#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

[glisten-inthedark]

I’m rewatching some of Mike and Will’s smaller scenes in season 2 ‘cause when I first watched season 2 I think it was really easy for me to fall into the trap of thinking all of Mike’s behavioral issues stemmed from missing & grieving El

And I still truly believe that’s a massive part of it because I think he has a form of survivor and almost caretaker’s guilt from El’s supposed death. He took care of El and then she singled him out in a goodbye and seemingly died protecting him and his friends. That is a helluva weight to carry around and he’s experiencing PTSD as the anniversary effect kicks into gear.

But in s2e1, before Will has to go into Hawkins Lab, Will is clearly down in the dumps in class because of the Zombie Boy note he got in his locker. We don’t see Mike notice, but later he says “He’s quiet today,” which shows that he did in fact notice his mood. Which is a really nice subtle parallel to Rink o’ Mania where we don’t see Mike noticing Will’s mood but then Mike himself reveals that oh yes, he has been incredibly aware of Will’s mood, attitude, and behavior.

I also just love how the camera focuses in on Mike when the boys are watching Will leave. The creators are screaming at the audience, “HOW MIKE FEELS RIGHT NOW IS YOUR PRIORITY,” and yet it’s so easy (at least it was for me, on my first watch) in Mike’s very next scene to take his moodiness as missing El, because we find out from his parents that he’s had behavioral issues all year, so my silly little brain went, “Oh, because of losing El.” But when the scene starts, before Karen even brings up the two boxes of toys for the yard sale, Mike is sullen and picking at his food.

And again, this is Mike’s next scene after they very intentionally focused on Mike being concerned for Will going to the lab. So he’s not picking at his food because of El—it’s because he’s worried about Will. (Contrasting Dustin & Lucas going to the arcade to watch Max, most of their focus on her.)

Then this dinner scene is followed by Nancy & the Holland’s dinner scene, which ends in Nancy experiencing her own guilt over losing her best friend….and only then do we get an El-focused scene for Mike. Directly after a deep display of grief and guilt from Nancy over her platonic best friend. In Mike’s scene with the toys, he sets aside Rory the dinosaur, which he and the audience associates with El…..except…..she showed zero interest in this toy in season 1. He also picks up the Millennium Falcon, which Dustin tried to get her to fly, but Mike never witnessed her actually levitating it. He associates it with Dustin’s attempt to make her fly it, but not her actually engaging with it.

And all the while, hovering over his head and shoulder, are Will’s drawings. After he picks up the Millennium Falcon, he’s framed between two of Will’s drawings.

Of course Mike misses El; he cares for her and he’s seen firsthand her communicate through the radio, and we’ve seen that he was able to sense her presence like Will did when he was in the UD, and he tells Will that he feels like he keeps seeing her, so I think El visiting him really heightened that need to keep reaching out, and also the guilt that would come with stopping reaching out. After all, in the scene in s2e1 when he uses his radio to reach out to her, it is absolutely Eleven whose voice we first hear, not Dustin. It sounds exactly like her. And then before Mike starts talking, we hear Dustin say “Mike?” and it sounds completely different. So imagine him experiencing that on and off for a whole year! The poor boy would struggle to move on so incredibly badly.

But before the basement scene, it was Will on his brain. Not El. Will was the reason he was sullen at dinner.

Idk I just think it’s so interesting how even though I’d rewatched season 2 a ton of times before season 4 and now, I had M*leven on the brain and so let that color how I perceived things and the assumptions I made.

Hello! Oh this is why I love getting asks, I didn't even notice all of this.

To be honest I also assumed his behavior change was due to El at first, but thought better of it not due to the things you noticed but because after I watched I thought about it and realized it was most likely a situation where there's a lot of trauma from what happened to El and what happened to Will intertwined.

I've talked about this before very on a surface level because no one here needs a psychology Ted Talk, but I truly believe El and Will are very enmeshed in Mike's brain due to trauma coping mechanisms.

Will disappears, he gets El. El gets Will back but disappears and he thinks she dies and she gets her back, connect this with Mike's internalized homophobia/biphobia and we have a recipe for his behavior down the line.

[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

[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.

[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?

[blossomingmoonlight]

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

Masterlist

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.

[moonstruckme]

hiiiiiiiii mae <3 i have an idea for thawing out series. what about if reader has a 'moment' w one of them and the other boy gets slightly cranky bc of it but then is also confused bc he doesn't know if he wants r or the other boy.........and then EPIPHANY 😈

Thanks for your request! The mood of it got altered some but I hope you like it :)

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12

cw: modern au, chronic pain, some hurt w/o comfort but dw we'll fix it down the line

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 2.6k words

“Pads!” Remus shouts across the ice. “Focus!”

Sirius’ cheeks pinken slightly as he tears his stare away from the Russian soloist practicing her quads. You laugh and say something to him that makes him pinch your waist meanly, as if you’ve been acting any better. 

You and Sirius are completely starstruck. Remus wants to be irritated at your distractibility, but it’s sort of adorable. You nearly fall on your bum watching the Austrian team run drills, Sirius is too busy eye-flirting with a Swedish skater to remember he’s supposed to be going into a turn, and you both stop your routine entirely when the Canadian duo steps out onto the ice. 

You and Sirius draw plenty of stares yourselves, though naturally only Sirius appears to notice. He shoots a wink at a skater admiring him and a glare at another looking too closely at you, his hand possessively on your lower back anytime you’re not running your routine. 

Altogether it means you have to spend a couple of extra hours learning to work through this specific brand of stage fright and running your drills again after you all get your heads turned multiple times, but Remus lets it slide. He remembers being just as dazzled during his first Olympics, seventeen years old and feeling like he’d somehow snuck into the hall of fame, an imposter among legends. 

Part of him hopes that the embarrassment of having to do a half-ass death spiral in front of so many professionals will make Sirius finally go all the way, but no such luck. He keeps you firmly above where you ought to be, expression impassive even as Remus can see you pleading with him with your eyes. Still, the rest of the routine goes well, and Remus tries not to let it get under his skin. He hopes you’re right and Sirius really will pull through in the final hour; your faith in your partner is absolute, and Remus finds it easy to put his faith in you. 

He lets you loose to spend the afternoon as you’d like, but it comes as no surprise when he sees you both on the ice again. Remus knows you’ve likely got plenty of nerves to work off. It’s one thing to compete in your home country, another entirely to represent your home country while competing amongst the best figure skaters in the world. He calls you off the ice before one of you can overexert yourselves and pull something. Sirius swears up and down that his ankle hasn’t bothered him since the day after he hurt it, and Remus hasn’t seen anything to make him suspect differently, but he knows better than to take risks with a healing injury. You spend the rest of the afternoon playing cards and gambling for candies in Sirius’ room. 

Eventually you disperse to go to bed. Remus’ hip has been bothering him since the flight the previous day, so he goes on a walk to stretch it out. It’s odd, he thinks, how easy things have come to feel between the three of you. When he first arrived, Remus had every intention of setting up strict professional boundaries, of knowing you only as your coach and seeing you only during practice times. And then you started practicing together, and it seemed like his boundaries wouldn’t even be necessary. Sirius hated him, and besides that the two of you existed in a bubble no one could penetrate, intimate and trusting only each other. Now, after learning about what your former coach did to you, Remus understands why that was necessary. You were protecting each other, safeguarding your partnership and your careers. It would have made sense for you to keep Remus at more than an arm’s length, taking his coaching with grains of salt and keeping him well away from your private lives. 

But then there have been days like today. Still bickering with Sirius, still watching the two of you interact with a familiarity only years of history can grant, but feeling warm and welcome despite it all. It feels easy, to tease Sirius and let him snipe back. To let you lean your shoulder into his and not move away. It feels good. 

Remus’ hip is feeling fairly good too by the time he gets back, sore from the exercise but not so stiff. As he makes his way to his room, passing Sirius’ and then yours on the way, he sees light sneaking through the crack underneath your door. 

He frowns. It’s late, and you’re meant to practice again early tomorrow morning, your last day of practice before you compete. You should be well rested. As he approaches your door, he hears sound coming from inside. Low, crackling voices, and a song that tugs at the fringes of his memory. Then a sound he knows too well, the shushing of skates on ice.

Remus knocks. The door is thin enough that he hears your little gasp and a quiet snap, and when you say “come in,” it sounds like a question. 

He suppresses a smile, opening your door cautiously in case you didn’t really mean it. 

You’re sitting on your bed, one hand atop your shut laptop. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” he says, leaning against the doorway. “It’s late.” 

“I know.” You look almost shy. Between that and the pajamas you have on, plaid little shorts and a bulky sweatshirt, Remus has the urge to pinch your chin between his fingers. “Sorry, I was just watching some, um…”

“Figure skating videos.” Your lips part, and he says, “I could hear them from outside.” 

“Oh.” You laugh. It’s a nice sound, one Remus can happily say he’s come to know well, but this one is woven through with nerves. “That’s embarrassing.” 

“Why is it embarrassing?” he asks honestly. “It’s normal to want to study your competition. And they’re fun, I still watch them all of the time.” 

“It’s not…” You give him a tentative look, then scoot over on your bed. “Do you want to see?” 

Remus can’t imagine you’re watching anything he hasn’t seen a million times, but he is curious which are your favorites. He’s careful to sit on top of your covers, a few inches between your leg and his. The bed doesn’t allow for anything more. 

“Fuck, did they really have to go back to making them out of cardboard?” 

That gets another nervous laugh out of you as you open your laptop screen, playing the video. And Remus knows then where he’s heard the music before. It’s his music. You’re watching his old routine, a niche one from a small competition back in Wales. Remus was fourteen when this was filmed. 

He glances at you, and you’re watching the video with your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, the colors of the screen dancing across your eyes. 

“I’ve always admired how tight your form was,” you say. “You were so young, but it was obvious you were putting the work in.” 

“I practiced a lot,” Remus agrees. “Too much, really.” 

The nostalgia he feels for figure skating is bittersweet when he watches videos like this. He remembers spending all his time in the rink, every hour he wasn’t in school or at home, nothing spared for friends or hobbies. He did love it, but in loving it he forgot to build a life outside of it. Life was constant motion, training and competitions and awards whirling around him like the rink during a spin; by the time he had his accident anyone that might have been his friend had their own friends, and Remus realized he may have been lonely for years. 

“I’m really glad you agreed to coach us.” You’re still watching the video, young Remus doing a camel spin. “You’ve made us a lot better, both of us. I know Sirius is going to end up fixing the spiral, and I’m going to try my best, and…I really hope we can make you proud.” 

“You will,” Remus says, instead of you already do. It feels wrong to take any credit for how incredible you are, either one of you, but that is what he feels when he sees you out on the ice. Proud. He looks at you carefully. “You’ve seemed wound pretty tightly lately.” 

Your eyes drop, no longer looking at young Remus but not at the older one either. 

“It’s alright to be nervous,” he says gently, “so long as you know that you deserve to be here. You’re going to do great.” 

You rub your lips together. “Were you nervous during your Olympics? Is it okay for you to talk about?” 

“Yeah,” Remus says, a bit surprised, “it’s fine. I was nervous. I was…” he chuckles “I was freaking out, honestly. But when I got out there, it was really just like any rink. The music and the routine were the same, so I just let myself get lost in it. I almost forgot where I was until it was over, and people were waving flags at me and all that from the stands.” He feels his lips curve with the memory. Bumps your shoulder lightly with his. “It’s not so bad. Anyway, I think it’s got to be better to go through it with someone else. I was on my own, but you’ll have Sirius with you.” 

You give him a little sideways smile. “And you, right?” 

A fond warmth blooms in Remus’ chest. “And me.” 

“Has it been difficult for you to coach us?” you ask him tentatively. “I mean, to come back?” 

Remus takes a deep breath. “Yeah,” he says after a minute. “At first, it really was. I’m not proud of it, and I don’t think I really knew it at the time, but I was jealous of both of you. Anytime you did something differently than I would have, I got so frustrated that you were throwing away these opportunities I would kill to have again. It was easy to look at either one of you and wish I was in your place.” 

You’re nodding, not a trace of hurt or offense in your expression. You look at him like you understand. 

“But that stopped a long time ago,” he says. “After I worked with you for longer, it became clear you’re both very different skaters than I was.” You huff a laugh, and Remus nudges your shoulder admonishingly. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing. I think early on I wasn’t a very good coach to you because I couldn’t see your individual strengths. But now I think I can, and it’s really a privilege to watch you skate together. It’s lovely. And I’ve loved getting to know you and Sirius, too. So, yeah, it was difficult at first, but I’m really glad I came on. And I’m glad you were patient enough to let me stay.” 

That got a bit more earnest than he intended. Remus feels heat rise to his face, but you’re still nodding, thoughtful, like you’re trying to wrap your head around it. He sees you rub your lips together again. 

“I really want to do well,” you say softly, “but I’m not the skater Sirius is. I don’t have his natural talent, and I don’t flourish under pressure the way he does. I—that’s usually when I mess up.” Remus’ chest aches at the vulnerability in your voice, his hand moving unconsciously to cover yours on the bed. Some of the tension goes out of you at the touch. “I’ve tried my whole life to keep up with him, but I’m never quite there, and you guys, you’ve both been these incredible, talented skaters…” Your eyes meet his, timid and ashamed. “I’m afraid I’m going to let you both down.” 

“Are you kidding?” You drop your gaze, and a surprised little laugh trips off Remus’ tongue as he ducks his head to follow, holding your hand more securely. “I’m sorry, that was rash, but really. How can you think that? You’re one of the most talented skaters I’ve ever seen.” 

You’re still avoiding his gaze. He takes your chin in his hand, gentle, an encouragement more than anything, but you let him turn you towards him. 

“I don’t care how much of it comes from natural aptitude,” he says firmly. “You’re an incredible skater. Even when I didn’t know you at all, it was obvious that you care about this more than Sirius or I likely ever have. That’s important. You can see it in how hard you train, and in how you move on the ice.” Remus shakes his head, expelling a breath. “It’s mesmerizing. You’re beautiful to watch.” 

You’re not shying away from him now, but Remus doesn’t let go of you. Your expression is wide open, diffident but curious. He goes on.

“The way you skate, it’s not just about the motions or the art of it, it’s joyous. Anyone can see how happy you are out there. That’s what makes you so good. You really love it.” 

“You did, too,” you murmur. 

His voice softens in kind. “I did. But not the way you do.” 

Your eyes lower, but this time he allows you it. Remus is suddenly acutely aware of your leg where it's pressed up against his, of his own heartbeat. He’s still holding your hand. 

You wet your lips. “Do you really mean all that?” 

“Why would I give you a whole speech I didn’t believe?” 

You crack a smile. “Some coaches call it a pep talk.” 

“You’re beautiful to watch,” he says again, voice dropping to a murmur as he realizes you’re staring at his lips. He breathes in, and the distance between you lessens. “You’re beautiful.” 

Remus knows he’s judged you rightly when your hand comes around his waist, pressing into the softness of his jumper to glean an impression of the skin underneath. You kiss like you skate, with a sweet eagerness, ready to explore and wanting to learn. Your lips part, inspiring a similar parting in Remus, and you let out a breath with a soft humming sound. 

Remus' nerves are alight underneath your hand on his side. He angles his torso to get you closer, free hand coasting up your thigh. Your fingers bunch in his jumper, kisses picking up heat as he lets his hand settle at the small of your back, an echo of how Sirius touched you this morning when—

Sirius. 

Remus draws away from you so suddenly he hears you gasp. He still has your face in his hand, can feel the flustered warmth of it before he removes that too, putting distance between you. 

“Sorry.” His voice is hoarse. Guilt burns in the back of his throat. “Sorry, it’s not you. I just, I—”

Sirius. Sirius. Sirius. 

“I didn’t think that through.” He can feel his heartbeat in his mouth. Sirius is in love with you. Remus is only just starting to feel like a part of your team, but this could send you all back in time. Kissing one of his skaters, who the other is in love with? His stomach hurts. “I’m your coach, and you—we have a big competition coming up. I shouldn’t have done that.” 

He edges off your bed, looking at you while he does. Your lips are still parted, eyes wide. 

“It was a really shit idea,” he says, “and I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.” 

You rub your lips together. Remus feels it like you’re still moving them against his own. “It’s fine,” you say on a breath. “We can forget it.” 

“I’m so sorry,” he says again. 

“It’s okay.” You’re shaking your head, and he’s backing away, both of you like deer caught in headlights. “You’re right, it was silly. We’re professionals, we can get past it.” 

Remus feels himself nodding, feels the handle of your door in his hand. 

“Practice in the morning?” you ask weakly. 

He pushes out a breath as he opens the door. “Yeah. Six thirty.”

[goldfades]

HAUNTED BY YOU──FATHER MAYHEW (part 2)

part one!!!!

─ summary | father charlie grapples with his intense attraction during the church event. they shared a passionate kiss that reignites their forbidden connection, despite the undeniable chemistry, charlie wrestles with guilt and the reality of their situation, ultimately pulling away as the risk of being caught looms over them. the tension between desire and moral obligation leaves them both longing for more, even if they face the consequences of their actions

─ pairing | father charlie mayhew x fem!reader

─ warnings | nsfw under the cut! mdni! oral (f!receiving), p in v, pretty rough but not as nasty as part one, praise (?), pretty soft/vanilla in comparison to part 1

─ ev's notes | my requests are open if you wanna send anything in! (please do btw i'm obsessed w nicholas LMAO). also i feel like there should be a part 3 but i'm not sure where it would go sooo

ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my masterlist!

After your encounter with Father Charlie, your world had turned completely upside down.

You no longer wanted to attend seminary, not like you wanted to begin with. It had always been someone else’s dream for you, a path laid out by your parents, by the expectations of the community, by the life you thought you were supposed to live. But now, every time you stepped into the church, all you could think about was him. The way his hands had felt on your skin, the way he had murmured your name with a mixture of reverence and desire. It was as if the weight of everything you had ever known had shifted beneath your feet, leaving you standing on uncertain ground.

It wasn’t just the guilt, though that was there, gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. It was the confusion—the way you felt torn between the life you had always been told you should want and the inexplicable pull that had drawn you to him that night. You hadn’t planned for it to happen, hadn’t even fully understood what was happening as it unfolded, but now there was no denying it: something had changed inside of you.

You would be lying if you said that you weren't teasing the poor man, but you never expected it to go that far. His mean words, his rough touch... it was unexpected but welcome.

However, you avoided Charlie in the days that followed. But that didn’t stop the memories from replaying in your mind, unbidden and relentless. The rough sound of his voice, the way his breath had hitched when he looked at you, the feel of his lips against your skin—it haunted you, drawing you back to that night over and over again.

And yet, for all the confusion and turmoil, there was something else, too. A part of you that felt more alive than you ever had before. You couldn’t ignore the thrill of it, the way your heart raced when you thought about him, the way your body responded to even the thought of being near him again.

But what did that mean for your future? Could you go on pretending to follow a path that no longer felt like your own? Could you return to the person you had been before all of this?

You didn’t know.

All you knew was that something had been set in motion, something that couldn’t be undone. And as much as you tried to push it aside, to tell yourself it was just a fleeting moment of weakness, the truth lingered, heavy and undeniable: your encounter with Father Charlie had changed everything.

──

"I've just been worried about her." Your mother sniffled as she glanced up at Father Charlie. Her eyes were watery as your father nodded along, his eyebrows furrowed in worry.

Charlie did his best not to roll his eyes─he assured them that their daughter missing a few days of Church was nothing to worry about, she was simply exploring and that she'd come back if her heart was in the right place.

He wasn't sure if that was true though, he knew the true reason for your sudden absence—it wasn't that you were losing your faith. It was that you were avoiding him. And in a way, he couldn't blame you. After what had happened between the two of you, things could never be the same.

Charlie shifted uncomfortably in his chair, feeling the weight of your parents' anxious gazes on him. He offered them a reassuring smile, the same gentle, composed expression he had worn so many times before. But beneath the surface, a storm raged inside him.

"I appreciate your concern," he said softly, clasping his hands together. "But give her time. Sometimes a little distance can be healthy. She’ll find her way back, if it’s meant to be."

Your mother dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, her worry evident. "But Father, she's never missed church like this before. She's always been so devoted. I just… I don’t understand what’s changed."

Charlie swallowed, the words catching in his throat as he forced himself to maintain his calm demeanor. He could feel guilt clawing at the edges of his composure, the weight of the secret the two of you now shared hanging over him like a heavy cloud. He had tried to rationalize it, tried to convince himself that it was a moment of weakness, a lapse in judgment that would pass. But the truth was, every time he closed his eyes, he saw you.

"I understand your concern," Charlie continued, his voice softer now, more reflective. "But maybe she just needs some space to reflect on things. Sometimes, when we're too close to something, we can't see it clearly."

Your father sighed, rubbing his temples. "She's been so distant lately. I just don’t know what’s going on in her head anymore."

Charlie nodded sympathetically, though inside, he felt the sting of his own hypocrisy. He had been the one to create that distance. He had crossed a line he never should have, and now both of you were suffering the consequences. The temptation had been too great, the connection too deep to ignore, and now he was left trying to navigate the fallout, unsure of how to reconcile his role as a spiritual leader with the undeniable pull he felt toward you.

"Just give her some time," Charlie said again, though he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince—your parents, or himself. "She’s strong. She’ll come around."

Your mother smiled weakly, though her worry remained evident. "I hope so, Father. I really do."

As they stood to leave, Charlie felt a familiar sense of dread settle in his chest. He bid them goodbye, offering them one last reassurance before they stepped out of the church. But as the door closed behind them, the air in the sanctuary seemed to grow heavier.

Charlie exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as the silence pressed in around him. He had tried to distance himself from you, convinced himself that what had happened was a mistake. But no matter how hard he tried to push it away, the memory of you lingered, seeping into every corner of his mind.

And now, standing alone in the empty church, he found himself wondering if there was any way to make things right again—if there was any way to undo the damage that had been done.

But deep down, he knew the answer.

There was no going back. Not for either of you.

Later that night, Charlie found himself thinking about you once again. Particularly, how you looked that night. On your knees, so eager to please and your doe eyes gazing up at him. He couldn't get that sight out of his mind, no matter how hard he prayed. He clasped his hands together, leaning over the edge of his bed, his head bowed as if in prayer.

But the words weren’t coming—no matter how hard he tried to focus, the familiar rhythm of his nightly prayers refused to take shape. His mind was somewhere else, tangled up in thoughts that shouldn’t be there, lingering on images that made him feel as though he were coming apart at the seams.

He cursed under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut tighter as if that would somehow banish the memory. But the more he fought it, the more vivid it became—your wide, innocent eyes gazing up at him, filled with a mix of longing and devotion that made his chest tighten. The feel of your skin, soft and warm beneath his fingertips, the sound of your voice, so eager to please… it haunted him. The way you had knelt before him, lips parted in anticipation, had driven him to the edge of his restraint.

He should have stopped it. He should have turned away, sent you home, reminded you of your faith, of his vows. But he hadn’t. Instead, he had given in, swept up in the heat of the moment, in the way your body responded to his touch, in the softness of your breath against his skin. And now, no matter how much he tried to pray, no matter how often he begged for forgiveness, the memory of that night refused to leave him.

Charlie’s breath came shallow as he stood, pacing the small room in frustration. His fists clenched at his sides, the fabric of his robes suddenly feeling too tight, too constricting. He could feel the familiar ache building in his chest, spreading lower, and no matter how much he tried to deny it, the pull was too strong to resist.

He glanced toward the small crucifix hanging on the wall, a wave of guilt washing over him. He was a man of God—he wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He wasn’t supposed to let his thoughts linger on sinful desires, especially not desires for you.

But the truth was, no matter how much he tried to tell himself otherwise, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Your name echoed in his mind, and the memory of your touch seemed to burn hotter with every passing moment.

But when he closed his eyes again, all he could see was you—on your knees, so willing, so eager. The memory of your lips sent a shiver down his spine, and the guilt that followed only fueled the fire inside him.

And he knew, in that moment—the worst part wasn't the fact that he did those sinful actions—it was that he wasn't sorry, not one bit. Not even a sliver of remorse.

A chill ran through him at the thought, his stomach twisting with a blend of shame and something else, something that made him feel even more unsettled. It wasn’t regret that filled him when he remembered that night—it was a strange, unwelcome satisfaction. A hunger that hadn’t been sated, not entirely.

He had broken his vows, crossed a line he swore he never would. But now, in the stillness of the night, with only his thoughts to keep him company, he couldn’t help but acknowledge the truth. He wasn’t sorry. Not for the way you had looked at him, not for the way his body had responded to yours, and certainly not for the way his hands had roamed over your skin, desperate to claim you as his.

The worst part, the part that filled him with guilt and dread, was that he would do it again. Given the chance, he would fall just as easily. There was no penitence in his heart, only desire. And that terrified him more than anything else.

He had spent years dedicating himself to his faith, to his congregation, to being a beacon of moral strength and guidance. But now, the very foundation of everything he believed in was crumbling beneath him. How could he stand in front of his parish, look your parents in the eye, and preach about virtue when he knew what lay inside his own heart? How could he ask for forgiveness when, deep down, he wasn’t ready to give up the sinful thoughts that had taken root in his mind?

Charlie stood abruptly, crossing the room to the small mirror hanging on the wall. He stared at his reflection, searching his own eyes for the man he once was. But all he saw was the shadow of someone who had allowed himself to be consumed by temptation. He touched the collar around his neck, feeling its weight like a noose tightening with each passing second.

The worst part wasn’t the act itself—it was the knowledge that he would do it again. He would welcome it, crave it. You had awoken something in him, something dark and uncontrollable, and no amount of prayer or penance could change that now.

A soft knock at the door startled him from his thoughts. For a moment, his heart leapt into his throat, fearing that it might be you. That somehow, you had sensed his weakness, his need, and had come to him again. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he crossed the room and opened the door.

It wasn’t you. It was another member of the congregation, a kindly older woman who often helped with the church's charitable efforts. She smiled at him warmly, oblivious to the turmoil raging inside him.

"Father Charlie," she said, her voice gentle. "I wanted to thank you for your sermon earlier. It was so uplifting. We’re blessed to have you."

Charlie forced a smile, nodding as he thanked her for her kind words. But as she turned to leave, he felt a hollowness settle in his chest.

He didn’t feel like a blessing. He felt like a man on the edge of a precipice, teetering dangerously close to a fall he might never recover from.

And the worst part? He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be saved.

──

Father Charlie stood at the pulpit, his voice steady as he delivered the sermon to the congregation. The stained glass windows bathed the church in a soft, multicolored light, the hum of his words blending with the occasional creak of wooden pews. His hands gripped the edges of the podium, knuckles pale, though his calm expression gave nothing away.

"And though we may walk through the valley of shadows," he said, his voice resonating through the high ceilings, "we must remember that God’s light will guide us, if only we choose to follow it."

His eyes swept over the familiar faces before him—devout, attentive, hanging on his every word. For a brief moment, he felt the usual sense of peace that came with leading his flock, of being their shepherd through life’s trials. But then, in the midst of that calm, the heavy oak doors at the back of the church creaked open.

You stepped inside, late.

Charlie’s heart faltered.

You moved quietly down the aisle, slipping into a pew near the back, trying to draw as little attention as possible. But he noticed you. Of course he noticed you. His breath hitched in his chest, and for a moment, the words on his tongue stumbled.

You didn’t look at him right away, your eyes scanning the prayer book in front of you as you settled in, but he could feel the electricity of your presence, like a whisper of something forbidden trailing through the air. His mouth went dry as he remembered, vividly and all too easily, the feel of your skin under his hands, the heat between you, the way your lips had parted in that fleeting moment of sinful indulgence.

His mind, usually sharp and disciplined during sermons, began to unravel, his thoughts wandering to places they never should have. His gaze lingered on you as you sat there, your expression neutral, but there was something in the way you held yourself that made it impossible for him to tear his eyes away. He noticed the way your hair caught the light, the soft curve of your neck as you bowed your head slightly. His pulse quickened against his will.

Charlie cleared his throat, trying to refocus on the words he had prepared, but they felt distant now, hollow in his mouth. He was no longer preaching to his congregation; he was struggling to hold onto his composure, his resolve crumbling with each passing second.

"Temptation," he began again, though his voice was softer now, as if the word itself held a deeper, more personal meaning. "It is something we all must face. It whispers to us when we are weak, it pulls at us when we are vulnerable. But we must find the strength to turn away, to resist the allure of sin."

His eyes found you again, and this time, you looked up. Your gaze met his, and in that single glance, he felt everything crash into him at once. The air between you seemed to thicken, heavy with the weight of what had passed between you. His breath caught in his throat, and he forced himself to tear his gaze away before anyone could notice the tension that hummed just beneath the surface.

But you didn’t stop looking at him. He could feel your eyes on him, a silent challenge, a reminder of the line that had already been crossed. He fought to keep his voice steady, but the sermon felt like it was slipping away from him, the careful words he had crafted now little more than a veil over the chaos inside his mind.

"We must… stand firm in our faith," he continued, though the conviction had drained from his voice. "For in times of darkness, it is only through faith that we find salvation."

Salvation. The word felt bitter on his tongue. Could he even claim to believe it anymore, after everything that had happened? After what he had allowed to happen?

The sermon dragged on, each word a labor, each moment a battle to maintain control. And all the while, you sat there, your presence like a burning flame in the cold of the church, drawing him in, tempting him with a kind of heat he knew he could never touch again.

When he finally reached the end of his sermon, the relief was almost palpable. He offered the closing prayer, his voice quiet, barely able to focus on the familiar verses. As the congregation murmured their amens and began to file out of the pews, Charlie stayed rooted at the pulpit, his eyes lingering on the spot where you sat.

But you didn’t leave with the others. You stayed behind, waiting until the church was nearly empty, until the last whispers of conversation faded away into the stillness. And then, slowly, you stood and made your way toward him, your footsteps soft against the stone floor.

Charlie’s heart pounded in his chest, the air between you charged with unspoken tension as you approached. The church was quiet now, the last of the congregation having departed, leaving only the echo of their footsteps behind. The light filtering through the stained glass seemed softer, casting shadows that flickered across the empty pews. But there was nothing soft about the way his pulse thundered in his ears, about the tightening in his chest as you closed the distance between you.

He should have walked away. He should have left immediately, before anything more could be said, before the unspoken words between you could turn into something neither of you could take back. But instead, he stood there, frozen in place, rooted to the spot by the weight of your gaze.

“Father Charlie,” you said softly, your voice low and sweet, like a secret meant only for him. The sound of your voice sent a shiver through him, and he fought to keep his expression neutral, though he could feel the cracks in his composure growing deeper with every passing second.

“Yes?” His voice came out rougher than he intended, strained.

You took a step closer, and the scent of your perfume reached him—something soft, floral, intoxicating. “Your sermon…” you began, but the words trailed off as your eyes met his again, and in that moment, he could see the truth in them. The same hunger that gnawed at him was reflected in your gaze, the same forbidden desire simmering just beneath the surface.

He swallowed hard, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He couldn’t allow this to happen. Not again. Not here, in the house of God, where his entire purpose was to be a guide for the people, to resist temptation, to be the moral compass for those who sought him out. But standing this close to you, feeling the warmth of your body, seeing the way your lips parted slightly as you looked at him—it was as though the air itself was charged with electricity, pulling him in.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” you continued, your voice softer now, almost a whisper. “About temptation… about resisting it.”

His throat tightened. He knew where this was going, knew he needed to stop it before it went any further. “You should,” he managed to say, though his voice was strained. “We all must resist.”

Your eyes flickered with something—amusement, perhaps, or maybe defiance. “Is that what you’re doing right now, Father?” you asked, stepping even closer, so close that he could feel the warmth radiating from your skin.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Not like this.”

“And yet,” you replied, your voice teasing, “here I am.”

He clenched his jaw, every muscle in his body taut with restraint. He couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t give in to the desire that gnawed at him, no matter how strong the pull. But as you reached out, your fingers brushing lightly against his arm, the warmth of your touch sent a jolt through him that made it nearly impossible to think clearly.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” you whispered, your voice low and sultry. “Tell me you haven’t been thinking about it, too.”

He closed his eyes, struggling to find his breath. Of course, he had been thinking about it. He hadn’t been able to think of anything else since that night, no matter how much he tried to push it away. But acknowledging that would only make it worse, would only open the door to something darker, something he wasn’t sure he could come back from.

“I can’t…” he started, but the words stuck in his throat.

You stepped even closer, your body now just inches from his, and he could feel the heat radiating from you, could smell the faint sweetness of your perfume. “You don’t have to resist,” you whispered, your lips so close to his ear now that he could feel the warmth of your breath against his skin.

Charlie’s hands trembled at his sides, his heart pounding in his chest. He was standing on the edge of a precipice, knowing that one more step would send him over, would plunge him into something he couldn’t take back. He opened his eyes, his gaze locking with yours, and in that moment, he knew.

The worst part wasn’t the temptation. The worst part was that he didn’t want to resist anymore.

"Sweetheart?"

You both immediately jumped, putting some space between you two. You looked back to see your mother standing, looking between you two with suspicion. Charlie’s heart nearly stopped in his chest as your mother’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. His breath hitched, and he took a hurried step back from you, creating what little distance he could in the small space between you both. The panic coursing through his veins was almost palpable, his mind scrambling for an excuse, an explanation—anything to justify the intimate moment your mother had just interrupted.

You spun around, your cheeks flushed, eyes wide as you faced her. “Mom…” you started, your voice shaky, barely able to form the words.

Your mother stood just a few feet away, her eyes narrowing as they flicked between you and Father Charlie. Suspicion danced across her face, her arms crossing over her chest in a way that made it clear she didn’t believe for a second that what she had just walked in on was innocent.

“What’s going on here?” she asked, her voice tight with concern, but laced with an edge of disbelief. “Why are you here alone with Father Charlie?”

Charlie swallowed hard, doing his best to regain some semblance of composure. He stepped forward, trying to project the calm and collected demeanor he was known for.

His hands fidgeted behind his back, where no one could see the way they trembled. “Mrs. L/N,” he said, forcing a small smile, “I was just… offering some spiritual guidance. Your daughter has been struggling with her faith lately, and I wanted to make sure she was alright.”

Your mother raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. She glanced at you again, her suspicion deepening. “Spiritual guidance?” she repeated slowly, her tone skeptical. “That’s all?”

You nodded quickly, your face burning with embarrassment, desperate to put her at ease. “Yes, Mom. That’s all. I’ve just… I’ve had a lot on my mind, and Father Charlie was helping me work through some things.”

Your mother didn’t look satisfied, but she didn’t push any further either. Instead, she sighed, her eyes softening just a little as she looked at you. “Sweetheart, I’ve been worried about you. You’ve been distant lately, and I just want to make sure you’re okay. I’m your mother—I know when something’s not right.”

Charlie took a deep breath, seizing the opportunity to steer the conversation away from the dangerous ground it had been treading. “You have every right to be concerned,” he said gently. “But I assure you, your daughter is fine. She’s just been searching for some clarity, and sometimes, that means taking a step back to reflect. It’s a normal part of spiritual growth.”

Your mother seemed to hesitate for a moment, her eyes lingering on him as if weighing his words. Finally, she nodded, though the unease still lingered in her expression. “Alright,” she said quietly. “But… next time, sweetheart, maybe talk to me too. I’m always here for you.”

You smiled weakly, giving a small nod. “I will, Mom.”

Your mother’s gaze softened further, and she gave you a gentle smile before turning back toward the door. “Me and dad are waiting outside,” she said over her shoulder. “Don’t take too long.”

As soon as she was gone, the tension in the air shifted, leaving behind an uncomfortable silence. Charlie let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his shoulders sagging with the weight of what had almost just happened.

“That was too close,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you turned back to him.

Charlie nodded, running a hand through his hair, his thoughts still racing. “We can’t keep doing this,” he said quietly, though even as he said it, part of him knew it was a lie.

You stood there, staring at him, your breath unsteady as the reality of what had just happened sunk in. Your mother had almost caught you, and the danger of the situation wasn’t lost on either of you. And yet, there was still that undeniable pull, the heat between you two simmering just beneath the surface, refusing to die down despite the risk.

Charlie’s words hung in the air, a weak protest against what both of you knew was inevitable. He had said it before—he couldn’t keep doing this—but neither of you had stopped, even after that night. Even after everything that had followed.

You took a small step closer to him, your heart pounding as you fought against the voice in your head that told you to walk away. “You don’t mean that,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He closed his eyes, his jaw tight, clearly trying to hold on to whatever shred of self-control he had left. “I should mean it,” he muttered, his voice strained, but he didn’t move away from you. If anything, he seemed to lean in closer, despite his own protest. “This is wrong. We both know that.”

You reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles as he wrestled with himself. “Maybe it is,” you admitted, your eyes meeting his again, “but that doesn’t mean I regret it. Do you?”

Charlie looked at you, the conflict plain in his eyes, but the more he stared, the more that tension seemed to fade. “I don’t regret it,” he finally admitted, his voice low and hoarse. “But I should.”

You shook your head slowly, stepping even closer to him, the space between you almost non-existent now. “Then why don’t you?”

Charlie’s breath hitched, his gaze flickering over your face as if searching for an answer. The heat between you two was almost unbearable now, every inch of space crackling with tension, and you could see the exact moment his resolve began to crack.

He exhaled sharply, his voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, a rush of warmth spreading through you. You moved closer, your hand sliding down his arm, feeling the way his skin shivered beneath your touch. “Then don’t stop,” you whispered back, your lips dangerously close to his now.

For a moment, the world outside seemed to disappear. It was just the two of you, standing there in the quiet, the tension and the desire between you growing stronger with every passing second. Charlie’s breath quickened, his eyes dark with longing as he stared at you.

But then, just as quickly, his expression shifted, a look of torment crossing his features. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this,” he whispered, his voice trembling with both desire and guilt. “You deserve better than this.”

You swallowed hard, your heart clenching at his words. But you shook your head, refusing to let him pull away now. “What I deserve,” you said softly, “is you. And I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

Charlie’s eyes flashed with something—a mix of longing and torment—and for a moment, he looked like he might resist again. But then, something inside him snapped. He reached out, his hands grabbing your waist, pulling you closer in one swift motion.

Your breath caught in your throat as his lips crashed into yours, and for a second, all of that guilt, that tension, melted away in the heat of the kiss. His hands gripped your waist tightly, holding you against him as if afraid you might slip away. And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the church, not your parents waiting outside, not the fact that what you were doing was forbidden.

All that mattered was the way his lips felt against yours, the way his touch set your skin on fire, the way everything else seemed to fade into the background when you were with him.

The kiss deepened, an electric jolt shooting through you as Father Charlie held you close. His lips moved against yours with an urgency that made your heart race faster than you thought possible. You felt the heat of his body against yours, his grip possessive yet gentle, like he was trying to hold on but afraid he might break you. It was a contradiction, just like him—full of restraint, but also full of passion.

You let out a soft gasp as his hand slid up your side, brushing against your ribs, and the sensation made your knees weak. You had to remind yourself that this was real, that this was actually happening again, despite all the reasons it shouldn’t. Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to stop it any more than he could.

Charlie broke the kiss first, his breath ragged, his forehead pressed against yours. His eyes were squeezed shut as if he were fighting an internal battle—one that he was quickly losing. “This can’t happen again,” he whispered, though the way his hands still held you told a different story. His resolve was crumbling, just like it always did around you.

You nodded, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, but you couldn’t bring yourself to agree out loud. The tension between you two was still thick, and the temptation was too strong, too intoxicating to resist.

You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, mirroring your own, and it was enough to make you lean in again, brushing your lips against his one more time.

“Then stop,” you whispered against his lips, daring him, challenging him to push you away.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he kissed you again, harder this time, as if the very act of pulling you closer was the only thing grounding him. His hands gripped your waist tighter, fingers digging into your hips, and you could feel the desperation in his touch. There was no hesitation now, no pretending that this wasn’t what he wanted.

You melted into him, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath his clerical shirt, the smooth fabric bunched under your fingers. It was almost surreal, the way everything else disappeared around you, the church silent except for the sound of your breathing and the faint echo of your heartbeats.

But then, reality began creeping back in, like a shadow over the two of you.

The weight of what you were doing came crashing down again, as it always did, leaving you both tangled in a mess of desire and guilt. Charlie broke away once more, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with the effort to steady himself. His eyes were wild with conflict as he looked at you, his voice hoarse. “We can’t… Not here. Not like this.”

You could feel the hesitation returning, his conscience pulling at him once again. But before he could say anything more, you pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him.

“I know,” you whispered, nodding. “But don’t regret this, Charlie. Please.”

His gaze softened for a moment, and for just a second, it seemed like the weight of his guilt was lifting, replaced by something softer, something more real. He gently took your hand in his, pulling it away from his lips, and brought it to his chest, holding it there as if to let you feel the way his heart raced beneath your fingertips.

“I don’t,” he said quietly, his voice firm despite the uncertainty lingering in his eyes.

But before either of you could speak again, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway outside the small room. You both tensed immediately, pulling apart in a rush as if the entire world had just come crashing back down on you.

Your mother’s voice rang out, calling your name from somewhere outside, and the reality of your situation hit like a cold shock to your system. You glanced at Charlie, your pulse still racing, your thoughts a jumbled mess.

You sighed, stepping back, your heart still pounding as you adjusted your clothes, trying to make yourself presentable before stepping out of the room.

As you left the small space where everything had happened, Charlie watched you go, his chest tightening with the weight of his own choices. He knew there would be consequences to all of this—there always were. But as he watched you disappear into the hallway, a small part of him couldn’t help but want more.

And that terrified him most of all.

──

Father Charlie’s lips crashed against yours with a fervor that left you breathless, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you into the small, dimly lit room at the side of the church. The door clicked shut behind you, the quiet sound echoing through the silence as though sealing you both away from the world outside.

Your back hit the wall gently, the cool stone pressing against you, but all you could focus on was the heat radiating from him—the way his body seemed to burn with a need that matched your own. His kiss was desperate, almost frantic, as though he had been holding back for too long and could no longer control the desire that had been eating away at him.

“God, I’ve tried,” he muttered against your lips, his breath hot and ragged as he pressed his forehead against yours for just a moment, as though trying to regain some semblance of control.

But even as he said it, his hands roamed over your body, fingers trembling slightly as they traced the curve of your hips. “I’ve tried to stay away… but I can’t.”

His confession sent a shiver through you, both of guilt and desire. You knew this was wrong—both of you did—but the pull between you was too strong to resist. There was something magnetic in the way you fit together, something undeniable in the way his touch made your pulse race.

You gasped softly as his hands slid higher, brushing just beneath the hem of your shirt, the warmth of his touch sending jolts of electricity through your skin.

“Charlie…” you breathed, barely able to find the words as your heart pounded in your chest. His name left your lips like a prayer, one filled with both need and hesitation.

His response was a low growl of frustration, his hands tightening on your waist as if trying to ground himself, but his lips returned to yours with renewed urgency. The kiss deepened, becoming hungrier, more reckless, as though the two of you had crossed a threshold you could no longer retreat from. His fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, pulling you even closer to him, your bodies pressed together in a way that left no room for anything but the heat of your desire.

“We can’t…” he whispered again, though the words seemed hollow now, an afterthought that barely registered in the heat of the moment. His lips found the sensitive skin of your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against it, and you couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped your lips. “But I don’t want to stop.”

His words mirrored the conflict that raged inside of you—this was a line that should never have been crossed, but now that you were here, it felt impossible to turn back. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, your body arching into his as his hands explored your skin. The soft rasp of his breath against your neck, the heat of his body pressed so close to yours—it was overwhelming, intoxicating, and it left you dizzy with need.

For a brief moment, he pulled back, his chest heaving as he stared at you with dark, conflicted eyes. “We’re going to hell for this,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with desire, but there was no regret in his tone—only raw, unrestrained longing.

You shook your head, your fingers still gripping his shirt as you looked up at him, breathless. “Then take me with you.”

That was all it took for him to lose whatever remained of his restraint. With a groan, he captured your lips again, his hands moving faster now, more urgently, as though afraid that if he stopped for even a moment, the weight of what you were doing might crush him. You didn’t care anymore, not about the consequences, not about what anyone might say. In that moment, there was only him, only the way he made you feel—alive, reckless, consumed.

His hands slipped beneath your shirt, fingers splaying across the bare skin of your waist as though claiming you entirely. The cold stone wall at your back contrasted sharply with the heat of his body pressed against yours, grounding you even as everything around you spun out of control.

There was no space between you now, your bodies moving together in perfect rhythm, each touch, each kiss driving you further into the dark, forbidden territory you both had sworn to avoid. But neither of you had the strength to resist anymore. His breath was ragged against your neck, your own heart pounding in time with his as the intensity of the moment wrapped around you like a vice.

"Gonna make you cum so many times," he mumbled into your neck as he pushed you harder on the wall.

You let out a small giggle at his words, your head falling back against the wall with a small thud. "Is that a promise?"

Charlie hummed against your neck. "Mhm, you won't be able to walk outta here."

You tangled your fingers into his hair as he spoke, pulling him closer, urging him on. You needed this as much as he did. Needed to feel alive, to feel something that burned beyond the lines of right and wrong. It wasn't just lust—it was a dangerous craving for connection, something that both frightened and exhilarated you.

"Please," you pleaded, breath hitching as his hands roamed higher. His fingers trembled slightly, betraying the struggle within him, but his resolve broke the moment you gave him permission.

With a low groan, his hands slid beneath your shirt completely, the sensation of his touch sending fire through your veins. Every nerve in your body was alight, the tension between you mounting to an unbearable high as his lips claimed every inch of skin they could reach. His breath was hot against your neck, the pressure of his body overwhelming, yet intoxicating.

Charlie’s mouth found your ear, his breath warm and labored. “I don’t know how to be anything else around you... it’s like you’re inside my head.”

You gasped as he pressed himself harder against you, your lips brushing the curve of his jawline in response. His words cut through you, filled with the same struggle and longing that burned in your chest. It was reckless, dangerous even, but it was real.

Without warning, his arms around your middle and picked you up. You let out a surprised sound as you wrapped his hips, before he dropped you right on the desk. The sensation of being completely in his control, suspended in the air for a fleeting moment, sent a thrill through you.

Before you could even process what was happening, he dropped you onto the desk behind you. The cool wood pressed against the back of your thighs as your hands flew to grip the edge, steadying yourself. The roughness of the gesture, the way his eyes burned into yours, left you breathless.

There was no hesitation in his movements anymore, no room for doubt or second thoughts. The desk creaked slightly beneath the weight of the moment, but neither of you cared.

Charlie stepped between your legs, his hands immediately finding your waist, fingers pressing into your skin like he was anchoring himself to you. His gaze roamed over your face, dark and full of hunger, before his lips crashed back onto yours with renewed intensity. His kiss was deeper now, more demanding, as though he was trying to erase every single barrier between you.

"Charlie," you moaned as you blinked up at him, your whole body feeling like it was on fire.

Your fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more of him, craving the feeling of his body against yours. His hands slid up your sides, trailing heat in their wake as they pushed your shirt higher, exposing more skin to the cool air. You shivered, but it had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the way his touch set your nerves on fire.

“God, I’ve wanted this,” he growled against your lips, his voice low and filled with raw need. He leaned forward, his body pressing yours back against the desk, the weight of him intoxicating. You could feel the intensity of his desire, the way he held nothing back now, his control slipping with every passing second.

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers exploring the firmness of his body beneath the fabric of his clothes. Every muscle tensed beneath your touch, responding to you in ways that made your pulse race even faster. You pushed his shirt up, wanting to feel the heat of his skin against yours, to close the distance between you even more.

His lips left yours for a moment, trailing down your neck, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. You tilted your head back, giving him more access, feeling the way his teeth grazed your collarbone, his hands gripping your hips with almost bruising force.

You could feel him hard against you, his desire unmistakable. The tension between you, the build-up of everything unsaid, was too much to bear anymore. You arched against him, needing more, wanting to lose yourself in the overwhelming heat between you both.

He then spread your legs further before practically ripping your skirt off, throwing it somewhere else in the room. He leaned down to press a sloppy kiss on your stomach before he slowly descended down where you needed him most.

Charlie placed two fingers on top of your clothed wet pussy, letting out a broken groan. "So ready for me, huh?"

All you could do was moan in response as your head fell back, your eyes screwing shut. The feeling of his fingers so close to where you ached, made you wanna scream in desperation. You just wanted him to fill you up and fuck you senseless.

“Charlie…” you breathed, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you felt in that moment. His name on your lips only seemed to spur him on, his fingers pushing deeper into your needy cunt.

Finally, he moved your panties to the side before slowly dipping a finger inside your sloppy pussy. Your back arched to his touch, letting out a pornographic moan.

Charlie shivered at the beautiful sound, his pants becoming impossibly tight. He felt his cock get harder every second, he wasn't sure how long he could wait—but he needed to taste you.

Keeping his finger inside your wet pussy, he leaned down and pressed his lips against it. With the added sensation, you were sure you were gonna pass out. Charlie slipped out his tongue, tasting your sweet juices as he hummed.

"Taste so fucking sweet, baby." He moaned as he opened his mouth to taste more of you. The taste was heavenly, he shut his eyes and began devouring you, his finger slipping in and out.

You were practically sobbing with pleasure at that point, your hand on his head as he ate you out like a starved man. Your pussy clenched around his finger, but you needed more. You needed his cock, desperately. He began rubbing himself against the wooden desk, desperate for any friction as he continued his assault on your puffy cunt.

You felt that familiar tightening in your lower stomach begin to form and you knew that it wouldn't take a lot more to make you cum. You began breathing heavily, your head falling back as you nodded desperately.

"Please, please make me cum," you babbled as you fisted his hair. "Oh, fuck!"

One last push of his finger and you were cumming around him, and Charlie wasted no time—he kept licking your juices until he felt he was completely satisfied. You were breathless from your high, but Charlie was far from done.

As you regained some sense of consciousness, you heard his belt buckle hit the wooden floor with a familiar thump. Then, Charlie’s lips crashed back onto yours with renewed urgency, fueled by your whispered permission. You could taste yourself on his tongue, humming at the salty taste.

His hands roamed over your body, no longer holding back, exploring every inch of exposed skin. You could feel the heat between you intensifying, the air growing thick with anticipation.

His free hand gripped your waist, pulling your body flush against his, and you could feel just how much he wanted you. The desk beneath you creaked again, but the noise was drowned out by the sound of your ragged breathing, the thud of your heartbeat in your ears, and the steady rhythm of his movements against you.

Charlie’s mouth continued to explore your neck, leaving kisses that sent shivers down your spine. He pulled back for a moment, his eyes locking with yours, dark and full of something primal. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he muttered, his voice husky, sending a thrill through you.

Your lips parted, words forming on the tip of your tongue, but they were lost as he lifted you slightly, shifting you further onto the desk. The sudden movement made you cling to him, your legs tightening around his waist, the closeness between you now unbearable in the best way.

Charlie then reached for his cock, you glanced down to see his redden tip leaking with pre-cum. He led his tip to your entrance, and he slowly began pushing himself into your warmth. Charlie let out a sigh of relief as his head fell back; he had missed the feeling of your tight cunt.

You were still sensitive from the previous orgasm, you were shaking at the burning and overwhelming sensation. "Please, Charlie," you didn't know what you were pleading for at this point.

Charlie let you adjust to his size before he began drilling in and out of you, the wooden desk creaking underneath you. You felt so full, you swore you felt him all the way up to your throat. Your hands found his broad shoulders, holding on as his thrusts began more erratic and desperate.

"This fuckin' pussy was made for me," he gasped as he began fucking you into the desk, the power of his thrusts making you cry out. "God made this pussy all for me, like a little present."

All his ramblings were going in one ear and out the other, you were absolutely drunk on his cock. You just moaned in response, unsure of what he was even saying at this point—Charlie wasn't sure either.

Charlie was snapping his hips against yours, he wasn't even thinking straight; he felt like a fucking dog in heat. All he could think of was cumming inside of your tight pussy again and again, until either of you could take it anymore.

"Oh, fuck!" you cried out as you felt yourself drawing closer and closer to your orgasm. Your pussy tightened around him, your eyes rolling back in pure and unadulterated pleasure.

You came again, your whole body shaking as you felt your legs give out. You were practically limp as Charlie kept slamming into you, chasing his own high.

After a few more rough snaps of his hips, Charlie was spilling his seed into you. He rode out his high as he sighed heavily, his forehead falling against yours. You were both breathless, but nonetheless satisfied. His breath was warm against your skin as he rested his forehead against yours, the remnants of shared intensity still lingering in the air.

Both of you were quiet for a few moments, still trying to catch your breath, hearts beating in sync. The room, once filled with hurried movements and ragged breaths, had now fallen into a peaceful stillness.

Charlie’s hand slowly trailed down your back, a soft, gentle touch replacing the urgency from earlier. His fingers danced over your skin, and despite the exhaustion that hung between you, there was a tenderness in the way he touched you now, as if he was savoring every second of this quiet moment.

His eyes, still dark with satisfaction, locked with yours, and a small, almost shy smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "You’re incredible," he murmured softly, his voice hoarse from everything that had passed between you.

You smiled back, your fingers brushing through his hair, still trying to make sense of the rush of emotions coursing through you. "Finally made me cum," you teased lightly, though your voice was soft and tired.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he pulled you closer, the warmth of his body a welcome comfort against yours. For a moment, neither of you said anything, just reveling in the intimacy of the aftermath, the unspoken connection that had deepened between you.

After a while, Charlie sighed again, this time more contented. He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips soft and reassuring. “We should probably…get out of here before someone finds us,” he whispered, though there was no rush in his voice.

You laughed softly, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. You were still perched on the edge of the desk, clothes haphazardly discarded, with no sign of the wild passion that had just transpired except for the disheveled state of the room and the lingering heat between you.

But for a moment longer, neither of you moved. There was something comforting in the stillness, the quiet intimacy that followed the storm. Eventually, though, Charlie slipped out of you, shifting slightly and helped you down from the desk with a gentle hand on your waist. You both began to gather your clothes, the silence between you now comfortable.

With one last lingering kiss, you both finally slipped out of the room, the world outside waiting. But something had shifted between you—something that felt like the beginning of something more.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[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

[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

[citruswriter]

Bayverse Turtles x Animalistic Reader

A/N - This will be broken up in four different parts. Each turtle will have a reader with animal traits that I feel like just kinda... matches them. Like "yes that adds up".

Listen with me! ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

Your eyes fluttered open as you groggily groaned. "What time is it?" You yawned to yourself, hand sleepily finding your alarm clock. 2:30AM is what it read and you rolled over, groaning loudly. You tried to lick your lips but realized that your mouth was incredibly dry. Pulling yourself out of bed, you stumbled to the kitchen for a drink. Grabbing a glass, you briefly glanced at the bowl on the island only to do a double take. April's keys were gone. Checking your phone as you drank, you didn't see a text from her telling you where she might have been. "Where the fuck is this bitch?" You mumbled, going to check Life360. Her location? In an abandoned sewer. Oh fuck. You immediately thought. Did she go out for a nighttime walk only to be abducted? Was she dead? Your mind was going a million miles a minute as you tugged on shoes, grabbed your bike, and lugged it down the stairs. You cycled as fast as you could. When you reached your destination, you looked around. You couldn't find her... Fuck is she IN the sewer? I swear to god, if she's still alive I'm chewing her out. You thought bitterly. Lifting the manhole, you shimmied down the latter, drawing the manhole back over you.

"Uh guys? Somebody's in the sewers". Donnie spoke up, interrupting Mikey from whatever tangent he had been talking to April about. Everybody sprang up to look at the cameras. "Shit". April cursed and Leo looked at her, "Friend of yours?" He questioned and the brunette rubbed her temples. "Yeah. They're my roommate. Fuck I must have forgotten to turn off my location." She groaned. "April?!" Your voice called and April sprang into action. "Hey roomie!" April said, sprinting out before you could see the turtles. You hugged her tightly. "Oh my god, thank goodness your alive. I saw your location in the abandoned sewer and I immediately thought the worst. Never do that to me again." You sighed. "Hey uh... You moving into the sewer or something? I know rent is crazy, but come on. The sewer?" You teased, pushing past the beaded curtain. The turtles held their breath as they sort of hid in a corner. You turned back around to April to grin. "Look um, you can't exactly be here". She muttered and your expression immediately dropped to a glare. "April I adore you but maybe next don't, oh I don't know, GO TO AN ABANDONED FUCKING SEWER IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT?!" you yelled.

"Yeah I guess you're right. I should have told you, texted you that I was ok". She agreed guiltily, rubbing her arm. You sighed in frustration, muttering something about her going to be the death of you. "Look you really should leave". She said, tone more firm. "Absolutely not. You're going to explain yourself because ain't no way you're setting up some cool underground hideout and then just not tell me about it," you shot back. "You really think it's cool?" A voice said excitedly. Spinning around, a sight beheld you.

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

Leonardo x Reader 🧡

Reader is: A wolf

A/N - Idk why but I feel like a wolf-like partner would suit Leo. Loyal and on guard but also caring and fun loving.

Ears pinned back, you bared your fangs and growled at the creatures in front of you. "Thought I smelled reptiles," you growled, golden irises eyeing the creatures in front of you. "Is that supposed to be an insult?" The one with a blue headband questioned, tone cold and threatening as he rounded you. Lowering your stance, you made sure to keep him in your sights. "If the shoe fits," you said, ears still pinned back. "Woah, woah, woah!" April yelled, planting herself in front of you. "They're friends, (Y/N)! Ok?! Friends!" She said. Lifting your head, you sniffed the air. Her scent was quite strong in the lair. She had been here many times before. Relaxing you stood back up, ears perking back up as you wagged your tail softly. "Sorry. You know how I feel about strangers," you said sheepishly. "Yeah well, cool it. Because I don't need you and Leo fighting." She said, letting out a stressed sigh. "Leo?" You tilted your head, looking at the giant turtles. "Wait. Ok. Are these your old turtles? Like, from the lab?" You asked with a shocked laugh. Leo seemed to have relaxed and approached you, "That's correct. The mutagen that her father was working on ended up mutating us and Master Splinter," he confirmed.

He eyed your outfit, blue boxers with a grey tank top and loose lighter grey jacket. "You didn't get dressed before you left, did you?" He questioned and you immediately got embarrassed, looking down at your outfit. "Ah- no. I was kinda focusing too much on making sure that April wasn't dead or kidnapped," you replied, one of your ears drooping to match your embarrassed facial expression. Leo couldn't help himself, he touched one of your ears, scratching it lightly. You leaned into his touch, tail wagging happily. Quickly he withdrew his hand, "I apologize. I shouldn't have touched you without consent". He said, bowing softly and you laughed, a sound he thought sounded absolutely melodic. "Oh please. You're perfectly fine, just don't tug on anything. I joke that I'm April's dog since we can't afford one," you assured him and April laughed at your words, rolling her eyes before going to sit on the couch with Mikey. Leo shook his head and chuckled softly.

"You look good in blue by the way," he murmured and you went to hide your face in your jacket sleeves. "Shut up or I'm smacking you," you muttered back and he just laughed. "As if you could hurt me, blossom," he replied, going to sit down on the couch. You followed, sitting in his lap and swinging your legs over April. He looked at you curiously and you flicked your ears at him. "Blossom, hm?" You teased as he went to pet your ears once more. Now it was his turn to become flustered. "Shut up. It slipped out." You couldn't help but giggle.

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

Raphael x Reader 🧡

Reader Is: A cat

A/N - I'm sorry but this is absolutely perfect for him and your about to see why.

You unleashed your claws, nails becoming pointed as you swung forward in a fight or flight reaction. A hand grabbed your wrist. "Kitten's got claws," a gruff voice spoke up, an edge of amusement to his tone. "Let me go," you growled, tail bristling. "And why should I? Hm kitten?" The tall turtle in red teased, smirking down at you. You hissed, ears finding a way to flatten themselves even more. "Raphael please let (Y/N) go. They will find a way to claw your eyes out." April mused, going to the kitchen to get a snack. Raph let you go and your pupils narrowed to slits. "Raphael?" You questioned. "Don't wear it out, kitten". He replied and you turned to April, pointing to her and then to the turtle and she could only shrug and nod. "Wait your dead serious? These things are the old turtles?" You scoffed in bewilderment. "That's right, kitten. Little April here found us in the rubble and set us and Master Splinter free in the sewer. Little did she know, the mutagen mutated us," he said, relaxing on the couch once more.

You stalked to stand in front of him, studying his body. "Like what you see, kitten?" He teased, smug smirk drawing up the corners of his lips. You growled and flattened your ears once more. "I know I'm enjoying my view," he said, nodding to your jammies. Red lace bra you didn't feel like battling off your body and black sweatpants. You felt your cheeks heat up and you crossed your arms, growl vibrating through your chest. "Gotta say, kitten. Red looks good on ya. Mind if I add some more?" He taunted. You tried to be pissed, really you did. But you couldn't help but absolutely lose it. Laughing at his flirtatious comments, fangs glinting in the low light of the sewer. "Aren't you cute? You that desperate?" You teased back, causing Raph to become flustered. "Get burned!" Mikey called from the kitchen, causing Raph to snap at him. "Relax, big red." You said with a roll of your eyes, plopping down on the couch beside him, tail brushing against his arm. He grabbed it and softly twisted it around his hand to pet it, causing you to purr. "Look at you, kitten's not as ferocious after some pets, huh?" He said, causing you to glare at him. "Do me a favor and shut your fucking mouth." You snapped, leaning your head back onto the couch and closing your eyes. You went to pull your tail away but he gently brought it back to keep petting it.

"How about you make me, babydoll?" He challenged and you cracked your eyes open to side eye him. "Maybe another day. Preferably one where I'm not dead tired". You replied, causing Raph to chuckle in understanding. And so the two of you just sat side by side. Him watching whatever show was on TV and you asleep beside him, tail curled around his arm and chest vibrating with a loud purr.

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

Donatello x Reader 🧡 (💚 if you squint)

Reader Is: A moth

A/N - This man is an absolute night owl so um, hello? Nocturnal bug? Perfect right? Also I feel like it would be funny for this giant hunk of a man to have a partner that could easily reach his level bc the bitch can fckn fly.

You let out a loud moth squeak and almost fainted at the sight in front of you. "Woah there!" April said, rushing forward to keep you from dropping. "Chill out, roomie". She said and you almost flipped, antenna twitching in annoyance. "Chill out? April they're GIANTS! They could easily squash me like the bug I am!" You said, voice high pitched from panic. "(Y/N)! Calm down! Besides, you know them". She said softly and you tilted your head in confusion, taking deep breaths to calm yourself. "Remember my old pets? The four turtles and the rat?" She questioned and you vaguely remembered the project her father had been working on. "Y-Yeah. Um, Project Renaissance right? They injected the animals with these serums. But then the entire facility went up in flames." You recalled. "Well thanks to the mutagen, and April setting us free from the rubble, the mutagen well... mutated us," a voice spoke up and you turned to the tallest of the four, a purple bandana under his glasses. "Donatello?" You questioned softly, squinting up at him. "Or just Donnie." He said with a grin.

"You good now?" April asked gently and you nodded. She nodded back and went off to play a video game with Mikey. "This is so cool..." You marveled, moth wings expanding so you could flutter up to his height. "D-Did you not get dressed before you left the house?" Donnie stuttered out and you looked down at the purple boy shorts and baggie grayscale gradient hoodie you wore. Cheeks heating up you hid your face. "Oh my gosh, no I didn't. I was kind of too focused on finding April." You confessed and you laughed in embarrassment. "Could be worse though. Usually I sleep in less." You added before fluttering over to the other side of his head. "This is all super fascinating. Who knew the mutagen would transform some pets," you said in wonder and Donnie chuckled. "You're quite the fascinating creature yourself," he confessed and you giggled, landing gently onto your feet. "Thank you. I'm not sure why I'm... like this. I've been this way for as long as I can remember," you confessed, brows furrowed in thought. "I'd love to study you. If you'd allow me," he said sheepishly, moving towards his desk. You followed him and looked at all the gadgets he had, staring at them all with child-like wonder. "How's your sight? Moths aren't exactly known for their 20-20 vision," he asked and you glared up at him. "Neither are you from the looks of it," you retorted, making him laugh, a sound that made your heart flutter like the wings on your back. "Fair enough."

He raised a hand above your antenna, "May I?" He questioned and you tilted your head towards him, giving him silent consent to touch them. He gently brushed his fingers along them, rubbing them between his fingers. You jerked your head back, biting your fingers. "Ok so bad idea. Maybe don't touch them," you said, turning your face to hide your flustered expression, chest slightly heaving. "So they're sensitive to stimuli". The turtle muttered under his breath, jotting down a quick note. "Can I touch your wings?" He asked and you fluttered your wings softly. "Maybe not today. I'm not used to my moth bits being touched and that alone was a bit overstimulating. I'm sorry," you apologized, gently brushing at your antenna as if to calm them. "Oh no don't apologize! Here, why don't I show you some trinkets I'm working on?" He reassured, quickly changing the subject.

You perked up, fluttering up to sit on his leg. He swallowed, not expecting the move but he quickly relaxed as he began to essentially infodump on you. You listened intentionally, moth appendages occasionally twitching or fluttering with fascination. He couldn't help but feel happy that somebody took an interest in his little gizmos. It was nice. He could get used to this.

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

Michaelangelo x Reader 🧡

Reader Is: Avian (large white feathered wings and pointed elf like ears)

A/N - I love how Mikey called April angelcakes in the movie and we just RAN with it. So what better partner for Mikey than an actual real life "angel"?

Fluffing up your wings in a defensive measure, you backed away a few steps. "April what the FUCK?!" you said, tone bordering on a shriek. "Woah babes! Cool it! I swear we're super chill!" Said one of the turtles. He was the shortest with an orange bandana. You looked at the other turtles. Blue, red, purple, orange. "These guys kind of remind me of those pet turtles you had," you muttered to your roommate, and she gave an anxious laugh. "Well actually... they are my pets," she replied back and you let your wings soften, turning to look at her. "Come again?" You said, shocked. "Yeah dude! So like, after the building burned down, April took us and Master Splinter and saved us by sending us down the sewer. And then we grew up and became super cool ninjas!" Mikey said excitedly and you turned to him, ears drooping slightly as you relaxed.

"The mutagen that my father had injected in them ended up turning them into mutants," April said, answering your question before you even asked. "I'm way too tired for this..." You groaned out, rubbing your eyes. "That's ok, angelcakes. Why don't you sit on the couch? You can play Mario Kart with me!" Mikey said excitedly. You yawned and stretched, wings expanding to their full length. Mikey couldn't help but step forward and gently grab one of them.

"These are so cool..." Mikey murmured, rubbing the bone with his thumb, his other hand petting the fibers of your wings. You groaned and your wings twitched under his grasp. "Oof. That actually feels really good," you sighed out. "Hey, you know how to preen wings?" You questioned, half joking. "That's like, removing broken off feathers right?" He questioned and you eyed him. "And straightened out any feathers that might be tangled, yeah". You confirmed and Mikey got excited. "Yeah sure, I can give it a try!" Leo and April looked at each other before laughing softly at his antics. Mikey snagged a beanbag chair and plopped it up in front of the couch. "For you, my angel," he said with a dramatic bow and you couldn't help but laugh. Mikey looked over to his brothers with an excited expression. Oh boy. He's already head over heels.

"Nice outfit, by the way. I think orange looks very flattering on you, birdie," he teased and you stared down at the orange sports bra and light grey sweatpants you were wearing. "Pervert," you said with a playful smack to his arm. You sank into the beanbag chair, letting your wings drape over and expand slightly. Mikey sat on the couch and got to work. Surprisingly, he was very good at preening. Your ears would occasionally twitch or droop in relaxation. You would sigh against his touch when he got a particularly sore spot, humming in delight when he fixed it. A few minutes passed by but eventually Mikey gently rubbed the bones of your wings. "Alright I think I'm all done". He said proudly and you stood up, yawning and fluffing up your wings. "ugh that feels so much better. Thank you so much, Mikey," you said, crawling onto the couch and resting your head and arms on his lap, one wing extending down your body and the other dropping off the couch.

"O-Of course, angel," he stammered back, trying to hide his chirp as you got comfy and sleepily snuggled into him. "Sounds like somebody's happy," you teased, closing your eyes as you chuckled. "I have no idea what you're talking about," Mikey argued with a flustered expression, picking up his controller to resume the game he had previously been playing before you entered the lair. "It's ok. I do it too sometimes," you murmured. "That would be cute to hear," he said but you didn't reply. Glancing down, he saw you fast asleep. Looking over at his brothers he pointed at you, "They're so freakin beautiful," he whisper yelled and April couldn't help but giggle at him. How cute.

I feel like this is just more than a tiny bit cringy and I'm crying. Anyways, should I expand on it at all? You guys remember those like, boyfriend scenarios on Quotev and WattPad? Bet I could turn these kind of into one of those. But mini. Like confessing, going on a date, when you're in danger, maybe a smut. It would probably help me with my sharpening my writing skills. Idk if I write them well at all but I legit tried. Anyways hope you guys like this um...... goodbye.

[written-with-clouds]

I Found Love (Where It Wasn't Supposed To Be) Pt. 1

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen/ Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: You and Aemond had always been close, even after he lost his eye and your mom moved your family to Dragonstone. What will happen when your grandsire dies and Aegon takes the throne from your mother? Will you and Aemond be able to stay together? Or will family drive you apart?

Authors Note: Cross posted on AO3, Aemond and Reader are of legal age during all spicy scenes.

CW: Uncle/Niece, Secret Relationship

Part 2 Part 3

Six years ago

“Aemond?” You whisper quietly. Your voice echoes back to you softly as it bounces off the stone walls of the hidden passages within the keep. For a while, the only thing you hear is the pitter patter of rats running and the squeaking from the handle of your lantern. And then you hear it, the sound of footsteps steadily getting closer. 

“What do you want?” Aemond asks, his own lantern swinging in his grasp from the speed of his steps. “Shouldn’t you be tending to your brothers.” He spat. 

“They’ll be fine. I wanted to check on you…” You reply, taking a small step towards him. Your brow twitches as you gaze at the jagged scar that now covers his left eye. “Does it hurt bad?” 

You move to reach for him, but he smacks your hand away. “What does it matter.” He states with no hint of question in his tone. “It’s happened. It’s over. Move on.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, lowering your hand and taking a step back. Taking a measured breath you speak. “My mother has decided to move us to Dragonstone. We leave in the morning.” 

Aemond scoffs, crossing his arms. “And you asked to meet here to tell me that? Why? Do you expect a warm send off? After what your bastard brothers di-“ 

His head lurches to the left as you smack him squarely across the face. “What my brothers did was neither right, nor wrong. And you,” you jab a finger against his chest, “are no less innocent of this mess.” Taking a deep breath, you turn to walk away. Taking a few steps before turning around to face him again. “I had hoped that despite what happened between you and my brothers… that you might have considered me friend enough to miss me when I’m gone. Because I will surely miss you, Aemond.” 

You turn your back to him once again and continue back to your room. You can hear the sound of footsteps following your own but force yourself to ignore it. If Aemond was going to act as a child, you would let him. 

Just as you were about to push the door to your room open, Aemond’s hand closed around your wrist. He pulled you back by the arm and hugged you. Muttering something you couldn’t quite understand. 

“What?” You ask. 

Aemond pulls back slightly, “I said… I will miss you too… you are my friend, and I don’t have many of those.” 

You smile softly at him, pulling him back into a tight hug. You stand there for a moment, hugging each other, drawing out the moment as long as you can. 

“I will try to write.” You promise as you separate. He promises the same and you watch sadly as he retreats back through the hidden passages to his own room. 

Present 

Uncle, 

I am pleased to say that I will be in Kingslanding in a week's time. Though the reason is less than joyful, all the same I look forward to seeing you. Perhaps, if you can find time 

for your niece, you could continue tutoring me in Valyrian. I have grown quite profound, I think you will be proud. 

Niece, 

I look forward to your arrival. I shall make sure to have time set aside for you.

Stepping out of the carriage, you stretch. The ride had been long. Longer than normal you think… but perhaps that was because you were excited to be back in the place you had spent much of your childhood. 

Your mother had told you, Jace, and Luke that she would visit your grandsire before the proceedings regarding the successor of Driftmark. In the meantime the three of you were free to wander, so long as you stayed out of trouble, she had added as your brothers took off to explore the grounds of the Red Keep. Smiling fondly after them, you follow behind leisurely. The three of you wandered through the halls trading memories from when you were little. As you were exploring, you couldn’t help but notice the questioning gazes of the castle workers and the various diplomats that were milling about. Luke had noticed it too, if the insecure look he gave you was any indication. 

Eventually, the three of you found your way out to the training yard, Jace jogging ahead and laughing as he found a wall missing a chunk of stone. 

He spun around to face you and Luke, “I told you it’d still be here! From when you tried to use Ser Criston’s Morningstar!” He reminisced fondly, wrapping an arm around Luke’s shoulder as they went to inspect the weapons cart. 

Your attention, however, was drawn to a small crowd forming a circle. You walk over, finding a spot that allows you to see into the center of the growing crowd.

 Your lips stretch into a wide smile as you finally manage to see what’s happening. You watch as Aemond and Ser Criston spar. The sound of metal hitting metal rings out through the yard as Ser Criston swings his Morningstar, only for Aemond to deflect it with his sword. Aemond blocks another attempt with a wooden shield. Only for it to be knocked out of his hand, the wood splintering from the force of the hit. For a moment, they circle each other. Aemond twirls his sword, watching Ser Criston with a predatory gaze. Ser Criston moves first, swinging his Morningstar at Aemond. Your breath catches as you watch Aemond dodge each swing. He makes a sudden, calculated, attack and in just minutes the fight is over, with Aemond victorious and the top of his sword at Ser Criston’s throat. 

“You’ll be a force to be reckoned with in the tourneys, my prince.” Ser Criston stated. 

“I have no interest in tourneys,” Aemond responded, his eye locking onto someone in the crowd, “nephews, come to train?” 

The sound of the large outer doors opening draws everyone’s attention. Lord Vaemond Velaryon striding through, glancing at your brothers momentarily before continuing. 

The people gathered in the training yard begin milling about once more and the crowd disperses. You see your brothers making their way inside, likely heading to find your mother. You are about to leave when a voice stops you. 

“Sia ao jāre naejot henujagon lēda iā rytsas? (Were you going to leave without a hello?)” 

Smirking, you face Aemond. “Ao istan busy (you were busy), I didn’t want to distract you.” 

Aemond smirked back. Stepping into your space, his hands clasped behind his back, he leans down placing his lips by your ear. He was so close that as he spoke, his lips would occasionally brush against the shell of your ear. His voice was low and teasing.“Ao kostagon va moriot distract issa (you may always distract me).” He takes a step back and straightens up to stand at his full height. “I’ll see you in there. Do wish your mother good luck for me.” He taunts, sauntering inside.

You wander aimlessly through the Red Keep, your mind replaying the events of earlier. Ser Vaemond’s cruel words directed at you and your brothers, questioning your parentage. How he spat them out in front of the court, in front of the King, your Grandsire. You could still hear the echo of his voice as he loudly declared you and your brothers bastards. And the sound of a sword as, in the blink of an eye, Ser Vaemond’s head was sliced clean in half by Daemon. The image of blood splattering against the floor and the dull thud of his body was stuck in your head. Death was nothing new to you. Nor was blood. But you’d never been that close to either before. 

You are pulled from your thoughts as an arm shoots out from behind a wall banister, pulling you behind it into a hidden passage. You make an ‘oof’ sound as you are pushed against a wall, the stone cold and biting against your back even through the fabric of your dress. 

“Have you been avoiding me, ñuha dōna?(my sweet)” Aemond purrs against your ear, making you shiver. He has one hand placed against the wall and the other rests against your hip, trapping you between him and the stone. Pulling away from the side of your head, he gazes down at you, cocking his head to the side. 

You meet his gaze, your own head lifting slightly as you smirk. “Gaoman daor gīmigon skoros ao nūmāzma (I do not know what you mean), uncle. I have simply been walking the castle grounds.” 

“I have told you never to call me that… not when it’s just us.” He growled, lilac eye darkening. 

“Would you rather I call you ñuha dārilaros (my prince).” You tease. “Or perhaps you’d prefer to be called ñuha zaldrīzes (my dragon).” 

He snarls, hooking his index finger under your chin and bringing your face closer to his. “Skoros naejot gaomagon lēda ao (what to do with you),” he murmurs before closing the gap and kissing you. 

The hand resting against your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls your body flush to his. Your hands wrap around his neck and tangle in his hair, moaning into the kiss as his thigh slots between your legs, pressing against your cunt. His hands slide down over your ass, massaging the flesh as he separates from your lips in favor of nipping and sucking on your jaw and throat.

“Aemond~” you pant, head thrown back and knocking against the wall. Your hands tighten in his hair, tugging it to make him look at you. His lips were kiss swollen and red. “No marks.” You remind him. His response is a low growl coming from deep in his chest as he reattaches his lips back against your neck. 

His hands guide you to rock against his thigh, a slow pull and push while he massages the flesh of your ass. A gentle grind back and forth as Aemond guides you in pleasuring yourself against him. Your moans echo around you, bouncing off of the walls as you roll into him. 

Aemond yanks the top of your dress down roughly, groaning appreciatively as your breasts are fully exposed to him. He drags his tongue up the center of your chest before moving to suck a nipple into his mouth. He gently nips at the hardened bud, making you hiss, before releasing it all together. Licking up the length of your neck to just under your ear, he whispers a question.

“Are you getting close, ñuha dōna (my sweet)?” He pauses, pulling back to watch your expression. Your eyes are half lidded and your cheeks are dusted red as your mouth hangs open and small puffs of air come out. “You are, aren’t you… I can tell. The way your hips keep bucking against my leg… your chest heaving as you suck down air…” Your breath hitches and you choke on a moan as Aemond shifts his leg closer. You rock against him feverishly, so close to your release. Your hands are gripping the leather of his shirt so hard your knuckles have turned white.

One hand reaches up and cups the side of his face, pulling him in for a feverish kiss. Aemond licks into your mouth, his tongue dancing against yours. You moan and whimper into him, grinding down against his thigh harder.

Abruptly, Aemond pulls away completely. You whine at the loss of contact, having been on the edge of release. You tug at his shirt, trying to pull him back against you, as you plead breathlessly. He simply chuckles at your desperation. 

“Hush, Issa jorrāelagon (my love),” You watch as Aemond slowly sinks to his knees in front of you, the violet color of his eye nearly completely engulfed by the black pool of his desire. He lifts your ankle off the floor, gently cradling it in his hand. Aemond places a soft kiss against the skin of your calf, then the side of your knee, the flesh of your thigh, working higher and higher, pushing the hem of your dress up as he goes. He hooks your leg over his shoulder, biting your inner thigh, laughing as you lightly shove his shoulder. Peering up at you through his lashes as he slowly licks through your folds before enclosing his mouth over your clit and sucking lightly.

Pulling away from you, he licks his lips. “Seven Gods~” he groaned, “Ao sylutegon sīr sȳz (you taste so good).” 

“Aemond!” you moan, one hand tangles back into his hair and the other rests against his shoulder. His tongue licks its way inside you, thrusting in and out slowly as Aemond uses the pad of his thumb to stimulate your clit. He hums against you as you tug his hair, the vibrations making your hips buck against him. You try to grind against his thumb but Aemond holds your hips still with his free hand. Your back arches off the wall and you jolt with pleasure. Each exhale comes out as a moan. 

“Bona's ziry, jorrāelagon (that’s it, love), let me taste you.” He purrs, replacing his tongue with two fingers. Slowly, Aemond curls his fingers inside you before dragging them out and repeating. The motion is enough to bring you pleasure yet not enough to tip you over the edge and he knows it, Aemond is watching every twitch of your body, every expression you make. He listens to the way your breath hitches, knowing you need more but not giving it to you. Your hips thrust back against Aemond’s fingers, seeking more pleasure unconsciously and you whine when he pulls his finger out completely. 

“You know what to do if you want more, ñuha dōna (my sweet).” He teases, smirking up at you. 

“Kostilus (please), Aemond. I want to cum.. I want you to make me cum.” You beg breathily, mouth falling open in a silent moan as Aemond thrust his finger back inside you. He sets a fast pace this time, thrusting his fingers in and out of you quickly while hooking them perfectly to brush against your most sensitive spots with each movement. 

“Sȳz riña, (good girl)” he praises before licking and sucking against your clit. Your body jerks and twists against him from the sudden intense pleasure. His name falls from your mouth like a prayer as you moan, unable to say or think anything but him. Your eyes roll back and you stutter out a small breath. Your body freezes, your muscles tensing. The hand in his hair grips it tightly, holding him against your core as you cum. 

Aemond guides you through it, whispering praises against your thigh as his fingers slow before pulling out completely. He stands, making a show of sucking your climax off of his fingers. The two of you stand in comfortable silence. You, catching your breath, and him, helping to situate your dress. 

“I missed you too,” You joke, breaking the silence surrounding the two of you. He chuckles softly from behind you, where he was relacing the strings of your dress. It was more a puff of air than a laugh. Finishing, he wraps his arms around you, spinning you to face him. He kisses you again, though this kiss is gentle, his hand cradling the side of your face. 

“I want to tell them. Tonight at dinner.” Aemond whispers, placing his forehead against yours. “I’m tired of hiding.. I want them to know you are mine.”  

You look into Aemonds eye, seeing the full range of his emotions and the hope he has of a future with you. It’s a sight only you get to see, “I want that too…” 

“But?” Aemond said, his shoulders deflating slightly at the thought of you not truly wanting to be with him. At the fear of this being no more than a secret for you, that you would be ashamed to be seen with him. 

“But maybe we should tell King Viserys in private… I’m  worried about the possible arguing between our families if we tell everyone at once.” “Then it’s settled, we will tell the King after dinner. When his spirits are high.” Aemond smiled, placing a chaste kiss against your lips. Separating from you he grabbed your hand, “until tonight, ñuha dōna (my sweet).” He kissed the back of your hand and turned to walk away.

The dinner had not gone as you had hoped. For a while, things were nice… amicable even. But then, Aegon made a snide comment to Jace about Baela and then about you, and all hell broke loose. 

Jace had punched Aegon square in the nose, likely breaking it. Aegon, in turn, shoved Jace down against the table. Luke had gotten up so quickly that his chair rocked back and clattered to the floor. You watched as Aemond blocked Luke’s path towards Jace and Aegon, where they were now throwing punches at each other. Aemond shoved Luke causing him to stumble back a few steps and his gaze quickly shifted to your own. 

You locked eyes with him, silently pleading that he not get involved. And in the seconds that he had not been watching your brother, Luke landed a punch directly against Aemonds jaw. You gasped, watching helplessly from your seat as the two sets of brothers were wrangled apart by the kingsguard. Standing you joined your mother as she worriedly looked over Jace and Luke. Your eyes glanced over to Aemond briefly and, as he met you gaze once more, you quirked a brow. Silently asking if he was alright. He nodded, quick and small, to reassure you before his gaze shifted back to his mother as she fussed about them. 

Before sending you and your brothers to your respective rooms, she informed you that come morning, you would all journey back to Dragonstone.

You quietly climbed out of the secret passageway into Aemonds room after listening to make sure he was alone. Quickly running to embrace him tightly. 

“Tonight could have gone better..” he jokes, hoping to hear your laugh. Instead all he heard was a shuddering inhale. 

“We lost our chance,” you murmur softly against his chest. “The king is probably asleep now.. and it’s far too late for him to accept any visitors in his room, kin or not.”

Aemond strokes your hair soothingly, “It’ll be alright, ñuha dōna (my sweet). We will speak to him in the morning.” 

“I am too leave come first sign of day.. my whole family is. My mother thought it best we leave before the King wakes, to avoid putting too much strain on him.” 

“Gaomagon daor zūgagon (do not fear). We will figure this out… I promise” Aemond moves, cradling your face in one of his hands. With the other he gently brushes your hair off of your shoulder, leaning down to kiss your neck. 

“Aemond… what are you-” 

“Shh, ñuha dōna (my sweet), let’s enjoy what time we have together.” Aemond purrs, his hands reaching behind you and pulling the laces of your dress loose. The fabric falls to the floor, pooling around your feet, leaving you bare. “By the Seven…Jurnegon ao, Issa jorrāelagon ao issi se olvie gevie mirre naejot mirre glaesagon (Look at you, my love you are the most beautiful thing to ever live).” Aemond dips, wrapping his arms around your thighs and lifting you. You laugh, bracing your hands against his shoulders as he carries you to his bed. You fall against the mattress with a ‘thud’, lifting yourself up on your elbows. You watch with half lidded eyes as Aemond slowly removes his shirt, tossing it to the side. 

He starts to undo his pants when you speak, “Wait,” shifting to your hands and knees you crawl across the mattress until you are in front of him. “Ivestragī issa dohaeragon ao (Let me help you).” Aemond watches as you slowly hook your fingers under the waistband of his pants, sliding them down his legs. You lightly drag your nails across his skin. The sensation makes his muscles tense. 

You meet his gaze as you take his dick in your hand. You slowly run your hand from base to tip and back before stopping. “Kostagon nyke emagon nykeā sylutegon (Can I have a taste), my prince?” 

Aemond growls out a swear, tangling a hand in your hair. “Open your mouth.” He guides you down the length of his cock, groaning as your throat constricts against him. Slowly, Aemond guides your head along his cock. He inhales sharply through his nose as you reach one hand up to grip the part your mouth can’t reach, matching the languid rhythm he set. With your free hand you reach between your legs, rubbing your clit between your fingers. You moan around him, causing Aemonds hips to stutter. 

“Seven… look at you darling… simply tasting my cock brings you this much pleasure?” He teases, “you’re so desperate for me aren’t you?” You moan around him again, your eyes falling closed. 

“Jaelagon tolī (want more)?” You moan around him, the vibrations causing him to groan. He pulls you off of him, pulling you up to stand. Taking your face in his hands, he kisses you fiercely in a clash of teeth and tongues. He tapped your thigh twice, signaling you to jump. He catches you by the underside of your ass. You lock your legs around his waist and wrap your arms around his neck. Aemond reaches beneath you, gripping his cock and lining it up with your entrance. In one thrust, he buries himself inside of your core. 

You break the kiss, throwing your head back and moaning as Aemond lifts your hips, bouncing you on him. Your nails claw at his back and you hide your face in his neck, moaning loudly. 

“Ao issi sīr ȳrda, issa dōna (you are so tight, my sweet), He moans into your ear. “You are practically sucking me in every time I pull out” 

“Aemond please– fuuck– It feels so good…” You meet his darkened gaze, panting harshly.  “Harder, I want you to fuck me harder.” 

He moans, hips stuttering before stopping altogether. Aemond pulls out, making you whine in frustration. Dropping you back against the bed, he hooks both of your legs over his shoulders. Quickly lining himself up again, he thrusts in completely with one snap of his hips, setting a fast pace. The force of his thrusts causing the bed to knock against the wall. Your hands fist the sheets beneath you as moan after moan is fucked out of you quicker than you can suck in oxygen. Aemond brings a hand down to your clit, rubbing it in time with his thrusts. Your body convulses, unsure if it should seek out the intense pleasure you are feeling or if it should move away from it. 

“Aemond! Nyke jāre naejot māzigon (I'm going to come)!” Aemond thrusts into you harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing around the room with your panting. 

“I am too, love..” He says between pants, his rhythm faltering. 

Your body tenses and your mouth falls open as a loud moan forces its way out of you. Your walls tighten around Aemond’s cock, pushing him over the edge. He collapses against you, kissing you passionately as he climaxes inside of you. 

The both of you lay there catching your breath. Aemond’s body on top of yours, wrapping you up in the perfectness of the moment.

News of King Viserys’ death arrived on the back of a dragon, by way of Rhaenys. Along with the news of Aegon's ascension to king. Your mother had gone into labor early, whether the news was the cause of this no one could say. 

For three agonizing days, you could hear her wails echo throughout all of Dragonstone as Daemon held council after council. Watch over you and your youngest siblings had doubled, there was no where you went that a guard did not accompany you. It was suffocating. 

On the fourth day, just as the sun began to set, a raven appeared on your windowsill. Attached to its foot was a small scroll. It read,

Meet with me, tonight, when the moon is its highest. 

The note had no name signed, but you hadn’t needed a signature to know it was Aemond who called for you. And so, that night you snuck out to the beach and mounted your dragon. 

It took no time to reach the small islet between King's Landing and Dragonstone. You could see Vhagar’s towering for as you approached. Quickly landing, you jumped off of your dragon.  

“Tell me Rhaenys is wrong.” You plead, quickly walking up to Aemond. “Tell me Aegon did not take the throne!”

“I cannot lie to you,” Aemond said solemnly, taking a step towards you as you took a step back. 

“Then why ask me here?” You demand. 

“Run away with me. We can leave this behind us, leave Westeros behind us.” He begs you, hands reaching out to take yours. 

You're shaking your head, tears already welling up in your eyes, as Aemond pulls you back to him. His hands cradle either side of your face, thumbs wiping away the tears that spill over.

“Please, (Y/N)..” his voice is small, afraid of your answer. “Please say yes.. say you want this as much as I do.” Aemond lays his forehead against yours, nuzzling against you. 

Your hands reach up to lay overtop of his, your eyes have closed as tears now run freely down your cheeks. “I..” you choke out, “Aemond I can’t.” You sob, your hands tightly gripping his. “I cannot leave my mother.. I wish I could say yes.. Aemond I do, please believe me… but I can’t.” 

Aemond shushes you, holding you to him as you sob. Tears well in his own eye and threaten to spill over as his chest tightens. Resentment for his family, your family, the situation you’ve both been forced into, threatens to explode out of him. 

Once your cries have lessened, and your breaths start to even out, you pull away. Placing a hand against his cheek, you pull him down for a chaste kiss. “Goodbye, Issa jorrāelagon (my love)..” As you remount your dragon and take off towards Dragonstone, you hear an anguished cry split through the air followed by the thunderous roar of Vhagar.

Part 2 Part 3