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woozisprincess · 7 days ago

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Everything I Have

You really so desperately miss your beloved during comeback season

Fem Reader x Idol Woozi

Established relationship

2.6k

Fluff, angst, smut, fingering, penatrative sex, 0 protection (sleeve that pickle), they both just really love each other

You fucking hate comeback season.

Okay, maybe hate is a strong word. You can't really hate it when it's your love's livelihood. But it's also the exact reason why he's not home right now.

Lee Jihoon, your beloved, is awful busy. Not only as an idol, but also as a producer and song writer. He works harder than anyone you know, it's one of the things you admire about him, but it's also the reason you have half a mind to clock him in the head when you don't see or hear from him for days.

That's not to say that Jihoon doesn't try. Cause boy, does he try to give you every spare second he has. But the man only has so much time in a day. So you'd never direct the blame towards him. Perhaps his company with their horrid schedules, never letting the man catch his breath. Or, perhaps comeback season in general because why the fuck is it the norm to have at least two comebacks a year???

But alas, there was nothing you could do about it. So instead, you waited patiently like you always did. You'd send Jihoon little messages throughout the day reminding him to eat or drink water, telling him that you love him and that you're proud of him. You'd hardly ever get a response but you knew he'd seen them. Sometimes he'd send back a heart emoji if he had a second or two.

Then after a few days, you'd hear the door to your bedroom creak open at around four in the morning. You couldn't get a good look at him as he darted for the bathroom so he could shower. Jihoon never likes laying next to you 'covered in work,' he wanted to be free of the weary feeling so as to not let it affect your time together.

When Jihoon emerged from the bathroom, you heard a bit more shuffling before you finally felt the bed dip beside you. You immediately turn over, blindly reaching for him. Jihoon laughs tiredly as his hands wrap around your outstretched arms, sliding down until they find your waist, and your arms finally find perch around his shoulders. Satisfied with your position, you throw your leg over him, relaxing in his arms. Oh how you've longed for this.

Jihoon kisses your forehead and mumbles, "Missed you."

You kind of thought about going on a rant, telling him that 'missed' doesn't even begin to describe what you're feeling. But ultimately, you decided that would be too much for right now. So you just mumbled back.

"Missed you, baby."

Jihoon was back in your arms for all of twelve hours before he was being ripped away from you once again. At this rate you were losing it. You have no clue how you manage to survive every comeback season like this. It's literally torture. Some divine force was playing a cruel trick on you. Placing your beloved back beside you, only to take him away again. What on earth could you have possibly done to deserve this.

You watched as Jihoon waddled about looking for his wallet. He was so tired when he got home and he has no idea where he laid it. This happens pretty often. In his tired stupor Jihoon misplaces something he probably shouldn't leave his house without. Usually it's his wallet though, and it's done a particularly great job at hiding from him today it seems.

"Did you check your shorts in the hamper?" You suggested from where you sat on the bed.

Jihoon whirled around to look at you, squinting. "Did I?" He scratched his head. "You could help you know." He stated as he wandered to the bathroom.

"I am helping." You stated matter of factly. Both you and Jihoon knew that the most help he was gonna get was a suggestion of where to look every now and again. You were in no rush to end anything that kept him around a little longer.

You couldn't help but frown as Jihoon stepped out the bathroom triumphantly, wallet in hand. Damn your critical thinking skills.

"Okay then!" Jihoon began to announce his departure. He made his way to you, leaning over to kiss you sweetly.

Oh my god, you could not do this. In a last ditch attempt to stall your lover, you pulled him down on top of you. The two of you fell onto the soft duvet, the sheets wrinkling beneath you. Jihoon pulls away to look at you amused.

"You're putting in more work than usual." He chuckled, his face tinted pink.

It's true. You don't normally physically withhold him from doing his job. You tend to just pout and accept your fate. But something about today. This time around has just been driving you nuts.

"I really do have to go, love." He presses his face to yours. "I'll try to come back tomorrow okay?" He whispers, leaving small kisses on your face.

The look in his eyes was sincere. You knew he really would try. But ultimately, he won't be able to. The thought only further frustrated you.

You squinted your eyes unsure of what to say. You didn't want to make him feel bad, you're sure he already did. He's confessed his guilt about leaving you for work so often, it was something that bothered him quite a bit. You reassured him that it was okay, that if you ever missed him too much you'd just barge into his studio and snatch him up for yourself. And you meant that. You've done it before. But you didn't want to hinder his work too much. So here you are, your dilemma being that you desperately missed your love, but what was the point of going on about it if it only served to make him feel bad.

You think Jihoon could read your mind. He nudged his nose against yours, running his hand up and down your thigh.

"I'm sorry, _____." He whispered.

Oh that's just fucking great. Good going, you upset him. The look in his eyes broke your heart. He looked so defeated, so unsure of what to do. Really, there was nothing he could do. He's thought about it a lot, hoping that one day the correct answer would strike him. But there was no right answer, only his best.

"No no no no." You fired off quickly. The guilt in your chest made you sick. You were being selfish. "It's not your fault, baby. These things can't be helped."

The sigh Jihoon let out was heavy, and sorrowful. You could've cried. "You deserve better than this, love. But this is all I can give you."

Jihoon slowly pushed himself up, and you let your legs and arms fall from around him. Sitting up next to him you reach for his hand holding it tightly.

"I don't need anything else." You say quietly.

Jihoon's brows were furrowed as he looked to the ceiling, attempting to blink away that stinging feeling in his eyes. "You clearly want more." He mumbles.

"I want you." You assert firmly. Your free hand reaches for him, gently touching his face causing him to look at you. "I don't care if I only see you one day out of a month! As long as it's you, I will take whatever I can get!"

You wanted him. For some god forsaken reason you wanted him. It didn't make much sense when he was borderline neglectful during these times, but no matter how impatient you grew, you never left.

"You shouldn't settle for that."

"I don't think being with a man who literally gives me every available second of his time can be considered settling." You scrunched your nose in distaste. Pissing you off. The notion pissed you off. Settle? You don't do that. And you definitely didn't do that when you chose Lee Jihoon to be your lover. It was ridiculous. But most insecurities were, you supposed.

"Settling is like, half effort, no concern, just-" You waved your hand around, vaguely gesturing at nothing. "-Just something. Barely anything actually.

"But you give everything." Tears prick at your eyes. Don't cry don't cry don't cry. "It actually concerns me that you never make time for yourself. You give and give, but what does that leave you with, you know?"

Your voice shook, and despite your best efforts, a few tears escaped you. Jihoon's hand gently caressed your face, whipping away your tears with his thumb.

Jihoon has never really known how to respond to such declarations from you. Frankly, he just wants to cry. He just wants to cry, and thank you for loving him so unconditionally. For caring about him so deeply. Even when you're clearly upset about how little you've seen him, you still manage to think of him and how he feels.

Jihoon on mutters a 'Thank you,' and pulls you into a kiss before he could also starts crying. When your lips meet, the kiss is searing and full of emotion. You free Jihoon's hand from yours, instead gripping his shoulder for stability. One of his hands finds your waist, the other resting on your neck. He pulls you closer to him, deepening the kiss. Jihoon's tongue darts out, prodding at your lips. You open for him quickly, allowing him to explore your mouth like he's done so many times before. Your whine is muffled by his lips, but he still heard you loud and clear.

In that moment he decided that you were still too far away, so he grabs at your lower half, pulling you on his lap with practiced ease. His lips leave yours in favor of kissing your jaw, down to your neck. It's embarrassing how loudly you moan and whine.

That's... That's another thing. In these dark times your sex lives are non-existent. If he doesn't even have time to come home and take a nap, then fucking you is basically impossible. Occasionally, in the late hours of the night, you might sext or even call. Telling each other how much you need the other, sending photos as proof of your want. But obviously that's not gonna fill the void that only your bodies can satisfy.

So in this moment, with his hands squeezing your thighs, and his lips and tongue lathering your throat, you're reminded of just how long it's been since you've touched each other like this.

"Jihoon-" you whine as he tugs at the hem of your shirt.

"I know, baby." He groans, pulling your shirt over your head, revealing your bare chest.

Jihoon's lips are immediately back on you, his tongue licking down your body like you're ice cream on a hot day. You gasp when he reaches your breast. He sucks and bites causing you to arch into him. He pulls you closer. Your core drags over his hardened length, making you moan. You begin to grind down on him, desperate to feel him. Jihoon throws his head back at the sensation, gripping your ass to apply more pressure.

It's not long before Jihoon's flipping you onto the bed and taking his place above you. He typically prefers when you ride him, but not today. Today he's giving you everything you deserve, every last bit of him. Jihoon makes quick work of your shorts and panties, leaving you completely bare before him.

"You're so fucking beautiful, my love." Jihoon groans as his hands caress down your body.

You've never enjoyed being the only one undressed, so you pull at his shirt, letting him know you want it gone. He quickly obliges, pulling off his shirt and discarding it somewhere across the room. Your hands trace Jihoon's figure. Oh fuck how you've missed his body. You were practically drewling.

Jihoon pressed his body to yours, leaving just enough space in between your for his hand to slide between your legs. He groaned as his fingers stroked your wet lips.

"Is this why you've been so frustrated, love?" His voice was sweet, in complete contrast to the dark, lustful look in his eyes. "It's been so long since I've taken care of you properly. All these nights alone must've been so hard for you."

They were so, so hard.

Jihoon pressed a sweet kiss against your lips as he slipped a finger inside of you. You whined and clenched around him. It's not even a minute before he adds another finger, curling them in all the right places. He added a third finger to ensure that you were stretched out properly for him. His lips never leave yours, swallowing all your moans and whimpers. Your hips grind into his hand seeking more stimulation. Jihoon's thumb finds your clit pressing down, making you cry out.

This was so much better than your own hands in a dark, empty room.

It wasn't long before you were cumming on Jihoon's fingers. Quicker thank you normally would had your sex life not been put on pause, but that was the last thing on your mind as Jihoon fucked you through your orgasm.

You whimpered when he pulled his fingers out, clenching around nothing. When he brought his hand back up, he licked his digits clean, humming at the taste, you could already feel that knot forming in your stomach again.

Jihoon sat up, pulling down his shorts and boxers and kicking them off. His cock was fully hard, the tip angry and red. You gawked as he stroked himself a few times and lined himself up with your entrance. His tip prodded at your folds and he proceeded to slide in slowly.

The stretch almost felt foreign but his warmth was so familiar. Your breath hitches as he bottoms out. Jihoon kisses your shoulders and collarbones as you adjust.

"You fit me so perfectly, love." He whispers to you. "You're always so good for me." You clench at his words.

When you give him the go ahead he starts slow, pulling out to the tip before thrusting back in. He picks up speed with each thrust, quickly coming to a steady pace. You wrap your legs around him, deepening the angle of his thrust. Your nails claw at his back as you cry out. And he's moaning into your ear. Sweet, high pitch whines leave his lips as he mutters your praises. Telling you how perfect you are, how your body was made just for him, how much you glow when he's fucking you like this, how beautiful you sound when you cry out his name.

It's all so good. Too good. You're already close to the edge. It was only a matter of time when Jihoon slipped his hand between your legs, rubbing circles into your clit with his thumb. When the band snapped, your orgasm wracked through you in waves. Your body spasmed as Jihoon fucked you through each wave of pleasure. And soon his release came over him as well. He buried himself to the hilt as he spilled inside of you.

The two of you showered together, touching and groping one another rather than properly cleaning your bodies. Jihoon even took it upon himself to shove his fingers inside you against the tile wall, ripping another orgasm out of you. Then he kissed you deeply and told you that he loved you. By the time you both were done fooling around, it was safe to say that Jihoon was late. But he didn't seem to care all that much as he kissed you goodbye.

"I love you." He pressed a kiss to your cheek.

"I love you, baby."

And with that, he left. And you were significantly much less depressed about it.

However, you still held a passionate dislike for comeback season.

(⁠*⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)⁠/⁠～⁠♡

An: this started with the thought of being neglected (sexually) during comeback season, and Jihoon being like 'let me fix it, baby,' and thus here we are. There weren't supposed to be this many emotions at all. Just a needy reader and an equally as needy Jihoon. But oh well.

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brittle-doughie · 2 months ago

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Until We Meet Again

[Main Story]

You traveled for many, many years across the land, looking for a place to call home.

Along the way, you’ve met many Cookies that had appeared in the land along with you, growing fond of you over the time you’ve spent with them. You could even say you were quite the magnet to them for some reason!

Alas, the time you had with them was limited, they grew older while you remained…the same. You never let their incoming mortality stop you, however. You were glad to have spent the amount of time with them as you did.

This would go on, for many more years until…

???: “GAH! H-HELP!”

You: “Hm? Wonder what’s going on over there..”

You rushed over to the sound of commotion going on in the middle of a forest area to see a Cookie being chased around by a cake-looking critter!

You: “Well well well, what do we have here!”

Citizen Cookie: “You there! Could you help with this thing!? I was just minding my own business when this thing started to chase me!”

You: “Hm….I’ve got just the thing!”

You reached into your pocket and tossed out some bait far away, the cake critter follows the smell and chases after it, leaving the Cookie alone.

Citizen Cookie: “Woo, thanks! That thing would’ve had gotten me if you hadn’t come along.”

You: “Just doing my part. Say, you wouldn’t happen to be a resident of that nearby kingdom I saw, right?”

Citizen Cookie: “You mean the Cookie Kingdom? I can lead you back there if you’d like, least I could do for you for helping me with that critter!”

You: “That’s the spirit I wanna hear! Lead the way, chief!”

You headed with him back towards the Cookie Kingdom, where the gates opened up as he took along the tour.

Suffice to say, you had grown accustomed to the place in the time you’ve lived in it. You weren’t sure why, but you felt like this place was calling for you!

You really felt like you could call this place home after many years of residency….

———————————————————————

Cookies were fleeing for their lives, rushing out the back gate of the kingdom as guards escorted their escape.

You didn’t understand, one moment was peaceful and calm before it was rushed into horrific and frightening in the next!

Cake Monsters…you had seen what they’ve done to your fellow Cookies, leaving them as nothing but burnt flour in their wake.

No matter how hard you tried, your skills weren’t enough as you fled back into the castle, where many other Cookies still standing resides, injured or too frightened to fight.

You rushed through the halls, trying to find the rulers of the kingdom, maybe they had an idea…until you reached the throne room.

Cookie Kingdom Medic: “I can’t stop the jamming, what do I do?!”

Cookie Kingdom King: “You need to run. The others have evacuated already and the kingdom is lost, the monsters are just about to breach this place. I’ll only slow you all down…”

There, still leaning on his throne was the king of the kingdom, his side soaked in jam as he was likely struck there by a cake monster. The queen was nowhere in sight as you approached him.

Cookie Kingdom King: “Ah, there you are, Y/N Cookie. I am happy to see that you made it here.”

You: “Things are going bad outside, we really have to get out of here, your majesty! Where is her highness?”

Cookie Kingdom King: “Someone needed to lead our subjects out to safety, she had chosen to go with them. She’s safe now…”

You: “You can get to safety too, we just need to escape quickly!”

Cookie Kingdom King: “No. We need to buy time for the remaining evacuating Cookies to get to safety. We are making a final stand here…”

You: “I can stay here with you! I can help!”

Cookie Kingdom King: “Y/N Cookie! Listen to me.”

You stay quiet as he looks into your eyes.

Cookie Kingdom King: “There is no hope for me. I’ve lost so much jam, I’ll be lucky to make it through the day before I crumble. I don’t want all this effort to go to waste if those monsters follow the survivors. Be strong for me, if not for them.”

You looked down as he handed you a sword, your face seen in the reflection of the blade, he gave you a pat on the shoulder as you look up back at him. He tried to give you one more reassuring smile before a guard rushed to him.

Cookie Kingdom Guard: “The castle doors are breached, they’re getting through!”

Cookie Kingdom King: “Y/N Cookie…go. Go now!”

You gave him your final, reluctant nod as you head out the back way of the castle, the king sighs to himself as he pulled out his blade as his remaining guards stand with him, right as the cake monsters breach the throne room…

Cookie Kingdom King: “Let us make the end memorable, my friends! They can break our dough, but they will never break our spirit!”

“CHARGE!”

———————————————————————

You kept running. You didn’t look back as you heard the sounds of roaring and weapons clashing with one another along with the pained and angry shouts of Cookies as you run through the forest.

You reached a hill as you fell on your hands and knees, trying to breathe and hold back a tear or two as you tried to process what had just happened.

You would not be given such reprieve until a loud BOOM shook the air!

You look around the sky until you noticed the large explosion way off into the distance in the sky. You couldn’t believe it, it was like the land was being destroyed all around you as you stand up and kept running.

You would not return until many months later…

By then, the kingdom was a shell of what once was…

#cookie run #cookie run x reader #cookie run x you #cr x reader #cookie run kingdom #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #cr kingdom

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unorthodoxfaithxx · 1 year ago

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Yandere Ghost Smut

afab reader ; nsfw

“This house is totally perfect! You’ll love it,” is what your realtor told you when they finally found a house within your budget. You loved the aesthetics of historical homes, so when they discovered an older house that not only was in your price range, but had just minor damages, they called you immediately.

You moved in within the month. It didn’t take long to settle into your new home. There was a room with shelves meant for books, and you spent most of your free time there, enjoying the books from your collection that could rival a library. Sometimes, you would feel a sudden chill in the air when reading, and grow pensive. It would feel like someone was watching you. But besides that, nothing was out of the ordinary. You just assumed you were too stressed out and growing paranoid as a result. Everything was fine.

Well, it was. Until you started waking up with strange markings on your body. You woke up one day in a cold sweat, waltzing into the bathroom to wash your face off, only to find what looked like hickeys on your neck and upper chest area. Weird. Did you have bugs in the bed? Was it an allergic reaction to the new detergent you bought for the sheets? You had no idea.

You were never able to solve the issue because the markings disappeared within a few hours, and didn’t come back again. Once more, you shrugged it off and assumed nothing was amiss.

Yet eventually, things got even stranger. Your panties started disappearing one-by-one, and you were sure you hadn’t misplaced them. Specifically, your already worn undergarments would disappear from the dirty laundry bin before you could wash them. What the fuck?

“I don’t know, Mary,” you call your best friend one afternoon, “I feel like this place is haunted. And what’s even weirder is I keep getting these wet dreams…like every night. I’m not even sexually frustrated so I don’t know why I wake up wet or with markings on myself.”

“Maybe you got a ghost fucking ya?” She jokes around and you both get a laugh out of that. But for some reason, the deepest part of your being can’t dismiss that thought.

You begin to grow paranoid and start searching for any signs in your house that someone else is living with you. You decide to enter the dusty attic, and find rather antique furniture and a box containing a photo of a man and a woman. He was handsome, albeit a little creepy looking, but what struck you as odd was woman next to him. She looked eerily like you. You brought the photos downstairs to do some research on your computer, but alas, found no information on the man or the woman. The only thing you found out was that there was a fire that had damaged the property all too many years ago. You felt the creepy sensation of being watched again, and called it quits for the night, opting to get some much needed rest.

That night, you saw him.

————————————————————

It’s midnight when he appears in your room, watching your beautiful self slumber. You were so perfect, all those years ago when you left him, and even now. He loves the way the sheets drape your body, but slowly peels them off to reveal that you’re in nothing but a bra and panties. There is a slight sheen of sweat on your skin as your eyebrows furrow cutely in your sleep.

His angel must be having a nightmare, but he can take care of that. Gently, he trails his cold fingers over your curves. He admires your beauty, so happy to see you once more. He can’t wait another minute.

While you’re still on your side, he unclasps your bra, relishing the way your tits fall free without the support. They look so beautiful and perfect, he can’t even begin to describe how enchanted you make him feel.

You roll onto your back. He slides your underwear to the side, revealing your pretty cunt to his ghostly eyes. With a delicate touch, he rubs your clit in small circles, playing with you.

You gasp at the touch and he smirks. Your shuffling does little to deter him from his objective.

He’s on the bed with you, intently staring at your lower half. He admires your folds and moves them open and closed with his fingers, revealing a leaking hole that was your wetness. With a gulp, he slides your underwear off you, wadding it into a ball, burying his face into it as he takes a whiff of your scent. He’d be tasting the real thing soon enough. Once satisfied, he pockets your undies for safe keeping. He tilts his head down to your lower body, shifting into a more comfortable position. With a breath of anticipation, he slithers his cold tongue over your vagina, moaning slightly at the sensation.

He’s been doing this every night he could manifest, and it never got tiring.

This time, and he doesn’t know why, you wake up, staring down at the mysterious man in terror as he laps you up like a man thirsting in the desert. You mean to run but you can’t move. You feel something cold and wet tying your body to the bed. You try to close your legs from your violator, but his icu hands grip firmly on your thighs, keeping them wide open for him to shove his face between.

Under the moonlight, the two of you make eye contact but he doesn’t stop, instead opting to send you a wicked smile. “Good morning, love,” he says gently from beneath you. “I missed you so, so much. You know that?”

You’re in a state of shock, words screaming in your head but not quite reaching your vocal chords. The only sound you can make is a whimper as he shoves his tongue further into you, his nose rubbing you causing further pleasurable friction. He sucks, licks, and rolls your clit with his tongue.

Suddenly, he slides a cold finger into your hole and you gasp, arching your back only to be stuck back down again. “Don’t move, pretty thing,” he scolds you.

“F-fuck,” you finally manage to whisper, heart racing, “Who are you?”

“Someone who’s been watching you for a very, very long time.” He’s stopped licking you, instead moving to pump another finger into your pretty cunt, thrusting in and out at a moderate pace. His eyes show so much love, desperation, and lust in them that you have no idea what to do or where to go. Then it clicks. The man from the photo. That’s who he was. How could that be possible? Was he an actual ghost?

“I’ve been so lonely without you, princess. When you left me to burn, do you know how heartbroken I was? But now you’re back, and we can finally be together again. I’m not letting you leave me another time.”

He now has three fingers inside of you, picking up the pace. The lewd sound of slick fingers sliding in and out of your cunt drives him wild. His face is back between your thighs again, lapping you up and suckling on you until you’re visibly shaking.

“Aw, sweet girl. Gonna cum?”

You don’t want to, but you feel something hot and heavy coming.

“Shit. Cum in my mouth, sweetheart. Wanna taste everything you got.” He latches back onto you.

Your stomach drops and you let go, mind very distressed but body obviously in heaven. Your pussy spazzes out on him and he moans as he licks up the mess you leave behind. With a wipe of his mouth he grins, eying you like a rare prize he had just one at the fair.

He grabs onto you, embracing you in a hug you can’t run away from. Seriously, why can’t you move? He notices your struggles and laughs, snuggling into your chest.

“Ah ah ah, no running away, love. I’ve waited so long for you. You’re not going anywhere.”

He flips you to where you’re face down, ass up. Your vagina is dripping, juices sliding down your thigh. He licks his lips before biting his lower one, admiring the roundness of your ass and your now puffy and pink pussy.

“Oh, love. You got no idea what you do to me…”

You feel something cold and hard tap the entrance of your walls, and you freeze. Oh god, was he going to fuck you? His hands are on the sides of your ass, but you feel another set of cold hands grabbing your arms, and even another pulling at your tits. You whimper at the overstimulation.

“Enjoy the hands. They’re all me.”

Before you can reply, he’s sliding his dick through your entrance. Your pussy quivers at the sensation and he laughs. “Did you just come from that, love?”

Once you take all of him, he leans forward to whisper in your ear. “I want to hear you moan, sweetheart. Go on, make some noise for me.”

As he’s taking you from behind, a hand shoves its fingers into your mouth, and you gag on it. The sets of hands on your breasts are now fondling them, pinching and squeezing. You’ve never felt so much at once before, and you eventually yield to the pleasure, moaning as he thrusts into you.

“That’s it, baby. Take it. Take it all. You’re fucking mine,” He snarls, and you whine at how hard he’s pounding into you, ferocity now evident in his demeanor.

You slurp and suck on the fingers, only for it to pop out of your mouth and slide into your ass instead. You cry out at the sensation. A hand is sliding circles around your clit as he fucks you, sending waves of pleasure over your body you’ve never known before.

“Too much!” You cry, sobbing with pleasure.

He gives you a kiss on the neck. “Almost done, love. Just keep taking it, okay? You’re doing so good for me. God, you’re fucking perfect.” His thrusts became sporadic, and you know he’s close.

In the end, you come once more, and you feel he does too. When he pulls out, you collapse on the bed, blacking out. Morning eventually comes, and you feel someone is holding you from behind. A set of hands grope your body as you wake up.

“Morning, love. Ready for round two?”

#male yandere #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere writing #yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere male #soft yandere #yandere drabble #yandere smut #yandere x you #yandere x darling #smut

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sknyuz · 1 month ago

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hi :)) i LOOOOOOVE your writing, you do all the boys so much justice. i was reading the intimacy one and saw you wanted requests for gotak 👀👀

this ideas been festering in my head so walk with me (or don't, that's also fine.)

new student!reader who comes to class and has a small run in with juntae (similar to how he bumped into sieun) and thinks he's adorable so they kinda just naturally becomes really close friends with him. gotak heard news about the new student and also started to hear juntae talk about them so he lowkey tries to swindle juntae into introducing all of them. juntae being the cutie (but also not naive!) he is decided to introduce them and gotak is taken back by how close they are and gets mildly jealous (for what reason 🤔😏).

sorry for the ramble and also that went no where but it's been in my head for sooooo long 😭😭😭

pairing — go hyuntak (gotak) x gn!reader (ft. bff!juntae) genre — fluff, comedy, f2l warnings — mild language, injury (minor sprain), sieun being an instigator, baku being a headass word count — ~2.1k

note: omg this took soooo long to post because of my break !! i finished this actually a week ago lol i just had lots of prior requests to get to so i never got around to posting it. alas, let us all welcome gotak’s debut on my blog !! the people have been waitinggggg and asking for this one !! and finally... !!

masterlist | join the taglist | request a fic

to put it simply, if you hadn’t turned the corner right at that moment, you don’t know how the rest of this school year would've turned out.

new school, new people, new everything. you had a map in your hand and maybe two brain cells left when someone rounded the hallway a little too fast and bumped straight into you. papers went flying. both of you froze.

“oh no—wait, i’m sorry, that was me,” he said, already crouched down to gather the mess like it was his life that had been scattered across the floor.

you blinked, surprised. he had soft eyes and glasses sliding halfway down his nose and this slightly panicked look like he thought you might cry.

“it’s okay,” you told him. “honestly, you might’ve saved my life. i was about to walk straight into a locked door.”

he smiled, awkward and kind. “my name is juntae. seo juntae. you’re new, right?”

you nodded. and just like that, he offered to walk you to class—it was the easiest decision you’d made all day.

juntae was the type of person who made space for you without ever making you feel like a burden. he brought you snacks during lunch and showed you where to hide out when the hallways got too loud. he also talked a lot about his friends, and one afternoon—like it was the most natural thing in the world—he said, “oh, you should meet sieun. you’d like him.”

you did. he was quiet and careful with his words, but funny in a dry way that caught you off guard. he’d glance at juntae like you really brought them here? but still offered you a spot at the table. he even let you steal a fry. so you counted that as a win.

after that came baku—loud, sunny, fast-talking. he practically tackled you into a high five and said, “juntae’s new bestie? you’re in good hands,” before dragging you into some debate about what counts as a sandwich.

somehow, you ended up kind of... just around. like a ghost that turned real. people knew your name before you introduced yourself. baku waved whenever he saw you. sieun always made room for you on the bench. and juntae, sweet as he was, forgot to formally introduce you to one person.

“yo,” gotak called, wiping sweat from his neck as he tossed the basketball to baku. “who’s that?”

baku looked up from tying his shoelace. “huh?”

“over there,” gotak nodded toward the sidelines, where you were doubled over laughing next to sieun and juntae. “they’ve been hanging around a lot.”

baku blinked, “that’s y/n.” as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

gotak simply stared, as baku tilted his head. “you know them. don’t you?”

gotak looked back at you. you were teasing juntae about something, eyes crinkled, whole face lit up. juntae said something back that made you shove his arm, half-laughing, half-gasping.

gotak frowned, “i’ve never met them.”

baku paused. “wait. what? i thought juntae introduced you already—he told everyone else. dude. even sieun knows her.”

gotak narrowed his eyes. “so why didn’t he tell me?”

“damn,” baku grinned. “someone’s feeling left out.” as he threw the ball to his chest, a little too roughly to snap his friend out of it.

“shitty pass,” gotak muttered under his breath, passing the ball back to him.

baku snorted. “you sure you’re mad about the ball and not the fact that your bestie got a new bestie?”

gotak didn’t answer. but later that day, when he caught you waiting for juntae outside the gym, he slowed down.

you waved, and he waved back. maybe a little delayed, a little thoughtful.

maybe a little curious.

he hesitated like he was deciding something, then crossed the space between you with that awkward confidence some people carry when they’re not used to starting conversations but do it anyway.

he scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking down before landing on yours. “hey. uh... y/n,”

you smiled. “hi.”

he nodded, like that helped him keep going. “i’m also juntae’s friend, in the basketball team. with baku.” you tilted your head. “oh yeah—go hyuntak, right?”

he blinked.

you shrugged. “baku mentioned you once. and you were on the court earlier.”

gotak looked a little caught off guard, like he hadn’t expected you to know his name. then his mouth twitched, the smallest upward curve. “...right. that’s me. call me gotak.”

you stood there for a beat, quiet.

“it’s nice to meet you,” you said.

he glanced up, then back down, like he was working through a million thoughts at once. “yeah. you too.”

just then, the gym doors creaked open behind you.

“y/n!” jun-tae called, jogging out with his bag slung over one shoulder. “sorry—got caught up helping the coach—oh, hey gotak!”

gotak stepped back half a pace, nodding. “hey.”

juntae looked between you, confused for half a second. “wait—did i never introduce you guys?”

you and gotak both said, “no.”

juntae blinked. “...oops.”

you laughed. gotak didn’t, but his shoulders relaxed a little as he looked over at you again.

after that, he finally had an excuse.

or maybe it was just that now you were officially introduced—he started showing up more. like how he always just happened to walk by your classroom when it let out. or how he’d offer to carry your stuff from your locker even if it wasn’t heavy. he’d still act casual about it—mumbling something about "heading that way anyway"—but the look in his eyes always lingered a little longer than it used to.

you started showing up to practices more too. usually with a water bottle in hand. eventually, two.

then four.

baku started calling you their "hydration manager" and gotak rolled his eyes every time, but he’d take the bottle from your hands like it meant something, every time you handed him his bottle, your fingers would brush. lightly. deliberately. like a habit you weren’t in a rush to break.

he wasn’t loud about it, but as the days passed, he found himself looking for you more often than he meant to—your voice across the court, your laugh when juntae said something stupid, and the way you stuck around even when no one asked you to.

he didn’t say it out loud, but your presence became something he... liked. something that made the world feel a little softer when you were around.

and sometimes, when you laughed a little too hard at juntae’s jokes, gotak would glance over without meaning to. once, he got so distracted that baku shot the ball clean over his head and it smacked him right in the back.

“yo!” baku shouted, rushing over. “you good?!”

gotak muttered, rubbing the side of his head, “i wasn’t looking.”

“clearly,” baku huffed. “what were you looking at?”

gotak didn’t answer. just glanced back toward the sidelines, where you were sitting, completely unaware.

you weren’t exactly subtle either.

at first, it was just a glance. maybe two. maybe three, if you were feeling brave and he was too focused on the court to notice. there was something about the way he moved—steady, grounded, all quiet strength and furrowed brows. you’d never really watched basketball before, but suddenly it was your favorite part of the afternoon.

whenever he scored, you clapped a little louder. a little quicker. maybe even stood up once, under the excuse of stretching.

juntae caught you once. leaned over and whispered, “you cheer louder for him than for baku.”

you blinked. “no i don’t.”

he grinned. “yes you do.”

you smacked his arm. “shut up.”

but the next time gotak glanced toward the benches after a point, your hands were already mid-clap, eyes already on him.

he met your gaze.

just for a second.

you looked away first.

the more you saw of gotak, the more you saw him. it started with the little things—running into him by the vending machine after class, both of you reaching for the same pack of chips at the same time. you laughed, unsure of who should take it first.

“you can have it,” gotak said, smiling, though you could swear there was a flicker of something in his eyes. something that felt... not exactly like embarrassment, but not entirely casual either.

"no, it’s fine, you take it," you said, holding your hand out. "you reached first."

he paused, just staring for a second, before he gave a small shrug and grabbed it. “you sure?”

“yeah.”

you both took your snacks and stepped aside, awkwardly aware of how close you’d been. as you tried to avoid eye contact, you were almost certain your heart was racing. had he been looking at you like that... or was it just your imagination?

the awkward encounters started happening more often, though. a lot more often.

you’d bump into him in the hallway. near the library. at the school gates. suddenly, you felt like you were always in his orbit—and not just you. everyone noticed.

“you two are weirdly always in the same place at the same time,” juntae pointed out one day while you were grabbing lunch. “it’s like you’re following him around.”

you choked on your drink. “what? no. no, i’m not. i—he just happens to be there. i’m—just minding my business.”

juntae fixes his glasses, shrugging it off with a playful grin, though you could tell he wasn’t completely convinced. “alright, y/n. totally.”

and of course, baku caught on too. one day, while you were standing at the sidelines during practice, watching gotak and baku scrimmage, he glanced over at you, then at gotak, then back at you. then gotak. then you. he raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious.

“hey,” baku said casually, tossing the ball to gotak. “you two are like, besties now, huh?”

gotak froze, looking at him, and then glancing over at gotak to avoid meeting baku’s gaze. “what? no. we’re not—”

“uh-huh,” baku grinned, spinning the ball on his finger. “sure, and i’m top of the class.”

during practice one afternoon, it happened.

gotak went up for a dunk, but his foot slipped awkwardly when he landed, and he crumpled to the ground with a loud thud. your heart dropped as you watched him clutch his ankle, wincing in pain.

“gotak!” you shouted, rushing to his side.

he grimaced, leaning against the floor, clearly in pain.

“dude, what happened?” baku called out, rushing over too. “you good?”

“i’m fine,” gotak muttered, trying to push himself up, but his face twisted in discomfort. “just sprained it, probably.”

sieun was quick to appear by your side, his usually calm demeanor shifting slightly as he assessed the situation. without missing a beat, he turned to you, a rare glint of something in his eyes. “maybe y/n can take him to the infirmary? we still have to clean up here.”

you blinked, unsure how to respond. “huh?”

sieun shot a pointed look toward baku, who was still oblivious to what was going on. his lips curved in the smallest, lopsided smirk. “baku doesn’t need your help right now,” he said, almost too casually, before giving a side glance at you.

you noticed baku didn’t catch the hint, just furrowing his brows at the situation. “wait, what? you seriously want y/n to drag him to the infirmary? you do realize that guy’s gonna crush ‘em under his weight, right? y’know gotak’s been having too much chicken—”

sieun’s eyes flickered with something that might’ve been amusement, though his expression stayed neutral. “go on,” sieun said, motioning to gotak, tone soft but firm. “help him out.”

you looked down at gotak, who was still struggling to stand, and it dawned on you that he was huge—much bigger than you. and the thought of dragging him all the way to the infirmary alone? absurd. awkward.

but you couldn’t exactly say no, not when everyone was watching and not when he was looking at you like he needed your help.

“you okay to walk?” you asked, kneeling down next to him.

“i think i’ll survive,” he grumbled, clearly embarrassed by the situation.

you offered him your hand. “come on, let’s get you there.”

he took your hand, and you tried not to notice how big his hand felt wrapped around yours. you both started walking, and although you tried to make it seem like a casual walk, every step felt like you were carrying the weight of his entire body.

sieun watched you both for a second, his gaze unreadable. the smallest of smirks tugged at the corners of his mouth.

the walk to the infirmary wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be, though you were still struggling to act normal when you finally helped gotak sit down on the clinic bed. his ankle was already wrapped up, but he kept fiddling with his fingers, looking down at his feet, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

you sat across from him, the silence stretching for a moment as you both just sat there, waiting.

“uh, thanks for this, y/n,” gotak mumbled, his voice quiet in a way that was almost unlike him. he kept glancing at you, then back at his hands.

you tilted your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “no problem, seriously. i told you, i’m happy to help. anything for you,” you said, maybe a little more casually than you intended, your heart racing just a little.

he met your gaze then, eyes wide and slightly soft, a subtle smile playing at his lips. “anything?” he asked, teasing, but there was a hint of something more in his tone.

“well, yeah,” you replied, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “you’re my friend. i’ve got your back.”

there was a beat of silence as you both just looked at each other. gotak’s gaze lingered on you, his fingers still fidgeting, though a little more nervously now.

“you’re…you’re a really good person, y/n,” he said softly, his eyes lowering to his hands again, as if he was unsure of how to put his feelings into words.

you couldn’t help but feel your cheeks warm at the sincerity in his voice. “thanks, gotak. that means a lot coming from you.”

the moment stretched longer than it probably should have, but neither of you seemed to want to break it.

finally, he cleared his throat, looking up at you with that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “so, uh…if you’re willing to do anything for me…”

you raised an eyebrow. “yeah?”

he shifted a little, suddenly a little more serious, though his usual playful grin still tugged at the corners of his lips. “you think you could—i don’t know—not make me fall for you?”

your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you swore you didn’t breathe. his words hung in the air, the playful edge still there, but there was something different about the way he said it. something that made your heart flutter in that puppy-love way that only people in the early stages of affection could understand.

“w-what?” you stammered, unable to hide the rush of warmth that spread across your cheeks. “you’re—you’re falling for me?”

he raised both eyebrows now, the teasing gone from his voice, replaced with something more earnest. “maybe,” he said with a small, sheepish grin, his gaze never leaving you. “maybe it’s too late for that. i think i’m already halfway there.”

you blinked at him, unsure how to respond, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. the air between you was suddenly thick with something you didn’t quite know how to define.

you broke the silence with a nervous laugh, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “well, i guess it’s not so bad to meet you in the middle if you’re already halfway there.”

gotak chuckled, his lips curving into that genuine smile you’d come to look forward to. “yeah, i guess it’s not, huh?”

if u liked this, a reblog would be greatly appreciated to help my work reach other people as well >><< !! thank u thank u

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#sknyuz #⋆˚࿔ 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢’𝐬 🍮 𝜗𝜚˚⋆#weak hero #weak hero x reader #weak hero class 2 x reader #weak hero class 2 #weak hero class #weak hero class x reader #go hyuntak #go hyuntak x reader #gotak #gotak x reader #hyuntak x reader #gotak fluff #weak hero class two #weak hero class one #weak hero class 1

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mobbu-min · 4 months ago

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tw: mentions of blood and death and also brief mention assault (by a npc)

Omg I was watching shrek with my dad and we got to that scene where shrek was rescuing fiona from the castle and I was struck with the idea of princess reader being locked in a castle guarded by dragon malleus. Like I don’t even know how it would happen, maybe you're locked away for your safety and dragon malleus is chained up to guard your tower. Maybe malleus is cursed and he’s stuck in the dragon form until, dare I say, true love kiss breaks his spell.

At first he only protects the tower because of all the gargoyles that surround the peaks of the towers. He’s never seen gargoyles that look like that before. Such pretty sights should be protected from outsiders. And the castle is in such a good location too, with a perfect amount of sun and rain, warmth and cold, nothing like the cold and bleak weather and landscape of briar valley. It’s perfect.

Of course it would be, if it wasn’t for the chain that burns him every time he tugs too tight and clanks with every move he makes. Oh and you're there too. The young princess for the neighboring kingdom that quivers at the sight of him. Small and meek. He only snorts in amusement everytime he catches sight of you peering at him from behind a wall. You're lucky he still has much to grow. Surely, if you saw him at his full maturity, you would have died on the spot.

But alas, you’re here. Quiet and shy. Keeping to yourself. He can often hear the soft pitter patter of your feet roaming the vast, empty halls of the castle during the day. The soft sighs that leave your mouth as you eat your meals by yourself. And the muffled sobs from your chambers upon the tall tower. You're nothing but a miserable human in his eyes. But deep down, he knows the both of you are the same.

Regardless, things stay silent for the next couple of years. The both of you are older, the chain around his neck grows tighter and the loneliness of this castle weighs heavier on your shoulders. Though the both of you stay to your sides of the castle, rarely interacting. Occasionally, the castle will get a visitor. A knight coming to rescue the princess, dressed in some over the top, gaudy, amour that's really more for show then for anything else. They’re always loud and rude, coming in dirty and swinging around their weapon of choice across the well-kept walls of the castle. Oftentimes damaging something in their whirl of self-righteousness.

And Malleus would be fine with them coming and taking you away. Afterall, if he’s cursed to solitude then he would very much enjoy being in complete solitude then to feel the curious gaze of his unwelcome roommate every few days. But for some odd reason, these wannabe savior knights come swinging and yelling at him. He couldn’t believe it at first, this human coming full force at him? He’s done nothing to warrant such actions.

It wasn’t until the fifth unwanted pest came did Lilia show up out of the blue and relay the rumors that had spread across the land. A terrifying monster has taken the princess from her kingdom and refuses to let her go. Malleus listens with interest, growing increasingly frustrated at the tale that the princess’s own father seems to let grow. Foolish humans believing anything that is fed to them. His distaste for you grows.

Time goes on with more and more unruly brutes coming into his territory and attacking him. And it’s not like he hasn’t tried to let them just go get you after a few minutes of trying to satiate their desire for battle. (despite the blow to his pride that he’ll face) But no, they seem fully intent on killing him. The pile of amour and bones grows as the years drag by.

The sobs that seem to echo throughout the now burnt and scarred walls ceased a long time ago. Instead sits a chilling silence. Before he could at least hear the soft hums of your voice, but now he couldn’t even hear your footsteps. The weather and environment seem to reflect this shift. The sun hidden away by the thick, grey clouds and cold winds replace any warmth. Once a magnificent, mighty castle now a ruin. The feeling settles deep in his bones.

Then one day, years after the first arrival came a knight dressed in iron. A knight that stood mightier than the rest. Head held higher than one of royalty. He seemed noble, but Malleus could smell the greed, feel the wrath in gaze. He fought like a warrior, one with years of experience on the battlefield. For once Malleus felt something other than annoyance. Was this fear?

Usually, battles were quick and to the point. And yet, Malleus found himself leaving the confines of his area. His body moves him farther and farther into your space. Well kept and unharmed from the countless battles that have been fought throughout the years.

And yet, this knight left him no choice but to retreat further in. This knight was not like the others. There were countless times that this knight should have fallen, but everytime the knight rose and drew his blade. Magic, Malleus growled, he should have seen it earlier. The pungent smell of dark magic now assaulted his nose.

Despite his efforts, Malleus fell after a sword pierced his thick, indestructible scales. A searing pain raced through his body. It felt like the sword was burning him from the inside in. His head fell limply on the garden of flowers you had been taking care of for years at this point. The sweet scent of the flowers wafted up his nose, he couldn't help but wonder if you smelt this sweet as well.

Through his deep breaths, he could hear the knight run up the steps of your tower. Ready to claim his prize. Malleus waited to hear your voice, excited and full of warmth towards your savior, waited to hear your laughter as the knight swept you off your feet. But that never came.

Instead, came a shout. Things crashed and broke inside your tower. Something ripped and your shouts became whimpers. Soft and desperate pleas reached his ears instead. And for once, your sobs weren’t of sadness but fear.

A surge of energy exploded across him like never before. Rising from the rubble, Malleus roared. Lightening clashing in the distance. With one swift swipe of his claws, the wall of your tower came tumbling down. Leaving him to gaze down at a sight enraged him to his core.

The Knight drew his sword, shouts of disbelief leaving his pathetic mouth. But Malleus’ couldn’t be bothered, his gaze soon rested on you, who cowered and shielded your form with the ripped cloth of your dress. Without thinking Malleus lowered his head towards you and gently brushed against your side with his nose. Your shivering stopped.

Pulling away, Malleus did quick work in getting rid of the monster that found its way into his home. Dragging the knight away from your tower with a singular claw, Malleus showed him no mercy. The knight's cries only fueled Malleus’ delight. Blood spilled across his scales, staining your garden of flowers and finally the knight's cries turned whimpers ceased.

The thunderstorm that had raged followed in a similar manner. A breeze blew across Malleus’s scale and suddenly it became a lot harder to ignore the burning of his neck. Exhausted, Malleus fell back with a huff. Licking the wound that only burned him in turn. Until he could get that wretched sword out, he wouldn’t heal. But the pain was turning out to be too much for him to bear.

Then he heard the familiar pitter patter of your feet. Peering up, Malleus watches you approach. The cloak you wore was too large on your frame, practically swallowing you whole. You looked up at him with wide eyes, brimmed with red. He expected fear, but your eyes sparkled with gratitude.

Hesitantly, you reach out your hand and stop inches away from his nose. Malleus looked down at the princess that once avoided him like a plague and something soft and warm bloomed across his chest. Your eyes were closed, not in fear but trust, and despite his better judgement, he leaned his great and mighty head against the soft expanse of your hand. And that warm feeling exploded across his body, as if a thousand suns bloomed in his lonely heart.

“Thank you.”

And just like that, Malleus decided that maybe this wasn’t a curse afterall.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #malleus headcanons #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader #mari writes #mari rambles

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riddlemelater · 24 days ago

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Last Call - M.R.

masterlist | nav | part 2 | part 3

⚠︎ all characters 18+ | MDNI ⚠︎

warnings: alcohol use/dependency, mentions of war, death, depiction of injury/blood, dark themes, one brief mention of rumoured suicide, post-war vibes, implied trauma. please let me know if there's anything i missed!

I am not responsible for your media consumption, please read the warnings and if it's not for you then i'll see you next time <3

summary: Mattheo Riddle was sharp, charming, and haunted. Now he’s just a shadow at the bar—drunk, quiet, unraveling. You don’t know why you care. Maybe it’s who he used to be. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you like he doesn’t expect kindness anymore. But one things certain: you won't turn your back on him, not like the rest of the world already has.

w.c: 3.8k

a/n: consider this me dipping my toes into the au world because I've read so many recently that have got me thinking👀 ps: this is my new series riddlemelater is back with a bang ;)

All feedback, likes, reblogs + comments are greatly appreciated!

"Sweet Salazar, look what the cat dragged in." Your boss murmured with a heavy sigh, nodding towards the door which had just pushed open to reveal the dishevelled appearance of Mattheo Riddle.

The local drunk, as most knew him, was a shadow of the boy from Hogwarts. Back then he'd been a heart breaker. A playboy. Sharp witted, short tempered, and irresistibly charming.

You'd never really spoken to him in school. Everyone knew Draco Malfoy, naturally, and Blaise Zabini too was a household name—thanks to his illustrious mother. You'd spoken to Theodore Nott once or twice, vaguely and in passing. Even shared a potions station with Lorenzo Berkshire for half a year, but Mattheo Riddle had never directly come into your orbit.

Not until very recently.

He was your typical bad boy— the tragic backstory, the scars, the knack for trouble — he fit the part too perfectly. Gorgeous, yes, in that careless way. Curls falling over stormy eyes, a scowl that made people lean in instead of run. And tinged in just enough mystery that it was impossible to tell if he was an asset or a threat.

That had all come to an end now, his whole world crashing down around him the moment Harry Potter defeated Lord Voldemort, his father. He was shunned from that day forth— there had been rumours they'd snapped his wand, others that he was sleeping rough somewhere in the forbidden forest, biding his time before resurrecting his father, or becoming the next threat to the Wizarding World himself.

None of the rumours were true, though. You'd learned that pretty quickly.

Mattheo Riddle lived in a flat just off Charing Cross—though by the looks of him, you’d think he was squatting in Knockturn Alley. He certainly didn't look like someone who owned property, never mind one in Central London amongst Muggle bankers and finance experts.

But alas, having Lord Voldemort as a father must've done wonders for the young heirs Gringotts vault— even if not for his mental wellbeing.

"Listen, love. Do you want me to serve him?" Your boss offered quietly, leaning towards you to whisper under his breath, eyes not leaving the scruffy figure who'd sauntered in, drunk and dead behind the eyes.

Your head shook slightly, "S'alright I've got it, Albion. He's harmless."

A few heads had turned, mostly regulars who were well aware of who lurked underneath the dirt and the grime. His hair was more unruly than ever, his chin littered with stubble and the occasional, bloody cut from his shaving razor. But it was obvious who the man behind the mask was.

He looked like he needed a shower, skin sweaty and stray hairs sticking to his forehead. Clothes dirty and stained like they hadn't been washed in weeks, and he wore a leather jacket. One you recognised from a few years ago, almost able to picture his younger, teenage self leaning up against an alley wall in Hogsmeade, smoking with his friends.

You grabbed at a clean glass from under the bar and turned just as he slid into the stool opposite you— his movements slow, slightly off-balance, like gravity pulled at him harder than it did anyone else. His gaze was vacant at first, cast somewhere over your shoulder, brow furrowed like he was lost in a memory he hadn’t asked to remember.

“Same as usual?” you asked smoothly, reaching for the bottle he always gravitated towards — something cheap, burning, no-nonsense.

That’s when his eyes finally lifted to yours.

And for a moment — just a moment — something clicked behind them. Recognition, sharp and fleeting, like the glint of a knife beneath a coat. His lips parted slightly, not in greeting, not in surprise exactly, but something close. Like maybe he knew your name once. Like maybe he remembered the way you used to pass him in the corridors at Hogwarts, eyes down, heart thudding, pretending not to notice the way he laughed too loud and lived too fast.

He didn’t say anything. Just blinked slowly, then dragged a hand through his hair like it physically hurt him to focus.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” he muttered, voice low and rough, words carelessly slurred — like they weren’t meant for you at all.

Your hand paused over the bottle. “Still where?”

He didn’t answer. Just leaned forward, elbows on the bar, and looked away — eyes fixed now on some distant point across the room, jaw clenched in thought.

Maybe he didn’t mean you, exactly. Maybe it was this place. This pocket of stillness in a city that never looked twice at him. Maybe it was the only place left that didn’t flinch when he walked in, or the only place that would let him in nowadays.

The pub sat quietly between the Muggle and Magical worlds — close enough to Diagon Alley to draw a few wizards, but far enough into Charing Cross to be forgotten by most. The regulars were either too old to care, too drunk to notice, or too lonely to ask questions.

Seemed fitting for the likes of Mattheo Riddle.

You poured the drink wordlessly.

"I'll add it to your tab, then?" You asked, sliding the glass across the bar, unable to take your eyes off him as he took a sip. Then, as if considering something, swallowed the rest in one large gulp.

He didn't respond, just pushed the glass back towards you, indicating for a refill.

"Long day, was it?" You asked, breezy and light, as if he was just another customer. You began to pour another but stopped when you noticed his eyes narrow, like he was trying to figure you out.

"There's no trick, you know." You met his gaze, "I'm just being nice."

Mattheo let out a low huff of air—maybe a laugh, or maybe just exhaustion. Hard to tell. His eyes dropped to the bar between you, fingers drumming a restless rhythm against the scarred wood.

"You know who I am," he said, voice rough, like it hadn’t been used much lately. "Don’t pretend you don’t."

You shrugged, nonchalant. "Everyone knows who you are."

He looked up again. This time, his stare landed like a weight. "No," he said. "People who know who I am don't waste their time being nice."

You refilled the glass without a word. Let him drink. Let him watch you like that, like another person who couldn't be trusted. He was cynical enough, why bother convincing him of anything else.

"Hogwarts..." he said abruptly, then trailed off like the words tasted strange. Like he'd caught himself at the last second. "Never mind."

His eyes darted back down to his drink and he didn't look back up at you for a long while, a quiet confirmation that the conversation was over. You left him to it, and he was gone before you could even notice he'd stood up, a mouthful of whiskey still sat at the bottom of his glass.

The next time he showed up, he looked worse.

"There's something not right about that boy," Your boss muttered breathlessly, watching you pull the first aid kit down from the stockroom shelf.

"And don't you go getting mixed up in his troubles. A boy like that can only bring bad news, I'll tell you that for free." he warned as you turned to head back out, the place deserted asides from a few older wizards huddled in the corner.

You hesitated with your hand on the door. Maybe Albion was right. Maybe you should’ve just left it alone.

But something about him — the way he looked like he’d stopped expecting kindness, the way his silence felt heavier than most people’s words. That made it hard to walk away.

You didn’t know why you cared. Not really. Maybe it was pity. Maybe it was the version of him you remembered in passing, the boy who once seemed untouchable. Or maybe it was just the simplest truth of all: he looked like someone who didn’t have anyone. And you couldn’t stomach the thought of being another person who turned their back.

"Ruddy Gryffindors." Albion muttered to himself as you rounded the bar, disregarding his warning.

Mattheo was sitting in his usual seat, knuckles bloody and a dark purple bruise decorating his left temple. You didn't ask what happened. Part of you already knew, he wasn't that unrecognisable if you looked hard enough.

"Let's see, then." You said, pausing in front of him and nodding towards his injured hands. Mattheo looked stunned, pulling his hands back from where they rested either side of his drink.

You weren’t foolish enough to think you could fix him. But maybe — selfishly — it felt worse to do nothing at all.

"It's nothin', just leave it." he protested tiredly.

You shot him a look, one of those disapproving 'don't be ridiculous' looks you'd learned from working with the drunk and disorderly over the past year, and offered your hand to him. Expectant. Waiting.

It was his choice whether he took it.

Hesitating, he thought for a moment. Looked like he was weighing up the odds of getting up and walking out. Then slowly, sheepishly, he extended his hand and let you examine his knuckles.

Sucking a breath in through your teeth you examined the wounds, the way the skin parted at the high points of his joints, the steady trickle of blood that dripped down his tan skin. It wasn't the worst you'd seen, but it needed cleaned and you didn't trust him to in the state he was in.

"Hold still a second," You instructed, pouring disinfectant onto a cotton-pad, daring a glance up at his furrowed brows as you dabbed it across the cuts. He flinched subtly, restrained but not as much as he would've liked, fingers flexing as you worked.

"Sorry." you winced.

He grunted a sort of acknowledgement and stared at you through his lashes. You wondered what he was thinking, if he too was as confused as you were about why you insisted on helping. On caring. He stared, gaze steady, even as you reached for the antiseptic and applied it carefully to the broken skin.

"We had Charms together, didn't we?" He asked quietly, "You were always late."

You stilled, glancing up at him, face warming. You hadn't expected him to remember you, he had no reason to, not really. Yet he did, somehow.

"We did, yeah. In fourth year." You nodded slowly. "And I was only late because—"

"—because you had potions right before." He finished, then as if embarrassed, he looked down. “Only reason I remember’s ‘cause they were on opposite sides of the castle.” His voice was low, a little too casual. Defensive, even.

But for a moment you could almost see a younger, less closed off version of him.

You smirked and canted your head, watching him curiously. "Bloody nightmare. Those stairs, I mean." You remarked, sensing he wasn't quite up for a trip down memory lane.

"Yeah..." He exhaled, nodding. "A real nuisance."

You were still cradling his injured hand, even though you'd long finished tending to the wound. He seemed to notice at the same time you did. You pulled away first, patting the bar beside him and pulling away.

"That's you, then. Bandaged up, I mean." You coughed, clearing your throat. Busying yourself with packing up the first aid box.

He grunted again, swallowed his drink and pushed the empty glass towards you.

"Thanks," he murmured, so quiet you thought you'd imagined it. "You didn't have to— yeah. Thanks."

You'd nodded, topped up his glass, then another customer stole your attention. And he sat quiet, like he was locked in another memory.

✯ ✯ ✯

Mattheo hadn’t been in to the pub in over a week. Though, given the time of year, it being the 5 year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts and all, you could hazard a guess or two as to why.

It had been busier the last few nights, more traffic to Central London, Diagon Alley, and the Ministry meant business was booming. Record highs for the usually quiet pub, and a weary few days for you and Albion.

Yesterday, the Patil twins had stopped you in the street outside keen to catch up for old times sake. You'd chatted away cheerfully, plastering on a smile as they discussed the Ministry's Annual Charity Gala in memory of all those who fought and died in the battle.

You'd only gone the once and sworn never to attend again, it was far too bleak to stare at photo's of deceased friends and mentors whilst dressed to the nines and sipping on champagne.

And this afternoon, Neville Longbottom and his wife Hannah—formerly Abbot— had come strolling in for a spot of lunch before meeting up with some of your former classmates. They'd been ecstatic to tell you, and anyone else who'd listen, that they were expecting their first child in the winter. You'd only smiled and shook your head when they enquired if you were settling down anytime soon.

With so much fanfare around the Gala, you'd no time to breathe at all this week—helping Albion with the orders, chatting with old friends and former allies, even posing for the odd photo as the Prophet were reporting on the events once more. It was hectic. So much so that you hadn’t really had time to notice his absence, or the empty bar stool that sat in his place.

Not at first, at least.

You’d been too swept up in the heaviness May always brought—the memories, the grief, the stories you no longer wanted to hear aloud. The same things that you suspected kept him away.

By early evening on the anniversary, the pub was packed, and you and Albion were rushed off your feet. A group of wizards from somewhere in Southern Europe had wandered in early and were still crowded around a table, laughing loudly and talking in a language you didn’t recognise.

The rest of the crowd was a mix—some familiar, some not—but you rarely had time to think, let alone pause. You’d just come up from the cellar after replacing one of the barrels when a cluster of voices caught your attention.

Familiar. Posh. Too familiar to ignore.

You turned toward the sound, already tense before you could place the voices. Aristocratic voices— polished by wealth and dulled by just enough alcohol to make them louder than they should be.

Draco Malfoy stepped through the open doorway first, shrugging off the cold like it offended him. Still as pale and as pointy, though notably wearing far less hair product than you remembered. Blaise Zabini followed, hands tucked into the pockets of his long coat, eyes already scanning the room meticulously— You wondered if he'd always done that with such hyper-vigilance, or if it was a trait learned through the war.

Behind them came the lean figures of Lorenzo Berkshire and Theodore Nott, both laughing low and conspiratorial as they shook off rain from their shoulders. They'd always been the more lax of the group, them and Mattheo, that is.

You pushed that thought away, not wanting to acknowledge his obvious absence from the scene.

It felt like twisting a time-turner—old Hogwarts ghosts pressing into your present like they belonged there.

Blaise caught your eye first, expectedly. He blinked, registering you behind the bar with a flicker of surprise, then gave you a subtle nod. Not friendly nor unfriendly, just acknowledgement.

Lorenzo let out a soft whistle as he took in the place.

“Well, this is... atmospheric,” he muttered.

Albion gave them a hard look from the other end of the bar, clearly having overheard their assessment. You were already reaching for glasses before they could ask. Or before Albion demanded to know what they were doing in his pub.

Draco made a beeline for the bar, businesslike. Detached. You'd read enough of the Prophet to know that the Malfoy's had fallen out of high societies graces, though clearly this was news to Draco. Cool and unfazed as ever.

“Four firewhiskys.” he said, not quite meeting your gaze, already pulling out a handful of Galleons and slapping them down on the counter.

You poured without comment. Years ago, they wouldn’t have spared you a glance in the corridors, it seemed that Blaise was the only one who'd grown out of that behaviour.

Blaise leaned against the bar, sharp gaze moving from your face to the rest of the pub. “Didn’t expect to see anyone we knew here,” he murmured.

You raised a brow. “You don’t know me, Zabini.”

Theo let out a soft, huff of a laugh. “Merlin. Did anyone, back then?"

You glanced away, silent.

There was a quiet moment as they all took their glasses, the pub buzz muffled under the weight of something unsaid. Like they were communicating in some secret, silent language only they understood.

Draco was the one who broke it. “Well." he cleared his throat, "Is— Is he around?”

You didn’t move, just quirked your brow like you didn't know quite what he meant. “Who?”

“Mattheo,” he said blankly. “Supposed to meet us hours ago. Heard he comes here, thought we'd try catch him. We've— erm— been looking for him, you see.”

Your stomach curled, but you kept your expression neutral. “Haven’t seen him, sorry.”

Theodore exhaled, long and low. “Right,” he said into his glass, mostly to himself. “He was doing alright for a while. Still... better off not here, I suppose."

He sounded bitter, and thankful. You focused on polishing the counter, not wanting to speak out of turn.

The four of them lingered a minute longer, quiet in a way that made the room feel colder. Like they were united in their disappointment. Draco drained his drink, the others copying him silently.

Eventually, they peeled away—Draco leading, Lorenzo and Blaise in tow. Theodore was the last to step back from the bar, slower than the others. He didn’t look at you as he spoke, voice low and meant for them.

“Probably just got held up. He'll show. He has too.”

No one answered. They just kept walking.

You didn't say another word to them and they left shortly after. You just kept pouring drinks when required and occasionally glanced over at the empty stool— the one he always preferred. No one touched it that night.

Anniversary week came and went. The crowds died down and things fell back into the slow, quiet rhythm they'd always followed. The same old regular witches and wizards, the same orders that hadn't changed in years. Simplicity.

But still no sign of Mattheo Riddle.

You shrugged off the bad feeling, reminding yourself that he was an adult, not your responsibility. You barely knew him after all.

That didn't make you feel any better.

You were wiping down empty tables, the scratch of cloth against wood loud in the near silence, when a grizzled man from the corner caught your attention. He was a regular—weathered, with eyes sharp beneath heavy brows—and tonight, he seemed to be nursing more than just a drink.

“Heard about that young Riddle lad?” he asked, eyes darting around like he expected the walls to have ears. A few of the wizards at his table shared a glance, then shook their heads leaning in.

You stiffened, slowing down to listen in. Sucking in a breath you didn't even know you were holding.

"He cracked, didn’t he?" he bellowed, chuckling. "Couldn’t outrun what was coming for him I reckon. Offed himself, poor bastard. That’s what Mick Tolliver said, anyway. Down Knockturn, the other week."

You froze, an empty glass in hand, heart skipping a beat.

The man shrugged, a grim smile tugging at his lips. "World’s cleaner for it, if you ask some folks. Shame though— think of the things he must've known about You-Know-Who."

You forced a breath out, steadying yourself. Ignoring the uncaring shrugs, the mutters of good riddance. As if the end of the Riddle bloodline was something to be celebrated.

You didn't even notice you'd slipped outside until the cold air hit you, despite summer being just around the corner it was still wet and cold in London. That smell of rain lingered across the concrete back alley, you used to love the smell at Hogwarts, though now it made you want to be sick.

Instinctively your fingers fumbled in the pocket of your apron, brushing against the half smoked pack of cigarettes you picked up months ago— something to lean on when memories of the war dragged your nerves and the silence at night felt too loud.

Your hands were steady as you lit it with the tip of your wand, but your mind was a storm, watching the embers light up against the dark. The smoke filled your lungs as you took in a long, bitter drag, those words swirling in your mind.

He offed himself.

Had it really come to that? Was he really that broken? Or had you just been too blind to see it?

The memory of his friends from just a week ago flashed through your mind—the way Theo had seemed quite certain he'd come, the way the others didn't seem too convinced. Like they all knew something you didn’t.

The cigarette burned low between your fingers, the smoke curling up like unanswered questions. You exhaled slowly, but the ache settled deeper. You didn’t know if it was grief, guilt, or something heavier—something that tasted like the war still lingering in your veins.

If he really had done it you'd have known, you reasoned. It would've made the front page of every wizarding tabloid out there. Swarms of magical folk would've been poking around the pub, all desperate to get a glimpse of his favoured haunt. Rita Skeeter at the very least would have made an appearance, surely.

But there’d been nothing. No headlines, no Ministry owls, no whispers beyond the drunken mutterings of half-sure old men.

Just silence. And absence.

You took one last drag and let the smoke slip from your lips, watching it vanish into the damp air like it might carry the thought away with it.

He was probably fine. Probably. Maybe he'd got clean, sorted himself out and left London. You hoped that was it.

You crushed the cigarette beneath your heel, the hiss of ember against pavement far too quiet for the weight in your chest. Then you went back inside—because what else was there to do?

You closed up in silence that night, wand abandoned behind the bar, opting to tidy up without magic. It'd take longer but you didn't mind, if anything you quite liked the distraction, and part of you still hoped he might turn up.

Bloody, slurring, drunk— you didn't care what state he was in, you just hoped he'd show. Prayed that it was another rumour, that he wouldn't be another person who lost their life to a war you shouldn't have had to fight.

You stacked the chairs, wiped the bar down one last time. It was the kind of night that left everything feeling a little heavier. You didn’t check the door.

But you thought about it.

And when you turned off the lights, you paused—just for a second— long enough to hope. But lately, hope didn't hold the weight it used to.

©️riddlemelater. 2025.

#last call m.r #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle fanfic #post war harry potter #slytherin boys #theodore nott #lorenzo berkshire #draco malfoy #blaise zabini #my writing

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koiukiy-o · 3 months ago

Text

orphic; (adj.) mysterious and entrancing, beyond ordinary understanding. ─── 004. the blueprint.

-> summary: when you, a final-year student at the grove, get assigned to study under anaxagoras—one of the legendary seven sages—you know things are about to get interesting. but as the weeks go by, the line between correlation and causation starts to blur, and the more time you spend with professor anaxagoras, the more drawn to him you become in ways you never expected. the rules of the academy are clear, and the risks are an unfortunate possibility, but curiosity is a dangerous thing. and maybe, just maybe, some risks are worth taking. after all, isn’t every great discovery just a leap of faith? -> pairing: anaxa x gn!reader. -> tropes: professor x student, slow burn, forbidden romance. -> wc: 4.3k -> warnings: potential hsr spoilers from TB mission: "Light Slips the Gate, Shadow Greets the Throne" (3.1 update). main character is written to be 21+ years of age, at the very least. (anaxa is written to be around 26-27 years of age.) swearing, mature themes, suggestive content.

-> a/n: holyyyyy its finally here !!! this chapter was totally supposed to be the chapter that kind of puts things in perspective and establishes some world building BUT ALAS I GOT SIDETRACKED... -> prev. || next. -> orphic; the masterlist.

The lecture hall is silent, save for the occasional shuffle of paper and the measured rhythm of Anaxagoras’ voice. The afternoon light cuts sharp lines across the rows of desks, dust motes drifting in the air like suspended thought, catching on the edges of his words.

“A fractal begins with a base function,” he says, voice steady but threaded with something deeper—something that hums in the spaces between his syllables. “This is its essence. The foundation upon which all complexity unfolds.”

He doesn’t write an equation. Instead, his hands move through the air in clean, deliberate arcs, shaping the concept in motion.

“The Mandelbrot set,” he continues. “begins with a simple recursive function. A value is taken, transformed, then fed back into itself. Each iteration alters the outcome—but the fundamental pattern remains.”

He pauses, letting the weight of his next words settle into the quiet.

“Small differences in the starting value can lead to vastly different structures. But no matter how much it expands, the same signature is imprinted within it. Recursion does not create randomness. It does not erase its origin. Instead, it refines, elaborates, expands. The original form is never lost—only expressed in infinite variation.”

The pen in your hand is warm from where you've been holding it too tightly.

Anaxagoras moves seamlessly into the next thread of thought. “The human mind operates on patterns,” he says, underlining the phrase on the board with a slow, deliberate stroke. “Not in the sense of mindless repetition, but as a structured, evolving process. We recognize, reinforce, and refine information based on prior input.”

Something tugs at the edge of your mind.

“Consider language acquisition,” he continues. “A child is not born knowing a language, yet the structure for it already exists. Exposure, experience, and interaction shape the outcome, but the capacity is inherent. The process is iterative—the same foundation, refined through use, altered by context.”

Your pen hesitates, ink pooling in a single dot on the page.

Ilias nudges your arm. “That same page has been open for five minutes,” he mutters.

You don’t answer.

It’s there. Right there, just beyond reach—woven between the lines of his lecture and the contours of your own thoughts.

Your gaze lifts to him.

Anaxagoras isn’t looking at you directly, but you recognize it now—the way his tone shifts when he lingers on certain ideas. His phrasing is precise, yet measured, as though anticipating the moment someone follows him past the obvious.

Anticipating you.

Ilias nudges you again. “You’re making the face.”

You blink. “What face?”

“The one where you’re about to say something wildly specific that sounds normal to you but makes the rest of us reconsider whether we know what words mean.”

You swat at him without looking, keeping your attention fixed forward.

"If individuality is a function of iteration," you say suddenly, the thought slipping free like a thread pulled from a greater weave, "then at what point does the original form stop being relevant?"

Silence.

A shift in the air—it’s subtle.

Anaxagoras pauses. The chalk in his hand stills just before it touches the board. But he doesn’t turn. Not yet.

"You assume it does," he says instead, his voice measured. "Why?"

You hesitate. "Because—" You try to grasp at the thought, but it’s slipping, unraveling. "Because if every iteration changes, then the original—"

"Changes how?"

You blink. "Through variance. Accumulated difference."

He nods, but it’s not satisfaction. It’s expectation. "And yet?"

You frown. "And yet it still carries the same process—"

"So is it severance?"

You inhale sharply. "No."

He turns now, finally, and the weight of his gaze lands fully on you. "Then what is it?"

You search for the word, the shape of the idea curling at the edge of your thoughts.

"Extension?" you murmur.

Anaxagoras watches you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then—so slightly you almost miss it—his fingers tighten around the chalk.

"Hm."

A pause.

The weight of his gaze—assessing, acknowledging, remembering, as though he’s not just hearing your words but recognizing them, as though he’s tracing a pattern he’s seen before but can’t quite name.

Then, just as smoothly, he turns back to the board as if nothing happened, resuming his explanation.

You exhale sharply, pressing your lips together to stifle a grin.

You’re not sure if you should thank Anaxagoras or be absolutely, thoroughly frustrated with him.

Maybe both.

He takes a step forward, chalk tapping against the board in a series of crisp strokes as he shifts the topic. And then—

“Ilias.”

Ilias straightens instantly, caught mid-whisper.

Anaxagoras doesn’t turn. “If a system is defined by iterative transformation, how do we distinguish between growth and replication?”

Ilias scoffs, leaning back like this is the easiest question in the world. “Obviously, if a system changes with each iteration, it’s growth. If it just repeats the same process without meaningful difference, it’s replication.”

A beat.

Anaxagoras finally glances over his shoulder. “Incorrect.”

Ilias blinks. “What.”

Anaxagoras turns fully now, expression unreadable. “Your answer assumes that change alone defines growth. It does not.”

From beside him, you let out an involuntary snort.

Ilias’ head snaps toward you. “Oh, now you have an opinion?”

You press a hand to your mouth, eyes gleaming with barely suppressed amusement.

Anaxagoras waits.

Ilias flounders for a moment, then straightens again, clearing his throat like he can salvage this. “Okay, well—uh. If the transformation process is… uhh… significant enough, then—”

A long silence.

You don’t even try to hide your giggle this time.

Ilias throws his hands up. “Why are you laughing? You got to say your freaky little statement in peace!”

Anaxagoras raises an eyebrow. “Language.”

Ilias pales.

You wheeze, turning away.

Ilias exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair like he’s fighting for his life. “Alright, fine. Recursion isn’t just about repetition, but about… contextual… refinement..?”

The silence hung thick, oppressive, as Ilias struggled to string together a coherent thought. His hands fumbled with the papers in front of him, and his voice cracked under the pressure. It was clear to anyone with half a brain that his attempt to impress Anaxagoras had backfired—again.

Then, cutting through the stillness, came a voice. Quiet but firm.

"It’s not just about change. It’s about the system responding to its environment. If it doesn’t, it’s not really transformation. It’s just… repetition."

Ilias’s head snapped up. The voice had no warning, no introduction—just a cool, steady presence that seemed to effortlessly cut through the tension.

For a split second, he blinked in confusion, his mind scrambling to process what had just happened. He’d been so caught up in his own rambling, he hadn’t noticed anyone else was around. But there, seated a couple chairs over, was a girl he hadn’t seen before. Dark, hair, eyes sharp with quiet confidence, arms folded across her chest. She was a mystery—a calm, collected contrast to the chaos that he had just created.

Ilias swallowed, throat suddenly dry. "That was… uh. Really well put." His laugh was quieter this time, edged with something like genuine relief. "I was—yeah. Definitely struggling there." He hesitated, then, almost earnestly: "Thanks."

The girl didn’t say anything right away. Just tilted her head slightly, studying him with a kind of quiet amusement.

Anaxagoras’s gaze flicked between them, the silence stretching just a beat longer than comfortable. Then, finally, he exhaled through his nose, barely a sigh but just enough to be perceptible. His eyes landed back on Ilias.

"Struggling is a generous term," Anaxagoras said dryly.

Ilias groaned, dropping his head onto his desk with a thud.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Anaxagoras exhaled slowly, a faint, begrudging noise escaping him. His gaze flickered back to the girl for a moment, a brief acknowledgment that didn’t quite touch his eyes.

“Acceptable,” he said, his voice crisp and without fanfare, before his attention returned to Ilias. “This time.”

It was as close to praise as Anaxagoras was ever likely to give.

You grin. “That was impressive. Truly.”

Ilias glares. “I hate you.”

But across the room, Anaxagoras’ gaze flickers back to you for a fraction of a second—just enough for you to notice, just enough to make your pulse quicken.

And then, as always, he moves on as though nothing happened.

Yet, your thoughts linger, trailing behind you as the lecture ends, as you gather your things, as you step into the quiet corridors where the conversation still churns in your mind, unfinished.

The evening air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of autumn leaves as you and Ilias walk down the winding campus path, the crunch of gravel beneath your shoes the only sound for a few moments. It's a comfortable silence—both of you are still processing the mental gymnastics Anaxagoras just put the class through.

And then, of course, Ilias ruins it.

“I’m being publicly executed in that classroom,” he groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Every. Single. Lecture.”

You glance at him, amused. “What are you even talking about?”

He throws his hands up. “Oh, I don’t know! Maybe the part where he treats me like an enrichment activity for the class while you get revered like some kind of academic deity.”

You snort. “I am not—”

“You wouldn’t understand,” he cuts in, shaking his head dramatically. “You don’t know what it’s like to be the designated clown. To live in fear of the moment he decides today is the day to obliterate me for sport.”

You raise a brow. “Maybe if you stopped making questionable philosophical takes—”

“No. It’s too late for me. But you—” He points accusingly. “You get the pauses.”

You blink. “The what?”

“The pauses,” he repeats, exasperated. “You ask something, and he actually stops. Like, for a second, he’s just standing there, processing, recalibrating his entire existence before he answers like he saw it coming all along, and proceeds worships the ground you walk on. Meanwhile, I breathe wrong, and he materializes a ten-minute verbal essay on why I’m incorrect.”

“…That’s not true.”

“Oh, it is,” he deadpans. “I’m a walking rhetorical question to that man. You, on the other hand? He actually looks pleased when you speak. It’s sickening.”

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “You’re being dramatic.”

“And you,” he sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets, before something catches the corner of his eye– "Hey! It’s a dog!"

You barely have time to process before he veers off-course, pointing toward a scruffy-looking mutt curled up near a campus bench. The dog lifts its head, ears perking, but doesn’t bolt. Its fur is a patchwork of colors—mostly brown, with streaks of white and black—and though it looks a little unkempt, it seems well-fed.

"Do you think it's a stray?" you ask, stepping closer.

"I mean, it’s wearing a bandana." Ilias crouches, squinting at the little fabric tied around its neck. The dog watches him, tail thumping hesitantly against the ground. "Could be a lost pet. Or maybe it just—"

The dog trots forward, sniffing at your shoes before nudging its head into Ilias’ leg. He yelps, stiffening. The dog wags its tail harder.

"Okay," he breathes, lowering his hand. "Okay. This is happening."

Just as his fingers brush the dog’s fur, a voice interrupts. "Ah—hey, hey, don't scare him!"

You turn towards the source—a striking figure with windswept white hair, piercing blue eyes, and an air of effortless charm, jogging up to you, grinning like you’ve all just been reunited after years apart. His crisp, button-down shirt is a pristine shade of ivory, tailored to fit perfectly without appearing rigid. Over it, he wears a sleek, deep-blue blazer, unbuttoned, its lapels lined with subtle gold embroidery that catches the light as he moves. The blazer is paired with well-fitted slacks of a similar navy hue, pressed yet comfortably worn. A fine gold watch glints on his wrist, peeking out whenever he gestures animatedly. His shoes—polished but practical—carry a quiet confidence, much like him.

His energy is immediate, warm and bright, like he’s been waiting all day for a reason to talk to someone.

"Sorry about that!" He slows to a stop, catching his breath. "This little guy's not a stray—he just likes hanging around here. We feed him sometimes."

You blink. "We?"

The dog immediately abandons Ilias and darts across, tail wagging furiously as a second man crouches, offering food from his hand—a stark contrast. This one has sharp red eyes, dusty red hair falls at his shoulders. He, in contrast, wears black. A fitted, long-sleeved dress shirt clings just right, the top few buttons left undone, exposing the faintest hint of skin. The sleeves are rolled up to his forearms, revealing the inked patterns winding down his left arm. A single silver ring rests on his hand, catching the light as he idly scratches behind the stray dog’s ears. His charcoal-gray slacks fit comfortably, cinched by a belt with an unembellished black buckle. Unlike… blondie’s polished look, his ensemble leans effortlessly sharp—a perfect balance of refinement and disregard.

"That answers that," you murmur.

The white-haired one—Phainon, judging by the way his companion sighs his name in exasperation—grins. "Sorry if he harassed you. He’s just a friendly little guy. I’m Phainon, by the way! And the one who’s pretending not to give a damn right now is Mydei."

At his name, the other man—Mydei glances up briefly, gaze flickering over you and Ilias before returning to his task. He places the container on the ground, and the dog immediately perks up, trotting over to eat.

Ilias, still kneeling awkwardly, exhales. "Okay. Not a stray. Noted."

Phainon beams. "Yeah, he just likes people! Kind of like me."

"Don’t compare yourself to a dog," Mydei mutters, scratching behind the mutt’s ears. Despite his dry tone, there’s a distinct lack of bite to it.

You exchange a glance with Ilias, who looks like he's trying to decide whether this interaction is going to be amusing or exhausting.

Mydei, meanwhile, finishes setting down the food, and the dog immediately perks up, trotting over to eat. Phainon watches with fondness before turning back to you both.

Ilias, undeterred, crouches slightly, watching as the dog happily devours its food. Then he tilts his head. "Wait, does he have a name?"

Phainon perks up. "Oh! Yeah, we call him—" but before the word fully escapes, Mydei cuts in flatly. "No, he doesn’t."

Phainon sighs, as if wounded. "Well, someone refuses to name him anything else–"

"He doesn’t need a name," Mydei replies, scratching the dog behind the ears. "He’s fine as he is.”

“We call him—his name is Dog." Phainon interrupts and proudly exclaims.

Mydei exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "'Dog' is not a name."

"It's a perfectly functional name," Phainon counters, crossing his arms. "It tells you exactly what he is."

"It tells me you’re uncreative," Mydei mutters.

Ilias lets out a quiet laugh. "The dogs name is… Dog?"

Phainon nods enthusiastically. "Yes! And he responds to it! Watch—Dog!"

The dog does, in fact, lift his head, ears twitching.

Mydei gives him a long, unimpressed stare. "He also responds to literally any sound you make. You could call him ‘Toaster’ and he’d do the same thing."

Phainon gasps. "Toaster is kind of cute."

"Absolutely not."

You exchange a glance with Ilias, both of you barely holding back laughter. The dog—Dog?—wags his tail, blissfully unaware of the existential debate happening over his name.

Phainon turns his attention back to you, his grin softer now, less performative. "Anyways, you two should join us in the evenings if you’d like to befriend Dog over here! We usually hang out around here and—well, I do… and Mydei pretends he just happens to be here."

"Because I do," Mydei deadpans, but he doesn’t refute any further, turning his gaze to you instead.

Ilias glances at you. "Well, I don’t have anything better to do."

You hum, considering. The dog has finished eating and is now curled up against Mydei’s side, content. Phainon looks at you expectantly, his posture light, easy.

...That does not sound like a productive use of your time.

"... I’m in." you say.

Phainon cheers, Ilias pats you on the back, and Mydei only shakes his head, unimpressed.

But even as laughter rings in the air, your notebook sits heavy in your bag, pressing against your side like a restless thing. The pages whisper against each other with every step, the unfinished nonsensical equations scrawled within tugging at you like a sleeve caught on a nail—persistent, insistent, refusing to be ignored.

Maybe that's what brought you here, you tell yourself.

The door to Anaxagoras’ office door creaks as you push it open, stepping into the dimly lit office. Anaxagoras looks up from his desk, dark eyes flicking to the threshold with the mild expectation of a routine interruption. But when he sees you—alone, unannounced—something in his expression shifts.

You don’t exactly wait for permission, as you cross the room, pull out the chair opposite him, and sit.

His pen hovers over the page. He does not tell you to leave, nor does he acknowledge your quiet audacity. Instead, he sets his pen down, fingers pressing lightly against the desk’s edge, and waits. A slight lift of his brow, but no verbal response. Just patience. A steady, expectant silence.

"Professor," you greet, as if a sliver of formality might excuse the sheer audacity of your unannounced arrival.

Your gaze flickers down to your notebook, its pages filled with hurried, half-formed thoughts—equations scrawled into the margins, trailing off as if they were abandoned mid-realization. You don’t need to check them. You already know they lead back to the same question.

"The base function," you begin, voice measured, "remains the same, no matter how many iterations occur. No matter how much complexity emerges, the original structure is never erased."

Anaxagoras leans back slightly in his chair, studying you with the kind of intrigue usually reserved for theorems that refuse to be solved.

"And?"

You exhale, fingertips brushing over the ink-streaked paper. "If that applies to consciousness—if the mind isn’t just pattern recognition, but recursion—then that means identity isn’t fixed. It’s an evolving expression of an underlying structure."

Something flickers in his gaze. He rises.

Not abruptly, not impatiently, but as if drawn by the gravity of the conversation. His chair scrapes softly against the floor as he crosses the small space between you. He does not sit at the edge of the desk, does not fold his arms in some passive stance of authority.

Instead, he leans over your notebook, shoulders nearly brushing yours.

The scent of coffee lingers on his shirt, mingling with the fainter trace of old paper and ink. His gaze moves over the mess of your notes, scanning the tangled web of equations and annotations, before settling on you again.

"You're making an assumption," he says, voice lower now, more measured.

You tilt your chin slightly, meeting his gaze. "Of what nature?"

His fingers hover near the edge of the page, not quite touching, but close enough that the movement draws your attention. "You assume that the core of identity—the thing that stays the same through every iteration—is purely structural."

The silence stretches between you, taut as a thread on the verge of snapping.

Your breath is steady, but something in your pulse betrays you. He is too close. Not inappropriately so, not in a way that crosses any boundaries—only in a way that makes the air shift. The room smaller. The moment stretched just slightly beyond its logical bounds.

It would be easy to answer. To argue, to press forward, to let the academic current carry you both into safer waters.

Instead, you only watch him.

And for the first time, you wonder if he feels it too.

Your fingers tighten slightly around your pen.

"The base function has to be structural," you counter, though your voice is softer now, measured against the weight of the space between you. "If it weren’t—if it were mutable at its core—then what holds continuity between iterations? What prevents identity from collapsing into chaos? What keeps one’s identity from falling apart?"

Anaxagoras doesn’t move away. He studies you the way he studies difficult problems—patiently, intently, as if waiting for the answer to emerge in real time.

"And yet," he muses, "if it were purely structural, if the function was rigid rather than dynamic, then identity would be deterministic. There would be no true variation between one individual. and another"

Your breath catches—not at the words, but at the way he delivers them. Low, deliberate, as if testing their effect.

Your eyes flicker back to your notes, searching for the answer already buried in the ink-scrawled equations.

"If recursion alone dictated identity," he continues, fingers brushing the page near a half-written derivation, "then all of our decisions would be predictable, predetermined by the constraints of that function. But something else is at play."

You glance back up at him. "Emergent complexity."

A small, almost imperceptible nod. "Iteration isn't replication. Each step in it's expansion is influenced not just by the base function, but by external conditions—context, interference, interaction. No two paths are identical. Every recursive process has the potential for divergence."

You inhale sharply, following the thought as it unfolds, as it threads itself between the logic you already understand and the realization taking shape.

He watches the shift in your expression—sees you arrive at the same conclusion.

"If identity," you say slowly, "is shaped not just by its internal function, but by its interactions—"

"Then when two distinct but intrinsically linked patterns cross paths," he interjects, "neither walks away unchanged."

The words land too heavily.

Not just because they are true, because they make sense.

But because he isn't speaking in hypotheticals anymore.

For a moment, neither of you move. He is still leaning over your desk, too close, breath dusting lightly against your shoulder—warm, uneven, just barely there. His presence presses into the space between the pages, the margins, the frantic scrawl of your thoughts.

Your fingers brush against the edge of your notes. "And what happens," you murmur, almost to yourself, "when two of these... structures become entangled?"

Anaxagoras holds your gaze.

"You tell me," he says.

A slow breath. Hesitation.

"...Change is inevitable," you murmur. "Not a choice, not an accident—just a consequence of proximity."

Something flickers across his expression—too brief to name, too quick to be certain.

He should correct you. Should challenge the conclusion you’ve drawn.

Instead, he watches you, head tilting just slightly—less like a professor considering a theory, more like something else entirely.

Your breath stills. The moment lingers too long.

You shift slightly, glancing down at your notes.

"Perhaps," Anaxagoras says at last, his voice quieter than before, "but not all change is equal."

"... And what determines the difference?" you ask, softer now.

His eyes don’t leave yours. "The depth of the resonance."

The night air hums with a quiet sort of clarity as you step out of the grove, the weight of the conversation still curling around your ribs like an uncollapsed waveform. The campus pathways are near-empty at this hour, bathed in the soft glow of lamplight. Each footstep crunches softly against the gravel, the rhythm steady, measured—nothing like the chaotic pulse beneath your skin.

You aren’t entirely sure how long you sat there in his office. The concept of time had blurred somewhere between the pages of your notes and the weight of his gaze. Between the fractal recursion of thought and the unsettling realization that—perhaps—you weren’t just speaking of equations anymore.

Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag as you walk.

(If recursion applies not just to thought but to interaction—if the base function of identity is altered through contact—then what does it mean that his presence lingers in your mind long after the conversation has ended?)

The wind shifts, cool against your skin, but it does little to steady the unshaken cadence of your pulse.

Anaxagoras had let the silence stretch before you left. No dismissal, no final remark to wrap the conversation into something neat and containable. Just that lingering weight—his dark eyes studying you, as if waiting for you to arrive at the realization before he acknowledged it himself.

(The depth of the resonance..?)

You exhale sharply, shaking your head as if that alone could unravel the thought from your mind.

Your dormitory looms ahead, its familiar outline silhouetted against the night sky. The building is quiet when you step inside, the soft hum of distant voices muffled through the walls. You move through the dimly lit corridors with muscle memory, feet carrying you forward while your mind is still somewhere else.

Your door clicks shut behind you, shutting you into the quiet stillness of your room.

Everything here is familiar. The unmade bed, the clutter of books on your desk, the notebook you’d left open earlier with some half-scribbled thought that now feels embarrassingly simplistic. The air smells faintly of old paper and the lingering trace of coffee grounds from this morning—scents that should root you back into the present.

But they don’t.

Not when your mind is still back in that office.

Not when you can still hear the quiet cadence of his voice, the deliberate pause before he spoke—

You press your fingers to your temple, willing yourself to unspool the loop of recursion that has latched onto your thoughts.

It’s fine. This is fine.

The conversation had been an extension of an intellectual discourse, nothing more. You were both speaking in abstracts, exploring a hypothesis. That’s what you do. That’s what you’ve always done.

Then why did you feel so different?

You swallow, exhaling through your nose.

Your notebook is still in your hands, the pages curled slightly from the way you’d gripped them on the walk back. Slowly, carefully, you set it down on your desk, flipping back to the last scrawled equation.

Identity = f(Iteration, Context, Interaction)

A slow inhale. Your fingers brush over the ink-streaked margin, a reflexive motion—an attempt to ground yourself.

Then, after a moment, you reach for your pen.

The ink flows smoothly as you add another line beneath the equation, hesitating for only a second before you let the words take form.

Resonance determines the rate of transformation.

You stare at it.

And then—slowly, deliberately—you close the notebook.

-> a/n: hey, if you've made it this far i SERIOUSLY commend your strength. i had to take several breaks while proofreading this because i, the writer, myself could not process their words at one stretch... erm... so, here's a mini explanation with an analogy, if any of you are actually interested in what they were talking about. Imagine you're building a snowman. At first, it’s just a small snowball in your hands. But as you roll it, more snow sticks, and it grows bigger and bigger. You stack more snow on top, shape it, maybe add a scarf or a carrot nose. No matter how much it changes, the first snowball—the one you started with—is still there, buried inside. It never went away, it just became part of something bigger. That first snowball here is like the core of 'identity'. Everything else—your experiences, choices, and changes—builds on top of it, but it’s always there, shaping who you are.

-> next.

taglist: @starglitterz @kazumist @naraven @cozyunderworld @pinksaiyans @pearlm00n @your-sleeparalysisdem0n @francisnyx @qwnelisa @chessitune @leafythat @cursedneuvillette@hanakokunzz @nellqzz @ladymothbeth @chokifandom@yourfavouritecitizen @sugarlol12345 @aspiring-bookworm @kad0o @yourfavoritefreakyhan @mavuika-marquez @somniosu

#❅ — works !#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x gn reader #hsr x reader #anaxa x reader #hsr anaxa #hsr anaxagoras #anaxagoras x reader

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aliciastarkeyy · 3 months ago

Text

Fools gold

Summary ᯓ★ uncool, typically 'nerdy' and unseen by most, your life on the island is pretty simple. Until Rafe Cameron begins to pay attention to you.

Warnings ᯓ★ swearing, the motions of a 'bet' being made, wagers, fake love, one sided love, fighting, eventual smut. ! not proofread!

Word count ᯓ★ 4,234

part1⟡ part3⟡ part4⟡

The walk to the bookshop the next morning is refreshing. After a terrible night of sleep, you’re glad to be going to the store and enjoying some time alone with the books. And willow.

There’s a subtle breeze sweeping along the almost empty boardwalk, the only people out the one’s grabbing breakfast, or using the shops that open before nine.

Surfers are out on the water, like they are every morning. The waves are quite violent, thrashing against the shore, and you know they’re having a good time.

Willow purrs when you open the door to the bookshop, sliding through the gap and taking her sleeping position straight on one of the bottom shelves of one of the bookshelves. You know you won’t see her for a few hours now.

Once setting up the music and the cash register, you unlock the front door and begin browsing the shelves to pick something for yourself to read.

Your mind slips away to Rafe Cameron. He seemed to want to talk to you- despite his polar opposite behaviour in high school. Back then, you never existed to him. Now, he’d come into your work and then gone out of his way to talk to you at Maysi’s party.

Alas, you hadn’t seen him for six years. He could have changed. Maybe he just wanted to be friends. Maybe.

Maybe seemed like a longshot. He didn’t look like the type.

The morning sails by, especially when you’re reading pride and prejudice to pass the time. You’ve had a few more customers today, figuring it must be nicer weather than yesterday and all the rich folk of the island are suddenly interested in reading.

The afternoon does not go so fast. It slows dramatically, in fact, to the point that you put down the book and begin to clear some of the shelves, reorganising.

You’re so into what you’re doing that you barely hear to bell above the door chime, or the footfall that stops shortly beside you. When you drop a book out of the stack you’re holding, and another hand reaches out to pick it up for you- you almost jump.

Rafe. He’s holding the book out, a smirk seemingly carved into his face. You set the pile of books down and take the singular one from him.

“Thanks,”

“It’s no problem, just here to save the day.” He straightens up as you place the final book on the knee high tower you’ve got going. After a Quick Look around, Rafe addresses you again.

“Having a move about?” He smiles, something genuine that almost meets his eyes. Almost. It puts you off.

“Yeah, slow day. Might as well.” He nods, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“So, back for that book for my uh, sister.”

You purse your lips. “What book?”

It dawns on you now that he took a complete gamble on whether those previous books would have actually been in here or not. You didn’t particularly choose what books ended up here. Unless he just picked the first two he saw?

Rafe looks deep in thought before he meets your own eyes. “I’m not sure of the name. Something to do with wardrobes and lions, I think.”

“Ah! I actually know what you mean! Such a classic, we have one somewhere.” You beckon with one finger for him to follow you to the isle over, where there’s a sort of theme of children’s and young adult books.

You begin to hum along to the beat of the music as your fingers slide over the different spines and names of books, until it comes into view. Triumphant, you pull the book from its place and hold it out to show Rafe.

He looks utterly puzzled.

“The lion,” you point to the cover. “The witch,” another point. “Anddddd, the wardrobe.”

You see the moment it clicks in his eyes. You also breathe a silent sigh of relief. Your earlier theory had been disproved- that he’d come in here and picked up two random books to excuse why he was here. He came with intent this time.

“Okay, okay. I’ll take this one.” You take it back from him and veer round his frame to the counter, where you scan the books barcode.

“Your total is six dollars.” Like yesterday, he passes you more than he needs to. A ten dollar bill, again, crisp as the day it was made.

“Keep the change.” He smiles as you pass him over the book, but doesn’t move. You wonder if you’ve forgotten something, and he’s waiting.

“So uh,” he brings a finger up to rub his eye. “I’m gonna be at the country club tonight with a few friends, if you’d wanna come?”

The inside of your cheek finds its way inbetween your teeth, and suddenly you’d rather be anywhere but here. Is he asking you on a date? Why would he ask you?

“Not in a weird way or anything- Maysi will be there too, she’s uh, she’s seeing one of my friends and I just thought-”

“It’s okay Rafe. Thank you, really, but I’m okay. I don’t like that sort of stuff.” He nods, looking away to the side. Somewhere in the shop, willow meows and begins to patter towards you.

Rafe’s jaw clenches. Like he’s mad.

“Okay. Worth the ask. Have a good day.” He turns on his heel and walks straight out of the door.

“Wow.” You mutter. What the fuck was up his ass?

You phone rings an hour later. You’re finishing the last of closing duties, willow hanging by the front door waiting to be let out.

Maysilee.

“Hello?” You answer, pressing the phone between your ear and shoulder as you scramble for the keys in your bag.

“You turned down Rafe Cameron?” She sounds incredulous. You can tell she’s somewhere loud, the background noise buzzing through the phone. She mutters something to someone else and turns her attention back to you.

“You’d better have the best excuse ever woman. The poor boy looks grief stricken,” you fight the urge to roll your eyes, locking the door to the shop and walking along the board walk with willow.

“Maysi, I’ve had about three short conversations with him. He could be a serial killer.”

She scoffs. Loudly. You pull the phone away from your ear for a second. “- genuinely interested in getting to know you, why do you always shoot down potential men who’re interested?”

The back end of what she’s saying makes you pause for a brief moment. How could he be genuinely interested in you? He knew nothing about you. Nothing at all.

He didn’t exactly seem like the type to want anything other than a fuck either, as much as it made you cringe to think that. Just the way he looked.

“Maysi, I barely know him.”

“That’s how it starts though no? You barely know someone and then you get to know them.” She’s got you there. You bite the inside of your cheek, contemplating his earlier offer again, as you turn onto your street. You can see your parents cars in the driveway, and a third one that you don’t recognise.

“That doesn’t matter anyway because you’re coming to the country club whether you like it or not. For me.” Her tone is final. You have no choice in the matter, much like last night.

“May-”

“No. I know you’re almost home now so get changed and I’ll come pick you up.” She’s cute you off and you sigh, small enough so she can’t hear it.

“Okay.”

Maysilee squeals. She bids you goodbye with loads of kissy noises down the phone, happy now she’s got her own way. The promise to pick you up in an hour scars into the back of your brain.

As you open the front door, you can hear your parents talking away with some other voice you don’t quite recognise. You don’t bother to investigate, slipping up the stairs straight into your room where you throw open your closet and debate your options.

Exactly like last night, you can’t wear anything that Maysi will disapprove of.

You land on a white off the shoulder jumper, black skirt, tights and your knee high boots. Hopefully it would pass for Maysilee, despite her obvious distaste to your entire wardrobe.

Showering and getting ready takes up the majority of the hour, and soon you’re sat on your bed waiting for Maysi to text you saying she’s here.

When the text does come through you spare one last look in the mirror, and a longing one towards your bed, before closing your bedroom door and climbing down the steps. Your mother emerges from the kitchen as you reach the bottom step.

“Is that Rafe’s truck outside?” The third voice asks, and your father along with the third man join you and your mother in the foyer.

Is it? You were going to kill Maysi if she’s done exactly what you think she’s done.

Your mother smiles at you, pretending to be warm. “You know Ward, yes? Ward Cameron?”

What the fuck. Too many coincidences were happening. All at once. In the last two days.

“No, mom, I don’t.” Her smile falters. She turns away, effectively dismissing you and you use it as your excuse to slip out of the front door and down your drive. The passenger side window rolls down and you see Rafe sat in the truck, face puzzled.

“Is that my father’s car?” You nod. He leans over, opening the door for you.

Maysilee is nowhere to be found. You curse her- but your options are slim to none right now. You either go back into the house with your parents, or you get in the car with Rafe.

You know which you’d prefer out of the two as you place a boot on the rail underneath his car and hoist up into the seat. You slam the door behind you, placing your bag on your lap.

“Hello again,” rafe grins as he turns the truck on, taking off down the street before you’ve even put your seatbelt on. “I thought these weren’t your type of things,” he adds.

“They’re not. I’m being forced because you gave Maysi a heartbroken sob story.” You bite the words out, looking out the window.

Rafe raises one of his hands in self defence. “I did no such thing. Your friend is very stubborn.”

You scoff, gripping your bag tighter as he swings his truck round a corner without even looking. You sure as hell were not not getting in this death trap again.

“You’re telling me. I don’t want to be here.” You can see him stealing glances over at you every so often and it makes your cheeks flush. It’s embarrassing how little you can get nervous from.

“Well, I think you look very pretty today.” He pulls up into a spot at the country club, turning his engine off. You don’t say anything back, because what do you say?

Instead, you opt for clambering out of the truck and walking towards the entrance of the club, grabbing your mother’s admission card out of your bag to show the girl at reception.

She nods you through and you do so, not waiting for Rafe. You can spot Maysi from a mile off, sat at a table with some guys arm slung over her shoulder.

“Hiiiii!” She squeals when she sees you, proceeding to quirk an eyebrow when she notices Rafe catching up. She doesn’t much about the situation, allowing Rafe to scoot in and pull a seat out for you.

You take the seat, crossing your legs as he takes the one next to you. There’s now five people sat at the table. You, Rafe, Maysi, the guy with his arm around her shoulder and another guy who’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat at you. Weird.

“So, this is topper, my boyfriend, and Kelce, their other friend. Obviously you know Rafe,” Maysi says, taking a sip from her fruity coloured drink. There’s a glint of something behind her eyes as she looks at you and Rafe and you notice how close he’s sat. She tells them all your name but based on the way they react, they already know you.

“Well uh, I’m gonna go get a drink.” You mumble, standing from the chair.

“Me too,” rafe taps the table, standing and following you to the bar. You’re sure you feel the ghost of his hand on your back but it never makes contact.

“What’re you having?” He asks, when you stand bar side. You shrug, looking at all the options for softer drinks. Not a lot. Water or juice.

The cocktail that Maysi had did look quite funky.

“Hey, yeah man, not too bad,” rafe shakes the hand of the bartender who’s come over and spoken to Rafe while you were thinking. He looks back down at you before looking back up and smiling.

“I’ll have a coors and she’ll have a daiquiri, please.” Butterflies settle in your stomach at how he orders for you.

What? No. Ew.

Maybe not ew. You weren’t sure. Maybe he was growing on you. If only you’d hold a conversation with him for longer than five minutes, maybe you’d know. Lots of maybes.

The bartender places a bright red drink in front of you and you grasp it with both hands. “Put it on my tab man, thanks.”

You look up at Rafe. “You don’t need to do that,”

He grins down at you, grasping a bottle of beer in his own hand. “You know what they say, ‘buy me a drink first’,” this time, his hand finds your back and stays planted there as he leads you back to the table. Heavy and thick. He was laying it on pretty hard.

You take your seat again, Maysi busy laughing at something one of the other guys had said. Her eyes flutter down to your drink and she gasps.

“You’re telling me he managed to get you to drink?” Betrayal. Utterly terrifying, betrayal. Laced right into her tone. She points a manicured finger at Rafe who grins lazily back, raising his hands in self defence.

“What can I say? I have charm,” Maysi reaches over the table to swat him but he leans back, laughing when she can’t reach him. She huffs and falls back into her seat, arms crossed over her chest, she turns back to you.

“How was the ride?” It’s her turn to smirk at you, knowing eyes fluttering between you and Rafe. His arm is now slung over the back of your chair, eyes glinting as his friends talk to him.

“He doesn’t know how to drive,” you whisper back, leaning over your drink. You take a sip and can immediately see why she loves them so much. Your comment makes her cackle, clapping her hands.

“Really? That’s pretty funny,” Rafe leans forward, arm still over your chair. He’s all in your space, shoulder touching your own at he stares you down. “We got here didn’t we, that’s all that counts.”

You nod your head, cheeks burning bright red at being caught and Rafe leans back, engaging in his own conversation with his friends again. Maysi is smiling at you behind her hand.

“He so likes you,” she whispers, smile almost stretching to her ears. She reaches over and squeezes your arm as you shake your head.

“He does not. He doesn’t know me.”

“Well, let him know you then. He’s interested in you, it’s so obvious.” Her boyfriend, topper, leans over grinning.

“He does like you.”

You don’t respond, shaking your head and leaning into your drink, cheeks blushing when Rafe’s hand slides down the back of your chair and begins to circle on your back.

Two hours pass when you excuse yourself to go to the toilet. You’ve had a few more drinks than you’d like to admit, and after a few flirty comments from Rafe, you decided it was time for a refresh.

Until someone calls your name, a step away from the toilet door.

“Oh no,” you mumble, turning with a fake, small smile on your face. Tyler stands two steps away from you, arms raised out like he’s coming in for a hug. You dodge, standing with your back against the door.

“Hey, how’ve you been?” You watch his eyes swallow your figure down whole, and you suddenly regret wearing what you’re wearing. You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah, I’ve been better.” He nods, hair slicked back but he still runs a had through it. He’s looks the exact same. Tall, lanky, dressed like he’s trying to fit in somewhere he doesn’t belong.

“Good, good. I’ve been okay, missed you though.” Bile rises in your throat and you’re pretty sure you can feel tears pricking the corners of your eyes. There’s no one else here you can ask for help.

He raises a hand and you flinch.

“Look, I’m sorry. What I did was shitty but I know you’ve missed me too.” He reaches a hand to your shoulder and grips, harder than he should. You can feel a tear crest over and roll down your cheek.

“What the fuck you doing man?” You’ve never been more relived to hear Rafe Cameron’s voice. Ever. Tyler lets go of your shoulder and swings around in time to be met with Rafe’s fist, straight to the cheek. Tyler’s head swings to the side and he stumbles back a few steps, laughing as his hand comes up to his jaw.

Rafe’s heaving, face flushed red from what you presume is anger, which only intensifies when he takes a look at you. You must look petrified.

You are. Rafe steps around Tyler and to you, taking your shoulder in his hands. This time when he looks at you he looks like he cares. Genuinely.

“Are you okay?” You shake your head and he pulls you into his chest. He wraps around you just right, smelling like woods and leaves and just everything nice that you’d thought he smelled like.

You didn’t realise you’d thought that until you were here. He pulls back, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and walking you past Tyler.

“Good luck with that man, really. Couldn’t get anything out of her and I had that bitch for two years. Might have to look elsewhere if you want a fuck.” Tyler is grinning when you look over your shoulder, cheek red and nose bent. Rafe pauses, hand tightening on your shoulder for a second before he releases you, turning around.

Another crack sounds from behind you but you don’t turn. You hear Tyler stumble back before hitting the wall, mumbling something to Rafe who chuckles.

“She loves sex man, I don’t know what you’re on about. Maybe it was just you.”

Rafe’s arm wraps around you again and he leads you to the foyer. You’re silently crying now, wiping each tear with the sleeves of your jumper. He reaches into his pocket, passing you the keys to his truck.

“I’m just gonna go say bye okay, you go wait in my truck.”

His kindness stills you. He had no need to step in and defend you then, especially not with Tyler. But he did. In a weird way, it warms your heart. He defended you.

Maybe he wasn’t so bad afterall.

You find Rafe’s truck in the car park and unlock it, climbing up into the seat and shitting the door behind you. The silence is defending but doesn’t last long before the drivers door is opening, and Rafe is climbing into the seat. You pass him the keys and he starts the truck.

“Did he, you know?” He asks, voice rough like he doesn’t want to think about it. Rafe’s jaw is locked tight as he pulls out of the spot, turning his full brights on when he joins into the sunlight road.

You sniffle. “He didn’t always control his anger when I said no. I don’t know why I stayed with him.”

Rafe nods, eyes on the road. His hand shifts from the center console to grasp your knee. “I’m sorry. I’m not sorry I showed him what’s up though.” He smiles over at you and you giggle, a little. You notice the way he’s going isn’t the way to your house.

Maybe he is nice. There’s this tinge to him that you’ve seen little bits of that makes you want to know more, and it scares you. Rafe did not look like the type to ever want anything other than a fuck.

He turns off the main road onto a small side street, which soon turns to a dirt track. When you reach the end of it, you’re on the beach. You’d never known this road had existed.

The beach is dark, but you can still see flutters of waves crashing against the sand, and can hear them too. The breeze sways the trees around you, and there’s a little shack off to the left, allowing a little light to sweep out across the sand.

The truck rumbles to sleep when Rafe switches it off. He turns in the seat to look at you.

“I thought this would be better than the club.”

You nod, tears stopping. “Thank you Rafe. You didn’t need to do this.”

He immediately shakes his head, curtains bouncing across his forehead. He looks softer under the light of his truck, lips pressed firm.

“You don’t need to thank me. I physically couldn’t stop myself.” He looks down at his hands in his lap, chest rising and falling rapidly. Almost as if it’s on instinct, you reach over at take one of his hands into your own.

“I’m glad you were there Rafe. I didn’t think I’d be able to do anything.” You look out the window as another wave crashes on the beach.

“He’ll never come near you again.” Rafe sounds firm, and he glances over at you before joining you at looking at the waves.

“I can’t thank you enough Rafe, really. You’ve been so nice to me.” He smiles at you now, eyes locked within the silence. And then you see him leaning closer.

Like he’s going to kiss you. Do you want this? You’re not sure. You still feel like you barely know him. But god damn, if it didn’t make you swell with butterflies when he defended you. Even if you didn’t notice, it did.

But still, you don’t think you want to kiss him. Not yet. You need to know him more. You think. You’d be lying if his lips don’t look really good right now. Full, pink lips that are now inches away from your own.

His blue eyes full are of stars as he closes the gap. And you let him. He kisses like the world’s ending- and the shock of being unsure leaves you stumped for a few seconds before you begin to kiss back.

And god, do his lips feel as good as they look. His had reached around the back of your neck, threading into the hair there as he pulls you closer, your own hands creeping across the centre console.

When his other hand comes up to cup your cheek, you whimper. Quiet but embarrassing, it makes Rafe pull back and search your eyes.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, looking away, bottom lip between his teeth. He’s heaving, lips swollen and eyes glossy as he stares out the window.

You can only imagine what you look like. He turns back, eyes searching your face again, and you’re sure you can see a debate sparking to life behind them.

“You’re so soft,” he mumbles, pulling you back for another kiss. This one is feverishly fast, hand on the back of your neck pulling you further towards him. When his tongue swipes across your bottom lip and you gasp, he pulls back again.

“Tell me to stop. Now.” His hands withdraw and you sit there, blissed but confused. Your heart is beating so far out your ribcage.

“What- I don’t-” you begin, but Rafe just scoffs, turning back round in his seat and starting the car.

“I can’t do this to you. Not here, not now. I’m taking you home.” You pull back over the console, taking your original position on the passenger seat. Rafe’s jaw is clenched, and the few glances you do steal his way he’s still the exact same. He speeds towards your house, not once looking at you.

Your brain is running a thousand miles an hour. You’d been the one who hadn’t wanted to kiss him- and now that you had, he was the one regretting it? He showed interest first. Maysilee had literally said it herself.

The breaks squeal as Rafe pulls up outside your house. No surprise your parents cars are once again gone.

“Thanks, Rafe.” You unbuckle your seatbelt and open the door, climbing out. Rafe doesn’t even properly wait for you to shut the door before speeding off down the street, leaving you just as confused as you were in the car.

Authors note ᯓ★ whew! Rafe might be having second thoughts after seeing what she went through with her ex?? Who knows <3 let me know what you thinkkkk (also I picture Maysilee as maddie from euphoria!!)

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fanfics-i-find-here · 7 months ago

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Do I know you? Part 2

Jason Todd X Reader

Synopsis: Jason, not Red Hood, “checks” on you. Cue the shortest/ longest conversation you have had with the man.

Or in other words, is this flirting?

Notes: There is no planned plot for this if anyone can tell. Just running on vibes.

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Masterlist

Your presumption of a long night was regrettably accurate. The annoyance of it all makes you want to chuck your alarm against the wall. But alas, being an adult mattered more and you need money, so work it is. You pray for it to be a busy day so you can forget your embarrassment from the night before.

Clocking into work makes you confident in the fact that it will be busy. You slide into your routine as a waitress at Jackie’s Books and Coffee, greeting customers and delivering drinks and pastries to them. You chat with a few of the regulars as they come in, and you listen as they yap about their lives. As you make another round, you greet another regular.

His name was Jason and that’s all you really knew. He wasn’t like many of the other customers who liked to talk about anything and everything to you. He usually only got coffee and read a book. The one time he did actually talk to you was when you mentioned you had never read a Jane Austen book. It was like that was the only thing that mattered in the world. He ranted at you for 15 minutes about it and you didn’t have the heart to step away. He was cute when he was passionate.

He sat down at his usual table and pulled out a book. You went to work with his order, he always got the same thing. You sat the cup in front of him and asked, “What’s the book for the day?”

You try to glance at the cover but find the front cover blank, a fancy hardcover. Not finding the answer there you meet his gaze to wait for his response. You're startled for a moment by the familiarity of his features. Of course, his features were familiar to you, he was a regular but there was something different this time around. A scar on his lip and his cheek-

“Dracula” your thoughts are cut off by his voice, suddenly strangely familiar too, and you focus in on the conversation.

You smile, “I actually have read that one.”

You are half tempted to add, might be better than Jane Austen, but you decided you still want to work for the next half hour. You settle on, “Hollywood definitely got that one wrong, so much for the undead being sexy.” You joke.

His laugh comes out a little startled and you’re proud of the accomplishment. He usually looks so sullen in his corner booth, although that might just be because he’s so focused on his book.

“I don’t know, Hollywood might be onto something.” He says it like it’s an inside joke, but you feel like you missed the punchline.

“Maybe,” you say with a polite laugh, “Did you want anything else?” you ask.

He shakes his head. Not a huge shocker, he never wants anything but his drink and his book.

“Just let me know if you do.” You walk away slowly as you try to push down the weird familiar feeling you’re having all of a sudden. You check in with a few customers and, with a lull in commotion you settle into a chair next to the register. Bless Jackie for having one, your feet slowly starting to ache as the end of your shift draws near. Darla, one of the other waitresses comes to stand close to you. She leans in with a conspiratory look.

“So, you get his number?” she questions, her Gothamite accent heavy. Your head whips to look at her and you almost knock noses.

“What?” you try to keep your tone neutral, but your tone pitches up. Her lips twist into a grin and you’d think it evil if you didn’t already know her. Darla was nearly 50 years old, and she reminded you of a self-proclaimed “Fun Aunt” who liked to be in on all the gossip and had no sense of personal space. She had been goading you to date someone, anyone, just so she could be all up in your business. Because according to her, you were the most boring person she’d ever met.

“The hottie, did you get his number?” she asks again as she pulls out a compact mirror to brush some fly-aways from her face.

“First of all, I still don’t know who you’re talking about.” You do but that’s neither here nor there. “Second, you can’t just call customer’s Hotties, Darla, that weird.”

She scoffs and snaps her compact closed. “All right, Scarface over there. Did you get his number?”

You practically jump at her to cover her mouth. “Darla!”

She pushes your hand away with a grin. “Don’t worry Baby doll. It makes him look hot in a rugged way.”

“Darla, I swear-“you're cut off by a throat clearing. You turn to see a college student awkwardly waiting at the register. Your face flushes and you drop your hands from Darla and through on a customer service smile.

“Hi, sorry about that. How can I help you?” You manage to stay away from Darla for the rest of your shift, checking on customers probably more than necessary. It's 5 o’clock when your shift finally ends. You brush by Darla to clock out and she follows you.

“You gonna answer my question or not?” Ever persistent for an older woman.

“No, Darla, I did not get Jason’s number” You pointedly use his name, so she won’t use Scarface or Hottie again.

“Oh, First name basis.” She teases.

You roll your eyes and pull off your apron to hang it up. You turn and look at her.

“Goodbye Darla,” you say sweetly with a too cheesy smile. It's her turn to roll her eyes as she goes back to work. You collect your purse and jacket and head for the front door of the shop. The early fall weather not having kicked in yet, you carry your jacket on your arm. Focused on pulling your purse over your head, you nearly run into a mass.

“Oh Sorry,” you say as you take a step back.

“No, you’re okay. I shouldn’t have bullied my way in front of you.” A deep voice speaks. You look up and meet blue-green eyes. Jason.

“I hardly think someone so passionate about Jane Austen could do any Bullying” You see Jason flush a little at the comment but don’t say anything. He holds the front door open for you. You thank him as you hurriedly shuffle through the open door. He follows you out onto the warm sidewalk. Assuming your conversation is done you head down the sidewalk with your arms crossed in front of you holding your jacket. As you walk you become very conscious of the man next to you. You glance at him curiously but don’t comment.

You take your time walking with him silently. You're not in a rush to get home, darkness still a few hours away. You should be worried. You’re not though. Jason has never struck you as a bad guy. Call it energy or vibe or what have you (ranting about Jane Austen). He just wasn’t bad. Intimidating? Yes, but not bad. As you walk you give some subtle side glances. He was very… Large. You didn’t know how else to describe him. Nearly a whole head taller than you and muscular. Yeah, he could definitely pick you up and carry you. You flush, not that that mattered. Your eyes get drawn back to his face. You know those scars; you swear up and down that it's not just because he’s a regular. They’ve never stuck out to you like this, and you can’t figure out why. In your (not so) subtle side-eye, you meet his gaze. He’s already smiling at you, but you don’t linger on it dropping your gaze to the concrete.

“Heading home?” He asks, tilting his head toward you.

You look up to meet his gaze, intense in the stare and unsure if he's just like that or dissecting you. This is the longest amount of time you’ve spent actually near him without tending to customers.

“Uh, yeah?” you ask yourself. Of course, you're going home; where else would you go? But why would you tell him that? You don’t think Jason would do anything bad to you; he is still, at most, an acquaintance, and you don’t really know him. (Not that it matters considering you let a literal stranger into your home the night before.) If he senses your hesitation and worry, he doesn’t comment on it.

“I wish I was.” He admits but quickly adds on, “Going to my home, not yours. That would be weird, I don’t really know you.” His voice drops quieter as he trails off. He rubs at the back of his neck, a light flush on his cheeks. The man in a flustered state must give you some courage.

“Yeah, that would be weird,” you tease, “Although maybe not a bad thing.” You quiet for a moment and think is this good flirting?

“If you're not going home, then where are you going?” You ask both curious about the answer and if it’ll explain why he's still walking with you.

His flush darkens and he mumbles for a moment and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. Leather Jacket…

“Family required dinner,” he says it like it’s the worst thing in the entire world, sitting next to nuclear weapons and climate change.

“That sounds fun” You try to keep a neutral tone because a family dinner does sound fun, to you, but he, apparently, thinks otherwise.

“Oh, loads of it,” he says with a scowl.

You decide a variety of things at that moment. First, he was unfairly attractive. Scowling should not look that good. Second, you want to stop him from scowling, a sadness sitting just behind his eyes. Thirdly, Darla was, unfortunately, correct. You should get this guy's number.

“at least tell me there's dessert.” You ask teasingly. Your inquiry is enough to chase away the scowl and you smile at the fact.

“Only the best homemade cookies in existence” he responds with a smile.

“At least there's something good.” You slow your walk as you come to the corner where your apartment building sits. You don’t want to give away that you live here, but you don’t want to start wandering around the streets of Gotham with him either. As it turns out, your overthinking is unnecessary.

“This is me.” He states as he walks to a parked motorcycle right in front of the building. You can't help but stare.

“Will you make it home safe all alone?” he asks like he already knows the answer. It takes you a moment to answer, distracted as he pulls a helmet out of the back seat of the bike, preparing to put it on. The leather made more sense now.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, it'll be no problem. I don’t live far.” You gesture further down the street, where you definitely did not live. He nods and smiles knowingly as he slips the helmet on.

“Okay see you later, sweetheart.” He says as he slings a leg over the bike, starting. You stare, again, at the denim of his jeans stretching over his legs nicely. He gives you a wave before taking off down the street, turning a corner. You stand and stare at the spot he had just been for much longer than you should have. You let a quiet “Bye” leave your lips despite him being long gone.

You finally turn around to your apartment building. How convenient that was. You pet one of the stray cats that sit on the steps as you climb them and enter the building, thinking Am I missing something?

Other Note: Thank you for all the love for the first part. It inspired me to keep going. I hope this makes some kind of sense.

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #fanfics-i-find-here #Kandywrites #do i know you?

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100hyunswife · 2 months ago

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PLAYBOY (part two) | 100hyunswife

college au

virgin!f. reader x college student!Baekhyun x Chanyeol is your brother

genre: smut and fluff

wc: 4.3k

warnings: friends to lovers, messy fwb; fuckboy baekhyun is rlly killing me guys; oral sex (m and f receiving); deep throating; fingering; mentions of parent death but not dwelled upon; “princess” pet name; explicit language

synopsis: it’s the summer before your freshman year of college. you’re excited to be reunited with your older brother chanyeol, but who knew that your summer would be filled with his best friend—experienced playboy baek—showing you the ropes of intimacy.

a/n: started from an anon who requested this! there’s just one more chapter left after this one. hope you enjoy! - veronica

PART ONE | PART TWO (current) | PART THREE (in progress)

What was attraction has grown assuredly into infatuation. It’s been three days. Three painfully horny days, and you couldn’t get your mind off of him. And if just the fixation in your mind wasn’t enough to have you thinking about him all the time, as soon as you look in the mirror, all the memories of that night rush back. Your neck is still decorated with the evidence of his possession. Possession of your body—and clearly, your mind too.

What if you let him take you that night? Right there on the floor of your brother’s apartment. What if Jennie and Jongin waited longer to leave the closet? How far would you two have gone? These questions and more have swarmed your mind. Nothing has been able to quiet your head. That is until you see Baekhyun at the door.

“Hey, sorry to just show up like this, but also, I never got a chance to get your number so—”

“Oh, yeah no problem,” you laugh awkwardly and gesture towards the couch, “Come in.”

You honestly don’t know how to act around him. On the couch next to him, you look down at your hands in the silence. Suddenly, the fabric of your dress becomes interesting as well; you timidly fiddle with it.

Baekhyun notes your shyness. Cute, he thinks.

Each of you wait for the other to break the silence. What is he even here for? Oh, that’s right. Yeol, of course.

You spring up from your spot on the couch, “Oh! That’s right you’re probably here for Chanyeol, unfortunately, I think he went out grocery shopping!” You turn away to head towards your phone resting on the kitchen island. You pick it up and continue to yell over, “I’ll text him to let him know that you’re here though!”

Suddenly, you feel a pair of hands at your waist. You drop your phone onto the tabletop.

“That won’t be necessary,” a voice laced with darkness enters your ear.

You feel your hair on one side being lifted from your shoulder and placed to the other, exposing your already marked neck.

Baekhyun sees his previous work and smirks.

“I’m here,” he plots a kiss at your nape, “for you.”

You turn around to look at his face. He looks down and holds your chin.

“I was thinking we could get started on those lessons I mentioned, as long as you’re comfortable with that as well,” he says studying your face for any sign of discontent. Alas, there was none.

Your face spreads into a smile, “Sure.”

“If we’re continuing where we left off, it looks like we got kissing down. But, maybe I should give you a little test.” He wastes no time to press his lips to yours. You moan into the kiss, having craved this for the last few days. He seems just as eager, grabbing the back of your head and quickly deepening the kiss with his tongue. You thread your fingers through his hair and give the tufts a slight tug. He releases a heavy breath and forcibly grips the edge of the island behind you—out of restraint. All he wants is to feel your breasts in his hands, but he knows better. He cares about you. If he is so lucky to do so, he wants to ask first.

Baekhyun pulls away. “Yeah, you’ve passed,” he says with a chuckle. He presses his lips to your forehead for a sweet kiss of endearment. Your cheeks flare.

“Now, since we’re going slow, what’s next is technically just getting familiar with physical touch. Is it alright if I touch you?” He asks politely, looking into your eyes. You give him a nod of approval, but of course, he insists, “Princess, you know I like to hear you.” He waits with his hands firmly sitting on your waist, not yet taking the liberty of moving them up or down. That new pet name sounds like heaven.

“Yes,” you give him the clearance he wants, “I want you to touch me.”

“Good girl.” First, he reattaches his lips to yours before you feel his big hands slide down to grope your ass with strength—even still, it felt like he was holding back.

You gasp into his mouth. Your squeal as he continues to knead your flesh is muffled by his tongue swirling with yours. One hand comes up to cup your breast next, the thin summer dress you’re wearing does nothing to hide how hard your nipples are. Of course, he notices, and makes sure to run his thumb over it in the process. This time, your moan can’t be hidden. You mewl out at these newfound sensations, and you only want more.

Baekhyun lets go of your ass and reaches for your hand that has been staying at your side. You look at each other longingly and soon your eyes drift down to his crotch. It’s hard to miss the bulge that appears in front of him. His eyes flicker to your face; you bite your lip in anticipation. He places your hand on top of the raised area and returns his grip to your hip. You take this chance to rub him over his pants—grey sweatpants, that is. He must of worn these on purpose. The more you rub, and grab, and squeeze, the more the outline of his cock shows. Fuck. His touches on you haven’t stopped either. You both are lost in learning the outline of each other’s figures.

More comfortable, you kiss his neck and leave bites of your own. He throws his head back and releases a grunt. He stiff as a rock. His eyebrows crease in yearning.

“Ah, y/n.”

You never heard your name sound so sexy.

At this point all you want to do is get on your knees to have a taste. Without a word, you sink down in front of him; your knees touch the floor. His eyebrows are raised, shocked by your forwardness.

“Princess, you don’t have to do this—” He begins until you cut him off with the swift movement of lowering the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers. Finally, you see his cock spring free. Indeed, it’s as big as you imagined while feeling him. Your lips curve up into a shy smile, embarrassed to show that you’re pleased.

“It’s all yours,” he says with a knowing grin. You don’t believe that due to what you’ve heard of his promiscuous tendencies. Is it really all yours? Well, it’s all yours right now. And you’re going to treat it as such.

You look at the beauty of it. A slightly longer than average shaft, thick, and angrily curved up with a dark pink tip. You run a finger along it, feeling the veins and contours of his attentive member. Baekhyun sucks in his breath. You look so pretty on your knees for him; all he wants to do is shove your face down onto his cock and watch you choke on it, teary eyes looking up at him, but, baby steps, right? He lets you take your time to explore without pushing you, but that doesn’t mean it’s without guidance.

He threads your hair through his hand to clear the view of your face.

“You can start by giving it a few strokes or even a few kisses.”

You don’t cheapen out. You give him both strokes and kisses. Baekhyun lets out strained moans, going crazy from your teasing. Eventually, the kisses you land on his tip grow more and more open-mouthed. You’re ready to give your first blowjob. You stable yourself by placing your hands on his strong thighs.

“Take it into your mouth and suck, going up and down,” he instructs.

You follow, taking him into your mouth completely, hollowing your cheeks as you move to and fro.

“Yes, princess,” he breathes out. “Just like that.”

God, you love the view from where you are: below Baekhyun, satisfying his desires, seeing his eyes narrow as he draws in a sharp breath and bites his lip from your ministrations.

You’re in the mood to please—with him, when are you not? You test the waters, going down on him as far as you can; you go further and further each time. He loves every bit of it and has to stop himself from thrusting back into your mouth. You take notice and tell him to fuck your face.

“Are you sure?” He asks in disbelief.

He’s going to get what he wants; you crave the satisfaction of giving it.

You nod wordlessly, giving him a teasing lick along his shaft.

Sweetly, he gives a reminder, “Tell me if you’re uncomfortable or if it’s too—”

Much? Never. You’re here to satisfy. You cut him off with the warmth of you sliding him down all they way to the hilt. Your mouth is fully stuffed with his cock. Swallowing around him elicits a quick grunt. Baekhyun now braces himself, slightly widening his stance and claiming the back of your head with his hand.

“Since you asked for it, I’m not going to go easy.” With that, the first thrust into your mouth is carried. Then, the second, and the third. You naturally lose count as now all you can focus on is the peddling of his hips and his thick flesh entering and exiting your mouth. You grip onto his legs like your life depends on it.

“Fuck, you’re taking it so well,” he says, tightening his grip on your hair. “How is this your first time?” He throws his head back in pleasure. He lets out a long, drawn out groan.

“Let me see those pretty eyes of yours.”

You do your best to look up while your mouth is still pried open and used. Those tear-stained cheeks and watery eyes—Baekhyun eats it up. That view alone brings him close to the edge.

He picks up speed, drunk in desire, chasing his high.

He begins to stiffen, and mercilessly pushes your head all the way down. A guttural moan escapes him, the vibrations of the low tone make its way to you.

His eyes roll back as he finishes down your throat. He leaves no room for error, no drop is wasted. And when he pulls out of your mouth with a pop, you make sure to swallow that token of your work.

He pants, recovering from his trip of ecstasy. “Wow,” he says, breathless.

You smile up at him and get back onto your feet.

He puts himself away before holding your face and planting a kiss. “You have no idea how good you are.” This makes you smile proudly, happy to do him well. Baekhyun wipes all the tears and any signs of your previous activities off of your face. “You okay, princess?” You could really get used to that. It doesn’t take much to get you blushing.

You reassure him, “I loved it.”

“Tell me,” his finger is once again under your chin, “do you know when Chanyeol is coming back?”

You glance at the clock, “Not for another 30 minutes.”

As if you’re light as a feather, Baekhyun picks you up off your feet, walking both of you over to the kitchen table. He places you on top, and finds a spot for himself standing between your legs.

He gives a firm kiss holding onto your waist. Soon enough, his gaze drift south, and he’s just dying to know how you taste.

He glances back up. “Do you trust me?” He asks with unwavering eye contact.

“Yes,” you reply in wonder of what’s in store.

Continuing to watch your face, he brings a hand down between your legs. Slowly. Giving you time to retreat if needed. But just like your first kiss, you don’t shy away. Instead, you brace yourself. Unconsciously, your hands clutch onto the edge of the kitchen table; your legs spread wider.

Your lips lock once again; you feel his hands roam your thighs. You feel his fingers grace the inside of them, making you shiver. Finally, they dance upon where you needed him the most. His fingertips make contact with your panty-covered heat. You suck in a breath at the new contact. He looks at you, making sure to catch each expression as your face contorts. You feel the intensity of his eyes. It only makes you wetter as he rubs you, focusing on your clit. You break the eye contact, throwing your head back as you moan. The pleasure takes over. Your body is at his mercy.

He watches you loosen in front of him.

Baekhyun now kneels down himself, his face close to your hot core. There’s nothing more you want than for him to put out the fire he started, but he chooses to make it grow. He starts slowly. He kisses the inside of your thighs leading up to your pussy. If that wasn’t enough, he teasingly licks you over your panties as well. You whine out, desperate for him to do more.

“Baekhyun please,” you beg without him having to ask. You feel him smirk against you as he lands one more kiss to your inner thigh.

“Impatient, I see.”

He lands a slap on the side of your thigh and keeps his hand where it landed, gripping onto your flesh and pulling you closer to the edge of the table. You moan out at his vigor as you’re forced forward.

His pretty lips await.

He peels off your panties, teasingly slow. Your grip tightens on the table. He sees some of your wetness seep out of you, licking his lips in anticipation. His eyes flicker up at yours one more time for permission. Seeing your hazy eyes and parted lips tells him everything he needs to know. He can’t believe he has you spread wide like this, all for him. He peppers kisses to your bud; you whimper above.

Without further delay, he gets down to business, licking a long stripe up from your pussy. You cry out louder than you ever have before and the feeling only grows more intense. He links his arms underneath your parted legs and holds you in place as he eats you. No squirming can make you escape his conviction.

He works the warm, wet muscle on you, feeling all of your intricacies and learning just where to lick that makes you grip his hair and cry out.

It’s not like your current setting hasn’t crossed your mind either. You’re getting eaten out, right where you and Chanyeol ate breakfast no more than a couple hours ago. Baekhyun had no shame in getting his meal in too, but who would have thought that you’d be on the menu?

Inserting a long, skilled finger into you, you moan out his name. This urges him on more than you’ll ever know. Pumping you with his finger and landing skilled licks to your clit bring you close to the edge in record time. So quickly, that, you hardly have adequate time to warn him. This is trivial, though. He doesn’t need an announcement to pick up on the progression of your moans that have become whines, nor to feel the tell tale signs of your pussy tightening around his finger. He knows, he always knows.

“Baekhyun, Baek-Baekhyun, I—” You stammer out, lost in the sea of pleasure this man is drowning you in.

“Let go for me, princess.” He tells you, lips moving against your pussy. The vibrations of his words get spread to your folds.

With extra precision in the last few thrusts of his finger and motions of his tongue, he makes you cum—no, he gives you the best orgasm of your life till that point. You cry out, eventually becoming muffled by Baekhyun’s free hand. Your eyes roll back as it courses through you. Unable to control the steadiness of your legs, they tremble until he eases his movement.

He pulls his finger out of you and lands one last kiss on your sensitive pearl. Your hands release his hair and you lay back on the table to collect yourself; your brain is absolute mush and your legs definitely feel like Jello. You close your eyes, wading in the post-orgasmic bliss and as Baekhyun comes up to land a kiss to your cheek, he can’t help but feel proud. He’s never felt so satisfied.

After a few beats, you sit up and are met with him looking at you with cockiness.

“Did you enjoy that?” He asks, craving explicit validation.

“What do you think?” You roll your eyes and straighten your clothing.

“Well, I think the neighbors will know how much you enjoyed it too,” he jokes. You swat him on the shoulder and lift yourself off of the table. He loves hearing you, your moans are the fruits of his labor.

Without anymore notice, you hear a key being inserted at the door.

Chanyeol’s home.

You scramble to fix your hair and look normal, you know, like you didn’t just get eaten out on the kitchen table.

Just in time, you plant yourselves on the couch and turn on the TV. Yeol walks in with grocery bags in hand, which he places onto the kitchen table. Baekhyun looks at you with a slick smirk. You’ll make sure to get him for that later.

“Oh hey Baekhyun, what are you doing here?” Chanyeol asks quizzically.

“I came a couple minutes ago to see if you were here, I wanted to play basketball but you were out, so y/n was boring me with her dumb TV show until you got back.”

You tsk in his direction for credibility, but really, you’re thankful for just how easily the lies roll off of his tongue.

You help Yeol restock the fridge and pantry while Baekhyun takes the time to sneak his number into your phone that you left unlocked on the couch. Once everything is put away, Baekhyun leaves to go play basketball with Chanyeol.

Behind Yeol, he makes sure to look back and send you a wink before he makes his way out the door.

A day has gone by, and not much unlike your feelings after your first escapade, you feel stuck on the idea of Baekhyun. Except, this time, your mind wanders—past his experienced fingers, plush tongue and lips, and past his physical being that you now have been able to explore so much of. You yearn to learn about something else, something less physical yet more real. You yearn for him as himself. You covet an opportunity to peel back those layers of his.

This lone night, you get your wish. You’re in bed about to turn over and go to sleep until you see a text message from… Baekhyun? When did that happen? You don’t remember saving his contact info into your phone but you entertain it nonetheless.

“I’m outside,” it reads.

You go to your window to investigate and confirm. You see Baekhyun sitting in his car. Just so that he knows you’re not just freely at his beck and call, you text him back, sassily.

“And?” You reply but still make the movements to get dressed.

“There’s something I want to show you,” reads his next text.

Vague. Very vague. But you go with it because you can’t deny the impulse to see him again. You grab your bag and a jacket for the chilly summer night air.

You meet him in his comfy glory. He dons sweatpants, a hoodie, and fluffy hair that drops down in front of his eyes, reminding you of old, high school Baek.

“You’re not going to kill me are you?” You question, jokingly, but with a glare of suspension as he starts the drive.

“Of course not, we haven’t finished all of our lessons yet.” He responds light-heartedly.

Right.

The thread that is giving our relationship purpose: the lessons, and only the lessons.

You come upon an assumption at this, and though you’re willing to learn everything he has to teach you about sex and physical intimacy, and his own anatomy, you still had some boundaries for your own comfortability until you get familiar with the act of sex itself.

You clear your throat, preparing to come to your own defense.

“I don’t think I’m comfortable with fucking in your car, Baekhyun.…” You trail off, not wanting to disappoint him, but wanting to be honest about your contentment.

Baekhyun, who’s focused on the road, allows himself to glance over at you in confusion and disbelief. His eyebrows furrow in confusion at you as you look back at him with a raised eyebrow. Then, it clicks. He realizes just what exactly this late night rendezvous might look like. He softens his expression and loosens his grip on the steering wheel that went suddenly tight from your jarring words.

“That’s what you think?” He asks with a hint of sadness in his tone, disappointed to give you pretense that’d make you think that. His eyes return to the road, but his unoccupied hand moves to hold your thigh, giving it a squeeze.

He speaks again, “Don’t worry. That’s not what this is. I really want to take you somewhere special. I was lonely tonight and just wanted company.” Quietly, with honesty, he told his warrant for your arrest. You look over to him, waiting for the punchline, the joke, the snarky remark that almost always follows at the end of his sentences, but, there was none. His lips are shut and eyes locked back onto the road in front of him. In the split moment that you look closely at him, you see a tinge of sorrow.

“I’m sorry,” you say defeated, ashamed at the pessimism of your imagination.

“I’m sorry to have given you the thought.”

You two were quiet for the rest of the ride. Sometime along the way, you enclosed your hand around his—that hand that he rested on your thigh. You’re here for him too and you appreciate his presence; you want him to know that.

Eventually you land in the university’s lot next to the campus gardens. You both exit the car and he jogs around to your side to take your hand in his. You follow his lead, feeling the firmness and warmth of his hand around yours.

The campus has a different vibe at night. Rather than its bustling, lively nature through the months of the semester, packed with students moving about with motives, goals, and ambition, the setting is instead quiet and serene on this summer night. You’ve never been to this section of the school before and it wasn’t included on the campus tour. It’s beautiful, really. The labyrinth of flora surrounds you.

As he walks you along a path to the middle of the flourishing botanical garden, he explains what’s been on his mind.

“I took you here because it’s my favorite place to be when I need to think or just relax.” He pauses to look at the night sky. “Today is the anniversary of my mother’s passing…”

“Baekhyun, I’m so sorry—”

“No, it’s okay, really. Time has helped. I just didn’t want to be alone this time, coming here by myself. I wanted company. I wanted your company.”

You approach the middle of the garden that features a gazebo, illuminated warmly by the lights on the side.

“I do, however, have one request.”

You look on in curiosity.

“Will you dance with me? It was my favorite thing to do with her when she was still around.”

You don’t really know what to say. You are not a good dancer by any means but you also didn’t want to disappoint him. Baekhyun takes out his phone to cue a slow ballad that is easy to feel the rhythm to.

“Dancing really isn’t my strong suit,” you warn him.

“It’s okay, I got you.”

He offers out a hand and you join it with yours. You both begin the dance, his hand resting at the small of your back and your head resting against his chest. It’s slow and manageable, you mostly just step side to side. You’re lost in feeling the warmth of his chest against the side of your cheek. The beat of his heart serves as a metronome. You are glad to join him on his escape. It makes your heart pound to know that you are the one he called to spend time with.

Once you’ve gotten more comfortable, he leads your dance outside of the confines of the gazebo; you’re now among the flowers. You can’t help but feel like the garden was made for you two—even if it was yours for just this little while. It feels like your personal playground as he twirls you in front of the flower bushes and dips you among the patches of daffodils. You end the dance being twirled into his embrace. And for the first time, after looking into your eyes with a smile of pure happiness, he gives you a kiss that can be interpreted in no other way than a kiss of the heart’s fruition, of true romance.

It makes you feel warm inside. You kiss him back, savoring this moment of tenderness. You pull away and are met once again with his beautiful smile. He looks happy, at peace. You take the time to appreciate the innocence of his features—the rosiness of his plump cheeks, and the delicate beauty marks dotted on his skin.

Just then, the world stopped in the middle of your school’s garden. Just long enough for you to realize that you are completely taken. Beyond your body, he has your heart.

#baekhyun smut #baekhyun fic #exo smut #exo fic #baekhyun fanfic #exo fanfic #baekhyun #exo #baekhyun x reader #minors dni divider by @anitalenia #dark blue divider by @hyuneskkami #veronica writes

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jadeylovesmarvelxo · 11 days ago

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Lonely Hearts

Angsty, there's tension between Eddie and Steve, a tiny bit of fluff that is your friendship with Steve. Unrequited feelings? Not an 18+ fic but my blog is 18+

Part two? We'll see.

✨

The day that you found out Eddie was getting married was one of the worst days of your life. Okay, so that might be a slight exaggeration but it did hurt like hell.

For a long time, you held a little flicker of hope that Eddie would wake up one day and see you. That he'd only want to be with you. Alas, it was wishful thinking as you watched him date Elena, then Piper and eventually Chrissy.

Chrissy was a sweet, kind, and all-around nice girl. Pretty and practically perfect if you asked the majority of Hawkins. Of course, even Eddie, who rejected conformity, stuck his fingers up to authority and did what he wanted, would also end up under her spell.

The news broke out all over town about Eddie and Chrissy's engagement, It was a few years after high school ended but the whispers, the disbelief and harsh speculation still rang throughout the little town.

You had planted a smile on your face from the moment Eddie told you, and after a little while, it got easier to pretend that you weren't in agony on the inside. As long as Eddie was happy then you should be happy.

Steve, who had just come out of the end of an ongoing live triangle, had been a balm to your soul; he knew the heartache you were feeling, he knew how it felt to look at the person you loved and watch them be happy with someone else.

"I always knew it would be Jonathan you know? I'm happy for Nance but fuck this hurts" he sighs as the two of you share a drink or two or maybe it was three? You lost count after a little while.

It was nice. Two heart-sore souls letting out all the anguish, you could tell Steve everything and he wouldn't judge you, just listen patiently and pour more drinks.

"It would be nice to get away for a while huh? Away from Nance, away from Eddie and the wedding, just on the road with no plans and no reminders of this shitty town" Steve sounds wishful as he says this and yeah it does sound nice.

"It does but I couldn't just leave Eddie" you point out and Steve turns to you, his hazel eyes gentle as he reaches for your hand, gives it a gentle squeeze and smiles sadly.

"Honey, you can't chase unrequited love all your life, trust me. I know. At some point, you gotta move on, stop daydreaming and live in reality. Which fucking sucks but it's the truth. Don't waste your life waiting for someone who's never going to see you like you wish he would"

The words cut deep but it's something you need to hear. Is that what you were doing? Still waiting around for Eddie even now? It wasn't healthy and it needed to stop.

Tears pool in your eyes and Steve's widened as he panics and hastily starts to whisper words of comfort, "Shit shit shit. I'm sorry. Fuck, I shouldn't have said all of that" you shake your head and take his hand in yours, squeeze it to reassure him you're alright.

"It's okay. I needed to hear it, you're right. I guess I didn't realise I was still waiting, still hoping. Stupid I know and it needs to stop" You rest your head on Steve's shoulder and he holds you close, it's comforting and helps you think more clearly.

"Steve...maybe it would be nice to get away for a bit", you mumble, but you're getting tired and while the two of you discuss what happens next it isn't long before you can't fight the tiredness anymore, plus Steve's hugs are really soothing, and it isn't long before you're fast asleep.

...

That's all you remember from last night as you wake up groggy and with a raging headache, the crazy plan of Steve's still plays in your head and it won't go away.

When you heard the key turn in the lock, you just assumed it was Robin coming back from Vickie's, so you snuggled in closer to Steve and blocked out the noise.

"Am I interrupting something here?" Wait a minute that voice sounded very familiar and very much not Robin. When you peer up, Eddie is standing at your door with an expression you can't place, his eyes flicker to you, then to Steve. Tension fills the air.

Well fuck. This isn't what you need at this time of the morning. How could you forget you gave Eddie a key for emergencies? Had something happened overnight?

"Eddie, what's wrong? Are you okay?" Maybe something is wrong with Wayne, or he needs help with wedding planning? God help you, that thought of sitting through the wedding plans of the man you were in love with wasn't your idea of a good time, but this was Eddie. Somehow you needed to keep faking a smile and get through this.

"I hadn't heard from you since yesterday morning, neither had Dustin and Robin's with Vickie so she didn't know...I was worried. Didn't realise you were with Harrington"

You didn't know why Eddie was glaring at Steve like he wanted to kill him. It was rare that Eddie ever got truly angry and you didn't know why he was now. Signing you, shake Steve awake, who's grumbling under his breath and pouty, which is kinda cute, but so not helping at this moment.

"Whaaa? Is it time to leave already?" he sits up with his hair sticking out in every direction and he's shirtless. When the hell did he take off his shirt?

"Uh, Steve?" You nod to his undressed state and he blushes, he actually blushes and picks up his shirt from the floor.

"Sorry honey, it was hot in here and well I'm used to sleeping naked if I'm being honest but I couldn't do that here so I figured I'd take this off and tuck myself into a little ball on the other side of the couch but you're very cuddly when you're sleepy and uh...you were so peaceful that I didn't want to wake you"

Truthfully, you're a little flustered at the thought of Steve sleeping naked, so you're kind of distracted by that and don't notice Eddie's furious expression.

Steve does though. "Eddie, man, could you stop giving me the murder eyes? She's fine. She's a grown-up and nothing happened between us. Not that it's any of your business if it did," Steve points out, and you let out a tiny groan.

It wasn't Eddie's business if you were with Steve but he and Steve had this weird rivalry going on and you knew things were about to get heated.

"She's my best friend. It is my business. We might be friends of sorts, Harrington, but I don't trust you with her" Okay, now you were annoyed. Since when did Eddie speak for you?

"She is sitting right here and can make her own decisions, thank you very much. Anyway, nothing happened, so chill Ed's" his attitude was beginning to grate on you and you were hungover, tired and not in the mood for a pissing contest.

"Dude, I get that you're her best friend, but it's nothing to do with you. Aren't you getting married to Chrissy? Why don't you get on with that? She doesn't need to hold your hand through everything"

If possible you're sure Eddie would have vaporised Steve with the way he was glaring at him.

"We're just friends, but if we were sleeping together, that has nothing to do with you, Munson. Fuck, if I didn't know any better I'd think you were jealous" Steve snaps. The words hang in the air for a brief second and that little traitoress hope clings to you again.

"Don't be ridiculous Steve. I don't feel that way about Princess, she's my friend that's all"

Right. Friend. Nothing else and never will be. The silence is awkward so you break it with a forced cheery smile even if you can hear your voice break just a tiny bit.

"Actually, Steve and I are going on a trip for a little while, that's what we were planning" You look at Steve, who's silently fuming as he stares at Eddie but he snaps out of it and smiles at you.

"Yeah. I need to get away for a bit, so does she so it's two friends on the road with no plans" Eddie swallows, turns to you for confirmation.

"You're leaving?" The way he says it makes it sound like you're leaving forever not just for a couple of weeks.

"I'm not leaving, I'm accompanying Steve on a trip Eddie. I'll be back for your wedding. Don't worry, I'd never miss that" you smile to reassure him.

There's a lost look on Eddie's face, his big brown eyes wide and stunned. "I need you" he whimpers softly.

"Eddie, I'll be back before you know it, and you have Chrissy, she's...she's who you're spending the rest of your life with. You'll be fine" you murmur and kiss his cheek.

Steve interrupts the moment as he begins to make breakfast, "Hey, honey, we might need to bunk up in the same room along the way to save costs, but that's okay, yeah?" You don't know why he's mentioning this now but you agree anyway.

"I guess so, he winks at you and you roll your eyes in amusement at his antics. "I'm sure I'll be able to keep my hands to myself" you tease him and he clutches his heart like you've wounded him.

Idiot you think fondly to yourself. Eddie clears his throat and for a second you're sure you're not the only one faking a smile anymore.

"When are you leaving?" he asked, and you confirmed that it will be sometime the next day. He nods and pulls you into a hug that lasts longer than usual.

"Guess I'll see you when you get back princess" Before you can say anything else he leaves.

Steve shakes his head and nutters something that sounds suspiciously like moron under his breath. Meanwhile, you're trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

✨

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #steve harrington x platonic!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson angst

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the-kr8tor · 8 months ago

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What's Your Favourite Scary Movie?

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 11.3k

Summary: A camping trip with your so-called friends takes a turn from harmless taunting to gore filled stabbing.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), slasher AU, Horror elements, CW bullying, CW food mentions, TW death, TW blood and gore, CW violence. Set in the 80s, CW animal death, drug mention.

Navigation

Octobie 🎸

Music blares in your ears through your headphones as the car passes by numerous pine trees along the road. You flick your eyes over to the rearview mirror when you felt eyes on your face. Sure enough, Flash's smiling eyes stare at you through the mirror. And when you hear muffled giggling, you already know where the delighted laughter is coming from.

As you glance at the passenger seat, Miranda's amused grin greets you. Her blond hair bounces as she tries to play innocent. Even with your music murmuring their words, you know that they're talking about you. So you slyly press pause on your walkman, with their chortling they barely heard the click of the button.

“God, purple isn't doing her any favours. I can't believe we're sharing the same car as the freak.” Andy, a jock like Flash, sneers right behind you as he sits at the far end with the luggage because of his size. “That's the color right, babe?”

His girlfriend, Quinn snorts in her seat next to you. “She’s wearing navy blue, babe. And yes that sweater looks fucking ugly, it's so 1975. I think I saw my grandma wear that once.” She twists in her seat to face her boyfriend, elbow hitting your cheek, but you pretend that it didn't happen for your sanity. She doesn't even mention it. “Are you sure you didn't hit your head during the game?”

Andy puts his arms on your headrest, and again, you get hit by elbows. You're starting to hate your club advisor for putting you in the same car as the people who never even wanted to be part of the forestry club in the first place. They joined because your club was unfortunate enough to have less members and therefore was the target of the popular clique because they were ‘too busy’ to pick a required club lest they don't graduate at the end of the year. Oh how you wish you were in the same van as Thena even though she smells like swiss cheese. But alas, you drew the short end of the stick.

“Or maybe he fell on his head when he was a baby.” Emma says nonchalantly with a book in her hands. She's kind of alright to you, only because she doesn't speak or even look at you.

Miranda giggles in the passenger seat while her boyfriend Flash laughs with her.

“I'm color blind, bitch!” Andy yells, making you wince.

“Yeah, he's color blind!” His girlfriend Quinn agrees. You feel like your head is being split open by her shrill voice. You long for swift death in this car.

“That's your comeback, bruv?” Flash eggs Andy on, you worry that his attention isn't fully on the road.

“W-what? You got a better one, fucker?”

“W-w-what?!” Flash says mockingly. A round of laughter echoes around the small wagon, and you swear you heard Andy growl at the guy. You kind of feel bad for the big guy, if he wasn't such an asshole to you.

More than annoyed, you press play on your walkman as they continue to bicker. Punk music filters through your ears and for a moment you feel alright. But this time Miranda hears the click, your former childhood friend turns to look at you with a condescending smirk.

“Welcome back to the real word, Paste.”

You hate that nickname so much, you wanted to throw the walkman at her face. But you take the high ground and just ignore her like you always do. That damned nickname. She thinks she's so clever for thinking of it when you two were just nine when she caught you scooping out a dollop of paste for a birthday card you were making. She thought that you were about to eat it, hence the nickname, Paste. The birthday card was for her, too bad the trashcan ended up receiving it.

“I told you not to call me that—”

“Bitch, look out!” Andy's gruff voice is grating in your ears, his yell trumps out your music as Andy swerves the steering wheel.

“Shit!” Miranda clutches at her seat belt as you see a deer standing right in the middle of the road.

“Fuck!” Emma, holds on to the front seat just as the car goes sideways, tires skidding on the asphalt, blackened smoke coming out of the rubber.

“Mother fucker!” You brace yourself as the chorus of the music in your ears crescendos, and a tree trunk gets dangerously close to the front of the car. “No—!”

You fall into darkness.

—

You hear an animalistic groan the second you're conscious. Eyes fluttering open, you're met with Emma's flashlight flashing on your face.

“She's awake!” She yells as she roams her eyes over your form from outside the car.

“How long was I out?” You touch your throbbing forehead. It aches but thankfully you don't find blood.

“Just a few minutes, sleeping beauty.” This is the longest time she has had a conversation with you. Her blue hair glistens in the afternoon sun as she opens the door for you. “You hurt anywhere?”

You shake your head. “I'm good…I think.”

She sighs, “good, up and at ‘em.”

You take it one tiny step at a time, once your hiking boots hit the grass, you assess the damage of the car. The hood is busted from the tree curved around the metal. The engine is smoking and the lights are smashed to pieces. There's also a huge scratch on the side of it. Mrs. Williams is gonna kill the whole lot of you when she sees her car.

“Oi, Paste!” You roll your eyes at Flash's call.

“I told you not to call me that—!” The second you turn around and set your eyes on the barely alive deer in the middle of the road, you swallow thickly at the poor animal.

“Gnarly, right?” Flash grins, but when he glances at the deer his smile fades. “What are we going to do with it?”

“Should we bury it?” Quinn says whilst hidden behind her boyfriend.

“It’s still alive.” Your eyes never leave the gasping animal. Crossing the small distance, still wobbly in your feet, you tilt your head at its large wound. Even doctor Dolittle can't fix this.

“What do you suggest we do then, Paste?” Miranda side eyes you. “We can't call for help. There's no payphone in sight!” She stomps her foot like a child. “Gah! I should've joined the homemakers club instead of forestry!”

Emma nudges you, “I think I know what Y/N here is thinking.”

“You do?” You furrow your brows.

“You speak freak now, Emma?” Quinn sneers.

You ignore her. “We should end its misery.”

“Fuckin' hell, mate!” Flash gestures wildly at the deer. “It's still alive, maybe if we wait for Mrs. Williams and the others—”

“They might have already passed this place because you and princess here kept needing bathroom breaks.” You blurt out. Miranda and Flash scoff with a shake of their bottle blond heads.

“Woah!” Emma clasps your shoulder. And you flinch away from her touch.

“Paste here has some fire in her!” Quinn joins in, queasiness gone. Queasy Quinn, you should call her that.

With a clenched jaw, you bend down to retrieve your butterfly knife from your boot. Flipping it open, you roam your eyes at the bewildered group.

“Damn.” Andy whistles lowly. His girlfriend punches his bicep.

“Who's gonna do it?” You ask, the deer continues to wheeze out. Its blood now slowly inching its way over to your feet.

“Not me!” They simultaneously say with their index finger pointing at their noses.

You're camping with a bunch of children it seems. With a sigh, you kneel down next to the deer. Looking into its deep brown eyes, it's a sea that threatens to pull you under its sympathy. Your hand settles atop its blood coated fur, matted under your touch, warm and still oozing with fading life. It huffs at you, bleating like it's pleading to be spared, or be taken out of its misery. Whatever it was, you swiftly stab it in its carotid artery right on its neck, as if you've done it a million times before.

The group's disgusted yells and groans fade in your senses as its crimson flows from the wound down to your knife and hand. It's still warm, you feel like you're death itself. The poor deer stops twisting and kicking, finally falling limp in your hands.

Your blood rushes in your ears, pulse thumping like the beat of drums. Something inside you awakens from its dormant state you've forced it inside your ribcage. It flutters right out of its crystalline cocoon, beginning to fly out, trying to escape the confines of your serrated flesh. Breath running warm, you take out your knife from its body.

“Freak,” Miranda taunts under her breath, you can feel that a part of her is afraid. Does she not realize you're the one holding the bloodied knife?

“You looked like you enjoyed that one, Paste.” Her boyfriend agrees, you send them a tensed glare. They both look away from you. You can feel the fear behind their distant eyes.

“Your sweater is wasted.” Quinn raises a brow with an amused glint in her eyes. “Good, it was ugly anyway.”

You stare at your blood soaked sleeve. “I'll go get cleaned up.”

“You better, you smell like a dead rat.” Andy scoffs, arm slung over his girlfriend's shoulders.

“Go, we'll manage here.” Emma says without looking in your direction, eyes trained on the now dead deer, disgusted by its guts flowing out of its many wounds.

You walk back towards the car where your bag is. Once you reach it, you fall on your knees behind the car to avoid any more teasing from your so-called club mates. Weirdly enough, you don't feel shaken by it, nor disgusted like the rest of them. It's a weird feeling. You haven't felt this way in a long time. But this feeling, this enlightened feeling brings you a familiar comfort, bringing you back to your summer camp days.

After collecting your thoughts, you change into a turquoise windbreaker, blood all wiped clean by a wet handkerchief. Once you hide the knife back inside your boot, you return to the rest of the group with your backpack slung over your shoulder. The tin water bottle and skillet clangs against each other, signaling your return.

“Took you long enough,” Quinn says in her high pitched voice that is glass breakingly worthy. “We came up with a plan.” You didn't even know that they're all capable of thinking. “So we thought that we could wait here for the rest of the club to rescue us—”

“Bad idea.” You cut her off. Their eyes are all on you, and you almost shrunk down from their stares. “I–I think we should hike towards the campsite. We have a better chance of meeting up with them that way. We can't wait out here in the cold, especially since we don't know if they've already passed here.”

“Makes sense.” Emma agrees, still avoiding your eyes. Was that fear?

“But that's so far though!” Miranda kicks at a pebble like a petulant child.

You clench your jaw. “Then wait here, I'll hike up to the campsite.” Fixing your hold on your pack, you start walking away. “Don't blame me when you're all freezing to death.”

“Wait for me!” Emma calls after you, running towards the car to get her own pack.

“Not you too, Emma!”

“I'd rather stay with the survivalist than the cheerleaders!”

“Damnit,” Flash curses under his breath while the rest of them look at him, waiting for a plan. “I hate to say it, but she has a point. We have no idea how to even light a fire. But Paste here can.”

You walk quicker when you hear them following you. If you could sprint away, you would've. But alas, you need to conserve every bit of energy you have to trudge through the last miles towards the designated campsite.

Emma walks side by side with you, well, a few steps apart from you. She's silent for the most part except for her lingering gaze on the side of your face. The rest are already arguing behind you after five minutes of walking. Of course they're arguing about the single granola bar that Miranda packed for herself.

You deafen them out in your ears, wishing that the birds would sing louder in the trees to tamp out their voices. You'd put on your headphones but it broke in half during the crash. The air smells fresh in the forest, with the wind brushing along your cheeks like a gentle kiss. You smile gently at the peace, mind cleared of anything but the road in front of you.

Once the asphalt road transitions to a dirt road, it's now a real hike as your group sees the sign that reads, ‘jumping spider campgrounds.’

“Spider?” Quinn shrieks behind you and the peace is broken. “Please don't tell me this camp grounds is full of spiders!”

You realize that she's talking to you. “It's just the name.”

“You sure, Paste?” Flash questions you in a teasing tone. “They named it that for a reason.”

“Augh!” Quinn scampers behind her boyfriend.

You clench your hand on the strap of your backpack. “I've been here a few times and I've only seen two spiders.”

“Two is too much!” Quinn screams. At least no wild animal would come near the group with her voice ringing out through the entire forest. Unless there are wolves running about, then you'd hide behind Andy too. You're sure the wolves would like to eat him first.

With a headache blooming on the top of your head, you finally make it to the campsite after two and a half hours of walking. It's a small clearing in the middle of the woods with a few picnic tables set up and a dilapidated looking restroom sitting in the corner. Instead of Thena waving at you enthusiastically, there's no one in the campsite. A chill runs down your spine. You suppose it's the cold.

“Fuck.” You utter as you find out that the entire place sits empty without your other club mates and advisor.

Miranda and the rest push past you, shoving you to the side to look for a soul in the campsite.

“No! What the fuck!” Andy screams as he looks under a picnic table.

Emma stands in the middle of the clearing, hands gripping her blue hair. “Maybe they're running late?”

“Two hours late even though they were definitely right in front of us?” For once, Miranda says something right.

“Or maybe we're in the wrong campsite!” Quinn comes out of the bathroom with her hands shaking.

“Or they're out hiking already!” Flash crumples down to his feet, looking disheveled.

Then, all their eyes meet yours simultaneously. Their eyes shimmer under the sun, a slight blue hue falling on each of their faces.

You blink, lips slightly agape. “What?”

“What do you mean what?” Miranda walks over to you, pointing stiffly at your chest. “Where are they, hm?”

“How should I know? I was with you all the entire time. I can't communicate with them telepathically!” You immediately defend yourself.

“What the fuck should we do now?” Emma huffs, hands braced on the picnic table. Again, they all stare at you, as if you hold all the answers.

You don't know what to do either. “We should wait for them. They could just be running late. Or maybe they took a wrong turn—”

“God! I should've just joined table tennis!” Miranda exhales out, words carrying out into the woods.

“Listen.” You try to get their attention again. Which surprisingly enough, they give to you. “We should make camp and build a fire. The cold could kill us out here—”

“The cold?!” Miranda screams again, this time in your face. “You're worried about the bloody cold? We could get eaten by bears! Or fucking spiders!”

“If you could just listen for a second—!”

“I'm gonna look for a payphone.” Flash grabs Miranda, leading her further into the campsite.

“There are no payphones out here—!”

“I need to fucking piss.” Andy interrupt you.

“Don't fucking leave me out here!” His girlfriend follows closely behind.

You huff with a groan, frustrated at the situation. One moment they're listening to you, the next they're walking out into the woods.

“I'll set up the tents.” Emma says from the side. “I don't want to freeze to death.” She takes out her folded tent inside her pack. Clearing her throat, she looks at you. “Do you want me to set up yours?”

“Would you?” You ask with trepidation, what if she fills your tent with dirt and rocks?

“Yeah, sure. My dad used to take me out camping. I hated it but at least I learned some basic survival skills.”

“Like pitching up a tent?”

She chuckles nervously. “Exactly!” Coughing, she walks over to you to take your tent. “No tricks, I don't want you to freeze too.”

With slight apprehension, you give her your tent. Bag still slung over your shoulder, as much as you trust her right now, you don't trust her to give her your entire supply for surviving out here.

“I'll find some firewood and build a fire.” You say, rubbing your arms up and down for warmth.

“‘kay, watch out for jumping spiders. Or just regular spiders.” She jokes, managing to make you smile.

“I have bug spray with me, I'm sure I'll be fine.” Walking away, you head towards the left side of the forest where it's more familiar to you. Getting lost is the last thing you'll need here, especially when you're partnered up with people who wouldn't notice that you're gone.

Your feet aches and your neck throbs, despite it, you keep your head down to collect more firewood. You gather it in your arms, mindful that it doesn't poke a hole in your windbreaker.

You see a perfect branch near a pine tree, it's straight with a few bumps on the wood. It looks like something a kid would take to play as a knight. So of course you would take it.

Arm too full of branches, you bend at the waist to grab one from the forest floor. You don't anticipate all the firewood in your arms to spill over and fall on the mossy ground. It all tumbles down like a domino while you struggle to grab them even with your pack being so heavy on your back. And you're left with a single branch in your hand, sighing and silently cursing.

Left with no choice, you kneel down to collect it all again. You hear leaves crunch behind you, yet you continue to gather all the fallen firewood.

“Need help?” A voice suddenly follows the crunching sound. You don't yell or scream from the surprise appearance of the unknown voice.

You look over your shoulder, windbreaker making a swoosh sound as you move. Your eyes lock with his hazel eyes, he stands there, all six feet and five inches of him, (approximately in your mind) under the green canopy and greener moss underneath his steel toed boots, he looks right at home in the forest. But at the same time, he seems out of place with all his leather clad self, numerous patches stitched and buttons dotted along his jacket. His piercings shine as the light passes above, showing you his chiseled features. He looks like he crawled out of a catalogue, or from a punk album.

The sight of him makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up, but you can't seem to find it in yourself to walk away or look away from him. It's like you're staring at a shark's fin moving underneath the waves, parting the waters in a glorious display of a deadly dance. You know what's underneath, and you know what it entails if you stayed, but you still stand there, gazing upon his mysterious eyes that hold you in place.

He gives you a familiar feeling akin to a cold breeze brushing along your flushed skin, or perhaps a gentle wave pooling around your ankles at the beach. There's warmth and familiar coldness in his eyes, one that you're sure you've seen in yourself.

“H–hi?” You ask, smile a bit wobbly from how awestruck you are. Something passes by his eyes, something akin to fascination.

“Hello,” the stranger grins, eyes crinkling at the corners, hands still tucked inside his pockets. “Are you lost? D’you need help?”

“Not really.” You chuckle nervously. He walks towards you, footsteps barely making any sound. “Are you camping here alone? Have you seen anyone else here?”

He shakes his head, crouching down to pick up all the fallen branches. “Yes, and no one, just you, love.”

You hold a single branch to your chest, “oh, you don't need to help me.”

“I want to, I can't just stand there and let you pick all these up.” He chuckles deeply, you now notice his dimples whenever he smiles. “You ‘ere with your mates? I heard you lot from where I was.”

“Kind of.” You softly smile, finding his own contagious. Something about him makes you feel at ease, more like yourself. “Do you know a payphone nearby? We need it desperately.”

He hands you the branches in your arms, calloused palms brushing along your own. “I think there's one a few miles west ‘ere.”

Your face brightens, and his gaze softens. “That's great, can you take me there? I need to call our advisor. I'm…worried about them, and Flash the moron totaled the car.”

The handsome stranger stands up, and he lends you a helping hand which you take almost immediately. His hand feels cold yet inviting. “So you're with your classmates then? How many are you stuck ‘ere?”

“Yep— kind of, they're my club mates. There's six of us including me.”

He inhales, the corner of his lip curls into a smile. “Alright, I'll help you.”

You sigh in relief. “I'm Y/N by the way.”

He tests your name sweetly on his tongue. Reaching for your hand, he shakes it gently even with you carrying the firewood. You almost fumbled with it when you grasped his hand. “Hobie. Call me Hobie, love.”

“It's nice to meet you, Hobie.” You haven't smiled this much during the whole trip.

“C’mon, I'll show you where the phone is.”

You nod enthusiastically despite the goosebumps running up your arms. “Okay.”

Hobie smiles, a smile akin to a lion's grin. “I'll take those off you, then.” He takes your armful of branches on his own, all the while having his eyes on you. “I can't live with myself if I let you carry this all alone.”

“Oh,” you suddenly feel warm, a good kind of warm. “Can I at least take half of it?”

He chuckles while fixing his hold on the wood. “You can take one.” At first you thought he was joking, but with his raised brow and curl of his lips, you thought otherwise.

You fight a grin. “Just one?” With a nod from your acquaintance, you take a single branch from the pile in his arms. “You sure you can carry it all?”

In a display of strength, he flips the branches over to one arm, carrying it all with no problem. “See? You already took a load off of it.” You tamp down a giggle. He starts to walk away from you, when he notices that you're not following him, he looks over his shoulder casually. “You comin'?”

Looking behind you, your second thoughts about leaving them behind are squashed down by their ugly words uttered to you through the years. “Sorry, I'm coming.” You catch up with him, side by side, you follow him with a small smile.

Leaves crunch under your boots whilst you fling the branch in your hand bashfully, letting the wood brush over the tall grass. The silence permeates through the hike with him carrying the load, and guiding you while you just walk close by him. You've never been the one to be guided, it's always you who has to guide the others, keep a watchful eye so they don't get poison ivy, and you, who has to lug around the supplies. All the while you listen to them expressing their ungratefulness. You stare at his profile, smile tugging at your lips immediately when he gazes back at you wordlessly. It's nice to be taken care of once in a while.

For the first time in a long time, you start a conversation. A friendly one that you know won't end in you getting called a nasty word.

“So why camp alone?” You tentatively start, nails picking at the branch in your hand. “This part of the forest isn't exactly beginner friendly.”

“Who says ‘m a beginner?” He nudges you gently, making you look up from your feet. “My mates and I used to come ‘ere and just stay for an entire week forgettin’ our lives until we got the scent of city smoke out of our noses.” Chuckling, Hobie looks at you through glimmering eyes. “Now it's jus’ me and my motorbike.”

“What happened to them— i–if you're comfortable telling me.”

“A freak accident. There was a forest fire, I barely made it out. But they didn't.” He sighs, you open your mouth for an apology but he beats you to it. “It was a long time ago, no need to say your condolences.”

“Still, I'm sorry. It must've been hard.” You reach out to him, but you decide not to last minute lest you make your new friend uncomfortable.

Hobie leans against your palm before you fully move away, his smile gets brighter when you decide to cup his elbow gently. “Thank you, love. I come ‘ere to look at the shitty condo they built atop it and imagine that it's burnin.’ Ain't that fucked up of me, hm?”

You chuckle, already regretting the sound right after. “I— no, that's actually…uh.”

“Funny?” He completes your sentence while chortling at your flustered self.

You blink, fully laughing with him. “I was gonna say that but I didn't want to offend you!”

“Consider me not offended, love. You've got a sense of humour amidst the fucked up shit in the world, I fancy that in a bird.” The heat on your cheek is impossible to ignore, you have a feeling he knows about it too. “The funny thing is that it's not even done yet, it just stands there on their graves like some fucked up grave stone.” He sniffs, thumb rubbing along the corner of his eye. “My turn to ask a question, what kind of club are you and your mates are in?”

“Forestry. And they're not exactly my mates.” You spat out the last word with malice. You both pass by a towering pine tree and a start to a dirt trail.

“Alright— hold on…” he pauses mid step, with a careful hand atop your shoulder, he reaches for your cheek, “you have red on you, can I?”

You don't usually let anyone touch you, especially someone who's practically a stranger. But the familiar feeling grows with every moment you're with him. As if you've known him for a long time, a long lost childhood friend that you've finally found amidst the throng of worthless faces. So you let him with a nod, let him wipe away the deer's dried up blood caking your cheek. The pad of his thumb is calloused and rough, yet his touch is as gentle as a raindrop falling on your skin. You welcome the feeling wholeheartedly.

“There, all clean.” He doesn't ask why you have blood on you, “it was hidin’ your pretty face.”

“It was just a drop, and I highly doubt that.” You say bashfully.

“That you're pretty or that it hides your face?” His hand rests upon your shoulder, thumb ghosting above your heated cheek. “You’re stunnin’, I wasn't going to let that small thing mark you.”

Your heart lurches in your chest. There it is again, the familiar yet cold feeling washing over you. It's a beautiful contradiction. You're not perturbed by it in the slightest. “Thank you.” you could only manage to say those two words.

Hobie leans away, hand pulling reluctantly away from you. From the way his tender gaze falls on you, you think he feels it too. It's not love, not yet anyway. It's attraction. The kind that's magnetic, the kind that you know he'll fit right in with your missing pieces, the kind that he'd let himself fall into place right next to the spaces that he can and will gladly fill out. His soul glows behind his calm demeanor, as if the two last endangered beings have finally met their match. Feathers plucked from the same bird.

But it's an unspeakable match, one that could end in teeth marks left upon each other’s skin, leaving darkened blood boiling to the surface, caking each other’s maw with his and your own blood. So you two let it simmer, let it boil until one of you cracks under the pressure like trapped frogs in a boiling pot. So for now, you act as if you don't feel it in case you're wrong. Something you wouldn't want to be wrong with.

You bite the inside of your cheek while you continue to follow him. Each of your footsteps match the beating of your heart, and you swear that he can feel it too.

Walking out of the thicket and into a clearing, you two have made it out to a smaller campsite where a single eerie lamp post and payphone stands in the middle. Its paint is chipping from the elements, only leaving a few scraps of red and stickers vandalizing the payphone. There's a steep ledge behind the payphone, showing the top of the green canopies below, and the fading light from the sunset above.

“I'll wait for you ‘ere.” He says next to you, already walking towards a black and red motorbike parked at the edge of the clearing.

“This yours?” You ask with a smile, eyes roaming all over its shiny metal.

He pats the seat before leaning on it. “My treasure, I call her ‘Ripley’”

“From the Alien movie?” You walk closer to him, payphone forgotten.

“You know it?”

“Do I know it?” You say with a laugh, “‘Mother! I've turned the cooling unit back on. Mother!’” You copy the same tone from the movie.

“‘The ship will automatically destruct in T minus five minutes.’” Hobie replies in a mechanical robotic tone.

“‘You... Bitch!’” You and Hobie quote simultaneously, earning a hearty laugh from the both of you.

You've found yourself holding onto his arm, smiling and giggling with him. “Y’know, they've got a screening of it down at the local drive-in.” You tentatively say, eyes turned down at the pile of branches in his arms.

Hobie puffs out his chest, chin turned upwards with a smirk. “You askin' me out, lovie?”

You exhale, moving away with disappointment and a wobbly frown. “N–no, sorry, I didn't know what I was thinking.” Before you could fully walk away, he grabs your sleeve, tugging you gently back to him.

“C’mon now, love, don't walk away now.” He encourages you with a lopsided grin, eyes smiling genuinely as he gazes at you softly. “Ask me properly.” He bracelets his hand around your wrist, holding onto you gently while he runs his thumb over your quickening pulse.

“I—” you swallow thickly, and he ducks down to look into your shy eyes. With his sweet smile, you gather your courage. “Do you want to go watch Alien with me at the drive-in?” You inhale, his grin gets bigger with every word you utter. “We can have p–popcorn, or if you don't like popcorn, we can have chips and—and then maybe soda but if you don't like soda we can—”

He pulls you in, trapped right in the middle of his legs, not closing in around you, making you more comfortable in his tentative embrace. “I like popcorn. And I'll take you on a motorcycle ride right after, like how they do in the movies.”

Your skin is aflame. “Okay,” you nod enthusiastically, “a ride right after— I mean!” You fluster, “a bike ride— with me and and you— of course with me and you, it's stupid if—” you ramble on, tripping over your own words. He waits patiently without teasing you. Instead, he smiles, and nods along. “I— yeah, that sounds good.”

He tilts his head, hand brushing a fallen leaf off your shoulder. “Yeah? It's a date then.”

You sigh longingly. You still can't wrap your mind around at how you manage to pull it off. “Okay, I'll—” you reach inside your jacket, pulling out a small notepad and pen, moving quickly to scribble your name and number, afraid that he'll change his mind. “Here's my number.” You rip the page and then hand it to him.

He shrugs, smirking at you. “My hands are kind of full, love.” Technically it is, but he literally just brushed a leaf off of you a moment ago. “Put it in my front pocket for me?” Looking down at his jacket pocket, he smiles sheepishly.

“You and I both know that you can handle it on your own.” You tamp down a giggle, teeth biting down at your lip while you watch him make a face. “Fine, I'll only do it because you're being cute.” Gently, you place it inside his jacket pocket. Your fingers brush something metallic and sharp, but you ignore it. “There.”

“Finally flirtin’ back, huh?”

“Shut up and hand me a quarter, Hobie.” His guffaw echoes around the clearing as he reaches at his jean pocket to rustle for some spare change. “Sorry, too much?” You wince, thinking that it might've turned him off.

He shakes his head with amusement. “You're cheeky once you've gotten comfortable.” He hands you the coin.

“Well, people usually don't stay too long to find out.”

“Their loss, my win.”

You smile, palms clammy and legs turning into mush from his flirting. Staring at the coin in your hand, you find it having two heads on each side. “I don't think the payphone will take this.” It reminds you of the same lucky coin that your club advisor always carries around.

“Right, sorry, that's my lucky coin.” He grabs it back nonchalantly, then he rummages through his pocket for another one. Checking it once, he gives the quarter to you. “Use it wisely.”

“A lot of people seem to have their own lucky coin.” You twirl the regular quarter in between your fingers.

“You don't have one?” He creases his brows, you shake your head in reply. “‘ere you go then.” Taking the coin from his pocket again, he puts it in the middle of your palm. “For luck.”

“I can't take this, it's yours.” You try to give it back but he pushes your hand away.

“Nah, you can borrow it. Bring it back to me on our date, yeah?”

You chuckle softly, eyes gazing into his own, finding your bashful reflection in his hazel eyes. “Okay.” With a shy nod, you turn towards the payphone to dial your school's number.

—

Hobie waits for you in the sideline while he basks in the sunlight. His eyes are closed while his head is turned up into the heavens, arms cradling the sticks, letting the rays bathe him through the dappled shadows of the canopy above. He looks like an oil painting.

He cracks one eye opening, sensing your presence. “What’d they say?” Straightening up, he tilts his head.

“Uh…” You've forgotten what the school administrator told you for a second. “T–they said that the rest of the club had already called ahead to tell them that they've arrived at the last pit stop. But we were just there and when I asked the cashier at the gas station, she said that she didn't see a van stop by.” You rub at your tired eyes. “I don't know where they are.”

Hobie leaves the side of his bike to cross the small distance towards you. His eyes are full of concern, lips turned into a frown. “‘m sure they're fine, love.” He juggles the wood in one arm to grasp at your tensed hand, giving you enough space to turn away but you don't.

“I’m not worried about them, Hobie. I know they're okay. But…” you squeeze his hand, “I don't want to be left alone with those fuckers.”

He scrunches his nose. “What fuckers?”

“I— forget it, I'll just tough it out until the others get here.”

“Nah, I'll keep you company.” He pulls you gently by your hand, “c’mon, I'll beat ‘em off with a stick if I have to. I have a lot of ‘em.” He shakes the bundle of wood in his arms.

You chuckle, “you don't even know what they've done.”

“I know enough from how you talk ‘bout ‘em.” He shrugs, warm fingers squeezing you back. “They sound like a piece of work.”

“You have no idea.” With a reluctant step, you move towards the trail once again. Hand in hand with Hobie, the two of you head to the campsite where surely they've forgotten about you and your firewood. Or with your luck, the spiders got to them.

“What did they do to you?” He cuts the silence in half. “Do they hurt you?” His tone softens with a tinge of fury within it.

“Not usually.” You reply back, eyes turned away from him. He encourages you with a gentle tug, lips softly smiling at you. Inhaling, you let it all out with hope that it doesn't turn him off with your woes. “The guys just tease me about… everything else. But the girls— they once locked me in the janitor's closet for an entire day. The janitor found me hours after classes ended.” You can hear his sharp inhale next to you. “One time they…uh— threw glue and flour at me during picture day. I had to go home after that and I didn't get my picture taken for the yearbook. It's just blank, fitting, right?”

Hobie shakes his head, eyes swirling with something you can't describe. “No, it's not. They're wankers.”

“I— yeah, they are.” You feel a weight lifted off your shoulders. No one has listened to you like that in years. Before it was Miranda, before she decided that you're not worth being friends with. “I know what you're thinking, I should fight back. I tried, it only made everything worse. They only do it because they think I don't belong in their fancy school. That I'm only there because of my merit, not because of my parents' money or lack of it.” Looking up at Hobie, you see him staring back with a clenched jaw. “I'm sorry, that was….pathetic.” You grip the branch tighter until you can feel the splinters digging into your palm. “We don't get to choose the room we're stuck in. But we can choose the people we let in. Graduation's coming, and I get to kick them out soon.” You smile at him and he smiles back with soft empathetic eyes.

“Maybe sooner than you'd think. And It isn't pathetic, they're the pathetic ones.” You both reach the place where you met him as you question inside your mind what he meant by his first sentence. He stops walking, hand carefully pulling you to a stop. “I have a confession to make. ‘m not ‘ere to grieve.”

You furrow your brows, stopping mid step. “What?”

“I know them, the rich fuckers that torments you.”

“So you know me too?” You let go of his hand, heart cracking.

“No, not you, just ‘em.” He glances behind you where you can hear Quinn's laughter. “Just— I'll tell you after, yeah? For now, I want to tell you that everythin' I told you was real. I do want that date, love. I only ever want to see you.”

“For real?” You reach for him, palm placed on his chest. Hobie drops the sticks unceremoniously, the sound of wood clattering down on the soil.

He then holds your hand in place, fingers curling around it. “Real. I need you to know me fully. Let me in the room y'know.” With a sigh of relief, you lean closer as he mirrors your movements, lips pursing, breath fanning over your lips.

“Paste!” Miranda suddenly yells from behind you. Whirling around, your smile falters. “Shit, there you are! Who the fuck are you talking to, you freak?”

“I—” you turn back around to face Hobie but he's nowhere to be found. Your breath gets stuck in your throat. “He was right there.”

She clicks her tongue at you, “stop tripping and get back to camp! The sun's setting.”

She doesn't help you with the firewood as she leaves you alone in the middle of the forest. You look around in hopes of finding Hobie, but you don't see nor hear him anywhere. Sighing, hope dashed, and chest aching with longing, you walk slowly back to camp.

—

After three hours of setting up camp with barely any help from the others, the tents are fully pitched behind you, and you finally get to sit down and rest near the campfire you built with the same wood that Hobie was carrying. For someone whom you just met, he seems to occupy your mind ever since he left. He told you he'd stay for you, but why would he leave the moment Miranda appeared?

The fire engulfs your frozen heart, you watch as the embers crackle, eyes unblinking at the bonfire. Your hands cradle a can of peaches, you haven't taken a bite of it ever since you opened it, your mind keeps wandering back to Hobie, wondering if he was even real.

“Oi, paste!” Andy calls for you, when you don't acknowledge him, he throws a tin can at you that lands right on your thigh. “Jesus, she's out of it.”

“Did you find some mushrooms out there, pasty?” Quinn's mocking tone makes you glance at them without moving your head. You can see her flinch slightly from your glare.

“Man, if you actually did find some mushrooms, can I have a bite?” Emma asks, back leaning on a log while she nurses a flask of vodka. You can smell it from where you're sitting.

“I didn't find any.” You mutter, eyes flickering down at the fire, vision swirling at the dancing flames.

“Too bad, remember when we found some last time?” Flash chuckles, arm snaked over Miranda's shoulders, who stare at him dumbstruck.

“What the fuck, Flash?!” She slaps his bicep in a resounding smack. “I told you that we can't talk about it!”

“Relax, M, it's been two whole years! Besides, our parents made sure that it stays buried. Literally.” That piqued your interest. Subtly, you listen in. Flash guffaws, fist bumping Andy on his way to snatch the flask away from Emma. He takes a generous sip while Andy cheers him on. “Fuck, that's good.”

“Those mushrooms fucked us up real fucking bad, Flash. It wasn't some bad trip.” Miranda chastises, she turns towards Emma and the others, sneering at each of them. “Did you all not remember what happened?”

“Of course we do, Miranda.” Quinn scoffs, flinging Andy's arm away from her middle. “I can still hear the screams!”

You blink, being practically invisible has its perks. Your hands grip the can, ears straining to hear more of the hushed conversation.

“Screams?” Andy shakes his big head, “try the smell, their burning skins were stuck in my nose for weeks.”

Miranda rubs her face, “you lot have no ounce of empathy do you?”

“Please,” Emma adds, glaring at each of them before stopping by Miranda. “You were the one who insisted we stayed at the campsite instead of our usual place. Now there's a patch of burnt forest where your father's— mind you, my father's, Quinn's mother, Andy's parents and Flash's grandfather, contributed to hide the crime where the condo now stands.”

Your eyes widens, hand slithering its way inside your pocket only to find the two headed coin. So it's real, Hobie is real. So it wasn't a freak accident, and this is what He meant by knowing them.

They killed his friends.

Miranda seethes in place, hands clenched into fists. “I'm not the one who decided to light up in the middle of summer where the dry leaves were! And now we're stuck here, forced to take forestry because a judge said so!”

“Oh fuck you, Miranda.” Quinn stands up, stomping her bedazzled boot on the ground. “If it weren't for my mum then we'd all be in fucking jail! Getting stuck with the freak was the lesser demon!”

“It's ‘lesser evil,’ actually.” You finally add, eyes glancing at each of their angry faces. “And man, how many people did you all kill, hm?”

“It was an accident.” Emma blinks at you, “fuck, great, she knows.”

Andy huffs like a mad bull seeing red flapping in front of him. “You gonna keep quiet about it, paste, or do I have to make you?”

Their stares bore into you, you now realize the amount of danger that you're in. Individually, you can take one down, but with them all after you, you won't survive the morning.

So you dig deep, you free the moth from the pits of your soul, letting it loose. “Oh, I'm going to keep quiet about it. Who would believe me anyway?” You scoop out a peach from the untouched can, bringing it to your mouth, you let the fruit slide down your throat. “Besides, I know something you don't. Something important that could lead to dangerous consequences if you didn't know.”

“What is it?” Emma looks you up and down, brows knitted together in uneasiness.

You tilt your head, grinning but your eyes don't convey the same expression. “Only if you promise not to hurt me.”

They all look at eachother, silently agreeing. “Fine,” Flash starts, “what is it?”

You lean back on the tree trunk, “you forgot to say please.”

They scoff, “please.” Emma says it first, then one by one, they say it with reluctance.

Miranda is the only one who hasn't said a word, but with a steely gaze from her boyfriend, she relents. “Please.” She says through gritted teeth.

You smile. “Mrs. Williams and the others aren't coming.”

“What?!” They shout.

“Yeah, I called the school but turns out they don't know where they are either. They're technically missing.” You pause, watching their expression sour further. “I told them where we are but since we're fairly alright they're focusing on trying to find them instead. So we're stuck here— wait, no, I'm stuck here with a bunch of murderers.” That seems to break the camel's back.

“You fucking freak!” Miranda jumps over the bonfire, lunging towards you with her fist connecting with your cheek. “Say that again!”

You laugh, spitting out blood as she wraps her hands around your throat. The others watch while Emma is the only one that's trying to stop her from choking you out with her hands, desperately failing to wrench her away from you.

“A–all this time,” you wheeze out, “you keep calling me the freakazoid, the fucking weirdo when you and your fucked up little friends are the ones who have actually kill—!” With a yell, she closes her fists around your throat, cutting off your air while you claw at her hands. “Fucking b–bitch!” You manage to let out.

“Miranda, no!” Emma tries to yank her away from you.

“That's enough!” Flash finally tries to do something but Miranda elbows his nose, blood quickly pouring out a second later. “Shit!”

Quinn and Andy slowly back away until they're well into the forest, nowhere to be seen.

“Fucking die!” Miranda squeezes harder as black spots filter your vision, she bangs your head harshly against the log behind you, warm crimson trickling out immediately after impact. “You've always been a thorn on my side! Always so fucking perfect, always the better one!”

You grin despite the blood coating your mouth. “I–I won't be surprised if it w–wasn't an accident. I get it, your mom and dad never loved you enough. Is that it, Miranda?” You choke, using your remaining energy to get the last word out, nails digging into her wrists.

Suddenly, piercing screams echo above your gasps. Flash manages to yank Miranda's grasp around your throat, leaving you breathless and gasping on the cold soil. The three of them look where the sound came from with trepidation rising in their veins.

Holding onto your neck, the skin tender and raw, head swirling, you watch on with wide eyes as Quinn comes out of the thicket covered in blood. Her former pristine white coat is drenched, face splashed with the same ruby hue, trainers leaving a trail of thickened crimson. She holds onto her bleeding arm, lips wobbling as tears leave a streak of clean skin amidst the spray of blood. Her head is oozing more of the ichor as she staggers her way out of the dark.

“H–help.”

“Fucking hell.” Emma holds out her arms for her, face contorted into deep fear. “W–what happened? Where's Andy?”

“He's dead!” Quinn cries, feet shuffling slowly towards Emma. Meanwhile, Flash and Miranda watch on with horror, clutching onto one another. “He doesn't have a head anymore. How will he play rugby now?” Just as when Quinn lets out the last word, the arm she has been holding up falls on the ground, making a squelching sound as it meets the grass below. Emma backs away, hands upon her mouth, shocked and terrified. “Oh, my arm fell.” Quinn chuckles through tears only to then tumble down on the gore filled soil right next to her arm.

“What the fuck?!” Emma shrieks.

“No!” Miranda hides behind Flash, who is also trying to hide behind his girlfriend, they struggle to hide behind one another.

You stare at the tainted dirt where Quinn lays face first. She still gurgles in place, body twitching all the while her arm sits a few ways from her. Your blood rushes in your ears, mouth turning dry, chest heaving to let air in. You have no idea what's happening, but there's one thing on your mind.

Run.

With leaves crunching underfoot, out comes a tall figure dressed in black mechanic overalls. His face is obscured by a macabre theater mask that depicts sadness. In his hand is a bloodied machete, and in the other is Andy's head swinging as he moves. He flicks the weapon free of blood, spraying the tall grass below with oozing iron.

You don't wait for the screams to run ahead. With your neck still aching, head pounding, you run for your life.

The hunting begins.

—

You run into the dark nowhere, panting, vision dancing as you push yourself to your limit. If not for your injuries, you'd have a better time navigating the forest from your acquired skills. You've gained some distance between you and the others, so with an apprehensive peek behind a tree, you sit down on the cold soil, back sliding on the trunk, windbreaker scraping against its rough surface.

With a hand on your chest, you try to even out your shallow breathing. “Fuck.” You mutter, tongue brushing along your dry lips.

Reaching behind you, you feel for your wound. Wincing, you bring your hand back towards you, finding blood coating your fingers. Your survival instincts kicks in, perhaps your years as a volunteer summer camp counselor has its perks. An incident with a bear trap involving a fellow counselor was an accident, it wasn't your fault that they blindly stepped into it. Too bad it forced your camp to close permanently.

Zipping your windbreaker slowly so as to not make any noise, you slowly rip the bottom half of your shirt. Once off, you tie it around your head while biting down on the inside of your cheek to tamp down your pained groans. With a tug, you tighten it fully to help stop the blood flow.

You take a breather, that motorcycle ride with Hobie sounds great right about now— Hobie! Your eyes fly open to the thought of him, he can get you out of here on his bike. If not then you can call for help on the payphone. So you find courage deep in you, with a shaky exhale, you stand up, walking back to the same direction where you ran from. You could only hope that he's alright.

Armed with your butterfly knife, you're careful of where you step on. You avoid dry leaves and sticks, opting to walk on the softer soil instead to lessen the sound you make lest you draw a target right on your back.

After a few minutes of trudging along the dark, you make it back to the campsite. The smell of corpses filters through your nose, its smell is just beginning to rot in the moist air as maggots and crows have managed to find their meal.

“Damn it.” You cover your nose with your sleeve, creeping your way towards your pack. You pass by a very much dead Andy, whose head is left out for the worms to get into. His expression is frozen in fear, mouth agape, and eyes wide in surprise. “That colour suits you, Andy.” You scoff, remembering how he tormented you during class by almost burning your hair with his lighter. You watch as maggots eat their way into his eyeball, eyes unable to look away for a moment.

Getting inside your tent, you give one last look at Quinn laying on the ground, unmoving now and skin turning into chalk white. Red still pools around her while the quiet of the night permeates through the chill autumn air.

Pushing the tent open, you enter to grab your backpack on the ground. Finally, hope blossoms in your chest, but the sound of a twig snapping near you freezes you on the spot. You slowly grab your knife next to your leg, all the while barely making any sudden movements. Your eyes flicker on your left, a shadow forms behind the yellow tent, slowly making its way towards you.

You follow its movements, hand gripping the knife until it leaves indents on your skin.

A bead of sweat slides down your temple as the shadow makes its way to the front of your tent.

Breath stuck in your throat, you raise the knife above your head, ready to strike.

A shadow of a hand reaches towards the tent entrance, and you ready yourself.

The tent opens and already you're lunging at them with your knife raised and hand clutching at their front.

“Jesus, it's me!” Flash yells from under you, hands gripping at your windbreaker, eyes wide and blown out as blood flows from a cut on his cheek. “Lower your damn knife, paste.”

“Your girlfriend tried to kill me, why should I?”

“Because I'm not her, duh?!” He shakes his head, hands raised next to him in surrender. “Listen, let's set our differences aside for a second, okay? I don't know a damn thing about surviving out here but I do know that we've got a bigger chance of staying alive if we stay together.”

You clench your jaw, weighing your options. If push comes to shove, you can use him as your shield since he's bigger built than you.

“...fine. But you listen to me, and do what you're told or I'll leave you here.” You push yourself off him, the knife never leaving your grasp.

Flash nods, standing up and brushing himself off. “Do you have a plan? Because you sound like you have a plan.”

“I do.” You say whilst going back inside the tent to grab your backpack. Once you emerge, you find Flash standing above Andy's decapitated head. “C’mon.” Beckoning him, you open your flashlight. He still stands there, staring at his friend's head. “Flash, do you want me to leave you here?”

He sighs, eyes trained on the rotting head. “He was my best friend. I should've told him that I slept with Quinn.”

You snort, “trust me, buddy, he knows.”

“What?” He turns to you.

“Come on before he gets back.”

Flash takes one last look at Quinn's body and Andy's head before jogging to catch up to you. “So how did you know?”

“Shut up, I don't want to talk to you.” You ignore him while walking the same path you and Hobie took.

“Jeez, you're no fun.” He says while making a disgusted face at Andy's dead body that you stepped over nonchalantly.

You whirl around, flashlight aimed at his face as he scrunches up his nose. “This isn't supposed to be fun, Flash. Say one more word and I'll leave you out here, because if he hasn't gotten to Miranda and Emma yet, you'll be the next one he targets.” He nods furiously, frown evident on his face. “Good.”

After a few good minutes, you find the same purple flower you saw while walking with Hobie. “So how do you know that I'm next—?”

“Because if it was me, I'll kill the ones who can fight me off first.”

“And you know this because?” He asks you suspiciously, eyes narrowed at you.

“Just nature. And lots of horror movies.” He continues to stare at you with the same face. “I'm not the killer, you moron. I was with you when he attacked, remember?”

“Yeah, but in those killer movies there's always more than one killer.” He leans closer to you, eyes staring daggers. “You one of them, paste?”

You pause, craning your neck to stare at him back with venomous eyes. “You imbecile.” You mock before walking again. He stands there for a moment, unblinking at where you stood. He follows after your light is starting to fade from his line of sight.

“So…you're not one of them?”

“There's the phone.” You roam your eyes around the clearing all the while ignoring the man next to you. The pay phone still stands completely unharmed, and the lamp post flickers in the night, bulb whirring above the sound of owls. Your heart aches when you don't find a sign of Hobie being there or his bike. You like to imagine that he's far away from the chaos right about now, at least he'd be safe.

Crossing the distance, you pick up the phone, finding it still in good condition as you hear the dial tone. You rummage through your pockets for a quarter, but to no avail. And then you check around the payphone and the coin flap to check for any forgotten coins. You don't find a single one. “Fuck, do you have a quarter?”

“Shit.” Flash pats his jean pockets and varsity jacket pockets. Again, finding empty handed. “Wait—” he takes off his baseball hat to take out a crisp bill. “Here, it's my emergency money.”

You stare at the bill wordlessly while pointing at the coin slot. He shakes his head, gawping at you. You gesture at the slot then at his bill in hand until he gets it.

Realization flickers in his dim witted eyes. “Oh.”

“Oh.” You mock his tone. “We can't make a call without one.”

“What now?”

“I say we just follow the road and hope that a car comes by.” You point at the dark dirt road ahead of you. “Better get walking—”

An ear piercing scream startles Flash, while your head swivels down at the direction of the sound.

“Shit, that's Miranda!” Flash yells, grabbing your hand in his iron grip, and gunning down the slope to get to the source. “I'm coming, baby! I'm so sorry I slept with Quinn, Darlene, and the rest of your cheer team!” His voice rings in your ears while you're trapped in his hold, you try to pull away and get back to solid ground as he continues to drag you away to the dark abyss but he's too strong for you.

“Flash! Let me go!” You pull and tug with all your might but you're left trying to catch up with his speed while your feet drag behind. “Fuck!” A branch hits you right on your face, getting a mouthful of leaves while you almost lose your balance as you skid down the slope.

“Baby—! Oh mother of fuck!” He freezes, hand falling from your wrist, staring at the unfinished building looming overhead amidst the tall trees and overgrown grass. “Shit, it's this place.”

You glance around the space, finding abandoned heavy machinery, concrete, and trailers littered around the skeleton of a would be condo.

“Flash!” Miranda appears from behind a pillar, limping her way towards you and Flash. “He got Emma!” She embraces him while Flash's attention is glued on the grey building with its protruding metal that creaks in the wind and moss covered concrete. “I definitely tried to save her but she tripped and now she's dead with her body chopped in half!”

You glance at her, finding her tears utterly fake. “Or you tripped her.”

She leans away from flash's chest, eyes narrowed to slits and lips frowning. “You're still alive?”

“No thanks to you.” You smile bitterly at her. Before she gets a word in, you're already walking away towards the tall building, eyes scanning its skeletal structure. You notice the ground is darker from where you stand. “This is where it happened.” You turn towards the couple, “this is where they died.”

“Listen, it wasn't completely our fault.” Miranda stalks closer towards you and you quickly ready your knife in your hand. “We were just playing around, we didn't mean to.”

“You're grown ass adults, Miranda. Did none of you listen to Smokey?”

“No, we were too busy having friends, paste.” She mocks, even in danger she finds it in herself to torment you. “That is not our problem right now, we need to go—!”

A sudden bright spotlight appears in front, you squint your eyes, managing to see the masked figure behind the wheel of a motorbike. Oh. He revs his engine, taunting Flash and Miranda.

��Oh fuck, he's back!” Flash yelps, surprisingly enough, he shields Miranda behind him, arms raised to his sides. “Touch my girlfriend and you die!” You raise a brow at his sudden heroic action.

“Yeah, you tell him, baby!” Miranda coaxes him while you step away and watch the scene unfold.

The masked killer revs his engine again, this time, he rides towards you at lightning speed. Smoke billows out from behind him, blanketing the whole area with fog.

The couple screams, bracing for impact while you step back with your eyes only looking at the killer.

Instead of plowing them down with his bike, he skids on the ground sideways, stopping a few ways ahead of the three of you. Once the sound dies down to a murmur of the engine, Flash and Miranda open their eyes to find the killer tossing his machete at their feet.

“Are you surrendering?” Flash turns to you. “Is he surrendering?” You could only shrug.

The figure points at the blade, and then gets off his bike, letting it run in the background and using its light to illuminate the place. Wordlessly, he stomps over to the front of the bike, his figure obscuring the light a bit.

You can't see his eyes from behind the mask as he gestures towards the glade once again. “I think he's trying to tell you to pick it up and fight him.”

“What?” They both look at you with surprise, they simultaneously turn towards the figure, only to find him eerily nodding in approval.

Flash points at himself, and the man nods slowly. “Fuck.”

“Pick it up, babe, show him how it's done!” Miranda cheers him on, pushing him towards the machete. “End his miserable life so we can get back to our lives.” She spits out.

With a gulp, Flash bends down to grab the blade with reluctance. Miranda moves closer to your side, hand grasping your arm. You let her while Flash assumes the position in front of the figure.

“Come at me!” Flash yells, lunging for him.

With a quick side step, the figure dodges with barely any movement. Flash follows ahead with his attack, raising the weapon over his head to slice but his miserable attack is only met with air. All the while, the stranger has his hands hidden in his pockets, upper half barely making a move as he keeps dodging Flash's desperate slashes.

“Stop moving!” Flash frustratingly yells while sweat flows from his forehead.

“You're not fair!” Miranda adds, yelping when Flash gets close to cutting the figure's hand off, but of course he dodges at the last minute. “Fuck! Come on, baby!”

Flash moves to stab instead, “you fucker—!”

With quick movement that you could barely decipher, Flash suddenly has a knife in his nape. Blood ebbs from his neck as he stands in place, gurgling and choking on his own blood.

Miranda's piercing scream echoes around the clearing as birds caw in the distance. “Oh god!”

The figure takes his knife back with an ugly squelch of muscle and blood. Crimson spraying all over his mask as he holds the knife in his gloved hand. He tilts his head, the sharp end of the knife pointed directly at you, to then slowly go down from your neck to your hand that's gripping your own knife.

Miranda shakes you, “he wants to fight you, Y/N!”

“Hm, I don't think so.” You mutter under your breath while gazing at him. “Why should I?” You glance at her horrified face. “You saw what happened to Flash, I can't fight him.”

“P–please.” She says in between sobs, “do this for us.” You roll your eyes and she shakes your arm. “I never wanted to hurt you, paste.” She pleads, the nickname earning a scoff from you.

“You once slashed my tires just because I was paired with your ex for a project.” You say calmly, façade now fully broken, moth freely flying over you. “I almost crashed into a tree, Miranda.”

The figure steps closer, knife now at his side, waiting for your next move.

“T–that was just a joke! We were just—!” Her words are suddenly cut off by your knife stabbing at her jugular. She gasps as blood sprays at your smiling face, her body falling, hand stuck around your knife, you finally turn towards the masked man.

“And here I thought you'd leave me alone with them.”

He peels off his mask, revealing Hobie's awestruck expression. Blinking, chuckles slowly escape his pierced lips. “Holy shit, love. You're brilliant.”

You shrug, smile never leaving your lips. “You should've said something, I would've helped.” You say, reaching for your knife back, flicking all the blood away before tucking it inside your boot. “

“I thought…” he crosses the distance, hand reaching for your own, he loops his pinky around your own, gently tugging you into his bloodied form. “... never mind that now.” you can hear sirens echo from somewhere. “You still up for that ride?”

“I thought you'd never ask.”

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

Custom banners by @the-shroom-garden

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