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peterthepark · 2 years

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𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐲

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

tags: 18+ very graphic smut, rough van sex, dirty talk, analplay, sub!eddie but also very much switch!eddie, lust at first sight, major mutual pining, a sprinkle of perv!eddie but hes sexy so its okay, (1) guest appearance by dustin, post vol. 2 fix-it fic, 7k filth

summary: she’s the girl next door. eddie is the metalhead freak who’s just barely clearing his name after a whole town fiasco. opposites attract but certainly not like this, and certainly not in the back of eddie’s van.

a/n: pov vol 2 ended on a positive note and eleven miraculously fixed everything so a freshly-graduated eddie can now live his life to the fullest!!!!!!!! aka what should’ve happened… minors dni. not for u.

It’s rare for Eddie Munson to be roaming the white-picket fence suburbs of Hawkins. It feels like a fantasyland — golden retrievers and tabby cats, designated trash days and bright, green grass full of yellow daffodils, oak trees with makeshift swings and wooden playgrounds built by loving fathers. It’s too perfect, too uncanny, and Eddie knows deep down that he doesn’t belong in such a world as nice as this one.

But the suburbs of Hawkins are also welcoming.

When he gives Dustin a ride from school to home, when the noon is at its peak, golden rays and soft sprinklers making rainbows rise from the soil, he thinks — for a moment or two — that he belongs. He could if he wanted to. When Henderson invites him over for dinner, or when Harrington needs help fixing his car, when Mike needs relationship advice (as if Eddie could know anything about that) and when Robin wants to know more about Iron Maiden to impress the metalhead ladies, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, it isn’t so bad on this side of town.

That is until he saw you. And he realized then why everyone called this part of Hawkins a slice of paradise.

Pretty college student. Cut-off shorts from the Gap paired with baggy baseball tees, and a cute nose always stuffed in a romance novel or — some days — a textbook. Glossy lips, adorable socks and checkered picnic blankets where you’d lay out on the too-pristine yard, kicking your legs back and forth as if acting like eye candy was your specialty.

The perfect poster girl of Hawkins with just enough rough edges to be labelled the girl next door.

Only, Eddie doesn’t live next door to you. Dustin does.

“The least you could tell me is her name, Henderson. I don’t want gas money, I want her name. Spelled out for me, syllable by syllable. Government name.” Eddie rambles, shifting impatiently in the driver’s seat as Dustin leans over the passenger window from the outside. “We’re sitting ducks here, man. What if she sees us spying on her damn fence like some creeps?”

The curly-haired sophomore sighs, fingers strung together as he frowns at his older friend, “You are a grown ass man, Eddie. All you have to do is ask her, just say hi, make an impression or something! You can’t just be looking at her from afar everytime you come over, blasting this Metallica shit…”

“You are on very thin ice, boy.” Eddie wags a finger at him, wide eyes bouncing between Dustin and the front of your house. “I don’t know her like you know her. I don’t wanna be weird, especially after just putting all this town satanic cult bull behind my ass. She might think — dammit, I don’t know… I just wouldn’t wanna scare the girl, okay?” He sucks in a deep breath, shrugging the thought off with a hopeful smile, “Not this time.”

“Disgusting.”

He snaps his head towards Dustin, reaching over and rustling the cap on his head with a playful smirk. “You’re disgusting, you fuckin’ booger.”

And as if on cue, like every other day he’s been through this neighborhood, Eddie watches your figure emerge from the porch, picnic blanket and weathered paperback in hand. His jaw goes slack at the image of your denim overall-clad frame, nothing but a bikini-like bra underneath the number while a fresh cigarette dangles from your lips. So much skin — the exposed flesh of your neck, the salty beads of sweat rolling down your collarbone, the cherubic glow of your complexion and the alluring blush of your lips as you sit out on the yard.

Fuck.

A loud boom pulls the metalhead from his trance. Dustin’s palm comes down against the flimsy van door. “Earth to Eddie? Get a grip, you’re drooling.”

And all he can really say is: “She’s so damn pretty.”

Maybe he’s overreacting. Maybe he’s just really that in-deep with a girl who he has never, ever spoken to. Maybe he’s a pervert rather than a misunderstood freak and this is all just completely wrong of him. But, god, it feels so right to stare. Eddie can’t help it, especially once you catch sight of Dustin and send him an adorable little wave — then your eyes flicker over to Eddie’s dumbfounded expression inside the van, where you wave at him too.

And the twenty one year-old swears he dies. Right at that moment. His heart skips several beats all at once, possibly even flatlining as a small smile falls upon your graceful features, bursting right out of his chest even as you look away and immediately redirect your attention to the walkman in your pocket like you hadn’t just casually murdered him alive.

Fuck me, he thinks.

The next time Eddie sees you, he gets a little more than a wave. He’s reveling in this newfound attention as he bounces down the steps of Dustin’s porch and catches sight of you on the other side of the fence, already staring his way before he sends you a nerdy two-finger salute with a close-lipped smile. And just before he reaches the sidewalk, your sweet voice stops him in his determined tracks.

“Metallica at three p.m. in this neighborhood is a death wish, you know.”

Eddie turns slowly on his heels, shoes facing you before his whole body follows hesitantly. He’s trying to wipe off that stupid expression on his face, lips parted into a skinny ‘O’ that makes him look like a fish out of water as you finally make eye contact. He heats up immediately from the inside, belly churning and throat tightening when you give him a once over. And it seems like you don’t exactly care for subtlety either — blown pupils raking over his tattooed arms, taking in the torn rips of his shirt-turned-tank-top and the tanlines just above his elbows.

He hopes you think that the scars on his body are just as badass (if not, more) than his tats.

Say something. “Didn’t know music was on a schedule.” Eddie manages to follow along with a shrug, lips tugging to the side nervously.

In response, you smile. You fucking smile as if he hadn’t just said the most stupid response ever. It’s gentle, airy, almost effortless as crescent-like lines shape your warm cheeks and you cup a hand over your eyes, adorably squinting through the bright sunlight. “Oh, believe me, I had Iron Maiden on blast one time and ever since then, the whole block has been thinking I’m some sort of cult apologist.”

His heart grows like a balloon filling with helium, voice even going so far to climb several octaves of excitement as his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “You… you listen to that kind of stuff?”

You play with the lacy strap of your top. You’re beaming widely at him from the other side of the fence. “Do you judge books by their covers, mister?”

“No, ma’am.” Eddie swipes the glistening pad of his thumb across his bottom lip, stifling the grin that threatens to spread across his mouth. Sheepish, he shakes his head. “I think I underestimated you then. I’m… I’m sorry I…”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m kidding. Seriously though, I have a bunch of mixtapes back in my room. Ozzy, Dio, some Sabbath. No one really gets it, but you… you seem like you do.”

And Eddie wonders: could you get any more damn perfect? The suburban denim dream, the girl next door, the quintessential concoction of every teenage boy’s fantasy and every teenage girl’s desire… listens to metal music? And not just AC/DC or KISS (because everyone loves those guys), but the same music he’s grown up with and loved?

He can’t help but picture you in your bed, records spread out across your comforter as you switch between Dream Evil and Peace of Mind. Your limbs stretched out on the mattress, shirt riding up with nothing but black panties underneath as you rock out to his favorites.

Yeah. He’ll think about that one a lot.

“I definitely get it. I do, I really do. I love metal.” Eddie rambles, hoping to keep your attention by stalling this conversation as much as possible. You nod at him with those big, innocent eyes and roll your fleshy lip between your teeth, keen to every stupid word that falls from his tongue. “But hey, it can be our little secret, then.” He leisurely gravitates towards the van while you match his strides, taking note of his quavering pitch and the use of Eddie’s own hands waving through the air wildly as he attempts to withhold his nervousness. “And again, just for peace of mind, I didn’t mean to judge. I figured…”

“Madonna?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He chuckles. Feels the anxiety in his stomach build even more. “Nothin’ wrong with Madonna, though. Sexy tunes. Can’t deny that.”

Sexy tunes. Come on, Munson.

But that draws a giggle right out of you, “Sexy tunes, indeed.” Then, you’re both leaning against the side of his van. No fence or Dustin coming between the two of you, just your sweaty bodies and Hawkins’ summer heat seeping through your thin clothes. You hold your palm out, fingers welcomingly outstretched. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

Eddie’s gaze bounces from your smaller hand to the doting expression on your face before gingerly enveloping it in his own. “Eddie. Edward. E-Eddie. You can…” You give him a gentle squeeze, a sure smile dusting over your lips. “You can just call me Eddie, or whatever. Whatever you want, Y/N.”

“Well,” You laugh again, and Eddie blushes profusely at the lighthearted noise. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Whatever.” You share another one of those looks, and he swears that this time — this time, your eyes do all the talking that needs to be done. “I think we’ll get along really well… Eddie.”

His name has never sounded so perfect out loud.

Eddie sees you again.

And again. Every time he drops Dustin off. Again. Leant against the side of his van. Talking and talking, until there’s nothing to talk about — but it’s rare. He always has something to talk about, even when his voice fails him and he stutters or stumbles over syllables because you’re so fucking pretty and he’s… he’s just Eddie. But you see him differently than the others, so he supposes that maybe being “just Eddie” isn’t such an awful thing after all.

Again, you talk. The sidewalk. Along the road. On your lawn. Sometimes, Eddie will even join you on your blanket, skim through your books and take note of what you read, then he’ll recommend “true” literature like Lord of the Rings or something else with elves and witches.

Summer has never felt so long.

Again.

Until again becomes every afternoon. Even on the days Dustin doesn’t need a ride home anymore. Even on the days he has to practice with his band at four, but he can always just come see you at three and drive back because it’s no big deal. Even on the days your parents say you need to stop talking to that Munson boy because he’s no good, but who fucking cares?

Again, anyways.

You’re not scared of him. He’s not scary. He never was.

And so afternoons turn into nights. And nights consist of sneaking out to Eddie’s van that he’s parked a few houses down the street, because God forbid he talks to the innocent girl next door. Innocent is one fat hoax. You’re smoking pot with him in the back of his fucking van for Ozzy’s sake, giggly and unrelenting as you sit next to each other and drench yourselves in the scent of weed and Eddie’s drugstore cologne while Metallica plays faintly in the background.

He’s all man, but soft with his eyes. Soft in the way he looks at you. Crude in the way he secretly desires you. Now that he knows you, really knows you, you aren’t just beautiful.

You’re completely devastating.

You take a long drag of his joint, wincing as the paper sizzles and burns orange. “Fuck, I wish I tried getting high sooner. You’re a horrible influence, you know that?”

Eddie hums with a toothy grin, fiddling with the pair of flimsy headphones in his lap. “And yet you still meet me back here every night.”

“Why do I even do that?”

“Um, ‘cause I got, like, really fucking good ‘A’ quality weed and impeccable taste in music.” He shrugs nonchalantly, eyes following the mold of your lips around the bud. “Easy there, tigress. Don’t hog it.”

“You said…”

“I said, you could have one hit. And now, I’m confiscating it.”

You groan in protest as Eddie leans over to your side of the van and snatches the blunt from you, tossing it into a mushroom shaped ashtray as he gazes at you curiously. “Since when did you become so mean to me?”

“Weed is meant to be treasured, Y/N. And plus, I’m always mean.”

He has to admit — there has been tension between the two of you ever since your afternoon catch-ups turned into late night talking. Maybe he’s imagining it, but surely you feel it too. The bubbling in his stomach when your elbows brush in such a confined space. The heat rushing to his cheeks when you laugh and place a hand on his thigh, or the dizzy rush flooding your forehead when he picks a flyaway strand of hair off of your shoulder. The increase in your heartbeats as you stare at each other for a minute too long, even sneaking in a second glance because you just have to.

“You know what you should treasure?” You quirk a brow at him. A smirk tugs upon your lips as you dig through your pocket and pull out a cassette tape, shaking it in front of Eddie’s face. “This week’s mix I made you.”

“My mix is better.” He flicks his walkman open, switching out the tape inside for the one you hand him. “Here’s yours, ma’am.”

And he supposes that no one really expected that his friendship with the girl next door would be founded on trading music with each other. Ever since you and Eddie found out your tastes were in alignment, you made it a goal to introduce new songs to him — Madonna included. Sexy tunes.

You think he could get used to the oddity of The Cure. He thinks he can convince you that Guns N’ Roses will eventually be a rock sensation. You’re skeptical. Maybe.

So you marinate in each other’s stagnant presence, leaning on opposite walls of his metal tin can of a van, holding your own walkmans with ears caressed by Koss headphones and lids shut as your heads bob to the acoustics. Eddie can’t help but crack an eye open, sneaking a peek at your chewed lip and your look of concentration.

“I like this one.” You pipe up, feeling his stare on you. He glances away before you can actually catch him, training his gaze on the mess of blankets behind the driver’s seat. “You know, your choices this week are very interesting, Munson.”

Suggestive. His choices are suggestive, is what you’re thinking. From the first to the last track, the list of songs messily etched onto the cassette with the most boyish handwriting you’d ever seen, you can only hope that the metalhead holds some sort of attraction for you in the same manner you do for him.

Eddie chuckles, and winces apologetically at you. “I still hate The Cure, by the way.”

You nod unconvinced, and pull one of the cups of your headphones away from your ear. There’s a smile of amusement, an interested dimple in your cheek. “And yet you included The Perfect Girl on here?”

“Only because it made me think of you.”

For once, he realizes that he has flustered you. Your jaw goes slack, your pupils widen, brows softening before your nose crinkles at him. “Shut up, Eddie.”

His palms raise in a peaceful surrender, ringed fingers wiggling adorably. “You asked, Y/N.” A beat. Then you’re playfully throwing a jacket at his face and squealing before he instinctively lunges forward at you, gentle hands pulling you back by the elbows. Despite the struggle, eventually he’s pinned to the floor of the van and you’re on top of him straddling his soft belly. “Get off, you monster!” He near-giggles, sputtering as his hair gets into his mouth and he feels your body racking with laughter.

“You’re so rude to me. Like the rudest. When has The Cure ever hurt you?” You pant out, chest rising and falling steadily as you both catch your breath. Eddie’s headphones haphazardly hug his head, walkman in the palm that rests above him. “Do you treat your girlfriend this way, hm?”

“No girlfriend.”

“Oh?”

“Mmm, I thought it was obvious.” He replies quietly, the sound comes out more like a soft moan rather than an agreement. His plushy lips are wet with saliva, tongue poking between the pink flesh as his eyes flicker from your parting mouth to your curious, swirling irises. “S’why I’m here with you.”

“So I’m the second choice is what you’re…”

“Please, you are farthest from the second choice, sweetheart.” Eddie laughs, ribs rumbling against his torso. Only then does he become hyper aware of the way your breasts push up against his shirt, the warmth of your skin intermixing with his, your nipples hardening against the thin white fabric of your camisole. Sweetheart, you repeat. Sweetheart. Sweetheart. Sweetheart. “Do you have one?”

“A girlfriend?” You ask, tone playful and curious.

Careless Whisper echoes through his headphones; your mixtape is still looping through his walkman as you trail your fingers down his wrists and brace yourself on his chest.

Fucking hell. It’s ironic. It’s pathetic. George Michael needs to shut up. Why is this damned song on here? He’s struggling to think, struggling to focus on the words coming from your mouth, struggling to keep it in his pants because you keep shifting farther and farther away from his stomach, and more and more towards his crotch. Focus. Tune out that stupid saxophone.

“Sure.” He shrugs breathlessly, tingling with anticipation.

“Nope.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Not yet, no. Why is this a conversation, Eddie?” You bite your lip cheekily, knees planted firmly on either side of his lean body when you gaze down at him then survey the still-lit joint resting on his ashtray. Silence, then: “Can I have a hit? Please?”

Eddie glances at your lips, fixating on how your tongue darts out to lick at the sticky gloss. The moonlight casts a glow over your frame, highlighting the path of your curves through your tank top. And without really taking his eyes off of your beautiful face, his fingers reach for the blunt, a blush spreading across his chiseled cheeks when your hand brushes against his to grab it.

Please.

A sizzle rustles through the heavy air as you take a slow drag.

And Eddie can’t help himself. Not this time.

“You’re so pretty, you know that?”

You’re slowly tossing the perfectly-good blunt aside, leaning down and lazily grabbing Eddie gingerly by his chin.

He thinks you’re gonna kiss him.

And before he can lift his head to meet you, instead, you’re blowing a puff of smoke between his parted lips with an exhale. “Fuck… ing… heck…” He instantly groans, eyelids drooping as your ass pushes against him teasingly like you hadn’t just shotgunned into his goddamn mouth. Party trick. You flutter your lashes bashfully, dimples poking at your cheeks as Eddie gapes at you just inches away from your face. “Y/N, where the fuck did you… learn that?”

You sigh. “Eddie Munson, you just keep on underestimating me.”

“I really do, I really fucking do…” He huffs, knuckles turning white around his walkman as you sensually tug his headphones off. “I just — just thought you were…”

“Innocent? Oblivious? I may be your girl next door fantasy… or whatever the fuck you Hawkins boys think about me…” You smirk, taking Eddie’s much-larger hands into yours and placing them firmly on your hips. “… but I am not fucking blind… you’ve been acting so off this entire night, must need something to take the edge off, don’t you?”

Fucking Ozzy. He can’t take it. His lips tug into a wince. “That easy, huh?”

Red-handed, you coo. “The easiest.”

“So technically you’re calling me easy, then?” Eddie jokes, heart pounding against his chest as he tenderly digs his fingertips into your love handles.

This is what he’s wanted. This is it.

And it’s not a fucking dream at all. It’s absolutely heaven.

Just like heaven.

“Eh, I think it’s endearing. The way you…” He curses under his breath as you lean over and trail your mouth up his jawline, biting his earlobe. “… savor me… savor looking at me. The way you think I don’t notice your stare, when your eyes wander a couple inches down whenever I talk? Oh, you think you’re so slick. I’m not naïve. Why do you think we hang out in your van at night?”

He shudders when your teeth find the cool surface of the guitar pick around his neck. “You’re evil, sweetheart.”

“And you’re horny, but maybe I shouldn’t talk about that.”

“No, definitely…” Eddie laughs nervously, swallowing as he looks down at you. “Definitely not. I’m… fuck, I’m fine. I’m good.”

“Or, maybe I should.” Back and forth banter. It’s natural with you. Too natural, almost like it has always meant to be like this between the eager pair of you. You don’t kiss him, not yet. He can wait. “Acting like a gentleman, like my friend, when in reality you can’t help but think of banging me everytime we see each other?”

“M’sorry, okay? We are friends — fuck, Y/N. Can’t focus… can’t exactly t-talk when you’re on my lap like that.”

Heat pools to his lower stomach, breaths quickening as his hands mindlessly drift down to your upper thighs, squeezing your skin through your little shorts when you grind against him. “Like this? How does it feel? Touching me, feeling me on you like this?”

Eddie’s eyes are dark, almost black in the dim shadows of his van. He looks up at you with the most dilated, entranced look, and you swear it almost makes you break. “Feels… feels so nice. Warm. I just… fuck, I don’t… don’t wanna make you do anything you don’t wanna do… Y/N, goddamnit…”

“I think it’s both clear what we want, no?” You press a kiss to his cheek, running your thumb along the skin beneath his lower lashes. His self-control is slowly diminishing, inch by inch, he feels himself melting in your presence. “I stare, too, just so you know. I stare a lot.”

“Yeah?” Eddie lifts a shaky hand, nervously cupping your jaw and nudging his nose against yours. His voice ghosts your skin, raspy and more of a whimper than a command. “Tell me about it.”

Your mouth hovers over his, lips barely brushing against each other. Touching, touching, touching, only to pull away at the very last second. He can almost just taste the marijuana from your tongue, almost taste the honey dripping from your voice as you peck the corner of his lips. Almost. “I look at your arms, and your really cool tattoos, then I picture… where else you have them on your body…” You gasp into his ear as his hips rut into you, his fingers drawing shapes against the side of your face. “Picture your lips on my chest… kissing me, leaving marks… bruises, hickies, whatever you want, Munson. Your mouth between my — my thighs… tugging on your hair because you’d be so good to me, wouldn’t you?”

“M’want you so bad. You don’t know the half of it.” He whispers, stroking a knuckle across the shadow of your cupid’s bow. “Please… let me… fuck, let me kiss you. Please, Y/N. Want it so bad. Been wanting you ever since summer started. Makin’ me crazy, got me feeling like I’m insane with the way I just… just obsess over us.”

He’s earned it.

“Like I said, whatever you want.” You grin devilishly.

Eddie’s lips finally collide with yours, erotically wet and far from smooth. It’s incongruous, sweaty skin rubbing against each other and clothes rustling as Eddie sits up, your arms swaddling his lanky frame while you crane your neck to kiss him deeply. His hair is in your mouth, his nose smushed against the side of your face, strained groans slipping from his throat as he traverses down your neck, selfishly licking the divot of your collarbone before his palms are venturing under your camisole.

“You’re so fucking hot.” He whines, lashes fluttering against your thin bra as he pulls your top over your head. He’s mouthing at the cups, biting at the stringy lace of your push-up before he’s tugging the material down to reveal your nipples. “I just… fuck, I’m just in awe of you. You’re the perfect girl, and I get to have you.” He wraps his lips around the hardened bud, moaning as he alternates between the two and litters your flesh in dark hickies. You fist his hair, caving into his frame. “You’re so sexy. Just… fucking… took the words out of me, leavin’ me speechless… I’ll make you feel so f-fucking good if you let me.”

Your head rolls back as he kisses up the underside of your chin, meeting your lips in a more tender kiss. Your nails trail underneath his Iron Maiden ringer tee, lightly tracing over the raised scars on his abdomen, his belly, skimming over his sparse happy trail and the subtlety of his v-line. “You’re all talk, Eddie… wanna make me feel good?” He nods meekly, the veins in his neck flexing as you stroke his brow bone. “Think you should start by undressing me…”

“Christ, please.”

And without a beat, Eddie’s reaching around you to unclasp your bra, tossing it aside so that it lands over the back of the driver’s seat. He kisses his way down your belly, the little pudge when you sit, only for him to lay you down on your back, clumping up a bunch of jackets to make a pillow for your head. His fingers unbutton your shorts, tugging them down the length of your legs with your panties until they get caught on your Chucks.

He takes those off too. Quite frankly, chucks the Chucks across the van with a squeaky mutter of ‘goddamn shoes…’ before he’s pocketing a lineup of chunky rings into his jeans.

Eddie’s mouth makes up for the dorky mishap, his lips make haste against your tender calves, biting the squish of your thighs and nudging his nose against the glossy patches of arousal on the inside of your skin. He inhales the scent of your cunt, and you jerk with a moan of surprise as he kisses you there, open and fluttering for him while he lays on his stomach.

He’s never seen such a pretty pussy. It emboldens him, leaves him brazen and aching for more even though it’s the first time he’s ever seen you this naked. Even though he’s barely even had you, he still needs more.

“Need you so bad it hurts.” Eddie growls, looking up at you with a smirk as you gnaw on your bottom lip. “You’re just… fuck, how did you get this wet? God, you’re unreal, baby… let me? Please? Let me… let me eat it… I’ll do anything…”

Let me. Let me. Let me. It’s his mantra. You’d be lying if you deny that it stirs something animalistic within you.

You nod violently, biting down on your forefinger as he props you up against the wall of the van and parts your knees even further before he’s shoving his face into you. Your hands dart straight into his curls again, pulling and tugging until you’re holding him by a wiry ponytail, watching the eager way he suckles at the bundle of nerves just at the apex of your sex.

Eddie feels like a fucking virgin. Desperate. Impatient. Aggressive. He’s too excited — it displays itself when he slips two digits into your needy slit, taking in how you instantly buck against him. You need him. Need him in the same manner he needs this. His ego fires up as he drives his fingers further, running his tongue over and back and down your clit until your grip on his hair becomes suffocating.

“Having fun down there, h-hm?” You croak. Even with his head buried between your thighs, you’re mischievous, challenging, witty. He’d fuck the brains out of you if he could, but honestly, he isn’t even sure if he could survive one second with his cock in your little fist. “Fuckkk. You’re makin’ me feel so good, Eds…” Your head hits the metal wall, a soft bang that goes unnoticed with all the squelching and creaming as Eddie scissors his fingers.

“You’re so perfect. You’re so perfect, I love the way you look right now, s’fucking hot… could cum just by watching you.”

“Yeah? Just wait — just fucking wait till I suck you off.”

Eddie can’t wrap his thoughts around it. His tongue, his hands, where he’s buried inside you. He’s wanted this, ever since the start of summer, and he’s here with the girl he thought was untouchable — the perfect girl with a perfect, filthy secret that is him.

You’re grinding your mound against his mouth, quivering jaw unhinged in the darkness of his large van. His eyes flicker up to your tits, slick with his spit and your own as a dribble of saliva falls from your lips, tainting your skin.

For once, you aren’t put-together. He’s ripping your façade apart at the seams and leaving nothing to sew back.

“You’re a fucking mess, Y/N… oh, I do this to you?” He’s touching you till you’re vibrating and mewling. He’s lapping every drop of you up, tasting you permanently on his lips as he prods at your clit. “Fuck, honey…” Eddie bites you, hard enough to nurse a bruise on the inside of your thigh. “Please cum for me, yeah? Jus’ look how wet I’ve gotten you, sweetheart… you’re practically — oh, my god… you’re practically gaping… you wanna cum that bad?”

You really can’t help it. Not when he’s cooing at you with that whiny voice, teasing and suggestive as your cunt spasms over his pink knuckles. Your hips rise from the carpet flooring, and Eddie leaves another bite-mark on your stomach as slick trickles out of you. You don’t moan. You don’t scream, nor cry. Just a broken whimper and a restrained, quiet utterance of Eddie’s name beneath your breath.

Somehow, it makes his cock pulse even harder.

He gently kisses your cunt, running a soothing tongue over the bruises he’s left and the dip in where your hip meets your thigh. “Fuck, that was hot.” He smells the aftermath of your orgasm, really smelling you this time, and it ends up driving him nuts. “Oh, Y/N… your pussy…” You follow his gaze, letting out a lewd sound as Eddie admires the puffiness of your folds, swollen and open from his work. You jolt as soon as he tries to spread you. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry, d-didn’t mean to get so damn rough with you. You tasted so fucking nice, s’all.”

“No, I…” You brush his hair away from his face, pushing his bangs aside as he sits up and wedges himself between your knees. “I love rough. I can take it. I can take this.” Your other hand palms him through his jeans, before you’re dipping yourself beneath his waistband, hairs prickling at your skin as you grasp him. “Do you want me to be rough with you, Eds? Because I just… I really, really want your cock, and I… I dunno if I can hold myself back…”

“Oh, you little slut.” He gasps brazenly as you pull his shirt off, eyes wide at your sudden conviction for him, “Take it. Take me, Y/N. I’m all yours, whatever you fucking want.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, baby.”

You smirk, helping him kick off his jeans and boxers. Your cunt pathetically gapes for him once he’s bare, contracting around nothingness as Eddie takes your place against the wall. He leans back, and you just stare — drinking him in the same way he drinks you in. Your puffy nipples, still damp from his spit, your darkened neck a testament to his artistry, your mouth parting in awe as you fit his erect cock into your hand. Barely.

He’s big — lengthwise, and it curves heavily in your grasp as you lean down to pop him between your lips. Eddie nearly knees you, palms flying to cover his face as he desperately cries your name. “Y/N… oh, f-fucking… oh, Jesus…” You rake your nails up and down his thighs, licking a stripe up his manhood as you play with his sopping tip.

You chuckle in amusement around him, “Such a leaky cock. You like that, Eds? Mmm, you messy boy. All this pre-cum and I’ve… aw, I’ve barely touched you. Tell me what feels good, ‘kay?”

“S’all of it… all of it is — it’s good… fuck, words are so… words…” He melts even more as you sheathe him into your mouth, stuttering as he feels you hold back a gag. Your whole body convulses, back arching upwards as Eddie watches you take and take and take. “Oh, Y-Y/N… you just keep — keep getting better and better. Holy shit.” His belly aches with desire, tightening with each bob of your head and every seductive blink of your eyes. “You’re gorgeous. Thought about you.. whenever you’d — mmm, whenever you’d lay out on that darn lawn, what if I took you right there? What if I just… fucked you on that grass…”

“You and your dirty mouth, Munson.” You glare up at him in feigned annoyance, jerking his shaft with fast, purposeful movements. “I think it’s funny… how you pretend like you’re such a nice guy when really, you’re only a perv for me.”

“So what? Are you gonna punish me?” He challenges beadily, tongue poking out between gritted teeth like he could win this fight. “Or are you gonna fuck me, pretty girl?”

And just like that, the air changes. He feels the shift, the veil that falls over your eyes, nothing but sex and his scent running in your mind.

“No, Eds.” You move to straddle his thigh; your bare cunt dragging against his scarred skin. “I’m gonna make you beg.”

You take him into your fist again, stroking him between the generous suction of your lips and the sweep of your tongue. He tastes good to your surprise, and then you’re creating a pool of spit that trickles from his abdomen to his balls.

Messy girl. “Christ, Y/N.”

You release him with an erotic pop! — there’s stringy saliva connecting you to the crown of his cock, your throat is raw, his dick impatient, twitchy and excited. “You wanna fuck me so bad, you can’t even think straight. Look at my hand right now, look how tiny it looks when I hold you…” You grind yourself against his knee, groaning with him as you quicken your pace. Your brows furrow, a wicked grin ghosting itself over your features. “Baby, are you going to cum already?”

“Y/N, don’t s-stop. I’m beggin’ you, please…”

“Oh, you’re begging? This is what you call begging?”

“Please, s’too hard.”

“Too hard? What’s too hard? Me not letting you cum, or…” You give him one good jerk, twisting your fist so that your thumb brushes over his white-coated tip. “… your cock? Because you’re awfully, awfully rock hard right now. I bet it hurts doesn’t it, my love?” My love. His eyes gloss over. Your mouth hugs the shell of his ear. “You wanna cum?”

“Y-Yes…” He near-whimpers. Desperate. “Wanna cum so badly.”

“No.”

You release him for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. His climax dwindles back to square one, and his leg thrashes out in dismay. There’s sweat beading down your forehead, drops forming on Eddie’s brow bone as he scowls at you.

You kiss him, almost like an apology, but Eddie can tell you’re not sorry. Far from it. You enjoy this, enjoy getting him off just to start over and make him beg. Is it so sick that he likes it? The more you stretch this interaction out, the more he gets to touch you. Like now, as you swing your knees on either side of him, his palm gingerly clasping the nape of your neck as he presses your face to his.

“Let me fuck you? Let me be inside?” He pleads, nudging his nose against yours in anguished yearning. He drags his hand over your cheek, enveloping your jaw with outstretched fingers. “Just wanna bury myself inside you and stay there. Don’t even wanna cum anymore, I promise. I promise I’ll fuck you so good, m’not pathetic like the other guys… wanna feel you jus’ dripping on me, Y/N.”

You don’t answer, just gasp into his parted mouth as you line each other up. The angry head of his cock catches on your swell, snagging your clit before his tip lodges itself inside you and he — quite literally — goes rigid. You curse, slowly sinking down his length until your pussy refuses to take more.

“You’re s-so big.”

Eddie feels like he’s going to fucking burst. “Sweetheart,” He pants, panicked and frenzied as you squeeze around him. Your head lolls onto his shoulder, arms thrown around his body as he tangles his slender fingers into your scalp and pulls you impossibly closer to his chest. “Sweetheart, I can feel every p-part of you… you’re so — fuck, just like that, you wet messy thing.” He whines, the curve of your ass coming down against his lap as you keenly bounce on his cock. He meets you with gentle thrusts, your cunt already milking him thin. “Look at you, fuck, you’re loving this.”

“E-Eddie…” Your tits are squished against his pecs, his necklace sandwiching itself between your damp skin. “More. More. Give it…”

“You can’t take it, baby. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I can take it. I can. It’s not enough, I’m telling you.” You rut your hips stubbornly, guiding his palms to your waist before he’s carefully rolling you onto your side and hiking your calf over the tender slope of his shoulder. “S’not nearly enough, Eds.”

“Okay.” He breathes out, inhaling deeply as he slips himself deeper inside you. The stretch stings harshly, flashes of white prickling at the cones of your vision as he splits you raw and wide open. “Is this enough? You fuckin’… god, you perfect whore…” Your spine tingles as Eddie tugs you closer by the hip, ramming himself into you relentlessly. “… such perfect tits, a perfect leaky cunt…” He presses a kiss to your ankle, before flipping you onto your knees so that he can fuck you from behind. He wants to see you, see you flutter for him, feed his sick thoughts and relive the nights where he jerked himself off in this very van in empty parking lots to the idea of you. “… and this perfect ass… another hole waiting to be used, right, Y/N? You’d let me use it, wouldn’t you? If I’m nice enough, I bet you’d let me fuck it…”

Fucking hell.

You cum as soon as he dips the pad of his thumb against the responsive ring of muscle. You both grow feral at the sensation. Soaked. Pussy chafed raw from his cock. You can’t tell whose fluids are whose, if it’s Eddie’s spit or yours, if it’s your juices or his — the embarrassing manner in which your cunt just sucks him in, the tight walls of your ass fluttering around his gentle finger as he drives into you.

How is the van still upright? Eddie doesn’t know.

He’s an Ozzy clusterfuck of strangled, broken sounds and you’re a broken record player of Eddie-Eddie-Eds-Please, I’m cumming!

He doesn’t stop. Even when you’re shaking and bent-half in now missionary, he sheathes himself inside you till his pelvic bone is crushed to your body. “You feel so good, I’m sorry… I can’t — can’t stop, baby…”

“Don’t. Don’t stop, it’s a-alright.” You heave out, interlocking fingers as his glistening cock disappears into your used cunt. “It’s a l-lot, but it’s okay.” Eddie’s body engulfs you, your heels digging into the dimples in his lower back as he pounds into you. “You’re such a good — good boy, fuck…”

“Yeah?” He bites your throat. “Say.” The under-swell of your boob. “It.” Your arm. “Again.”

“Good boy. Such a good boy, fucking me the way I deserve.”

“Fucking you like you’re a slut.”

“Fucking me like I’m not the girl next door…” You chuckle, breathy and airy before he knocks the wind right out of you. “The whole town is gonna call me a w-whore for once.”

“Suits you better.”

You swear your soul leaves your body. You’re dying. You are dead, nearly limp in his fumbling boyish hands as he cradles your head against his chest and wipes the sweat from your eyes like he loves you. His balls slap against your loosened rim, his thumb putting pressure on your clit until you’re frantically pushing him away.

“I can’t cum again. I can’t.” You sob in pleasure, clawing at his tattoos as if they could save you from his insatiable hunger. “Eddie!”

“Need it, need your cum again, Y/N.” Eddie growls, thrusts stuttering and cock pulsating wildly before he’s spitting onto your sex as if you needed to be any more wet. “I-I think you’re so… so fucking cool, you’re just… you’re too good for me, but I fucking adore you.”

I adore you.

You can’t even talk anymore, vocal chords ripped right out of your throat as your stomach cramps, cramps, cramps and then drops to a low point. Crashing. Flatlining. Clenching hopelessly.

You nearly choke Eddie as a hand flies out to touch him, pulling him close as your walls trap him for a second time. Only now, he’s locked in tight, unable to move, unable to go anywhere and he fucking cums immediately because it’s just too inviting. You feel him seeping out of you, painting your holes with his sticky cum as he stills there like a good boy. He grunts against your lips, kissing you poorly as his orgasm eats him alive.

He’s milked. Spent.

Eddie collapses on top of you, one leg jutted straight and the other bent as he embraces you close with his whole weight resting on your frame. How can he already miss something he just had? Gaining your strength, you kiss down his shoulder, fingertips swirling over muscle and scar tissue and ink as the smell of him floors you.

It’s so Eddie. Woody, earthy, with a spicy fresh top note reminiscent of oak moss and a hint of gasoline, dry cedar and herbs. It makes you dizzy in the best way possible. He’s drenched in the girlish smell of sex, sweat and salty but you’re eager to taste him anyways.

My good boy, you think.

“Are you okay?” Your voice comes out raspy and winded, almost sickly but Eddie knows it's a good-sick.

“Yes, yeah. I just… need a sec.”

“Hm, don’t take too long, Munson.” Shit. Is this over already? Just like that? “Might get wet again.”

Oh. It’s a joke.

And he laughs, wheezy and exhausted as he irritatedly tugs his own hair out of his mouth. “You’re gonna be the death of me, ma’am.” He leans back on his hinges to properly look at you, your cheeks rubbed red-raw from his teeth and your abused, achy cunt still stuffed full of his prick. “Are you okay?”

“I’m alive.”

“Barely.”

“Barely.” You repeat heartily, shaking your head at him with a look of bewilderment. “S’gonna hurt when you pull out, you know.”

“Are you telling me to stay here forever?”

“If you admit that you like The Cure, then yes…” You bite your lip, drumming your fingers against his wrist. “… I’ll let you stay there forever.”

Forever. You both push down the giddy, cheesy smiles that threaten to spread across your faces.

“Never. Never ever.” Eddie chuckles. When he tenderly and patiently pulls out, a wet rush slowly floods out of you, his fingers frantically plug you shut — his thick, translucent cum dripping from his knuckles as he selfishly fucks his hot spill back into you like the perv he is. “But that can stay there forever.”

A freak, but not in the way Hawkins thinks.

You melt at the feeling, limbs spasming awkwardly as he spreads himself over your pussy distractedly. His eyes are so goddamn soft, kind, attentive — even when he’s pushing some of it into your poor asshole, he’s still the sweetest guy you’ve ever hooked up with.

He kisses your clit before he lovingly hikes your panties up your legs.

Fucker.

“Did I ruin you, sweetheart? Awfully quiet.”

You scoff, shimmying into your shorts and camisole as Eddie tucks himself back into his boxers. “Just wondering how you expect me to climb back into my window after all that.”

“Who said anything about climbing…” He laughs boisterously, leaning over and fixing the strap of your bra. “What do you say I walk you to the porch, ring that bell and introduce myself to mom and pop?”

You stare at him like he’s crazy.

“Absolutely not, Eddie Munson.”

He finds himself liking the suburbs a lot more.

Only this time, he doesn’t imagine himself surrounded by picket fences and golden retrievers, mailboxes with his last name painted in unreadable cursive or having to mow his front lawn at seven in the fucking morning.

Eddie doesn’t need to when Hawkins’ slice of paradise is just next door.

And he gets to taste it every fucking day and night.

So, fuck it. He’ll climb your window so you don’t have to wobble back to your house with his cum dripping down your leg. He’s a gentleman, railing you in the abandoned parking lot of Starcourt because you can’t handle the embarrassment of getting caught by someone at home. He’ll cover your mouth in the shed in your backyard so the neighbors don’t complain about the howling coyotes that have gone loose in the neighborhood.

God forbid they have coyotes, right?

But really, they should be worrying about the devastatingly gorgeous girl next door and her favorite, good boy with a dwindling hatred for The Cure.

Even though, the album is growing on him.

He’ll never admit that, though.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things fluff #stranger things smut #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things season 4

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bleedingoptimism · 4 months

Text

They hear the ‘ding’ of the elevator as they walk inside the very luxurious building and Robin grabs Steve’s hand and makes them run to the door yelling, “Hold! Please!”

A hand covered in rings and with short nails painted black appears from inside and holds the door for them. They get in as Robin breathes out little ‘thank yous’ under her breath and Steve smiles at the gentleman who helped them. His brows go up a little at how handsome the man is. He’s wearing black dress pants and a black silk shirt under an also black suit jacket. The whole look is expensive and the man wears it very well. With his long curly hair tied at the back of his neck, plus the rings, the nails, and the surprising amount of piercings in his ears, he looks like a rockstar. He has a cute nose and full lips that look very enticing and big beautiful brown eyes that are looking back at him.

Steve smiles once more and nods politely figuring he should stop staring. They have to go up like a billion floors or something so this is going to be a long elevator ride. Probably shouldn’t make their traveling companion uncomfortable.

He distracts himself by looking at Robin, fixing her hair behind her ear. She looks great. Slack pants and a tight dress shirt in grey tones with black suspenders adorned with metal cufflinks. Short hair loose and just the right amount of disheveled and a graphic eyeliner so sharp it could cut you. He would know. He did her makeup. They were asked to dress party chick but professional, which neither of them knew what the hell meant but Steve is pretty sure Robin nailed it. He just hopes he did a good job too.

He’s wearing a white thigh shirt of a soft material he couldn’t for the life of him remember the name of and black dress pants, the ones that fit him like a second skin, paired with a big leather belt, just to add a little extra. He tries to inconspicuously check himself out in the mirrors of the elevator but accidentally meets eyes with the well-dressed man again. Who adverts his gaze quickly and Steve realizes he just caught him checking him out. He smiles to himself and looks down bashfully only to be horrified by what he notices because, his white shirt? The stupid fabric he can’t name? Totally sheer. Well not totally, but a little. Like he can see his nipples right now a little.

Oh my god. Oh my god.

“Robin, we need to go.” he suddenly says grabbing Robin by the back of the elbow.

Robin turns to him previously just nervously watching the floor numbers change and frowns worried, “What? We are already here, Steve! What do mean?”

“I need to go home and change Robin! I can’t-” He whispers to her, although he knows it’s in vain, there’s no way the handsome man isn’t about to hear a very embarrassing conversation.

“We are literally in the elevator. We are not going back home so you can change!” Robin huffs annoyed now that she knows it wasn’t anything more serious, “What’s wrong with your clothes?” she asks pinching his shirt between her fingers.

Steve turns his back to the man and crowds Robin, facing her, “Can you see my nipples?” he asks trying to keep his voice low but he hears a cough that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle behind him.

Robin looks at him like he’s lost his mind but, as always she goes with it, “Yes?”

Steve puts his palms over them and gasps and Robin starts laughing “What are you doing?” she says between giggles at the same time Steve exclaims, “I can’t show our new boss my nipples!”

“Steve, what?! I thought it was on purpose! You know, just a peek, a little chess hair, a little nipple.” Robin says still laughing but stops when she sees Steve is looking actually distressed.

She huffs and runs her hands up and down his arms comfortingly.

“Why would I want to show them my nipples!” Steve groans and Robin shrugs.

“It’s sexy? We were asked to dress for a party”

“Why would I want to look sexy for work?” Steve asks again, still trying to convince Robin to let him go home and change.

But Robin tilts her head to the side, “But you can’t turn that off, though? Like, you are always sexy.”

Instantly his mood changes and he smiles and coos at her, “Aww, that’s so sweet, babe! But you are biased…”

Robin scoffs at being babied and raises an eyebrow, “How am I biased?”

“Because you love me!” Steve answers like it’s obvious. And Robin nods as if taking in the information.

“Okay. I see your biases and I raise you the following point: It’s objective. Because I’m a lesbian.”

Steve laughs, but he’s not the only one. For a second, Steve had forgotten they had an audience member. A very handsome audience member. He blushes, the guy must think he’s such an idiot. But at least he thinks they are funny. He turns back to his side and smiles at him again.

But Robin suddenly jumps a little beside him, like she had just noticed him, and says, “Stranger! Opinion?”

“Rob, no-” Steve starts but Robin leans over him to talk to the man, “Shirt. Good? Bad?” She says moving her hands in front of Steve as if she was showcasing him. Steve blushes some more and tries to keep a neutral face. So he ends up just white-man smiling awkwardly.

The man chuckles again and then looks at Steve from top to bottom and back again, “You look good,” he says smirking.

And Steve's blush deepens. But Robin either doesn’t notice or is enjoying it, because she keeps questioning him, “Good. What are thinking? Slutty or sexy?”

The man leans his head to the side, his eyes roaming over Steve's chest and Steve has to resist the urge to cover his nipples again.

“It’s sexy.” he says, voice deep and serious as if this was an important conversation and not Robin and Steve being dumbasses, “Like, sophisticated sexy.”

Steve shakes himself to try to make his blush go away and addresses the man, “I- well, thank you, first. And second, I’m sorry you were dragged into this. But would you want to look sexy meeting your new boss?” he asks him.

He taps his chin in thought and then says, “Your friend is right though, are already here. Just don’t flirt with them and you'll be fine!”

At that Steve purses lips and Robin snorts rudely. “That might be a problem,” she says.

The man laughs surprised and Steve can’t help but think he has a really nice laugh, “How?” he asks them.

“Steve has a little miscommunication problem,” Robin explains, “When he tries to be charming people think he's flirting.”

Steve crosses his arms and huffs making the few locks that fall on his forehead lift a bit and fall back down, “I have no idea what I’m doing wrong! I’m just trying to be nice..”

The man is looking at him with raised eyebrows and he blinks a couple of times before snickering, “Looks like your friend is right, again. You just can’t turn sexy off, uh?”

Robin laughs really hard at that and Steve goes back to full tomato status.

“I could've tried!” he says, not even sure what are they arguing about anymore.

“How?” Robin asks him amused.

“I don’t know, a big sweater? Something knitted, comfy?” he tries but they both shake their head at him.

“That sounds sexy too,” The man says and Steve frowns,

“Literally. How?”

“It gives off fuck vibes. Like you are really fuckable,” he says, and then his eyes go wide and he bites his lips.

Robin’s eyes go wide too and she snorts, looking at Steve who is just staring at the guy with his mouth hanging slightly open.

“Sorry!” the man says, raising his hands in mock surrender, “That was so out of line- I- oh! Saved by the bell it seems,” he says when the elevator dings, “This is my floor”

The doors open and Argyle and Jon are on the other side and Steve realizes, this is also their floor.

“Eddie!” Argyle says as the man moves towards him and they shake hands enthusiastically.

“Steve, Robin” Jon greets them with a smile as they slowly walk out of the elevator, watching Eddie’s deer-in-the-headlights expression.

“Ah! I hope you had a pleasant elevator ride and didn’t do anything awkward!” Argyle jokes completely oblivious, “I’m a little sad I didn’t get to introduce you guys!”

“...What do you mean?” Robin asks with a forced smile.

“Steve, Robin: This Eddie Munson!” Argyle says moving behind Steve and Robin and hugging them by the shoulders so they stand directly in front of Eddie, “Your new boss!”

#stranger things #steddie #meet cute #but awkward #kinda #i wrote something #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #steve is bringing sexy back (yeah)#eddie doesnt know how to act (yeah)

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bunni-v1 · 8 months

Note

hii, can I request "First Years Finding Out Your A Girl" with sebek and ortho please?

Ortho and Sebek Find out You’re a Girl?!?!?! (NOT CLICKBAIT!!!)

TW: Swearing (as usual lol); Ortho being creepy; Misogyny mention <3; Reader goes by she/her and is biologically female; Book 6 spoilers (very light, but still there); Bunni hasn't read Book 7 and therefore doesn't know what they're talking about :)

Info: Ortho x Reader; Sebek x Reader; Fem!Reader; Platonic

🍓Hi. If you’ve read the first part of this, I copy pasted the intro. Not because I’m lazy or anything (I’m a little lazy, but I’m a full-time college student who also has a part-time job, so I think I can be excused.) It’s mostly because… It’s a good intro. If people are just discovering this stuff then they can read it, but if you’ve read the first part you can just skip to the good good yk. Anyway, long-ass babble session, but I didn’t include Ortho and Sebek initially because they’re kind of new to the First year group so idk. Felt weird including them. Also, I haven’t read book seven so Sebek I bullshit a lot lol. Anyway, they’re here now, and I absolutely ADORE Ortho, so sorry if my favoritism shows.

First Years

Second Years

Third Years

Dorm Leaders

-Okay so, I know we’re all wondering, how the hell do you get away with hiding your gender for so damn long?

-Firstly, those ceremonial robes do great at hiding the figure. The only tell would maybe be your hair, but feminine men aren’t unwelcome at Nightraven College, so you mostly get a few questioning stares and that’s it.

-Secondly, Crowley wants to save his own fucking ass. He already has to hide from the press that he has a MAGICLESS student from ANOTHER DIMENSION here, he doesn’t need the fact that you are a woman ALSO on his plate. So, obviously, he helps you hide your gender from others.

-Grim knows, of course, and he keeps his mouth shut for a few yummy cans of tuna (and threats of being expelled from Crowley <3)

-Even when you were just a janitor, he couldn’t have the rumor that he put a “helpless” young woman to work. (Like it wouldn’t be expected.)

-So how do you two do it?

-Baggy ass uniform. Crowley gave you at least three sizes too big.

-Your figure is completely hidden. Sure, you look completely homeless, but at least you’re hidden.

-For your voice, you simply deepen it. After some point, you blackmail Crowley into giving you a potion to help with it, since it's so taxing on your voice. (Or maybe your voice is naturally deep!)

-Sam provides you (for an unfairly pretty penny (not too different from your original world…)) any feminine hygiene products you might need.

-Honestly, you’re set for being cared for, but it’s the adjustment period that’s the hardest part.

-Truly, it’s very jarring to suddenly be thrown into both a magical world and be isolated in a man's world with nowhere to hide.

-At least in your world you had other women who could understand your struggles. Here though? You’re completely alone.

-You notice how… messy some of these guys could be. How some of them smell… really rancid. -How rough they were with you and each other.

-Honestly, it’s kinda eye-opening. The way men show affection to each other is oddly refreshing to watch and experience!

-Ace and Deuce specifically are a good… trial run.

-That’s not what we’re here to talk about though…

-For the most part, it's incredibly easy to hide yourself for the first while on campus. Everyone on campus is so self-absorbed that they don’t bother questioning you.

-Your only real risk factor is Savannaclaw, but it's easy to avoid those guys (minus Jack, of course).

-However, you can only hide your gender for so long… It’s mentally draining to keep up this facade all the time around people you care about.

-So… how do they find out?

Ortho

-Okay, so Ortho is a little creepy weirdo. He’s a highly advanced robot who likely has autism, and loves his big brother a whole fucking lot.

-(Side note: Can a robot, child, or thing have autism? Does that mean Idia programmed Ortho to be autistic? How silly of him.)

-It’s my personal head cannon that Idia DECKED this kid out in as much high-tech gear as he could get his hands on.

-He’s equipped with some of the most complex medical features, therefore he has access to a database of all students at NRC’s medical files. (This is not legal, but he does not care for the law.)

-“But Bunni, what does that have to do with the prefect?” Well, Ortho is ALSO equipped with the latest medical scanner on the market.

-Think like Baymax, yeah? He can scan everyone one time and know every piece of medical knowledge readily available.

-Well, Ortho, the sweet little creep he is, automatically scans the medical information of any new person he sees/meets into his database — just in case it may come in handy.

-So, before he even KNOWS you. Before he speaks a single word to you, he knows you’re biologically a female.

-He scanned you without thinking and just shrugged his shoulders at it.

-You’re not from here, and you got thrown into this, so you being a woman doesn’t really matter too much to you being at NRC.

-It honestly could’ve been anyone getting stuck here, so why should he question it?

-However, he notices that you are referred to with exclusively “male” pronouns, so he marks in your file that you are trans and moves on.

-Again, who cares? He’s a magical robot guy based on his brother's dead brother. Who was he to judge?

-When he finally ACTUALLY gets to interact with you after being welcomed into the first-year squad, he’s very respectful of your gender.

-You are a man to him, therefore he refers to you with exclusively masculine pronouns.

-However, everyone in your little group already knows, and they assume that Ortho knows. So when they speak about you, they use feminine pronouns.

-Ortho, sweet as he is, immediately questions everyone as to why they’re misgendering you.

-Protective of the people he cares for at heart, he doesn’t like the idea that your so-called closest friends are misgendering you behind your back.

-Doesn’t believe them completely when they explain, so he goes to you because you’re the only one who knows who you really are.

-“Prefect!”

“Hey, Ortho! What’s up? Miss me?”

“Of course I do, but I have a very important question.”

“Sure, what do ya need?”

“Are you a woman?”

-At this point 90% of your friends know, but there is a handful that doesn’t… and you can’t be having that.

-You, of course, assure Ortho that you are not only a woman, but that your friends are not misgendering you behind your back.

-Relieved, he takes several of your friends off a hit list and removes the trans man label on your medical chart.

-Asks why you hid your gender in the first place.

-Promptly adds Crowley to a hit list (again).

-Ortho, out of EVERYONE at NRC, has absolutely zero behavior changes toward you.

-He’s equally protective as he was before, he spends the same amount of time with you as usual, he doesn’t suddenly have some weird crush on you, and he’s still trying to set you up with Idia.

-Honestly, everyone should take notes from Ortho. He’s the best at this whole thing.

Sebek

-On the other hand… do not take notes from Sebek! He sucks at this! He sucks really badly!

-Out of all the first years, Sebek is not only the least close to you, but he is also incredibly mean. So you just… feel no obligation to tell him.

-In fact, you kind of… sort of… actively leave him out of the loop for a really long time.

-I mean, it's not an unreasonable thing to do. He is constantly berating you and putting you down for being human. You have no idea how he feels about women and you don’t want to find out first hand.

-In all honesty, he is the only person (other than Azul and the twins) that you’re really scared of finding out, and take extra precautions to ensure he doesn’t find out.

-However, you attend NRC, and nothing ever goes your way at NRC.

-Despite every precaution you take to keep your gender under lock and key, you overlook one thing.

-Malleus Draconia.

-His complete and total lack of social awareness is your downfall here. He finds out, and despite everything telling him to keep his mouth shut… he doesn’t. Because of course, he doesn’t.

-At this point, you’ve gone through most of your misadventures, and most — if not all — of your friends know you’re a girl.

-Hell, even Silver knows now. Everyone BUT Sebek knows.

-And he finds out because Malleus casually mentions it over dinner. Not even directly about your gender, he just uses she/her pronouns.

-Sebek, being Sebek, respectfully asks Malleus if he meant to say he. Malleus, of course, says no without a second thought.

-The shock and horror on Silver and Lilia’s faces was enough to be further confirmation.

-And Sebek’s world shatters.

-He was completely left out of the loop and also has a moral conflict now.

-As much shit, as I gave Sebek (as everyone gives Sebek) he RESPECTS women. His queen is a woman, and his mother is a woman.

-In his eyes, women are some of the strongest people around. Regardless of if they’re human or not.

-You, on top of being a human from another realm who had successfully quelled several of the strangest students at NRC’s OVERBLOTS and came out on top, was also a woman.

-If that wasn’t strength, he didn’t know what it was.

-However, his bias against humans strongly clashes with his respect for women in this case.

-And it just… messes with his head.

-He doesn’t treat you worse, in fact, he’s just… really awkward around you now.

-He doesn’t know if he should apologize or berate you for being a human, so he just stays stiff and glares at you.

-It's honestly more scary than him constantly talking down to you.

-However, once the two of you actually befriend one another, he apologizes to you. For everything, and explains where he’s coming from. Why he acted the way he did, how he really feels about you, and all that sweet shit.

-Afterwards, he is genuinely the best at keeping your secret (if he even needs to at this point).

-If there is anyone you can trust to keep his stupid mouth shut at NRC, it's Sebek.

-His honor and pride force him into silence when it comes to secrets he promises to keep.

-In fact, if anyone is on your trail about it, he’s the first one to jump in the way and scare them off/shut them down.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #x reader #twst headcanons #bunni's treats 🧁#ortho shroud #ortho shroud x reader #sebek zigvolt #sebek zigvolt x reader

2K notes · View notes

kissitbttr · 2 months

Note

your mafia!toji fic got me thinking so hard abt him😭😭 he’s deffo the type to just buy you sm stuff as an apology but when you don’t forgive him and sleep in a different bedroom mf will come into the room on his knees and beg for you to come to sleep 😩😩 imagine still saying no and him just flipping you onto his shoulders and carrying you to bed 🤭

oh you are absolutely correct!

“darling” toji softly calls you, letting out a tired sigh. “i said i was sorry. what am i supposed to do?”

“die” she replies nonchalantly, shoulders shrugging before grabbing a pillow and your favorite blanket off the bed,

he snickers, looking over at her with a raised eyebrow. “now, now that would be over dramatic don’t you think? won’t you miss me?”

he almost pisses his pants when she throws him a glare,

“okay. no jokes. got it” he put his hands up in surrender, feeling absolutely terrified at his baby being mad and speaking less than two words to him,

if anyone ever finds out that the most feared and notorious man in the city being tamed by his woman, he would never hear the end of it,

but she is scary. can you blame him?

toji looks over at the designer shoes and bags he just purchased a few hours ago, tucked neatly in the corner. untouched by her.

guess the apology gifts aren’t working,

“i didn’t know that she was coming, i haven’t even talked to her in years! never planned to anyway, you know i only got my eyes for my girl, right?”

she tries so hard not to roll her eyes,

toji had a meeting with one of the cartels at the club earlier that night. and of course, she always goes. it’s where he can always keep an eye on her and refuses to leave her at home all alone because he can’t risk that. also, because she’s his good luck charm. whenever she’s around, deals always goes well,

tonight was an exception though,

all was well until a certain person decided to crash. his old fling. one before he met his precious girlfriend. the red haired thought that it would be fun to press her fake ass tits against toji,

y/n was shocked to say at least. she didn’t say anything but her face spoke thousand words. toji could see that. throwing daggers at the bitch, corner of her lips quirk into a form of disgust.

and the worst part was? toji didn’t do anything about it! can you believe that asshole?!

something about being absolutely unprofessional if he was ever to push her off and it ticked y/n to the fucking bone so she decided to ignore him the rest of the night,

toji feels defeated when she chooses not to respond, simply just taking her stuff. he crouches lightly to look at her pretty face clearly. “baby… can you please look at me? I can’t stand seeing you mad. i’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you”

if it was any circumstances, sure she would melt and jump in his arms. but tonight is different. how could he?

she looks up at him and whisper “fuck. you” before turning around angrily and walk out of the door to go sleep on the guest room,

toji groans, the heel of his palms pressing against his eyes. she has always been so stubborn. too fucking stubborn. exactly why he had to get rejected seven times before she accepted his date.

what? he needed to get humbled, so she gave him that.

he contemplate for a while whether or not he should let her be or not. then he chooses the latter. it would probably be best if he let her cool off some steam for a while, he doesn’t want to do any more damage or make her feel more annoyed by his presence,

bet. not even ten minutes later, he feels like losing his mind without her here.

“fuck this shit” he mutters, getting up from the bed. rubbing his face furiously before stomping towards the other side of the room,

he walks in without knocking, ready to say what he needs to say again. yet he stops. heart clenching at the sight of his girl curled up in bed, back facing him.

“love?” he slowly walks over to her laying figure,

“go away” she speaks. now in a softer tone

“please” he begs, walking around the bed and catching a glimpse of her playing with her pink manicured hands. “sweetheart. I’m sorry” he repeats, going down to her eye level before letting his hand moves to rest on her bare thigh. he’s internally relieved when she doesn’t push him off,

he sighs when she’s not looking at him, seemingly only focused on the nails that she had gotten done a week ago.

“i should’ve pushed her off. shouldn’t let her touch me like that. hell, i shouldn’t even let her breathe near me. i know that” he realizes his mistake. “i didn’t even think about what my girl needed. i was being a horrible boyfriend”

no answer,

he sighs again, refusing to look away from her pretty eyes,

“baby—“

“i heard you the first time. leave. and close the door”

toji is taken aback. fuck. she really is mad at him.

“you don’t mean that”

“uhm, yes i do” she retorts in an obvious tone, sassily raising her eyebrow before scooting a bit further from him. she doesn’t realize this but it makes his heart break,

“princess, i swear-“

“go call that girl back to keep you company. let that fucking bitch sleep by your side” she mutters, looking at the tv instead of him,

he can’t take this anymore,

“you know what? that’s it” toji had enough, he will not be sleeping alone and neither will she. standing up on his feet, his hands reach out to circle around her ankles before tugging her body towards him causing her to yelp,

“toji! what the fuck are you doing-oh!” her voice gets cut off the moment he pulls her body up like she weighs nothing. throwing her over his shoulder. “put me down!” her fists start to hitting his back—as if they’re actually hurting him— legs swinging back and forth

“nope” he answers, keeping a firm grip around her waist before swatting her ass, locking the guest room behind him and walking back to their shared one. “you’re driving me crazy, woman—not saying that i hate it, but i’m pretty fucking beat tonight and we are going to sleep together. so stop fighting me”

she huffs, admitting defeat and letting him carry to the bed. “fuck you, toji”

he smirks at that. “oh i will, baby”

#mafia!toji #toji x reader

905 notes · View notes

retrievablememories · 6 months

Text

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

#jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fic #bts smut #bts x you #bts x reader #black reader #x black reader #x black fem reader #black fem reader #fem reader #female reader

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flamingpudding · 7 months

Text

Fictober23 Prompt: 8 - "Give me that, before anything happens."

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: G

Warnings: -

"Don't touch that." Constantine said without even looking up from the book he was reading through for research. Phantom had joined the Justice League dark only recently and was still in that sort of mentor - glorified babysitting - state. It was just his luck that he lost in the stick draw and had now to 'mentor' the who-knows-how-old-he-truly-is Ghost King.

He should have stuck this job to Zatanna. The 'kid' was curious as a cat and apparently wanted to touch every good damn artifact in the House of Mysteries that Constantine had ever gotten his hands on.

"Don't touch that either." The Brite muttered without looking up, he was so close in figuring out the actual meaning of the curse placed on a good damn church bell that causes everyone who hears it to fall asleep at midnight sharp and wake up at 8 AM later like nothing happened. Behind his back Phantom stuck his tongue out at the man before reaching out to poke the artifact that caught his eye anyway. However the House of Mysteries had other ideas as it reconstructed itself at the right moment and put the artifact further away from Phantom.

The Ghost King pouted, crossing his arms and floated over to where Constantine was pouring over a curse seal. Phantom hummed as he looked over the Brites shoulder grinning. "Oh I didn't know you could use ghost speech for curses!"

"Say what now mate?!" John's head snapped to the side to stare at Phantom who was now floating over his shoulder. "It's in ghost speech? What even is that?"

The Ghost King had the nerve to give him an unimpressed stare that really made the Brite need a smoke, but he had given Zatanna his good damn word not to smoke around the 'kid', so that was a no.

"Ghost speech. The language of the Infinite Realms also known as the Ghost Zone, After Life, Hell, Home of the Damned, and so on and so on." Constantines eye twitched as the Ghost boy shrugged. He let out a suffering sigh and pushed his copie of the curse seal over to Phantom.

"What does it say?" The other blinked for a moment before turning his eyes to the photo. A scratching static white noise filled the Brite's ears and he yelped in pain, covering his ears. The noise instantly stopped and Contantine glared at the Ghost King who sheepishly scratched the back of his neck. "Sorry, I will say it again in English."

Constantine only grumbled something inaudible before motioning for the other to continue.

"You idiots don't sleep enough. Go and get at least eight hours of sleep. If you don't sleep by midnight I will be the one to make you sleep."

"The hell?"

"That's what's written there."

"Don't tell me we have another good damn Sandman problem on our hands." John gripped with one hand at his hair, he really hoped that wasn't it because dear good he did not want to get Batman or one of the other Not Dark heros involved.

"Nah, he goes by Nocturne, he never liked that name some philosophers came up with. But this does go against the agreement I had with him."

Was this how Batman felt when his Robins went against his orders? Or how the mentors of the Yonge Justice feel when the teens sass back? Because Constantine was sticking this ancient kid of a Ghost King onto Zatanna the next change he got.

"You know how to lift that curse then?" Instead of going further into a rabbit hole, Constantine decided it was easier to just find out if the Ghost King can lift a good damn curse he had been working on solving for days now instead of finding out who the hell Nocturne was now.

"Of course I know." Phantom answered easily, floating on his back around the room like he was going with the flow of water. Glowing green eyes going along the shelves where various books and artifacts were thrown on, in no particular order.

"Great. Let's go and fix this then." The man muttered, getting up from his chair and grabbing his coat. "I need a bottle of whiskey after this and a good damn smoke…"

Phantom just followed behind the man ready for his second official job with the Justice League Dark. He grinned happily of finally getting some outside action only to come to a sudden halt as the Brite man whirled around glaring at the Ghost King only inches from his the other.

"Phantom?"

"Yes?" The 'kid' answered nervously.

"Give me that, before anything happens. How often did I tell you NOT to touch anything of the artifacts? Do you even know what that thing does!"

Reluctantly like a reprimanded child the Ghost King handed over a golden plate with a glowing green crystal embedded into it, Constantine remembered it being the leftover part of a demon they had banished. The man narrowed his eyes. "The other one too."

"Fine…" Phantom handed over a crystal zepter, John had picked up from an ancient tomb. "Didn't think you noticed me picking them up, since you didn't say anything before I even touched them."

"Mate, you are forgetting who currently owns this house."

#fictober23 #danny fenton #danny phantom #dp x dc #dpxdc #crossover #dcxdp #john constantine #justice league dark #Danny is getting Mentored by the JL Dark #Constantine got the short stick of the draw #He has to take care of Danny for some time #danny is a little shit #and chaos gremlin #Constantine despite knowing Phantom is a ghost king is still sorta rude #the 'kid' joined the JLD John will give enough respect to not cause their dimension harm #Nocturne cursed some humans

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toxicanonymity · 9 months

Note

Stepdad!joel stepdad!joel stepdad!joel stepdad!joel stepdad!joel 🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤

Amazon 📦

2700, stepdad!Joel x f!reader. Stepdad Master List

New: BONUS SNAPCHATS, and one more (what if)

Ty for always ID-ing stepdad in the wild @gracieispunk including this pic ILYSM!!

SUMMARY: You give Joel the cold shoulder. He's sad and horny and finds a way to get your attention with a gift. He snapchats you a lot. A/N: Shout-out to @scratchietella (cum ask). WARNINGS: I8+, POV alternates twice, jacking off, stepcest, degradation, angst, reflection on cheating, a bit of whump and a hint of reader dacryphilia. Joel comes a lot (7x or so?), and I spelled it the short way for disambiguation. NO use of Y/N.

After you let Joel give you head, he thinks he’s back in your good graces despite cheating with your mom. But as soon as Joel leaves your room, you must be putting on your clothes. Because within less than a minute, you call Jacques on your way downstairs-–in earshot–to apologize on Joel's behalf for rushing him out.

Joel follows you downstairs, but your Mom is on her way in. You go out the front door, and when your Mom walks in from the garage, Joel is standing at the kitchen with his hair all messed up from running his hands through it in distress. He doesn’t know if you’re going to Jacques’s, back to your apartment, or out, but he doesn’t like it. Joel knows he has no right to tell you anything, but that doesn’t stop him from calling you. You don’t answer.

Your Mom isn’t home for long. She goes right back out, at which point Joel goes straight to his dresser to retrieve both pairs of your panties: The pair you gagged him with after he gave you a ride home, and the pair you stuffed in his pocket in the kitchen on Thanksgiving. The ones from the car are already ruined by his own cum, but the ones from Thanksgiving are all you.

Joel lies on the bed and lubes up his cock, still hard from eating you out. He puts on his glasses and looks at the screenshots he took of you before he knew Snapchat was telling on him. He whimpers as he strokes himself.

After a minute of looking at your scandalous photos, he feels pathetic for clinging to such a tiny morsel of you when he needs it all. He tosses his phone aside, closes his eyes, and smothers his face with your panties as he strokes himself. He takes in deep breaths and he grunts and moans into them, and his hips involuntarily flex like his fist might as well be you.

For the thousandth time, he imagines putting an end to his misery by just fucking your shit up. Busting in your door, grabbing you by the throat slamming you against the wall. Shoving his tongue down your throat and his hand between your legs. Tearing your clothes off as you whimper his name. Then taking you to bed, only so he can put you on your back and spread you wide open.

He'd memorize the folds of your dripping cunt as it twitches and begs for his tongue. Flip you over and shove himself in without warning, making you mewl as his girth splits you in two. Pounding you. Spanking you. Yeahh, just railing into your needy whore cunt as you whimper under him. He sees your face screwing up as he cums inside you with a harsh grunt, finally giving you what you wanted all this time, a cunt full of his load.

Cut to his own fist full of it on his bed. As he lies there breathing, the shame sets in. Not only the stepcest shame, but also the knowledge that he'd never have the balls to do any of that. It’s barely believable enough to get off to. And then the guilt sets in – the guilt of what he did, how he fucked things up with you. He feels guiltier about this than he felt for cheating on your Mom. He feels like he cheated on you.

He puts away the evidence and washes his hands. Then he stares at your text convo. He has to figure out how to make things right.

You don't respond to a single text or snap for the next week or so, and you don’t come back to the house either. Joel feels even more desperate. He’d do anything, if he only knew what might help. He needs something to get your attention. He doesn’t sleep with your Mom, and your Mom doesn’t care. She doesn’t even bring it up. He’s pretty sure she’s having an affair anyway. Brazenly. For her to confront Joel about his lack of interest would be to risk Joel confronting her about the affair. Joel isn't sure if it’s physical or just emotional, but it doesn’t matter much. He’s over it.

Joel thinks about you at night and wonders if you think about him, too. He envisions what you might look like, thinking of him. He imagines you with your spine arched, toy between your legs, closing your eyes, just soaking your sheets as you sigh his name. One night, he’s picturing this, really choking his cock. He groans then sighs as he cums into his fist. And then, when he’s recovering from his climax, that’s when it hits him. How to get your attention.

—---------

You’re lying on the couch watching TV. You’re distracted. Joel’s outreach has been ambiguous so far. He hasn’t said anything about your mom. He hasn’t begged for pictures, much less for another chance. He’s only begged for forgiveness, over text. You haven’t opened his snapchats because you don't want to be reminded about what he did. You don’t want a serious talk or a lecture or god forbid details. You don’t even want a sincere apology, unless it’s in the interest of fucking you.

You get a notification that you have a package at the leasing office and sigh in exasperation that you have to make the trip there when it's probably not even yours. You aren't expecting anything, but sure enough, it has your name on it.

It’s a vibrator. Your heart races when you read the gift message. “Thinking of you. A lot. I’m sorry. J.” Unwanted butterflies swarm in your chest and you try to bat them away. He even included an extra pack of batteries. How. . . thoughtful. Smart, too, because if it were rechargeable, you’d never plug it in. It would feel like an admission of forgiveness. But since it’s battery-operated, you can just pull the battery tab as soon as you get horny. And of course you do. You lay on the sofa where you and Joel hooked up before and you take the toy for a spin. His ploy is working, you’re thinking of him, and you’re too horny to care.

You finally open his snapchats. They're a mix of horny and pathetic videos. They start off horny, just showing you a bulge in his pants or he's jacking off with your panties.

Video: Then something non-sexual. A closeup where he’s just looking at you with messy hair, puppy dog eyes, and dark circles. “Talk to me. Yell at me, I don’t care. I'll take anything.”

Video: Then horny. Palming himself over his joggers. Whining your name in a whisper. “Please.” His desperation turns you on.

Video: A sad one the same night. He's sweating, looking like a little more of a mess, forehead glistening, catching his breath. "Don't throw this away." He breathes for a few more seconds.

Video: Another sad one another day where he doesn’t really say anything but his face says it all. He looks awful, as if he’s not sleeping. Red eyelids, might have been crying. He starts to say something, “I—” he takes a deep breath. Then he shakes his head, looks up and it cuts off.

Video: A horny one that must have been the same night. He looks the same, but his reddened eyes look hungry. His lips are parted and he's taking in a shaky breath with his arm moving slowly off screen. "I just miss you." He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He turns the camera down where his clothed erection sticking straight up in his joggers, just jutting into the air. His hand pushes it down and he slowly grabs it.

You leave his snaps on "seen," not even beginning to reply. Then a few minutes later he sends a new one. A minute after that, another one. You leave those unseen for the time being.

—------------

Joel sees you open the old snaps. That's progress, he thinks, and boldly assumes you open them when you’re horny. When he starts to second guess that assumption, he gets self conscious and thinks it might be for the better that you don’t open the last two snaps. They might have been too much. . .

Video: He’s sitting in his office chair in front of a full length mirror. He’s manspreading and his joggers are hugging him in a way that emphasizes his bulge. His big, veiny hand is slowly rubbing his inner thigh, getting closer and closer to where he desperately wants your touch. He says, “Ya know,” (deep breath) “I should be doin’ that for you.” Then he palms his arousal and says, “Ahh, fuck it.”

Video: A few minutes later, he’s slouched down in the chair. His T-shirt is pulled up well over his belly button and his hand around his cock. After just a few wet strokes, he sighs loudly as he cums all over his abdomen. It’s a lot of cum, like six or seven ropes. Then his stomach rises and falls with heavy breaths for a few seconds before he ends the video.

He’s grateful for the glimmer of hope but still beating himself up. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s not even sure what you want. At times, it feels like a losing battle. He’s not even sure what you feel. At some point he thought he knew, on some level. He thought you both knew, the moment you kissed, it felt like there was something electric neither of you could articulate but both of you knew.

It felt more than skin deep, but he couldn’t say where it went within either of you. He still can’t say. It’s not like you were in love. Certainly not batting eyelashes at each other or making future plans. Half the time you were bickering. But there was something there. Even if it was only physical, it was deep in your bones and something made it electric.

The further it gets from that moment, the more he wonders what you ever wanted. Is he your play thing? Do you get off on torturing him? Did you genuinely enjoy chatting with him? Do you get off on sneaking around or would you be into him if you knew each other a different way?

He pushes those thoughts away and keeps coming back to the physical spark between you. The hunger in your eyes. Your persistence. He wants both of you to take a leap of faith–not into a relationship–but a leap backward to the beginning. This all burned down and needs to be rebuilt from the ground up. If he lets it cool and builds it right, maybe it can become something better. Abstaining from other people feels like a good start. He can’t think about whether you’re seeing anyone else or it keeps him up at night.

—-----

The next day, you’re horny again. You get comfortable and turn on your new toy. You tell yourself opening his snaps doesn’t mean anything. You don’t have to respond. It won’t have any effect on you. But when you watch those two in his office, and oh, God. It takes you no time flat to cum, and cum hard. You don’t say anything back to him. He texts you, “did you like that?” and you don’t respond. He continues, “if not i’ll stop, sorry. Lmk.” You don’t let him know anything at all. You stay radio silent.

Over the next couple of weeks, he keeps snapchatting you. Even if you don’t open it that night, he knows you might go on a spree and open several in a row, probably when you’re using his gift.

Video: It’s a computer screen with your insta pulled up. He’s at the desk in his bedroom, the one where you found him jacking off to your pictures a few of months ago. He points the camera down at his lap and he’s wearing gray boxer briefs you didn’t know he had. You see the very clear outline of his hard cock atop his thigh, straining to burst out of them. “See what ya do to me.” He runs his hand down it with a low sigh.

Video: A few minutes later, selfie mode, breathing heavily. Hand wrapped around his shiny cock, stiff and swollen. He fists himself at a beat that’s becoming as irregular as his ragged breaths. He grunts as he thrusts into his hand. “Oh, fuck—oh—-ohhh fuck, I–nngg–” He devolves into a groan as he erupts in his hand. It shoots back toward the camera. It takes a good thirty seconds of him moaning and sighing and catching his breath before he’s finally done emptying his balls.

Video: He’s on his bed, rear camera facing his lap. cock and his hand gliding wetly up and down it. “I can’t believe. . .” (heavy breathing) “-oh, fuck—I–I can’t --I can't believe,” (moan) “I ever turned you down.” (long, drawn out orgasmic groan).

Photo: Close-up of his lap with a boner. His hand resting at his groin. His hand has no business being that hot. Caption: How’s silicone joel treating you.” You roll your eyes and begrudgingly smile just a little as you use the silicone joel and quickly tap for the next snap.

Video: He’s in the office again, standing in front of the full length mirror. He’s in boxer briefs and his thighs swell out from them. No shirt. He pans so you can see him head to toe, shirtless. Then he relaxes back in the chair, manspreading. The snap ends and it cuts to the next one.

Video: Now he’s breathing fast, stroking his raging erection feverishly in the next one “Ohh-nng-Oh–God–Fu–” (moan) “Fffuuuck” (loud, low sigh). Stringy white ropes rocket onto his abdomen as he shudders loudly and strokes himself slower. You rewatch this one multiple times and count seven real ropes before it’s just gurgle. Seven.

You think about getting your ipad out and taking a video of this one for later use, but you accidentally tap for next. By now, he's completely unashamed.

Video: He’s in his car. You can only see his lap, and the ample bulge in his joggers. “Had to pull over.” He scoots the seat back, rubs himself slowly, breathing heavily. “Just thinkin’ about” (low sigh) “the way you came all over my mouth” He pulls his waistband down, spits on his cock, then sighs loudly. That snap ends, and in the next one--

Video: He's just cumming–really hard. It’s his fist around his cock. “Oh, fuck,” (a gasp, then a soft, ragged groan) “Fu–” he cuts himself off with a long sigh as he cums into a t-shirt. You can’t see the cum but know it’s a lot. You see his cock twitch and his hips lift as he sighs again.

Photo: His big, masculine hand is holding a peach. Caption: Every fkn thing reminds me of you.

All this time, you’re still not responding. Not so much as a thumbs up or sweating emoji. But you keep watching them, day after day, until one day, he doesn’t send any. You use the toy and just think about him, envisioning his videos, and replaying your encounters. You don’t just think about him jacking off, you think about him crying, too, and that turns you on just as much. You picture him crying and jacking off and you cum instantly. Then you feel kinda bad.

In your post-nut clarity, that’s when you realize you’re pretty much ready to move on from it. Because you start to worry. Maybe he’s had enough of the games. Maybe he’s given up. Maybe you shouldn’t have punished him like this. It was fucked up, so fucked up, but the memory will fade. You detached enough in the moment that it's not that vivid to begin with.

Joel is married. He’s always been married. That's why he was always saying no. They kissed in front of you days before. Instead of insisting on a conversation, within sixty seconds you were putting your panties in his pocket. Then you made a pass at him, and he got you off on the kitchen counter. Then you kissed.

That kiss. It was so loaded. Packed full of tension and potential. A glimpse of what could be had. There's no doubt in your mind the sex would be explosive.

If Joel hasn’t given up, maybe this interlude got you a little closer to what you want, somehow. There's only one way to find out.

—-----

BONUS SNAPCHATS

the silicone Joel

STEPDAD MASTER LIST - Fandango has the most advanced smut

—-----

THANK YOU for reading and engaging. Your reblogs and comments mean so much to me, and I love when I start to see new “regulars.” It’s so exciting really. Love you guys 💙💙💙

Special shoutout to stepdad’s lawyer @milla-frenchy for expert counsel!

A/N: Based on a) people wanting her to hold out on him longer (which is what this was) and b) what i want to do on vacation, I think the vacation is going to have to be after Christmas.

FAQ: I’m not planning on pursuing the jacques/cheatbacks storyline rn, you can HC that however you want as for what she did that night (if anything). Don’t really wanna address the mom situation more, and probably won’t answer plot Qs. That way maybe you'll get the next story sooner --- I’m kinda trying to make this easier to write so it won’t take so much deliberation and weighing opposing inputs lol.

TBH it was supposed to just be sexy, smutty, scandalous, “we shouldn’t be doing this” PWP and it kinda got away from me. But I at least wanted to give a little insight into Joel’s POV with this one.

Now back to the agenda: [cock, baby!.gif ].

-------

You can follow @toxicfics and turn on notifications (click on the person at the top) for just the most major posts. You have to have push notifications turned on for tumblr on your phone.

All Joel:@ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea@evyiione@xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious@chernayawidow@ambassadortotrilliusprime@not-a-unique-snowflake-blog@jasminespringtime @romanarose@fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore@blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires@taeslarityy@str84pedro@lokanda @kyloispunk @filthfairy@fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine@worhols@fan-fiction-floozy@cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl@feministfanboi@gracieispunk@prettypartyfavor@am-3-thyst@babeincolor@milla-frenchy@switchbladedreamz@within-the-depths@am-3-thyst@may-machin@pedromania91 @sloanexx@paleidiot

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #stepdad!joel miller #dark!joel miller #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fic #stepdad!joel☠️#stepdad!joel #cw stepcest #joel jacks off #ppcu jacks off #toxicanonymity ☠️

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riordanness · 4 months

Text

fictional — [p.jackson]

2.1K wordcount

warnings: none

requested: no

‘i put myself in another world, where i can be any other girl, cause i don’t really wanna face it. cause if it isn’t real you can pretend all you want…’

I sigh as the lyrics of ‘Fictional’ by Khloe Rose filter through my headphones. My head leans against the cool glass window of the bus, bumping my forehead every time the driver goes over a pothole.

Hey, call me crazy, but this is probably the most relatable song in existence. At least to me. Falling in love with boys from books and movies was basically my job at this point.

I had one, though, that meant more than all my other ‘fictional boyfriends’.

Percy Jackson.

I’d grown up with this character, laughed with him, cried with him, held fast and braved the storm with him. I’d adopted his personality, tried to be like his girlfriend, acted as if we were best friends, talked to him, dreamt about him, read and written fanfiction about him, anything you can think of. I am obsessed, and no, I’m not ashamed of that fact.

I’m five years running with this crush now, and it’s not going anytime soon. I let out another sigh as I realise, yet again, that this is impossible. He’s fictional, as much as it hurts to admit. He isn’t real, and I can’t live my whole life pretending to date and marry a fictional character. Life just doesn’t work like that. Sadly.

The bus pulls up at school, and I climb off, slipping my headphones into my pocket. I’ll probably get them back out during a boring lecture in one of my classes, but for now I’ll just keep the daydreaming at a minimum.

“Hey, girl.” Andie sidles up to me, nudging me with her shoulder. “What’s kicking?”

“Nothing,” I deadpan. “Unless you’re a goat, like Grover Underwood.”

Andie laughs, my sarcastic comment going right over her head. I love her to death, seriously, but the girl hasn’t got an ounce of sarcasm in her. She’s the most literal and honest person ever, but she’s also super sweet and sincere. So, sarcasm isn’t even a word she knows.

“I’m not a goat, silly,” she giggles. “But guess what?!”

“Yeah?” I am actually kind of interested. Andie usually has all the gossip (somehow), so her news tends to be pretty good.

“There’s a new guy in our class today,” she squeals. “Apparently he just moved here from New York.”

“New York is where Percy Jackson lives,” I say automatically. “I wanna visit there someday so bad.”

Andie rolls her pretty eyes. She likes Percy Jackson. I made her read the books, and she did, but just so that she knows what I’m talking about most of the time. “You and your fictional boys, I swear. This is a real boy, y/n! You need to get your head out of a book for once if you ever wanna meet somebody.”

I shrug. “Real boys suck though.”

And even Andie can’t argue with that.

I’m doodling in my notebook, half listening to Mr Mintar explain something about geometry. I’m not terrible at maths, so I figure I’ll just catch up if I need to. My brain doesn’t want to pay attention today.

I perk up, though, when I hear something new.

“Students,” Mrs May, our principal, announces. “We have a new student joining us today. Please be kind to Mr Jackson and show him around. Remember, you were once a new student yourself.”

Jackson? Like Percy Jackson? How cool is that, I thought to myself. I yank my headphones out of my ears and glance up.

A boy is talking quietly with Mr Mintar; who is probably explaining what we’re learning and where he’ll sit. We have assigned seats in basically every class, because a few boys in our grade are idiots, so I sit alone in every class. Apparently, other students are very likely to copy my work if they’re sitting with me, so the teachers decided to make me sit alone all the time. It’s kind of okay, though. Means I can do whatever I want with no one to tell on me for listening to music.

I watch as Mr Mintar talks with his hands, waving them a lot. The boy has his back to me. He has messy black hair, and he’s wearing jeans, converse and a blue hoodie.

Mr Mintar gestures at me, and I sit up straight. The boy glances quickly, nods at Mr Mintar, and I realise what’s happening. He’s being assigned to sit with me, which probably means I'll also be assigned his personal ‘welcome-to-our-school’ guide. Which means I’ll be forced to be this guy’s friend for the next few weeks. Yay.

The boy turns to face me, and I swear my heart literally skipped a beat. Now, this wasn’t like those dumb fanfics where a girl’s celebrity crush just so happens to turn up at her school for some stupid reason, and they fall in love blah blah blah.

This was an honest-to-goodness ‘what the hell is happening’ moment. The boy now walking towards me looks exactly how I’ve always pictured Percy Jackson in my mind. The same crazily messy black hair, loose and slightly curled at the edges, twisting around his ears and falling in his eyes a little bit. He has the same smattering of freckles on his nose, the same tan skin, troublemaker grin, the same glint of determination in his eyes.

And gosh, I’d know those sea-green eyes anywhere.

The boy slides into the seat beside me. “Hi,” he says softly. “You’re y/n?”

I can’t do anything but nod, and I try to not stare at him too hard.

“You’re supposed to be my guide, or something, I think.” The boy sounds apologetic, like he knows how annoying being forced to be a school guide is. “And I’m supposed to sit with you in all my classes.”

I nod again, a little dazed. Even his voice is Percy Jackson-coded. A slight rasp, a little accented, ugh.

I find my voice. “That’s cool. I’d be happy to show you around and get you into the groove of things here at East High.”

The boy smiles, and he has little crinkles at the side of his pretty eyes, as if he smiles a whole lot.

“Awesome. I’m Percy by the way.”

I blink at him, absolutely sure he’s pulling my leg somehow. “What do you mean?” I ask.

Percy frowns. “Like… my name? The thing that people call me? It’s Percy. Percy Jackson.”

I just stare at him.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks.

“Your name is Percy Jackson?”

“Yeah?”

“Like the book character,” I add, surprising myself with the calm in my voice. Inside my head, though, I was screaming.

Percy’s brow furrows. “A book character? I dunno. Never heard of a book character called Percy, but there probably is. I don’t read that much. Dyslexia.”

I nod slowly. “Of course.”

Percy frowns again, then chuckles a little. “You’re weird. I like you.”

My tongue feels like someone’s deep fried it in the microwave. I try to swallow, and it’s nearly impossible. “So you’re not messing with me right now? You’re really called Percy Jackson, and you have dyslexia and probably ADHD, and sea-green eyes, and your hair isn’t dyed, and…”

Percy laughs again. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes. What’s this about?”

I shake my head. “You wouldn’t understand if I told you.”

Percy raises his eyebrow. “Try me.”

It’s been a week since Percy’s arrival, and I’m still about 89% sure I’m dreaming. Not that I usually dream like this, but still.

I’ve spent basically all my school hours with Percy, as well as half my bus rides home, as his mum lives nearby to us.

The longer I know him, the more I’m sure that he’s real, that he’s actually here, and that he’s really, truly, Perseus Jackson, the not-so-fictional boy I’ve been in love with forever.

The weirdest thing, though, is the night after he arrived, I got home and all my Percy Jackson books and merch were gone. Mysteriously vanished. Even Andie doesn’t know what I’m talking about when I bring up PJO.

It’s like that movie, Yesterday, where everyone forgets about the Beatles. It’s like that, but with Percy Jackson. Oh, and obviously I have a real Percy to replace it; whereas Jack in that movie didn’t really have that.

Anyway, it’s crazy, it’s probably a hallucination, and it’s absolutely incredible. I’m spending every single day with my absolute favourite person in the universe, and he’s real.

The boy I’ve cried over, laughed over, loved for years… He’s here. He’s real. And he’s my friend.

“Marshmallows are not designed to be eaten alone,” I argue, pouting a french fry at Percy. “They aren’t even that nice anyway, but especially not when you eat them dry. All the powder, like, clogs up your throat and it’s disgusting. If you eat them on their own, you’re crazy.”

Percy laughs. “I hate them in my hot chocolates. They get all gooey and mushy, and… ugh.” He makes a face.

I roll my eyes. “You’re insane.”

Percy shrugs. “At least I don’t hate rice.”

“Hey!” I protest. “I have sensory issues! It’s not my fault the feeling of rice in my mouth makes me feel sick.”

“Hey, I know,” Percy says. “I was just kidding. I’m sorry.”

I relax. “It’s okay.”

I stare at him a moment, realising once again that this is really happening to me. That his pretty sea-green eyes are actually looking at me.

“What are you thinking about, love?”

“Huh?” I snap out of my trance, sitting up straighter. “What did you say?”

Percy smirks. “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

To be honest, I barely remember. “Uh—nothing. Trying to think of what to do this afternoon after school.”

“You don’t have plans?” he asks.

I shake my head, and sip my chocolate milk. It tastes terrible.

“You’re going on a date with me, dummy,” Percy says, so casually I almost miss it. He leans his head back and throws a grape in the air, catching it in his mouth. It’s surprisingly attractive.

“Wait,” I say. “What?”

“You.” Percy points his finger at me, then himself. “Me.” He makes a swirling motion with his finger. “That new waterpark by the beach.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re asking me to go on a date with you?”

“You aren’t saying no.”

“No,” I reply, my voice soft, “I’m not.”

“Wow,” I say. “That’s an epic waterpark.”

Percy grins down at me, his eyes looking extra pretty in the afternoon sunlight. “You wanna race to the gate?”

I pretend to think about it for a second, then begin sprinting as fast as I can. I hear Percy gasp in laughter, then start after me. He catches me easily, his legs much longer than mine, but as he does, he scoops me up into a hug.

“Hey!” I shriek. “Put me down!”

I can tell he isn’t taking me seriously though, because we’re both laughing too hard. Percy eventually drops me gently on the ground. I can’t help but suddenly miss the feeling of his bare chest against me. I blink, and instantly shake those thoughts away.

“Buy me an ice cream and I’ll let you win all our races from now on,” I tease.

Percy scoffs. “Darlin’, you couldn’t win if you had a jetpack on.”

I try to ignore the flutter in my chest and roll my eyes. “Could so, and I don’t need any old jetpack.” I flex my nonexistent muscles. “You see these? I’m perfectly fine on my own, thank you.”

“Oh, oh yeah of course. Sorry, your majesty.” Percy has a stupid grin on his face, and I have an urge to kiss him right then and there.

And so I do. I grab hold of his shoulders, pull myself up onto tiptoe, and press my mouth to his. “I love you, Seaweed Brain,” I whisper into his lips.

Percy wraps his arms around my waist, causing the flutter to return, more greatly this time. He deepens the kiss, his head tilting downwards to accommodate my shorter height. His lips taste of the jellybeans we were eating earlier together. He had insisted on eating only the blue ones, of course.

The world around me blurs, and fades, and I’m left with only him, only Percy Jackson. His fingers on my waist, his mouth on mine, my heart in his hands. I am completely and totally his, as I’ve been forever, but now? He’s completely and totally mine too. My not-so-fictional boy.

#percy jackson #pjo #fanfiction #fanfic #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x reader fanfic #percy jackson fanfiction #walker scobell #percy jackson and the olympians #rick riordan #pjo series #pjo tv show #percy jackson x you #perseus jackson #fictional characters #fictional boys #fictional khloe rose

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domreader-headcannon-scenarios · 6 months

Note

so, we’ve seen Sebastian and Claude in pre-heat preparation and we’ve seen Sebastian when he’s in heat, but not Claude, soooo can I pretty please ask for a scenario or headcannons about what Claude in heat is like? With tying in his spider behavior and all?

Oh so I have a few of these! I combined these three since these seemed compatible to mix!

(Also Ty Anons I’m so glad you enjoyed em!

So far starters I don’t think he’d just come up to us like Sebastian, he’s the type to just lock himself in his room and try to jerk off until he’s satisfied. (Which doesn’t end the way he wants since his body is craving you know…a mate. He can ‘finish’ on his own just fine but it’s not as good) he leaves a majority of the work to the other servants and will avoid rooms your in unless, you’re alone.

(I got carried away!! Made it a lil weird while I took a break from kinktober! I hope it’s good!)

Claude (heat cycles, afab reader, demon forms, (demon form Claude has a weird flexible tentacle d!ck), Claude’s big flexible tongue, oviposposit!on, )

You were surprised to have Hannah greet you at the door to your bedroom. You expected it to be Claude, but she quickly informed you that Claude was ‘feeling under the weather’ which…only happens once a year for an entire week. You went on with your day, you were aware of what he goes through (thanks to the Triplets accidentally telling you while venting) and expected him to come to you if he needed ‘extra help’.

You’d slept with him before, there’s no reason for him to be shy when you’ve ridden his face and sucked his dick before, though it’s been three heats since you’ve first contracted him, you figure he knows what he’s doing. With Hannah you ended up ending the day early and you just went to your room, maybe you’ll sleep early tonight.

You heard the door click open without a knock, before you can say anything you distinctly feel eyes on you. Your desk faces away from the door so you don’t know whose watching you so…intently, you stand up ready to turn and confront them, but your instantly pushed against your desk.

You freeze and try to turn but the person doesn’t let you, arms wrap around your waist and your lifted up like you weigh nothing. You cant see the person but as soon as you feel them carrying you to the door, you kick, trying to get them to let go. “Drop me!” You yelled, hoping it was one of the triplets messing with you.

Whoever it is ignores you and you breathe to scream but a hand covers your mouth. “Please, Master, quiet. I’m t-taking you to my room.” It was Claude, his voice sounded strained and he wasn’t letting you turn to see him. “Sorry to grab you like this, just n-need you.”

You were unceremoniously thrown onto a bed and it took you a second to realize you weee in Claude’s room and on his bed…but there were webs all over the floor and walls, it took you a second to realize the silky sheets you were on weren’t in fact blankets, but finely woven webs. You recoiled at the sight and tried to move backwards to get off the bed but Claude sits behind you and blocks your path.

“Claude this is gross, I don’t want to be surrounded by webs while we-“ You didn’t get to finish before he’s pressed against you with a kiss and his tongue shoved itself down your throat. You jerk under him and writhe away enough to breathe before he’s between your legs. Now that you can see him you can see just how disheveled he looks.

His hair is a mess, his tie is loose and he barely has his clothes on right, you cant help but notice he forgot to even put on an undershirt. He’s removing your pants without even asking so you give him a harsh slap, he doesn’t even flinch. “Claude! What the hell? Don’t you know to ask first! You cant just take me from my room and expect sex!”

Claude seemed taken aback by that, though he seemed to realize what he just did as he bows his head. “I-I’m sorry Master. I-I just need you now, I didn’t t-think you’d care-“ He whines out stopping to adjust the visible arousal he’s trying to hide. “It’s too much to handle on my own, even if you just let me use your hand please-“

He whimpers out more things you don’t catch before you sit up and glance around. His room…looks very different even without the webs, his normally neat room is a mess and there’s broken furniture and you cant help but wonder if he broke it in frustration while trying to avoid getting you.

You show him mercy and undress for him, he follows suit instantly and you can see just how bad his heat is getting him. His cock is dripping pre onto the silk as soon as it’s free. “Lay down.” You order, moving aside so he could. You turned away from him and seated yourself onto his face, leaning down so you could grab his cock.

He whines against you and you feel his tongue drag against your entrance before slipping inside of you. He purred feeling your walls constrict around his tongue. The vibrations gave you a surprise jolt of pleasure. You in turn take the head of his cock into your mouth, gently sucking it to coax a more noise from him.

He visibly flinched upon you taking his arousal into your mouth. You adjust yourself to practically ride his tongue, rolling your hips and stroking the rest of his cock with quick uneven strokes. He bucks up, only for you to completely move away from his cock. “Don’t choke me on your dick.”

Claude whines and his toungue retreats as he lifts you enough of his face to talk. “I-I need to be inside you.” You take it into consideration before lowering yourself onto his face again. He whines in protest but allows his tongue to lap at your clit before slipping into you once more.

“Maybe if you help me get off I’ll help you.” You respond. Claude’s tongue drags along your insides, seemingly twisting inside you in search of your sweet spot. You didn’t need to help him, his tongue can reach everything inside of you with ease, he’s just so excited he keeps missing.

You grab his cock, teasingly ghosting over the head and rubbing the base. He bucks forwards, cock trembling in your grip as pre swells at the head. You squeeze the base, grinding down on his face, feeling him hiss in response. His cock suddenly writhes out of your grip, when you look up, you can see a shadowy haze over Claude as his body shifts.

His cock is more tentacle like in this form, twisting and nearly tying itself in a not as it searches for stimulation. You can feel his firm under you, the warmth providing you comfort, after you had him ‘satiated’ you were definitely using him as a pillow (or maybe a blanket) while you rest.

You can feel him using his extra limbs to rub your breast, massage your clit and hold your hips close to his face. He purrs when your hands return to his cock, stroking it in tube with his own movements. He trembles with every few strokes, cock twisting in your grip causing you to tighten said grip.

“Good,like that.” You praise, earning a deep purr in response, his hips bucking forwards. Your thighs nearly snap shut on him when he finally finds your sweet spot. You don’t need to tell him, your moan lets him know instantly and he’s hitting it repeatedly. To reward him you swallow down his cock and before you can suck it, it wraps around your tongue causing you to gag.

You spat it out but Claude still mewled, hips trembling as he tried to stay still. You huff as you feel your own climax reaching you. His cock weeps as your hot breath teased it. You don’t touch him as causes you a blissful orgasm, you’re legs going limp as you collapse ontop of him.

You’re panting, face centimeters away from his raging erection, panting directly onto it.

You do intend to help him with it but you need to catch your breath. You watched in amusement as it seemingly stiffened more with each breath until it was so swollen it couldn’t do anything but twitch. It brushed against your cheek, then Claude practically screamed, completely muffled by your sex.

He cums against your cheek, just short of your mouth as he trembles, body going completely stiff. You get off him, adjusting yo place your weight in his lap, getting his attention. Four pairs of eyes watch you grab his cock, taking it to your entrance and lowering yourself on his still orgasming cock.

He whines, his shaft sensitive as you used his knees to brace yourself before riding him with no care. Claude mewled happily, bucking up a few times before he’s limp under you, cock spilling the last of his mess into you. “T-th-ank you M-My Queen.”

“I’m not fucking done yet, I love it when your dick is like this!” You slam down with each thrust, squeezing his still hard shaft while he recovered. His heat kept him excited, allowing you to use his stiff cock like a dildo while he trembled and recovered from days of aching finally being taken care of.

He was thrilled you let him finish inside of you, he’d let you ride him till he’s unconscious if it meant he could finish inside of you. His swollen shaft ached with every stroke, feeling like it’s going to burst while stimulate him.

You pause open feeling what seemed like his cock expanding inside of you.

You jump off him quickly, startled, when you look down you see your suspicions confirmed. Claude desperately whimpered, cock bobbing as you undoubtedly ruined his second orgasm…

A small, circular swollen spot moved from the base of his cock to the tip, it seeming was stuck, as Claude quickly stroked himself, noticeably squeezing himself from base to tip to force his cum to push whatever it was out.

The entire time he’s sobbing and whining, if you didn’t know any better you’d think you broke something down there…

You finally get to see the object nearly a minute later, it finally emerges fro his swollen cock, popping out with a ‘squelch’ that made you cringe. The way it forced his cock open looked painful, though he continued stroking himself feverishly, bucking into his own hand.

You pick up the object an realize, it’s an egg.

You look up and see another small bump working it’s way up his still hard cock. You examine the egg in your hand, it’s maybe the size of a golf ball, a little pressure made it give, your certain you could crush it easily. You hold it in your hand, watching Claude continue to try to milk the rest of his clutch out, without the cum aiding his shaft, it was difficult, and you noticed, there were a few at the base of his cock.

You decide to experimentally help him, pulling the lotion (or lube you couldn’t really see) from the night stand, pouring it on the engourged head of his cock. You practically squeeze it into his shaft and your hand is suddenly stroking him, his own hands pushed out of the way.

“D-don’t stroke d-down!” He squeaked out, legs shaking as they were pressed together. “I-it hurts, just, stroke up, squeeze, like I-I-it’s..” He paused thinking of an example. “T-tooth paste? T-they are d-durable b-but there’s no room t-to push them d-down.”

“Even in your heat you wish to lecture me?” Nonetheless you do as advices and he melts. He’s purring, cock spitting out three more eggs, you are about to stop but he bucks up. “Wait, there’s more?”

Claude nods. “I c-cant tell how many, I-there was no p-pressure t-they are supposed t-to come f-faster…” You let the eggs pool on his stomach, the white eggs standing out against the black fur.

He’s whimpering and just shy of thrashing you off of him as another couple of eggs started working their way up his aching cock. They come out quite quickly as his cock has recovered enough to build up pre again.

You are left with eight eggs, you notice his cock still hasn’t softened but you put the eggs aside first. “Still got a few left in you?” You tease, getting ontop of him again. He nods, too tired to respond. “Tell me when you are close or I’m forcing every one of these eggs back into your cock.”

He shudders at the thought, cock jumping inside you.

#sub claude faustus #claude faustus #claude x reader #black butler #black butler x reader #heat cycles #mating cycles/in heat #dom reader #demon form #demon forms #ovipositor #ovi kink

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seokgyuu · 5 months

Text

part of the @svthub 70's collab

Lee Seokmin is a very successful and admired Detective in the NYPD. Up until now he has had no trouble catching the bad guys. But when an especially horrific serial killer starts roaming the streets of New York City and he faces perplexity for the first time in his career - his superiors send a unit from the FBI trained to profile Serial Killers, which contains none other than you - Seokmin’s High School Sweetheart.

Pairing: Detective!Seokmin x FBI Agent!Reader

Genre: Criminal Minds/Detective AU, exes to enemies to lovers, Serial Killer AU, angst, Smut (MDNI!)

Warnings: Serial Killer theme, description of violence, description of dead bodies, cult themes, mentions of suicide, mentions of blood, mentions of abuse, mentions of suicide, character death (none of the main characters); smut warnings: fingering, penetrative sex, dirty talk, usage of the word “baby”, begging, reader has female anatomy, unprotected sex, creampie

Wordcount: 15.8k

a/n: I finally made it!! after months and months of writer's block I finally finished this fic, and I am actually really happy with it. Please mind the warnings, as this goes into darker themes. I also want to note, that I am no expert in terms of criminal language especially during the 70s in the us. So, if you spot anything that isn't all that accurate, i apologize! I also want to thank @multi-kpop-fanfics, @bitchlessdino & @strawberryya for reading through this and telling me i, in fact, do not suck at writing lmao. ily guys!!

taglist: @the-boy-meets-evil, @wooahaeproductions, @wongyuseokie

Lee Seokmin was a proud man. Proud of his grades in school and university. Proud of the man his parents had shaped him into. Proud of all the cases he had solved as a detective. With pride comes vulnerability, though. Especially in cases like these when he doesn’t have the right to be proud of himself. When he feels lost and helpless and his superiors look at him as if he had never solved a single case in his career.

He knows. He knows he isn’t giving them or the people of New York City anything to go by. All he can do is say he needs more time. Time that no one has.

“More people will die, Lee.”

Seokmin hates Jeffrey Stolper. Hates him like fire burns. There is nothing he can do about it. Balling his fist under the table, Seokmin slowly raises his head. There is a certain emotion in Stolper’s eyes, an emotion Seokmin was happy to say he hadn’t seen many times before. His older colleague was gloating. While they were working together, their boss put Seokmin in charge because of the very obvious numbers differentiating them. Seokmin solved cases. Stolper left them cold. Seokmin couldn’t count the amount of times he had helped Jeffrey from drowning in his own misery, and this was the thanks he got. The older man was gloating because, for the first time in practically ever, Seokmin was lost.

“Thanks, Stolper, couldn’t figure that one out myself,” he mumbled, letting his free hand roam over his sweaty face. Scoffing, the older male with the slowly graying hair leans back in his chair.

“Not the hot shot everyone says you are, aren’t you?”

“Shut the fuck up, this is not the time.” Seokmin’s voice is quiet but sharp, and Jeffrey laughs, his chest heaving as he seems to be vibrating with the horrendous sound of his arrogant laugh. It takes everything inside Seokmin not to get up from his chair and punch the hell out of the man.

“Lee, Stolper.”

Both of them get up when their superior walks in, a big man with a receding hairline, a stubble on his strong face, and an old suit on his large frame. Frederic Bream isn’t much of an empath, but he does a good job.

“Captain.” Seokmin and Stolper speak at the same time, watching as the captain nods and then waves his hand, telling them to sit back down. Once all of them are seated, he clears his throat.

“I know you hate to admit it, Lee, but we have no leads on this. No leads and a new victim.”

Seokmin’s heart falls down to his feet. Fuck. Another dead girl? Who will it be this time? He feels sweat starting to form at the top of his head.

“Another one?” Stolper is serious and reaches for the case file Bream put on the table. Seokmin feels as if someone had dumped him in ice water, unable to move, shivering. He hates the fact that Bream is right - there are no leads. So far they haven’t gathered anything from what this monster does except that he always does it the same way.

“Lauren White, 23. Student at Columbia,” Stolper reads, his face in a grimace, “she was found near Times Square, too. Fuck, Lee, I told you to put more patrols out!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Even if we put every man we have on the streets, this city is huge, Stolper. He could just start moving them somewhere else.”

Stolper doesn’t respond. Instead, he shoves the file over to Seokmin, who takes it with his jaw tensed.

“This is different from before, boys,” Bream clears his throat, “this is a high-profile murder. She is the daughter of the district judge.”

Seokmin looks up from the file.

“Why is this different from the other four victims? Because she has an important dad, suddenly the tables turn?”

Bream sighs, pulling a hand over his red face.

“It’s not fair, I know that, Lee. But this changes everything. The judge is furious. Was a real fucking asshole about it too, even for someone who just lost his daughter. He wants the slasher to be caught yesterday.”

“Oh, and we don’t? Captain, please, this is bullshit!” Seokmin scoffs, throwing the file back on the table and glaring at his superior, who looks straight back at him.

“I know. We all know Seokmin. It’s a bad situation. But, some might say, it did bring something good.”

“And what’s that?” Stolper speaks up, crossing his arms. Bream clicks his tongue.

“We got sent help. From the FBI.”

Silence is what follows. Seokmin feels the ice inside his veins melt and instead get replaced by fire. He knows Stolper feels the same. Everyone here feels the same. The fucking feds.

“They can’t take this from us. We’ve been on this for months,” Seokmin hisses, and Bream nods again, licking his dry lips.

“They won’t take it from us, Lee. They are only here to help. In fact, they aren’t… our usual feds.”

“What does that mean?” Seokmin raises his brows, leaning forward, hands on top of the table.

“They are a completely new department. Focused on the behavior of criminals, analyzing them, trying to figure out what is wrong with them.”

“They are killing people. That’s what's wrong with them!” Stolper shouts, and Bream holds up his hand.

“I understand that you’re upset. God knows I am, too. But there is nothing I can do. Go talk to them. They just arrived.”

The ice is back, and this time it hits Seokmin right in the face. They are here already? Waiting for them? Embarrassment flows through his veins, mixed with an emotion he has never felt before regarding his job: failure. His legs are shaking as he gets up, but he tries to play it off, his body tensing when Bream leads them to the door and opens it.

The hallway to the main hall suddenly feels longer than it is. The walls are closing in on Seokmin, the gray concrete threatening to suffocate him as he walks over the horrendous blue tiles he never understood were placed in the first place. Nothing really seems to be matching in this precinct. Most especially Seokmin and the federal agents waiting for them downstairs. He doesn’t know how his legs lead him to the glass front that shows the inside of the busy station downstairs. Everything is the same gray color. Everything is the same horrible blue. The only difference is the people standing in the right corner of the room all gathered around the whiteboard Seokmin has so carefully put together these past few months.

His hands are sweating. This isn’t fair. This is his case. They aren’t supposed to be here and take credit for what he has done so far. What exactly have you done, Lee Seokmin? The voice in his head reminds him, and he balls his hands into fists as Bream opens the door leading to the stairs that will finally bring him to the federal agents he knows he’ll hate already.

The atmosphere in the room is tense. More tense than usual because everyone in it is unhappy with the current situation. As if it isn't hard enough that there is a killer on the loose, now there are FBI agents trying to take this away from the NYPD? This is his town, Seokmin’s town! No one knows it as well as him. He knows every corner, every store. Every good place to eat, every bar to avoid. The people know him; they trust him with this, and now he is just supposed to accept that he can’t continue what he started?

He doesn’t know how, but somehow, he does end up right behind all the agents and one of the other detectives, Jeanne, and doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he is bitter. His arms are crossed as he listens to Jeanne explaining what is on the board. She had been a part of this - just like all the other detectives had been whenever they could. It’s not like crime suddenly stopped in New York City just because a serial killer was roaming around. If anything, it just got worse.

“That’s about all we’ve gathered. I know it’s not much, but it’s all we got.” Jeanne closes her explanation, and Seokmin watches the backs of the agent's head nodding. Bream then clears his throat, making the others aware that they have joined and once the team of strangers turns around, Seokmin thinks someone has yet again taken a bucket of ice and dumped it all over his head. Because why on earth are you here?

You see him the second he sees you. It’s almost funny how your professionalism slowly slips out of your control, how seeing him makes memories flood your brain and almost drowns you. Why is he here? He, who had left you with a sour taste seven years prior to this moment? Why is he standing there in a well-fitted suit, looking the best he ever had in a precinct that shouldn’t have anything pretty inside it?

“Detectives, may I introduce you to agents Son, Song, Kim, Seok and Y/L/N. They were sent here by the FBI to help us with the investigations.” Jeanne smiles, but Seokmin knows it’s not an honest smile. You see it, too. When you had gotten the memo to go to New York City and help with the slasher murders, you had already known the detectives wouldn’t be too happy to see you and your team.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m the team leader, Hyunwoo Son.” You hear your boss speak, and you want to look at him, but your eyes are back to being glued to Seokmin. Lee Seokmin. The one who had taken everything from you when you were nineteen.

“You too. I’m Detective Stolper. This is Detective Lee.” Bream doesn’t sound sincere. For once, Seokmin is relieved his older colleague likes to speak over him. He doesn’t know if he would have been able to say a word.

Catching a serial killer is one thing. Catching him with someone you share an uncomfortable history with, another. You are sitting as far from Seokmin as you possibly can. With as many people between you as there are.

Hyunwoo is standing at the front with Matthew, explaining what your team has gathered as of now. The rest of the precinct is listening to the presentation, and you just know they are all biting their tongues. No one wants you here. All of them think you’re a fraud. While you understand where they are coming from, you also think it’s time for them to accept the newly found ways to analyze the behavior of killers like the case at hand: the Manhattan Slasher. The air is thick with sweat, and you are sure 70% of it is yours.

“We want to make clear that the work your precinct and especially you, Detective Lee, have done so far is incredibly helpful. We don’t want to discredit what you’ve done and we also don’t want to make you feel as if you’re getting kicked off the case. We aren’t your usual federal agents, Detectives, we are here to be of support to you. You still go outside and look at the crime scenes. You still get to do your work. We are here to assist, to see things we have been trained to see, things you cannot see, not for lack of smarts but lack of training.”

You had always admired Hyunwoo. How he spoke so clearly and calmly, how he never failed to make a person feel seen. You can feel the atmosphere shift. Some of the police officers visibly relaxing in their seats. You still don’t dare to look at Seokmin.

“Now, to what we have gathered. Dr. Matthew Seok will lead you through it.”

Seokmin wonders how old Matthew Seok is. He can’t be any older than 23. How on earth is he already a part of one of the newest FBI departments? And gets to be in charge of the presentation? And how does he already have a god damn PhD?

“Hi everyone, I’m Dr. Matthew Seok. With the help of the information you’ve gathered, we were able to come up with a profile for our unsub.”

Seokmin feels a scoff in his throat but manages to hold it back. A profile? What is he talking about?

“We are positive the unsub is a white man in his early to late 30s. He most probably grew up with an abusive mother, which explains why he only picks women as his victims. He doesn’t care about their race or social standing, which tells us he doesn’t hate one specific type of woman, but all of them. The age range of his victims is from early to mid twenties, meaning his mother had him young and gave him up around that time.”

You should be used to it by now. The reaction from the precincts. But it bothers you just as much as it usually does. The way they look at each other, the way they are already fed up with you being here. Your eyes wander over to the rest of your team, who you know are just as fed up as you, but they are better at hiding their emotions. Yuqi just stands there with her gum in her mouth, her arms crossed, and hoping she’ll get to go on the field soon. While she is an excellent profiler, she did train to become a field agent. It was pure coincidence that Hyunwoo had overheard her talking about this one case even Matthew had been struggling with. Jungwoo is the quietest one of your team, especially in situations like this. He just stands there, hands folded in front of his frame, eyeing the situation calmly. The team leader himself stands next to Matt still, his arms crossed as well and his gaze wandering over the crowd of people. A traitorous part of you envies him for being able to look at Seokmin without any repercussions.

“How the fuck do you know that?” A voice now erupts from the sea of people. You turn around to see the man who had walked in with Seokmin. Stolper, you think his name was. A frown appears on your face.

“It’s not our job to explain profiling to you,” you say coldly and the older man’s eyes find you - just like Seokmin’s do. You decide to ignore them and turn back to face Matthew.

“Uhm. Yes, well, we do ask you to look into certain… well, behaviors. People like our unsub aren’t exactly the most masculine. He is probably very thin and might even have a disability - perhaps a prosthetic leg or something that makes him feel inferior. Look into churches, veteran centers, see if you find anyone that could match the profile and-,”

“You mean to tell me that the killer could be a vet?” Bream now interrupts, his eyebrows raised. Seokmin presses his lips together. If his colleagues hadn’t been wary of your bunch before, they sure as hell are now. War Heroes? Their precious American patriots that fought for their country and won a war? How could you even dare to speak ill of them?

“No. He most probably didn’t serve. He tells people he did and that that’s the reason he has said disability,” Matthew continues calmly and you smile slightly. It was a reach, your reach, but so far all your reaches had been a shot to the bullseye.

Then there was a sudden thud somewhere behind you, followed by hurried footsteps and news none of you could pretend didn’t make you sick to your stomachs.

This feels wrong. It’s broad daylight, there are people everywhere. You stand next to Matthew, your hands buried in your pockets, and listen to the statement of the girl that had called the police.

“She was just next to me and then.. and then suddenly she wasn’t. I- I was confused and looked around and then I saw this- this man and how he dragged her by the arm into his car. No one did anything, no one- no one helped her and I- I didn’t-,” her voice breaks off and another set of tears well up in her eyes. Seokmin nods understandingly.

“Miss, you have nothing to blame yourself for. It is a busy street and you and your friend were not glued by the hip, alright? We will do our best to find her and you shouldn’t worry about what you could have done differently. You called us right away and that's the best thing you could’ve done.”

Tears are rolling down her face, sobs are erupting from her tiny body, and you wonder if Seokmin would ask her out if it wasn’t for the circumstances. The second the thought hits your brain, you freeze. What the hell? Why on earth would your mind go there? In a situation like this? You shake your head to yourself and look around - the police have put tape around the area where Kelly has gotten abducted. Her friend, Jean is being questioned, along with the few other people who claim to have seen something. But other than the witnesses, there isn’t much to go on about. The car he had dragged Kelly into had been an old one and Jean couldn’t exactly tell what kind. She also hadn’t been able to make out the license plate. So, all in all, it was all more or less useless information.

“Detective Lee, I will need you to go to the morgue with Dr. Seok and Y/N,” Hyunwoo is suddenly there, right next to Seokmin and you hear his voice and feel your stomach tighten. The professionalism has to stay in its place, you know that. There is no room for you to fall back into old patterns; that one silly thought you had earlier was enough. You can’t let it get any further.

But the tension is there and it's suffocating. You’re in the backseat of Seokmin’s car and Matthew is talking the man’s ear off with information you have heard millions of times before. Thankfully your friend and colleague doesn’t feel what you feel, what Seokmin feels, and for a short second you ask yourself how he even became the youngest member of your team - only for you to remember you have never met a mind as brilliant as his, with the exception of human interaction. He isn’t too good at those.

The morgue is just like any other you’ve been in. This one still feels different, though. Probably because of the young girls you know shouldn’t be dead laying on top of the examination tables with nothing but a thin blanket over their pale, lifeless bodies. You should be used to this by now, you think. But you doubt you ever will be.

Matthew is standing next to one of the women, the fourth victim, Fernanda Franco, with this look on his face you’ve seen many times before. You’re standing opposite him, your arms crossed and your eyes shifting over the body, wondering how much pain these women had been in.

“He did a thorough job with the cut,” the coroner says now; he is standing on the side of the room, holding a file, “my guess is he is good with a knife, maybe working with animals.”

“Right,” Matthew mumbles, a frown on his face as he leans forward, eyeing the victim from top to bottom. It’s somewhat fascinating how good he is at spotting things others haven’t seen before. Perhaps it had made you jealous a while back, but fortunately, that is over. Instead of being jealous, you appreciate his work and his abilities.

Seokmin, meanwhile, is also looking through files. Mostly from the crime scenes. How the women looked before the coroner took care of them. The fact that they are all still here, and not yet down under, no funeral held at this point, makes his stomach turn. He knows it’s wrong. But as long as they haven’t found the killer, as long as there might be more evidence on the bodies… Seokmin suppresses a sigh. He wants to give the families the chance to find closure so badly. If only by giving them the opportunity to put their daughters, sisters, grandchildren to rest.

The pictures are still hard to look at. The blood everywhere. The stained clothes. The signs of clear torture. Nothing sexual, at least. But then again, perhaps the killer doesn’t need to sexually assault them to feel arousal. That’s what Matthew said earlier. Seokmin closes the file and pulls a hand through his hair, his hat safely stored on one of the cabinets.

“Dr. Richmond,” Matthew’s voice makes Seokmin look over to where you are standing.

“Dr. Seok?” Richmond walks over to Matthew who is standing bent over the body, his hand holding… the victim’s ear. Immediately, you and Seokmin step closer, both of your eyes glued to the women’s earlobe. Something inside your stomach turns, goosebumps suddenly all over your skin and you feel your breath getting stuck in your throat.

“Why wasn’t this in the files?” Matthew now continues to ask, his eyes not leaving what he found. Dr. Richmond feels his face go pale and sweat starts to form on the palms of his hands. Blood is rushing through his ears and there is nothing he can say, nothing he can try to come up with because the bitter truth is-

“He didn’t know it was there,” Seokmin finishes the thought and Richmond swallows hard, hands wiping away at his lab coat. The detective is right.

“Do all of them have this?” You ask now, finally able to move away from Fernanda and move over to Jennifer Cartwright, who looks way too peaceful for what had happened to her. But then, you are happy she does. A part of you hopes she is feeling peace wherever she may be. When you reach for her earlobe, you already know it will be there. You take a deep breath.

“I’m- I don’t understand. I never… nothing like this ever happened, I-,” Richmond’s voice echoes through the room, but none of you pay him mind. The small crosses, carved into the soft tissue of the women’s earlobes, take all of your attention.

There were only a handful of people in the meeting room. Your team and Seokmin and his superior officer. It bothered you, kind of. More people had to know.

“These crosses, they have been used before,” Matthew is pacing through the room and Hyunwoo is right there at the front of it, his arms crossed and his thumbnail between his teeth. He is thinking, listening.

“This was in the late fifties, early sixties. A cult, they all followed this one man, Jonathan Brixley. He claimed to have somewhat superpowers, and while most didn’t actually believe him, he was such a good preacher, they followed him anyways. They weren’t known for being violent up until they seemed to vanish. Many thought they might have done a suicide pact, but no bodies were ever found. But what we do know is that whenever one of their own died, they would carve a little cross into their earlobe. Almost unnoticeable. Almost like a birthmark - it’s not even that surprising Dr. Richmond didn’t catch on.”

“He didn’t catch on that all of the girls have the same strange birthmark?” Seokmin frowns. You roll your eyes.

“We are all aware that this isn’t the ideal situation, Detective, but perhaps being bitter about it doesn’t make it better.”

It’s the first time you and Seokmin have directly talked. Or more like, the first time you had openly acknowledged each other's presence.

“With all due respect, Agent, I don’t care. I want to be bitter, I am allowed to be bitter. If we had known this weeks ago, we might have cracked the case by now!”

“I highly doubt that, Detective. With all due respect,” Matthew chimes in and the (unpleasant) moment between Seokmin and you is over.

“And why is that?” Seokmin’s superior officer asks.

“Well, as I said, the cult vanished. Finding out where the last remaining members are is almost an impossible task. If there even are any - I doubt they’d wanna be found. For all we know, they could be hiding in plain sight and we wouldn’t know.”

The atmosphere gets even more uneasy. If that’s even possible at this point. Seokmin scoffs and looks away, his hands in fists. You should know how to de-escalate but your head comes up empty. It’s almost as if there is an invisible barrier that forbids you from actually trying to be reasonable with Seokmin.

Just when Hyunwoo seems like he wants to say something, the door opens. One of the police officers, a woman with red hair you don’t know the name of, comes in.

“We have a situation,” she says and her eyes are full of something even you, a profiler, isn’t so sure what the meaning of is. It looks like fear, confusion, but also something like hope. Immediately, everyone gets up and follows her outside, where you spot the board with all the pictures of the victims on it… and a red thread connecting one of them to a new face.

“That’s the girl I talked to earlier.” Seokmin breathes and he looks over at Ruth, who nods.

“Yes, Detective. Jean told us that she knows one of the girls - Rebecca Twain. They used to go to the same church, same goes for her friend, Kelly, that she called in as abducted.”

Your eyes widen at that and you look over at Matt, who has his hand over his mouth, his face in a frown. A church. That fits the idea of the cult. All of you who were in the room earlier know that. This is good, this is an actual clue, one that might even lead to something after all!

“What church?” Bream now asks the police officer named Ruth.

“She wasn’t too sure. Said they haven’t been there in ages. She knew Rebecca when they were children and Kelly came to join them a few years later. But they haven’t gone to the church in at least 12 years. She said she would call us with more information, but so far she hasn’t.”

It doesn’t take a genius to understand why she hasn’t called the station yet. You sink down, leaning against one of the desks now, a hand rubbing over your face. This was bad. Seriously bad. Whenever a cult was involved in anything, it could only be so much worse than anticipated. Of course, her parents wouldn’t let her talk about it. Who would ever want to talk about something like this? Being part of a cult, if now or in the past - with everything happening these past years.

“We need to speak to her parents. Now.” Hyunwoo is already out the door, probably heading to his car and you look over at the rest of your team, who all seem more or less as lost as you. It turns out to be Seokmin who follows your team leader first and once you see his figure speed past you, you also begin to move.

The ride is quiet. Hyunwoo’s hands are white around the steering wheel. You sit next to him in the front, Seokmin in the back. All of this feels surreal to you and you are sure it’s not that different for Seokmin. Serial Killers were a constant part of both of your lives, but you - you haven’t been for a good amount of years. It’s like a bad taste in your mouth, as if somehow the food you would always cook perfectly suddenly went bad, had a foul ingredient in it, was cooked for too long. You’re not sure what it is, but it doesn’t sit right with you.

Seokmin, in the back seat, feels about the same as you. He is used to gruesome murders, to killers who don’t care about anything but themselves, but he isn’t used to having you around in all of this. Someone from his old life that he doesn’t associate with any of this. Never in a million years would he have predicted you becoming a federal agent. When you dated back in high school, you had always talked about wanting to go into politics, fighting for women’s rights, feminism, all that jazz. You had even applied to all the IVYs, wanting to study political science. So, how did you end up here?

“We will have to be careful.” Hyunwoo now breaks the silence and makes Seokmin and you look at him.

“The parents won’t be too happy to share their story, I can imagine. No one likes to admit they were in a cult, not after Manson.”

You nod and Seokmin scoffs, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms.

“One would think people wouldn’t even join any cults after Manson,” he says and Hyunwoo laughs bitterly, nodding slightly as he takes the next right at the intersection.

“Right. Sadly, it isn’t as easy as that.”

You look at Seokmin through the rearview mirror, watch how his jaw is tightened and how his arms are crossed, how his suit jacket is discarded next to him on the backseat. You wonder how long he has been part of this lifestyle, how long he’s been a cop. You hadn’t heard from him in years, not even when your friends offered to do some digging for you. It wasn’t because you weren’t interested. More so because you felt like you would get too invested. Looking away again, you straighten out your shoulders. This isn’t the time to think about the past, there are way more important things to focus your energy on.

Five minutes later, Hyunwoo finally parks the car in front of the house of the Roger’s and the three of you get out to walk over to the front door where Hyunwoo rings the doorbell twice. It only takes about twenty seconds before the door opens and a slim woman with bright red hair and red lips stands in front of you, an apron around her waist and a mitten in her hand.

“Yes?” She looks at you with blinking eyes and the three of you take out your respective badges. The woman’s eyes widen.

It is safe to say that getting information out of Jean’s parents is almost impossible. They are a middle class family with middle class friends, he works in real estate and she does her best to keep the house and children under control. They don’t want to talk about their past at the church, or more like, they try to deny it ever was a part of their lives. Talking to them comes close to talking to a wall, if the wall felt guilt and shame and was worried about its reputation. Only when you mention Jean for the third time, reassuring her parents that they aren’t in trouble and that no one was going to find out, that the only mission you had was to find the missing girl and find out who had killed the other innocent women - they budge.

Mr. Rogers gets up, a certain shake in his knees, and walks over to one of the dark hardwood dressers standing on the right side of the spacious living room, where he opens a drawer and takes out what looks like a little notebook. You, Hyunwoo and Seokmin look at him attentively.

“We haven’t talked to anyone from that church in years. Or well, we hadn’t. Up until a few weeks ago. You see, there used to be this… this farm. It was for retreats, we would go there every other month. Sing and pray, meet new people from other parts of the country,” he begins to explain as he walks back, reluctantly handing the notebook to you. Taking it with a small thank you, you look at the page he had opened it to and see a number and a name.

“This is the name and telephone number of the couple that bought the farm years ago. We- we haven’t been going to the retreats since 1961, but a couple weeks ago an old acquaintance from the church called us. Kathryn Anderson, she was pretty close to Pastor Brix-,” he stops himself mid sentence, “to, uh, to Mr. Brixley. She wanted to know if we knew who bought the farm.” “And what did you tell her?” Seokmin asks now.

“He told her no. That we were never interested in knowing,” Mrs. Rogers now answers the question for her husband, “you see, when we left the church it was mostly because of Jean. We figured after a while that perhaps this church wasn’t what we wanted for our daughter. So, we left. It wasn’t easy, but we did it. A couple months later, the whole thing fell apart anyway. Kathryn wasn’t around for that because she had been arrested about six months before we left the church. Got a good couple of years behind bars for attempted murder, the woman. When she got out, she couldn’t reach anyone - after all, the church didn’t exist anymore. Jonathan had perished, no one knows where he ended up and she was unsure what to do. So, she finally got a hold of us and wanted to know everything about the farm. But again, we told her we didn’t know who bought the farm. We just told her it was over and that she needed to find a different safety net.”

You look over at Hyunwoo, wondering if he thinks the same thing you do.

“But you obviously do know who owns the farm now.” He says calmly. The housewife swallows, then nods.

“We do. Paul actually sold the farm to them.”

How convenient, you think. Hyunwoo smiles and Seokmin clicks his tongue.

“I see. Well, thank you for the name and number, but now it would be great if you could also let us know the address.”

“I don’t understand,” you say, your arms crossed in front of your chest. Hyunwoo is sitting at his makeshift office desk, rubbing his temples.

“What exactly do you not understand, Y/N?”

“Why we need to go to the farm. Or no, why he and I need to go.”

“Don’t be stupid, Y/N. Matthew confirmed it, the cult used this farm back in the day. There could be a lead there. And you and Detective Lee are going because you’re my best agent and he’s their best detective. I also feel like you two need some bonding time. Honestly, I’ve got no clue what your issue is with him, but you’ll need to get your act together. This is a serious case and I can’t have you dislike the main detective.”

Dislike. That’s one word to describe it. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“So, you will drive to the farm with him and talk to the couple as well as check out the surroundings. See if you find anything that could be helpful to the case, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Hyunwoo nods, satisfied. He then waves his hand, telling you to get out and do your job. You suppress a sigh and instead walk out and almost into your newly assigned partner - Seokmin. He looks about as happy about the situation as you feel, but neither of you says a word while you walk out of the precinct and to the car that would take you the 100 mile drive to Schnecksville, Pennsylvania.

“You drive.” Seokmin’s voice rips you out of your thoughts and you thankfully react quick enough and catch the keys he throws at you. Rolling your eyes, you walk over to the other side and open the car, sitting down in the driver’s seat. The second your door is closed and Seokmin’s door is closed, his presence almost drowns you.

“I was always better at reading maps than you,” he mumbles next to you and you feel your cheeks heat up and your stomach turn and you decide to ignore him and instead start the car.

Seokmin presses his lips together, the map on his lap and his heartbeat loud and clear in his ears. Bream really thinks he did something. Putting Seokmin in a car with you for the next two hours. Apparently, your little bit of tension did not remain unnoticed and now this was his punishment. But what was he supposed to do? Tell Bream that you were his ex-girlfriend from high school who he had left seven years ago with nothing better than a pathetic letter goodbye. It hadn’t been his finest moment, but god, he was nineteen. Back then, he had enlisted in the army after high school, something he was bound to do anyways, and being cowardly as he was, he just hadn’t felt like telling you in person. Then, when he had been discharged, he had signed up for the academy and here he is now. He knows he should say something, apologize for the way he left you. But his pride and the shame don’t let his lips move, don’t let the words come out. And so he just looks at the map and waits to give you instructions. That’s what he can do. That’s how he can cope with being next to you.

The drive is long and quiet and you turn on the radio at one point, listening to quiet music almost soothing. The highway is wide and the city is behind you and you wonder how long you’ll have to be in this car before your head starts to actually fume from all the thoughts running around.

When you see the sign for Schnecksville, you almost sigh in relief. Seokmin tells you which exit you have to take and you follow his instructions, wondering how you actually got through this drive without any actual communication besides his directions.

Schnecksville is filled with nothing and a gas station. You also pass a motel and a convenience store on your way to the farm that is a few miles away from the city center. Once you finally arrive, you can’t get out of the car quick enough, shoving the keys into your jacket when the car is locked. The farm is bigger than you had anticipated and Seokmin, who has discarded his jacket and hat on the backseat, looks just as surprised as you.

“Guess we have some ground to cover. Come on.” He takes the lead and you follow him, even though a part of you feels the need to run ahead. You don’t. You’re not a child.

The woman who opens the door is in her early sixties with graying hair and a cat in her arms.

When you and Seokmin introduce yourselves and show your badges, she gasps slightly.

“Oh, you know, my sweet peach always runs out when I open the door, she is sick, can’t really find her way back when she gets out. Come on in, agent, detective.”

Her name is Mabelle Travis and her husband is Keith Travis, but he isn’t at home right now. He is getting some groceries for them.

“How kind of your husband to help you with that,” you say as you sit down on the couch in the pastel colored living room. Mabelle nods, letting the cat back down.

“Oh, he is the one with the driver’s license, dear. I can only go grocery shopping if he comes with me. Or our son is in town.”

You nod and look over at Seokmin, who is looking at some of the family pictures on the dressers by the door.

“Your son doesn’t live with you, ma’am?” He asks and Mabelle shakes her head as she sits down on one of the horrifically green armchairs.

“No, Detective. He used to, you know, live with us. But that was before we bought the farm. My husband always dreamt of having a farm. When he retired, he thought it might just be the time.” She laughs and looks from Seokmin to you.

“But, what can I do for you?”

“Well, we were wondering if you’d be alright with us looking around the farm? We don’t know if you know, but the farm used to belong to a church before you bought it.”

“Ah, yes. We did know. I think that’s why we got it cheap. What exactly are you looking for, agent?”

“We’re not sure. But we think the church might have some connections to a case we are currently working on.”

Mabelle nods, her face in a frown.

“Oh my. Well, you’re in luck then. We bought the farm years ago, but only recently moved in. So, most of the barns are still untouched. Only this house has been through some construction,” the cat jumps up on her lap and Mabelle smiles down at it, her hand carefully caressing its fur.

“That’s good news, Mrs. Travis. We’ll go take a look then.” Seokmin nods his head towards the back door and you smile at Mabelle before getting up and following Seokmin outside. There are three barns in total - one is large and two are on the smaller side, leaving the two of you with enough ground to work with for the next few hours. You exchange looks and decide to check out the smaller space first, a barn that is completely bare except for a wooden table at the far right that holds a few blueprints. Seokmin checks them out, his eyes scanning them for anything out of the ordinary. You, meanwhile, begin to knock at the wall, listening for hollow spaces, but also come back with nothing. The barn seems as normal as a barn could be.

The second one is a little trickier. It’s not empty, instead it’s filled with boxes that, after checking as good as each and every one, all seem to be empty. You check your wrist for the time, wiping your forehead with the back of the other hand. You’ve really been at it for the last two hours.

“I think we should move on to the last barn. I doubt the rest will hold anything of worth. Come on.” Seokmin is next to you all of a sudden and you flinch, looking away from your watch and at the man, who has sweat dripping down his temple. His eyes are set on your face and you wonder if you look just as exhausted as he does. Clearing your throat, you nod and turn away from him, walking out of the barn and to the next one.

Seokmin sighs, following you outside and grabbing your arm once he catches up with you.

“Y/N, I am just as delighted about doing this with you as you are with me, believe me. But perhaps we should at least try to do our job.”

His words sting more than they should have and you are well aware of that. Funny to think that such wounds would have healed after seven years. You shake off his hand and turn around to face him.

“Oh, is that right, Seokmin? You’re just as delighted as I am?” You raise your eyebrows at him. “As far as I can remember, Detective, you left me with nothing more but a joke of a letter.”

Seokmin bites down on his tongue. You are right. Maybe it wasn’t right of him to compare the two of you.

“I know that. I know I hurt you. And I should have apologized for that years ago. I was young and-,”

“Let me guess? Stupid? That is in fact correct, Seokmin. But I don’t care about an apology, at least not anymore. I just want to get this over with, not have chit-chat with you about the past which neither of us can change anymore. So, will you go to the third barn with me so we can finally leave this stupid town?”

Seokmin watches you walk away, his heart heavier in his chest than before. He really should have reached out sooner. Pulling a hand through his hair, the detective suppresses another sigh and finally follows you to the third and last barn for you to check.

The Travises invite you for dinner and Seokmin and you are both too polite to decline. Thankfully Mabelle is incredibly talkative, loves telling you all the tales about their son, Henry, and how they used to live in the city but then moved to a smaller town. She is excited about her husband’s birthday coming up soon and Henry coming over to visit, and basically her favorite topic to discuss is him. You try your best to resist the urge to look over at Seokmin next to you, to see if he is as amused about this as you are. He is not your ally, not your friend. You shouldn’t be looking for his gaze, shouldn’t be curious of his thoughts.

“Does your son visit you often?” Seokmin now asks after taking a sip from his glass filled with tap water.

“Not as much as we’d like.” Mrs. Travis sighs and pats her husband’s hand.

“He is busy with working in the city, not always available.” Mr. Travis now explains and Seokmin and you nod. That makes sense. You try to remember the last time you had time to visit your own parents. You couldn’t even really remember.

“If there is something we want to check again, would it be alright if we came back?” Seokmin asks when you finally stand at the front door, saying your goodbyes. The Travises nod, allowing you to come back whenever. After waving at them you walk back to the car, Seokmin now getting into the driver’s seat. As you sit down on the passenger seat the atmosphere quickly becomes tense now that you’re alone again. The second your doors are closed, a familiar sound is heard.

“Oh, you’ve got to be joking.”

Rain. It’s starting to rain. What starts with a few drops on the windshield turns into a full on piss of rain that has the both of you staring at the scene for a few seconds. When a second later you hear thunder so close it almost shakes the car, Seokmin reluctantly starts the engine.

There is no way in hell you can drive home in this weather. As much as the both of you hate it, you’ll have to stop somewhere and wait out the storm. Seokmin suggests the motel you had seen on your way here and you nod, knowing there wasn’t much else you could say or do. Having to stay somewhere with Seokmin, somewhere you couldn’t just flee from, seems like the number one worst scenario you could find yourself in. You look at him from the passenger seat, trying to my sly about it but of course he notices your eyes on his face.

“Believe me, I would rather not do this either, Y/N. But I’d rather be safe than drive on the highway in this weather.”

You don’t answer him. Mainly because you would have to tell him he is right and that’s most definitely not going to happen.

“What do you mean by that?” Seokmin looks at the bored looking woman in her fifties. She sighs and shoves the one room key towards him again.

“I mean, Sir, that there is only one room left. We are fully booked. Have you seen the rain?”

It’s very obvious a rhetorical question but Seokmin is about to go on a rant to tell the woman that, of course, he has seen the rain but how on earth does this justify there only being one room in a god damn motel miles away from any big city?

“We’ll take the room,” you quickly interject, handing the lady your credit card that she looks at with a straight face.

“Honey, you’re in the middle of nowhere. Do you really think we take those things?” You feel your cheeks heat up, retreating the card again.

“That’s 16.50$ for the night,” she continues and you hand her a twenty that she takes without a word, shoving the change over the wooden surface, “have a pleasant stay.” She shoves down the small plastic window and you and Seokmin exchange a quick look before making your way to the room you will now have to share.

There is only one bed. You stare at it and so does Seokmin. Because - of course there is. How could you have not asked the woman at the counter? But then again even if you had… there wasn’t much you could have done about it. Maybe a saw, you think, just saw it in half. The two of you stay silent for a good minute, before Seokmin finally sighs, pulling a hand over his face.

“Looks like we can’t do much about this. Just… it’s just one night, alright? We can do this.”

You don’t really understand why he would say that. Why he would speak for you, when you both know it isn’t okay and you most definitely can’t do this. You take a deep breath, throwing your bag onto the very dirty looking armchair next to the door.

“Whatever,” you respond, rolling your eyes as you make your way into the bathroom, if only to get away from Seokmin for a short while. His presence is stressing you out more than you thought it would. Perhaps that had been foolish of you - thinking this wouldn’t be the absolute worst thing to ever happen. But at the same time, it’s not like Hyunwoo had given you much of a choice. He had straight up told you to get your act together and yet… You sigh, the door closed next to you. The bathroom isn’t even half as bad as you had feared. It’s small and the shower could need a scrub (or three), but other than that it’s decent. The toilet looks clean and the mirror hanging over the sink shows you your exhausted face. Dark circles under your eyes that you touch with your cold finger tips. You remember how you looked back in High School. How much you smiled, how happy you were almost every single day. And all because of him. He, who promised you the world only to rip it away when you needed stability the most. It wasn’t fair. Him being here, him playing such a big role in something so important to you. Finding this killer that took lives like it was nothing. Seokmin is here with you and he sure as hell isn’t going anywhere else. The effect he has on you is annoying, to say the least. You don’t want to feel this way, feel insecure and small and like you need to prove yourself to him. He isn’t worth your energy, your thoughts. Not him as a person at least. Him as a Detective is a different story. Another deep breath followed by some water that you splash into your face, is what finally makes you step out again and face your ex-boyfriend that has taken a seat on the bed, the case file spread next to him.

He is handsome. High cheekbones, perfectly shaped eyebrows. His hair is styled back, but slowly the front strands are falling into his face. His face is in a small frown as he looks at the documents, as he tries to make sense where you all fail to find any. Your heart betrays you by skipping a beat, by suddenly sending a wave of sadness over you. He never told you why he left. He just did.

“Anything making more sense now?” You ask cautiously, walking over to him with slow steps. Seokmin looks up slightly before shaking his head.

“Not really,” he mumbles, “it doesn’t make sense. None of this. Why is he curving the crosses into their ears? Why is he choosing these girls specifically?” You sit down on the other side of the bed, gnawing on your lower lip.

“Well, Matthew told you our theory. Abusive mother, hatred towards women.”

“But why- why would he just go after any woman if his mother was a certain type?” Seokmin looks up at you and you feel a sting in your chest. You shrug.

“You’re right to question this theory. It’s not perfect and it will take a few years until we can really say that we have a high percentage of accurate profiles. So far we’ve been good, very good. But not as good as we can be. This unsub is unique because he doesn’t have a type - it almost seems random. Like he goes out on the street and sees a girl and just takes her,” you lick over your lips, letting your eyes wander to the window, the storm on full display, “he is violent, but he also kills them quickly. No signs of sexual abuse. It’s odd and not like anything we’ve seen before.”

Seokmin listens to you speak and allows himself to actually listen. The whole profiling thing - it most certainly hasn’t been something he trusted so far. But now, hearing your words, seeing the look on your face - he almost feels ashamed of his earlier suspicion.

“It’s just-,” he begins, his hand pulling through his hair, “it’s confusing. Why would he not go for people who look like his mother? Why is he not taking revenge on her over and over again?”

You feel your thoughts stumble over that sentence for a good thirty seconds. Seokmin is right - why wouldn’t he take revenge on his mother over and over again? Why would he kill women that look nothing like her? Without really noticing, you get up, your feet carrying you over to the window, staring at the rain outside, hoping it would give you the clue you so desperately need right now.

“You agree, don’t you? That it is odd!” Seokmin gets up too, only to turn around and look at the files again, his arms crossed, eyes scanning all the pictures and clues the team has gathered so far.

“Yes, it definitely is odd,” you mumble, heart racing in your chest.

“Okay. We’ll go over this again. There has to be something we’re missing. A connection between them, a club they all go to. Anything, just… fuck, it feels as if there is clue right there, hidden in plain sight and we are missing it because it’s too damn obvious!”

Hidden in plain sight. You blink against your reflection in the window. Hidden in plain sight. Matthew had said the same thing back at the precinct.

For all we know, they could be hiding in plain sight and we wouldn’t know.

You swirl around, eyes wide and Seokmin looks at you with a confused expression.

“What?”

“The barn,” you breathe, eyes flickering to the table, where the car keys lay right where Seokmin left them, “we need to go back.”

Seokmin tries to stop you, the storm still howling outside, but you’re not letting him. This is too important, too obvious. You want to kick yourself for not realizing it earlier. For seeing something that was right there, but not actually seeing it.

You run to the car, soaked from head to toe when you sit down on the driver’s seat. The door to the passenger seat opens and Seokmin plops down, just as drenched as you are.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, will you tell me what the fuck is happening right now?”

Instead of answering, you start the engine, the wipers doing their best to clear your view.

“Y/N!” Seokmin repeats loudly and you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding.

“It has to be in there! In the barn. All those god damn empty boxes. One of them has to have something in it, something they don’t want us to find. Fucking hell, we could have had the whole team here by now, Seokmin! If only we hadn’t been lazy!”

“Wait, hold on. So you think the Travises have something to do with this?” Seokmin asks and you shrug.

“Honestly? I don’t think they do. But it’s still their property now. And most of these boxes are theirs. I’m sure we’ll find something there. We just have to look at every single box.”

You’re almost in a haze, Seokmin thinks. Your eyes have completely changed and the way you drive this car would have been scary if only you weren’t so damn impressive. You have been impressive the whole day, Seokmin thinks. He would never say it out loud (not to you at least) but this job seems to fit you like a glove. Never did it cross his mind back in High School that you’d end up in the same field as him. He gulps down the nostalgia and instead looks out the window, wondering if the rain will stop anytime soon.

It hasn’t been long since the two of you left the Travises and yet, when you arrive, the house is dark. Checking your watch you see it's already after 9pm.

“They said we can come back whenever.” You say more to yourself than Seokmin, but the latter still nods, cursing under his breath when he steps out of the car and into the horrible weather. You run alongside him, passing the house and first barn, setting foot in the one you had a hunch about with both of you drenched from head to toe. Ignoring the cold creeping up, you begin examining the boxes once again. There is nothing extraordinary about them. They are the usual cardboard boxes one uses for moves, all over the country. It’s nothing you haven’t seen thousand of times before and-

“Y/N, look at this.” Seokmin’s voice fills the silence that has only been accompanied by the sound of rain and thunder before. Looking over at him, you see that he is holding up two different boxes upside down. There is a green dot on both of them. Your eyes widen. Quickly, you check your own box - but nothing. There is no dot. Confusion mixed with frustration begins to rise within you and you throw the box to the side, pulling clam hands through wet hair.

“There has to be a system,” you mumble, closing your eyes as you try to calm yourself down. Seokmin hears your words and looks around the room, trying to make sense of how the boxes are lined up. They all look the same. They were all stacked the same when you came in earlier today. There isn’t anything about them that makes one different from the other - except for the dots he had discovered. His brain is working at full speed, his eyes roaming from one side of the room to the other. Only when he looks down, does he see something.

“Y/N, look,” he puts the two boxes he held up to the side and crouches down, your figure standing over him a second later. There were clear lines painted on the floor. He looks up at you and you feel your eyes beginning to shake, as you move as quickly as possible, shoving more boxes to the side and focusing on the floor. And yes, only a few moments later you find yet another line, one that contains boxes with more dots - orange ones. But it doesn’t stop there. Seokmin finds another line and boxes that, once again, don’t have a dot. He wants to pull his hair out, but once you begin looking at the boxes with him, your gaze full of determination, he calms down. Together, the two of you turn over every single box until, after what feels like hours, you let out a gasp. The box you’re holding now doesn’t only have a red dot on it - it also contains something. Seokmin is next to you right when you pull out the small key that makes both of you almost jump in glee. Your hunch had been right. Now all you had to do was find where the key belonged. Your eyes met and without words, Seokmin went to the left side of the room and you to the right one, both of your hearts beating at rapid speed at this point. Neither of you wants to or will leave this place until you find whatever door is hidden behind the wooden planks decorating the walls. Your hands flew over them, knocking to hear a hollow sound, anything that would indicate there being a hidden space. Nervous sweat was now mixing with the rain on your face, the earlier cold all forgotten thanks to the adrenaline you were feeling.

“I got something!” Seokmin suddenly yells after a few minutes and you immediately turn and run over to him, seeing him break the wall free of the plank. Just that there is no wall. It is a thin wooden door with a small lock that looks like it was made for the key safely stored inside the pocket of your jeans. Without any hesitation, you move forward, key back in your hand after pulling it out, and reuniting it with its lock - the door clicking open a second later. Seokmin and you look at each other again before you push the door with your hand, it easily swings open for you and Seokmin to see a narrow hallway led down by an old looking staircase. There is a string hanging down from the ceiling which Seokmin pulls on, lighting up the hallway for you to see more clearly.

“Well, let’s go,” you say and Seokmin nods, both of you with one hand on your gun belts as you walk down the stairs, all the way down to a door that, thankfully, isn’t locked. Pushing this one open as well, you are met by another hallway, longer this time, with three doors leading to different rooms on each side. You feel adrenaline rush through you as you begin walking, Seokmin right behind you. The first two doors lead to empty storage rooms, you taking the ones on the left, Seokmin on the right. Your hands feel clammy and your senses are all heightened as you continue to the next door, opening it at once and checking the insides carefully, gun in your hand. No one is in there - but it’s also not empty.

“Seokmin!” You call out and the man is beside you right then, eyes scanning the room. It’s an office, or at least it appears to be. Right on the wall across from you hangs a portrait of a beautiful landscape and only barely hides a very obvious closet of some sorts. You shove your gun back into your belt and walk straight up to it, while Seokmin goes to examine the desk standing at the left side of the room. He pulls out a pair of gloves from the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls them over his fingers before he begins to open each and every drawer.

“There isn’t much dust around here,” you suddenly say and Seokmin looks over at you.

“What do you mean?”

“Someone comes here regularly. Cleans it of dust, keeps the floors clean.” You look around for a moment, then your focus is back on the painting hanging over the closet. Your hands are also wrapped up in a pair of gloves and you move slowly as you grab the edges of the frame to heave it off the wall. It occurs to you that the last time someone was here, they hadn’t succeeded in putting the painting back into its usual spot. You can tell because it comes off the wall without any problems, having been crooked from the beginning on. Now, you lean it against the wall next to you, before your hands open the closet.

“Is something in there?” Seokmin walks over to you now, nothing interesting inside the desk.

Once he comes to a halt next to you, he feels himself gasp. There is a whole shelf with files that seem to be alphabetically organized. Your heart beat speeds up once more as you grab a random file (Br-Bu) and open it.

“That-,” Seokmin’s eyes widen. As you continue staring at the page, he moves to pull out more of the files. He brings them over to the desk and opens them one by one, until he finds all the names he has been looking for.

“Broshard, Cartwright, Franco, Rogers, Twain and White.”

Seokmin and you are staring at the files. It was all of the girls’ parents. They had all been part of this cult before. It made sense, of course it did. And yet, having it here, black on white, was still a shock. This meant their connection had been right there, so easy to grab, and none of the parents had thought about sharing this with the police. You lean against the desk, hands pulling through your damp hair. Seokmin’s hands are propped on his hips, his eyes reading over the names over and over again.

“We have confirmation now,” he states, “we need to call the precinct.” He looks over at you and you nod, your hands still resting in your hair. Worry rushes through Seokmin and he finds himself standing in front of you a second later, his hands around your wrists to bring your hands back down softly.

“We will get him,” he says then, eyes boring into yours, “we will get him and he will be punished, Y/N, I promise you.”

It’s unprofessional, he knows it and so do you. You don’t ever promise to catch a killer.

“Why didn’t the parents tell you?” Your voice is quiet and Seokmin sighs, shrugging. His hands are still holding you.

“I don’t know. Shame, fear? Whoever is doing this is a cold blooded murder, Y/N, they were probably scared he’d take even more from them.”

“More than a child?” You look up at him, letting the feelings that you’ve been holding back finally crack through.

“I guess so? We will find all of this out tomorrow, we just need to get back to the motel and call the precinct.”

He says the words but doesn’t move. Neither do you. You both stay right where you are, your eyes locked on each other. The air around you shifts, the exhaustion mixes with something you only have faint memories of.

“You are incredible, do you know that?” Seokmin whispers finally, “the way your brain works - it’s incredible. Admirable.”

His body heat engulfs you, makes you feel hot and cold at the same time. You swallow down your doubts and instead let your heart do the talking.

“You’re just as incredible, Seokmin. All the work you’ve done in this case already… if it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

Seokmin feels himself holding his breath as his one hand moves from your wrist to your fingers, interlocking them with his own while the other moves up, cupping your cheek, thumb caressing the side of your chin. He feels your skin, the softness he remembers better than he wants to admit.

Neither of you is sure who does it. Who dares to close the distance. But you’re kissing, his lips warm and familiar on yours. Your arms move by themselves, wrapping around Seokmin’s neck as he deepens the kiss, his tongue licking over your bottom lip slowly, asking for entrance that you give him without any hesitation. He kisses better than he did back in high school and his hands are more experienced, moving down and up to grab your hips and hoist you on top of the desk, standing in between your legs now. You grab his face, your tongue licking against his, feeling the stress and discomfort of the day leave you with every touch of his skin. The kiss grows more and more desperate, both of you panting against each other and only after a good five minutes do you part, his hands in your hair and yours on his nape.

“We should get out of here,” he mumbles against your lips then and you nod, letting him help you down the desk.

This time the drive isn’t awkward. It’s filled with something else, something you haven’t felt in so long. Not just regarding Seokmin - but in general. Your work is your everything and you and your team travel around the country more than you don’t. Wanting someone, feeling wanted by someone, this hasn’t happened to you in a while. Your gaze keeps wandering to the driving Seokmin, to the man that had once hurt you so much and now was the only thing you could concentrate on.

“If you don’t stop looking at me like that I will park this car on the side of the road and not give a fuck about anyone seeing what I want to do to you, Y/N.”

His deep voice made your insides turn deliciously, the heat between your legs rising as you licked over your dry lips, eyes shaking as you nodded, averting your gaze from Seokmin’s intoxicating frame. As much as the idea excited you it also seemed like a stupid idea considering the motel really wasn’t that far away.

It doesn’t take half as long as it usually would with Seokmin speeding down the road, finally parking the car in the parking lot, getting out of the car and opening the door for you, his hand around yours in no time as he leads you to the door, both of you drenched again when you step inside. But even with all the tension between you two, Seokmin walks over to the telephone on the wall, passing a young man who just seemed to have left his room to go outside. You present him with a nod when he smiles at you, quick to look at Seokmin again who is now dialing the number of the precinct.

When he explains what you found, he speaks quietly and rushed, you by his side the whole time, holding his fingers between yours. The tension doesn’t subside, it only gets shoved to the side as Seokmin talks to his superior, who was still at the station at this time, waiting for your call. Your head feels dizzy, the situation bizarre but also somewhat addictive. The second Seokmin hangs up, knowing his colleagues will leave for Schnecksville as soon as the storm gets better, he wraps an arm around your waist and leads you to your room with hurried steps.

The door falls shut behind the two of you and your body is pressed against it, Seokmin’s one hand skillfully wrapped around both of your wrists, pinning them over your head as he dips down to kiss you, his thigh pressing between yours. A moan escapes you, your hands wiggling under Seokmin��s grasp. He kisses you with the same desperation as before, his free hand underneath your shirt, fingers pressing into your skin.

Nothing is inside your head except the need for him. You don’t want to feel anything but his touch, his kisses, the way his tongue feels against yours - hot and wet and perfect. He moves his arm around you again, picks you up as if you weigh nothing, carrying you over to the bed where he drops you, your eyes wide as you stare up at him. There is no light in the room beside the one coming from outside, making him look angelic. His carefully styled hair is falling into his face now, his lips red from your kisses. His pupils are blown out and the look in his eyes runs shivers down your spine. You watch as he gets rid of his jacket and belt, following his movement as you sit up a little bit, skillfully opening the belt with your gun and leaving it on the floor next to the bed, feeling the mattress move the next second as Seokmin lowers himself onto the bed. Your hands find his nape once more just as he presses his lips against yours again, hands roaming from your hips to your stomach and under your shirt, gripping your breasts one by one and moaning into your mouth when his thumb feels the stiff nipple underneath your bra.

His tongue licks against yours again, your back arching against him as he moves to kiss down your neck, biting and licking and kissing all the same. When he hears your sounds, he feels himself growing harder, his composure almost breaking as he takes off your shirt with your help, shoving the cups of your bra to the side to dip down and suck your nipple into his mouth, your legs wrapping around his waist as you push him closer to you, teeth sinking into you bottom lip. It feels like electricity between you, the way he touches you sends shocks through your body in the best way possible.

“God, I can’t believe I have you under me again, fuck,” Seokmin breathes against your neck now, his breath tickling you. “Been thinking about you so much, you know? About how much more I know now… how I can make you cum, baby, eat your sweet pussy and have you scream my name.”

His words send another wave of shivers down your body and you nod, wishing for nothing more than for your and his clothing to land on the floor.

“Seokmin… just want you to fuck me, please, need you so so bad.”

He groans, cock twitching and he finally moves to open his pants. It’s all hurried and a little bit frantic, the way you pull on his shirt next and the way your bra basically gets ripped off your frame by him. It drives you crazy, how he kisses you, pushing you further up the bed, your head hitting the pillow as he devours your lips and tongue, his hand squeezing your tits over and over, his stiff cock right there between your legs, still caged in by his briefs.

“How bad do you want it, hm?” He breathes out, his fingers now moving downwards, ending up over your clothed pussy, making you squirm.

“Fuck, so bad, Seokmin. Please.”

He sucks on the skin underneath your ear and lets his fingers shove your panty to the side, sliding through your wet folds and moaning against you. You’re so wet, wet and ready for him.

“I wonder if you still taste the same, baby,” he mumbles, continuing to let his fingers glide through your lips, letting one of them sink into you. Your pussy practically sucks him in, eager to feel him inside. Seokmin kisses you again and your nails are dragging along his back as your hips move against Seokmin’s digit inside of you.

“M-more, want more of you,” you cry out when you come up for air and Seokmin nods, letting a second finger slide in too, fully finger fucking you now as he smothers your neck with more kisses, preceding to suck marks onto the sensitive skin of your breasts, your whimpers becoming more and more frenzied. You need his cock and you need it now. So, you let your hand wander down, grabbing around the wrist of his hand that is currently fucking you.

“Want your cock, Seok… fuck me with your cock.” His eyes meet yours, gaze almost crazy as he curses under his breath, nodding before pulling his fingers out of you, bringing them to his mouth to suck them clean - making you whimper in the process. He licks his lips after.

“Still so tasty, baby… all for me.”

He kisses you one more time, deep and emotional and dizzying, before finally ridding himself of his briefs and you of your panties, hand pumping his length a few times. You watch and swallow, remembering how he had felt back then. He had been your first. And now he was going to claim back what he had made his so many years ago.

When he sinks into you, both of you cry out in pleasure, his arms on the mattress next to your head and his lips kissing your cheek, chin and lips. You are still hugging him close, fingers pressing into his nape and back. His first thrust is deep and slow and your eyes roll back, a long moan escaping your kiss-bruised lips. He can’t keep going slow, he knows that. As hard as he tries - he knows he won’t be able to control himself. Which leads to his thrusts becoming faster, to his moans becoming louder and your pussy clenching around him more often. It’s hot and wet and quick, it’s making you feel like you’re in a dream, his teeth sinking into your flesh, your cries spurring him on. Your legs are around his hips, his cock hitting you right where you need it to with every thrust and when you feel his hand sneaking in between you, thumb pressing down on your clit, rubbing it in perfect circles, you know you won’t last long.

“You feel so good, baby, take my cock so fucking well.” He moves, on his knees in front of you now, your legs over his shoulders the next second. The new angle makes you see stars, especially with his thumb still on your clit.

“F-fuck, Seok! I’m so close.” Your cry makes him smirk, his movements becoming less and less controlled, as he is chasing both of your releases. You give up on keeping your eyes open, enjoying the way he feels, the way he hits you right where it feels so incredibly good. Your body is on fire, everything feels more intense and if you had the capacity in your brain you’d probably worry about exploding.

And you do - you explode only a few seconds later, your orgasm hitting you hard, leaving you to cry out his name, nails back in his skin, leaving clear marks that he will be proud of later.

“That’s right, baby, look at you, so pretty coming on my cock, fuck,” Seokmin feels you pulsate around him, feels how your pussy clenches over and over, milking him for all he has and there isn’t anything he can do but reach his own high, cum shooting out his cock and into your spent core. He collapses on top of you, your legs falling off his shoulders, spasming at the intensity of your climax. His breath is right there in your ear and you finally open your eyes again, fingers moving to stroke through his hair. You stay like this for a while, just catching your breath, feeling him so close after so long. Only when he slips out of you, laying down next to you, his lips pressing a kiss to your cheek, do you regain some senses. Smiling at him, you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom.

When you come back out, Seokmin is asleep. Chuckling, you pick up his shirt from the floor and slip it over your head before laying back down, cuddling into his side and letting yourself drift off into a dreamless sleep.

For Seokmin it’s not a dreamless sleep, though. It hasn’t even been two hours he’s been asleep when he wakes up, cold sweat covering his body. He looks down and sees you peacefully sleeping right beside him, one of your hands on his bare stomach, the other under your own cheek. In any other case he would have loved to look at you for as long as he could, but this isn’t like any other case.

The man, he thinks, the man we saw yesterday. Seokmin gets up, careful not to wake you up, grabbing his underwear from the floor, just like his pants. You’re in his shirt so he has no other choice but to leave the room with his chest still bare. His feet carry him out the room and to the small entrance space, right to the phone where he dials Bream’s number again. The second someone picks up, Seokmin begins talking.

“It’s the son, Sir, the Travises son - he’s the unsub.”

The area in front of the farm hasn’t been this busy in years. There are cop cars everywhere, a S.W.A.T team is about to arrive. Seokmin has his hands pushed into his pockets as he talks to his superior officer. You are standing further away next to Matthew and Yuqi, listening to Hyunwoo’s orders.

Seokmin had recognised the son, Henry, from the pictures at the house. You feel stupid for not realizing it sooner.

“Don’t linger on those feelings, Y/N,” Hyunwoo says, “it had been a long day.”

Yes, a long day that ended with you being too horny to do your job properly. You don’t tell him that of course. Instead, you press your lips together and just nod.

Henry is inside the barn now, the barn you and Seokmin found the secret door in last night. His parents and the missing girl, Kelly, are with him. It’s a classic hostage situation and yet even your team is at a loss of words. It all doesn’t make sense right now. Why is Henry doing this? You let your gaze flicker over to the barn, wondering what he is doing to them right now.

The head of the S.W.A.T team is walking over to Hyunwoo now. They apparently arrived just now

“We are ready for your orders, Sir,” he says, shaking Hyunwoo’s hand. Your boss nods.

“Alright, thank you. I’ll let you know when you can go in.” The man leaves again after that and you look at Hyunwoo, unsure.

“We need him alive, don’t we?”

“In theory, yes. But it’s not always easy, you know that. Whatever is going on inside of him, we will only find out if we get him out, but we need to look at the bigger picture. We need to figure out what his deal is.”

Just then, Jungwoo arrives at the scene, carrying a white box.

“You won’t believe this,” he says, putting the box on top of the police car next to you. Seokmin is suddenly next to you, his arm brushing against yours and making you shiver. You ignore the effect once again.

“Henry Crawl, 36, was adopted by the Travises when he was 9 years old. It says here that his mother committed suicide and the Travises took him in - Mrs. Travis being is paternal aunt. She felt responsible for him, considering the father left right after his birth and his mother died.”

“So, they aren’t his biological parents. They didn’t mention that.” Seokmin frowns.

“Which means that there is a chance his mother was part of this cult. Is there an autopsy report for his mum?” You take step closer to the box and Jungwoo nods, handing you the document. Scanning it, your eyes widen as suddenly the reason for all of this is starting to make sense.

“There were signs of abuse - of years of abuse. Scars, bruises, internal damages.” You shake your head, “he isn’t killing women because he hates them. He kills them because he is avenging his mother.”

“She was part of the cult, probably around the same time as the parents of the girls. They probably knew about the abuse and he somehow figured it out.” Matthew chews on his bottom lip as he shoves his glasses up his nose.

“We need to talk to him. Need him to let the girl go as well as his parents.” Hyunwoo looks over at the truck where all the special units are gathered. He excuses himself and goes over to them. The atmosphere shifts, there are nervous droplets of sweat running down your face. The storm might have stopped, but it’s still slightly drizzling down on you. Seokmin’s hand finds the small of your back. You flinch, your head turning to look at him wide eyed.

“It’s gonna be okay, we’re going to get them out of there,” his voice is soothing you, as much as you hate to admit it. You swallow down whatever you’re thinking and shake his hand off, before walking over to Hyunwoo and the special forces, leaving Seokmin behind.

“I want to talk to him.” Your voice breaks through the conversation Hyunwoo is having with the captain. Both of them look at you, eyebrows raised.

“Y/N-,” Hyunwoo starts, but you interrupt him.

“You know it has to be me. I am roughly the same age as his mother was back then. I am a woman. I know what is going on inside his head. Please, Sir, let me do this.”

If there had been more time, maybe they would have argued with you. But there isn’t any time. And so, they nod. As much as it makes you nervous, you also know that you’re right. You’re confident that you can do this, that you have the ability to save this girl and Henry’s parents. Taking a deep breath, you look over at Seokmin, who’s eyes speak more than a thousand words. He knows why you walked over there and he knows that you are the only one for the job. The smile on his lips reassures you more than you want to admit.

Not even five minutes later you have a walkie-talkie in your hand. The other one landed in the barn roughly a minute ago. Now, you’re waiting for Henry to respond after your first attempt at contact. The rain is still falling softly, the sun nowhere to be seen in the sky. It’s early, you’re not sure how early, but you estimate it to be sometime after 6 am.

“I won’t let them go!” The voice coming from the device in your hand brings you back to the here and now, blood rushing in your ears.

“Henry, hello, it’s good to hear your voice,” you say softly, looking over at one of the windows of the barn, wondering if he is watching you.

“I don’t- I won’t let them go,” he repeats and you lick your dried out lips.

“Okay, Henry. I hear what you’re saying, alright? You don’t want to let them go. Could you tell me why?”

“They need to pay for their sins!” It’s not hard to make out that he’s enraged, crying, but still hurt and confused.

“What are their sins, Henry? Can you tell me?” You look over your shoulder at the rest of your team, Hyunwoo nodding at you and you nod back.

“You- you really want to know?” The shift in his voice tells you that your question had been exactly what he wanted to hear.

“Yes, Henry. I want to know, I want to understand.”

There is silence on the other line for just a few moments. You remain calm and don’t ask again. It’s important you give him space, important for the hostages as well as to earn his trust.

“They- they knew about my mum. My adoptive parents. I heard them say it. They knew why the police came to visit. It was because of her, because of mum. She was tortured by them, by the whole cult! And everyone who knew about it and didn’t do anything needs to be punished.” His voice is shaking as he speaks and you wonder if the hostages are in the room with him or if he has them hidden underneath the barn in one of the rooms you found last night.

“You’re doing this for your mum, Henry? You’re avenging her life?”

“Yes!”

“I understand. You did well, Henry. You hurt them the way they hurt you. They should have never taken your mother from you, Henry, that was wrong of them,” the words leaving your mouth aren’t what you’re actually thinking, but they will do the trick. Henry will trust you, he will listen to what you have to say.

“I- I did this for her. I wanted her to know I never gave up on her. B-but-,” he stops and you hear a sob, sure now that he is indeed crying.

“But? You can talk to me Henry, I am here for you.” You bite your lip, hoping you’re not pressing the matter too far.

“B-but…,” Henry starts again, “but he- he betrayed me. He told me- he told me they were the only one’s at fault. He told me he wanted to avenge her too…”

He? You once again turn to your team, all of their faces in frowns.

“Who is “he”, Henry?”

No answer. Henry isn’t responding. You feel a slight panic arise inside of you.

“Henry, it’s okay. You don’t need to tell me, okay? Just- tell me about you, about your mum. You must miss her dearly, right?”

“My mum deserved better than what she got. She shouldn’t have killed herself, she should have fought through it! But she couldn’t. She was so scared of what they had done to her, what he had done to her! I wanted them all to suffer, wanted them all to know what it feels like losing someone they love. And I did that, I did that to him too!” He gets louder with every word.

“Henry, you’re frustrations are valid. But, please, it is enough. You’ve showed them, you’ve hurt them. Enough people have died, Henry. Let your parents and Kelly go and you will be free.”

Henry is silent for a short while again.

“If he doesn’t respond, we’ll go in,” the S.W.A.T team’s leader is now saying to Hynwoo and latter holds up his hand, as if to signal to give it more time.

“Henry? Can you do that for me?” You ask again. Everyone is growing more and more uneasy, the more time passes. Your hands are sweaty and you feel like the rain isn’t the reason for why your clothes are damp again. Just when Hyunwoo is about to take his hand down, to let the special unit do their job - the doors of the barn open and Kelly runs out, the Travises right behind her. They all seem completely out of it but there are clear signs of relief on their faces. Seokmin and Stolper run towards them, helping them when they see, that Mr. Travis is limping and both women are spurting wounds on their face. You close your eyes and take a deep breath before pressing the button to talk again.

“Henry? Henry, are you there?”

“My parents always loved me. They raised me when mum died. But they knew, you know. They knew! Which means, they need to suffer, too.”

Your heart skips a beat when you throw the walkie-talkie to the side and run towards the barn, your team right behind you. You don’t think you’ve ever run as fast as you do right now. The air is tight around you and its rough to breathe.

Henry is right there at the back of the barn, holding a gun to his head. You scream and Hyunwoo shoots forward to tackle him down - but it’s too late. The shot is heard but your eyes are closed, your knees growing weak but you stay standing. Henry is dead even before he hits the floor and there is nothing you can do.

The hostages are free, so it counts as a win. The Manhattan Slasher is finally caught. He lays there, dead on the ground. He is getting carried away now, by two coroners who present you with a nod as you wait for Matthew and Jungwoo to come back upstairs. You hadn’t felt like you could go downstairs and see whatever Henry had left for you to find.

You're sitting outside now, seeing Seokmin approach you, with a file in his hands. You look up at him, blinking against the rain. When he stands in front of you, it’s almost like the sun showed its face after all. He isn’t smiling, though. He just radiates this energy that immediately gets your spirits up.

“The judge,” he says, handing you the file, “it’s all in here. He was the one controlling Henry. Told him all those parents were the reason his mum suffered. And while it’s not all a lie - the judge himself was the actual perpetrator.”

With a slightly shaking hand, you reach for the file and open it, reading through what is evidence of Seokmin’s words. Now, this was something neither you nor your team has predicted. You swallow down a set of tears.

“He used Henry. But for what?”

“My guess is as good as yours, but, if I may try myself at your job: They probably got fed up with his shit. Told him they would rat him out to the police if he didn’t turn himself in for abusing that woman. He began killing their children as a way to keep them quiet. My guess is, that he has been keeping them quiet ever since Henry’s mum committed suicide and they all only recently began to wonder if maybe this was wrong.”

Seokmin’s words reach your brain and they make sense as much as they don’t. You’ve been working this job long enough to know that there will never be something as full closure. People act irrationally all the time, do things no one understands. There is nothing you can do about it but wait it out, wait for the injustice to die down within you. In the end there is no point to try and understand people like this. Not that these parents deserved to have their daughters get killed.

You thank Seokmin with a small nod and he sits down next to you. Next there will be the arrest of the judge. Then the parents will be questioned, and will get a punishment of their own because they didn’t stop the murders when they had the chance. You know they couldn’t because they were scared, but the law is clear.

You feel Seokmin’s hand capturing yours and you look over at him. The business around the farm isn’t done yet. Boxes get carried and there is more forensic personnel than you’ve seen in a while, probably taking apart the basement you and Seokmin had found. It should be relief you’re feeling but right now you’re just tired.

So, when Seokmin pulls you against him, arm around your waist, you don’t even try to stop yourself from laying your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes.

header by @wongyuseokie.

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