set up lends to it MUCH more than others. 

The Nitty Gritty

All subject to change as this is very first drafty. 

Chimeric is a logographic language, there is no set alphabet and all ‘words’ stem from symbols representing things and ideas. Sentences are kind of two sentences atop one another, with one being the literal and the other the reactionary. It is read from out to in and sentences are written in a circle divided into 4 quarters. We’ll start with the top moving counter clockwise. 

Quarter 1 (Red) is the subject area, now subjects function the same as nouns for the most part, people, places, and things. But something important to note is that there must always be an ‘audience’ for the words being spoken. An audience basically means pronouns though they are a lot more encompassing with: I, You, Us, Them, Them excluding me/you, Us excluding you, Everyone, and a bunch of others. These are all acceptable audience subjects to top off your sentence. For instance you wouldn’t say “This pizza tastes good!” you would instead say “I enjoy the taste of this pizza” or “Everyone enjoys the taste of this pizza” the opinion/emotion needs to be applied to a source to make sense grammatically. 

Quarter 2 (Green) is all about emotions and opinions. Chimeric language is an exchange of ideas but also importantly emotions and feelings. Q2 is dedicated to how the sentence is supposed to be interpreted or felt by the reader, as obviously in ‘spoken’ chimeric speaker and listener technically feel the same about what is currently being said. Listener opinion is very distinct from speaker and in writing the speaker takes priority. So for example the statement “Who finished the box but left it in the pantry?” would instead have to be translated into something akin to “I am pissed and questioning who had the audacity to finish the box and did not care enough to remove it from the pantry thus leaving me to find it and become disappointed?” Basically chimeric lends itself to very long translations due to their feelings.  

Quarter 3 (Blue) is the action section of the sentence. The verbs if you will. This is where things are happening and is VERY tied in with Q1. Subjects in Q1 and Q2 will be linked together with lines that follow the same slice through the circle.

When a subject is linked to an action that means that the subject is the one performing the action, whereas subjects closer to the center and unaligned with an action are what is being acted upon. Like with the audience conundrum though an action needs a subject to actually act, whether it is an individual/s or an object or place. This is usually the least word heavy portion of the sentence as it is almost supplemental to Q1, and in contrast to the thin, crisp lines of the other quarters, Q3 will often be smudgey and more messy due to being written mostly with the back of the thumb. 

Quarter 4 (Yellow) is generally not going to have any words written there, as it functions as the anchor point for the hand. The outmost finger rests here on the page to stabilize the hand as it closes during writing. When writing in a ream of papers this is where the hole to hold them all together is punched through. However in modern fanciful writing styles Q4 is also used as a secondary emotional quarter. This style will use Q4 as the reactionary emotion of the reader, more so the expected reaction and emotion from the reader. This is an EXTREMELY class based writing style and it is a GIANT NO NO to write like this for someone of higher status to read. Typically only Clan heads will freely use this writing style, especially towards each other lmao. The writing style of the passive aggressive power struggle. 

All together Quarters are read at once! And I mean that there is no one word the chimera will start with. Every word of the sentence is absorbed at the same time, no following along a line like how I’m currently typing. But what indicates the order of which things are meant to be perceived is how close they are to the outside of the circle. Things closer to the center come later in the sentence and will be understood to be lower in the hierarchy of words. However only subjects and actions are directly linked to each other, emotion/opinion words are to have a more natural seep throughout the entirety of the sentence with only a loose idea of where they are to be felt. In this way while a subjects actions may be concrete, the writers feelings about them are more fluid and organic. 

Chimeric conlang yay! I wanted to make modern Mirum script but decided I needed to start at the roots. So technically two written languages originate from Mirum, but they are extremely similar with one directly branching from the other. Chimeric is the original and Miran is the derivative, they mostly share characters but their sentence structure is different. Chimeric keeps the circular structure whereas Miran is a zigzagging horizontal and completely drops quarters 2 and 4. Leading to modern Miran being a very literal language vs Chimeric’s emotion heavy focus. But if you know one you can pretty much read the other, albeit with some culture shock. 

[vaokses]

A ghost to its haunt (Pirtir, Ch.2)

Series Masterlist

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Pairing: Aegon x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: You set off ahead of your family towards King's Landing, attempting to escape the restlessness that overtook you as the day your betrothal is to be announced draws nearer. You find yourself a witness to what has become of the people you once knew as the King summons you all for dinner.

Word Count: 6.2k 

Warnings: Topic of arranged/forced marriage. Viserys is a terrible father, but you knew that already. Helaena is a dragonrider and has a close bond with Dreamfyre, the show can fuck right off.

A/N: Very little of Aegon here, I'm sorry. I promise next chapter will be more exciting. I hope you enjoy!

Title is from a diary entry by Virginia Woolf, "I come home - and I have a feeling returning like a ghost to its haunt."

Your hand caresses bronze scales as you come to stand on solid ground, and you find yourself fighting the instinct to command Vermithor to take you to the skies again as you face the awaiting party. 

You had hoped that if you were to arrive days before you were set to do so with the rest of your family, they wouldn’t have enough time to make a spectacle out of your arrival. 

Then again, a century-old dragon is perhaps not the best means of transport if you intend to catch them off guard. 

And so there they stand, the Lord Hand, his daughter the Queen, and the three of her children that still live in King’s Landing. 

You aren’t sure what it is you were expecting, but it certainly was not this. You seem to remember them wrong. All of them. 

The spirited even if demure Queen of your memories, of angry eyes and fingers gripping a knife and demanding retribution; has left in her place a shadow of herself, a woman of tired eyes that offers an almost sorrowful smile as she greets you. The anger though, the anger remains. 

The boy you last saw fighting back tears and putting on a brave face as the maesters treated his wound, stands tall as a man of his own right, wound hidden away behind an eyepatch and any of the humanity of your youth absent in his piecing stare. 

Aegon is no less a stranger. Though a mask of him remains, much like the casts of corpses the families of Old Valyria used to make to keep in their homes, the boy you knew once, capricious and uncaring about the legacy or future of any of it; seems to have died since you last saw him, leaving behind something you don’t entirely recognize. Gone is the heedlessness and imprudence of your shared youth, leaving in place something like wariness, like resignation. 

He seemed more spirited, livelier, when you were younger. You suppose you didn’t see then that he has his mother’s eyes -the anger, yes, but also the sorrow-, you didn’t notice then that he too shares in what seems a trait of his family of being uneasy in their own skin.

Your eyes meet, and though you find yourself with so much to say, you were taught better than to speak your mind, you know better by now than to let your heart get ahead of yourself. And neither the reproaches of it being his fault that you are to once again lose your home, nor anything else, something perhaps more foolish and far more careless, leave your lips.

Aegon looks back at you, eyes slightly wide in uncertainty and something else, something like expectation, and though for a moment you think he is to say something, lips parted forming for a moment in what you swear is the beginning of your name; he adjusts in his place, and looks away from you.

Finally, in a sea of strangers, there is a familiar face. Helaena looks familiar, feels familiar. Big eyes are fixed on you, though when your own gaze finds hers, she looks away. A smile, kind and warm and exactly as you remember, curves at her lips, and it gives you the impulse -the courage, the strength- you needed to approach them. 

The pleasantries leave your lips with ease after you exchange your greetings, “Such a welcome was not necessary, though I am grateful for your kindness.” 

“What was possible considering the…short notice of your arrival. It is essential for the people of King’s Landing to see you are welcome here, Princess.” The Hand states, each word chosen carefully. They can’t afford for the people and the Great Houses to think you a hostage, is what he means. 

It is Aemond who steps forward then, before you can even utter an answer, hands joined behind his back, head held high even if for a moment it faintly bows in greeting. It seems he gauges you for a moment, as who plans his next step on a board game, eye narrowing before he adds,  

“So as not to let them confuse your standing with your brothers’.” 

You swear you can hear Otto Hightower heave a sigh at his grandson’s words. 

Resigned, but with practiced familiarity after over a year spent in hostile territory, you fix your stance and return his words in kind. 

“Surely my brothers are as welcome here as I am.” 

“Hm. It just happens it is not a fair comparison, between my…dear nephews and you.” 

You are as much of a bastard as your brothers, and you are certain he knows, for his mother is no idiot, and must have put together the coincidence of your conception happening during Daemon’s short stay in King’s Landing after your mother and Laenor’s wedding. And anything Alicent knows, she feeds to her sons, or so has Lady Mysaria warned you. 

You would rather believe it is the slights your brothers committed against him, and the fraught nature of their relations, what leads him to see them as lesser than you, and not the thinness of their blood. You’d rather deal with vindictiveness than hypocrisy. 

“In your eyes, and the eyes of your family, perhaps,” You remind him. “Not the eyes of the people of the Seven Kingdoms. That I can assure you.” 

And it is no lie. You didn’t spend twenty months in foreign lands and sleeping in unfamiliar beds, drinking watered-down wine and eating overcooked duck, for your brothers’ legitimacy to be as challenged as it was before. 

“It was not the people of the Seven Kingdoms who built this dynasty, niece. Our family did.” He argues, now in your native Valyrian. It pulls at an old part of your heart when Aemond speaks confidently High Valyrian, it makes proud the girl that would let the candles burn until they died out sitting by him and practicing the intricacies of your native tongue.  

There’s a hint of a smile playing at your lips, for at his threat that it is the will and power of the men of your bloodline that can set the future of the inheritance, yours or your brothers’, you can answer with a threat of your own, 

“No, dragons did.” 

As if another part of this conversation, as if to serve as a reminder, Vermithor rumbles a low call, diverting your uncle’s attention to him. A clipped little hm leaves Aemond’s lips as he gazes upon the Bronze Fury, for the first time since you last saw each other in Driftmark years ago. 

You feel the slow breath of warm air leaving the old dragon’s nose, it warms your hands, carefully joined behind your back. From the corner of your eye, you see Helaena’s smile at the sight of him, so alike the smile you saw brightening her face the few times you took to the skies together in your youth. 

You know, though you dread to, that you are to command Vermithor to leave you behind, to occupy his place in the Dragonpit, but you hesitate. 

You first stepped into the Dragonpit many years ago, long before you claimed Vermithor, to meet Dreamfyre, and then Sunfyre, which Aegon insisted you did after hearing his sister had taken you to see her own dragon. You were but children, and the Pit seemed another world entirely, cavernous and strong and other, but now you look upon them and see nothing but stone, carved by men, for men, to soothe themselves thinking they control fire made flesh. 

You say nothing, instead turning around and looking into familiar bronze eyes. Vermithor’s answering rumble for a moment seems to imitate the shrill song Silverwing often directs at their eggs, and without another wasted moment he takes to the skies and towards the outskirts of the city, away from the Pit and towards the Kingswood. 

“Dreamfyre knows he is here. She has missed them,” Helaena mutters quietly, watching him fly away and shifting in her place, as if the she-dragon’s restlessness is her own. “They were one, once. They should have remained so.” 

You hum in agreement, watching the bronze dragon force the clouds to part for him.  

“Much like you and I, they were side by side almost since they hatched, no?” 

You turn to her with a smile, but the sharp gaze of the Queen keeps you from saying anything else or from deviating your attention from her. 

“Princess. You flew here.” Queen Alicent points out, something like accusation lacing her tone. 

You refuse to let your smile falter as you look upon the Queen and answer, “Any journey is made more entertaining, not to mention shorter, on dragonback, Your Grace.” 

“Eager, then?” 

“Restless.” 

“Ah,” She nods, dark eyes trailing over your body from head to toe. “Must be why you come dressed for battle, then.” 

You wear nothing too different from what any dragonrider would, and of course in your mother’s colors, but you won’t deny the dark chainmail over your sleeves, or the metal corset clinging to the red and black fabric, though subtle, are meant to resemble armor. It was a gift from your half-sister, readied for when your tour had meant to include King’s Landing. 

“Dressed for a long flight, nothing more. I’m sure any of your children, all experienced dragonriders, would understand.” You answer, ready to force them into the conversation in order to avoid an ambush. 

“A dress does make flying uncomfortable,” Helaena provides, as kind as you remember. Her gaze flickers to you, and she murmurs, so quietly it is almost silent, “A cloak for war, lies for battle.” 

___ 

Merely an hour after your arrival -barely giving you any time to reach the Keep in the carriage, much less settle in what you are told are to be your apartments-they send your handmaidens a message, instructing them to ready you for dinner, for the King is awake and well, and wishes to welcome you as the pain from his illness prevented him from doing this morning. 

The two handmaidens assigned to you -as yours must be somewhere in Blackwater Bay by now, making the trip here with the rest of your family- busy themselves without even a prompt from you, one tending to you in your bath and the other setting to straightening and readying the dress you brought with you on Vermithor’s saddle, along with a few other essentials.  

You count on your family to bring what else you might need, along with the rest of your clothes and jewels, with them when they arrive on their boats. It is a practiced routine by now, after so long travelling on Vermithor, to take with you only what is most important while a day or two later the rest of the servants bring the rest. 

“Is this…common? For my grandsire to attend dinner with all of them?” You ask one of the handmaidens as she brushes a conditioning cream onto your hair. 

You do not care about the routines in the Keep, that isn’t why you are asking. You want to know the kind of women they have assigned to serve you, as you did whenever you traveled ahead of your own handmaidens during your tour. 

“As any family meets as one for supper, Princess, so does the King’s.” 

These girls are terrible liars. 

You are surprised to find Princess Helaena waiting outside your apartments when you are leaving them to join supper. She stands tall, expression carefully void of any tells, and greets you with a murmur of your name. 

Not your title, not niece, your name. Strange, that you cannot recall the last time your name was preferred, or the last time it was not uttered as a call to heel. 

You accept her strange offer and let her walk you to the dining room, handmaidens and Kingsguards in tow. 

“You are wearing red.” 

“It is our family’s color. We are blood and fire.” 

“Mother never makes me wear green.” She comments instead of offering an answer, and it is only at her words that you notice this morning, while her brothers wore dark green -almost black, but you know better-, and her mother vibrant emerald, she wore a soft blue dress with silver details. 

“This dress is beautiful, Helaena.” You tell her, admiring the greys and blues of its silk, the various designs embroidered in its sleeves. 

She lifts a loose sleeve to show you. Your eyes trail over ling insects of many legs and of odd antennas, before stopping to linger on a spider of red and black.  

“I made these.” 

“Oh, they are quite impressive,” You admit, reaching for her sleeve but stopping yourself a moment before when the Princess stiffens up at the threat of contact. Lifting your gaze, you await permission, or an explanation perhaps, but Helaena merely looks away. Even if a tad thrown off balance by her reaction, you grant her distance and continue, “Are these…real creatures? I have seen nothing like them before.” 

“I copy them from drawings, or descriptions. Grandsire gifts me books that the maesters write about the animals and insects they find in their travels,” She tells you, and for a moment you are sitting with her on the stone steps of Driftmark’s castle on that last night, that last reunion, watching the spider crawling over your hands as she tells you about its origins, about the strings her grandfather pulled to gift her this creature, both of you unaware that your brothers were fighting in the tunnels below. The memory, the unexpected nostalgia that comes with it, catch you off guard long enough that the conversation dies out. After a few beats of silence, your aunt offers, “I’ll teach you, if you want.” 

“Oh.” 

“To embroider. Not spin.” 

“I-I would love to learn, I-…” 

“He is my brother,” She interrupts you, big eyes unwavering in their intensity. She speaks with certainty, with purpose, as if these scattered sentences hold just one meaning, “Despite the rest, b-before the rest. He is my brother.” 

“I was sent here as a bride, not an assassin. Is this a warning?” You try to jest, but she loses none of the intensity, none of the…anger. 

“Yes.” Helaena promises, surprising even herself at the statement, it seems. 

Seeming to hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to do or how to move, she finally decides to stride into the dining room that awaits you, leaving you behind. 

___ 

Your mother was right. By the Gods, you hate to admit it, but your mother was right. You should have never ridden ahead of them.  

The painfully small gathering has arranged you all around a small table, sitting you by the King’s side with Helaena at your other side, while your uncles and the Lord Hand sit across from you in the small table. 

Granted, in your travels you scarcely found yourself dining with a family lacking tension, it is almost a condition of noble blood to hate those you share it with, but there is something else to whatever haunts the family that resides in the Keep. Errant, a thought crosses your mind, a gratefulness to your mother to have taken you from here if this was to be the outcome for you as well. 

There lingers a lifelessness that reminds you of the marble model your grandsire keeps of Old Valyria, that makes you think of them all as beasts desperately trapped in the brittle stiffness of marble figurines. 

The Queen sits as tightly coiled as a spring, jarring tiny movements, almost spasms, as she as she takes her seat next to the King; though her eyes, big and anxious, trail over you all, jumping from person to person like an anxious deer’s. Yet, neither she nor anyone else comments on any of this strangeness. Perhaps this is what is normal for her, for them. 

Helaena has made it her mission to fold her napkin into some form or another, hunched over the table to focus on her task, and refuses to deviate her attention from it; while Aegon seems to have made his mission to discover how quickly he can sight the bottom of his cup, and appears to be making faster progress to his goal with each refill from the servants. 

And Aemond is making quick progress to losing his other eye, by your hand this time, if he doesn’t cease in repeating this maddening little trick with his knife. He throws it a tiny distance so it embeds on the table, then pulls it out. Repeats this once more. Then spins the round-handled knife on his finger, one, two, three times. Back to the table, and the cycle starts again. Thud, thud, swish, swish, swish.  

“I hear you came here on your dragon. How was your journey here, Princess?” Otto Hightower asks, and whether he intended to or not he has thrown you a rope to pull yourself out of the waters. After more than a year of travel and ceaseless talks with nobles, of endless dinners and constant lies and embellishments, an exchange like this is as natural to you as it is for Daemon to wield Dark Sister. 

Thud, thud, swish, swish, swish. 

“Quite wet, I’m afraid, my Lord Hand,” You answer, accepting a small pork tart a servant offers you. Nodding your thanks, you continue, “Vermithor enjoys the rain, and cares not for my opinion on it. If he sees a storm nearby, he’ll take us to fly right through it.” 

Thud, thud, swish, swish, swish. By all the Gods, what use have Lord Confessors for instruments of torture when Aemond and his Gods-damned knife trick exist? 

“I told you before, my girl,” King Viserys muses with a wry chuckle. “The idea that we control them is…is an illusion.” 

“We control them no more than we control our own children,” You tell your grandsire, agreeable smile, as is expected, on your lips. “Or our parents.” 

He seems to gather a deeper meaning from your words, and where you merely meant to compare the veteran dragon that claimed you as his rider and your parents’ own protectiveness, your grandsire takes it as a reproach of sorts, based on his downturned mouth, on his furrowed brow. 

“I…I know you must still resent my decisions. I myself have come to regret them, with the years,” You are certain your confusion must be clear in your face, but he pushes forward with a grimace of pain as he leans closer. “But you are mine own, Rhaenyra. In my eyes, know that none of them could even compare, you must kn-…” 

Queen Alicent interrupts him with a quiet whisper of his name and her hand resting on his shoulder, but you hear the unspoken words as if a dragon had roared them, as does everyone in the room, you are certain.  

You venture to look to your right and find Helaena hunched over the table, both elbows resting besides her plate, and fiddling with her napkin, still attempting to fold it into some shape or another, and unaware of or unwilling to react to her father’s words. But you notice the way she has made herself smaller, the way her shoulders are hunched up almost to her ears, and you feel your heart break a little. 

Prince Aemond is still relentlessly toying with the knife, but where the movements were practiced now they have a certain jitteriness to them, as if the repetitive motions are no longer the result of idleness, but of restlessness. It reminds you of the anxious flicks of Vermithor’s tail when he grows agitated. 

The only one immobile is Aegon. 

He is as still as a stone statue, arms extended and gripping the edges of the table as if catching himself from standing up -from fleeing? Or fighting?-. His eyes -by the Gods, he truly has his mother’s eyes-, wide in shock and shame and something older than himself, remain trained on the table before him. 

A breath, stuttered and shallow, and his gaze lifts to his father. Pain, disgust, and somewhere in them you could swear there is also rage. You’ve seen trapped wolves with that look, you’ve seen cornered snakes with that look. 

“Rhaenyra isn’t here, my love,” Alicent tells the King, “She will join us in a day’s time, to announce her daughter’s betrothal to Aegon. Remember?” 

At the reminder, as quick as a soldier standing to attention, as instinctively as if a command had been issued, Aegon’s eyes flicker to you, only to find you already looking at him. The minuscule smile he offers you is one of lips pressed into a thin line, it is bitter, it is defiant in the face of humiliation, and it is terribly sad. 

Cravenly, foolishly, you find yourself looking away. You turn to the King instead. 

“Yes, of…of course,” There’s clarity in Viserys’ eyes and his mind for a moment before the pain or the remedy for it seems to dull it once more. “Forgive me, child. You do look a mirror of your mother.” 

Your smile is a grimace but still sweet enough for your grandsire to answer with one in kind, but you find yourself stuck with no path forward, with no idea on what to make of this. What you know for certain however, is that you will forbid your handmaidens from ever again braiding your hair in the same manner your mother wears it. 

“When she came of age, I was drowning in an ever-growing sea of letters and gifts, proposals and requests for her hand,” He reminisces, nostalgia as intoxicating to his senses as the strongest of wines. “I’m sure it was no different when you did.” 

By the Gods, you want this conversation to be over, you have wanted for few things more fervently than an end to this uncomfortable and dreadful affair. 

Stiffly, carelessly, you answer, “I wouldn’t know, I refused to hear of it.” 

“Ah.” The King concedes, leaning back, disappointment and something impossibly close to grief clouding his gaze.  

With a deep breath, through gritted teeth, you force yourself to add, “W-Which she tells me she often also did, when she was my age.” 

“She resisted my every attempt to find her a match, as I’m sure she has told you,” He says, not wasting a moment to return to the bittersweet draw of memories. He lifts his cane to aim the ivory dragon your way with a smile on his lips that almost makes him have the healthier and rounder face of the grandsire you remember from your youth. Almost. “And I hear you resisted as well, and set off in your tour to make your own choice. You inherited her beauty and her temperament.” 

But you didn’t inherit her temperament, and you don’t look like her. And though you love her, you aren’t like her, in your faults and in your virtues. 

You understand, however, that it is yet another mask, another face. Some will wish to see your mother’s daughter and nothing more, and so you know that if you aim to win -and you do- that is the face you ought to show. 

“I can only hope, grandsire.” 

“It does warm this old man’s heart to know you walk willingly into this union, child,” Willingly? Your nails dig like claws onto your thighs, and from the corner of your eye you notice Helaena stop in her folding of the damn napkin and turn her gaze to you. “Despite the sacrifice it demands from you, despite the kind of man you must marry.” 

He hasn’t said his son’s name. Hasn’t even looked at him since dinner started. 

Now that you think about it, you doubt he has looked upon any of his children at all tonight. 

And he hasn’t looked at you, not really. Not without seeing the face of the daughter he lost, the daughter he failed. 

And though you ache to tell the King that were the odds to be even slightly more in your favor you would feed Aegon to Vermithor without hesitation, not in virtue of who he is but instead who he must become; and though you know what you must answer with is gratefulness for the recognition of your sacrifice, agreeable demeanor and a sweet smile; it is an old instinct, older than the one learned during your family’s self-imposed exile to Dragonstone, what decides your next words. 

“It is no sacrifice,” You tell him, lie coming naturally to you, a skill in no small part Aegon helped you develop, with all the times in your youth that you lied to cover for him. “As you might remember, we were quite close, all of us. I am glad to return here, and I could ask for no better match.” 

He knows you are lying. He is old and dying but he knows you are lying. 

At least your grandsire remains as you remember him, and will take the comfort of an empty lie over the difficult reality of truth. He smiles, a sentencing. 

“That is good to hear, sweet girl. It gives me hope that our House will remain united, able to withstand what tribulations are to come.” 

“As it should. Only a dragon can kill another. Our House is invulnerable as long as it remains one,” You agree, as is expected, as is demanded. It is unbefitting, untoward, unthinkable, to have you admit you have often thought about it all burning, breaking, crumbling. To admit you have often wished for it. “I am honored to do as expected from me, and uphold the family, the crown.” 

“You possess an admirable sense of duty, of sacrifice, Princess,” The Queen compliments, to which you know you must answer with a smile. Elbows leaning on the table, Alicent rests her chin on the back of her joined hands and asks, “Did you inherit that from your mother also?” 

The smile, as false as a vow made in wine, falls from your lips instantly. 

The Hand clears his throat, straightening in his chair, and at her direct attack there is not the calculating, almost proud look in his eye that was there the night she wielded a knife against your mother. He looks tired, disappointed and irked, but mostly tired. The look in his eyes reminds you of the Dragonkeepers in charge of herding the hatchlings. 

“We will cease with these…these quarrels at once. Otherwise, our dinners, and our lives, will feel entirely too long,” It steals the ground from under your feet, the breath from your lungs, to hear him say such a thing. A lifetime. “Prince Daeron sent word that you were able to meet with him in Oldtown during your travels, Princess.” 

Once again, The Hand saves you all, and thankfully diverts your attention from your own spiraling thoughts. 

“Yes, my Lord. He and Ser Gwayne were kind enough to take me on a few outings and show me around. As beautiful a city as I ever saw.” You tell him, and though the answer is practiced and instinctual, it is no lie. The most innocuous street a thousand years old, every stone that makes up its castle witness to a hundred battles. 

“It is a wonder.” Otto agrees. 

You should bite your tongue, until it bleeds if you must, you know you should. But you didn’t inherit your mother’s temperament, and you want to remind them. Foolishly, recklessly, you want to remind them that you do not run when cornered. 

So you add, “One must thank the Gods that your ancestor had the good sense to bend the knee to Aegon the Conqueror. It would have been a shame for such a wonder, such a House, to burn.” 

“How fortunate the Hightowers are, then,” Aemond drums a short little beat with his fingers on the table, drawing the attention to himself. “That of the dragons capable of such destruction, only Vhagar remains.” 

“Yes, marvelous creature that she is. Yet long past her prime,” You retort. “In all her might, Vhagar is a relic of days sadly gone from us.” 

“Hm.” Another drum of his fingers on the table, and though he is still a stranger, you notice the clear tell of anger on him, a twitch on his lip, the slightest widening of his eye. You’ve seen Dragonkeepers with decades of experience burned to ash for the simple mistake of not heeding the creature’s warnings. 

You will gain nothing from antagonizing him, and while you may amuse yourself by prodding to see what it is that makes him tick, you are aware Aemond remains a weapon you ought to be careful not to see turned at you. 

In your months travelling through Westeros, entertaining conversations with Lords and Ladies from the most brilliant to the dullest, from the most hostile to the meekest, you have learned almost everyone has exposed nerves. Most are aware of them, and attempt to guard them, as you yourself have attempted to guard your own over the years. 

Others, in arrogance or desperation, find themselves unable to. And while your grandsire’s need for peace -perhaps not peace, but merely the absence of conflict, not an extinguished forest fire, but a land devoid of air, where not even embers might linger alive- was something you expected would be easy to learn was his weakness, you are surprised by how swiftly you understand pride is Aemond’s. 

“I have not seen you ride her in years, I fear neither my memories nor the stories I have heard must do either of you justice now, after so long bonded,” You admit, false sweetness twining with honest admiration. “Once I am settled here, would you take me to see her, uncle? We could fly together.” 

You would think a praise as plain as those extended to some Lord or another during your travels, a request as simple as this, would not so easily disarm him, but it seems to. 

A twitch of his mouth, as if he stops himself from giving a quicker answer, and Aemond leans back in his seat. A retreat.  

Another drum of his fingers on the table, but there’s a nervousness to the movement now, and you fight for control to keep the smug smile off your lips. 

“Of course, Princess.” 

You bow your head and mutter a quick kirimvose, and catch yourself slipping, offering an honest smile. A part of you, still the child that would linger long after the candles had started to die out practicing Valyrian with a book recounting the Conquest, is still filled with awe at the mere thought of Visenya’s dragon. 

And the part of you that felt her blood sing when Daemon made you take flight with him on Caraxes and Vermithor and taught you all he could of how to lead a dragon during war, during a true dance, wants more than little else for a chance to prove yourself against the Queen of All Dragons and her rider. 

“A most excellent suggestion, sweet girl,” The King praises. “Two of the oldest living dragons, the two branches of our House, flying as one again. It will remind the Realm we stand as one.” 

Must everything be for the good of the Realm, to send a message? Must everything be for appearances’ sake? You merely wanted Aemond and his hoary dragon to be reminded you and the Bronze Fury remain faster, better. 

Reminding yourself to play, and desperate to close any openings these people might find, you search for a shield. 

“I have dearly missed the musicians from King’s Landing. Many fond memories of my youth involve their melodies,” You announce, entirely more chipper than you have ever been naturally. Turning to the King, you prompt, “If you please, grandsire?” 

He acquiesces, and orders the music start with a slight cough at the end of his words. He reaches with a clammy, cold hand and squeezes your fingers once before letting go. 

Strangely, perhaps in the most bizarre interaction you’ve had since arriving, you find the Lord Hand regard you quietly and offer you a nod when your eyes meet, as if approving.  

With your future betrothed seemingly intent on ignoring you and Aemond back to his maddening little game with his knife -it is strange, that even in such distinct actions and attitudes, the brothers remind you in the same way of the lions the Lannisters of Casterly Rock presented to you when you arrived, and the incessant circles the poor beasts would pace, forsaking food and water to keep up the mad repetition their time in captivity had impressed in them-; you find yourself with no remaining choice but to bother sweet Helaena. 

“Are dinners in the Keep usually…like this?” 

Like a castle a stone away from crumbling to dust, like a barrel leaking oil next to an open flame. Like an open wound, dug into by uncaring, rotten fingers. 

“No. The pain makes father sleep a lot, so he doesn’t join us. Grandsire is always too busy to attend,” She tells you, intent on achieving on the folded napkin the perfect angle for what you know is a dragon. “And usually no one talks to me.” 

“Oh.” 

She taps the dragon’s snout once, twice, to further correct its position. Looks at it for a few beats of silence, studying it. 

“I hope that changes with you here again. I haven’t had a sister before.” 

Though her wording is strange, it is no different from the way the girl you remember from your childhood used to speak. You allow yourself a smile, honest for once, “Neither have I.” 

“You have Baela and Rhaena,” She argues without thinking, before her eyes widen and rise to meet yours. “I’m sorry.” 

“No use in lying to you, is there?” 

She breathes a warm little laugh, but ducks her head, even as she admits, “Everyone still tries.” 

“I can assure you it is not meant as a personal offense, Helaena,” You promise her, “To many it becomes an instinct. It is no longer a choice they can make.” 

Her brow twitches, as if something bothers her, and she does a miniscule shake of her head as if to rid it of something. Instead of sharing thoughts you are certain are itching to be voiced, Helaena presents the napkin dragon to you. 

You take it with careful hands, and bow your head with murmured, yet heartfelt, thanks. 

___ 

Dismissed from what you are certain has been the longest dinner of your entire existence, you walk with Helaena to your room, your handmaidens having gone ahead of you to ready each of your rooms. 

In your hand the cloth dragon is carefully cradled, and you muse aloud about where it is you will place it. 

“Rhaenyra taught me to make these. I used to make them daily for father, for him to put next to his marble ones,” Helaena reminisces, “He discarded every one of them. Aemond found them one day, tried to hide them so I wouldn’t know.” 

“I take it he didn’t succeed.” 

“My brothers are terrible at hiding things, both of them.” 

“I know, and so are mine. Remember when Aegon and Jace agreed to steal Sunfyre and Vermax from the Pits to have them race? Days before they were giddy, couldn’t for the lives of them hide they were up to something.” 

“You cursed at them in Valyrian and in Common when you found out what they were planning.” 

And yet you still went with them, as did Helaena. Even Aemond, grumbling the whole way, joined you and watched the dragons fly overhead with you all.

Foolishly, you find that you remember that day fondly, even though Jace refused to talk to you for a week after finding out you had bet on Sunfyre winning. 

Instead of admitting that memories of a shared youth linger fresher in your mind, closer to your heart, that you would like, you argue,  

“It was an objectively stupid idea. If our mothers had found out they would have had their hides. And ours.” 

“They found out.” 

“They did?” Your smile falters. Even to this day Jace boasts about the time he stole his own dragon from the Pits. “My mother never said anything.” 

“Mine did. She-…” She stops, startles at a thud from within your room as the servants move about. She shakes her head again, though you gather it is memories and not something relating to her dreams that she aims to clear from her head now. “They found out.” 

“I’ll be sure to tell that to my brother, he still believes himself some masterful thief for pulling it off.” You tell her, attempting to bring levity back into the conversation. It feels like yet another mask, for no one’s benefit, and you aren’t sure what to make of both the realization that you wear it even now, and the fact that you refuse to drop it.  

You both come to a stop in the door to your apartments -what used to be your mother’s apartments, instead of the rooms you occupied when you were last here-, and Helaena speaks again, 

“You couldn’t know, but I…I…” Her hands spasm, open and close, one, two times. Like dying spiders. “You hurt me, by leaving.” 

“I never meant to.” 

“I know. You didn’t have a choice,” She concedes, but the stiffness remains. Helaena lifts her head a little higher, hands joined together before her. “It doesn’t change that it hurt, however.” 

“I…” 

“Goodnight.” 

She bows her head as a goodbye and doesn’t wait for an answer before she takes her leave. 

Thank you for reading! Some chapters of this series will skip in time a bit, so if there's anything that wasn't clear or that you'd like to know about the time in between, or any skipped scenes, or stuff from the past, feel free to ask!

Taglist: @21-princess

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[lionhanie]

han taesan ; back 2 u (part four)

you can’t help but find yourself coming back to taesan everytime

this is part four of my series, back 2 u! read the previous part here!

fuckboy!taesan x fem!reader, college au

...featuring! BFFS jaehyun + woonhak, fuckboy leehan (AND he's taesan's roommate), and lovely roomies sungho + riwoo <3

word count: 11.1k (EXTRA special ty to my beloved @serejae for beta reading for me T_T)

warnings:  ANGST,,,, cursing, one kms joke, gongfourz fboy activities, woonhak is a little lost, alcohol/weed usage (reader smokes and drinks one (1) single beer), shotgunning (smoke), insecurity + overthinking, toxic relationship behaviors, mentions of other idols as side characters :P (newjeans minji, gidle minnie, enha heeseung, zb1 matthew)

a/n: apologies for disappearing off the face of the earth .... but wanted to mention that i joined @onedoornet !!! ^_^ plsplspls go support and check out everyone else in this lovely network hueheuhe <3

reblogs ↺ + feedback always appreciated!

A mess consisting of scrap paper, pens, and various scribbled notes from the lecture was currently occupying the entire span of your desk. You were supposed to be studying for an exam you had in a couple days, but you were currently sprawled out in the comfort of your bed as you scrolled mindlessly through Twitter. 

[Instagram] the_myungjaeee sent a post by kminji04! the_myungjaeee: LOL look at woonhak dancing in the 3rd slide

Opening Instagram, you’re faced with what looks like a photo dump from a girl who goes to your university. It was recently posted, the caption reading “late night finds”. Swiping to see the video Jaehyun was referring to, you cover your mouth to stifle your laughter at seeing one of your best friends dancing horribly in a parking lot, laughter coming from the background of the clip. 

Out of habit, you find yourself scrolling through the rest of the post’s contents, finding various pictures of what you assume to be the girl’s friend group, neatly-arranged drinks in a cafe, pretty skies from places you recognize around campus. You don’t think much of the post until a particular picture catches your eye. 

To anyone else, it just looked like your typical soft-launch type post. There was no account tagged, but you’ve seen enough of the relationship-esque genre of pictures to recognize them when you see one. A set of masculine hands doodling hearts on the condensation of the driver’s seat window. The quality of the photo isn’t great, clearly being taken late at night, but the head that’s half cropped out of the photo is one you recognize all too well. The bleached blonde streaks towards the nape of the man’s neck confirms the suspicion brewing in your gut: It’s Taesan. You don’t really want to think too hard about why the inside of the car is fogging up the windows like that, or why it’s a heart he’s drawing, out of all things, because you know it’ll only hurt your feelings even more. 

Curiosity gets the best of you as you tap on the user who posted the image. kminji04. Kim Minji. You’re glad the profile was public in the first place, but maybe it wasn’t something you should be thankful for. You shouldn’t be diving head-first into this rabbit hole. But what you don’t know can’t hurt you, surely. 

You ignore your brain’s attempt at protecting you as you examine the profile further. Having your fair share of experience when it came to social media digging, it was easy to get an idea about who Kim Minji was. Her feed reflects the same feeling you got from the first post you saw— She seemed to take a liking to posting a variety of pictures that revealed different slices of her life. Looked to be an English major, and in the same year as you. She was undeniably stunning, model-like, even. Asides from Woonhak, you didn’t share many mutuals. You shouldn’t be looking too deep into this. You wouldn’t get anything good out of doing so.

You kept going. In her highlights, you didn’t notice anything too out of the ordinary. That is, until you got to one in particular, labeled only with a heart. Two weeks ago, a scenic view by the water. After that, two iced coffees are neatly placed side by side in a cute cafe, followed by other food-related pictures of the same nature. Clicking through the slides, you were about to write it off as just another compilation of aesthetic stills-- Except you see a familiar jacket appear in the background of one of the stories. The same jacket that currently resides in your closet. The same jacket Han Taesan wrapped around you before he kissed you for the first time. 

Putting together the pieces, you quickly realize the entire highlight showcased various dates they went on. You never got the chance to exchange anything besides a brief kiss and your number, but it was easy to find Taesan in both her followers and following. It was more than enough evidence for you to assume that it was Kim Minji he was talking to in the library. The one he called baby. He probably wore that jacket with her in the days leading up to the party. You think it’s dumb the way your heart hurts at the understanding; you’re unsure of why you yearn so badly for someone you’d only recently met, but maybe that’s why he built up such a reputation in the first place. 

[Instagram] the_myungjaeee: ok leave me on seen do u want me to kms

The notification on the top of your screen pulls you out of your thoughts. Rather than replying, you decide to open your messages, looking for one group chat in particular. 

to: “woonhak’s babysitters”! can i see u guys tmr :( 

The responses are instantaneous, and you’re happy to see that your friends are still awake– probably procrastinating their assignments as well. 

woonhak’s babysitters Jaehyun: OKAY NOW U TEXT THE GC INSTEAD OF REPLYING ON INSTAGRAM You: girl are u free or not Woonhak: yes let’s hang out Woonhak: but wats with the :( why are we :( y/n Jaehyun: bro ik u have my schedule memorized…. you KNOW i’m free  Jaehyun: don't forget we literally operate under the assumption that we are going to see each other everyday 🙄 Jaehyun: but ^^ is something wrong did something happen You: not really but i need to debrief again… 😀 Woonhak: mystery man? You: …….maybe 👎👎👎 meet at our usual cafe @ 3? Jaehyun: not u using us as love counselors again…. what’s in it for us 🤔 You: i’ll pay Jaehyun: 😍😍😍 SEE YOU GUYS TOMORROW 💯LOVE YOU! 😇

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

“It’s crazy how things taste better when you aren’t the one who paid for them!” Jaehyun stirs the iced coffee in his hand with the straw, grinning ear to ear.

“Yeah, whatever, I knew you would still show up even if I didn’t bribe you with free food.” You roll your eyes at the boy next to you, who is clearly enjoying the drink you just bought for him. “How can you tell if a guy is flirting with you?”

“You’re just going to drop a bomb on us like that?” Jaehyun lightheartedly criticizes. The teasing never seemed to stop when it came to talking about your love life, but you were glad to know they would always lend you an ear if you needed one. “Can you give us another hypothetical scenario for context?” 

“You remember how I texted that guy about his overdue book? Well, he showed up while I was working on Tuesday,”  They nod, listening intently as they periodically take small sips from their straws. “He’s always calling me pet names, like things my boyfriend should be saying... He even noticed I did my makeup differently that day too!” 

“I’m almost certain he likes you if he’s complimenting you like that all the time,” Woonhak affirms. “He’s definitely trying to woo you over with that sort of act.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’d be so bold with calling a girl those names if I wasn’t at least somewhat into her. Did you ask him to hang out after your shift was over?”

“I mean, I tried to. He stepped away to answer his phone, and it sounded like he was talking to a girl. At least, I think he was.” You’re fairly certain that you were right, but maybe it was safer not to jump to conclusions. 

“What makes you think that?”

“He kept talking about how he was almost done and that he’d be coming over soon… And he called them baby.” Who else would he call ‘baby’ if not another girl? Talking about it out loud brings back all the conspiracies going through your head when you’d stalked Minji’s profile before bed. 

“Wow, what kind of man would call someone that after blatantly flirting with you? I was almost rooting for him until you said that, you know.” Woonhak looks disappointed as he picks up a strawberry off the plate on the table and pops it into his mouth. 

The conversation goes dull for a moment, sounds from neighboring tables filling the silence at the table. “Woonhak, how do you know Kim Minji?” You pry, deciding not to dance around the question that could give you the answers you were desperately searching for.

“Minji? She helped me write some papers for English 301,” He’s taken aback by the direct question, but he answers quickly regardless. “She’s really nice though! I was hanging out with her and a bunch of other people the other week.”

“Woonhakie, what was that video she posted of you?” Jaehyun’s laugh rings throughout your corner of the cafe as he recalls the post he sent you last night. “You looked so funny dancing like that!” 

“Ah, is that what we’re talking about? Yeah, I lost a bet and I had to dance to a random song for three whole minutes. l didn’t think she’d post that though… Why do you ask?”

“...Is she dating anyone?” You shyly ask.

“What, are you interested? I have her number if you want it-“

“She’s pretty, but that’s not really what I’m trying to get at here,” You take a moment to think about how you’re going to go about this conversation. Might as well just rip off the bandaid. “Is she dating Han Dongmin?”

“Dongmin? I don’t know anyone named Dongmin.”

“Mm, Taesan?” You correct yourself by addressing him by his nickname. 

“Oh, that guy with the weird hair? I mean, he was with us a couple times,” Woonhak scratches the back of his head, trying to recall the events of the night. “But I don’t think they’re together. Not officially, at least.”

“I thought the contact I saw on your phone said Han Dongmin, though. Is he Han Taesan?” Jaehyun recollects the last time you went to them for advice. 

Cat’s out of the bag now. “Would you get mad at me if I said yes?” The laugh you let out is dry as you watch the condensation drip down the side of your cup. 

“What’s so bad about Taesan hyung?” Woonhak innocently asks, clearly lost.

“Woonhak, you know who he is right?” Jaehyun seems shocked as he seeks for confirmation.

“Duh, didn’t I just say he was out with my friends and I? I mean, who else has hair like that? I’m sure we’re talking about the same guy.”

“I don’t think you should keep talking to him, Y/N.” Jaehyun’s voice is stern from his place next to you. 

“Oh, you like Taesan Y/N?” Woonhak seems to finally grasp the situation. “You should’ve told me sooner! I’ve only met him a couple of times, but I could always invite you if I know he’s coming out with us! But then again… I only really see him when Minji is there.” Oh. He only shows up when Minji is there. Everything seems to make a bit more sense now. 

“Hey, am I even in this conversation?” Jaehyun whines, smacking the table with the palms of his hands. “I don’t like him for you, Y/N.” 

“Oooh… Are you jealous?” Woonhak wiggles his eyebrows at your best friend, who is clearly upset with the newly revealed identity of the main character in your dilemma. 

“Dude, I don’t even know why you’d say that. You know Y/N and I aren’t like that.” He’s glaring at the younger boy across from him, but his eyes soften when they turn back to you. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“If he’s dating Minji, then I guess there’s no reason for me to be talking to him anymore.” Your throat feels dry. You take a sip from your drink, which was untouched for the past ten minutes. 

“You’ve never heard anything about Taesan then, Woonhak?” The boy in question shakes his head no, waiting for an explanation. “Han Taesan; music major famous for his rager parties and picking up girls anywhere he can– If anything, I’m more surprised you haven’t heard any word of him just by being on campus.” 

“Okay, so he throws dope parties and is popular with girls. So what? Don’t act like you didn’t have girls from different classes lining up for you back in high school.”

“That’s not the same as what I’m trying to get at. Han Taesan goes through girls like they’re nothing. And this is our sweet Y/N we’re talking about here— Do you want her with a guy like him?” At this point, Jaehyun’s visibly frustrated with his naivety. 

You place your hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him down. “Oh, he’s like that? He just seems so… Normal?” Woonhak comments, seemingly in disbelief, that Jaehyun’s version of Han Taesan is the same as his.

“Yeah, I thought that too.” Your voice trails off. You wanted to smack your past self for thinking everything everyone said about Taesan wasn’t true. That they were just baseless rumors. 

“Sorry, Y/N. If Taesan is really that kind of person, I don’t want him with you either. Plus, Minji was practically all over him that one time so maybe they actually are a thing-“

“Not the best thing to say right now, bro.” Woonhak shrinks in his seat, shutting himself up by taking a bite of the pastry he had in front of him. “So do you have feelings for him, Y/N? Didn’t you meet like, two weeks ago?” You nod, ashamed to admit the way you feel about someone who only came into your life recently. Sure, you’ve had similar crush upbringings in the past, but this felt different than your previous temporary infatuations. “I don’t think it’ll be easy, but I think you should take a couple steps back when it comes to a guy like him.” 

“Normally I wouldn’t be one to butt in so heavily when it comes to the guys you like, but I seriously have a bad feeling about him now.” Woonhak frowns, feeling like he lost his previous appetite.  

“Hell, if he’s getting all up close and personal with another girl and then telling you to kiss him the next time you’re at his place, it sounds like he only wants one thing from you. You’re just going to end as another one of his hook-ups.” You gnaw on the plastic straw in your cup as Jaehyun goes on. 

Just another one of his hook-ups. And with how well-known Taesan was around campus, people would find out who you were sooner or later. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. At the very least, you could probably see him more often if you were friends with benefits– What the hell are you saying?

“Don’t even think about it.” Almost as if reading your mind, Jaehyun raises his voice at you. You’re startled at his tone, flinching a bit in your chair. “Fuck, sorry. You don’t deserve to be discarded like one of his one night stands, is all I’m saying.” 

“I second that,” Woonhak’s equally as upset as Jaehyun now. “Man, screw this Han Taesan… Han Dongmin… Whoever he is. Literally any other guy would be better for you.” 

“I figured you’d react like this if I told you it was him from the beginning.” You tuck your hair behind your ear, chuckling at your friends’ concern. “Was it so wrong for wanting to see if he isn’t the bad guy that everyone makes him out to be?” 

“...I guess not, but if you knew he was a shit person, why even bother trying in the first place?” Jaehyun looks at you with genuine confusion written all over his face. 

“Dunno. I just thought I’d be interesting enough for him to want something more with me.” Maybe if you were prettier, or more popular. Maybe just then, that’d be enough for Han Taesan to change his ways. 

“I wish you saw yourself the same way we see you, Y/N.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

It’s been a few days since you broke down the situation properly with Jaehyun and Woonhak in the cafe. Even if whatever you had between you and Taesan was close to nothing, it’s hard to deny that it hurt a bit to think that your story ended so fast. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want things to end up like this. Rather than dwelling too hard on what could’ve been, you focused all your energy on cramming for the test you needed to study for. 

Despite that, you still found yourself wishing the two of you could run into each other, just once more. When you leave the elective class you share with Sungho, you scan around the building in hopes of getting a glimpse of Taesan’s hair in the hallways. When the library doors slide open, you can’t stop yourself from looking up from your monitor just in case he’s come to return his book. If Jaehyun knew you still had him on your mind after his scolding, he’d be furious. 

Unlocking the door to your shared apartment, you melt into the couch after another session of tutoring Woonhak after he’d desperately begged you to save him from failing his math class. The agreement was that he would pay for your lunch for an entire week in exchange for your help– You would’ve helped him regardless, but you wanted to see how desperate he would get for a tutor.

“Long day?” Minnie, your roommate, and friend from high school, greets you from her place in the kitchen. 

“Yeah, Woonhak is impossible to teach sometimes. He gets distracted every five minutes, I swear.” You complain as you run your hands through your hair.

“Aw, that sounds like him. How’s he doing?” The girl rests her head in her hand as she leans onto the kitchen island, looking over at you. 

“Good, aside from the fact that he currently has a 64 in math.” You chuckle, closing your eyes as you lean back into the plush pillows.

Minnie snorts, moving to open the fridge and bending down to find a drink. “Want something?” 

You pry one of your eyes open to see the girl waiting for your response by the refrigerator door. “Why not? I’m gonna need something to take away all the stress of trying to get Woonhak to understand how derivatives work,” Minnie smiles at you as she grabs two cans, bringing them to the living room and handing you one.

“Beer? Gross.” The drink feels cool in your hand as you look at the label. “It’s all we have, unless you want to go buy something different yourself,” She cracks the can open and takes a gulp, groaning at the carbonation.

You pout at her, but you open your drink and take a sip yourself regardless. “You wouldn’t want to come with me?” 

“Nope, I’m all showered and comfy already. You’d catch me dead before you see me leaving the apartment at this time.” You laugh as you stretch your arms into the air before they fall at your side comfortably. “You aren’t going to shower yet?” 

“Hey, it’s a Friday night. A girl can’t relax in her living room anymore?” 

“Yeah, a Friday night you spent three hours hunched up in those old study rooms again.” She props her legs up on the coffee table from her seat next to you, scrolling on her phone. “When was the last time you went out? You gotta take me with you next time.”

Taesan’s party. You weren’t one to go out too often, and you weren’t sure about the next time you would given the way your last outing ended. “Three weeks ago? I don’t remember.” You bluff; practically every detail from that night and the days that followed it were etched into your memory. 

Placing your can down on the table, you get up. “I’m gonna wash up, I’ll be back.” Minnie hums at you as she looks up briefly from what she was watching. You picked up the bag that you’d haphazardly thrown on the floor when you first got back and made your way to your room. Opening your drawers, you sort through your sleepwear, looking for one of your sweatshirts. On the bed, you hear your phone vibrating against the comforter. 

“Ugh, no way Woonhak has another question. He said he didn’t need my help anymore.” Taking off your clothes from the day and throwing on your hoodie and shorts, you move closer to look at who’s calling you.

Incoming call from “Han Dongmin”!

Just when you thought you weren’t going to hear from him again. What could he be possibly calling you for? If anything, you would’ve thought he’d be throwing another party. Or maybe he dialed the wrong person? You let it ring twice more before picking it up. 

“Hello?” You curse silently at the way your voice shakes when you speak. 

There’s laughter coming from the other end, alongside muffled voices. Is this some sort of prank? You’re about to hang up when you don’t get an immediate response. “Y/N? Hi.” It’s been a while since you heard him. 

“Taesan? Why are you calling me?”

“Not the name I want to hear from you, angel.” You let out an annoyed laugh, sitting on the edge of your bed. He has the nerve to talk to you as if he didn’t ghost you for the past two weeks. “Haven’t heard your sweet voice in a while. I guess I miss talking to you.”

“Dongmin, what’s this about?” You feel your heartbeat speed up, much to your disappointment. Curse him for having you wrapped around his finger still even when you thought you were getting over him. 

“There’s my girl,” He chuckles into the mic. “You busy?” You’re taken aback at his words. His girl. 

“Fuck off, don’t call me again.” …Is what you want to say, but your cheeks heat up against your will. You feel your composure falling apart at the mere sound of his voice. “...No. I just got home.” 

“Come over then.” Now, it really feels like a setup. You knew there were other people with him; he could have you on speaker for all you know. He’s probably trying to show off how easy it is to call a girl over at midnight. “...Only if you want to. It’s only me and a couple of other people here.” 

“Like who?”

“Leehan, of course. And some of my friends, Matthew, Heeseung, Minji.” His voice hushes into a whisper as he continues his thought. “To be honest, there’s a few more people here, but I can’t remember their names right now.” He giggles at his confession. It’s uncharacteristically cute– you’ve never heard him laugh like that before. 

Kim Minji. Another name you’d temporarily erased from your mind. “Who’re you talking to?” It’s Leehan; he sounds like he’s a couple feet away from Taesan, but you can tell it’s him by his voice.

You’re silent as you wait to hear what he says in response. Surely he wouldn’t admit to talking to another girl in front of his girlfriend. But then again, maybe he didn’t care to be cautious when it came to things like this. “Y/N, duh. You wanna talk to her?”

“Ah, I don’t really think you need to-” You get out, not seeing the point in talking to his roommate at this point of time, but ultimately getting cut off by Leehan taking the phone. 

“Hey, Y/N. Long time no see, yeah?” His baritone tone shocks you, sounding much deeper now that he’s properly speaking into the phone. “Our sweet Taesan over here was hogging the joint while he was chatting you up, so I hope you understand why I had to pull you away for a sec there.” Ah. He’s high. 

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know,” You fiddle with the string of your hoodie as you apologize, even if there isn’t anything for you to be sorry for. “I’m going to hang up now, just tell Dongmin I’m going to sleep or something.”

“Woah, hold up. Your Dongmin called you for a reason. You’re free to come over, you know. You don’t need to smoke with us, it’s cool.” There are more voices in the background, but the phone struggles to pick up the noise. “Who am I to stop a pretty lady like yourself from coming to our house again?” You can hear him smile as he talks. 

If Jaehyun would be mad if he found out you were just thinking about Han Taesan, he’d be livid if he knew you were seriously considering taking up the offer. Rustling comes from the other end, and you assume it’s Taesan getting his phone back.

“Hey, don’t try and take what’s mine, Leehan.” There he was again, calling you his. At this point, the title seemed rather fitting with the way you’re still on call, even after your friends warned you about the man you were speaking to.

“I’d love to see you again, Y/N.” Your name rolling off his lips sounds foreign, especially when he’s been known to exclusively call you pet names. “Door’s unlocked if you show up. Don’t keep me waiting too long, yeah?” 

There’s a small beep as he ends the call, giving you no chance to keep the conversation going. You fall back onto your bed, groaning out loud. “Are you okay?” You hear your roommate ask you from down the hallway. 

“Yeah, I’m good!” Not really, though. You’re upset at how quickly you decided to get ready to leave the apartment nstead of getting ready for bed like you initially intended to. Standing up, you move over to the mirror to address your current appearance. You internally thank Taesan for not calling you to come over after you’ve taken off your makeup completely. You touch it up slightly, glad that it hadn’t worn off much during the day. Grabbing your perfume on the dresser, you spritz yourself a couple times with the sweet scent. The clothes you would’ve worn to sleep were good enough– After all, it's likely nobody will be in the right state of mind to care too much about what you had on anyways.

You make your way back to the living room, walking past the couch where your roommate was still sitting. “You going somewhere? Aren’t you in your pajamas?” Minnie looks up at you with a confused expression on her face, beer can in hand. 

“Yeah, just going to stop by a friend’s place real quick.” You grab your keys off of the coffee table before moving towards the door.

She gives you a skeptical look, raising her eyebrow at your explanation. “I’m not going to ask you any more questions, but don’t do anything you’ll regret. I’ll be awake if you need me to save you or something– And don’t come back too late!”

“Got it, Mom.” The two of you share a laugh as you walk out into the hallway of your apartment complex, hearing the door beep as it locks shut behind you. You internally apologize to Woonhak and Jaehyun as you wait for the elevator to come up to your floor. You were seriously doing this, huh?

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

In any other situation, you probably wouldn’t be going out of your way to walk across campus at midnight— But because it’s a Friday, there were groups of students roaming around, making their way to bars or house parties. 

The weather was perfect for the walk, albeit it was only about ten minutes long. Even in your shorts, you weren’t too cold on the short trip to the house. It was hard to expect anything in particular by showing up, but you prayed you wouldn’t feel like a fool no matter what happened tonight. 

Just as Taesan said, the door to the house was unlocked; you turned the knob and slowly opened it, revealing the familiar interior. It was significantly cleaner than the last time you were there, probably because they weren’t throwing a party tonight. In this sort of setting, it looked more like a regular home than anything. The led lights towards the ceiling were set to a cool purple, enveloping the room in the color. The speakers were playing music, but at a more casual volume; just loud enough to hear the people you were talking to without being too disruptive to the conversation, maintaining a chill background noise for the smoke session you walked into. 

“Y/N? Come sit with us. Taesan just left to go buy some drinks.” Leehan’s head pops up at your entrance, motioning you to sit next to him on the couch with his hand. “You know anyone here?”

Taking the spot next to him, you glance around the faces scattered around the room. You’re glad they’re all preoccupied with passing around a bong, otherwise you wouldn’t be looking at everyone so shamelessly. There were only about six other people there, but you could only name Minji from her Instagram profile.

You shake your head no in response, giving him an awkward smile. “That’s okay, it doesn’t really matter. You can just stick by me tonight, then.” Leehan reassures you, oddly sweet compared to your last interaction. “Do you smoke?”

“Not really,” You answer. Weed wasn’t your drug of choice– you would’ve much rather preferred to drink, but it wasn’t something you were opposed to. It wouldn’t hurt, right? If anything, it’ll help you take away all the anxiety that was currently weighing down your shoulders. “I’ll smoke tonight though. It’s hard not to join in when you’ve all started without me.” There was no way in hell you were going to stay in that room longer than fifteen minutes if you were sober. 

“Atta girl, I knew you would fit right in.” The brunette praises as he reaches to pick up the tray on the table. You watch as Leehan fills up the rolling paper, skillfully turning it into a neatly packed joint. It’s kind of mesmerizing– you can tell he does this often with the way he finishes in an instant, licking the edge of the paper to close it. Of course, he doesn’t fail to make eye contact as he does so, effectively bringing a blush to your cheeks. Leehan’s looks were no joke. 

It made so much sense to think that Leehan and Taesan were roommates. Leehan reaches into the pocket of his shirt, pulling out a neon green lighter. He places the joint in his mouth, cupping the end and inhaling as he lights it on fire. His head is thrown back onto the couch as he exhales into the air after holding it towards you, urging you to take a hit of your own. 

You take the spliff from him, noticing how large his hands are in comparison to your own. Your actions mimic his; bringing it up to your lips and breathing in the smoke. You immediately cough at the taste, embarrassed that your body seems to reject the weed despite having done this before. Leehan giggles at you, covering his mouth as he rubs the small of your back to help your coughing fit. 

“First time?” He takes it back from you, holding it between his fingers as it burns into the air. “You can be honest, I won’t judge.”

“...No, but it’s been a while.” The two of you are in your own bubble at this point, as you pay no mind to the other people just a couple of feet away. Almost as a means of proving yourself, you snatch the joint from his hand, taking another deep inhale-- successfully without interruption this time, making you internally sigh in relief. The two of you go back and forth sharing it, alternating hits as it slowly shrinks, his spare hand resting on your bare thigh throughout the whole thing. 

“You look like a natural now,” His laugh is breathy; he looked dazed over. It’s unknown how long they’d been at it before you arrived. “You feeling it yet?” He questions as he looks you in the eyes; his own are already glazed over, making them sparkle more than they normally did.

You can’t hold in your giggle at seeing him in such a state. “You are, that’s for sure.” You’re not sure when the two of you moved closer to each other, but your shoulders are touching as you both rest against the comfort of the couch. “I feel really good.” 

The eye contact between you two is broken as you look towards the sound of the door opening. Taesan walks through the entrance with a case of drinks under his arm, taking off his shoes before placing the box onto the table, only after taking one for himself. His face lights up once he sees you on the couch, sending you a grin as he takes his place next to Minji. “Nice to see you again, pretty.” 

Oh, right. You almost forgot she was here– you were so caught up in smoking with Leehan that you weren’t trying to get to know any of the other session attendees. Not that anyone cared, though. Most of them were just lying around, either swaying to the music that continuously played throughout the room, eating from the bags of open snacks laid out on the table, or nonverbal on their phones. 

Minji tries to wrap her arm around Taesan’s as he sits down, earning a side-eye from him as he gently pulls it away. It feels like you should be jealous after seeing that, but your mind is fuzzy. “Looks like Leehan stole my seat.” His tone is passive-aggressive as he addresses the man currently curled up next to you.

“Your seat? Maybe you should’ve called dibs if you wanted to sit next to Y/N so bad. I got her fair and square.” Leehan bites back. “I don’t know why you left right after you asked her to come over.”

He moves to put his arm around you– you can tell he’s trying to push his roommates’ buttons, and you decide to play into it. You two share a brief look, mischief in your eyes, as you both silently understand what you were doing. Instead of pushing his arm away like Taesan had just done with Minji, you lean into it, resting your head by his shoulder as you take another inhale of smoke. The pair of roommates are entranced by the way the cloud leaves your mouth, swirling and twisting into the air before ultimately disappearing. 

Leehan moves the both of you to where you’re sitting up properly and takes his arm off of you. Across the room, Taesan can’t keep his eyes off of the two of you; the way you’re feeding into Leehan’s obvious moves on you. “Can I try something?” You’re a little lost, but you nod your head regardless. His fingers brush against yours as he takes the blunt from your fingers, now a little less than half the size it was when he first rolled it. 

He takes a long drag, pulling away while keeping the smoke in his mouth. You’re shocked to feel his hand on your cheek, bringing your face closer to his and using his thumb to part your mouth open. You also feel Han Taesan’s gaze burning into your skull, but you can’t turn to look with the grip Leehan has on you. 

Leehan slowly pushes the smoke out between his lips, which were currently only a couple of inches away from your own. You inhale instinctively, a bridge of smoke connecting you as you do so. The scene feels like it’s in slow motion, or maybe that’s just the high you’re currently feeling. You don’t know when other people began watching the exchange, but you can faintly hear witnesses egging on the intimate moment you’re sharing with Leehan. 

After all the smoke has passed between you, he moves his thumb to your mouth again, caressing your bottom lip gently. Leehan wants to kiss you. You know he’s not entirely there as he gives you a dopey grin, biting his own lip as his thoughts are fixated on how pretty he thinks you look right now. 

As much as you enjoyed the way Leehan was currently making you feel, you knew that it was all a game to him. It was significantly easier to read him– his intentions with you are as clear as day, unlike Taesan’s. The way he spoke to you didn’t fool you; his words were laced with nothing but lust, and you weren’t interested in taking it any further than it needed to be. This, you were sure of. With Han Taesan, you could never be too sure about what he was thinking. You wish it was this easy to see through him the way you could see through Leehan. 

You know exactly what you’re doing as you lean into the brunette. He smiles again, seemingly satisfied with your movements, as he closes his eyes and does the same. Of course he thinks he’s going to get what he wants. It pisses you off how smug he currently looks when he moves to kiss you.

“Please don’t, Y/N.” Right before you turn your head to swerve the kiss like you’d initially planned to, Taesan’s voice makes both you and Leehan halt your movements. His voice is… small. It’s not as confident as he would normally sound when talking to you; rather, it sounded like he was uncertain about whether or not you’d go as far as kissing his roommate in front of him. Leehan scoffs in annoyance, as he turns his head to look at the source of the interruption. 

“Way to cockblock, dude.” The room suddenly feels tense. You can feel more eyes on you now with the way Leehan’s voice pierces the music coming from the speakers. “She isn’t yours, you know that right? Just accept it, Taesan. If she wants to sleep with me, she can make that decision herself. Isn’t that right, Y/N?” You can’t tell if this is all a part of Leehan’s plan to piss off his friend, but you weren’t having it anymore.

“Leehan, I’m not going to sleep with you.” He’s laughing in disbelief-- Like he couldn’t believe anyone would turn him down like that, especially in front of people watching. You can tell his pride is hurt when he moves to the opposite end of the couch, as far away from you as he can get without having to stand up. 

“Your loss. I’m sure you’ve heard already, but I’m a good fuck-” Out of nowhere, Taesan is grabbing your wrist and brings you up to your feet, dragging you towards the door. Your limbs feel weightless as he holds on to you, your steps gliding on the hardwood floors. You’re barely able to put on your own shoes as you walk into the night, Taesan leading the way.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 

The cool air is refreshing; you take deep breaths, relishing at how nice it feels to be free from the smell of weed surrounding you. “Dongmin, you’re holding me too tight.” You pull back against his grasp, and he immediately drops your wrist, standing in front of you now.

“Why’d you do that?”

“Do what? I came over like you asked me to.” 

“Yeah, and you were all over Leehan when I walked in.”

“It should’ve been you,” You breathe out, just barely above a whisper. “He told me you left when I got there.”

“If you wanted it to be me, then why’d you let him do that? You know how he is.” He looks hurt as he confronts you, and you almost regret what you did back there.

“No, Dongmin, I don’t know how he is. And I also don’t know why you’re angry at me right now. You’re acting like I knew he was going to pull that stunt on me!” He doesn’t know why he’s feeling this way either. Your annoyance is clear as the night sky above you. 

“...Fine, say you didn’t know he was going to do that,” His brows furrowed as he interrogated you further.  “Why’d you lean in?”

“I knew you were watching us. I wasn’t going to kiss him either way.” You confess, not seeing the point in dancing around the bush. What you did could be seen as toxic, but you wanted to see if it would affect him at all-- to get him annoyed, jealous. Anything that could signal that he actually gave a shit about you. 

“Can you cut the bullshit? Do you want to sleep with my friend or not?”

“Did you not hear what I said to him? I told him straight to his face that I didn’t want to have sex with him– In front of everyone, for god’s sake Dongmin! Are you hearing yourself?” Taesan is quiet, not knowing what to say.

“Why does any of this matter to you?” You prod, impatiently awaiting his response. Because he likes you. Because you’re more than another one of his groupies. More than just a meaningless one night stand. You just need him to say it himself.

“Forget it, then. Where’s your apartment? It’s late, I’ll take you back.” He dismisses his previous outburst. You aren’t surprised that he changes the subject, but you wished he took the chance to clear up whatever it was between you two. 

“I can go on my own.” You turn away from him, knowing that if you look at him properly your resolve will fall almost immediately. 

“I’m not letting you walk back at one in the morning, Y/N. It’s not good for a pretty girl to go home alone like this.” Why does he want to ensure the safety of a girl he won’t even admit he has feelings for? 

“You don’t need to do that. I’ll just call someone while I go home, it’s not that serious.” You brush off his offer nonchalantly despite knowing you wouldn’t want to go back alone at this time of night. 

“I want to.” Taesan’s insistent; you didn’t take him as the type of guy to be so stubborn when it came to things like this. “It’s either you let me walk you home, or I’m just going to trail five feet behind you until I see you get back safe.” 

“You’d look like a freak doing that, by the way.” You tease, laughing at the image of him following you around like a bodyguard. 

“Oh, I’m very aware. Which is why I’m politely requesting that you let me walk you home.” His gaze is soft as he pleads with you for the last time. “Please, Y/N?” 

The next three minutes go by in silence, the only noise being the nearby chatter of the occasional groups of partygoers passing by the area. You never explicitly told him to go away, but he matches your pace as you make your way towards your apartment. 

Halfway through the walk, you realize that this could be your chance to talk to Taesan properly. A chance to learn more about him without any intrusions; to see the type of person he truly is. At this very moment in time, this is the closest thing he’ll ever be to being yours.

“I’m thirsty, Dongmin.” You blurt out, suddenly realizing how dry your mouth was, having had nothing to drink for the past hour. 

“Are we almost at your place? You can drink something when you get home, no?” His steps slow down as he turns to you, his hands resting in his pockets. He isn’t wrong, but you were searching for an excuse to extend the time you had alone with him. 

He’s met with your pouty face looking up at him, and he swears his composure dissolves in an instant; he would do anything for you right then and there. “…There’s a convenience store nearby.” 

Your face lights up as you put your hand out for him to take, telling him to bring you there. It’s things like this— you always manage to find a way to catch him off guard. Taesan’s not used to being the flustered one when it comes to women, but he'll gladly endure it if it was you doing it to him.  

The neon sign is bright in the dark of the night, lighting up both of your faces as the boy moves to open the door, motioning for you to go in first. You wrap your arms around your torso as you head towards the refrigerated section, selecting your drink of choice after some thought. “Are you hungry?” 

He shakes his head no, but his eyes are fixated on you across from him standing in your pajamas, playing with the strings of your hoodie as you stand in the middle of the convenience store. His heart is beating so fast, he’s worried you can hear it from where you are. “Why are you looking at me like that, Dongmin?”

The speed in which his cheeks turn pink is endearing. “Uh, your eyes are red.” Taesan clears his throat as he looks back to the various beverages in front of them, pretending to read the labels as he puts an end to his obvious ogling. 

“Thanks, genius. Who would’ve guessed?” You tuck the bottle you were holding under your arm, moving to look through the aisles of snacks and pre-packaged food lining the store. “You aren’t high anymore?” 

“I stopped smoking right after I got off call with you. I don’t really feel it.” To be honest, Taesan wasn’t much of a smoker either, but you didn’t need to know that. The smoke sesh was planned by none other than his roommate, and Taesan only happened to walk in on it after returning home from one of the campus recording booths. He only took a few hits before he thought it’d be a good way to invite you over; it was not nearly enough to get him in the floaty state you were coming down from. 

“Well, I still am. And I’m fucking starving,” He lets out a small laugh, watching you exaggeratedly ponder about which pack of instant ramen you were going to get. “Do you want anything?” 

“Mm, no. Not that hungry.” You squat down to the floor in an attempt to see the bottom shelves better. He’s glancing around the aisle as well, moving to pick up something from above you. When you turn to look at him again, he’s holding out a cup of Shin Ramyun in your face. 

You tilt your head. “I thought you didn’t want anything, though?” 

“I don’t,” He answers matter-of-factly. “This is one of my favorites.” You hesitantly take the ramen from his hands as you get up, walking towards the cashier at the front of the store without any further comment.

You can feel Taesan standing behind you as you both watch the worker scan your drink and ramen. “It’s going to be 3,000 won.” Pulling out your phone to pay, your face recognition fails once, preventing you from opening your Apple wallet. You send an apologetic smile to the cashier for the hold-up.

Your card finally shows up on your screen, allowing you to finally tap the corner of the pay screen– except you’re met with Taesan’s hand holding his card and paying for your items. “Thank you, have a nice night!” The worker pushes your purchases towards you on the counter. Taesan moves to pick them up from behind you, bringing it to a table in the corner of the store.

He slides out the chair for you, which you move to sit in afterwards. Taesan grabs your drink and twists the cap off, offering the opened bottle to you. You gladly accept, taking big gulps and soothing your cottonmouth. “I could’ve done that myself, Dongmin. Same with paying back there.” 

“I know,” Opening up the ramen halfway, he brings the cup up to the hot water dispenser, filling up the line inside. “You probably haven’t noticed it, but you’re moving in slow motion. It makes me want to take care of you.” His last comment is just barely loud enough for you to hear. He finally sits down next to you after he uses a pair of chopsticks to pin the cover of the ramen closed while it cooks.

“I owe you then,” You comment, taking another sip from the bottle in your hand. 

He almost looks offended at your offer to pay off your debt, waving his hand no in front of your face. “Just take it as an apology for me lashing out at you earlier… Sorry. I don’t know why I got so angry back at the house.” 

You want to roll your eyes and tell him the answer to his obliviousness. Surely he should know why. It’s because you like me, isn’t it? Perhaps it’s a big conclusion to jump to, but it’s the only reason that would justify his jealousy after seeing you and Leehan together. 

Taesan takes the chopsticks off of the cup ramen, breaking them apart and mixing together the noodles. Bringing a wad of noodles into the air, he gently blows on it, the steam rising into the air. You gasp at the smell, suddenly reminded of the intense case of munchies you were experiencing. He hums as he finishes cooling down the bite, bringing the chopsticks to your mouth. “Here.” 

Is he trying to feed you? Your eyebrows raise in shock, moving away slightly before leaning in, accepting the food he was holding out for you. The smile he gives you as he watches you eat is sickeningly sweet; he looks content seeing you so happy while you eat. Taking the chopsticks from his hand, you mirror his actions, except this time you offer a bite to the boy currently watching your every move.

It was cute the way he looked like a surprised puppy once he realized you were giving him a bite of his own. He opens his mouth, letting you feed him the cooled-down noodles. You watch as a blush creeps up his neck once more; he covers his mouth as he chews, looking away to avoid your gaze. “Thanks.” He utters, voice quiet with the way he was currently refusing to face you.

This side of Taesan is what truly baffled you. Despite your tendency to fall for people quicker than most, you were smart enough to catch onto the signs of someone liking you back. And in Han Taesan’s case, it couldn’t be clearer to you– his usual cool-guy image disappearing when it comes to you, his atypical moments of concern, his jealousy when it comes to other men, his current acts of service. 

Even to Woonhak and Jaehyun, it sounded like Taesan liked you. The only thing that made you question your theory was the fact that he seemed to have a tendency to run. To run away when things between you two became a little too real. But what was holding him back from being honest with himself? 

“Do I make you nervous, Dongmin?” You wanted to try and pry the words you wanted to hear out from him. 

Now, he reminded you of a deer caught in headlights. His head snaps back towards you, eyes the widest you’ve ever seen them. His sudden movements make him choke on the ramen he has in his mouth. Your hand immediately moves to his back to pat it as he coughs. Pushing your bottle of water towards him, he gladly takes a swig from it to end his coughing fit. “Why do you think that? Do I seem nervous around you?”

“Sort of. I can’t really think of a good way to describe it right now.” You pick up the chopsticks that were resting on the side of the cup to take another bite into your mouth. “But I feel like there’s more to you than what you let on.”

He’s resting his head on his hand now, elbow propped up on the metal table. “What do you mean? You think I’d be different than I am now?”

“Not exactly. In fact, I think the way you act with me is what I’d expect from you. It’s more like… With what little I know about you, I’d think you weren’t this sweet just based on how you look.”

“...Is there something bad about the way I look?”

You scoff, playfully pushing his shoulder. “You can’t seriously be acting like this right now. Everyone on campus thinks you’re hot.” It’s true, yourself included. 

“Oh, is that so?” His lips curve up into a smile. You both know damn well that he’s attractive. 

“Whatever,” Grabbing the drink sitting in front of him, you wash down the taste of your last bite. “I think I’ve almost got you figured out, Dongmin. There’s just a couple things I can’t quite place.” It’s only somewhat true, but you were hoping saying this would make him open up about himself more. 

 “If that’s the case, you could’ve just asked me, angel.” Taesan looks taken aback at your admission. In all honesty, he doesn’t know what you’re referring to, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to find out. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything, really.”

“Anything?”

“You realize you probably know nothing about me, right? I’d say the same about you.”

“What? That’s not true,” He pauses for a second to think about what he could possibly recall about you, only to find that you were right. “Oh. I guess you have a point.” He scratches the back of his head, feeling guilty agreeing with what you just said. “It’s weird, though. I feel like I’m comfortable with you even if we don’t know each other that well.” 

“So, are you going to tell me more about yourself or should we just keep pretending we’re friends like we have been this whole time?” 

He pouts at you. “You don’t think we’re friends?” 

“...Okay, I’ll get going then.” You glare at him as you clean up your mess, dumping it into the empty ramen cup. You move to stand up, only to find him tugging gently on your sweatshirt sleeve and pulling you back down into your chair. 

“Sorry, I was just joking,” He gives you an apologetic look before straightening his posture and turning to face you better. Your knees were touching now, faces only a couple feet away from each other. “Where should I start, then? My MBTI or something?”

“Whatever you feel like telling me, Dongmin. I’m not looking for anything in particular.” You shrug. You truly didn’t know anything about him from just your interactions and what you heard people say about him, which weren’t necessarily the best, to say the least. Anything he said would be new information to you.

“I don’t really think MBTI is that serious, but I’m an INTJ. I wanted to be an idol until I graduated middle school, but I don’t think that kind of spotlight fits me too well anymore. That’s why I settled on being a music major instead. I think I’d rather be behind the scenes instead of being on the main stage all the time.” 

You can feel a smile creeping up on your face at the way he’s genuinely indulging in your request. “I can see it. You being an idol, that is.”

“You think so? I don’t know. Seems pretty tiring to keep up an act like that all the time. Plus, I think I’m happy where I am right now,” Taesan looks down at his hands, twiddling his thumbs as he continues. “It’d be hard to not be able to see my family all the time as an idol.”

“Your family?”

“Yeah, I have two younger siblings back at home. I miss them a lot, even if I’m not that far from home. It’s kind of sad to think that I miss out on watching them grow up when I’m at school.” 

You place your hand atop his, making him stop his fidgeting. Just like that, Han Taesan felt a lot more real to you. He feels like Han Dongmin. “I’m sorry. It must be difficult for you then, huh?”

“Oh, yeah, sometimes.” He takes your hand in his, playing with your fingers now instead. The action makes you giggle to yourself; he really resembled a big baby. “It’s fine though, I text them all the time. My dad’s always sending me pictures of our new dog or them having dinner together. It’s not like I can’t call them when I want to. I’m just grateful.”

You hum in acknowledgment. “Yeah, I get it. It’s nice having some of my friends from high school go here too, otherwise, I think I’d be way too homesick for my liking.”

“Are you far from home then?”

“I’m only a couple hours away, but I’m kind of sappy when it comes to things like that. Like, I find a lot of sentimental meaning in different things, and my hometown obviously holds a lot of that for me, growing up there and all.” 

“It’s great you have people here you know though, seriously. When I first got here, I knew no one. I only met Leehan by chance at some club event I went to.” Taesan lets out a small laugh at the memory. “He was a lot different back then, I’d say. He pisses me off sometimes, but he’s a good friend most of the time. Dude’s a lot more normal when it’s just us at the house together.” 

You think back to your few interactions shared with his roommate. How different could he have been if that’s the way he acts now? It’s hard to imagine Leehan anything else than your typical college fuckboy, but you initially saw the boy sitting next to you the same way, so you don’t write it off as impossible.

“I don’t know why I’m talking about him. He’s been annoying me lately,” The grip he has on your hand tightens slightly, but quickly returns to his previous gentle hold. “Who are your friends from home? Sungho and Riwoo?”

“Huh? No, I only met them last year, but they’re the best. It was some dumb assigned group project thing, but we get along really well. I’m usually hanging out with my friends Jaehyun and Woonhak, though.” Saying their names aloud reminds you of how they pleaded with you to drop Han Taesan just days before this– yet here you were, your hand in his as you talked about your lives in the middle of the local convenience store. 

“Ah, Woonhak? He’s younger than us, right?” You nod, completely forgetting that Woonhak was the reason you found out that there was another girl Taesan was currently entertaining. “He’s funny, I’ve hung out with him a few times here and there. He keeps asking me to show him what songs I’ve been writing recently.” 

This makes you think they were closer than they really were, but you knew it was just Woonhak’s usual (endearingly) nosy self at work. “Wow, Woonhak gets to hear them but I can’t?” You pull your hand away from him to grab at your chest, pretending that the realization broke your heart. 

“Come on baby, don’t be like that.” Taesan takes your hand back into his, letting them rest where your knees meet. “I can show you sometime, just not now though. I’ve been working on something special recently, and it’s not perfect yet.” 

“Do you call everyone that?” His eyes meet yours, tilting his head to the side slightly. 

Upon understanding what you’re trying to get at, he waves his free hand in front of you defensively. “Ah, it’s not like that. Just force of habit, I guess?”

“Okay, so by force of habit, you mean yes. I got it.” Taesan opens his mouth to defend himself again, but you cut him off. “Don’t freak out, I don’t really care. We’re friends, right?” You laugh to yourself at the irony of your own statement. Yeah, friends who kiss and call each other pet names. So stupid. 

The chime above the door jingles as a group of very obviously inebriated college students come in, loudly seeking out food to satisfy their drunk cravings. “It’s getting late, can I walk you home properly now?” 

Quickly cleaning up after yourselves, you both make your way out of the convenience store before you run into more groups of people coming back from the parties that just ended. Taesan grabs your hand as you start walking, interlocking your fingers in his. You were surprised, but definitely not complaining. The way his large hand felt in comparison to yours was addicting; you’d never let go if you could. Feeling your phone buzz in your pocket, you use your free hand to see who’s texting you. 

2 new messages from “babygirl minnie”! Minnie: babe r u coming home tonight or do i need to pick u up from somewhere 🤔 Minnie: i’m going to sleep in like 20 mins lmk ASAP or ill kill u 😘 to: “babygirl minnie”! You: yes mother i’m omw back now 👍 u dont need to stay up someone’s walking back with me

You watch the screen as she hearts your message almost immediately, and you slip your phone back into your pocket. “Who’s that?” Taesan asks, who was peering over his shoulder while you replied.

“It’s my roommate. She’s worried I’m not going to get back safe.” 

“I would be too if I had a beautiful girl like you as my roommate walking all by herself at this time.” His hand squeezes yours gently as you walk, the night sky littered with stars. The route you were taking home wasn’t your usual route. In fact, it was the longest path you could take without straying too far off campus. Was it so wrong to want to hold hands with Han Taesan as long as you possibly could?

“I wish I got to see you like this more often, Dongmin.” 

“Well, you’re seeing me now. That’s not enough for you, angel?” His steps slow down, making you stop as well. 

“That’s not what I meant. It was nice to talk to you normally for once.”

“Ah, so my girl wants to talk to me more. I’m just a call away, you know.”

You scoff at his words. “We both know that’s not true.” If you even tried calling, would he bother to answer? For all you know, he’d just go back to leaving you with nothing but radio silence for days on end.

“…I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

“What I want to know is why you treat me so nicely and then disappear for a week?” It might be the effects of your high coming to an end, but you suddenly feel all the frustration you’d previously felt when it came to Taesan coming out of nowhere. “Fuck, I hate to ruin the nice moment we just had but it’s hard not to say something when you make me feel like an idiot every time.”

In front of you, Taesan stares back with a blank expression. Nothing. It’s as if he doesn’t even know what he’s been doing to you. Seeing his face just angers you further. “Hell, I don’t even know why it’s so hard for me to not come running back to you the second you call. I look ridiculous going back to you even when my best friends told me not to.”

“Y/N, calm down. You’re thinking too deeply about things right now. Maybe it’s the weed.” Taesan tries to put his hand on your arm, but you pull away immediately. You felt like he wasn’t hearing anything you were saying. 

“Am I just someone you hit up when you’re lonely? Just someone who’s conveniently always going to answer? That’s the last person I’d want to be to you.”

“C’mon, sweetheart. You’re more than that to me, okay?” 

“I wish I could find it in me to believe you, Taesan.” 

“I don’t like hearing you call me that.” Hearing his nickname come from your mouth felt like an arrow to the heart, for some reason. It all felt wrong. You shouldn’t be calling him that intentionally; it wasn’t right coming from you. Taesan didn’t want you to see him the same way everyone else did, but he couldn’t explain why.  

“Even things like this, like calling you by your real name. You make it feel like you genuinely care about me, even when you have other girls wrapped around your finger the same way you have me. It’s like you go out of your way to make me feel special only to forget about me the next day!”

“Darling, you are special to me. I don’t know how else to prove it to you.” He couldn’t be serious. How did he expect you to feel special when, for all you know, he could be treating his next girl the exact same way? 

“You confuse me, Taesan.  Because just now, in that convenience store, you seemed like you were telling me things you haven’t told other people, but I know that the chances of me even hearing from you tomorrow are slim.”

“You’re acting like we’re dating or something. We were never anything like that, Y/N.” He spits back without thinking, feeling equally as frustrated now. The night air felt colder than it did before. Whether or not Han Taesan reciprocated your feelings, he was completely oblivious to his actions. Leehan was right. Taesan wasn’t yours, nor were you his, but you felt like tonight told you everything you needed to know. 

Your mouth opens in disbelief. “Don’t say that shit to me,” You turn on your heel, angrily resuming your way back to your apartment. Taesan raises his arm, debating on whether or not to try and stop you from ending the conversation as is, ultimately letting it fall back to his side. You look back at him after a few steps. “I’m fine going home on my own, so don’t bother following me to my place.” 

Han Taesan knew he screwed up. 

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Hearts [S. R] part 2

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 3.9k

part 1!

summary: morning coffees become the special moments between you and Spencer, but you also discover that he may have more competition for his love than you expected.

N/A: I never thought this would be so well received and I honestly feel so happy! I am very grateful to all the people who requested a second part, I hope you like it and if you want to tell me something in the comments I will read it with pleasure!

people who might be interested: @c-m-stuff @no-soy-fer @synthsescape @bella-fics @cynbx

That morning Spencer came to his desk with coffee in hand and set it carefully to one side, the sight of his scrawled name looming large throughout.

Spencer <3

What did that mean? It was his name, that's obvious, but it was written with such a careful and clean line that it was very beautiful to admire and the heart drawn next to it was what didn’t quite add up in the whole thing. Reid knew that it was an ideogram used to express the idea of affection or love, so the most logical conclusion was that you were trying to communicate a feeling of that kind, but then he wondered: was it affection between friends? a simple show of affection, he supposed. Nothing further, surely it could not be anything else.

There were days when you and he barely saw each other, as the team had to go out to handle cases in the field and you stayed behind to do literally whatever you could do to complete your service hours, but every morning without fail you looked for him to deliver the long-awaited coffee. You were keeping your promise and for three days you arrived with two cups on the tray, one clean and the other labeled for him: Reid, Spence, Doctor R., all titles followed by a drawing of a heart. When Friday rolled around and you handed him what he thought would be his last cup, you decided to propose a deal.

"Today I was thinking that I could buy your coffee permanently, if you want” you exclaimed kindly, while you watched him from the chair that you had pulled to sit next to him. Some mornings when there wasn’t so much movement you would stay there to drink a few shots of your coffee and share a small moment of the day "It's on my way here and it's obvious that you like it"

“Oh, I… I couldn't even think about it, no. I would take too much advantage of you"

“You're going to pay me back, Reid. I'll just bring it” you laughed, watching him turn red to the ears while he drank a little to try to mask it.

"Then, I'd love to," he exclaimed with a tight-lipped smile. He was a little excited to continue having excuses to talk to you every day and, above all, to drink the delicious coffee that he had already gotten used to.

"Although I'm running out of ideas, to be honest," you said amused, because that day the cup didn’t have any inscription due to that lack of creativity. But as by the work of fate, an idea came to your mind, so you smiled from ear to ear while you took a black marker from your friend's desk and took the cup from his hand. Spencer looked at you carefully and curiously while you were writing and just when you finished Hotch called you from the other side of the tables "I have to go, don't miss me too much" you murmured, handing him the glass and then winking at the boy, who in response only awkwardly raised his hand.

Once you left, he looked at what you had written, less neatly than the other times, and felt himself grinning like a fool:

My fav agent and again that damn heart.

“Y/N”

"Yeah?" you asked, looking up at another of your fellow interns. You had a room where everyone could stay for a while to work on their own business, but on this occasion, curiously, only women had gathered at the table, there were about five of you in the entire building. Among them Jennifer, a girl you liked very much and with whom you could presume to have something like a friendship, and for some strange reason there was also Victoria.

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Huh… yeah, I guess" you muttered a bit confused, and even though you didn't know the girl she smiled in your direction.

“Is that brown-haired guy you talk to every morning your boyfriend?”

“Spencer?” you asked, widening your eyes at the surprise with which the question had taken you. You expected her to ask what band you listened to the most, your favorite food, or some other stupid thing, but not that. Now all the girls' attention was on you, including Victoria's inquisitive scowl and Jennifer's amused look “I wouldn't say that” 

"And do you think you can introduce me?" she said with more enthusiasm than she intended, and they all laughed collectively.

“I get second in line”

"Girls, girls..." Jennifer intervened and you knew that from that moment the topics of the internship would take a back seat “He may not be her boyfriend now, but that doesn't mean she doesn't want him to be”

"Jenn!"

"Am I lying?" she sneered “You smile every time you see him and you two look so in love whispering to each other every morning. Also, a week ago I saw you go out together at night”

"Jenn," you insisted, muttering to her in the hope that she would notice that you wanted her to shut up. It wasn't that you were ashamed of being associated with him, you just didn't want to spread wrong rumors that might embarrass him.

“How come he's already an agent? He looks very young”

“It's because he's a prodigy, duh. He’s as attractive as he’s intelligent”

"I imagine that being such a smart man he knows perfectly the weak points of a woman" another girl murmured, joining the conversation "If you know what I mean"

“For now we are just friends. That's all" you said trying to end the conversation, completely embarrassed that such a personal matter had ended up as the talk of all the female interns of the FBI. It was supposed to be a serious job and you guys looked like gossipy high school girls.

"Maybe he's waiting for someone better," Victoria said into the air, a venomous tone permeating every word.

"Anyway, if you give up, can you get me his number?" insisted the first girl. You nodded just so as not to break his illusion, but you knew very well that Spencer didn't use a phone beyond what was necessary for work.

Even though you yourself had told him that surely many girls liked him, you didn't expect that he really had admirers so close and to be honest a pang of jealousy invaded you. Victoria was the most obvious of them all, but you knew that being college girls they were more likely to admire the masculine charm of perhaps the youngest member of the FBI. They too were young and beautiful, but you chose to trust that you had the upper hand in winning the man's affections.

You tried as hard as you could to concentrate on your tasks, but now that his name had come up it was hard to think of anything but him. Spencer wasn't a very expressive guy, but you knew that he was comfortable with you or else he wouldn't seek you out or agree to talk to you like you did, although clearly that didn't ensure that he was attracted to you. Maybe he just saw you as a good friend.

At night, when you were about to go home, you tried to look for him so you could see him again with the excuse of saying goodbye, but you were surprised when you saw that he was talking to Victoria in an already empty section. Curiosity to know what they were talking about invaded you and you stood where you were, squinting your eyes to try to read their lips. Reid wasn't participating too much in the chat, you'd even say he looked awkward, but she was shamelessly flirting with him. Perhaps the sudden change in attitude that she had had was what your friend had missed so much and just when you thought of approaching to go save him from the situation, she stood on her toes and crashed her lips against his, leaving you standing just in your place and completely in shock.

You didn't expect her to dare to do something like that, but the reaction he had left you even more surprised, because, although it wasn't so favorable, he didn't seem bothered by the show of affection he had just received either. He just stood in front of her, looking her up and down as if he were analyzing her.

You didn't want to stay there any longer and almost instantly you turned around to walk out the front door, hoping that this had meant absolutely nothing to him and the next day you could look him in the face without feeling the jealousy boiling in your veins.

It was almost time for dismissal when Spencer remembered that he had a file to go through that he'd ignored all morning, and he cursed himself a little for leaving things until the last minute. His coworkers told him that he could finish it the next morning, but he knew that if he did that he probably wouldn't have time to drink coffee with you so he preferred to stay a little later there.

Little by little the offices emptied and when there was almost no one left, he finally finished, feeling the discomfort of the recurring pain in his back due to the bad position in which he sat. He put his things away, put on his coat, and slung his briefcase over his shoulder, ready to go back to his apartment, but a person got in the way when he was about to cross the hall. Due to exhaustion and seeing that it was a female body he assumed it would be you, but when he paid more attention, he noticed that it wasn’t even remotely possible that the ironed black hair was yours.

"Doctor Reid"

"Miss Evans" he greeted her, without losing cordiality, but not with too much emotion either.

"What are you doing here so night?"

"Job. There's nothing else to do around here at this hour,” he said without looking at her. But the girl was determined to get that one-night stand that she was sure you had, lie as it was.

“It's a shame, but I know a bar near here that you might like if you want to have a little fun”

“Bars are noisy and are one of the biggest sources of infection that can exist. Sweat, alcohol, and unknown fluids permeate the environment and it is very probable that the consumption of drugs affects not only those who consume them but also those who are close to them, so I prefer to decline your invitation" he exclaimed, hoping that this explanation would be enough to make it clear to this woman that he wasn't interested.

“So you're more of hanging out in the apartment? I have a lot of great things in mine, including a jacuzzi."

“Jacuzzies are unsanitary” he insisted. If he proposed, he would know that he would find a valid excuse for whatever plan she might suggest.

"What a killjoy, Agent Reid” she giggled, but he wasn't too amused by any of it. "Do you ever have fun?"

"I think my concept of fun and yours diverge a lot" he murmured, still not looking at her directly and ready to end the conversation.

Spencer was about to leave when she raised herself to his height and in a quick movement that caught him off guard, she smashed her lips against his. As she turned away from her the man froze completely in his place, looking at her from head to toe as if she were some strange natural specimen.

"What if I promise there will be more of that?" she asked, in a last-ditch attempt, faking a honeyed voice. He was going to respond when there was something that forced him to look in the direction of the exit door, where someone else was already walking. From the pattern of colored stripes on the jacket he knew it was definitely you and if it was you then you probably witnessed the entire exchange. He felt the urge to run after you to justify himself for something he hadn't even done, not knowing why he was embarrassed or worried that you'd seen that. “Come on, are you really going to say no to all this?”

"Listen to me, Victoria. I understand if having power over others gives you pleasure because you are the least noticed and recognized member of the family, or if you enjoy saying hurtful things to people to feed your own insecurities, but I ask that you please stay away from me and stop trying whatever you're trying. I don't like you, you're a bad person and I won't allow you to kiss me without my wanting it, or to make your sexual advances that won't get you anywhere. So again, I say don't bother me again” he said and without waiting for any answer he walked out of sight of her. Even if he had stayed, Victoria had her ego so hurt that she didn't think of anything to say back and instead she just let helpless tears fill her eyes, followed by a gesture of a tantrum.

When Spencer came downstairs he couldn't find you anywhere and the anxiety in his stomach only increased, wishing he had misrecognized the person who had left so it wasn't about you. The matter didn't keep him awake, of course, but when he noticed the next morning that you weren't at his desk, he thought it was reason enough to worry. Worse still when he noticed that you had left a lonely cup on the table, with absolutely no adorable titles decorating it. It made him feel so guilty, like he somehow knew that you were upset because you'd seen Victoria kiss him the night before and he wasn't worthy of your affection anymore.

Even Hotch noticed that he was more distracted than usual and although he had already seen your exchanges, he thought it would be better not to intervene in anything that had to do with young love. Being a cupid was a more difficult task than the one he already fulfilled at the BAU. So when night came and he didn't look at you anywhere, anxiety was already eating him to the ground, wishing he could have your phone number to at least comfort himself with hearing your voice. Going to your apartment was something he considered, but then it became unthinkable because he didn't even know how you would react.

Victoria became less of a concern as she seemed to get the message perfectly and every time during the day that he crossed her path she just looked away, totally offended.

But when the same situation arose twice, he felt that something was wrong and he wasn't going to endure a third time. It was then that Spencer left the house early that morning to stop by a bakery and buy a couple of fresh sweet buns, hoping that this time you were expecting him. But his disappointment was greater when he saw that once again there was only the bare cup of coffee.

"Didn't you see Y/N?" he asked Elle when he arrived, nervously fiddling with the paper bag he was holding in his hands.

“No, she just left your coffee and left, but I don't know where. She seemed pretty rushed”

Spencer inwardly cursed and sighed in frustration, until a few seconds later he caught sight of you on the other side of the building, carrying a stack of folders and talking on the phone. He didn't hesitate for a moment before running (at first, then he slowed down a bit as he remembered the incessant times Hotch had scolded him for it) towards you so he could finally talk to you.

“Y/N,” he said softly as he reached your side, and he took the bright smile you gave him as you turned to look at him as a good sign.

"Wait a minute" you mouthed, still answering the call you had on the line, and when you hung up you finally turned your attention to him "Hey, Reid. Good morning"

"I bought you this" he murmured, showing you the bag with food inside, and you almost moaned with happiness.

“Food is what I need most to survive the day”

"What are you doing?"

“Two days ago, your boss Gideon thought it was a good idea to make me his personal secretary. So right now, I'll do everything he asks me to do” you snorted, obviously exhausted by the work you had done and by the ones you surely would have to do.

It clicked in the boy's mind and then he understood that this was the reason you hadn't seen it, not because you were angry. Relief ran down the length of his spine.

"Really?"

“I don't even think that's legal, you know? I'm an intern, they don't pay me a penny and they take advantage of me like I earn the same as the fucking president” you complained. Until then he noticed that you were struggling to hold the papers and he decided to stretch out his hands to help you carry them, like a real gentleman "Thank you"

“Where should you take them? I'll accompany you” he offered. You led him through the halls to a file store that even he doubted he knew about, and explained that your job for the next several weeks would be to sort and categorize the case files for a more efficient process of future searches.

“I'm seriously thinking about giving this whole damn thing up and selling hotdogs in some park or whatever. I would be happier and I would earn almost the same” you joked, raising your arms to stretch your back a bit like a cat that had just woken up. The place was completely alone, silent and the lighting was so dim that it even looked gloomy “Did you get my coffees?"

"Yes, I did," he muttered, "I thought you were mad at me though”

"Why?"

"Because..." he hesitated for a moment if it would be wise to mention what he thought was the reason for your anger, until he realized that saying it out loud would simply sound absurd. There shouldn't be a reaction on your part to the facts “you weren't there. And you didn't write anything”

"Oh, I was in a hurry. I'm sorry,” you sincerely apologized. While you were talking to him you thought that you could start to categorize the documents that you would have just brought and you got to it, hoping that he wouldn't interpret that as a sign that you wanted him to leave; luckily Spencer rushed to your side to help you as soon as he could.

"Alright. I'm glad to know you're not upset."

"If I had known that you loved my notes so much, it would have taken me a few seconds" you smiled and when you turned your head you noticed that you were too close to him, or he to you, rather.

You were silent for a few moments until he couldn't take it anymore. He needed to know your opinion about what you had or hadn't seen that night.

"Victoria looked me up the other day," he said disinterestedly. You smiled victoriously for not having to be the first to mention it, even though the matter was slowly burning inside you.

“Oh, I know. I looked at you talking to her” you exclaimed bitterly, without taking your eyes off the files.

"And she too... huh..."

"Calm down" you interrupted him, taking a bunch that were already ordered and moving away from him to take them to a filing cabinet "I saw that too"

“It was so strange”

"It was pathetic," you said without any embarrassment. You finally looked up and noticed some fear in him, as if he thought you meant that he was pathetic "It wasn't even a good kiss"

"And what would one be like?" he replied without thinking. You stifled a laugh and looked at him kindly.

“That's not something I can explain to you, Reid. I would have to show you"

“Well…” he said, finally breaking away from your gaze and staring at you with those big beautiful hazel eyes.

You were surprised that he wasn't averse to it because you honestly didn't expect to achieve anything with that sentence, you just wanted to tease him a bit. Spencer kept looking at you in silence for a few seconds and you knew what that look meant, or at least you thought you did. Those pleading eyes only screamed one thing: show me. Kiss me.

You walked enough steps to close the distance and stand right in front of him, looking down at him with a smile of pure mischief.

“Well, what?"

“Nothing, nothing, I just… I thought you could enlighten me a bit on the subject. As unbelievable as it may seem, I am very uninformed about the standard of what is considered a good or bad kiss” he admitted. Even flirting he sounded like a walking book.

You weren't going to give him time to regret it so you took him by the lapels of his formal shirt and with a yank you pulled him to you. Spencer's breath caught at how sudden the contact had been, and you heard him release the trapped air over your lips, giving you the chance to deepen the kiss. At first he was tense, but after a few seconds you felt his shoulders relax considerably and that's when you slid your hands down the length of his neck until you reached to hold his cheeks. One of your hands left that position only to guide the man's hands to your waist and once you were in this way you took the opportunity to push your body against his a little more, with your torso attached to his. There was no mention of how the tip of your tongue experimentally flicked across his lips and made him sigh audibly.

Spencer nearly whimpered as the heat from your body left his.

“We just shared approximately 80 million bacteria” you blurted out, but he was too flushed and shocked to corroborate denying the information. Just to play with him you decided to give him another kiss, shorter and louder than the previous one "And you just had a good kiss"

You didn't wait for any reaction before separating completely and that made him come out of the trance he was in, still not believing what had just happened. He couldn't even say anything before your phone started ringing with a call.

"I'll see you later?"

"It's up to you," you said with a smile. Spencer nodded and not knowing what else to do he decided to walk out before he could embarrass himself "Oh, and Spence…”

"Yeah?" he answered, trying not to let you notice how it affected him that you called him that way.

“Do you remember the other day when I told you that surely hundreds of girls liked you?” you asked and when he nodded a couple of hairs got messy "Although I'm sure it's true, on that occasion I was only talking about me" you confessed. You couldn't ignore the ringing sound any longer or you'd lose it, so you picked up the hook and started a business conversation, but not before winking at him as a farewell.

Spencer came out of it trying to look as normal as possible, but he still couldn't figure out how he'd have the strength to work objectively for the rest of the day when he'd just gotten such a good kiss from the prettiest girl he'd ever met.