#and it's getting CONSTANT coverage for a YEAR

[phoenixtawnyflower]

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[headknight-oh]

Just noticed that there hasn’t been much, if any, coverage on the mangione trial in like a month. Like since he plead not guilty, there hasn’t been any major coverage on the proceedings. I just tried to look up anything about the past month and I genuinely cannot find anything. Nothing about it they’re still in jury selection, nothing about any rulings, nothing about the defending attorney or even opinion pieces. Like I know why there’s not much coverage, but nothing at all? Like we got CONSTANT updates about the depp/heard case when it was happening, but now that it’s something about an important issue that would have been the case of the decade in times past, it’s radio silence.

It’s so incredibly disturbing that they’ve filtered it out of the media and that people don’t care enough to demand it be covered. People treated it like a trend and aesthetified it to the point that an actual act of resistance means nothing now.

Also there’s like no concrete evidence in this case. It’s all circumstantial. I feel that everyone forgot that, and because of it, the idea that “innocent until proven guilty” as a precedent is very much in the process of being undermined

Edit: Putting this here again because I keep getting people misinterpreting what I’m trying to say: You guys, I know there’s nothing new to report on. What I’m saying is that when something like this happens, everyone talks about it. Every talk show and opinion columnist and political analyst will talk give speculation and reaction and opinion on it. Like when columbine happened, every news outlet talked about it for months before the trial ever happened. It happened in 99 and the rulings didn’t come out til 01 or something. And even if they never directly mentioned columbine, they would talk about gun violence and bullying and how police weren’t trained for situations like that. They talked about the surrounding issues. Like yeah there’s nothing new that the media has access to rn, but no one is making opinion pieces about the judges conflict of interest, no talk show is having a 20 min segment about gun violence or the state of healthcare. Twenty years ago, it would have stayed in the news cycle at least passively until the case moved forward. But now it’s been phased out almost completely. And I know coverage will pick up when the trial starts. I know courts move slowly. I’m not trying to push conspiracy. I was simply making an observation that it was strange that there was almost no talk about it, that it’s been phased out of news cycles, and how there’s no widespread conversation about the issues surrounding the shooting.

Also, I only used depp/heard in the original because it was the most recent case I could think of. And because I was tired and thought this post would be seen by like 20 people max, so I didn’t bother wording it as precisely as I could have. Columbine and the OJ Simpson case are better examples to work off of.

I just wanted to clarify what I meant so I stop getting comments that misinterpret what I’m trying to say and people being rude about it

[malpractice-morale]

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[yandere-sins]

Bathhouse Service

[My Commission Info] | [My Ao3] | [Ko-Fi]

a/n: Here we gooo, the first commission of this year for a super sweet anon ♥

Characters: Phainon (HSR) x Male!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Non-Con/Dub-Con, Pec job, Anal, Fingering, Hand job, Musk Kink), Domination, Obsessiveness, Stalking, Abuse of Power, Long Post Words: 6647

Taking a deep breath, you waded through the bathwater, happy to finally put down your golden tray for the day.

You'd been working hard, serving food and drinks to the guests of the bathhouse, constantly forcing a smile on your face even though it was hard to stand in the water, people sloshing it against your body and soaking your clothes. This job wouldn't have been your first pick if you had a choice. Being out in public and in constant contact with people was nerve-wracking on the good days, and the feeling of being constantly exposed by the bare minimum of coverage your clothes provided only added to your discomfort. 

Something more private, away from the prying eyes, would have been nice. But being a bathhouse attendant was what paid the bills. Rolling your shoulder, you breathed into the tension that had built all over your body. Ironic since the baths were the most relaxing place in all of Okhema, but all they did was add stress to your nervous system. It wasn't easy not being as socially adapt as the other attendants and more introverted when having to talk and attend to countless people every day, their prying eyes prickling like needles on your skin, and their hands were sometimes a bit too adventurous to be well-mannered. But you kept telling yourself you were merely too shy for your own good, misinterpreting everyone's intentions. 

After all, you also felt like you were being watched when there was no one around you at all.

Turning around, you looked over at the few people still lingering in the baths. It was almost closing time. Finally, you thought, your shift having taken its toll, and you desperately needed a good night's sleep. Tomorrow would be your day off work, and it was exactly what you needed to recoup and gather your strength to survive the following shifts ahead of you. Especially the busy rush hours after people finished their work were exhausting, the crowded baths being treacherous to navigate and the demands of people even harder to fulfill. You didn't have the gift of being born exceptionally tall and strong like your peers, so you often found yourself in trouble with the guests who looked down on you. Everything about you was average enough to escape trouble, but trouble seemed to try and find you wherever you went. Not everything about the job was terrible, but you were reminded every day why it simply wasn't suitable for you. 

"Hey!" someone called out, and you jerked out of your daydreams where you imagined having a nice dinner before slipping into your warm bed, already waiting for you.

"Y-Yes?" you stammered, turning towards the voice, expecting a visitor trying to get your attention. However, instead, the face was familiar, the big smile curling your boss's mouth making you dread the interaction even more. You two had very different opinions on what made you happy, and seeing him excited, almost skipping steps to get to you faster, wasn't a good sign for you at all. 

"I need you to go upstairs to the upper baths and serve some food and drinks before you leave for today. Can you do that?"

"What, me?" you asked, flabbergasted. Usually, there were special attendants for these baths. People who underwent specific training and had to sign confidentiality contracts. It was for the good of all the people to pick the very best attendants for the Chrysos Heirs, and you weren't one of them. "That's… Isn't there someone better suited for this task? I- I mean, going there is such a big honor. I'm not sure if I am worthy of it…"

"You're too modest! You're doing a great job!" your boss laughed out loud, the praise feeling undeserved, as if he was doing it just to encourage you. Still, you fumbled with the hem of your tunic, feeling flattered. Giving you a strong pat on the back that almost toppled you over, he leaned over the counter, grabbing and piling some fresh fruit and a bottle of the best drink money could buy in all of Okhema with two glasses on top of your tray before turning back to you. You got nervous just seeing the bottle that cost more than all you had ever earned, hoping you'd not be the reason it would fall and shatter along with your savings.

"Besides, it was specifically asked for you, so it's not like we can send anyone else."

Giving your boss a questioning look, he merely slipped the tray from the counter, holding it up to you. Afraid he might drop it and blame the loss of merchandise on you, you caught it, sealing your fate effectively. The bottle and glasses swayed, and so did you, trying to adjust to the weight of the tray despite your exhausted muscles. You really didn't want to do it, but when you looked up, your boss was already a few steps away from you, waving as he yelled back. 

"Amazing! See you for your next shift, then! Take good care of our customer!"

With that, he was gone, leaving you behind to figure everything else out on your own. Still a little unsteady, you bit your lip as you balanced the tray while putting one foot in front of the other. Freedom was so close, even if the way to it was anxiety-inducing and exhausting. What could your boss have possibly meant when he said someone specifically asked for you? You weren't acquainted with the heroes at all, so it seemed unlikely that they'd ask for you by name. It all sounded like manipulation at its finest when he phrased it like that, and you felt even more uncomfortable with the task than you already were. 

Nonetheless, it had to be done. The quicker you were, the faster it would be over, too, and you'd probably not have to interact much with the Heir who was expecting your service. Stepping onto the elevator platform, you kept reassuring yourself that everything was fine and you could do this. However, a knot formed in your stomach, making you wish the elevator would never stop. 

The temperature wasn't much different from the lower baths, yet you felt yourself breaking out in beads of sweat, your body heating up with every second spent in agonizing anticipation. Who was going to wait for you up there? What did they want? Would you be able to hold the ever so slightly shaking tray until you reached their table? What if all of the Heirs were there, watching and judging your service? What if you lost your job?

You walked off the platform with unsteady steps, nervously scanning the area. You had been up here before, of course. But only to clean when there was no one around. Now, even without seeing it, you immediately felt the presence lingering in one of the baths. Eyes of striking blue fixated on you, raking down your body and leaving only goosebumps in their wake as they scanned over you. Halting your breath, you heard the water swaying to your left before you saw the body moving it. Casual, relaxed, but focused—on you.

Phainon.

Barely anyone was as well-known as he was around Okhema. Naturally, every Chrysos Heir was revered, but no one was as loved as Phainon. With his cheerful nature and helpful spirit, many people looked up to him as their savior and hero. They felt safe and comfortable around him, no less because he showed everyone kindness, his smile more dazzling than most could stand without fainting. The same smile he was showing you, now that he had your attention on him.

"There you are!" he greeted you, waving from his bath as if you two were lifelong friends. You had never met him privately before, only ever watched from the masses when he returned after a mission. The two of you lived in entirely different worlds, yet it made your face heat up to be greeted by him like a friend. 

Quickly but while carefully balancing the expensive bottle on your tray, you made your way over to Phainon, his smile growing bigger as you approached. As if he was about to jump up, he leaned forward, shifting to the side on the bench closest to you and sending waves your way as you stepped into the water. With the waves crashing into you, you had to fight with your balance, the fluid soaking your clothes again, making them cling to your body uncomfortably.

There was something special about the Hero's baths; their effects were even more soothing and healing than those below. You were immediately confronted with these effects as you felt your body relax. That was one of the reasons why it took special training to serve the upper floor, and you struggled with not just giving in to the relaxing effects. You barely reached the table before letting the tray down. Accidentally, a soft groan escaped you as the strain disappeared, immediately causing you to feel ashamed as you realized how unbecoming such a sound was in front of a hero who fought for the people all day. The least you could do was serve him properly, without complaints, yet here you were.

"A- Apologies for the delay, Sir…" you mumbled, giving a small bow while averting your eyes. Your heart was pounding increasingly fast, but you tried your best to simply get the task over with, not wanting to raise more attention on yourself.

"No need, you are right on time!" Phainon replied chipperly, another large wave crashing into you, almost knocking you over. Immediately, you looked up, seeing him standing right before you, his hand reaching out. "I was looking forward to seeing you again."

Fingertips ghosted over your cheek, and your body did the most logical yet stupidly over-the-top reaction and jumped away. You were so surprised by his sudden touch that you didn't consider your surroundings, the water reaching up to your hips tripping you over as you crashed backward, barely cushioned as you landed on one of the stairs leading into the bath. Bewildered and surprised, you looked up to see Phainon slowly close the distance, his expression a mix of concern and something softer, perhaps pity… or maybe not.

"Sorry, I just couldn't help myself. The last mission took so long, I really missed you."

"N-No, I'm so sorry! I was just surprised, forgive me…" you quickly tried to wave off the embarrassment. Your eyes darted from side to side, trying to be polite but also not stare. From your position, it was hard not to look anywhere indecent, but you also didn't want to be rude and just bolt. Still, you couldn't help but see a few glimpses of his body, water dripping down the lines of his muscles, making him glisten in the moody lightening of the bathhouse. The towel around his hips was one of the regular ones, yet, on Phainon, it looked almost too small as it hung low on his body, leaving neither his defined thighs nor the bulge between his legs to your imagination.

It was massive. 

Gulping, you felt the heat rise dangerously hot into your face, shaming you for having even a tiny indecent thought about the Heir. Someone like you could barely stand in his presence, let alone think about what his cock must be like. You watched in a mix of embarrassment and surprise as Phainon reached out again, certainly to lend you a hand. He was that kind of man, a true hero. Selfless and kind. That's why it surprised you even more when his arms landed on either side of you, your legs opening without thinking to welcome his body between them. 

For a moment, you merely stared at him, his face so close now that you felt his breath tingling on your damp skin. Seeing every eyelash on his gorgeous eyes and the small dimples as he smiled felt utterly unreal. The next thing you knew, one hand was on your thigh, massaging your muscles as it slowly moved upwards. 

"I missed you so much," he murmured. "I kept thinking of returning to you. Guess it's too much to ask if you missed me, too?"

For the first time, you listened to his words more closely. It was easy, really, with his mouth so close that you watched his lips move. "Do we… know each other?" you asked, confused. You didn't remember ever interacting with Phainon before, much less having a relationship close enough to miss each other. The crack in his smile was noticeable, the disappointment reaching even his mesmerizing blue eyes. But as fast as it had appeared, it was gone again. Instead, you were confronted with the feeling of his hand beneath your clothes, dangerously near to your privates.

Letting out a small gasp, you looked down at it, reacting instinctively as you gripped his wrist, barely able to wrap your fingers all the way around it. The differences between you two were much more significant than you first expected, his body able to shield you from anything and all while he could break you like a twig at the same time. You never felt as weak as you did now when you were in Phainon's presence, his touch creeping higher and higher. 

"Ouch," he laughed, faking his hurt before quickly returning to his confident and sweet smile. "You know how to break hearts, don't you? And here I am, so happy to see you…"

"S-Sorry!" you immediately apologized, although you didn't know if it was necessary. 

However, your words were cut off as you suddenly felt Phainon's hand placed on top of your lower stomach, playing with the rim of your underwear. "W-Wait!" you stuttered, and his grin widened more as he dragged the fabric down. 

"I've waited a long time, don't take this from me now, please."

You could barely believe what was happening as the Phainon lowered himself before you, never breaking eye contact as he freed your cock from the clothes holding it back, the traitor jumping up and brushing against Phainon's chest with gentle arousal. It was all too much as realization finally dawned on you about what was happening, and you still found it hard to believe. But with a long sigh, Phainon's expression softened as he briefly looked down at your member, swaying his chest to move it around until it was situated right between his pecs, his eyes returning to yours with a flush of adoration in them.

And then, with more vigor than anyone had ever touched you with before, Phainon began rubbing your length up and down between his pecs. Water was sloshing all around you two as he moved up and down your cock, slowly picking up the speed. Your hands reached for his shoulders, trying to push him away, embarrassment burning in your cheeks. Instead, they only found hold there as Phainon pressed against you harder, mistaking your resistance for an invitation.

"W-Wait!" you stammered, but your words were followed by a stifled moan as you bit your lip hard. With the water acting as a rough lubricant, the friction between your skins wrapped deliciously around your cock. His tough muscles seemed to soften, adjusting so they could pleasure you better, and you heard him chuckle as your legs pressed into his sides. At this point, you didn't even know if you wanted to push him away or draw him closer while he turned you into a gasping mess. 

"This is like a dream come true," Phainon sighed blissfully as he worked your shaft between his pecs. "I've always wanted to be alone with you like this! You have no idea how long I've been trying to get closer to you."

His words reached your ears but couldn't settle your raging thoughts. Nothing about this made sense! Why would the Chrysos Heir want someone ordinary and unremarkable like you? All of Okhema laid at his feet, yet he wanted you of all people? It didn't feel right, and neither did what he was doing to you without your consent. And yet, against all reason, your head fell back just as you felt your body tensing. 

"That's right," he mumbled, his weight bearing down on you as he buried your cock between his pecs." Be a good boy and come for me. Let me have a taste, I've been starving."

All you could do was obey, your toes curling as you tried biting back the moan that finally broke free. It felt incredibly wrong, but as you watched your cum splash and spread across Phainon's chest, you couldn't help but stare in stunned silence. Both of you were breathing heavily, the motion continuing to tease your cock, which still throbbed between Phainon's pecs. Only now did you realize what you had done—and to be fair, it was his fault as well—the shame burning through your whole body as you whimpered fearfully. 

What if he'd tell everyone that you had forced yourself on him? What if he blackmailed you? No… Phainon wasn't that kind of person. You had always known him to be noble and kindhearted, your mind was merely playing tricks on you out of your own anxiety. And besides, he had attacked you first… even if you ended up being on the receiving end of the pleasure. 

At this point, you didn't know if it was merely the heat of the baths getting to your head or if you were about to pass out from exhaustion. Yet, you managed to pull yourself a few inches away, your cock slipping out from between Phainon's pecs with a nasty squishy sound, reminding you too much of sex. Well, technically, this was a form of it. Still, it made you nervous to consider this an act of intimacy. You two still barely knew each other, even though Phainon kept claiming he did. 

Stealing another glance at him, you watched him lean back, dragging his fingers through the spilled cum as if drawing patterns on himself. He searched for your eyes again, satisfied as he met your gaze. Phainon grinned, bringing his palm in front of his mouth and giving it a good lick, slurping up some of the jizz as if it was the drink of the Titans itself. Wide-eyed, you watched in horror, but as Phainon made one more step out of the bath, your gaze was drawn away, the towel around his hips loosening up before dropping to the ground. Not without getting stuck on his erection, though, and you gulped as you watched his cock bounce free the second the fabric slipped off. 

He was massive. You had suspected as much from the bulge you had noticed before, but seeing his cock fully erect, ran goosebumps all over your body. Something like that was what every man wished for. It probably made anyone faint the moment it slipped in, but it would be so worth it just to be fucked by it. Getting down on his hands and knees, Phainon crawled after you, a sight to behold, the great hero on his fours, preying on you like an animal. Now that he had a taste, his eyes had darkened with an unfamiliar desire. It made you gulp hard as you realized you were the object of lust reflected in them. 

"I- I'm so sorry! I can't tell you how sorry I am, this is unforgivable—I should leave!" was all you could come up with before quickly twisting your hips around and trying to stand up. You were already on your knees when one strong arm wrapped around your neck, and you clawed at it, fearing the enormous strength Phainon seemed to wield with ease. You had no question that he could suffocate you just like that, and the anxiety raised some panic inside you. 

Soft lips fell at the spot behind your ear, slowly kissing down your neck and making you gasp and shudder. His other hand dropped to your right pec, squeezing at it despite your body being less refined than his. Compared to your average size and looks, Phainon was like a god. Perhaps that's why he thought it was okay to play with your nipple, flicking it with his pointer while you felt the lips at your neck suck your skin into his mouth.

"Don't leave just yet," Phainon muttered against your body. "I finally got you right where I want you."

"I- I'm just an employee, Sir! I can't possibly be what you want!"

"Mhm," a long, thoughtful hum escaped Phainon before you heard his lips smack as they were pulled from your body. "And yet, you are. Always been," he confessed, and you weren't sure if this was a lie like your boss had told you or if you should have felt flattered to be confessed to by the Heir. However, your cock jerked as you listened to him, no less because of all the stimulation you were receiving. 

"And tonight, I finally have you all to myself."

Hand falling from your chest, it drove lower over your stomach. You inhaled sharply at the sensation of his fingers parting so they could wrap around the base of your dick. Jerking your hips back, you felt his length press between your ass cheeks, his hot and eager cock twitching as it was greeted by softness. Phainon let out an audible breath before he chuckled, allowing you to feel every inch of him by rubbing his cock against your butt. Simultaneously, his pointer and thumb created a circle around your own sex, stroking it up and down slowly. 

You two fell into a rhythm of stroking and rubbing, Phainon's kisses returning to the nape of your neck, together with his hot breath and wet tongue. The arm around your neck kept holding you up, choking you a little every time he pressed you forward with a push of his hips, and you gasped, making Phainon's breath shudder every time as if your voice aroused him. Soon enough, your cock was up and ready again, although you felt exhausted after all the work that day and having already spent yourself all over the hero. 

But when you felt the next orgasm built, making you snap your own hips forward into Phainon's hand, he suddenly let go of your cock, leaving it to pound helplessly into the air. "You're already ready again," Phainon teased, and you bit your lip, holding back the frustration. Suddenly, he let go of you, pulling away and leaving you to catch your balance until you found yourself on all fours this time. Your dick was twitching between your legs, upset about not finishing what Phainon had started.

But before you could come to your senses and use the chance to leave, Phainon was back, his legs on either side of your body as he got down on your level. Next thing you knew, something slimy dripped onto your butt, running off the curve and into your crack. Alarmed, you looked back, watching as a focused Phainon poured some liquid out of a golden pitcher, letting it run over his hand and thoroughly coating it in the thick substances. When he looked up again, he smiled again, assuring you, "No worries, I prepared for this."

Then, he slipped his hand between your cheeks, his middle finger pushing against your hole. Realizing that he was preparing you for penetration, you gasped, immediately trying to crawl away, but Phainon was quicker. He laughed as you squirmed, calling out, "Not so fast!" as he grabbed your ankle with his free hand, pulling you back on the first step and into the bath. The water was a treacherous accomplice, trying to soothe you with its warmth and calming effects, but as his finger slipped inside you, there was no calm to be found in you. 

"Wait!" you yelled, pushing back against the arm whose finger penetrated you with your own hand, but you didn't have the strength to fight him. The lube he used had some form of relaxant in it, making it easier to stretch you. You mewled up as he pushed another and a third finger into you, undoubtedly preparing you for his cock's girth. 

"You're ready," Phainon let you know as you breathed heavily, his fingers stirring up your insides mercilessly. When you came to serve him food and drinks, you didn't think you'd end up being assaulted. Yet here you were, at his mercy, as he placed the tip of his cock against your hole, pressing against it over and over until he was frotting the lotion and coating himself in it. You opened your mouth to protest one more time when he finally decided to go for it, his entire tip slipping inside you, spreading you to a never-before achieved level of width. No scream escaped you as he pushed himself further into you, the only sounds around being the bubbling of water and Phainon's groans. 

"That's it," Phainon purred. "Take it like you were made for me."

Even without looking back, you knew he had managed to lodge his entire shaft inside. Your cheeks were spread, and his balls pressed against your ass. You could barely endure it, your vision blurry with a mix of tears and seeing stars. Phainon had yet to move, but there was no guarantee he wouldn't knock the breath from your lungs with one deep pound, making you faint like you had anticipated his cock would. 

Grunting, Phainon slowly pulled back out of your hole that clung to him tightly, all the lube being absorbed to ease your pain. However, instead of knocking you out cold, your whole body sprung to life as he pushed into you. In an instant, you were overcome by fear, panic, pain, and the desire to get away, but with the next push, you were left a moaning mess, rolling your hips in an attempt to adjust to his thickness penetrating you. 

Steadily, the pace increased, and your body took every push with delightful pleasure that made you almost forget that you didn't want any of this. Phainon's arms soon snaked around your torso, helping you back on your knees and pressing your back against his chest, your body molding into his. You listened to his grunts, trying not to admit your own sounds of pleasure as he plowed into you, hugging you tighter and tighter.

You could feel his cock swell inside you, the signs of arousal all there, even on your own body. This was not how you imagined your first private meeting with the Chrysos Heir to go. This wasn't the kind and heroic person he had been made out to be by everyone. If anything, he was an animal in heat, forcing your head back and to the side. 

"Look at me," he murmured while continuing to fuck his shaft into you mercilessly. Licking his tongue over your lips, you sighed as his dick pressed against your sensitive spot once again, giving Phainon enough time to capture your mouth with his, kissing you deeply while holding you painfully close against him. Not even a piece of paper could have fit between you two. You could feel gravity pulling you down on his cock even when he stopped moving, accommodating your second orgasm and allowing it to spill on the pristine floors of the bath freely. You not only had disgraced the Chrysos Heir now with your juices, but also your workplace. Even wiped up, you'd never forget your cum glistening on the stone. 

Phainon sighed as your body spasmed, wrapping tightly around his cock in waves of pleasure. Your brain felt muddy, the orgasms in quick successions taking their toll on you as you allowed your body to be laid back down on the ground next to your spurts of jizz that seemed to taunt you for your easily influenceable mind. Deep inside, you knew this was wrong, but after two ejaculations, you didn't have the strength to resist him anymore. 

Instead, you mewled, feeling Phainon's cock twitch inside you, still ready and eager to come himself. You met his eyes, a victorious grin on his lips as he watched you. Your reflection looked well-fucked and dazed, and you were, moaning softly as Phainon pressed down on you, imprisoning you between the ground and him. His hands fell to your thighs, picking them up and pressing them forward, and you whimpered as it allowed his cock to bury even deeper. You knew instinctively that when Phainon undoubtedly filled you with all his cum, he wanted it to be at the deepest point, the one that would drive you absolutely insane. And it was, every roll of his hips making you shudder and cry out from the overstimulation. 

His mouth found yours once more in a mix of hot breath and drool, the kiss so intense it felt like you were melting. Both of you had worked up quite a bit of sweat, too, your bodies slipping against each other as your ass was fucked raw. "Mhm, S-Sir…" you moaned, his body threatening to bury you beneath it as he kept pressing himself against you more and more. 

"P-Phainon. My name is Phainon," he replied, grasping for breath himself but smiling from ear to ear as if telling you that made him extremely happy. As if you didn't already know his name. Then again, he seemed disappointed when you asked him if you two knew each other, so introducing himself felt like a step forward in your non-existent relationship. 

"Phainon…" you called out to him awkwardly, intending to tell him to stop as you simply couldn't take it anymore. However, it had the opposite effect, his cock twitching inside you, causing you to clamp up. Both of you turned into a mess of gasps and moans, and instead of stopping, Phainon picked up the pace. You could tell he was close, and he placed his arms on either side of your head, plowing into you thoughtlessly. His whole body enveloped you, chest now closer to your face than his head as Phainon readied himself to fill you with his cum. Salty skin rubbed against your lips, and you caught a whiff of his natural scent mixed with the gentle aroma of the baths. 

He smelled almost like metal, which wasn't surprising for a trained warrior like him. The sharp iron mixed with the salt of his sweat, and there was a faint trace of your cum left, everything about Phainon smelling so manly. His smell was everywhere, on his arms to your sides and chest above you. Perhaps with his scent points on his neck and wrists so close, it was unavoidable for you to inhale it deeply. He was all around you, there was no escaping this man.

After tasting it for the first time, you found yourself craving more of this strange combo. Without thinking, you let your tongue out of your mouth, dragging it over his pecs until you hit his nipples. Unexpectedly, it was the straw that broke the camel's neck for Phainon, the sensation of you licking him making his eyes go wide as his voice got caught in his throat, a strained groan all that he could produce. Next thing you felt was the hot spill of his seed inside you, the fluids sloshing against the walls of your bowels.

Moaning loudly, your body forced itself against Phainon's. Even in the state of pure bliss, he managed to catch you with one arm, supporting you like a true gentleman as you grew slack, while he filled you up with his jizz. You two ended up in a messy tangle, and you couldn't think straight as he hugged you, cock still balls-deep inside your hole, kissing the side of your face. 

"You did great," he praised you. "I knew it was going to be good, but I could have never expected it to be this amazing."

When Phainon finally lifted himself off you, air stormed back into your lungs, clearing your head somewhat. Your feet curled up, legs trying to close, and you whimpered as his cock slowly pulled out, unplugging you so that spurts of white jizz left you violently. You felt utterly disgusted, semen, sweat, and lube clinging to you, but at least it was over. Tears rose in your eyes as you realized what Phainon had done. You wouldn't even be able to tell anyone, as no one would believe you that he had assaulted you.

Everything hurt as you forced yourself to move. Cum kept dripping down your legs as you stood up, taking a few weak steps and picking up your discarded underwear. All you wanted was to get away and never come back. Try to forget what happened and wash yourself until you were rid of the memories Phainon had left on your body. You'd need time to heal from all of this and especially to come to terms with the fact that your body obeyed and accepted his malice so easily. Everything from your body to the image you had of the hero was utterly defiled, and you felt so, so dirty. 

"Where are you going?" Phainon asked chipperly, and before you knew it, he had picked you up from behind. In all your self-pity, you had totally forgotten about him still being here. About the weird behavior he displayed and how strangely he spoke to you. This time, you used your nails to cling to him, wanting to give him just a little bit of the pain he had caused you. 

"Let me down!" you protested, your voice hoarse after all the moaning, but Phainon didn't listen. Instead, he carried you back into the bath, sitting down on the bench with you on his lap. You could feel his cock still hard and twitching between your legs, especially when Phainon moved forward, reaching for something behind you. You managed to stifle a moan, barely. It only needed a brief rub against his length for your body to shudder, remembering all of the abuse you had suffered. And yet, sitting in the warm, soothing bath made your body tingle in anticipation, almost as if you wanted more.

"Here, drink," Phainon chimed, pushing one of the glasses into your hands. It was filled to the brim with a liquid, and with horror, you realized it was the expensive beverage you had brought up here. Hesitating, you held it in your hands, glancing sideways towards your escape route, the elevator still waiting there for you like you had left it. 

Taking a swig of his own cup, Phainon tipped against yours, urging you silently. You hated the authority he had over you, but spilling the drink could give him more reason to blackmail you if he told everyone you poured some of it into the baths. Not risking it, you took a quick sip of it into your mouth, swallowing it eagerly as your body demanded more hydration. It tasted sweet and delicious and felt so good after what you had endured. 

"Want some fruit, too?" Phainon asked as he watched you drink. His free hand had found its way to your thigh again, kneading it softly. When you finally put your cup down, you noticed the fond sparkle in his eyes, his muscles completely relaxed. Part of you had assumed he'd treat you like a quick stress relief and throw you out the second he was done with his fun. However, he seemed content taking care of you after fucking you against your will. Unconcerned, that's what he was—the complete opposite of you.

"Why?" you whispered, still so many questions on your mind.

"Well, fruits have vitamins and are very good to regain some energy–"

"Why did you do this to me?"

Phainon shut up the second you interrupted him. Placing his cup down, he took a deep breath before facing you with a smile again, wrapping his arms around your waist leisurely. "I'm a warrior, I can't afford to have everything I want. So I had to choose, and I want you. I've wanted you ever since I first came to this place. It has always been you that I looked for in the crowds, and still, I can't take my eyes off you. I want you. I need you. And now, I don't think I can part with you ever again."

"That's… But I–"

Reaching behind you, Phainon picked an apple from the platter you had served him, biting into it as he listened to your stutter. That guy had no worries, it seemed, casually dropping a confession as if it was the easiest thing to say. Maybe after already making you familiar with his massive cock, he got a bit ahead of himself, thinking that everything had a price. 

"I am not a whore," you protested firmly, standing up for yourself for probably the first time that night. "You can't just ask for me and then force me to have sex with you! We don't even know each other!"

The sound of apple crunching began to annoy you as he kept eating while you spoke your mind. Only when you tried to get up and away from him did you get resistance, his hands grabbing your sides, pressing you back down on top of his lap. 

"You're not my whore," he relented, and you thought you saw a splash of disappointment in his eyes, only angering you further. "I was hoping you'd be my lover."

"I'll never be with someone who treats people like he wants, not even caring about their feelings."

"That's fine."

Phainon's gaze was focused as he said that, his voice unwavering. The response was too quick, too calculated. His fingers gripped tighter into your flesh, and you took a sharp breath to suppress the pain. Something about him had shifted; he felt… cold. Undeterred. As if he was about to make a necessary sacrifice.

But just as quickly, his smile returned, and he pushed the apple into your mouth, muffling your complaints. 

"Eat it. You'll need the strength for the next round," he announced, setting you down beside him before getting up and stepping in front of you. His cock bopped right in your line of sight, a clear indication of what he wanted next, considering he was ready to go again. 

"What?! No!" you yelled, throwing the apple away. Despite the awkward position, you moved to slip past Phainon, but he gripped you by the hair, pulling you back. You hissed in pain, only distracted when you felt his glans poke against your cheek, his entire length sliding up your face. 

"If I'm not the one you want to be with, I just have to become someone you won't want to leave, right? I can do that," Phainon announced, appearing to be proud of his deduction. You felt a shiver run through your body as you realized you were utterly overpowered. Before you stood a Chrysos Heir, known for his strength, stamina, and aptitude. And apparently, you were the enemy he needed to subdue, no matter how long it would take. 

The sweet, kind Phainon was actually… a psycho. 

"Please…" you whimpered softly, tears filling your eyes. "I don't want that."

"You'll get used to it. "We have all night, just us two. It's a dream come true, isn't it?"

Phainon smiled at you, gently cupping your face with his other hand, rubbing his thumb over your cheek comfortingly. But before you could even utter a reply, he rested his hand beneath your jaw, pinching into both your cheeks and forcing you to open wide. 

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll do everything in my power to make you love me."

[alex51324]

Now, more than ever, we need to be careful about spreading misinformation and rumors

I can guarantee that over the next few months, we'll be hearing about a lot of alarming things going on here in the US. Some of those things will be true, and some won't. (And some will have both true and false or exaggerated elements.)

It's going to be absolutely vital that important information is not drowned out by misinformation, rumors, and ragebait.

That means, when you see something that would be important if true, before sharing, you check whether it's actually true.

In library world, we use the acronym SIFT:

STOP: Don't spread the information, or get caught up in your emotional reaction to it, before you've checked it out. INVESTIGATE: Who is saying it? How do they know? If there are links or sources in the post, do they actually say what the person is saying they do? FIND other coverage: Do an internet search for key details: quotes, people's names, specific locations. If something major is happening, there will normally be a lot of coverage. TRACE claims, quotes, and media back to their original context.

Usually you don't need to do all four things: just STOP and then pick what makes sense from the other three. If you decide to share the information, you can also say what you did--"This is a firsthand account from XYZ protest; it lines up with what the local TV station is saying, but has a lot more details about what the cops did," or whatever.

The more urgent the information seems, the more important it is to make sure it's reliable.

If we're hearing every other day that this or that vulnerable group is in immediate, life-threatening danger--but 49 times out of 50 it turns out to mean Trump rambled somewhere about something which, if actually implemented, could end up having the described consequences at some point down the line--then people aren't going to know the difference the one time in 50 when the danger really is immediate.

Think, here, things like immigration crackdowns, CPS investigations into parents who affirm a trans child's gender, or demands that health care providers report miscarriages to law enforcement. We all know that these are things Trump World talks about a lot and would like to be able to do, in some form. For the sake of the people affected by these topics, we need different ways of talking about, "Here they are, back on their bullshit," versus, "This is a policy proposal for a real thing that could happen," versus, "Holy shit, grab the kids and run."

We cannot go to "Holy shit, grab the kids and run" every time Trump, or someone in his inner circle, decides to bloviate about something that could disastrously affect people lives. The people who are most in danger can't stay at DefCon 5 every day of their lives, and when they do really have to grab the kids and run, we need that alarm to be heard over the constant background hum of dread.

The same goes for action items--whether protests, ways to help, or little things people can do to stay safe/sane. There's going to be plenty going on, and nobody is going to be able to do everything, so do your part by passing along those things that you can vouch are true and important, and skipping the things you aren't sure about.

I'll leave you with an example. Remember how a few years ago, we were all-in about hand hygiene and disinfecting surfaces? And then it turned out that those were not actually very important in terms of preventing the transmission of COVID-19, and what we really need is better air filtration in public spaces--but, at my work at least, we still have canisters of surface-disinfecting wipes sitting around, and tattered old signs up about hand hygiene, and no air filters.

At the time, early in the pandemic, we were sharing the best information we knew about how to stay safe, but people got a little too fixated on that initial advice--remember how people would wipe down their groceries? And those little sticks for pressing elevator buttons?--and then when the advice changed, they didn't want to hear about it.

Distrust, fatigue, superstitious attachment to the old grocery-wiping ways--there were a lot of reasons, but the key thing to take away is that attention, energy, and goodwill are all finite resources. Try to avoid wasting it with grocery-wiping--or worse, shilling for the guy selling little sticks to press elevator buttons with.

[cloudyluun]

Until You Stay | famous!harry

Summary: Beth Monroe is a sharp-tongued journalist looking for her big break. Harry Styles is a cocky, untouchable rockstar who doesn’t take well to being challenged. What starts as a battle of wills—sharp words and razor-edged tension—spirals into something darker, filthier, and impossible to walk away from. But when feelings get involved, when the masks slip, will they still be able to pretend it doesn’t mean anything?

A/N: This is a commissioned work of fiction based on Harry as a famous singer, I make no claims of knowing him personally in any way. But someone trusted me to bring their filthy, angsty dreams to life, and I may have gone just a little feral in the process. So enjoy the chaos, the tension, and, of course, Harry being an insufferable asshole.

Word Count: 7,7k

Warnings: 

Explicit Smut (very detailed & filthy)

Rough Sex, Degradation, and Dom/Sub Dynamics

Jealous/Possessive Harry

Toxic Dynamics & Power Struggles

Strong Language & Dirty Talk

Angst & Emotional Turmoil

Paparazzi & Media Manipulation

Mentions of Alcohol & Self-Destructive Behavior

A Hard-Won Happy Ending

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Beth Monroe had always known she was meant for more than this.

Twenty-seven years old and already jaded, she was the kind of journalist who wanted to chase real stories—the ones that peeled back the glossy surface of the world and exposed what lay underneath. The truth. Not the watered-down, PR-approved version of it, but the raw, unfiltered mess of reality. That’s why she had spent years clawing her way through the ranks of journalism, determined to escape the suffocating confines of celebrity gossip and meaningless soundbites.

But the industry had other plans for her.

She had started with ambition, fresh out of college, ready to write the stories that mattered. But the jobs that paid? The ones that kept the rent covered and the lights on? Those were the ones that required clickbait headlines and shallow coverage of people who barely seemed real.

And so, Beth had become another faceless name in the sea of entertainment journalists, forced to write about scandals, red carpet outfits, and who's dating who. She’d learned how to craft engaging pieces that held just enough bite to make them feel substantial, but in the end, it was all just noise. A constant cycle of disposable stories about people whose lives would never be touched by the words she wrote.

That’s why this assignment felt like her last shot.

Her boss had made it clear—this was either going to be her big break or her last chance before she was permanently relegated to covering B-list divorces and influencer drama.

"We need something real, Beth," her editor, Jonathan Pierce, had told her, fingers tapping against his desk as he leveled her with that too-patient look. "Not just another shallow puff piece. Styles is at the peak of his career right now. People want to know who he is, not the version we see on stage, but the man underneath it all."

Beth had bit back the urge to roll her eyes.

Harry Styles.

Of course.

If there was one name that could guarantee headlines and clicks, it was his. He was a global phenomenon, a walking enigma, an untouchable icon. At thirty, he had long since outgrown his boyband past, solidifying himself as one of the most powerful and respected musicians in the industry. His concerts sold out within minutes. His albums dominated the charts. His face was plastered across billboards, magazines, and social media feeds worldwide.

And yet—he was also infamously private.

Beth had done her research. He gave interviews, sure, but they were carefully controlled, filled with charming deflections and rehearsed soundbites. The media loved him, but no one actually knew him.

Her job? To change that.

She had been granted exclusive access to his European tour, shadowing him across multiple countries, given rare, behind-the-scenes insight into the life of Harry Styles, the person.

Beth knew how this would go.

She would show up, ask the hard-hitting questions, and be met with infuriatingly smooth non-answers. He’d probably flash that boyish smirk, tilt his head just right, and make it impossible for anyone to push too hard. The public adored him for that.

But Beth?

She wasn’t here to adore him. She was here to unravel him.

Still, she wasn’t expecting her first glimpse of him to hit her like a gut punch.

The moment she stepped into that room, she knew.

He was going to be a problem.

The private event was held at an intimate venue in Paris; a low-lit, exclusive affair where only VIPs, industry elites, and carefully selected press members were allowed inside. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, leather seating, and the faint musk of whiskey poured into crystal glasses.

Beth walked in, blending into the sea of journalists and label executives, scanning the room for the man she had spent weeks researching.

And then she saw him.

Harry Styles did not belong to the real world.

There was something about the way he existed in a space, the way people naturally gravitated toward him—an effortless pull, an undeniable gravity.

He stood near the back of the room, dressed in an all-black ensemble that should have looked simple but instead made him look infuriatingly expensive. The tailored slacks. The silk shirt, unbuttoned just enough to hint at tattoos inked across golden skin. The loose, effortless curls.

But it wasn’t just his looks.

It was the way he carried himself like he was untouchable.

Beth watched as he laughed at something someone said, flashing that devastating grin that made cameras worship him. But it was the look in his eyes that caught her attention—sharp, assessing, distant, even as he smiled.

And then, as if sensing her stare, he turned.

Their gazes met.

A slow flicker of recognition crossed his face, though they had never met before. His green eyes scanned her, quick and unreadable.

And then, just as fast, he looked away.

Dismissive.

Beth felt heat rise to her throat.

Oh.

Oh, he was going to be a problem.

And he had no idea what was coming for him.

Beth didn’t look away first.

She wasn’t the type to shrink under scrutiny, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. But Harry? He barely spared her a full second before shifting his attention elsewhere, like she wasn’t worth a second glance.

The disinterest was strategic, she realized almost immediately. A controlled dismissal. The kind that kept people chasing, trying harder, falling over themselves for just an ounce of acknowledgment. She’d seen it before—men in power using silence as their weapon, turning the simple act of ignoring someone into an exercise of dominance.

It didn’t work on her.

So when she was finally ushered forward—her name murmured alongside a polite introduction—she didn’t bother offering her hand or plastering on a media-friendly smile. She met him with the same level of apathy he had thrown her way.

“Beth Monroe,” the event coordinator introduced. “She’s covering the European tour for Pulse magazine.”

Harry, who had just been charming some record executive’s wife with an easy smile and effortless conversation, didn’t even pretend to be interested. He gave the barest nod, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before lifting it to his lips.

“Journalist,” he mused, voice low, almost amused—but not in a way that invited conversation. More like he was tasting the word and finding it unappetizing.

Beth crossed her arms. "Is that a problem?"

That made him look at her properly.

Up close, she could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes, the sharp contrast between deliberate nonchalance and razor-sharp awareness. She knew the game well—he was observing, measuring, deciding exactly how much space she was allowed to take up.

And then, in the most unbothered, condescending way possible, he simply muttered, "No. Just predictable."

Beth’s lips parted, caught between shock and incredulous amusement.

"Predictable?" she echoed, lifting an eyebrow. "That’s a bit rich coming from a man whose entire brand is built on being the world’s most palatable rockstar."

There it was.

The shift.

The flicker of something in his gaze like she had managed to surprise him. Like maybe he wasn’t expecting her to push back.

It lasted half a second before he schooled his features, tipping his glass back and dismissing her completely.

Beth could feel the eyes on them. The silent tension in the room as the moment stretched between them. But Harry? He wasn’t interested. At least, not enough to entertain her further.

His voice was maddeningly even as he murmured, "Enjoy the party, Miss Monroe."

And just like that, he turned his back on her.

Beth spent the rest of the night watching. Not because she was enthralled—fuck no—but because she needed to understand him. If she was going to do this job right, she needed to know what made him tick, needed to peel back the carefully constructed layers he used to keep the world at arm’s length.

What she noticed was infuriating.

Harry was charming with everyone else. Effortlessly engaged, magnetic in a way that made people lean in, hang on his every word. He gave them just enough of himself—never too much, never too little. His persona was crafted with surgical precision.

But with her?

Nothing.

He ignored her. Not obviously, not rudely, but in a way that felt intentional. Every time she tried to break into a conversation, he sidestepped her. When she asked a question, he answered in vague, detached sentences.

And when she finally managed to pull him into a one-on-one exchange again, it ended just as quickly as the first.

“I’ve noticed you never really answer questions,” she said, arms crossed as she studied him from across the dimly lit bar area.

Harry didn’t look up from where he was stirring his drink with a lazy wrist. “And I’ve noticed journalists never stop asking them.”

Beth exhaled sharply through her nose. “Right. Because heaven forbid anyone learns something real about Harry Styles.”

That got his attention.

He set his glass down, leaning against the counter as his gaze slid over her slowly.

“You lot aren’t interested in ‘real.’” His voice was quiet, but firm. “You’re interested in a headline.”

Beth bristled. “And you’re interested in a narrative.”

Something shifted.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, the weight of the conversation settling between them.

Then Harry smirked.

“Good luck with your story, Miss Monroe.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Beth clenched her jaw.

She wasn’t done with him yet.

Beth had dealt with difficult men before. Politicians who thought they were too powerful to be held accountable, executives who assumed her presence in a room meant she was someone’s assistant rather than the journalist they’d have to answer to. She had sharpened herself against condescension and arrogance, made a career out of standing her ground in rooms filled with people who wanted to dismiss her.

But Harry Styles?

He was a different breed of difficult.

For the next several weeks, Beth followed him across Europe, shadowing his tour with increasing frustration. She sat through press conferences where he charmed reporters into asking safe, meaningless questions—the kind that allowed him to give those clever, detached answers that never actually revealed anything.

She watched him interact with fans, saw the way he flipped the switch so effortlessly—one moment the distant, untouchable rockstar, the next, someone who could make a stadium of people feel like they mattered.

And yet, with her?

He remained a wall.

He made it a point to avoid her questions, brushing past them with an easy smirk and a raised eyebrow, like he found her attempts amusing.

“Beth, darling, you’re thinking too hard,” he had murmured once, lounging backstage after a show, still glistening with sweat from the stage lights. “Why don’t you just write the same piece everyone else does? You know, the whole ‘Harry Styles is mysterious but also terribly charming’ bit. Sells every time.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t write fanfiction.”

He grinned. “Shame.”

And then there were the games.

Beth would show up for scheduled interview slots, only to be told that Harry was "unavailable." Sometimes it was because he was in a mood. Sometimes it was because he was “too busy” relaxing in his dressing room, scrolling through his phone, while she sat outside with her recorder untouched on her lap.

When she finally called him out on it, he didn’t even pretend to feel bad.

“Beth, love,” he drawled, voice dripping in mock sympathy, “you’re in my world now. Things don’t always run on schedule.”

Her patience cracked. “So you’re just wasting my time for fun?”

Harry leaned back in his seat, legs spread wide, fingers tapping lazily against the armrest. “Not for fun.” Then, after a beat, he smirked. “Though it is fun watching you get all worked up.”

She wanted to throw something at him.

The breaking point came after a particularly brutal argument.

It had been a long day—one of those rare occasions when Beth had actually gotten a few uninterrupted moments to ask real questions. She had pushed harder than usual, refusing to let him slide through with half-answers and smirks.

“Why do you do that?” she had asked, arms crossed as she watched him peel the rings off his fingers after soundcheck.

Harry flicked a glance up. “Do what?”

“Pretend you’re giving people something real when all you’re actually doing is controlling the narrative.”

The look he gave her was sharp, guarded. “That’s rich, coming from someone whose job is to spin a story.”

Beth exhaled through her nose. “You think this is easy for me? That I just write whatever sells? I’m not here to make you look good, Harry. I’m here to write the truth.”

A tense silence stretched between them.

And then, before she even saw him move, he was in front of her.

Too close.

Her breath caught.

She wasn’t sure if he had stepped forward or if she had unconsciously leaned in, but suddenly, there was no space between them. The air thickened, buzzing with something hot and electric.

His jaw flexed.

His hands curled into loose fists at his sides, as if he was holding something back.

Beth lifted her chin, refusing to shrink away.

The corner of his mouth twitched—not in amusement, not quite. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and slow, a quiet challenge.

“You think you’ve got me figured out, huh?”

Beth swallowed, throat tight. “I think you hate that you can’t intimidate me.”

Silence.

A heavy, suffocating pause.

For a second—just a second—she swore his gaze dropped to her mouth.

But neither of them moved.

Neither of them acted on it.

And later that night, when Beth was alone in her hotel room, staring at the ceiling—she realized she was still thinking about it.

She wondered if he was, too.

Beth liked to believe that she had control over herself—over her emotions, over the way her body reacted, over the frustrating, infuriating pull she felt every time Harry Styles so much as looked at her.

But control was hard to maintain when someone was constantly poking, prodding, pushing just to see where her breaking point was.

And Harry?

Harry was pushing.

Hard.

It happened in Milan.

The afterparty was in full swing—music thumping, bodies swaying, conversations weaving in and out of the dim, golden-lit space. Beth wasn’t drinking, but the atmosphere was intoxicating in itself, everyone high off the post-show adrenaline.

Harry had been watching her all night.

Not obviously, not in a way anyone else would notice, but she felt it. The flicker of his gaze when she moved through the crowd, the way his attention snagged whenever she threw her head back in laughter.

She ignored it.

She refused to let him get in her head.

Which was why, when another musician—Nate, a guitarist from one of the opening acts—struck up a conversation with her, Beth didn’t hesitate to let herself enjoy it.

He was easy to talk to, charming in a way that didn’t feel like a performance. And when he leaned in, whispering something that made her laugh—a real, unguarded laugh—she barely had time to register the shift in the air before Harry was there.

He didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t say anything.

He just stood there, nursing a drink, his stare cutting through the noise like a blade.

Beth felt it before she saw it—the shift in Nate’s posture, the way his fingers curled around the bottle in his hand.

“I’ll catch you later,” Nate murmured, voice a little too careful.

Beth blinked. “Wait, what?”

But he was already slipping away, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the room.

And that was when she felt him.

The warmth of his presence behind her, the slow exhale against the shell of her ear.

“You like playing games, love?”

Beth closed her eyes.

Of course. Of course he had to do this.

She turned slowly, deliberately, only to find him watching her with a look she couldn’t quite place.

“Excuse me?” she said, tone light, though she could feel her pulse thrumming against her skin.

Harry tilted his head, mocking. “That was cute. The whole giggle and lean-in routine. Did you rehearse that?”

Beth’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I not allowed to have a conversation without your approval?”

His jaw flexed. “Didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying, exactly?”

He took a step closer.

Then another.

Beth refused to step back.

His voice dropped lower, dangerously smooth.

“I’m saying… you’ve been running your mouth for weeks. Acting like you don’t give a shit about me. But then—” He let out a quiet, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “—then you go and pull that?”

She scoffed. “Pull what?”

Harry smiled. It wasn’t nice.

“You wanted me to see that.”

Beth’s stomach flipped.

She should have laughed in his face. Should have rolled her eyes, brushed past him, walked away.

But she didn’t.

Because there was something about the way he was looking at her.

Something thick and charged and dangerous.

His hands twitched at his sides, like he didn’t trust himself not to touch her.

Beth’s breath shook.

The music downstairs faded into a dull throb, the laughter and chatter dissolving into nothing. The party might as well have been on the other side of the world.

It was just them now.

Beth barely registered how it happened—one moment, she was in the thick of the afterparty, heat and voices pressing in on all sides. The next, the door clicked shut behind her. A soft, decisive sound.

She turned just in time to see Harry’s hand linger on the lock, fingers curling around the metal, twisting until it slid into place. A quiet snick.

Her pulse skittered.

Slowly, he turned back to her, gaze dark and unreadable.

Somehow, between one breath and the next, Beth’s back was already against the wall, cool brick pressing through the thin fabric of her dress. She could still feel the phantom warmth of Nate’s touch—light, fleeting—but it didn’t matter. Not when Harry was in front of her now. Not when his body was taut with something sharp, something dark. His eyes, usually lidded with lazy arrogance, were harder now. Narrowed. Burning.

His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was trying to control himself.

Then, low, rough, "You like playing games, love?"

A shiver ran down her spine.

She forced herself to lift her chin. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

His jaw twitched.

Slow. Measured. He reached out, running two fingers up her arm, featherlight but searing. Beth refused to react, refused to show him that he got under her skin.

His lips curled. "Laughing. Touching. Batting your lashes at him like you wanted him to take you right there in front of everyone."

That made her scoff. "Oh, fuck off—"

She barely got the words out before he was on her.

No warning. No hesitation.

One hand shot to her throat—not squeezing, just holding, firm enough to make her gasp as his body pressed flush against hers. His other hand planted itself beside her head, caging her in completely.

His mouth hovered just above hers, breath warm, uneven.

"You wanna push me, is that it?" he murmured, voice like gravel. "You wanna see what happens when I lose my patience?"

Her breath hitched.

It wasn’t fear curling in her stomach. It was something much worse.

She wanted this.

Needed it.

So she pushed him again, knowing it was reckless. "Maybe I do."

That was all it took.

Harry didn’t waste another second.

His grip tightened, and then he was kissing her—if it could even be called that. There was nothing soft about it. No buildup, no hesitation. It was a clash of teeth and tongues, a war between them.

His hand left her throat, moving down, down, over the thin fabric of her dress, gripping her waist so tightly it ached.

Beth’s nails raked down his arms, her own frustration spilling over. She wanted to hurt him. Make him feel this the way she did.

"Fuck—"

The word was ripped from her throat as he yanked her leg up, hitching it over his hip. The dress rode up instantly, baring her thigh, and then his hand was there, fingers digging into her skin, making her burn.

Desperate.

That was what this was.

It wasn’t love.

It wasn’t romance.

It was hunger.

It was starving.

His teeth scraped along her jaw, down her neck. He bit—not enough to leave marks, but enough to make her feel it.

“Look at you,” he rasped, dragging his mouth down her jaw. “Needy. Desperate. And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Her fingers fisted in his hair. "Fuck you."

He laughed, breathless, dark.

"Say it," he pressed. "Say you want it."

Beth clenched her teeth. She hated him.

And yet.

And yet.

"Say it."

She swallowed hard, nails still biting into his shoulders. "I want it."

He hummed in approval, pushing her harder against the wall. "Good girl."

Then he wrecked her.

There was no teasing. No gentle touch. He dragged her panties down and shoved her dress up with no regard, making her gasp as the cool air kissed her exposed skin. His fingers slid between her thighs, finding her soaked, and he smirked.

"Fuckin’ knew it," he muttered, lips brushing her ear. "You act like you don’t want this, but look at you."

She bit her lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sound.

It didn’t last.

His fingers slipped inside her, rough, unrelenting, and the cry broke from her throat before she could stop it.

"That’s it," he murmured, pumping them hard and deep. "Don’t hold back now."

Her head tipped back against the wall, hands gripping his shoulders, nails biting through the fabric of his shirt. His thumb pressed against her clit, rubbing, teasing, pushing her closer and closer to the edge with every sharp movement.

"Thinkin’ about him now?" Harry taunted, voice low. "Bet you’re not."

She wasn’t.

She hated it, but she wasn’t.

All she could think about was Harry.

His fingers. His voice. The way he was taking what he wanted without a second thought.

Her whole body tensed, pleasure winding tight in her stomach.

And then he pulled away.

A whimper slipped out before she could stop it.

He grinned. "Not yet."

He undid his belt in a swift motion, shoved his jeans down just enough, and then he was lifting her completely, pressing her against the wall, spreading her open for him.

She barely had time to take a breath before he slammed into her.

"Fuck—"

She choked on a gasp, nails raking down his back as he filled her, stretched her in a way that made her legs shake.

There was no time to adjust.

No time to breathe.

He just fucked her.

Hard.

Desperate.

The wall scraped against her back with every sharp thrust, and she loved it.

His fingers bit into her thighs, holding her in place, making her take every inch, every punishing roll of his hips.

"You take me so fuckin’ well," he murmured, voice strained, lips dragging over her neck. "Like you need this."

She did.

God help her, she did.

She was close—so fucking close, and she knew he could feel it in the way she clenched around him, in the way her nails dug deeper, in the way her body arched.

"Say it," he ordered. "Say you’re mine."

Her breath stuttered.

He thrust harder. "Say it, Beth."

She swallowed the lump in her throat, her body screaming for release.

And then she broke.

"I’m yours."

He groaned, deep and guttural, and that was all it took.

Pleasure crashed through her, leaving her shaking, wrecked, gasping as he kept going, drawing it out until she had nothing left to give.

Moments later, he followed, hips jerking, a rough growl spilling from his throat as he came deep inside her.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Their breathing was heavy, erratic, mingling in the thick air between them.

Then, just like that, it was gone.

Harry pulled away, adjusted himself, ran a hand through his hair like nothing had happened.

Beth watched, still breathless, still reeling.

He met her eyes, his own dark, unreadable.

Then, with a smirk that made her stomach flip, he stepped back.

"See you around, love."

And then he was gone.

Leaving her wrecked, ruined, and still fucking wanting.

But worst of all?

She still wanted him.

She hated herself for it.

She hated him more.

Beth barely remembered leaving the party, barely registered the way the city lights blurred together in the back of her cab, the hum of Milan’s nightlife drowning out the noise in her head. Her body still felt him—his hands, his breath, the rough edge of his voice scraping against her skin.

It should have been enough.

It should have burned her out, smothered whatever slow, insidious pull had been building between them.

But it didn’t.

Because when she saw him again the next day, sitting in the green room of the arena, lounging like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t ruined her the night before—Beth realized something awful.

She wasn’t done with him yet.

--

Harry was different now.

Not in the way Beth had expected—not in the way most men got after a night like that.

There was no smugness, no knowing smirk, no self-satisfied arrogance that she could take a swing at.

Instead, he was… colder.

Distant. Detached. Like she was nothing more than a mild inconvenience, an insignificant blip on his radar.

He barely looked at her.

Didn’t acknowledge her when she walked into a room, didn’t spare her even a glance during soundcheck or press briefings.

And that should have been fine.

She should have been fine.

But the second she started talking to someone else—the second she so much as smiled in another man’s direction—Harry’s jaw would lock.

His shoulders would tense.

His fingers would curl around his drink, around his microphone, around anything to keep from doing something reckless.

Beth noticed.

And she made sure he knew it.

She leaned in closer when someone else made her laugh. Let her fingers linger just a little longer when she touched an arm. Tilted her head just right when she listened, knowing Harry was in the room, knowing he was watching even if he refused to look at her directly.

She wanted to prove a point.

If she was just a fuck, if she was nothing, then he shouldn’t care.

So why did he?

--

It happened in Paris.

Beth had been talking to a photographer, a harmless conversation, nothing she wasn’t allowed to do.

Harry had been across the room, pretending he didn’t give a shit.

Then suddenly, he wasn’t.

Suddenly, he was right there.

His hand closed around her wrist, fingers tight, his voice just low enough for only her to hear.

“Outside. Now.”

She blinked up at him, feigning innocence. “Excuse me?”

His grip didn’t loosen. “You heard me.”

For a second, she considered telling him to go to hell.

But she didn’t.

Because she wanted this too.

The door barely shut behind them before he was on her.

Teeth at her jaw, hands rough on her hips, shoving her against the brick wall of some dark alley behind the venue.

Beth gasped, but it wasn’t from shock.

She should have expected this.

She had wanted this.

“You’re a fucking brat,” Harry muttered against her skin, his voice thick with frustration, with heat, with something else she couldn’t name. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

Beth grinned, sharp and mean. “What am I doing, Harry?”

His fingers tightened.

“You think you can get a reaction out of me?” His teeth scraped her jaw. “Think you can make me jealous?”

Her breath hitched.

“So you admit it?” she whispered. “You were jealous?”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Because the way he touched her—rougher, filthier than before—told her everything she needed to know.

The first time had been about control. About proving a point.

This time?

This time, it was a need.

Desperate. Dirty. Addictive.

And neither of them could stop.

Every time they tried, they failed.

The silence never lasted. The distance never held.

Because the second they were in the same room again, the second their eyes locked across crowded spaces, it was already too late.

They had pulled each other under too many times to pretend they knew how to breathe without drowning.

Beth knew it was toxic.

Knew it in the way her hands trembled when she buttoned up her shirt in the dark, his warmth still clinging to her skin.

Knew it in the way Harry’s fingers curled into fists when he watched her leave, like he wanted to reach for her but refused to let himself.

Knew it in the way they never talked about it.

Because talking would make it real. Talking would force them to admit that it wasn’t just physical, wasn’t just convenience, wasn’t just a mistake they kept making over and over again.

But they didn’t stop.

Not when they should have.

Not even when the headlines started.

Not even when the whispers turned into full-blown rumors, twisting what they had into something uglier, something Beth couldn’t control.

She was losing pieces of herself to this, to him.

And Harry—Harry wasn’t losing anything.

Not his reputation. Not his career. Not his control.

She should have left before it reached this point—before it ripped through them like a wildfire, scorching everything in its path, leaving nothing but wreckage and ruin in its wake.

Before it bled into everything else.

Before it turned into this.

--

It happened in London, outside a sleek, high-end restaurant that reeked of old money and exclusivity—the kind of place Harry fit into effortlessly, where his name alone held weight, where he belonged.

Beth never had any interest in it. The glint of polished silverware, the hushed conversations over expensive wine, the way the air itself seemed thicker inside—like money had a scent, and it didn’t belong to people like her.

She hadn’t even wanted to come. Had told herself, promised herself, that she was done. That she wouldn’t let him do this to her again.

And yet, here she was.

The air outside was thick, muggy, summer pressing against her skin like a second layer, suffocating, clinging. A neon sign from across the street flickered, buzzing intermittently, painting the pavement in broken splashes of red light.

Harry stood a few steps away, pacing, hands raking through his already-messy curls. His jaw was locked, shoulders drawn tight, his frustration visible in the tense way he moved. He looked untouchable—towering, sharp, devastating in his black suit, the collar of his shirt slightly open like even it couldn’t handle the heat of the moment.

His eyes found hers—dark, searing, burning like embers about to catch.

“Are you seriously fucking mad at me for this?” His voice was low, taut, a thread stretched too thin, on the verge of snapping.

Beth folded her arms tightly across her chest, holding herself together. She could feel the anger, coiling hot in her stomach, winding through her like a slow, controlled burn. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

His lips pressed into a hard, thin line. “Enlighten me.”

She let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head. He didn’t care. He never fucking cared.

“Your team,” she spat, voice shaking despite her best efforts, “just made me look like some desperate, attention-seeking—”

“—that’s not what happened.”

“Really?” She stepped closer, chin tilting up defiantly, her eyes searching his face for something—anything. A flicker of regret. Understanding. A crack in the cold, calculated exterior he was so good at wearing. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like they threw me under the fucking bus to save your ass.”

The photos had hit the tabloids that morning.

Beth Monroe, clinging to Harry Styles. Beth Monroe, picking a fight in public. Beth Monroe, the problem.

Headlines twisting the truth, reshaping the narrative, turning her into something she wasn’t. His PR team had done what they always did—spun the story, cleaned up the mess, protected the asset.

Beth had been collateral damage.

Harry exhaled sharply through his nose, his gaze flicking away as if he couldn’t be bothered to deal with this. “Jesus, Beth, why do you care so much what people think?”

Her stomach twisted—not just at the words, but at how he said them.

Like it was nothing. Like she was nothing.

Like all of this—all the nights, all the touches, all the ways they’d clawed at each other, desperate and reckless—had meant absolutely fucking nothing to him.

And maybe it hadn’t. Maybe she had been fooling herself this entire time.

Something inside her snapped—something raw and fragile and past the point of saving.

“You know what?” She took a breath, forcing her voice to stay steady, forcing herself to hold his gaze even though it hurt. “I don’t. Not anymore.”

And before she could change her mind—before she could let him pull her back in—she turned around.

And for the first time, she didn’t look back.

It should have been a relief.

Should have felt like he had won.

But it didn’t.

Harry downed the rest of his drink, the ice clinking against the glass as he set it down with more force than necessary.

The neon lights of the club flickered above him, casting shadows along the crowded space. Smoke curled through the air, mixing with the thrum of bass vibrating through the floor, a heartbeat that wasn’t his. People surrounded him—laughter, touches, whispers—but none of it registered.

His third drink.

Or maybe his fourth.

He wasn’t keeping track. Didn’t need to.

Because Beth was gone.

And he should feel lighter. Should feel fucking free.

But instead, there was just this—this hollow, gnawing feeling in his chest, a slow rot that no amount of whiskey could burn away.

He had told himself it was just sex. That it was just a game.

A messy, reckless game they both played, fully aware of the rules.

So why the fuck was he still thinking about her?

Why did he still hear her voice—sharp and furious, echoing in his ears like an accusation he couldn’t shake?

I don’t. Not anymore.

Why did he still see her face when he closed his eyes—not the smirking, defiant expression she always wore when they fought, but the way she had looked at him that night—raw, open, hurt.

Why the fuck did that bother him?

Harry scoffed under his breath, shaking his head, reaching for another drink.

Fuck that.

She’d be back.

She always came back.

Wouldn’t she?

The weeks passed.

She didn’t call. Didn’t text. Didn’t show up at any more venues.

And no matter how many women he took home—no matter how many soft lips and unfamiliar hands he let touch him—it was never the same.

Because none of them were her.

None of them made him feel alive the way she did when she pushed him, when she fought him, when she stood her ground and refused to give in.

And for the first time, Harry realized—

He had fucked up.

Not just in the way he always did—careless, reckless, breaking things without thinking about the consequences.

No, this was different.

This was real.

This was Beth.

And he had let her slip through his fingers like she was nothing.

Like she hadn’t changed him.

Like she hadn’t fucking ruined him.

It took him weeks. Too many weeks.

Weeks of sleepless nights, of bitter drinks that burned as they went down, of meaningless encounters with women who weren’t her.

Weeks of ignoring the pit in his stomach whenever he reached for his phone and saw her name missing from his notifications.

Weeks of denying—lying to himself—until he couldn’t anymore.

Until it became impossible to pretend that this wasn’t more.

That she wasn’t everything.

So, he found her.

No cameras. No PR team carefully crafting the narrative. No staged apology meant to keep his image intact.

Just him.

Beth stood in the doorway of her apartment, eyes wary, lips pressed together like she wasn’t sure if she should slam the door in his face or let him inside just to yell at him.

She was in sweats, hair tied back, looking so soft and real and heartbreakingly beautiful that Harry had to clench his fists at his sides to stop himself from reaching for her.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You really have no concept of boundaries, do you?”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Would it help if I said I knocked first?”

Beth lifted a single, unimpressed brow.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.”

She sighed, exhaling heavily, fingers gripping the doorframe. “What do you want, Harry?”

Her voice was flat, tired—so fucking tired—and it hit him in the chest like a punch.

He did that.

He made her sound like that.

And maybe if she had been yelling, maybe if she had been angry, it would have been easier.

But this?

This quiet disappointment, this absence of fire, of fight—this was worse.

Because it meant she had already decided to let him go.

And he couldn’t have that.

He wouldn’t.

Harry swallowed, licking his lips, feeling the words crawl up his throat, unfamiliar and foreign and terrifying.

“I was afraid,” he admitted, voice rough, uneven. “You got too close.”

Beth’s gaze flickered, but she didn’t speak.

Didn’t stop him either.

“I didn’t—I don’t—” He let out a slow breath, shifting his weight. “You were supposed to be temporary, Beth.” His voice cracked on her name. “And I don’t want temporary anymore.”

Her eyes softened. Just a little.

But she didn’t let him off the hook.

Not yet.

She folded her arms across her chest, tilting her head. “So what? You came all this way just to tell me that?”

His jaw tightened. “Yeah.”

“And now you expect me to just—what? Forget everything? Pretend like you didn’t throw me to the wolves the second things got hard?”

“No.” His voice was hoarse. “I don’t expect that.”

Beth exhaled slowly, closing her eyes for a moment before she looked at him again, and fuck, he felt stripped bare under her gaze.

“I was falling for you,” she whispered, the words barely audible but lethal. “And you made me feel like I was nothing.”

His stomach dropped.

“I know,” he rasped. “And I’m—I’m so fucking sorry, Beth.”

She didn’t speak, but her fingers trembled where they curled around her sleeve.

Harry took a step closer.

Then another.

Until she was right there, close enough to touch, but he didn’t.

Not yet.

Instead, he just let himself be seen—raw, vulnerable, desperate in a way he had never allowed himself to be before.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, voice low, uneven. “But I want to try. I want you.”

Beth swallowed hard, blinking quickly, like she was trying to hold something back.

“Say it again.”

He frowned. “What?”

“Say it again,” she whispered.

Harry took a breath, steady and sure.

“I want you.”

Beth let out a shaky exhale, something breaking, fracturing between them—but this time, it wasn’t falling apart.

It was falling into place.

She didn’t answer.

Not with words.

But when she finally reached for him, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him down, letting him in—

He knew.

She wanted him too.

-

This isn’t like before.

It’s not fueled by resentment, not tangled in frustration or sharp-edged words.

It’s not an attempt to silence their own thoughts or to claim victory in an unwinnable battle.

This time, it’s different.

Because this time, they’re choosing each other.

And neither of them wants to pretend anymore.

It’s quiet.

Not the uneasy, tension-laced silence they used to share, but something softer. He’s brought her here—to his real place, not some impersonal hotel room or a shadowy corner where they could disappear without consequence.

It’s his space.

Dim lighting from the city outside filters through half-drawn blinds, painting warm, golden stripes across the floor. The air is thick, heavy with something unspoken, the echoes of every past moment clinging to the walls.

No noise from the outside world.

Just them.

And for the first time, that’s all they need.

They stand close but don’t touch—not yet.

It’s strange, this carefulness between them, this slow, deliberate restraint. For so long, everything between them has been about force, about taking, about dominance wrapped in lust.

But now—

His fingers reach for her, hesitant but certain, trailing the line of her jaw with an aching kind of reverence.

No roughness. No bruising grip.

Just a slow, featherlight touch, like he’s memorizing her, like he’s afraid to move too fast.

Beth’s breath stutters. She tilts her face into his touch, just barely, just enough to tell him that she wants this too.

When she opens her eyes, he’s already watching her.

Already waiting.

Already sure.

When he kisses her, it’s nothing like before.

Not an attempt to overpower, not a silent demand for control.

It’s soft.

Tentative, at first—like he’s rediscovering her, learning the shape of her lips, savoring her warmth. A slow slide of mouths, the quiet exhale of breath mingling between them.

And then—

The restraint fractures.

A low, desperate groan rumbles in his chest, and his hands move to her waist, pulling her closer, molding her against him. The kiss deepens, turns hungry, but it’s not about possession anymore.

It’s need.

It’s want.

It’s everything they’ve never allowed themselves to feel.

Her fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him down into her, and he lets her. Lets her take as much as she wants.

He doesn’t rush.

Doesn’t tear at her clothes like before, doesn’t drag fabric over her skin like it’s just another obstacle to get through.

He takes his time.

Fingers skimming her shoulders, down the length of her arms, over her ribs. He lingers, watching her, drinking her in like he’s seeing her for the first time.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice rough with something raw, something that sounds like awe.

Her breath catches.

She should feel exposed. Vulnerable.

But the heat in his gaze doesn’t make her feel bare.

It makes her feel wanted.

She reaches for him then, pulling at his shirt, sliding her hands over warm, firm skin, feeling the steady, grounding beat of his heart beneath her palms.

He lets her undress him too.

No rush. No urgency.

Just this.

Just them.

He takes his time.

Worships her with his hands, his mouth, his tongue, exploring every inch like he’s memorizing her, like he never wants to forget the way she feels beneath him.

His fingers trace the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the softness of her inner thigh.

He doesn’t hurry.

Doesn’t just take.

He gives.

She fists the sheets when he drags his mouth lower, when he pauses to watch her reaction, when he smirks against her skin at the way she shifts, needy, impatient.

She doesn’t want to beg. Not this time.

But when his mouth finally touches her, warm and devastatingly slow—

She does.

He doesn’t rush her to the edge.

He builds it.

His mouth works her over with precision, savoring every shudder, every gasp, every quiet, breathless plea.

His hands hold her open, steadying her, grounding her, keeping her exactly where he wants her.

He watches her the entire time.

Doesn’t look away.

Not when she trembles.

Not when she cries out his name.

Not when she finally, finally falls apart beneath him.

He just holds her gaze, dark and unwavering, like he’s making damn sure she knows—

This means something.

When he finally slides into her, it’s different.

No rough, frantic pace. No bruising hands.

Just this.

Just the slow, deliberate push of his hips, deep and measured, drawing a gasp from her lips.

He stills for a moment, presses his forehead against hers, breathing her in, grounding himself in the feel of her.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders, her nails dragging lightly over his skin.

Not clawing.

Not marking.

Just holding.

He moves then.

Not just fucking—making love.

Every slow thrust feels like a confession.

Every whispered “mine” against her lips feels like a promise.

And this time—

She doesn’t fight it.

She lets him have her.

And takes him in return.

No rush to leave.

No scramble for clothes.

No silence.

Just this.

Just them, tangled in sheets that smell like them, his arms heavy around her, his fingers tracing slow, mindless patterns against her back.

For the first time, he stays.

For the first time, she lets him.

There’s a pause. A deep, quiet moment where neither of them speaks.

Then—

“You’re mine now, aren’t you?”

His voice is quiet. Certain.

Beth doesn’t hesitate.

She shifts closer, presses her lips against his jaw, and breathes him in.

“Yeah, Harry.”

A slow smile tugs at his lips.

She watches it spread, watches the tension leave his body, watches the way he finally lets himself believe it.

“I am.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

taglist:

@oscahpastry, @mema10, @angelbabyyy99, @iloveharrystyles04, @cinemharry, @drwho06, @donutsandpalmtrees, @panini, @mads3502; @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa, @one-sweet-gubler, @rizosrizos26, @ciriceimpera, @everyscarisahealingplace, @hello-heyhi, @sexymfharriet, @lizsogolden, @hannah9921, @chicabonitasblog, @huhidontknowstuff, @berrywoods1245, @jennovaaa, @angeldavis777, @prettygurl-2009, @almostcontentcreator, @run-for-the-hills, @maudie-duan, @dipmeinhoneyh, @harrrrystylesslut, @georgiarose94, @stylestarkey, @watarmelon212, @ hopefullimaginer123, @fangirl509east

[cambankromyy]

THE ISLAND LOOKOUT (pt.4): bonfire debrief - (smau & irl au) childhood bsf!rafe cameron x thornton!reader

series masterlist; general masterlist; taglist

part 3 - part 4 - part 5

present day, 2 years since starting kooked.out;

the island lookout had backed off from posting about the group for a while. ever since kooked.out had kicked off, you’d been showing the world everything you were up to before they even had the chance—parties, random adventures, all of it. and whatever wasn’t posted on your page, they’d cover, but the things were so minor, and started to feel like the same old thing. eventually, the posts about you four slowed down.

that was until today. last night’s bonfire had been one of the biggest of the year—end of summer, peak tourist season, which also meant a whole lot of attention. things were about to get interesting again.

it was mostly typical night for the pogues; jj doing something stupid like always, drinking, and laughter. what wasn't, was john b turning every girl throwing themselves at him away, and instead wanting to enjoy a "quiet night". and as the pogues do, calling him out on it.

pogues groupchat, kie, jj, cleo, pope, from jb's perspective;

the kooks were too busy recovering from last night's chaos—fighting off hangovers, dealing with random texts from people they barely knew, and trying to avoid the heat of the day. phones were barely on their radar until sarah happened to check a notification that was actually relevant.

just like that, the island lookout had their eyes glued to the four; once again.

the post wasn't what mattered. it was the fact they knew this was just the start. the start of constant coverage of every. little. thing that happened in their lives, just like it was 2 years ago when they had just started posting.

except now, island lookout had audiences beyond the island. kooked.out fans had slowly started finding the twitter account, as followers from obx would fill the comment sections talking about "island lookout could never". now not only could fans access what they chose to post, they could see what everyone else was saying about them.

and whats a better solution than to drink your feelings away?

an; tags under the cut!!

tags: @italk2god @angelicameron @marleymarleymarleymarley, @queenvane64, @raeven-marie43 @idiotussupremus @sereneera @yesshewrites1 @inlovewithchriss @ethanthequeefqueen @amterasuu @popou61 @frankocealuvr11 @drewsstars @yannew @anothertimegirl @flvredcas @yootvi @mrsdrewstarkeyy @niaunofficial @cooper8224 @rafegetinmybed @pogueprincesa @Chillgal135 @6r4cie

[nexility-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟑   ❛ 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐬 ❜   |   RIVA DORATA, TARTOSA, MAY 1998

While serious publications prepared to cover the most prestigious premieres, interpret the thoughtful commentary of illustrious casts, and divine the future of cinema from the awards race, most people would encounter the Tartosa International Film Festival in pop culture. Accordingly, executives at entertainment giants Day One and MondoVibe had an unprecedented idea. Stephany Fox was as ubiquitous in Simerican culture news as her Tartosan counterpart, Giannino Adimari. Putting them together on one screen had never occurred to anyone. It was a smart move—an intercultural novelty, like the festival itself, that blended respective knowledge, style, and personas for a global audience. It was a lucrative move, too, with collaboration translating directly into cheap, constant, breathless coverage.

Entertainment, the spectacle and celebrity, piqued general interest more than the artistry. Everyday consumers may venture out to see a movie months later—perhaps Captivated for horror fans or Into the Wild for romantics, although sexy, gritty, action-packed thrillers like The Last Con and The Phoenix invariably outsold them these days—but wouldn’t recall having seen them first in festival coverage. On daytime television or in grocery store aisles, what they noticed were the famous and beautiful people whose names they, somehow, already knew. They tuned in for salacious gossip about their personal lives, all torrid affairs with co-stars and spiraling substance abuse and workplace calamities swept under the foreign label of “creative differences.” Photographs of attractive faces and physiques, glamorous attire, and adoring crowds caught the eye. Cheeky headlines shouting half-truths held it long enough to ensure they glimpsed an advertisement or two. If they wouldn’t flip to page six or sit down for a full segment, they would at least pause with a wistful gaze to wish they, too, were arriving in sunny Tartosa.

𝟭𝟵𝟵𝟰 🅐🅤 ‣ start \ prev \ next

big thank you to those who opted into this part !

@sirianasims @armoricaroyalty @theroyalsofcorrilea @earthmoonz @crvptydgaming @houseofrenaldi @simsishh @nilonne @crownsofesha

TRANSCRIPT:

STEPHANY | Hello from Day One, live in Tartosa! I’m Stephany Fox— GIANNINO | —and I’m Giannino Adimari, for MondoVibe! STEPHANY | It’s the first day of Tartosa’s annual International Film Festival. We’re at Riva Dorata this morning and, as you can see, a crowd’s already gathered on this beautiful overlook.

STEPHANY | The Tartosa Grand Hotel is well-known for its gorgeous views. The hotel’s signature speedboats ferry guests here from the mainland, meaning anyone can arrive in style, but— GIANNINO | And, actually, the Tartosa Grand Hotel is impossible to get into this time of year. Why? It’s reserved for the festival’s most special guests: golden ticket holders, the invitees.

STEPHANY | That’s right. Every other hotel and inn in Riva Dorata is booked up, too—it’s the people in this crowd, maybe with tickets to see the new films but most likely here to do some celebrity-spotting. This overlook is a go-to area for tourists and locals alike.

STEPHANY | Life in Riva Dorata is typically languid, relaxed, and quiet, but it comes alive in a new way for this springtime festival. GIANNINO | The locals are used to the fanfare and take pride in welcoming everyone—new faces from other places but also Tartosan artists here for a homecoming as well.

STEPHANY | He’s here with composer Lee Thompson and up-and-coming actress, Sierra Moss. Moss co-stars in The Last Con, a classic dramatic thriller from Teresa Salame. Thompson scored Hudson Waverly’s irreverent comedy, Trash Tease, also premiering this week.

GIANNINO | Which, oh, can I give my personal opinion, Stephany? STEPHANY | [Chuckles] I can’t stop you— GIANNINO | Waverly is a genius, and maybe a comedy deserves to finally win the Golden Laurel this year. STEPHANY | Maybe. That’s for this year’s jury to decide.

STEPHANY | The invite list has more than just industry people, though. While film folks are representing the “international” spirit of the festival, ambassadors in the form of bonafide royalty do it in a different way. GIANNINO | See, there’s the Renaldis from nearby Saocossaint looking stylish and ready for some festival fun! STEPHANY | Vivica Haywood is over there—a celebrity stylist, here as one of this year’s “friend of the panel” guest.

STEPHANY | Armorican actress Anita Garcia is a panel guest as well. GIANNINO | Can you tell us what that means, Stephany? STEPHANY | Organizers, led by producer and festival president Sanja Dinapoli, as well as artistic director Bruno Raffaele Como, send two kinds of invites: to those screening films and to “friends of the panel.” People who will, as they say, “enhance the festival.”

GIANNINO | There, Max Kyle and Lena Scott! They were on MondoVibe’s festival “ones to watch” list. Plus a spread in Vogue Simerica last month and a profile on Scott Group in Venture before that. STEPHANY | Kyle’s screening an important documentary. It’s wonderful to see people who have such immense success in really powerful sectors put their energy toward, not just the arts, but social justice. GIANNINO | Ah, yes, true. Fashion is icing on the cake!

GIANNINO | Speaking of fashionable people: another princess! STEPHANY | Many countries are represented at the festival, some unofficially like with Princess Leonor of Uspana. She’s attending as a plus-one for an A-list invitee, Renzo Ledford. He’s debuting two films— GIANNINO | Maybe making up for time away building a family with the princess! MondoVibe covered that. Two movies, two babies! STEPHANY | How about that?

STEPHANY | The most esteemed arrival today is Queen Nicola of Corrilea, who has been a fixture of the global film industry for, well, six decades. She’s an active member of Corrilea’s royal family but also the boards of several festivals, including Tartosa’s.

GIANNINO | And cameras love her just as much now as they did before her retirement! A living legend. Maybe the fountain of youth isn’t just a myth after all, and she—

STEPHANY | Here’s Yuling Zhao. She’s premiering a buzzy period drama. Having already established herself as a talented storyteller, it— GIANNINO | Kiara Bello! Tartosan beauty. Why haven’t we seen her on screen lately? I blame the comedian, who many say isn’t even funny— STEPHANY | Maybe inspiring attendees, like Yuling Zhao, can get her back on screen soon. The festival is famous for networking.

GIANNINO | What comes after this parade, Stephany? STEPHANY | The board and jury meet while these stars settle in behind the hotel’s walls. Of course, we can assume many won’t get much rest before the big opening dinner this evening. GIANNINO | Hair and makeup! If we’re lucky, we may glimpse some black tie outfits while they’re filing into Palazzo Ofelia.

STEPHANY | Oh, look, Tyler’s starting her snap interviews soon. GIANNINO | Rae Donovan! Now, this is a big comeback year for her. STEPHANY | And, when we come back: over to you, Tyler.

[issteelballrunconfirmed]

thank you very much for the outpouring of love i’ve been getting in light of the SBR announcement! i appreciate it more than i can really but into words - but i’m glad we’ve all been on this journey together.

i’m going out with my family for a little bit (and taking a break from the constant jojo coverage), but i’ll be back later today to answer the asks that have been coming in and to show off some of the new information coming out about the SBR anime. i’m still in shock if i’m being entirely honest but… it’s finally real. i’ve been waiting years for this.

see you guys later! 💚

[ssuburban-legendss]

please, please, please | m.v

summary: it's race week in hungary and the house of red bull is breaking down 

word count: 3k+

- July 20th, 2024. Hungary. -

There was nothing like a race weekend.

Milliseconds seemed to stretch for lifetimes, and a mere blink could last for an eternity. The hum of blood rushing in one’s ears, the burning, beating heart… it was everything. Every race was just as thrilling as it was terrifying and tense. 

Even now—even after years of living between breaths, you still weren’t used to the singing adrenaline. Maybe you never would be. 

How could one get used to screaming wheels and blinding lights? How could one stand that ache in the chest and tension of the heart? And how could you overcome the worry and fear that consumed your very being every time Max stepped into that car? 

Oh, Max. 

You sat in the garage, staring up at the live feed and cradling a crackling headset over your ears. Around you, various crew members were watching the televisions closely or busying themselves with screens and tools. Everyone else was along the pit wall, crafting magic in real-time. 

Part of you wished that you could listen to their live chatter instead of the F1 TV broadcast, but an even greater part of you knew that such constant and unfiltered coverage would make your head spin. There was already too much happening on television; you didn’t need extra noise.

In some ways, qualifying was worse than the actual race. The desperation for a faster lap, the frustration, and the bubbling tension. Some days, it was just too much. And today, with the rain and the endless media coverage… 

Maybe you needed more coffee.

“Mate, I don’t think we can improve like this.” Max’s voice crackled across your headphones, flooding through your ears and sparking your nerves alight. He sounded… nervous. Or maybe it was tension. You weren’t sure, but neither emotion was appealing.

Even from a distance, you could imagine the furrow between Max’s brow and the slight pout of his lip. His every expression was known to you, but what good would that do now? You felt trapped behind glass, watching him spin circles as his voice echoed in your ears. The only person that could reach him now was GP, and even then…

The past few weeks had been tense. Between the constant media attention and the slow decline in form, cracks were beginning to sprout in the marble pillars of Red Bull’s house. Even Max seemed less sure lately, falling behind on the circuits he once called home. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to forget the exhaustion in his voice. It was only Q1, yet it felt like you had been here for days.

“What’s your concern?” GP responded, his tone steady and smooth. “The temperatures or the…”

“The rain! The rain!” Max shouted back, instantly turning all nerves into boiling blood and burning rage. The sharpness of his words made you cringe, and a slight nervous nausea began to bloom in your stomach. Oh dear. A million thoughts rushed through your head at once, mixing into a crumbled cloud of anxiety. 

It was hard to pull Max back down once the frustration bubbled over. There was no such thing as “Mad Max”—at least not to you, but the anger was real, and it was hard to take or tame. And it was unending. Rage clouded some people’s judgment, but not Max. If anything, he seemed to find clarity in burning breath and bitter words. The ache and anger could keep him going for hours on end—lap after lap. But it also sent him spiraling downward, lost in his head and a faraway place you couldn’t find. He was unreachable in those moments, and you hated it. 

“Okay, calm down, Max.” GP replied, “Then, if you’re concerned about the rain, we can box. We can come back to the garage, it’s not a problem—“

Another voice cut through the conversation, screaming in your headset and flashing across the live feed, “Perez!”

You refocused your attention on the present and scanned the screens, looking for the F1 News Feed. At last, your eyes landed on the television, and the camera zoomed in hungrily on Checo’s smoking car. 

Red Flag.

One of the workers along the barrier gave a thumbs up. Okay. He was okay. A strangely tense sigh left your throat. 

“One Red Bull driver being calmed down on the radio, the other one—in the part of the track that we were just referencing—finds the barrier. And as a driver under pressure coming into the weekend—“

You turned off your headset and ignored the rest of the broadcast. Checo was fine, and that was all that mattered. You made a mental note to call Carola later and tried to keep your face indifferent and easy. You were certain that cameras were scanning the garage now, looking for some misplaced expression or glance to sensationalize into another disaster or distraction. 

Oh, disaster. 

One Red Bull driver being calmed down on the radio... You heard the commentary echoing in your head over and over. Was everyone thinking the same thing as you? Was everyone worried that Max was slipping into inconsolable anger? He had never been good at hiding his frustration, but now was not the time for such lapses in judgment. You mentally begged for his ease of heart but knew such things were impossible. The stress was beginning to cut into everyone’s skin. 

After a few moments, Max returned to the garage and his car was pulled back into place. Now, all anyone could do was hurry up and wait. 

It was hard being so close to Max and yet so far away. Being in the garage was a blessing, but sometimes it felt like you were forced apart and held at arm's length. Sometimes, the two of you could talk between sessions and during 

breaks, but it was probably best to stay out of everyone’s way with things so tense. 

Before you could search for a distraction, however, one of the engineers waved you over and nodded to Max’s car. A helmet covered the man’s face, and it was hard to focus completely on anything, but the message of his gesture was clear: pep talk time. 

Oh. That bad, huh?

You wove your way through the mess of technology and restless bodies and found yourself beside the still humming car. Endless words drifted around your head, but choosing the right thing to say felt impossible. Things had been tense for weeks, and today felt like the final straw. Control was slipping, and Max was sinking back into the unease of his youth. You could already see the headlines and tweets. You could already see the comments under your posts. You could already hear the commentary. Mad Max. Mad Max. Mad Max.

Taking a deep breath, you stuck your head into the cockpit and flipped up Max’s visor, trying to seem bubbly and calm—yet Max was already glaring. 

“Hi.” You said, making sure to enunciate the word. He couldn’t hear you, but it didn’t matter—you just wanted to see him, and you hoped that was enough. 

Max blinked, his blond eyelashes fluttering against his flushed cheeks. His gaze softened slightly at your words, but the ice in his eyes didn’t melt entirely. Hi. 

A million words flashed through your mind. What now? What could you possibly say now that would change all this? How did you pull Max back from the edge? Thousands of statistics and hundreds of practiced speeches floated through your thoughts, but none seemed good enough. All you could think about was the tension in his voice and the mocking commentary and—

“I love you.” Your heart spoke without permission, pulling forth the only thing that truly mattered. “I love you, okay?”

A slight crease wove between Max’s brow as he watched your mouth—trying to decode your words through the senseless sound. After a delayed second, realization twinkled in his eyes, and he smiled. Instantly, the cold glare faded from his gaze, and he seemed like your Max again, with flushed cheeks and crinkling eyes under the blinding garage lights. I love you, too.

———

Later that night, the waves of uncertainty returned. 

P3. 

The position rattled around in your head and made your heart sting. Last year, this race had been easy. Though qualifying had ended with Lewis on pole, Max had regained the position on Sunday and crafted a lead of thirty-three seconds. That had been his best gap all season. So, how had thirty-three seconds turned into P3? Of course, the position wasn’t terrible, but something was definitely wrong. Everything felt wrong these days. You just hoped that Max would keep his head long enough to correct it. 

You glanced across the table, carefully observing the strain in Max’s expression. His brows were furrowed and tense, hanging low over his eyes and casting deep shadows across his face. Even his gaze seemed cloudy, as the clear blue-green of his eyes appeared dull and distant. An exhausted flush still stained his cheeks, but the red made him look sickly and sad in the fading daylight. 

Seeing him like this was agony. 

The media and the internet could rave about “Mad Max” all they wanted, yet you saw the truth in the dim light of his trailer. The anger and sharp edges masked a trembling lip and bleary eyes.   Your Max was lost somewhere in his head, caught between the kart from years before and the car of today—and it hurt. 

“You did your best.” You said, pushing scraps of dinner around on your plate. “It’s just a hard run, yeah?” Despite yourself, your voice cracked. It had been at least an hour since either of you spoke, and between the emotion and strain, your words shattered in the tense air. 

“It’s a shit run.” Max corrected sharply, pointing his spoon at you, “I don’t think everyone understands that. It’s a fucking shit run.” Though his eyes were set on your face, Max’s gaze seemed miles away, and the bitterness of his words felt directionless. 

Still angry, then. Not your Max, just Mad Max. 

“I wasn’t trying to pick a fight, m’just saying,” You replied, pushing his accusing spoon away with yours, “You just do your best tomorrow. News said there shouldn’t be rain, so that’ll be good.” 

Max huffed, unconvinced and frustrated, “We’ll see.” 

He was fighting with himself again, battling ghosts in his chest and competing against a past that would never truly fade. Yet the sinking spiral and flames of rage wouldn’t do any good. The media was crazy enough right now, and frankly, you felt crazy too. You needed him beside you, and you needed him to be calm. You wanted your Max back. If the car, the team, and the whole thing were going to hell, you just wanted him to make it out. 

You thought about Carola, stuck at home while her husband’s car smoked and sizzled on live TV. You didn’t want to remember how that felt. You didn’t want to recall the trembling hands and shaking breath. You needed Max steady and safe. Mad Max crashed cars and sent your head spinning—your Max needed to be something more.

With a tired sigh, you leaned across the table and kissed his cheek, relishing in the warmth of his skin below your lips. Some of the tension in his expression melted below your touch, “Just be good, please.” You breathed, hoping the warmth of your words against his flushed face would find a place in his heart. “And safe.” 

Max pulled back and smiled a little too brightly—his eyes glittering with mischief, “I’m very good.” 

With a huff, you sat back down and gave him a playful kick under the table, “Yeah, right. You’re yelling at GP, and suddenly everyone on Twitter is going on about Mad—“

“It’s actually X.” Max corrected in a superior tone. 

“Don’t start.” You tried to sound serious, but a teasing smile bloomed on your face, and laughter bubbled from your chest. It was nice to see him relaxed, even just a little. “I’m trying to scold you.”

With a laugh, Max leaned back in his chair and stretched slightly, reaching for something unseeable. The casual motion and the gentle crinkle of his face eased you a little, soothing something in your pounding heart. This is the Max you needed on the track tomorrow—this is the Max you needed in the media pen and in the garage. This is the Max that would live long enough to come home. 

“I’m going to play,” Max said, breaking your spiraling thoughts, “You’ll come?”

You glanced at your watch. It was getting late, but you hadn’t spent extended time together in weeks. You hummed and gave in, “Sure, just for a bit.”

Max beamed, and suddenly, everything was worth it—the extra coffee you’d have to drink tomorrow, the extra time you’d have to spend getting ready. It was all worth five more seconds of peace and grins. Still smiling, Max pressed several disorganized kisses to your face until you were beaming, too. 

———

Max’s gaming room was connected to the main living space, overflowing with electronics and blinking lights. 

You trailed behind Max, swinging your linked hands and flicking on your phone so you could scroll through social media. The qualifying results consumed most of your feed, as did senseless speculation.

“Did you get a look at Checo’s car?” You asked, still looking at your phone and curling into a chair beside the computer. “I’m sure the boys will be up all night on that.” 

Max let go of your linked hands and settled into his seat. From this angle, you were just out of the camera’s vision, but still within Max’s peripheral. Though he hardly spared anything else a glance during streams or gaming sessions, you quickly realized that he didn’t like being alone. Max seemed more at ease even when the two of you simply sat in silence. Besides, you didn’t really like being on camera anyway—the very last thing Red Bull needed right now was extra attention or scrutiny. The common narrative that having a girlfriend only distracted athletes always arrived just in time to bite you in the ass. You didn’t need that right now. Max didn’t need that right now. You were barely hanging on as it was. 

“Might have to start in the pit tomorrow,” Max said, slowly flipping switches and bringing his computer to life. For a moment, it seemed like he might say something else, but he simply shrugged, “Shit weekend.” 

You hummed, scrolling through your phone and trying to change the subject. He had relaxed slightly after dinner, and you didn’t want him falling back into despair and rage, “How long you got until lights out?”

During race weekends, every second was meticulously arranged. Meals were crafted according to specific weight and energy requirements, interviews were slotted between breaths, and curfew was enforced so drivers met perfectly planned out sleep schedules. 

Technically, you weren’t even allowed in here after dark, but you and Max stole seconds whenever possible. 

“Don’t care,” Max replied, shooting you a pleased, dazzling grin. 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, trying to fight a scarlet blush, “Alright.”

His manager would certainly have something to say about that, but you let it go. There was no point in arguing. It had been a long day for both of you, and this was how Max relaxed—video games and vitriol. 

The following two hours passed by in a blink. Max played and chatted with his friends while you relished in the happiness of his cheers and the joy in his laughter. He seemed most himself in these moments—late at night, away from the garage and speaking nonsense with his friends. He loved racing, you knew he loved racing, but in soft seconds like this, you wished he would just retire. You would give anything to sit with him all day long, intertwining your legs under the table and smiling while he laughed. You would give anything just to kill time with him. 

Eventually, though, your yawns and bleary eyes won out over your heart. You needed sleep. He needed sleep. Ugh, if only you could sleep here. How much was that fine again? 

Unwilling to find out, you sent Max a text: Camera Off. 

After a slight delay, a chime sounded through the room, and Max glanced sideways at his phone. Without hesitation, he mumbled a quick dismissal and switched off his camera and microphone. 

“What?” He blinked at you, hanging on your every word. For a second, he seemed tense—still half on the track. 

“I gotta go,” You said, standing. “Getting late.” You reached for Max’s face and brushed a light touch along his cheek, trying to memorize the curves of his features to hold you off until tomorrow. Oh, how you wished the ease in his eyes would last forever. 

“Going to bed?” He asked, leaning into your touch immediately and staring up at you with electric blue-green eyes. He wanted you to stay. 

You laughed lightly, gently combing a hand through his hair and twisting blond strands around your fingertips, “I was gonna call Carola but m’tired. I should be sleeping. You too. Long day tomorrow.”

Max rolled his eyes, though the gesture had no malice behind it, just playful exhaustion. He leaned forward and rested his chin on your stomach with a childish sigh and slight pout, “Whatever.”

His easy closeness made your neck flush with warmth, and suddenly, that imaginary fine didn’t seem so steep. All reason and reality melted away as your eyes scanned the sunspots on his face and traced the twinkling in his eyes. 

Then you remembered the yelling, Checo’s crash, reporters, endless speculation, and… You needed to stay focused. 

Summer break was coming up fast. You could wait until summer break. All the light and laughter in the world could wait a few more days. 

“I’ll see you later,” You said, running your fingertips across his features, “Go to bed soon, okay? Please.”

“Okay,” Max said brightly—definitely lying. He quickly kissed the inside of your wrist as you traced an invisible line down his nose, “Night.”

There was no such thing as “Mad Max”—at least not to you, at least not right now. 

“Night.”

[bestaez]

Don't Fear the Reaper

Scream AU

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: yandere, horror/thriller

warnings: murder, graphic violence, mature themes, obsessive behavior, sexual content

word count: 13k

summary/preview: Just a year since your brother’s brutal murder, bad luck seems to strike again in your once-peaceful hometown. It seems as if death wants to follow you as it finds its next victim in one of your school friends. The more the murders start to connect, you begin to wonder if it really could be just a copycat killer or if the wrong man was imprisoned.

quick note: this is very unedited so pls excuse any mistakes!! ty🖤

It had been almost a year since your brother’s death and you still couldn’t believe it was real. His bedroom door had been practically sealed shut, neither you nor your father daring to venture inside. The sight of his empty room getting dusty would have just made it that much more real - something the both of you didn’t need as the constant news coverage had done enough of that job already.

It wasn’t necessarily that you were so distraught over Seowon’s death that you couldn’t come to terms with it. He was your older brother, your own blood, but that didn’t mean the two of you had been the closest siblings. You would describe your relationship over the years as lukewarm at best. You loved him because he was your brother but you never truly felt like you knew him. It was also hard to mourn with news vans following you everywhere you went.

The part that was hard to believe was the way in which he had died. He had been found in the woods near your house with seventeen stab wounds. It didn’t make any sense. Your brother had been a star football player at your school, part of the popular crowd. He was well-liked amongst students and teachers. You didn’t think anyone had a bad opinion of him. It’s possible he had rivals especially in sports or romances but nothing that would warrant murder.

Initially, there had been a lot of speculation in the town and you had heard all the rumors, including the one where your father had killed him in a fit of rage. You knew it could never be true; your father had been devastated by your brother’s death. He had been emotionless before, but now he was just a shell of the man he was. And whoever said loss could bring people closer had obviously never met your father.

The truth was that your father had always been emotionally closed for as long as you had known him. Your mother had died from complications after your birth and though he had never voiced it, you knew that he had resented you for being the cause of your mother’s death. At times, you wished you had never been born because living with the guilt had been too much to bear especially living with a father who never forgave you for it. 

When the police eventually did find a suspect, you were shocked to say the least. Min Yoongi was a few years older than you and had already graduated when the murder weapon as well as your brother’s blood on his clothing was found. He had always been a serious guy and if you asked most people, they would say they had always believed he kept skeletons in his closet. You knew he was a bit of a recluse, but you never would have guessed he was capable of murder. The motive they came up with was that Yoongi had been jealous of your brother’s popularity and mixed with his own mental instability, things inevitably came to a day and he decided to act out his aggressions.

Many people wanted to know your side of it, whether you believed the story and whatnot. You had mostly stayed silent on the matter, unlike your father who had screamed at Yoongi in court and had to be dragged out of the room. You can still remember the stares you got from everyone that day - it was the same look you got from most of the town and your classmates. A mix of pity, curiosity, and judgment.

It was safe to say you hadn’t been looking forward to this time of year. The true crime fanatics had seemingly been ramping up their shenanigans, hoping to possibly find some clue that would connect more of the dots. The stares you always felt in town and at school hadn’t lessened and seemed to be picking up a bit more in recent weeks as the anniversary drew closer.

Which is why most nights, you would find yourself holed up in your bedroom where it was calmer. Much to your best friend's dismay, as she would always try to drag you away to some party or school outing. Haena hated it when you closed yourself off and didn’t believe in wallowing alone. In her eyes, it was as if your introvertedness was just a sickness that she had to cure.

The only person who understood your feelings was your boyfriend, Taehyung. He, too, was a bit of a homebody and didn’t mind staying in with you most nights. He did have more friends and liked to party, but he never pressured you to go out. Part of you believed he enjoyed having you all to himself that way and for some reason you didn’t mind it.

You don’t know how you got so lucky getting a boyfriend like Taehyung. He was so dreamy with dark black locks that were often tucked behind his ear and matching dark eyes that seemed to always be on you. He was an artist and could often be found wearing distressed jeans and sweaters with little splotches of paint here and there. He was extremely affectionate, always having to have his hands on you some way or another.

The two of you met in freshman year art class where you had quickly realized you had no business holding a paintbrush, much to Taehyung’s amusement. He would offer to fix up your paintings when the teacher wasn’t looking and was the only reason you ended up passing. It wasn’t until a little after that semester that the two of you started dating.

A low tapping interrupted your thoughts as you sat in bed, almost too quiet to hear over the television playing in your room. You got up to investigate, pulling your curtains open to see none other than Taehyung leaning up against your window using a ladder to get up here. You weren’t even sure if that ladder was yours but you were glad your window didn’t face the street where others could see.

You opened the window as you spluttered in shock, stepping back to allow him room to clamber inside. You held your breath as you kept an ear out to make sure your dad hadn’t heard his nosy arrival, eyes trained on the door like he would bust in any moment.

“What are you doing here?” You hissed once you had regained your composure.

“What, I can’t visit my girlfriend?” Taehyung pouted. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too but if my dad catches you-” “He won’t.” Taehyung cut you off, leveling you with his beautiful dark eyes as he leaned closer to you on the bed. “I’m stealthy.”

You breathed out a sigh, at a loss for words from his sudden close proximity. He reminded you of a tiger the way he stared you down like you were prey. You were so mesmerized by him you had missed him inching closer until you could feel his breath on your lips.

“Tae-” You tried to stop him but he shushed you, pressing his mouth to yours.

Taehyung was your first serious boyfriend and there hadn’t been a single dull moment in your relationship yet. For you, every new experience you had with him had been a thrill. But there was only so many heated makeouts you two could have before you knew he would want to do more. He understood you were inexperienced and was willing to wait but you wondered how much longer before he cracked.

As if on cue, his hand grazed your thigh lightly as if to test the waters. When you didn’t stop him, he grew more confident and raised it until it reached your hip, squeezing gently. You appeared calm on the outside but on the inside, your heart was racing.

He pulled back a bit to look you in the eyes, licking his lips as he smirked. “I can feel your heartbeat.”

Your eyes widened in embarrassment as you quickly sat up, covering your cheeks as you felt them heating. You had hoped it wouldn’t have been so obvious. Why couldn’t you just be normal? 

“Still so nervous around me after all this time,” He chuckled wryly, lifting a hand to remove the ones covering your face. His fingers caressed your cheek as he gazed at you. “What can I do to make you more comfortable, baby?”

“I’m sorry.” You breathed, feeling your heart skip at all the intense eye contact. “I just need more time.”

“Don’t be sorry. I told you I would wait.” He gave you a small smile, leaning in to give you another kiss. He brushed a hand through your hair before pulling away and making his way back over to the window.

You watched him begin his descent back down to the ground before an idea popped into your head. You don’t know where the sudden confidence came from but the sight of his retreating back made you want to try something.

“Taehyung,” You called out from the window once he had made it all the way down. He looked back up at you curiously, his eyebrows raised in question. “Something to hold you over for now?”

You didn’t wait for him to reply before you lifted your shirt up, exposing your breasts to him from down below. You waited a few nerve wracking seconds before pulling it back down, giggling nervously as you did.

His look of pure shock made it all worth it, preventing any possible embarrassment from flooding into your system. You could tell your stunt had rendered him speechless for a moment, if the choked sputters coming from him were anything to go by.

“I think you just made it worse.” He finally spoke, his voice deep and chilling. You laughed loudly, moving to shut your window closed.

*****

When you arrived at school the next day, the atmosphere was tenser than usual. You were used to people whispering around you but this was different. People seemed to be more huddled in groups. It was as if there was some unseen sinister presence that had arrived. You weren’t sure if you could just blame it on the seasons changing but there definitely seemed to be a chill in the air this morning.

A hand grabbing your arm on your way through the courtyard startled you, your heart jumping only to see it was just Haena. Her eyes were wide as she squeezed your forearm urgently. You could tell just by her expression that whatever was going on was serious.

“Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Your confusion was obvious as you watched realization dawn on her.

“You haven’t heard...” She paused as if trying to find the right words, biting her lip unsurely. “YN, some students were murdered last night.”

“What? Who?” The shock spread throughout your body like a numbness, your extremities feeling cold all of the sudden.

“Park Jimin and Yoon Iseul.”

You weren’t sure if any names that could possibly come out of her mouth would not come as a shock but this just floored you. Jimin and Iseul were the school’s power couple. Everyone was in love with them or wanted to be their friend. The correlation between their deaths and your brother’s wasn’t lost on you. Could it be a copycat killer? You didn’t want to think of the alternative - that Yoongi had been wrongfully imprisoned.

“That must be why everyone is acting so strange today.” You mumbled mindlessly, hearing the words coming out of your mouth but not feeling connected with them. “I just saw Iseul yesterday in sixth period.”

“It’s all I’ve been hearing about this morning. How Iseul’s parents came home to the grizzliest scene you can imagine. They said Jimin was tied up and they found Iseul out- '' Her chattering stopped upon seeing the sick look on your face, her lips pressing together as if just now realizing who she was speaking to. You didn’t blame her though - you knew she was just in shock. “Well, you get the gist. Apparently a neighbor saw the killer run out of there wearing some kind of weird ghost mask. Now everyone’s calling them ‘Ghostface.’”

“I don’t understand why this keeps happening.”

At some point in the day, you were called to the principal’s office for questioning. This wasn’t strange, though, as everyone in the entire school was going through the same thing. The police figured their first place to look was at the school, which made sense.

They had asked you simple questions like how well you knew Jimin and Iseul, if you knew if they were in any drama at school, etc. You had answered honestly and as accurately as you could. To be honest, you hadn’t the slightest who could have done something like this. But you could sense the detectives figured you might have some clue as you had been around death before. They looked at you like you had some kind of ghost hanging around you.

You decided that going through your day like you always did was the best shot at getting through it, clinging to any shred of normalcy that you could find. And if that meant having lunch with Haena and her usual friend group, then so be it. The seven of you were sitting outside in the courtyard, the climate having warmed up a bit since this morning.

The boys were goofing off with each other as if nothing was wrong, which in a way comforted you. You needed to act like everything was okay or else you could feel your sanity start to slip. Eyeing Haena, she was chatting with Jungkook while throwing her feet in his lap. He was rubbing her lower calves and you couldn’t help but watch how comfortable they were with each other in public like this.

It gave you the courage to lean back onto Taehyung who was sitting behind you, his warm chest a welcome embrace. He responded by wrapping his arms around your front, not missing a beat as he conversed with Hobi about the quiz they took this morning.

“Did they ask you guys if you liked to hunt?” Hobi asked all of the sudden, the idle chatter dying down as you all knew he was talking about the police interrogations all students had to partake in today.

“Yeah, I just told them I liked to fish.” Jin barked out a laugh.

You wondered out loud, “Why would they ask that?”

“Because their bodies were gutted.” Hobi responded matter-of-factly, turning to Jin with a suspicious look. “Kind of like a fish.”

“Thank you, Hobi.” Taehyung spoke sarcastically and you could practically feel his eye roll from behind you.

“They didn’t ask me about hunting,” Haena frowned in confusion.

“You think a girl could have pulled off a murder like that? Yeah, right.” Jungkook chuckled, wiggling his eyebrows at her in a condescending manner.

Haena scoffed in disgust, pulling her legs off his lap. “That is so sexist of you. Plenty of women become serial killers - look at Aileen Wuornos.”

“She used a gun on her male-only victims. Not exactly the same.”

“Yeah, from what I hear Jimin and Iseul were barely recognizable by the time they found them.” Jungkook informed, seemingly undeterred by Haena’s annoyance. “The fact is that it would take a man to do something like that.”

“How do you gut someone?” Your voice trembled as you voiced the question, your curiosity getting the best of you. Taehyung tightened his arms around you and leaned his head on your neck, leaving a kiss there.

It was silent for a moment before Jungkook spoke up, “Well, you’d get a knife and start from the groin-”

“Jungkook, shut the fuck up.” Taehyung’s harsh tone left no room for argument and even made you tense up a bit.

“Didn’t you date Iseul?” You asked Jungkook.

His eyes lit up for a moment as he chuckled, “Yeah, for like two seconds.”

“Before she dumped him for Jimin!” Hobi chimed in. “Hmm, I wonder how the police would feel if they knew you were her lover scorned.”

“What, you think I killed her?” Jungkook laughed genuinely, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m sure you would love to see me behind bars but I’m afraid I have an alibi.”

Haena rolled her eyes as Jungkook winked at her, fed up with his immaturity. “If you think I’m going to defend your misogynistic ass, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Jungkook watched her with a pout as she stood up to leave, gathering her books for the next class. “Come on, baby! You know I’m not a killer.”

She ignored him as she walked off, which led to him jumping up and following her to no doubt get back in her good graces. Those two had been on-and-off for a while but you would be lying if you said their shenanigans weren’t entertaining. He was a pig-headed jock and she was an artsy type. They didn’t make any sense but somehow they ended up together.

*****

You went home that day to an empty house and a note on the kitchen table, which both surprised you and somehow didn’t. You were used to your father skipping out on you with no notice but to leave a note? That wasn’t like him.

Got a lead for a job out of town so I’ll be gone for a few days. I’ll try to call but might not have service -Dad 

You supposed the message was emotionally detached enough to be from him but you couldn’t help the strange feeling you got from reading it. You knew he probably wouldn’t call or if he did, it would be just to let you know he was staying longer. He knew you didn’t expect much from him and probably preferred it that way. Weirdly enough, you did too.

Exhausted from the day, you threw your bag on the floor and collapsed on the couch. You flipped the TV on and surfed through the channels mindlessly before one with a news headline and familiar face caught your eye. It was a reporter that you recognized almost immediately - Kim Namjoon. He had covered your brother’s case extensively and even wrote a book about it.

“ This small but mighty town has been hit yet again with another gruesome homicide case. Two young teenagers were found brutally murdered in their own home. ” He spoke clearly, his dragon-eyes penetrating you through the TV screen. You had seen them in person and knew how deadly their effect could be. “ Authorities have yet to release any statement but we know now that no arrest has been made and the murderer could strike again. ”

“ Could it be merely just a coincidence that this month is the anniversary of yet another senseless killing? It has been only ten months since Min Yoongi was found guilty for the murder of Jung Wooshik, who was also a student at Woodsboro High. ” Namjoon continued, and you held your breath as you waited for him to say what you had been fearing. “ Many have made a few theories on what could be the meaning of this, including that of a possible copycat killer or perhaps a wrongful imprisonment. It’s safe to say the town of Woodsboro needs to stay vigilant on protecting its own. ”

You cut him off there, not wanting to hear any more. Namjoon had made it clear early on that he was doubtful of Yoongi being the killer and spent most of his news coverage with that perspective. You tried not to take it personally but there had been instances where it seemed like the reporter blamed you for what happened. You knew you weren’t directly responsible for Yoongi’s conviction but you couldn’t help but wonder if you should feel guilty. You had only told the truth to the judge, that you had seen Yoongi by your house the day your brother died. That your brother had bought some weed from him and that you had seen him leaving while your brother was still alive. What happened between then and when your brother was killed was completely unknown to you.

But your witness testimony along with the physical evidence found in Yoongi’s home and car had been enough to convict him. You can still vividly remember the expression on Yoongi’s face when the verdict was given, as though he hadn’t even heard the judge. You couldn’t help but be amazed at his absolute indifference to everything going on around him at all times. You had never seen him smile or get angry ever. He kept all his emotions inside and it only fueled to make you more unsure of him.

The sound of the phone ringing loudly next to you made you jump, hand laying on your chest to feel your racing heart. You took a deep breath before you answered, “Hello?”

“YN, I just wanted to check on you and make sure you got home okay.” Of course it was just Haena. You knew she worried about you especially when you were home with your father.

“Yeah, I’m okay. My dad’s left town apparently so I’ve got the place to myself.”

“Oh shit, really?” She sounded stunned by this. “Didn’t he hear the news?”

“Not sure. Although knowing him, he might have just wanted to get away from all the media craziness.”

“Do you want to stay at my place?” As if she could sense your hesitance, she continued in a more serious tone, “I know you probably think I’m being dramatic but I just don’t think you should be alone right now.”

“Okay.” You relented, agreeing that it was probably best to not be isolated and vulnerable with a killer on the loose.

You ran upstairs to pack some clothes for the week, unsure of how long you would be staying there. The thought occurred to you that you should probably let Taehyung know where you would be going just in case he tried to make another surprise sneak-in on you again. You picked up your phone and dialed his number. It rang one time before immediately going to voicemail, causing you to pull the phone back and look at it in confusion. It wasn’t like him to outright reject your call, so you tried again. This time it rang all the way through before going to voicemail. 

“Huh, that’s weird.” You waited for the automated voice to end and the beep to sound before leaving him a message informing him of where you would be tonight as well as Haena’s home number in case he needed to reach you later.

When you got to Haena’s house a little while later, you weren’t exactly sure why you felt uneasy all of the sudden seeing the police vehicle in her driveway. Her dad was Sheriff Lee and he had always been like a father to you, more so than your own father anyway. But just seeing his car again after so long and knowing he was in there was dredging up old memories that you had tried to forget.

Haena answered the door with a bright grin and pulled you inside excitedly. You already knew you were in for an eventful next few days, especially with her two younger brothers who were always loud and rambunctious. But oddly enough, you found that you enjoyed being around such a loving and busy household because that had never been your home experience.

You were greeted by warm hugs from Mrs. Lee before she quickly sat you down for dinner with a plate full of food. Haena rolled her eyes at her mom’s antics especially when she realized she was not included in this display of special treatment and would have to make her own plate. At some point, Sheriff Lee rolled in and you could tell by the tired lines on his face that this week had taken a toll on him.

He still greeted you with a smile and a pat on the head before joining you all at the table. Mrs. Lee brought her husband a plate and you couldn’t help but watch as he grabbed her hand to give it a kiss. The two of them had always been a sweet couple and what with your lack of ever seeing that growing up, you were always fascinated by them.

“How’s your father doing, YN?” Haena’s father asked.

“Fine,” You answered, rolling a cherry tomato around on your plate with your fork. “He’s actually on a work trip this week so Haena convinced me to come stay here for a little while if that’s okay.”

“You know you’re always welcome here, honey. You’re practically family.” Mrs Lee was quick to reassure you.

“Work trip, huh?” Sheriff Lee’s eyebrows were drawn together as he held a spoonful of stew in front of him thoughtfully. “Did he mention where?”

“Nope. You know how he is,” You answered honestly and he nodded.

Just then, the phone rang and Mrs. Lee got up to go answer it. You were about to go clean your dish when she came back into the kitchen and said, “YN, someone’s on the phone for you.”

You quickly went over to go pick it up, “Hello?”

“YN,” Taehyung’s deep voice came through on the other line, sounding hushed and slightly out-of-breath. “I just got your message.”

“Oh, yeah well I just didn’t want you to go worrying if you called me and I didn’t answer. Haena’s family is taking care of me.”

“Yeah? That’s good.” He responded, and you could practically picture him posted up somewhere like the cool guy he was. “Although, I wish I had answered when you called because I could have kept you company.”

“I’m sure you would have liked that.” You chuckled. “I don’t think my heart can handle another one of your window sneak-ins.”

“Well, I don’t think my heart can handle being away from you that long.”

“You’ll still see me at school.” You reasoned, rolling your eyes despite him not being able to see you.

“Yeah but that’s school. You won’t even let me kiss you unless it’s somewhere hidden.” You could practically hear his pout through the receiver. “Why don’t you meet me at your place sometime this week? I’ll cook you dinner and we can finally be alone together.”

You couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed at his sudden pushiness to get you alone. You knew if you agreed to meet him at your house that he would probably try to have sex with you again. As much as you wanted to take that step with him, you were scared.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, what with the recent murders and all. I think it’s probably best to stay in larger groups.”

“What, you don’t think I can protect you? I know I’m skinny but I’m strong.”

“No I know you can but it’s just not a good time right now.”

“Yeah, I know. You haven’t been yourself in a while.” He huffed into the receiver. 

You laughed sarcastically, unsure if he was being serious right now. “Yeah, sorry I’m not in the mood to have sex with you right now. I’m kinda still reeling over the deaths of our classmates.”

“I don’t mean recently. You haven’t been the same since Seowon died.” His words shocked you, not understanding where this was coming from all of the sudden.

“Uh, well that’s kind of what loss does to a person if you didn’t know. They change - drastically.” All humor was gone from your tone as you felt yourself getting annoyed with him.

“Yeah well it’s been a year since he died and you’re still so skittish around me. It’s like you think I’m some kind of bad guy.”

“I’m sorry if my trauma has ruined things for you but no one is making you stay with me. If you need it that badly then you-” 

“Stop. That’s not what I meant at all.” He huffed angrily, taking a pause to gather his thoughts. “Listen, I don’t want to make you upset. I know it’s hard to see right now but I’m just feeling insecure. I want to make sure we’re still okay.”

At your silence, he let out another sigh. “I’m gonna let you go now. Please don’t be mad at me. I love you.”

He didn’t say anything after that but he stayed on the line, and you knew he was waiting for you to say it back. Hoping for you to say it back. And as pissed off as he had made you, you hated the idea of going to bed mad at him. So you conceded, for now.

“I love you too.”

*****

When you arrived on campus the next day, you spotted Namjoon standing near his usual news van. He was dressed smartly in an olive sweater and gray slacks, his glasses making him look more like a university student than a reporter. He was busy sorting through some papers, probably brushing up on his notes before he did his next broadcast.

You felt compelled to speak with him, especially after everything that had been going on recently. Over the past year, he had reached out to you multiple times for a comment and you always declined. The only time you had spoken in-person was after the court case had ended and it hadn’t been the most cordial moment.

“YN, this is a surprise. What can I do for you?” Namjoon raised his eyebrows at you, a mix of curiosity and something else you couldn’t quite pick up in his expression.

“I wanted to talk to you about Min Yoongi.”

“Okay.” He spoke slowly, glancing over at his camera crew who were standing a few feet away. “I’m guessing this is off the record?”

“Yes, please.” You paused, trying to think on how to start. “I know you probably don’t think very highly of me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, you wrote a whole book on how my witness testimony was the reason an innocent man was imprisoned.”

“Yes. I still stand by that.” He responded honestly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“So what, you think I’m a liar?”

“You painted a picture that made him look like a killer. I think you were so desperate for all the media coverage and court trials to end that you picked him as a scapegoat.”

“Have you talked to Yoongi?”

“Many times. He admits to selling drugs to your brother but that’s all.” The look on his face told you just how in-depth their conversations had gone. Namjoon was a very detail-oriented man.

“Then how do you explain the blood on his clothes and the murder weapon in his home?”

“His roommate testified that he came home high with no blood on his clothes. Someone else planted all that evidence and framed him.” The way he spoke of Yoongi was almost like they were close; he clearly felt very strongly about clearing his name.

“Why are you so adamant on proving his innocence? Did you know him?”

“Why do you care what I think?” Namjoon’s face screwed up as he seemed to grow more irritated with you. This was the real emotion you expected to get from him, behind the friendly facade he tried to put on with you. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you? Yoongi’s life is ruined, he’ll never see the light of day again.”

“That’s not what I wanted.” Now, it was your turn to look confused. “I wanted justice. I told the judge exactly what I saw that day.”

His lips pursed as he thought for a moment, processing your words. “Yes, I knew Yoongi. We weren’t exactly friends but anyone who knew him knew he was harmless. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Harmless and yet he sold drugs to teenagers?” You regretted it as soon as it came out your mouth. You knew it was a low blow and you didn’t truly care that he did that anyway but you needed to cling onto some semblance that you made the right call.

He hummed as he searched your face for a moment, “Why are you asking me about Yoongi all of the sudden? You’re not so sure anymore, are you?”

“No, Yoongi murdered my brother.” You weren’t even sure if you believed yourself at how weak your voice sounded.

“These murders are related, aren’t they? The killer’s still on the loose.” He sounded almost triumphant as he marveled at your recent revelation, the cogs in his head working on overdrive. You had just confirmed his biggest theory yet despite your best efforts not to.

Now was a good time to leave. You weren’t sure what you had hoped to get out of this interaction but it wasn’t this. You had been avoiding the truth for a long time but it was catching up to you. 

“Goodbye, Namjoon. Always a pleasure.” He didn’t respond as he watched you move to leave, his lips moving as he quietly murmured to himself. Despite his dark calculating eyes following your every move, you knew that he was in a different place conjuring up his next news broadcast.

*****

Halfway through the school day, it became apparent that Principal Choi had not shown up nor called in sick. After multiple attempts to reach his home phone, one of the administrators called the police to do a wellness check. And what they had found upon entering his home had been what everyone was fearing.

The news of Principal Choi’s death spread through the school like wildfire and you could tell the staff struggled to hold themselves together while keeping the students organized. A few police officers arrived at the school to work with the administrators on figuring out how to go about letting the students go home.

You were in the library with Haena and Jungkook when a pair of boys came running through your section and drawing the attention of everyone nearby. One was screaming in an exaggerated manner and the other was wearing the infamous Ghostface mask and chasing the former. You could tell they were just playing a prank but you didn’t see how anyone could be making fun of the situation right now.

“What is wrong with people?”

“Are you kidding me? Look at this place, it’s like Halloween.” Jungkook threw his head back and laughed.

“Stupidity leak!” Haena berated him, whacking him in the head with her notebook.

You shook your head at him, deciding to just ignore his comment. “Have you guys seen Taehyung around?”

“You mean after you gave him blue balls? No, his heart’s broken.”

“Jungkook,” Haena elbowed him hard, causing him to grunt.

“He said that?” You were shocked that even Jungkook knew about your lack of a sex life but should have known that boys would talk just like girls did.

“Of course he did. The guy’s crazy about you.”

“What guy’s crazy about her?” Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Taehyung leaned over you from behind to kiss the top of your head, causing your heart to do a flip.

“Keanu Reeves, of course.” You mouthed a ‘thank you’ to Haena at her swift coverup, causing her to give you a wink.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a second?” Taehyung whispered in your ear and held your hand as he pulled you out of your chair. Haena ignored Jungkook trying to get her attention as she watched you follow your boyfriend to a more secluded area. 

“I’m really sorry about what I said before - it was way out of line. I’ve been a little out of sorts lately with everything going on.” He sounded vulnerable as he spoke, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart tug at his remorseful face. He had always been the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. “I just want us to be okay again. I want my girlfriend back.”

“I’m still your girlfriend,” You rolled your eyes playfully, squeezing his hand in yours. “But I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel insecure. I know I’ve been acting different for a while and it wasn’t fair to you. I guess I just haven’t been dealing with my trauma very well.”

“That’s not your fault. You don’t need to feel bad about how you grieve.” He reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, a soft expression on his face.

“I haven’t been grieving at all - that’s the problem. It’s like my emotions have been shut off.” You sighed, shutting your eyes as his hand moved to caress your cheek. “I can’t keep hiding in my room forever. I need to move on.”

When you opened your eyes again, Taehyung was watching you carefully with his mouth pressed shut. You wished you could read his mind. There was more you wanted to say but you found it hard to find the words, so you decided to let your actions speak by leaning forward and kissing him deeply.

You could tell he hadn’t expected you to make the move by the way he froze but he quickly recovered, pulling you closer with his arms settling around your waist. You pressed yourself to him as he leaned against the bookshelf. This was the most hot and heavy you had ever been in public and you could tell he was enjoying it, not wanting to part from you for even a second.

When you did eventually pull away, you felt brave enough to ask, “Will you meet me at my house later?”

You felt him tense up in shock yet again but couldn’t see his face as you were leaning on his chest. You dared to look up and see him looking at you with wide eyes.

“I thought you wanted to stay at Haena’s.”

“I changed my mind.” You shrugged, feeling giddy as his face lit up. “You’ll protect me from any bad guys, right?”

He pulled you in again, wrapping his arms around you tightly and resting his chin on the crown of your head. You had never felt safer.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Taehyung has always been careful and thoughtful about how he treated you. His touches were gentle and soft; you couldn’t imagine him hurting a fly. Maybe it was just his artsy persona but you had always known him to be a deep, considerate person. He was meticulous about every detail, whether it was his art or his life. Sometimes it seemed like he truly believed life was art; a painting that was ever-changing and inspiring.

You were a masterpiece in his eyes. Something to be cherished and never tarnished. That was why he wanted to keep you safe from the evil in the world. He knew that life had already not been fair to you. But he believed it was his job to prevent any further wrongdoings from coming into your life. He wouldn’t hesitate to destroy anyone who would even try to cause you harm.

It was when you were laid out on your bed looking like an angel, Taehyung felt like he was truly going to Hell. Surely God was coming for him because he had stolen an angel and kept her all to himself. You had given yourself up to him and you didn’t know it yet but he would never let you go. How could he?

The only word to describe it was heaven. Having you in his arms like this, touching parts of you his hands had never dared to before - it was pure bliss. He wanted to stay like this forever. There was nothing out there for either of you. Everything you both needed was right here, in each other’s arms.

He had lost count of how many times he made you come undone before he had even entered you. This wasn’t his first time but it may as well have been with the way he struggled to not fall apart almost immediately. You were his weakness and at the same time you were the only thing keeping him together most of the time. He didn’t care how old you both were - you were it for him.

You had always imagined your first time would be like a dream, full of romantic candles and roses. The reality of it was much different, more natural, and yet you found it to be better than you could have ever imagined. You felt like one of Taehyung’s paintings as his lips and fingertips caressed you everywhere, molding you into one of his perfect creations. You were his muse and you had never felt so beautiful.

It was a night of passion and love; the perfect embodiment of your relationship. Whatever rocky period you had been going through before was long gone and you almost couldn’t believe you had ever wanted to delay this. This was where you needed to be. You knew you probably sounded like a naive teenager, but you didn’t want to think of anyone else in this way ever. You only wanted Taehyung.

“I’ll always love you, YN. I’ll never leave you.”

*****

The next day, you were on your way to your locker when you spied Haena waiting for you. You tried to act indifferent to Haena’s wide eyes looking you up and down as you approached her. It was as if she was trying to find some kind of visible evidence on you.

“So?” You knew she wanted to know what happened last night, but you weren’t ready to spill so soon. 

“So... what?” You acted ignorant as you opened up your locker, reaching for your math textbook.

“Oh come on, I’m dying here! Spill.”

“Okay, okay.” Laughter bursted out of you, your resolve crumbling before you could even try to build it up. “We, uh... did it.”

“More details, please.” She rolled her eyes at your vagueness.

“It was really sweet. He made us a nice dinner and then we...” You cringed, not knowing how to talk about it without sounding corny. “I don’t know how to describe it.”

“Well, did it hurt? Did you come?” You nodded to both questions honestly and her eyebrows raised as she became more intrigued. “How many times?”

When she saw you counting on your fingers higher and higher, she blew a low whistle. “God damn. Good for you, girl.”

“I feel like he set the bar pretty high. Is it always like this or is he just really talented?”

“Well, it depends. Jungkook is usually pretty good but sometimes he’s too drunk or lazy and then I end up doing most of the work myself.”

You pursed your lips in thought, “Doesn’t he go down on you before?”

Her eyes widened as she opened her mouth in shock, “Can I borrow him?”

You smacked her on the arm as she laughed, linking arms with you as you both made your way to class.

“Oh, by the way, Jungkook’s having a party at his house later.” She mentioned nonchalantly as she popped her gum in her mouth.

“What about curfew?”

She shrugged, “I don’t think they’re being too strict about it. It’s probably safer that we’re all together anyway.”

You still looked convinced, so she added, “But if you’re really worried, we can just stay over at his place. His parents are out of town.”

“Does your dad know?” You glanced at her curiously.

“God, no,” she laughed, shaking her head. “He’s working a night shift so he’ll be busy patrolling. And I’ll just tell my mom we’re staying at yours.”

“Okay. We can go.”

“Yeah?” She looked surprised, a bright smile painting her face. It was infectious as you found yourself smiling back at her and nodding. She bumped shoulders with you, wiggling her eyebrows as she leaned in, “Hmm, I like the new you. She’s fun.”

You were surprised how easy it was for you to agree to the party. Maybe last night gave you more confidence to just live a little. All you knew was the old you would have opted to stay at Haena’s for another night in and you didn’t want to be stuck in your old ways. You owed it to yourself and everyone you loved to move on.

You had foolishly fallen into a sense of false security, not necessarily forgetting about the horrors your town had been cursed with but just for once not having it in the forefront of your mind. You had felt closer to your boyfriend than ever before and now you were ready to be more adventurous. It wasn’t until later in the day did that bubble of excitement pop.

When the classroom door opened to reveal Sheriff Lee, the students around you immediately began whispering to each other conspiringly. You wondered what it could be this time around as he whispered something to the teacher before turning back to face front with a serious expression. Your teacher’s eyes landed on you as she waved her hand, “YN.”

Everyone around you hushed as you gathered your things with shaking hands, making your way to the front of the room quickly. The air out in the hallway felt different, less suffocating. It somewhat helped your rising anxiety.

One look at Sheriff Lee gave you a new perspective of this man who had practically raised you. He wasn’t that old, only early 50s, but the stress he had put under with his profession had aged him. He had tired bags under his eyes, worry lines on his forehead, and sprouting grays here and there. He had always been handsome and you could tell he would continue to age like wine. But that didn’t change how sad it made you to see him in this state.

“YN, I’m afraid I have some bad news. There was a report of a car that wrecked on the side of the road just outside of town.” He spoke slowly as he relayed the information, the consideration from him not lost on you. You were trying to process it all while still not understanding why he was telling you this. “It was your dad’s car.”

Your heart stopped as you clutched your school bag in your hand. Thoughts were going wild in your head as your breathing became erratic. You didn’t know what any of this meant. 

“What, um... is he dead?” Your tongue felt disconnected like your brain was just on autopilot.

“No one has seen him yet.” He sighed, a deep frown etched across his features. “I know you said he was leaving for a work trip but have you spoken to him at all since he left?”

He was aware that your father wasn’t known for contacting you at times like these, but you understood he still had to ask. “No. The last time I saw him was the night before he left.”

He nodded as if he expected that, giving you a small smile. “Well, we’ll keep looking. In the meantime, I want you to stay out of your house in case there are any clues to where he could have gone. And it’s probably safer that you’re not alone right now.”

“Okay.”

It seemed like he wanted to say more but clearly was out of his depth when it came to comforting someone. It wasn’t like he could make any promises about finding your dad because the truth was he was most likely gone. You had dealt with enough loss that you knew this feeling well. You gave him a matching small smile, albeit weak but you hoped it would appear encouraging.

“Thank you, Sheriff Lee.”

*****

School ended early that day, mostly due to the fact that half the staff had called out in fear of receiving the same fate as Principal Choi. It was strange that they even had anyone come in at all but you figured the police had already suspected the killer was at the school, thus being their best bet at finding them. Everyone was on edge as if Ghostface was still lurking in its shadows. Which technically, he probably was.

You had already started to go through in your mind which students in your school could have done it. There were a few stronger girls in your class who could have had the physical power to do it, but they were all too nice or non confrontational. There were plenty of bully-like guys that could fit the description, but you had a hard time truly seeing any of your classmates being involved in such gruesome scenes. It’s just that all the victims had one thing in common: the high school. It only made sense that all suspicion would be pointed here.

Eventually, you gave up trying to figure it out because you were only going in circles in your head. The police would figure it out. Tonight was supposed to be fun and you were sure the killer wouldn’t be brave enough to attack a whole group of teenagers. There was strength in numbers and you felt safer this way.

As you and Haena made your way up the driveway, music could be heard blasting from inside. You weren’t even that late but it seems the party was already in full swing. There were a dozen football players and cheerleaders lounging in the main room when you walked in, most of them unknown to you. Haena greeted a few people in the hallway and you followed her into the kitchen as she searched for some refreshments. 

“It’s about time you guys showed up,” Jungkook yelled from where he was standing by the snack table.

“I see you guys couldn’t wait to get started,” Haena eyed where Hobi was pouring beer down a funnel into Jin’s mouth.

“Well no one told you guys to arrive fashionably late,” Hobi replied, high-fiving Jin before switching places with him. Haena rolled her eyes, moving on to talk to Jungkook on the other side of the room.

“Hey, have you guys seen Taehyung?” You asked, leaning against the countertop island.

“He was in here earlier. I think he said something about going outside for a smoke,” Jin informed, not taking his eyes off where he was pouring.

You briefly wondered how you had missed him if you had just come from the outside but shrugged it off. He had to be around here somewhere. You ventured out into the main room and plopped down on the couch. The music had been turned down a bit as they were going back and forth trying to decide what movie to watch. For some reason, the genre they had settled on was horror which was in poor taste in your opinion. At least it was entertaining to hear them argue about who usually survives in a horror movie.

A hand on your shoulder startled you, looking up to see Hobi standing there with the telephone. “Phone for you.”

You held in your confusion as you got up to take the call in a quieter area. “Hello?”

“YN, it’s Namjoon.” Of all people who could be calling you, he was probably the last one you would suspect. “Are you guys okay?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t we be?”

“I’m guessing you haven’t heard yet.” He sighed and your heart thudded in your chest, unable to speak as you willed him to continue. “Sheriff Lee’s dead. They found him strung up on one of the field goals in the football field.”

You almost dropped the phone, a stuttered gasp being the only sound you could make for a moment. 

“Oh god,” you finally spoke, your hand coming up to cover your mouth. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Is Haena with you?” He asked quickly, trying to distract you.

“Yes.” Swallowing, you covered your other ear as the voices in the main room started getting louder. How were you supposed to tell everyone? You were surprised you were even still standing.

“Stay with her. If I were you, I wouldn’t leave that house. ”

You were still so in shock from the news about your Haena’s father that it suddenly dawned on you that he had figured out where you were without you ever telling him. 

“How did you know I was here?”

“Someone reported a large gathering of students at the Jeon house on the scanner. I had a feeling you would be there.” His answer was a shock to you, not expecting anyone to know about the party as it was out on the edge of town.

“O-okay, I better go warn everyone...”

“YN?” You held in your breath as you waited for him to continue, unease crawling into your system at his pause. “Be careful.”

For him to sound so concerned for you only heightened your paranoia, quickly walking back into the main room where everyone was. Jungkook was sprawled out on the couch now along with Jin and Hobi, throwing his head back at something the latter had said. You shakily placed the phone back on the stand.

“Jungkook, I need to talk to you.” You were surprised your voice was so steady, his big eyes meeting yours as he took in your expression.

“Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” He joked, standing up to meet you behind the couch.

“Kim Namjoon just called me,” You felt your stomach flip as you held the back of the couch for support. “Sheriff Lee was murdered.”

You had tried to be discreet about it but your shock must have garnered enough attention, gasps sounding around the room as they all picked up on what you had revealed.

“Holy shit, I’m getting out of here.”

There was a chorus of responses as people started to make themselves scarce, clearly not in the mood for a party anymore. The only ones that stayed were Hobi and Jin, either not concerned enough about the killer or not brave enough to leave the house. You weren’t sure which group you belonged to but you knew you had to find Haena. You looked up at Jungkook, who was staring at the carpet with a serious expression on his face and biting his lip.

“Where’s Haena?” It was like he almost didn’t hear you until you shook his shoulder. “Jungkook?”

“Um, she went to get more beer-” He blinked a few times, waving his arm behind him. “Garage.”

You walked quickly around the house, trying to find the correct door to the garage. When you finally did, it was pitch black save for some light coming in from the opened garage door. You almost turned back as it was clear there was no one in here before something made you stop. There was no noise, no movement but you felt like something was in here.

Your hand sought out the light, switching it on and blinking as it flicked a few times before brightening up the room. Your gaze flitted around, almost giving up before you saw something dark and red that made you flinch backwards. 

There was a piercing scream and you felt the ground beneath you move, your ass hitting the wooden step hard. It wasn’t long before thundering steps came behind you, stopping as they hit your back. Your ears, seemingly filled with water with how muted everything seemed, caught a few more gasps and screams. Hands gripped you under your armpits, pulling you up over the steps and back into the hallway.

After that, everything was a blur of commotion. You were vaguely aware of people yelling around you but it wasn’t until Hobi crouched down, waving his hand in front of your face that you felt alert again.

“I think she’s in shock,” He relayed to the others.

“YN?” Taehyung’s voice sounded from the other end of the hallway, his expression bewildered as he approached quickly. “I heard screaming.”

“Jesus, where have you been Tae?” Jin asked.

“Having a smoke,” Hobi moved out of the way so Taehyung could kneel before you, bringing his hands to your cheeks and analyzing your face closely. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Haena...”

“Go find Jungkook,” Tae instructed the older two.

Hobi groaned, “Why do we have to keep splitting up? This is what the killer wants!”

Jin smacked him behind his head, angling his head towards your shell shocked figure. “Shut up, would you?”

The two of them walked off, bickering quietly as they went. Taehyung sat with you silently as you stayed in the same position, wiping away any tears that escaped. You stared at the floor as your mind raced with a million thoughts, not a single one sticking long enough for you to linger on.

How could this happen so fast? You had just seen Haena in the kitchen talking to Jungkook. Everything was fine. You couldn’t have been gone from her for more than thirty minutes and yet so much had changed. It didn’t make any sense.

First Sheriff Lee, now Haena. The killer was getting closer. No, the killer was already here. It couldn’t have been Jungkook, Hobi, or Jin. They had all been with you.

But...

“Taehyung?” He looked up at you, surprised to hear your voice finally. He leaned in, reaching a hand out to brush your hair back but you shied away. He reared back in shock, his expression confused as he met your suspicious one.

“What?”

“You were... smoking? For thirty minutes?” Your voice was unsure as you questioned him, sounding stuffed up from all the crying.

“Yes, wh-” The sound of screaming from outside interrupted him. You shot up from your spot, running towards the front door where it came from. “Wait, YN! Don’t!”

You ignored him as you threw open the door; you needed to stop any more evil from happening. You had already lost so much in your life. Enough was enough.

The sight of Hobi’s bloody body laying on the front steps had you freezing in your tracks, feeling Taehyung’s chest collide with your back a moment later. The two of you stared in shock before you became aware of the violent tussle happening further out in the yard. It was hard to make it out but it looked like Jungkook and Jin were fighting. What the hell had happened? You were guessing this was Jungkook’s fight-or-flight response to finding out about Haena.

“Stay right here,” Taehyung spoke softly to you as he brushed past you, walking around Hobi’s battered body and approaching the two other boys with a calmness you didn’t quite understand.

The further he went out, the harder it was to make out who was who especially as they moved between bushes and trees. You felt anxious and stupid as you just stood there, your feet itching to move out and help them but not knowing if it was a smart idea.

“YN,” A voice coughed out from below you, a gasp escaping as you fell to your knees where Hobi was laying. You had been so distracted by the fight that you almost forgot he was there.

“What happened?” You asked urgently, grabbing one of his hands and squeezing.

He choked a bit, blood spraying out onto his lips and neck. “Don’t trust them.” He gave your hand one last squeeze, meeting your eyes as if to make the message stronger. You watched in concern as he closed his eyes, chest rising and falling rapidly. He was still alive but he wasn’t doing well. He needed medical care immediately.

“YN! Get inside now!” Your head flew up to see Taehyung underneath Jin, the two of them fighting over something shiny and sharp-looking between them as what looked like Jungkook was passed out next to them.

Your gaze flew back and forth from them to Hobi’s unconscious face, trying to figure out who to believe. You took a deep breath and ran back inside, locking the door behind you as you ran for the phone. You hit redial, hoping it would direct you to Namjoon. You never thought you could ever cry with relief at hearing his voice.

“YN? Are you okay?”

“Namjoon, tell the police the boys must have snapped or something, I don’t know. But Haena’s dead and we need help.” The words flew out of you so fast you weren’t even sure what all you said, hoping you got the message across as you huffed.

The line went silent at that, and you held your breath as you waited for a response. But there was nothing - just dead air.

“Hello? Namjoon?” You tried again, pulling the phone away before you realized the line was dead. Someone had cut the lines. “Shit.”

Just then, a sudden banging could be heard from the front door followed by desperate shouts of your name. You ran over to it, ready to unlock the door when you hesitated with your hand on the lock.

“Who’s there?”

“YN, let me in! Hurry!” The urgency in Jin’s voice made you throw open the door, gasping when you saw him covered in blood with a knife in his hand.

“Jin, what-”

“Don’t let him in, YN! He attacked me!” Jungkook suddenly appeared behind him, a deep cut on his cheek that hadn’t been there before. 

You looked between Jungkook and Jin, trying to decipher who to believe but not finding any conclusive evidence. To be honest, when you saw them out in the yard before, it was hard to tell who had even started the fight. And now seeing them both with blood on them, you felt at a loss. All you knew was people were dying and someone had cut the phone lines. You didn’t know who you could trust.

“Fuck, I can’t.” You slammed the door as quickly as you could, locking it again. The banging and shouting continued.

“Help me! He’s gone crazy!”

You stood there for a few moments, palms still on the door as you willed your racing heart to calm down. Tonight had been nonstop crazy and you couldn’t remember the last time it was at a resting rate. Before you could turn around, a pair of hands landed on your shoulders and ruined any chance of your heartbeat slowing down any time soon. You shrieked as you turned around, not expecting to see Taehyung standing behind you. 

“Shh, it’s just me.”  He shushed you, putting his hands on your shoulders to calm you down. 

“Wh- how did you get in here?” You hadn’t seen him outside just now.

“I came in through the back. Are you okay?” He checked over your body, fingers brushing over the visible skin on your face and arms.

“I’m fine but Tae, where have you been all night?” Your exasperated tone caught him off guard, a somber look coating his features as he regarded you. “I’m getting really freaked out.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to run off like that. I’ve just been trying to protect you.” His words didn’t make any sense but you weren’t thinking clearly enough to dissect what he meant.

The banging grew louder and Taehyung moved to open it. The roles were reversed this time as you shook your head at him, silently urging him not to let anyone in. Your fingers gripped the sleeve of his sweater anxiously. He turned to look at you, his hand coming up to cover yours on his arm.

“It’s okay. You can trust me.” He nodded at you with a small smile, and you released the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

The door swung open to reveal Jungkook standing there looking out of breath, but his face lit up when he saw you standing there with Taehyung. A grin broke out across his face, “The gang’s all here!”

You could only watch in confusion as Jungkook stepped in in the same move that Taehyung backed you up with him. Jungkook shut the door behind him looking gleeful as ever. You looked at Taehyung who had a serious look on his face but you recognized a glint of something in his eye, almost like he had just won a bet or something.

“What’s going on?” You asked, stepping back cautiously from them. The energy had changed drastically and you didn’t like it one bit.

Taehyung eyed you like you were a scared animal, holding his hands out as if to placate you. His gaze was locked on yours and you almost felt like he could read your thoughts, anticipating your next move before you could even do it.

“Surprise, YN.” Jungkook smirked at you, looking far too elated right now to have just lost his girlfriend.

Your eyes flitted back and forth between the two of them before you spun around, racing toward the kitchen to find something you could defend yourself with. Although you had no proof, you knew it was them. Taehyung and Jungkook were the killers. You didn’t have time to feel heartbroken and betrayed. Your only thought right now was survival.

Before you could get far, arms wrapped around your waist and yanked you back towards a firm chest. You eyed the knife block longingly - so close. Taehyung held you tightly to his front, turning the two of you around so you were backed up against the counter. Jungkook leered from across the room looking like a dangerous predator.

“Why are you doing this?” You cried, hot tears streaming down your face.

“I already told you. I’m protecting you.” Taehyung explained as if it was the most obvious thing.

“By killing all my family and friends? You’re fucking crazy!” Your voice grew louder, unable to feel shy about getting angry despite being caught in a murderer’s arms.

Taehyung was a murder. Your soft, loving, artsy boyfriend was a cold-blooded killer. This was a nightmare; this couldn’t be real.

“Yes, I am crazy, but only for you. I would do anything for you, YN.”

“You’ll never get away with this.”

Jungkook chuckled, “Tell that to Min Yoongi. You wouldn’t believe how easy he was to frame.”

“What did you have against my brother?” There was a lot to unpack here but this was the question you had been wondering for a whole year.

“Your brother wasn’t the picture perfect star quarterback everyone believed him to be. He had a bad habit of date raping girls from other schools, including my cousin.” Taehyung answered for you, the lack of eye contact with him making him hard to read if what he was saying was true.

“You’re lying,” You hissed, trying desperately to break out of his arms.

“Why are you defending him? He was never nice to you.” Jungkook reminded you, his eyes calculating and cold. “Face it, YN. Your brother was a bad apple who got what was coming to him.”

“What do you have to gain from this?”

“Well, naturally, I wanted his spot on the team.” He grinned at you, flashing a perfect set of teeth. “It wasn’t hard for Taehyung to convince me once I realized what a piece of shit he was.”

“And Haena?” You glared at Jungkook. “How could you kill your own girlfriend?”

“I can’t take credit for that,” He nodded towards Taehyung behind you and you felt your body go still. “You saw me. I was here the whole night.”

“Wrong place, wrong time.” Taehyung added, leaning his head on the space between your shoulder and your neck. “But I won’t lie. I hated sharing her with you all the time.”

“You’re okay with him murdering your girlfriend?”

“I liked Haena but she didn’t get me. She didn’t get you either.” Jungkook approached the two of you slowly, dark gaze zeroed in on your anguished expression. He reached out to caress your face, causing you to tense up as Taehyung straightened behind you. “You’re too good for her.”

“Jungkook.” Taehyung’s voice was rough as he motioned with his head towards another part of the kitchen. The two shared some sort of unspoken communication as something dawned on the other boy.

“Oh yeah! We got a surprise for you, YN.” Jungkook’s voice grew louder and more excited as he walked towards the hallway closet door. “You’re gonna love this. It’s a scream, baby.”

It didn’t take him long to retrieve what he was looking for, your eyes almost bulging out of your head as you saw who it was. “Dad!” He was tied up with tape around his mouth and a nasty cut on his forehead.

“See, YN? We got it all figured out, don’t worry.” Jungkook began, pulling the knife from his pants and stuffing it in your dad’s belt. “The cops are already onto him and now the evidence is all over him. Just one more thing to do.”

Leaving you no time to react, Jungkook pulled a gun from behind his pants and aimed it right at your father’s head, shooting him dead. You couldn’t help the scream that tore out of your lungs. You felt cold all over, like your body had disconnected from your brain. Vaguely, you registered Taehyung’s arms holding you steady as your knees buckled.

“He deserved it, YN.” Taehyung spoke so plainly about the murder of your father like it was just a harmless prank he had pulled, “He didn’t appreciate what he had. Deep down, we all know he blamed you for being the one that survived. He never loved you the way a father should.”

The harsh reality of his words hurt. It was like he was looking into your soul, into your deepest darkest feelings that you had tried to keep down for so long.

“We did you a favor.” Jungkook added, his dark stare penetrating you where you stood behind the kitchen island. “And he makes the perfect suspect, triggered by your brothers’ death anniversary, then goes on a killing spree and finally kills himself with the sheriff’s gun. It’s like it was meant to be.”

These two were insane, no doubt about it. They had seen too many scary movies and now they felt like they were invincible. You could practically feel the adrenaline running through Taehyung’s veins.

“And now what? I’m next?”

“Of course not,” Taehyung laughed, switching you around so that he cornered you into the kitchen counter. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead, ignoring your deep cringe. “This has all been for you, baby.”

“Now, we finish what we started.”

Faster than you could blink, Taehyung swung at Jungkook, causing him to keel over. Red started pooling through the side of his shirt as he coughed into his hand, staining it with blood. You couldn’t believe your eyes.

“Tae, what the fuck?” Jungkook grunted, holding his side as he looked up at Taehyung in shock.

“I changed my mind. I don’t need a sidekick anymore.” Taehyung sneered, a venomous look on his face. “Thanks for all the help, buddy.”

Jungkook fell to the kitchen floor and Taehyung moved on top of him, stabbing him a few more times for good measure. In his bloodlust frenzy, he failed to notice that he had turned his back on you. Not only that, but the gun in Jungkook’s hand was now within reach of you.

You wasted no time in falling to your knees to grab it, quickly standing up and aiming it at the back of his head. Taehyung froze, still not facing you but somehow already figuring out his mistake. It was a foolish move on his part but he wasn’t exactly thinking clearly.

“Don’t move.” You spoke clearly, trying to keep your hand steady.

He didn’t listen to you though, moving slowly and carefully as he got off of Jungkook. He turned around with his hands raised, eyes wide as he stared at you. “YN, don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

“I said don’t move!” You yelled, your fingers trembling. You had never even held a gun before and now here you were aiming it at the love of your life.

“I know you don’t understand right now but you have to know: I did it all for you. So that we could be closer. I never meant to hurt you.” The sight of him inching further set you off, giving you the motivation you needed to pull the trigger.

“Goodbye, Taehyung.” You closed your eyes, not wanting to see the image of the light draining from his eyes.

It was over.

*****

Months later, you were relieved to find that life had seemed to calm down after that horrible night full of evil and bloodshed. You had suffered and lost so many people you loved. Much like a year before, only this time you felt somewhat hopeful for the future. Death couldn’t follow you around anymore like a bad curse; the evil was dead and gone from your life. It was the only thing keeping you going.

That and having a positive influence in your life, like for example Namjoon. He was the first to find you there at the Jeon house after getting your phone call but never receiving your message due to the phones being tampered with. You were lying on the kitchen floor, covered in blood and still in shock over everything. He had been so helpful, urging you to call 911 on his cell phone while he checked to see if Hobi and Jin were still somehow alive - which by some miracle, they were. They had sustained serious injuries and were lucky to be alive, each spending quite some time in the hospital and then physical therapy after that. You visited them almost every day.

It had been hard, dealing with the survivor’s guilt. Losing your entire family, best friend, and boyfriend (even though he had been the cause of it all) had done some serious damage to your mental health. And despite all the therapy you had been receiving and would continue to receive, you knew it would never completely be healed. But that was okay. In your mind, you deserved some kind of scar from the whole ordeal since you hadn’t suffered any physical injuries. Several of your friends were dead or badly hurt - you could deal with it if not for yourself, then for them.

The best part about it was being able to exonerate Yoongi. To finally be able to see some emotion from him on the day the judge ruled him not guilty had been life changing. Yoongi had always been such a calm guy and never blamed you for the year of his life wasted behind bars. You wanted desperately to make it up for him but didn’t know how you possibly could. Namjoon assured you that you had done enough but the guilt never seemed to go away.

Namjoon and you had started to develop more of a friendly relationship, something you had never expected to come out of this. But after all the conflict was gone, it was much easier to see each other’s point of view. And the truth was, he had always been right.

“Got any plans this weekend?” Namjoon asked as he poured some sugar into his coffee before taking a sip.

“Not sure,” you began, taking a breath as you thought it over. “I got invited to an end-of-year party but I’m not sure if I should go. Feels too soon.”

“Oh, you should definitely go. It’s not as soon as you think.” He responded encouragingly, sounding like a big brother.

“I just don’t see what there’s to celebrate about.” You shrugged, meeting his gaze.

“There’s plenty to celebrate! How about surviving a tragic murder spree, exonerating an innocent man, finishing up a school year?” You didn’t look convinced, so he tried again, “Come on, I think it would be good for you to get out. You shouldn’t stay in that big house by yourself all the time.”

“You sound like my therapist.” You rolled your eyes at him, stirring the tea in your cup mindlessly.

“Well, you sound like a petulant child.” He chuckled.

You opened your mouth to retort, eyes flying up to look at him when something in the distance caught your eye. Your body felt cold, frozen up as you stared at the familiar figure. Dark black mop of hair covered his face, baggy sweater and jeans on his frame. You blinked a few times but he didn’t move at all. It didn’t make any sense. 

“YN? What is it?” Namjoon waved a hand in your face, distracting you from whatever it was you just saw.

“Huh?” You asked, blinking at Namjoon before glancing back at where he stood before. Only now, there was nobody in sight. You cleared your throat as your gaze fell back on the man before you, “Uh, nothing.”

“You looked like you saw a ghost.” He laughed, eyebrows furrowing at you in a concerned manner.

“Yeah, right.” You shook your head. There was no such thing.

I’ll always love you, YN. I’ll never leave you.

*****

A/N: i'm baaaack! ngl i'm proud of myself for getting this one done bc it was a whopper. i really hoped you liked it! scream is one of my fave scary movies so i've always wanted to make an AU for it. ty for reading and pls lmk what you think!!

[serenadeonacanoe]

Waiting for Something (Namjoon x OFC) Chapter 1

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Original Female Character Genre/Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Pining, Emotional Realism, Slice of Life, Media/Celebrity Dynamics, Bangtan are truly good friends to OFC, travel, Seoul, this has a bit of it all... Word Count: ~126k | Chapters so far: 45 Status: Incomplete Yes, this is a bit of a monster of a fic. It was my first one, five years ago. At the time I just wanted to get my mind off Covid, no editing, just writing every day. Now I finally found time to edit it all, my goal having been to finish before BTS returns. So you have been warned: This covers quite a few years and is full of tropes and cheesiness. I hope you enjoy. =)

More already on AO3

Summary: It starts as a joke. A red carpet wink, a viral clip, a late-night show stunt. Ollie, a rising music journalist, never meant to become the girl who accidentally flirts with Kim Namjoon on live TV... and definitely not the one who ends up texting him afterward.

But what begins with playful banter and harmless curiosity slowly becomes something else. Through late-night messages, missed opportunities, chaotic schedules and quiet moments of honesty, Ollie and Namjoon find themselves circling something that might be real. If only the timing weren’t always slightly off.

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Chapter 1 The truth was, there was something a bit gross about red carpet coverage. Yes, it was exciting and nerve-wracking in a good way. Sometimes, actual interesting conversations happened and most of the time - with a little help from editing - the result was worth it. But there was also just a lot of waiting. Standing around. Constant screaming. A lot. Of. Fake. Laughter. And that made sense in a way. Who could keep their energy up for so long? Well, not me. Between interviews, I'd just drop my shoulders, trying to relax for a moment before cheering up again when a new opportunity popped up.

Minutes of fast talking, endless cheeriness and yes, sometimes fake laughter followed. Then I'd go back to daydreaming about napping on the sidewalk.

"Cheer up! You forgot that you love this!" Nick, my cameraman, muttered. His head was still hidden behind the camera on his shoulder, but I looked in his direction and my mouth dropped open for a second. Jesus, he was right. Why was I complaining? When had I gotten so used to the spectacle that I forgot how lucky I was?

I was doing what I loved - just like those I interviewed. How many people studying journalism and obsessing over music actually ended up here? My own music show. Okay, it was online and not regular TV, but still. It was financed by a network. In the age of streaming, numbers mattered more than TV airtime anyway. I should've been more grateful.

Nick grinned. I saw it in the corner of his mouth, even though most of his face was hidden. I smiled too - and then interviewed Harry Styles. You know, casual Friday.

Somehow Nick's comment saved my night. I forgot about being tired. I forgot I’d promised my mom three days ago that I’d call and hadn’t. I forgot that my ex-boyfriend was currently at the Great Barrier Reef with the girl he’d insisted was “just a friend.”

It was just me and people passionate about what they created. That was enough to make me feel like I was asking good questions and doing a decent job.

And still, Nick hissed a hasty "Step it up!" when he realized we had a shot at interviewing BTS next - even before I spotted them. I had known they were here somewhere, the crowd screams had confirmed that. But suddenly, a stern-looking woman pointed at me and seconds later, they were in front of our camera. Matching suits. Polite smiles. Super professional. And me, just - stunned.

Some clever editor would later play it up like I had gone into stand-by mode. I turned to the camera like I had lost it, then turned back around with a smile. "Oh my God. It’s BTS. How are you guys?" They were professionals - but so was I.

I managed two questions before the woman tried to rush them along, but I pretended not to hear her and squeezed in one more. Jimin waved at me like a toddler and for some reason, it made me go "dawww." He didn’t hear it - but Namjoon, the last to move to the next interview, did. He turned back, chuckled and winked at me.

I blinked. And then they were gone.

"Did Namjoon just low-key flirt with me?" I asked Nick, who was still recording. "You wish." he replied. I laughed, nodded with my eyes closed, like, "Guess so."

Nick stopped recording and I let my shoulders drop again. Man, who was I to complain about fake laughing when I could go from hyper journalist to energy-saving mode in five seconds?

Checking my phone, I realized I had to head inside or I’d miss my chance to get backstage before things got crazy.

The award show was alright. No interviews backstage - it was too organized, no time for sideline chats unless they were pre-planned. My role was to show how much fun I was having, probably for some montage later. And I was having fun... mostly. But some of it felt goofy. Clapping for performers like we were best friends.

Nick and I found a good spot near the stage, with a monitor showing the broadcast feed. Once he had enough footage, he set the camera down and we had a beer while watching the rest.

Toward the end, the host gave a little speech and then rolled a montage of red carpet moments. Nick commented on the fast turnaround and I made a noncommittal sound while checking my phone.

He kicked my shoe. I looked up, confused. Thought he was annoyed with me. But he gestured to the screen. And for good reason.

I was on it. They had captured my little "OHMYGAWD IT’S BTS" moment from behind the scenes. I smiled... and then there it was: the "Did Namjoon just flirt with me?" line, from a different angle.

Apparently, the whole audience saw it too. I heard laughter. Then, the live camera cut to BTS. RM - Namjoon - was looking at the screen, a little overwhelmed. Then, playing it cool, he turned to the camera, nodded, held a hand up to his face and mouthed, "Call me."

The other boys were dying laughing. Hobi looked like he might fall out of his seat. Namjoon looked slightly horrified - probably realizing what he’d just done. I was aware enough that this kind of stuff didn't really happen on Korean TV.

I only noticed I had my hand over my mouth when I turned to Nick, who was cracking up. Okay. Nothing about that had been super clever or even that funny. Award show humor. But now everyone had seen my childish comment. Including Namjoon. It was harmless and he had taken it well. So I laughed too. I didn’t stop for a while. Embarrassed? Yes. But at least they made me look relatable and not desperate.

Later, back in my hotel room - several glasses of sparkling wine later - I saw a text from my best friend Lauren back home in New York:

Lauren: So who’s the new boyfriend? Me: If everyone who ever winked at me was my boyfriend... Lauren: You’d still be single! Ha!

[thesweetnessofspring]

In my upcoming project The Huntress and the Beast, Prim was never reaped and Peeta became the sole victor of the 74th Games, earning the nickname "the Beast." Ostracized by society after a horrifying incident at the end of the war solidified his nickname, Peeta retreats to live on the mountainside alone. Years later, Katniss takes a position to live with Peeta and eat dinner with him each night for one year, partly to make up for the bread that saved her family and partly to escape Gale's marriage proposal. Each chapter is one month of this year, as Everlark grow together and build a home.

Or, an Everlark "Beauty and the Beast" retelling.

Leading up to the release of the first chapter, I'm going to be posting a snippet each Wednesday, one for each month of the year. Today's snippet is from the Chapter Two: January/February. The first chapter will be released on January 1, 2025. See other released snippets here.

Read the snippet below:

While he sleeps, I explore around a little more inside. It starts innocently enough by trying to get a better lay of the kitchen and turns into perusing a bookshelf. Cookbooks and baking, books on house repairs, huge glossy pages of artwork. Then a plain black one with a soft leather cover that holds no title. Curious, I open the book and see four dead people staring back at me. Peeta’s parents, his brothers, and Peeta when he was about five or so. I turn the pages and see a few more of his family. His parents’ wedding picture, a trio of blond babies, and every few years all five posed and staring back at me like ghosts. His oldest brother’s wedding photo. The first person to join the album that isn’t a Mellark is the late Haymitch Abernathy. In the picture, Haymitch embraces Peeta after he’d won the Games. The first person who is still alive, as far as I know, is the escort, Effie. She holds her arms around a polished-up Peeta, smiling with all of her teeth. A photo of the now-dead stylists for District 12 posed together, looking solemn and knowing. Pictures from what looks to be a Capitol party with bright colors and piles and piles of food, but I know all of these faces as other Victors and most are dead. Finnick Odair, part of the squad that violently killed innocent civilians and burned to death himself. Cashmere and Gloss, a pair of siblings from One, killed by the rebels under suspicion of spying for the Capitol. In one shocking photo, Johanna Mason flashes her breasts at the camera while Peeta’s head tilts back in laughter. My cheeks burn and I wonder why Johanna Mason isn’t here to keep Peeta company if that’s the type of relationship they have. She did survive the war. About half of the album is blank and none of it includes pictures during or after the war. Not a single picture of Peeta as he is now: long-haired and with ribboned pink and red scars where his beard should be. I doubt any happy images of him as he looks now exist. After the war, coverage of him had always had him looking in constant distress and disbelief and only Haymitch Abernathy had stood by him then. Anyone else who might have was dead.

The Huntress and the Beast comes out January 1, 2025

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Burn Out the Day, Burn Out the Night

Pairing: Vincent Bauer x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Allusions to masturbation; Poorly written smut; Mentions of pornography

*Some of reader’s physical appearance mentioned

Summary: Maybe you are a little closer with Bauer than you originally thought.

“Christ, Bauer, I need to pee!” You kicked your right heel against the door, still padding around barefoot after waking and stretching. Your legs were already starting to get chilly from the air conditioning, your sleep shorts not providing much coverage in that area. You already knew that your nipples could cut glass behind the fabric of your thin camisole and the man on the other side of the door would hone in on them immediately. Even before you began the job, you had never known someone to be so ridiculously, insatiably horny. 

You, Bauer, and Cartwright had grown close over the years. 

Several years. 

Four hours per year.

Maintenance engineers, the three of you. Keeping up with mundane, routine tasks to ensure that the special individuals on the levels below you survived until the world’s air was again breathable. It wasn’t much of an existence and was a choice you questioned constantly during your four hours per year. Still, you did what needed to be done. The tasks were divided between the three of you and you completed them within the time frame—

—which was counting down minute by minute while you had yet to even empty your bladder. “Bauer!”

You heard Cartwright chuckle behind you as his fingers clacked away over the keys at the control station. “He does give us the opportunity.”

“Don’t you dare take his side!” You leaned against the wall and  pounded a fist against the door. “I’m removing this lock instead of eating today, I swear to god!” The toilet flushed behind the metal, but you knew the man enough to know he was at least hygienic and would wash his hands, likely even going the extra mile to prepare his toothbrush before granting you access—simply to be extra annoying. Just when you thought about grabbing the garbage can beside the control panel, the door flew inward to reveal Vincent Bauer, still longjohn clad, with his precious Playboy folded beneath his arm and his toothbrush nestled in his cheek.

“Mornin’, C-cup.” He grinned around the tool, blue eyes flitting down to your breasts and back up. You had called it. You’d never tell him he had got the size correct. 

“Get outta the way!” You grabbed his ratty t-shirt and pulled him forward only to shove him to the side, rolling your eyes at the sound of his chuckles while you disappeared into the bathroom. The moan that vibrated from your throat as you finally felt the relief of an empty bladder, well—it was borderline erotic. There came a goddamn from the other side of the door that had you stifling your own laughter. You sat on the toilet for a few more moments, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and just contemplating life or rather, the lack thereof. You wondered if you’d ever see the sun again, feel the rain, smell a flower. It was a futile train of thought but one you found yourself boarding every cycle. With a heavy sigh, you finished up and washed your hands, avoiding the mirror as you always did. Quickly brushing your teeth, you rinsed your mouth and flung open the door. 

“You sure you were just takin’ a piss in there?” Bauer didn’t look away from his damn magazine, but he had an eyebrow arched. The man reminded you of a teenager, the way he was perched on the table, swinging his legs while he scanned the pages. “Sounded like somethin’ else.”

“Not everyone feels the need to be in a constant state of orgasm, Vin.” You shook your head fondly, crossing in front of him to make your way to your locker, his foot stretching out to tap against your ass as you passed by. Cartwright would never get away with calling him that. You had insisted upon it when Bauer had stopped using your last name. He’d tried to backpedal but absolutely not. Even when he had reverted to your last name, Vin had stuck. Eventually, you had both settled on a first name basis, even if you used a variation of his. 

“Well, that’s boring.” He casually replied.

Another roll of your eyes as you pulled your clothing from the locker and traipsed over to the small medication storage unit that was kept on the maintenance level. You hated your injections. It was a battle to convince yourself to continue to use them when they always hurt so badly. The pain was fleeting but still intense. The cocktail all but shut down your reproductive system, dissolving the lining of your uterus, thus avoiding the need for a monthly cycle and any concern of pregnancy should you enter into a sexual relationship with one of your coworkers. It was that or a hysterectomy when you accepted the job. 

Why were they so worried about your body deciding to function properly for two hours anyway? It was like being in a state of cryogenic sleep, it was unlikely your uterus would ever work properly, even IF the world became inhabitable again. 

You couldn’t be honest and say you hadn’t thought about it, with Bauer. Cartwright, something was just off about him, no matter how much you enjoyed his company. Vin, though, was a completely different story. It was undeniable that he was attractive. Built sturdy with lean muscle and shoulders for days, he was definitely the one to handle the heavy lifting that was required. You didn't mind watching him do it either. 

Dirty jokes aside, he was respectful toward you, never touching you in a way you didn’t mind. In the world before, he would have been a walking sexual harassment charge, but not there. You didn't mind his verbal advances, though you couldn’t be sure he even meant them. The two of you were family, which was a dilemma because you shouldn’t picture family piledriving your cunt with the thick cock you knew hung behind the fabric of his work pants. 

“Y/N.” The man that was just unknowingly responsible for the ache between your thighs was snapping his fingers in front of your face. Shaking your head, you blinked at him. “I asked if you wanted me to do it.” Vincent had given you the injection a few times, when you just had lacked the nerve to do it yourself. Even if he didn’t perform the task, he always stood nearby and offered an arm or a shoulder for you to squeeze during the peak of the pain. A few times, he’d caught you when your legs gave out. 

Licking your lips, you considered him before nodding and handing him the alcohol prep and syringe. “No jokes, okay?” Your voice shook when the cold pad was swiped over the skin of your abdomen, just to the left of your navel. Bauer nodded and pulled the cap from the auto-inject syringe, pressing the end into your flesh and watching your eyes, waiting for permission to activate the device. “Do it.” A click hiss signaled the cocktail entering your system. It was painless at first, but you knew what was to come, a hand already on Vincent’s bicep. A quick glance at his face revealed his lips moving in a silent countdown. He had this down to a science, knew exactly when to expect the onslaught.

When the burn of the chemical inside you struck, seconds felt like hours. You knew you had shouted. Bauer had told you with a stricken expression once that you always cried out. In reality, it was over as quickly as it started, leaving you trembling with a grip tight enough to bruise the man. It was one of the times you had gone boneless, finding your face pressed against his sternum and his arms hooked beneath yours.

“Already over. On your feet.” He urged, encouragement in every syllable. It was easy to go back to business as usual, his palm clapping your shoulder before he had strode over to slip his work attire over his shirt and longjohns. Zipping up the outer layer over his torso, he smirked at you. “You got somethin’ against bras? Not that I’m complain’ but the ladies are always lettin’ us know when it’s too cold in here.”

“Shut up, Vin.” You laughed, stepping into your pants. Glancing at the clock, it read 1:42.

You could hear Bauer belting out some song from down the hall, likely off key and with more enthusiasm than you ever seemed to be able to conjure in that life. When you came down for the job, you had passed the physical and psych eval with flying colors; no substantial family history, no red flags. You had been a perfect candidate before those doors had sealed. Nothing could have prepared you for floating through time, losing years without aging. Even with the two other individuals keeping you company, you had never felt so lonely, trapped, starved for human touch. More than the occasional pat on the back from Cartwright or even the hugs from Bauer. 

You adjusted your weight a little more evenly on the rickety old step-stool, balancing the vent grille in one hand and the new filter in the other. Switching to free up one hand, you plucked the old filter out and made to toss it over your shoulder to grab afterwards. With the sudden shift, the stupid stool tilted beneath you, gravity deciding that it would no longer be your friend and down you tumbled. “Shit!” 

Expecting the hard metal of the grated floor, you were quite surprised to land against something firmly soft with an oomf beside your ear. You clutched the grille and filter to your chest like treasure, blinking big eyes up at Bauer while he arched a brow in return. “If you wanted me to hold you, all you had to do was say so.” He chuckled, already letting your legs slide off of his arm. God, he was warm. 

“Thank you.” You said softly before clearing your throat and stepping out of his space. “Hey, would you—” With a quick gesture of your hand, you indicated the duct that he could easily reach without the deathtrap stool.

Vincent snorted and moved the toolbox to the other hand. “Give it here.” He didn’t even sit down his burden before positioning the filter and holding his hand out expectantly, wiggling his fingers for the grille. You passed it over and sighed in defeat when he popped into place with an ease that made you sneer at him. With that smug grin of his, he turned down the hall toward the other door. “You’re welcome!” He called over his shoulder. 

“Asshole!” You smiled. You picked up the discarded filter and reached for your tool box, the cold handle instantly making you feel the warmth of the body you had just been pressed against. He felt so nice. God, it would have been like heaven to just stay there for the next—

1:13

You sighed. There was still so much to do. You still needed to—

The pulse between your legs happened so suddenly that you gasped. Biting your lip, a rush of warmth came with the next one. You couldn’t remember that last time you had been aroused but it was definitely before those doors had sealed. Maybe you could make an excuse to go back up and hide in the bathroom, take a page from Bauer’s book. Not literally. Those magazines were filthy. 

No way. There wasn’t time for this shit. You had a job to do and there was no way you were gonna let a little thing like sex-brain get in the way of that. Lifting the box, you hadn’t taken two steps before that door opened and Bauer traipsed out, wiping sweat from his brow with his free hand. He had his head bobbing to the music in his headphones—much too loud since you could hear it. 

Watching him move, you pictured him how you saw him every time you woke up. T-shirt with the sleeves loose around biceps that flexed when he did his pushups. Longjohns that were loose enough to only provide a teasing glimpse of an outline. He always talked a big game but you wondered if he could back it up. 

You blinked, the thoughts dissolving as quickly as you allowed them to intrude. Bauer was looking right at you with an arched brow and a mischievous grin. 

“What?” 

He reached up and moved the headphones to sit around his neck. “You’re starin’. Somethin’ on your mind?” 

God, he was attractive. A rush of heat traveled from deep in your belly straight to your core. You shook your head minutely. This was Bauer. Vin. Sure, he was a huge flirt but you doubted he was really interested. 

“Still starin’.” He chuckled. 

Maybe if you came off as playful, he would give you some sign that you could get a little more serious. “Oh, just wondering if those magazines really get the job done.”

With a tilt of his head, he bent sideways to place his toolbox on the floor. “You got my attention.” He crossed his arms, hands tucked into his armpits, and stood impossibly straighter. 

You shrugged, shooting for nonchalant. “Just seems like it’d be a constant disappointment. Jerking off like a teenager when a real pussy would be so much better.”

He chuckled. “You offerin’, C-cup?”

It took all you had to keep your voice from shaking. “Maybe.” It was almost comical the way his expression morphed into something between shocked and hopeful. You took a step toward him but he closed the distance in just a few long strides. 

“Maybe isn’t yes or no.” He was a hair’s breadth away, the proximity making your skin burn and your heartrate accelerate. 

“Yes.” You whispered, hating how it sounded more like a question. Still, Bauer made no attempt to advance. 

“Gotta be sure, doll. We live together in a place where it’d be difficult not to see each other if we make a mistake.” The sight of his tongue raking across his lips made you weak in the knees. 

“I don’t want to fuck up our friendship, you know.” You chewed your bottom lip for a moment, reaching out to toy with the zipper on his uniform jacket. “But I’ve—noticed you for a long time now. Well, as long as four hours a year allows.” You laughed. He didn’t, but the corners of his mouth lifted. “Yes. Yes, I’m sure.”

His lips were on yours within a heartbeat, large hands cradling each side of your neck. There was absolutely no stopping the moan that slipped so easily from your mouth and into his, providing the opening he needed to slide his tongue past your teeth. The two muscles tangled, battling. He tasted of the cigarettes he always somehow managed to find, along with the mint toothpaste that was well stocked in the supply closet. 

You were pulling at the zipper of his pants when he caught your wrists and pulled back to free your lips enough to watch you pout. 

“Not here.” Bauer looked up at a camera that was conveniently placed right at the end of the hall. “Don’t want Cartwright playin’ with the wizard’s staff while he watches us.” With a pointed look toward the camera that would have made you laugh at literally any other time, Bauer grabbed your waist and hoisted you up, your legs anchoring around his midsection. Your arms wound around his neck to hold yourself securely to his body while he twisted the wheel lock to open the door of the room he had exited only moments before. He pulled the door closed behind him and pressed you against it. You maintained your hold on him until he pushed on your thighs, urging you to drop your boots to the floor. 

It was a frenzy of sloppy kisses as you removed your jacket—leaving your camisole—and shed your work pants and sleep shorts. Bauer was less interested in removing his clothes, simply pulling down his pants and the longjohns underneath just enough to free his cock, stroking the already hard length as he stepped toward you.

“Sorry about the quickie, C-cup. Time isn’t exactly on our side here.”

“Less talking.” You lifted your right leg and curved it over his hip, driving the heel of your foot against the back of his thigh to bring him flush against your body. Kissing you with a hunger that ignited a fire in your belly, Bauer bent his knees slightly so he could obtain a firm hold on the backs of your thighs and lifted you to your previous position. You could feel the heat of his cock through the thin fabric of your panties, the hardness pressed against your folds. “Fuck me already, Vin.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice.” Gripping his shaft, he used his pinky to shove your panties to the side and entered you in one swift thrust that had you both moaning lewdly. “Christ fuck.”

It felt like he was splitting you in two. True, it had been a long time since you’d felt a cock inside you, but it had never felt like this. The first thrust punched a sound from you that you couldn’t even accurately describe. The fullness was a feeling you hadn’t even realized you had missed so intensely until he was moving inside you, his lips attached to your neck, your collarbone. 

“Goddamn, you feel so good.” He grunted, his large hands squeezing your ass, kneading and spreading you open. With your back against the wall and his solid grip below you, it was easy for him to lean back, his eyes locked on where he slid in and out of you with ease. “Come on, baby. Wanna watch you cum on my cock.”

The dark maintenance room was lit by only a single red light, which somehow contributed to the ambience of the moment. Bathed in scarlet as his skin met yours again and again, Bauer was beautiful. Your heavy-lidded eyes watched him, lips parted and brow furrowed in concentration. The perspiration beading on his skin glistened, his hair damp with it. You rewarded his efforts with sounds that had him groaning against your flesh, his thrusts quickening. 

Your hand nearly left his shoulder, the thought of rubbing your swollen clit a mere fleeting consideration once you felt the first vibrations of your climax approaching from his cock alone. The knot in your belly was tight, soon to snap. 

“Cum for me. That’s it, pretty girl.” He cooed, his fingers sliding into the cleft of your ass to spread you impossibly wider. His breathy encouragement was influencing you in all the right ways. 

“Fuck, Vin, I’m gonna cum.” First, your legs began to shake, tingling with the first sensations of your orgasm. “Oh god, oh shit.” Your nails dug into his shoulders, your clit beginning to throb. Without even a single brush to the sensitive nub, you began to cum, shouting his name and pressing your back hard against the door to angle your hips upward. The new angle allowed him to hit the deepest spot inside of you, each thrust prolonging the pleasure coursing through your cunt, your stomach, down to your toes. 

“Fuck, girl. Squeezin’ me like that—I’m gonna—fuck!” His hips stuttered, his grip tightening to borderline painful, only spurring you onward in your blissful journey. Distantly, you felt the warmth fill you, the pressure flowing against each and every nerve deep inside. Vincent pressed himself against you, his head dropping to your shoulder, each breath a heavy pant against your neck. Your hips jerked sporadically as you came down from wherever he had sent you, his cock still pulsing inside of you. “God—goddamn.” He rasped.

You grinned, still catching your own breath. “Better than a magazine?” He didn’t answer, not right away. He remained just as he was until you could no longer feel his heart galloping against your own chest. When he straightened, his blue eyes were thoughtful, with something you couldn’t name twinkling behind the vivid color. His quickly softening cock slipped free of you as he placed you on your feet, pulling up his longjohns and pants with one hand while he bent to snatch up your clothing and hand it to you.

Bauer zipped up his work pants. “Don’t think I’ll be needing Miss 1979 anymore.” He jested while tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “This a one-time thing?” His eyes were dancing over your face, hard to read, but you could have sworn you caught a flicker of hope there.

“I hope not.”

When he kissed you then, it felt different and in the best way possible.

“I’ve got our cocktails ready.” 

Cartwright was loading the mixture into the correct receptacle above each bed. Though you found yourself loath to enter the chamber, there was no avoiding it. At your locker, you peeled off your uniform, the chilly air much more uncomfortable than it had been when it had attempted to cool your body while Bauer had been inside of you. 

Risking a glance, you spotted Vincent at his own storage space, a magazine in his hand. His tongue dragged across his bottom lip, his eyes narrowed in thought. After a moment, he twisted to drop the publication into the garbage can behind him. 

Without moving your head, your eyes slid over to Cartwright, his mouth agape. When your sights moved back to Bauer, he was hanging his jacket inside the locker, a smirk painted over his features. He knew you were watching him, the little shit. 

Glancing at the clock, it read 0:12. 

You always dreaded going back into the chamber, frozen in time, feeling so much older with each emergence though your body hadn’t changed. Now, you wondered if the 6 months of forced sleep would bring about an awkwardness that preceded the dissolution of your friendship with Bauer. Maybe you had made a mistake. You had let your baser needs outweigh logic and reason and at what cost?

“See you soon.” Cartwright was already prepped and lying on the table, his voice muffled by the plastic cylinder. You gave him a soft smile and a nod, turning toward your own chamber as your comrade’s began to close. Your hand had barely touched the metal when your opposite wrist was snagged and you were spun around, your chest pressed snugly against Vincent’s. You heard Cartwright’s exclamations as his chamber closed, the “hey, you two are—oh my god—that’s why he threw away—” making you chuckle against Bauer’s mouth after you were drawn in for a kiss. 

By the time the two of you separated, you were breathless and the clock was at 0:06. You were cutting it close but could you really complain? Hell no. 

“See ya in six months, C-cup.” He damn near whispered, a fingertip fondly tracing your jaw. Your anxiety melted with each tender sweep of the digit, your eyes fluttering closed. “Go on now.” Spinning you, he gave your ass a slap and backed toward his own table. 

“Asshole.” You laughed, climbing up into the chamber. Inserting the needle into your arm and the cannula below your nose, you laid back and shifted to get comfortable. Rolling your head to the side, you watched Bauer do the same before meeting your gaze. 

“Night.” He said with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes.

“Night, Vin.” You continued holding his gaze until the metal closed in around you. As you began to feel the effects of the cocktail, your mind growing hazy and your eyes fluttering closed, you could only focus on the image of Bauer’s smile that had been etched into your memory, the ghostly whisper of his hands in your skin. You began to drift off, the uplifted corners of your mouth slowly relaxing. 

Maybe you could enjoy living life two hours at a time after all.  

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 23

part 1, prev part

School was a lot easier now that Max was back. It was better seeing her wheel herself up to the desk in the front corner. The teacher changing the seating chart to allow her to sit where it’s easiest for her to get in and out. And for them to be able to sit around her.

The assignments were getting done. Right as the teachers were starting to be less lenient as the weeks went by. As the people were discharged from the hospitals and the news coverage slowed. As the town started to rebuild and forget.

They don’t have the luxury of forgetting. The sights they’ve seen becoming unfading pictures in their minds. The scars left on all of them never leaving.

Even now, as the cafeteria fills and people sit down, the tables are emptier. Friends leaving seats open for the people still at home. Maybe never coming back.

Dustin stares at the seat empty at the head of the table. Waiting for someone to sit it in again. While Dusting sits with the realization that Eddie might never return to.

April’s already almost over. The school year is coming to a close. The doctor’s still have no prediction when Eddie will be able to leave, let alone when he can come back to school. If he even wants to.

Dustin wouldn’t blame him. It was hard enough to get out of bed to come to school himself, and he wasn’t complete chased by pitchforks. Yet the rest of the basketball team stares at him with torches in their eyes. Ready to start the hunt. He can’t even start to pretend what will happen if Eddie comes back.

It might be best if he just dropped out.

But Dustin can’t think of that right now. All he can think of is how the second half of the table doesn’t fill. As the rest if the Hellfire members have been sitting at another table out of guilt.

He picks up his tray, leaving his friends with questions as he walks over to them. Places it next to Grant and sits down. Silent.

They stop and turn towards him. Faces filled with surprise.

“What,” Dustin says, picking up his sandwich and starting to eat like nothing happened.

“Aren’t you, like, pissed at us or something,” Jeff says carefully.

Dustin shrugs, “Lucas talked to me, you didn’t deserve the way I was treating you.”

Gareth looks at his tray, sheepish. “I mean, we kind of did. We did sell you out. I sold you out.”

He never knew the person who really did it, but Gareth had more bite to him than people expected. Given the situation, he would protect his friends with his life. But he was still human, and humans get scared. Even now, the terror rest in his shoulders, in the way he twirls his fork.

“I don’t know what happened, but I know you guys wouldn’t just give us up without reason. And I’m sorry that I thought you would.” He looks at them, waiting for the apology to stick. For them to know that he means it and wants to go back to normal again.

These guys were never his closest friends, but that didn’t matter. Before Dustin, before the party, these were Eddie’s friends. The people that kept him in school, despite their constant teasing, and encouraged him to even try and get his degree. Instead of just dropping out the first time he had to repeat a year. The people that laughed with him when he stood atop the tables, instead of at him. Who bandaged up the wounds after a fight, either with actual bandages or with booze and reassurance.

They were part of the reason that Eddie was who he is. Dustin can’t stand the fact that he made them think any less of that. So much so that they couldn’t even go visit Eddie in the hospital. When he knows that Eddie would love that.

“I’m sorry about a lot of things,” Dustin continues. Letting the truth slip through more than he meant to.

“We are too,” Jeff speaks up. “This hasn’t been an easy time for us.”

Grant clears his throat. “We don’t even know what happened to him, it was easy for us to think that we caused it.”

“That giving him up to Jason was the reason he almost died,” Gareth finishes. Staring at his food.

Assumptions fill where information lacks. When someone knows the full truth, it’s often forgotten when people don’t. What they’re left to think from the consequences. Not knowing the actions that caused them.

“That’s not what did it.” The words come out with a sharper tone than he means to. But he leans into it. Making sure that they understand it was not their fault. It was never their fault. “Eddie would have gotten hurt either way, it wasn’t because you guys gave us up.”

It certainly didn’t help, and if Lucas wasn’t there, it could have been much worse. But it was never their fault. Eddie made his choice, and Dustin had to learn how to deal with that. Deal with the consequences of an action he had no control in stopping.

Even if that thought haunts him. Even if he wishes there was a universe where Eddie listened to him. Just followed the damn plan through. But he didn’t, and that’s the reality Dustin’s living in.

“He made a decision that got him hurt in the end,” Dustin continues. “I hated that he made it, but it was his own choice that did it. Not you guys, not me. Not anyone.”

The best he can do it make sure that other people understand that this reality isn’t their fault. The blame should never be on them, but the damned people who started this bullshit.

“How is he?” Jeff asks quietly.

Dustin blinks away the wetness in his eyes. “Better. He’s doing a lot better. And I think he’d really like to see you guys sometime.”

“We’d really like to see him,” Grant adds. Looking across the table at his friends. The same look shared in their eyes.

“Do you think he’d be up to seeing us?” Gareth asks, cautious.

Dustin nods. “More than he’d be willing to admit, I think.”

The slightest smile forms, making Dustin know that he did the right thing. For the first time in weeks, he knows that he did the right thing.

next part

tag list (capping at 100, only 5 spots left): @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

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[in4newz]

Just noticed that there hasn’t been much, if any, coverage on the mangione trial in like a month.

Like since he plead not guilty, there hasn’t been any major coverage on the proceedings. I just tried to look up anything about the past month and I genuinely cannot find anything.

Nothing about it they’re still in jury selection, nothing about any rulings, nothing about the defending attorney or even opinion pieces. Like I know why there’s not much coverage, but nothing at all? Like we got CONSTANT updates about the depp/heard case when it was happening, but now that it’s something about an important issue that would have been the case of the decade in times past, it’s radio silence.

It’s so incredibly disturbing that they’ve filtered it out of the media and that people don’t care enough to demand it be covered. People treated it like a trend and aesthetified it to the point that an actual act of resistance means nothing now.

Also there’s like no concrete evidence in this case. It’s all circumstantial. I feel that everyone forgot that, and because of it, the idea that “innocent until proven guilty” as a precedent is very much in the process of being undermined

Edit: Putting this here again because I keep getting people misinterpreting what I’m trying to say: You guys, I know there’s nothing new to report on. What I’m saying is that when something like this happens, everyone talks about it.

Every talk show and opinion columnist and political analyst will talk give speculation and reaction and opinion on it. Like when columbine happened, every news outlet talked about it for months before the trial ever happened. It happened in 99 and the rulings didn’t come out til 01 or something. And even if they never directly mentioned columbine, they would talk about gun violence and bullying and how police weren’t trained for situations like that.

They talked about the surrounding issues. Like yeah there’s nothing new that the media has access to rn, but no one is making opinion pieces about the judges conflict of interest, no talk show is having a 20 min segment about gun violence or the state of healthcare. Twenty years ago, it would have stayed in the news cycle at least passively until the case moved forward. But now it’s been phased out almost completely.

And I know coverage will pick up when the trial starts. I know courts move slowly. I’m not trying to push conspiracy. I was simply making an observation that it was strange that there was almost no talk about it, that it’s been phased out of news cycles, and how there’s no widespread conversation about the issues surrounding the shooting.

Also, I only used depp/heard in the original because it was the most recent case I could think of. And because I was tired and thought this post would be seen by like 20 people max, so I didn’t bother wording it as precisely as I could have. Columbine and the OJ Simpson case are better examples to work off of.

I just wanted to clarify what I meant so I stop getting comments that misinterpret what I’m trying to say and people being rude about it.

What's next?