#but yeah anyways. I’m out. trying to be social. also trying to just be. which is. well. I’m working on it

[courtillyy]

saw my reflection in the train window. saw a younger me looking back at me. my hair hasn’t been this long since I was a teenager but who I saw was not her, no, it was a much younger version. looking at me, stone faced, but not displeased. I wonder if I will be able to see him again.

[sizzlingsandwichperfection-blog]

john green quit tumblr because of the cock monologue

No, he didn’t.

This all happened a long time ago, and my memory is imperfect, but here’s my memory: The cock monologue certainly hurt my feelings! But when people are trying to force someone out of a virtual space, they sometimes resort to behavior that is similar to bullying except it’s not completely identical to bullying because the person they’re making fun of has a lot of power. (As someone who got bullied a lot in school, the feeling was similar in 2014 but it wasn’t identical--because I was aware of the fact that I was okay, that what was in danger was certain aspects of my identity/self-value that I treasured but not my entire personhood itself.)

Anyway, it hurt my feelings, and still hurts my feelings when I see it shared (it feels to me like a joke about my sexuality, although I understand other people don’t see it that way; but yeah, you don’t know much about my sexuality and I don’t really want you to but it feels like a joke about that to me, which just bums me out). 

But all of that stuff is a side effect of my job and having been successful at it, and I like my job. It is a great job. All jobs have aspects that suck. My job has fewer such aspects than other jobs I’ve had.

So yeah, I did not quit tumblr because of the cock monologue. (I also did not ask tumblr to make reblogs un-editable.) .

I quit tumblr because a few people started to make extremely specific threats. One might, for instance, send me an ask that featured a google streetview screenshot of my home alongside a plan for breaking into it.

I was super scared of these people (or possible person pretending to be a few people?) because they seemed to have a lot of knowledge about me and my family. We lived in a normal middle-class neighborhood in Indianapolis and I felt very exposed and nervous all the time in my real life, and eventually the freaked-out feeling just got too big and that’s why I quit tumblr.

(Edited to add: I am aware that prominent people sometimes use death threats against them to portray themselves as victims and protect themselves against justified criticism for their bigotry or abusive behavior or whatever. I don’t want to do that; it’s important to note that I have a lot of resources and power and so was able to, for instance, move to decrease the threat, which a lot of people can’t do. But I also feel like not talking about the experience honestly has not really helped me or anyone.)

I SHOULD’VE quit tumblr much earlier--I needed to realize that people weren’t comfortable with me in their virtual spaces and that to them I came across as cringey or even creepy, but at the time, I wasn’t nearly self-aware enough to leave for any of those reasons, and plus there was a lot of pressure from movie studios etc to stay on the social Internet so I could continue to promote my books and the stuff around them. So I didn’t quit when I should’ve, and as a result had and caused quite a few negative experiences for people. I’m sorry about the role I had in causing those negative experiences. I should’ve had a better understanding of not just how I experienced myself but also how other people might experience me. That’s something i’ve worked on over the years but still come up short on sometimes.

At any rate, I might delete this later because it makes me feel a bit like all my nerves are exposed to the air but I did just want to clarify that the, like, Tumblr Legend of this whole thing is at minimum a bit over simplified. 

[docrobinavitch]

but i stayed anyway

dr. robby x f!fiance!reader content: 18+ mdni, canon medical incidents (mci), shooting, mental health discussions, suicidal ideation words: 9.8k synopsis: takes place over the course of episodes 12-15. reader is a clinical psychologist who used to work in the hospital, but no longer does and is engaged to robby. robby calls reader to let her know about the shooting and asks that she not come... and guess what our reader does (: (as this is following alongside the events of episodes 12 through 15, please note that i borrowed some dialogue directly from the episodes.) a/n: hiiii besties!!! this fic is proof that democracy works 🤪 thank you for voting in my poll! the family trauma fic is soon to follow (hopefully). i listened to renegade by big red machine a lot while writing this, which to me may be the most robby coded song of all time. but yeah that's where the title comes from, if you were interested. thank you guys so much for all the love you've shown my writing the last month, i think it's time to get a masterlist up. love you, enjoy your weekend, and as always feel free to blow my inbox up.

It was almost 6PM when you were on your drive home from work that day. You thought about calling your fiancé, Michael, but figured he’d be off shift in an hour anyway. You were trying, and failing, not to be overbearing.

When he told you he intended to go to work today, you had feigned indifference, but he knew you and he heard the worry in your voice.

“Please don’t psychoanalyze me.” He said as he kissed you goodbye.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You said, “You said you’re good to work today so you’re good to work today. Just, um, maybe we could check in around lunch—?”

“Stop.” He said, sighing, “We talked about this.”

“Yeah, okay.” You said quickly, anxious to get him out of the house so you could fret in peace, “I’ll see you later.”

Once he was gone, you got yourself ready for work and did your best not to think about it too much. Him working on the anniversary of Adamson’s death. You were, after all, a clinical psychologist and so it had been… difficult to turn off your clinical instincts when Robby had been suffering so obviously the last few years.

You had suggested a referral to many a colleague, which he politely refused each time. Insisting he was fine while day after day you watched him slip further and further into an abyss.

You had gone so far as to text Kiara, the hospital social worker, about your concerns a few months ago. Robby had been livid about that. Barely spoke to you for days after.

Your fingers itched to call her on your way into work, but you really didn’t want to start off the weekend fighting with Robby.

So you stayed away. You didn’t text or call to check in during the day. However, when Jake had texted you earlier today asking if you wanted to stop by the ER with him around lunch, you nearly gave in.

Sorry, kid, too wrapped up with work today. But make sure you give him a hug for me!

You locked your phone and put it down after that, but then a minute later couldn’t stop yourself from sending an extra text:

Also couldn’t hurt to ask him how he is.

After it was sent you rested your head on your arms and sighed.

The rest of the day passed without incident. Jake had texted you that he seemed busy, but overall fine. You knew though that Jake’s perception of fine did not match yours. Besides which, Robby would have put on a show for him, a happy face. He’d never let Jake see the crushing grief that was just behind his eyes, if only you knew where to find it. You didn’t hear anything else for the rest of the day.

So when there was still an hour of Robby’s shift left and a picture of the two of you lit up your screen to indicate an incoming call, your heart rate picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, honey, I just wanted to let you know I’ll be home late tonight. I’m not sure how late yet.”

“Oh.” You waited for him to provide more information, but he didn’t. “Is everything okay?”

He sighed, “I don’t know. There’s an active shooter at Pitt Fest.”

“Oh, God—“ Your breath caught when you remembered your conversation with Jake earlier, “Jake’s there—“

“Yeah, do you think you could try getting in touch with him? I’ve tried calling, but it won’t go through.”

“Yeah, yeah of course.”

“And if you don’t mind, maybe call Janey too?”

“Yes. Whatever you need.” He was quiet on the other line for a moment. You badly wanted to ask him if he was okay, but knew the answer and also knew it would only piss him off, so you waited in the silence.

“Please don’t come here,” He said finally, “I know you think you can help—“

“I can help,” You said quickly, “Kiara’s going to be slammed, I’ve worked in the hospital before, I can—“

“You don’t want to be here for this.” He said firmly. You heard someone call his name in the background, “I have to go. You’ll let me know if you hear from Jake?”

“Yeah, of course. I love—“ The line went dead before you could finish your sentence.

That was fine. Your brain was entering crisis mode anyway. You dialed Jake as you drove, about three times with no luck. Trying to keep your own anxiety in check, you called Janey and let her know what was going on and to call you or Robby if she heard from Jake.

Robby didn’t want you at the hospital, you knew that, but there was simply no way in hell you were just going to go home and twiddle your thumbs while you waited to hear from him or Jake. You were sure he knew that, too.

So, after thinking it over for a minute, you made a U turn and dialed Kiara.

As you were walking in to the ER, you ran into Jack Abbot and exhaled a sigh of relief.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” He teased, throwing an arm over your shoulders.

“Oh, thank God you’re here too.”

“What are you doing here? You’re back at the hospital?”

“No, no, I just thought Kiara could use a hand tonight.”

He hummed, “Which roughly translates to you wanted to keep an eye on Robby.”

You feigned outrage, “Come on, Jack, I thought you’d be on my side about this.”

“I am on your side,” He laughed as you walked through the waiting room, “Why do you think I’m here?”

The two of you walked into Robby giving a pep talk to the ER staff. His face betrayed nothing when he saw the two of you, but just from looking at him it was immensely clear to you that the day had weighed on him. And now he still had miles to go.

“Brother, am I glad to see you.” He said to Abbot, pulling him into a hug.

“You,” He said, turning to you, “I specifically asked you not to come here.”

“Kiara asked me to come, and besides,” You lowered your voice, “You’re not the boss of me.”

He sighed and ran a hand over his face, “Have you heard from Jake?”

“No, I’m still trying. So is Janey.”

He nodded and then without preamble pulled you into his chest, “Thank you for coming.”

You exhaled in relief and tightened your arms around his waist, “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” You murmured, “I have to go find Kiara.”

He nodded and stepped away from you, immediately shifting back into leader mode. While you slipped away, you stopped at Dana’s side, gaping at her black eye.

“Oh my God, what the fuck happened to you?” You asked, hands coming up to her face.

“Oh, please, don’t start. I don’t have time.” She pulled you into a tight hug, “Glad you’re here though, regardless of what sad boy over there says, we could use all the help we can get.”

You smirked, “Sad boy?”

She waved you off, “Gen Z lingo, ask one of the med students.”

“Hey,” You grabbed her arm as she started to run off, “You’ll come get me if he seems… sadder than usual?”

She smiled, “Yeah, you got it.”

And then she was off and you disappeared into the chaos to find Kiara.

***

You had lost count of how many times you’d called Jake. You had talked to several family members, mostly just to ask them to be patient and be sure to upload any information about their missing family members.

But you had also had to inform a woman that her husband was dead. You had done this before, the hard thing, giving someone the worst news of their lives. It was a difficult balance to be empathetic enough that you didn’t come off cold and distant, but not so empathetic that you let it destroy you.

You still hadn’t mastered it. And the fact that no one could get in touch with Jake only made it worse. As soon as you could, you excused yourself to call him again.

It rang and rang and rang and when you reached his voicemail, you hung up, hands shaking.

It felt like hours before your phone went off with a text from Dana.

Jake’s here. He’s ok. Come find me.

The relief hit you so hard you felt yourself tearing up. Taking deep breaths, you headed back into the ER, looking for Dana.

You hadn’t been back here since everything started and the sight of all the patients, the blood on the floor, nearly made you sick. You stood there, frozen in place, listening to the crying and medical jargon being shouted and wondered, not for the first time, how the fuck Robby did this all day long. You knew from experience it wasn’t normally like this, but after only a couple of hours in the ER, you had always been anxious to leave it. You never understood how anyone could do a full 12 hour shift here.

“Good, there you are.” Dana said, coming to your side, “Jake’s good, he was shot in the leg, but they’ve stopped the bleeding he’s stable.”

“Oh, thank God. Has anyone called Janey?”

Dana nodded, “She’s on her way here. But, Leah, Jake’s girlfriend,” Dana sighed and shook her head, “It’s not good. Robby’s working on her.”

You nodded, “Okay, well, that’s encouraging. Robby’s the best chance she has.”

Dana nodded, “Yeah, I’m more so worried that she was a lost cause when she got in here and Robby’s been working on her for… Well, longer than he should be in a mass casualty. Anyone else and he would’ve called it minutes ago.”

You saw where she was going with this. Leah was dead. But Robby would kill himself to bring Leah back, to not have to tell Jake he couldn’t save her. And all of this was happening on the day Adamson had died.

“Also,” Dana added, “I don’t know the details, but him and Langdon had a falling out today. He sent the kid home.”

You frowned, “What d’you mean, Langdon’s right there?” You pointed behind her to Langdon who was working on a patient.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be shitting me.” She sighed, “Okay, well, don’t tell Robby you saw him. He’s gonna lose his shit when he sees him.”

You sighed and brought your hands together, “Okay. I’m going to go talk to Jake and then I’m gonna see what I can do about… Leah.”

“Thank you,” Dana said, “You’re an angel.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, it’s a long shot he’ll listen to me.”

“Have a little faith, yeah?” And then Dana disappeared.

Closing your eyes, you breathed slowly a few times, psyching yourself up to go find Jake, and then you forced yourself to move.

You found Jake alone, on a gurney in the hallway, phone in hand and tears still wet on his cheeks.

“Oh, Jake, baby,” He looked up at the sound of your voice and his arms opened to you immediately. You wrapped him up, holding him as tightly as you could.

“Leah was shot,” He cried.

“I know, I know, I heard.”

“Robby’s with her, do you know how she is?”

You shook your head, “I just got in here, but I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

“Could you stay with me? Just until my mom gets here?”

Oh, your heart was shattering in your chest with every second that passed. You closed your eyes for a second, “I have to go handle something, but I promise I will be right back, okay?”

He nodded, “Yeah, okay. And you’ll see about Leah?”

“Yeah, of course.” You squeezed his hand and kissed the top of his head and then you were moving again.

The level of carnage was absolutely stunning and in your head you had to keep repeating to yourself over and over Find Robby. Find Robby. Find Robby. In order to keep your head on straight.

And then you saw him, in front of the hub, perched on top of the gurney like a man tied to the pyre at the center of town. You wondered idly how long he had been performing compressions. Nurses surrounding the gurney, carrying out orders as he spewed them out. All of them had the same look on their face, like they were placating a child who could not quite seem to grasp that their dog had died.

“Fuck.” You muttered.

“Good, you’re here. Maybe he’ll listen to you.” Abbot appeared behind you.

“I don’t know that he will,” You swallowed, “He’s been pushing me away for weeks.” The intensity of the situation they were in, of seeing Jake, and now his girlfriend, dead beneath Robby’s hands brought tears to your eyes.

“You have to try.” Abbot said quietly, and then he buried himself back into the fray.

You blinked the tears away rapidly and then tentatively stepped towards the gurney. You looked down at Leah’s body, all the tubes coming out of her, the gaping wound in her chest, “Robby.” You said softly and looked up.

His eyes flicked to yours quickly, then back to Leah, “It’s Jake’s girlfriend.”

“I know.” He continued compressions and gave more orders out to the nurses that you didn’t quite understand, “How long has she been down?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I thought—I thought we had a pulse for a second.”

You nodded, “But her heart stopped a long time ago, didn’t it?”

His eyes flicked up to yours again and you saw the layers of pain there that had been ripped up, likely all day long. All culminating in this girl, this one girl he couldn’t save. That he would have never been able to save, even on a good day. And despite all the people he had already helped save today and the dozens he would save after, he would never let go of Leah.

He looked back down at Leah, “It’s Jake’s… She’s Jake’s…”

“I know, baby,” You said softly, “Have you tried everything?”

“We gave her so much blood… We transfused some of her own blood… But the bullet it… It tore through her heart…”

“That sounds like you did everything you could,” You said gently, and you felt your own tears aching at the back of your throat, “It sounds like you gave Leah the best chance you possibly could have. If this didn’t work then nothing would have.” He’s still doing compressions, grimacing as he does, “Why don’t we check her pulse one more time, okay?”

He looks up at you again, your eyes pleading for him to climb off the gurney, his eyes pleading with you not to make him give up on Leah. You lift a hand up to him, a silent offering: You don’t have to do it alone.

He looked back down at Leah for another moment and you saw him fighting with himself. And then he reached for you. His gloved, blood soaked hand wrapped around yours tightly and the weight on your chest lessened marginally.

“Sophie, could you take over compressions for a moment? Dana, do you have the doppler?”

“Yeah.”

“Has it been tested?”

“No.”

Robby let go of your hand and took the doppler from Dana, quickly checking it on his own wrist. “Ok, it’s working.” He said when the sound of his own pulse echoed. “Hold compressions.”

You held your breath when he held the doppler to Leah’s neck. The silence was deafening and you bit the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted blood. But you kept watching Robby, never looking away from him.

“Ok.” He said finally, and you heard the tears in his throat, “That’s it, we’re done.”

He put the doppler away and wrote the time of death on her wrist chart and pulled the blanket up and over her head. You reached out for his hand again, fully expecting him to push you away, but he took it, holding it like a lifeline.

“I can tell Jake.” You said softly.

“No,” He said, shaking his head, “It’s okay, I’ll do it.”

“Robby—“

He squeezed your hand once before dropping it, turning his attention elsewhere, “You should wash your hands.”

You looked down at your hands, and sure enough, they were covered in Leah’s blood from where Robby had held them.

“Thank you,” Dana said, coming up behind you, “I wasn’t sure he was ever going to stop.”

You inhale shakily, “Don’t thank me yet. He still has to tell Jake.”

You excuse yourself before she can reply, heading straight for the bathroom. The crying starts before you’ve even fully closed the door, and then when you see the bloody footprints and the blood in the sink, you only cry harder.

You thought about Jake, about how he had told you about Leah just a couple weeks ago. The two of you giggling while he showed you pictures of her, told you about the music she loved and the TV she watched. Now you're washing her blood down the sink.

You watch the pink water and suds flow from your hands down the drain and wait for your breathing to level.

After drying off your hands, you sniffle, and then steeling yourself you walk back into the ER— And straight into Kiara.

“Hey, I was looking for you. We got a couple more positive IDs in the morgue and the families are here.” She looks at you more closely, noting your red eyes and wet cheeks, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just… Jake’s girlfriend just died, so.” You cleared your throat, “But I’m good, I’m ready.”

She gave you a knowing look, “You’re sure?”

You shrugged and looked around, “You can’t fully process an event like this until it’s over. The only way out is through and all that. So I’m good.”

Jake was waiting for you, you remembered, but you couldn’t face him right now. Couldn’t lie to him when you had watched Robby pull that blanket up over Leah’s head.

“Alright.” Kiara said, and the two of you began walking back to the cafeteria.

***

After helping Kiara with two family notifications, you excused yourself back to the ER, wanting to check on Robby and Jake.

Walking back into the chaos was just as upsetting the second time. You clenched your fists as you walked through, looking for Robby or Dana or Abbot. The first person your eyes found was Abbot, monitoring a patient and talking a resident through a procedure.

“Hey,” You said, walking up to him, “Have you seen Robby?”

He looked up from his patient and looked around, “Hey Dana?” He shouted, “You seen Robby?”

“No,” She called back, “I was just about to ask you the same.”

“Shit,” You murmured and started walking again.

“Y/N?” Dana called.

“Yeah, I’m on it.” You called as you passed her.

You opened every room, asked every doctor and nurse you passed, but no one had seen him.

Finally, you overheard someone mention that they were using the Peds room as a makeshift morgue and it clicked.

Robby didn’t talk to you much about the pandemic or about Adamson afterwards, but when he had been in it. When he came home on this day four years ago, he had been so distraught, so desperate, he had tried at first to talk about it. And you remembered how he explained to you that they put Adamson in Peds for lack of space. It had really stuck with him, for some reason, that Adamson had died in Peds.

If now the morgue was in Peds. And Leah was in the morgue. And Robby was the one who took her there. Well, it didn’t take a genius to figure out why no one could find Robby.

You walked quickly, occasionally stopping to ask for directions or to see if anyone had seen Robby. Langdon was the most helpful, saying he saw Robby go in the morgue with Jake and then Jake came out, but not Robby.

“Hey, what’s going on with the two of you today?” You asked.

“Me and Robby?” He looked around as if to see if anyone else was listening, “Why, what have you heard? Did he say something to you?”

You raised your eyebrows, “No, but Dana said he sent you home hours ago.”

He ran a hand through his hair, “It was a misunderstanding.”

You nod and then shrug, “Okay.”

“Are you analyzing me or something?”

You give a short laugh and then start backing away from him, “Are you paying me? I don’t analyze for free, Frank. I’m very expensive.”

You were hoping to get more from Langdon on what was going on. It was becoming more and more apparent that a lot of shit had happened today during Robby’s shift even before the shooting.

But, you didn’t have time for that, you supposed. You’d have to go in blind, trust your instincts, hope to God you don’t say the wrong thing to push him away.

And when you walk into Peds, you realize just how in over your head you are.

Robby’s on the ground, Star of David necklace clutched in his hand, eyes closed tight as he shakily murmured to himself in Hebrew.

You had never seen him pray before. He had struggled with his faith after the passing of his grandmother and ever since working in the ER. As long as you’d known him, his relationship with God had been tenuous or nonexistent.

So if he was praying right now, well, that scared the shit out of you.

You lowered yourself to the ground in front of him, not touching him or saying anything, just wanting him to know you were there.

After a few moments of you sitting in front of him, his breathing just starting to level and the tears slowing, you tried to find the right thing to say. Nothing you said, you knew, would fully be able to help him process whatever this was. Whatever had happened in here with him and Jake. That was for another time.

It went against everything you were taught as a clinician to push Robby back into the work when that was the reason he was on this floor, wrecked beyond recognition. But people were dying out there. And more would die if you couldn’t manage to pull him out of the riptide.

“I heard one of your interns just did a REBOA without supervision.” His eyes darted to yours at that, “I don’t know what that means, but everyone seems pretty pissed about it.”

“What is this?” He asked, voice gravelly.

“What?”

“You’re not going to ask if I’m okay or ask me how it makes me feel that Leah’s dead and Jake blames me?”

Ah. Well, that certainly explained the situation they were in. The straw that broke the camel’s back was Jake. The closest thing he had to a son, rejecting him in his lowest moment and reaffirming every untrue belief he held about himself.

You shook your head, “I think it’s pretty clear you’re not fucking okay. None of us are okay right now.” You glanced over your shoulder through the glass door, “I could give you the heartfelt pep talk if you want, about how I know you’re the best doctor in this whole damn hospital and how I know if you couldn’t save Leah no one could and how I know Jake loves you even if he’s angry and hurting. But I don’t think you’re in the space to receive that right now.”

His breathing was shaky and he fiddled with his necklace, not looking at you anymore. You weren’t sure if you were blowing it or not, but this was the best you could do right now without falling apart yourself.

“What I think you need to hear right now is that people are still dying out there. People who are loved, who have families, just like Leah did. And they need you.”

He shook his head, sobbing, “I can’t.”

Your eyes watered and you swiped a tear from your cheek hurriedly, frustrated at yourself for crying, “I know that’s how it feels. But I also know you’ll never forgive yourself if you leave your department out there to fend for themselves all night while you sit in here.” You sniffed, “And I’m really gonna need you to forgive yourself for this someday, Michael.”

At that, he did look up at you. The unspoken words in what you were saying. You loved this man with every beat of your heart. But you weren’t sure how much longer it could go on like this. You, desperately trying to throw him a life vest and him actively swimming further away from you.

He needed to want to get better and you weren’t sure how to make him want it, to see that this was unsustainable and destroying him. And he was pulling you down with him.

Eyes glittering with tears, you rose to your feet and reached a hand out to him for the second time that day.

He looked back down at the floor for a moment and your heart sank, but then you felt the brush of his fingers on your palm. You swallowed down a sob that threatened to choke you and gripped his hand, helping him off the floor.

Once he was at his full height, you brought your hands to either side of his face and gently pulled him to you, pressing kisses to his cheeks and forehead before resting your head to his.

His breathing wavered only slightly as he rested his own hands at the base of your neck.

“Okay?” You asked tentatively after you’d both been standing there like that for a few moments.

He swallowed and nodded, “Yeah.”

As you stepped away from him, your hand trailed down his arm until you were just holding his hand. You squeezed once and he squeezed back. You dropped his hand as you turned for the door and you felt his hand at the small of your back as the two of you left Peds.

Things seemed to be beginning to slow down now. You watched from a distance as Robby breezed by you, pulled off his bloody robe and encouraged his residents. As if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t been destroyed just moments ago. It was astounding to you, the way he could so quickly shift gears.

But then, as he was putting on a new robe, Gloria appeared. You stepped closer to the hub and watched the exchange anxiously. You almost turned and walked away as things seemed to be going okay, but then the conversation shifted to discussions of unscreened blood donors and a shooter with a hit list and then Robby exploded.

“Jesus Gloria!”

You were shoulder to shoulder with Abbot when he lost it and your breath caught, “Your turn.” You murmured to Jack and backed yourself into a chair next to Dana at the hub.

“Hey, get some air, brother.” Abbot said as soon as Robby was close enough, “Go check on triage.”

When he disappeared out the ambulance bay doors, you rested your head in your hands.

“Should we be worried about him?” Abbot asked as he walked around the hub.

“Yes,” You said, “Everyone should be very, very worried about him.”

“Awesome,” Jack sighed and went back to see more patients.

You kept an eye on the ambulance bay, tears still constantly threatened to spill over. You wanted to go home, but not if Robby didn’t come with you.

“It’s slowing down, right?” You asked Dana, eyes shining as she turned to you.

She gave you a sad smile and squeezed your shoulder, “Yeah, kid. It’ll be over soon.”

***

You had sat with Jake after that until Janey came. You had squished yourself into his non-injured side and rested your head on top of his.

“You know Robby would’ve traded his life for Leah’s in a second if he could have. He would’ve done anything to not see you hurt like this.” You said gently.

Jake had sat there quietly so you had decided not to push. The two of you sat in silence for a while.

You watched Robby whenever he passed by and almost without fail, his eyes fell to Jake whenever he passed. You had heard there was a measles case in the ER. Not contagious, but it was something Robby had said to you months ago he feared the most. That this anti vaccination trend was going to boil over and sooner or later, diseases like the measles that had largely been eradicated, would return. You couldn’t believe this was happening today of all days.

When Janey got to Jake, you reluctantly left him.

“Oh, please, don’t leave on my account,” Janey said smiling, “I really appreciate you staying with him.”

“Please, it’s my pleasure,” You squeezed Jake’s hand again before climbing off his gurney, “But I really have to go find Robby and see if I can drag him home. He might collapse soon if he doesn’t get out of here.” You turned back to Jake, “You’ll text me if you need anything, right? I mean anything.”

He shrugged, “Sure, whatever.”

You knew he was acting this way probably because he saw you as an extension of Robby. And it sucked. You loved Jake. Had loved him for years now, since he was just a little kid. It would pass, you told yourself. It had to.

“Janey,” You pulled her off a little away from Jake, “This is not unsolicited advice, just an offer from a friend: I would be happy to refer him to a colleague if at any point you think he needs to talk to someone.”

Janey gave you a watery smile, “Thank you.”

“You have my number?” She nods, “Okay. Well, please, if either of you need anything, Robby and I are just a call away.”

Janey nodded, “And also not unsolicited advice, just the observation of a friend, but I’m worried about Robby. You’ll make sure he’s alright, right?”

You looked down at your hands, at the ring on your finger, then looked back up at Janey, “Right now I can’t see past the next hour or so, but I am trying my damnedest to keep him above water.”

Janey nodded and squeezed your hand before you headed back towards the hub. As you were heading there, though, you thought you heard Robby’s voice yelling coming from the elevators.

You locked eyes with Dana, and frowning, slowly turned towards the direction of the yelling. You walked down a hallway to find Robby in a heated discussion with Dr. Shen, but when his eyes landed on you he disengaged.

“While I am glad that you are… functioning again,” You said quietly, “If you keep screaming at people, I’m gonna need to forcibly bring you home.”

He had a hand on your shoulder as he steered you through the ER, “You should go home,” He said, “Nothing else for you to do here, Kiara doesn’t need you anymore, I’ll be home in a couple of hours.”

“No,” You said immediately, “No, I’m sorry, I’m not leaving here without you. If you want me to leave, you’ll have to come with me.”

He sighed, “I wish you wouldn’t make this so difficult.”

You bit your lip to stop it from wobbling, “And I wish you’d stop pushing me away.”

He stares at you for a few moments, opening his mouth as if to argue when there’s a commotion at the hub that has you both turning.

“Is that… Is McKay…?” You start, but Robby’s already walking. You follow, but keep your distance, listening as he puts the cops in their place.

The pride flared in your chest, as it always does. This is the man you fell in love with, the one who stood up for what he believed in, for his students and staff, regardless of the cost.

When it’s done and they let McKay go, Gloria is back. You watch with some tension as Robby reports the status of all the mass casualty patients. But there’s no further incident and Robby walks past you on his way to another patient, “Go home.” He whispers as he walks by.

You tried not to let it hurt, how he seemed to be desperate for you to go away. But after the way the last few hours had unfolded, it was getting difficult. You parked yourself at the hub, trying to contain your sniffling as you again looked at the ring on your finger.

He was having an astronomically hard day, you knew. But had the two of you not made a great team? Weren’t you the only one who could get through to him when everything around him seemed to be crumbling?

“Hey, kid,” Dana said softly and pushed a cup of coffee your way, “You doing okay?”

You tried to smile, but nearly broke, “Fine, I’ll be fine. And you?”

She gave a short laugh, “I’ve seen better days.”

You sipped the coffee Dana had given you, “I hear that.”

***

You tried not to seem too eager the next time you saw Robby at the hub. He tells Dana that he’s stepping outside with a sandwich and a juice box, and then you feel his shadow above you, and look up, “Dana says you look like you’re experiencing an existential crisis.”

You nod, “Probably a normal reaction to what we’ve all experienced here tonight. Unlike some people in this place I don’t see experiencing the normal range of human emotions as a character flaw.”

He nodded slowly, “Is there anything I can say to get you out of here?”

You almost laughed, “Can I ask you a question? Is the insistence on getting me out of here out of concern for my emotional well being or is it just because you know I’m the only person here who can truly help you and you don’t think you deserve help?”

“And if it’s both?” He locked his red rimmed eyes with yours and gave you a sad smile.

A rare bit of honesty and it floored you. You reached for his hand, “Robby—“

“I need some air and to eat,” He said backing away, “We’ll leave soon, I promise.”

You watched him disappear into the ambulance bay, having to physically restrain yourself from following. But then, you watched Langdon follow after him.

“Oh, no.” You sighed. You debated with yourself for about thirty seconds whether or not to follow, “Fuck it.” You muttered to yourself and then followed them outside.

“—I was never high, I was just treating my own withdrawal symptoms—“

“Which you should’ve done under the care and supervision of a physician.”

Oh, fuck. You stopped walking just past the ambulance bay doors, unsure if maybe you should go back inside.

“You could’ve come to me, but instead now you could face felony charges for stealing controlled substances from a hospital.”

Holy shit. You had thought the whole thing with Langdon earlier today must’ve been related to patient care or maybe the new residents or med students. But this was much, much more than a disagreement about care or teaching methods.

“You need help.”

“What about you, man? I’m not the only one fucked up here! Look in the mirror!”

You squeezed your eyes shut. Perhaps you should go back inside. This was only going to get worse.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You heard the edge in Robby’s voice. The frustration, the exhaustion, the disappointment. He was practically begging Frank to say the quiet part out loud so he’d have an excuse to explode.

“I never had a complete meltdown.”

“No, you just cause them in other people.”

This was past the point of being a productive conversation, but you knew if you intervened you’d probably just make it worse.

“You’re blaming me for what happened to you?”

“What happened to me? What happened to me?! Oh, you are so full of shit. You let me down! You let everybody down! Especially yourself.”

Robby turned to walk back inside and you started to as well, but then Frank spoke again.

“Somebody saw you in Peds.”

Robby stopped cold. You couldn’t watch this anymore. You moved to go grab Robby, wanting to drag him inside, but he was already walking back to Frank, “Who? Y/N?”

You looked down at your shoes and tried not to feel betrayal. That he thought you would tell anyone about how you had found him, in his most vulnerable state.

“No, a night shift nurse saw you on the floor. Said it looked like—“

“Looked like what? LOOKED LIKE WHAT?!” You flinched and blew out a slow breath between your lips. “This job will fuck you up if you let it. You let it.”

Robby started walking again, still not having seen you.

“Yeah, I wasn’t the one talking to cartoon animals in Peds.”

“FUCK. YOU.” Robby shouted as he kept walking back towards the ER.

When he laid eyes on you, he almost stopped in his tracks. He shook his head and sighed, walking past you, “This is exactly why you shouldn’t be here.” He said as you followed him inside, “You shouldn't have heard that.”

“He is desperate,” You said quickly, a long shot attempt at damage control, “And experiencing withdrawal, I know you know what that does to people. He didn’t mean any of that.”

“You doing okay, man?” Abbot asked as the two of you approached the hub.

“Why do you keep asking me that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, you did take the parent of a patient into our makeshift morgue, never mind that it’s technically a fucking crime scene. That’s just not cool, man.”

Robby didn’t deny this, and you slowly turned to him, horror clear on your face, “Okay, you are done with patients today. Do you hear me?” He wouldn’t look at you, pretending to be very focused the chart in front of him, “Robby.” You said sharply.

Finally he looked up at you. “I know,” He said softly, “You’re right. I’m done.”

Just then Gloria came down, talking about getting Robby and Abbot in front of a press conference. It was absolutely inconceivable to you that after what had happened here today Gloria had the fucking audacity to ask for more from her doctors, but Robby must’ve sensed you were about to tell her as much because he gently put an arm in front of you and pushed you behind him.

“Trust me, Gloria, you don’t want me speaking to the press right now.”

“Or ever.” Abbot added.

After Gloria’s little speech about ER cowboy nonsense, Ellis shouted some sort of medical jargon about a patient that had both Robby and Abbot’s head shooting up.

“What the fuck?” Abbot murmured, exasperated.

To your dismay, Robby began following him, “Robby!” You called after him, “No more patients!”

“Yeah,” He called back, “I’ll just be a second.” And he disappeared behind the trauma room door.

“Unbelievable.” You sighed and watched Robby anxiously from the hub, biting at your cuticles anxiously.

A few minutes later, he came back out and started talking to Dana as he stood next to you. As he did so, he pulled your hand from your mouth to stop you from biting, holding your hand within both of his.

“Could you please find the remaining day shift so I can do a quick debrief and we can all go home?”

Dana nodded and was off and then Robby sighed heavily. Feeling brave now that he had grabbed your hand on his own, you stood in front of him.

“Hey,” You said softly, “Come here.”

To your surprise, he allowed your touch, in fact, he buried his face in your shoulder of his own volition. You lightly scratched the back of his head and turned your head inward just slightly so you could press kisses to his skin, “Everything’s going to be okay.” You said softly.

He nodded into your shoulder before gently pulling away from you and rubbing a hand over his face.

The day shift had gathered and he released your hand to walk around the front and give the debrief.

The speech was hard to listen to, the emotion in Robby’s voice unmistakable.

“None of us are gonna forget today.” He voice faltered and he rubbed at the tears in his eyes, “even if we really really want to. So, go home. Let yourselves cry. You’ll feel better. It’s just… Grief… Leaving the body.”

You swiped at your own tears as Robby finished and headed off. You immediately walked after him, following him to the memorial wall where Adamson’s portrait was.

You slowed your walk as you approached him, “He would’ve been so proud of everything you did here today.” You said softly.

Robby sniffed and nodded, “I wish he had been here.”

You nodded, “He would’ve made the same decision you did, you know? To take him off the ECMO.”

He shrugged, “Yeah, maybe.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, “If it had been you, instead… And it was one of your students who extubated. Would you have wanted them to blame themselves like this?”

He sighed heavily, screwing his eyes shut tight.

“If it had been Heather, or Samira, …or Frank? What would you tell them?” He didn’t answer the question, which was fine. It was rhetorical, you both knew what he would say. It would sound a lot like what he had just told them all after this shift from hell. You nudged your shoulder with his, “It’s time you start showing yourself that same grace, hm?” You said gently.

He nodded and then turned to look at you. The grief had settled into his face. He had had these sad, weary eyes the entire night. “Thank you for coming today.” He said, “I know I don’t say it enough, that I push you away when I need you most—“

“It’s okay,” You said softly, “We don’t have to do this now. Not until you’ve slept and eaten. Okay?”

He nodded, blinking away the tears. He looked back towards central, “I just want to check in on Jake and then we can go.”

“Okay,” You intertwined your fingers with his, “I’ll come with you.”

The two of you walk back in to central and head towards North Three, where Jake is with Janey. As you get closer, you let go of his hand, standing just behind him as he looked at Janey and Jake, “How are we doing?”

“We’re doing okay,” Janey said and turned to Jake, “Right?”

Jake didn’t say anything and so Robby went on, “I know that this is difficult. This is gonna hurt for a long time and it’s okay if you wanna blame me. Just, please don’t blame yourself. We’ve been friends for a long time, I would hate it—“

“No we’re not friends,” Jake spat, “And you’re not my father so fuck off.”

Robby stood there frozen. You couldn’t see his face, but you could only imagine the devastation he felt even if he wasn’t showing it on his face. Your hands itched to reach for his so you clasped them in front of you instead.

“Jake.” Janey admonished, but Robby was already walking away.

“Robby,” It was Donnie now stopped him as he was walking away, “Parents of Jake’s girlfriend, Leah, are here. I put them in the viewing room.”

Robby nodded and affectionately patted Donnie on the shoulder.

“Wait, Robby,” You walked quickly to catch up to him, “I’m going with you.”

“No,” He said quickly.

“I wasn’t asking.”

He stopped and turned back to you, “You don’t work here anymore, the fact that you even helped Kiara today I know I’m gonna get shit about from Gloria—“

“Screw Gloria!” You hissed, “I mean, since when do you give a fuck what she thinks anyway? I can help.”

He sighed, “Don’t fight me on this.” He said finally, “You won’t win.”

And then he turned on his heel and left. Christ, he was so fucking frustrating today.

“Um, Dr. Y/L/N?”

You turned at the unfamiliar voice who was addressing you with such formality. She was a tiny brunette, her hair tied back in a short ponytail, and ice blue eyes.

“Y/F/N is fine.” You said, perplexed that someone you didn’t know was addressing you as Doctor. You hadn’t worked at the hospital in so long, most of the people here now simply knew you as Robby’s fiancée and either forgot or didn’t know about your PhD.

“Sorry to bother you, I’m Dr. Trinity Santos. I’m one of Dr. Robby’s new residents. I heard you used to work here? Do psych consults in the ED?”

You nodded, “Yeah, not just here, every floor. But because of the nature of the ER I was here pretty frequently. What can I do for you, Dr. Santos?”

“I have an overdose who came in from Pitt Fest and I’ve confirmed it was a suicide attempt… It’ll likely be days before he gets up to psych. I was just wondering if maybe you could have a conversation with him? Maybe point him in the direction of resources outside of the hospital?”

“Um,” You looked towards the door Robby had just left through, then back to Trinity, “Yeah. Of course. Lead the way.”

***

You sighed as you walked out of the patient’s room with Dr. Santos, “That was a really good catch on your part,” You said to her, “He seemed like a really tough egg to crack, but you got through to him. Really excellent work for an intern, Dr. Santos. Keep it up.”

She beamed at you, “Thank you. And thank you for talking to him, I really think it’ll make a difference.”

“Anytime,” You said and then turned to head back towards the viewing room.

Seeing that patient with Dr. Santos reminded you of what you missed about working at the hospital. You loved collaborating with other clinicians and physicians on a case, the team work and multiple perspectives it brought. Now, you mostly worked on your own for any given case, unless you really needed advice. But the work was more solitary now, which could be quite isolating.

As awful as tonight had been, you realized you really missed being apart of a team.

“Hey, Abbot,” You called to Jack as you got to the hub, “Have you seen Robby? He was notifying Leah’s parents, but then someone grabbed me for a consult and now I don’t see him anywhere.”

“Consult?” He tugged on the stethoscope around his neck, “I thought you don’t work here anymore?”

You tilted your head a bit, “What’re you gonna do, tell Gloria on me?” He gave a short laugh, “Seriously though, Robby?”

He sighed, “I haven’t seen him since the debrief.”

“Okay,” You tried not to panic, but you knew he must be in bad shape. But he wouldn’t go home without you, “Is there a place he goes when he’s upset? Do you think he’s just getting some air out in the ambulance bay or—“

“The roof.” Abbot said.

“Excuse me?”

Abbot scratched the back of his head, “The roof, we go to the roof sometimes to… contemplate.”

You stared at him for a moment and then scoffed, “You ER physicians and your suicidal ideation,” You pushed off the hub and started backing away, “I have half a mind to get you all admitted to psych on 72 hour holds.”

Jack laughed, “Yeah, good luck finding the beds.”

You took a brisk pace heading up to the roof and by the time you got there, you were out of breath. Stepping out into the Pittsburgh night air, you took a deep breath. Everything was going to be okay. The sun would rise again tomorrow. The world would keep spinning. Life would go on.

Your eyes fell to Robby, standing over the railing and far too close to the edge of the building.

And you would get Robby off this roof, safely.

You approached the railing slowly and quietly, but he heard you, his head turned slowly in your direction before he turned back to the skyline, “You shouldn’t be up here.”

“Neither should you,” You leaned on the railing, “Abbot implied you come up here a lot, though.”

He shrugged, “Maybe I just like the view.” He said, but he sniffled.

You hummed, “It is quite lovely up here.”

You swung your leg over the railing and Robby swore as he grabbed you, making sure to stabilize you before your feet got their bearings. When it seemed like you weren’t going to go flying over the edge, he released you.

“It’s you and Jake.” He murmured after the two of you had stood silently for a few moments.

You frowned, “What do you mean?”

“Every time I come up here,” He rubbed at his eyes, “I think about it. Just taking that extra step over the ledge. But I never do, because I think about leaving you and Jake and I can’t do that. But now, Jake...” He shook his head and scratched the back of his head.

“Jake loves you,” You said, “He just needs time. And you’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.”

He shook his head, “And how long until I fuck that up for good, too?”

You inhale deeply, “You know, self fulfilling prophecies are a real thing. So if you convince yourself that you’re going to lose me, chances are you’ll continue to behave in ways that’ll make you lose me.”

He turned to look at you, “I really don’t like when you use your clinical brain to describe our relationship.”

“Sorry. It’s a defense mechanism. Knowing what’s happening and why makes me feel like I can fix it.” You sighed, “You know you can’t keep going like this, right?”

He nodded, tears tracing paths down his cheeks, “I shut down. The moment everybody needed me the most I couldn’t do it. I choked.”

You frowned, “That’s not how I remember it.”

“You know damn well I broke.”

“You didn’t break. You fell apart for a couple minutes, so fucking what? Any other feeling person in your position would have done the same. It’s a strength, not a weakness.” He was shaking his head, “106 people get to go home because of your leadership. I think that more than outweighs the two minutes you took to cry.”

You climbed over the railing and held out a hand to him, “Now I’d like to go home, if you have no further objections.”

You watched his shoulders heave shakily for a few moments before he finally turned and grabbed your hand.

***

Walking through the threshold of the home you shared with Robby nearly made you fall to your knees after the last several hours in the hospital. It was messy, neither of you had had a chance to clean in a while. Unopened mail piled on the console table. Books strewn haphazardly around the living room. A half done crocheting project you had started a week ago was abandoned on the couch. Robby’s toolbox sat, opened by the door to the guest room that he had attempted to replace the doorknob on, but never finished. The dishwasher was full and clean, needing to be emptied and reloaded with the dirty dishes that sat in the sink.

Regardless of the mess, you felt the tension start to ebb out of your body as the warm lights lit up a path to the living room. Unceremoniously, you threw some books and a stray remote out of the way before turning to Robby and forcing him to sit on the couch,

“I’m going to run you a bath,” You said, “Think about what you want to order for takeout?”

“I’m not hungry.” He said, and then reached for you, pulling you straight on top of him.

You chuckled, “Let me go run the bath for you, please?”

He wrapped his arms tightly around you, securing you to his chest, and he kissed your hair, “Just stay with me for a few minutes?”

The smell of him and the feel of his arms around you were more than a bit enticing, unfortunately. You sank into him, pressing your nose into his neck, “Fine. But only a few minutes.”

The rhythm of his breathing, of his heart beat against your skin, lulled you into that place just between waking and dreaming. You hummed, “If I don’t get up now, I’m gonna fall asleep.”

“Would that be so bad?” His voice was thick with exhaustion.

You yawned, “Yes, actually. Your back will be absolutely fucked tomorrow if you fall asleep on this couch.”

You pushed yourself off him and he rubbed his hands over his face. After starting the bath, you went to the fridge and pulled out a container of left over pasta. Grabbing a fork, you took the cold pasta back to the couch and took a bite. You speared a few more noodles and put it in front of Robby’s mouth.

He looked up at you with annoyance, “I said I wasn’t hungry.”

“Just a couple bites, please.”

He sighed heavily, but opened his mouth and watched as you grinned with satisfaction as you fed him the cold pasta.

A few minutes later you put the pasta away and checked on the bath, which was now full. Turning off the water, you headed back to the living room. Robby was still lying on the couch, eyes red rimmed as he stared at the ceiling.

“Come on, baby,” You said softly, holding out your hand, “Bath’s ready.”

He wordlessly took your hand, allowed you to lead him into the bathroom. He watched you carefully as you helped him take off his clothes. “Are you okay?” He asked, softly enough that you weren’t sure you heard him correctly.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You said quickly, but he stilled you by gently grabbing your wrists.

“Look at me,” Your eyes flicked up to his, “Are you okay?” He asked again.

You blinked rapidly to dispel the burning that was quickly accumulating at the back of your eyes, “I’ll be fine.” You said slowly and nodded your head towards the bath, “Get in, please, before it gets cold.”

He let your non answer pass for the moment, but you knew he wasn’t going to let it go. As much as your persistence on his own well being irritated him, he could be the same way when you were clearly unwell and not being honest about it.

“Get in with me.” He said, already tugging at your clothes.

You sighed, “This is for you, I’m trying to take care of you.”

“Yes,” He smiled tightly, unbuttoning your pants and gently tugging down, “And I want you in the bath with me. Okay?”

You could feel your eyes beginning to water, which is exactly what you didn’t want. You wanted, needed, desperately to focus on the act of taking care of Michael so that you wouldn’t fall apart. And now he was shifting the focus.

He lowered himself in first and then held out a hand for you, helping as you lowered yourself in between his legs. He wrapped his arms around your waist and gently pulled until your back was flush to his chest.

Your eyes fluttered shut as he kissed the side of your neck, “Thank you,” He murmured against your skin, “For not giving up on me today even though I was a bit of a jerk to you.”

“I know you don’t mean it,” You said, “Most of the time when you push me away it’s because you think you don’t deserve the help, not because you don’t want it.”

You both listened to the drip of the faucet for a few moments in silence before he spoke, “I think I’d like to start seeing a therapist.” He said slowly, “If you know a guy.”

The corners of your lips inched up just slightly, “I’ve had a whole roster ready for you for about two years now, take your pick. I’ll print out a list tomorrow.”

He hummed, “I don’t want to lose you,” He said slowly, “And I know if you were anyone else, you likely would’ve been out that door years ago. So, I’m…” He takes a deep, shuddering breath and you place a hand on his thigh beneath the water, squeezing encouragingly, “I’m going to get better. I’m going to be the man you deserve.”

You were encouraged by him finally admitting that something was wrong. He had never done that before. He had never asked you for a referral. But you knew it was still a long road. Things would continue to be very difficult going forward. But if he was willing to try and fight for you, for himself, that was enough for right now.

“I love you,” You said softly, “And I’m going to hold you to this, just so you know.”

“I know,” He pressed his mouth to your shoulder, his beard scratching at your skin, “I love you too.”

“I want to come back to the hospital,” You said after the two of you had been sitting in silence for a few minutes.

You felt him inhale heavily behind you, “I don’t need a babysitter—“

“Not because of you,” You said quickly, “Though I won’t act like it wouldn’t ease my own anxiety being nearby while we’re working. But I… miss being on a care team, the collaboration. I realized today how isolating it is working at a clinic.”

“Well,” He sighed, “I miss working with you, too, actually. The other psychologists don’t laugh at my jokes.”

You huffed a laugh through your nose, “Hate to tell you, Robinavitch, but most of the time I was laughing at your jokes it was because I had a massive crush on you, not because I found them funny.”

You felt his chest rumble with laughter behind you and your heart swelled with the sound.

Later, when the two of you finally climbed into bed, he pulled you to him, your foreheads bent together. Your hand rested gently on his cheek.

You both sat in the dark like that for a while, silently mulling over the events of the day. You couldn’t get the feeling of Leah’s blood on your hands out of your head. The look on Robby’s face when he had finally called time of death. The families you had had to tell that their child, sibling, spouse was dead.

You don’t know which of you started crying first, just that once it started, one of you clawed for the other, pulling each other as close as your bodies would allow. Without any words exchanged between you, you both just held onto each other as wave after wave of grief rolled through. Until eventually, the tears dried and sleep came for them, still wrapped up in one another’s arms.

The moon and the stars faded and the sun rose again.

[maxlarens]

OP: well, that isn't fucking relevant

pairing(s): oscar piastri x mercedes driver!reader

summary: someone tries to threaten your job, oscar has some choice words for him. (OR: the trials and tribulations of being a woman in a male dominated sport)

word count: 2.7k+

an: i kinda hate the white knight trope but i still wrote this lol, it scratches an itch and i think driver!reader did a sufficient amount of defending of herself beforehand. anyway, this is a one shot that's kind of connected to my smau series just a girl. enjoy!!!!! [also standard disclaimer: this does not reflect the opinions of any real life people/companies/organisations/etc. it is fiction. thank you]

You’re no stranger to sexism in Formula racing— you knew going into this that you’d have to deal with thinly veiled remarks about your gender and purposefully obtuse questions from reporters who think they know more than you about the sport you’ve dedicated your life to. You had to deal with it when you were karting, you had to deal with it during your stint in F2, and you have to deal with it now.

The fact of the matter is that some people do not think you belong here, and therefore are entirely unable to integrate the reality that you are very much here to stay, into their worldview. You’re lucky to have somehow earned Lewis’ loyalty, which had brought the Mercedes contract and the support of Toto simultaneously. Mercedes-AMG aren’t making leaps and bounds into the world of feminism, but you’re grateful for the seat regardless. You’re here and not going anywhere if you can help it.

You try your best to stay off the bad parts of social media, so as not to be subjected to the barrage of hate comments and death threats directed your way. You’re tough— but no one’s that tough. It’s fine for the most part. You focus on the racing, how the car feels, your performance and improving it weekend after weekend. You try at least. You’d love to leave your gender entirely out of the mix, you don’t think it’s relevant frankly. But unfortunately, the reporters do. (And so do some choice individuals working on the grid, who just can’t seem to keep their big fucking mouths shut about you.)

It’s disappointing, sure— but not surprising to sit down at a press conference and get a smattering of questions about your rumoured relationships and extracurricular activities when every other driver gets fifty questions practically thrown at them about their performance, or FIA regulations, or the track conditions. The part that bothers you the most is honestly just the lack of interest. It’s like they don’t think anything you have to say about the sport is valuable so they just don’t ask you the same questions they bother to ask the men. That probably is the actual case too.

So— y’know— you’re not that shocked when a reporter from some sports blog you’ve never heard of straight out asks if you “expect to be switched out with another female driver next year?”

The room goes dead fucking silent in a way that you do actually find satisfying. It’s good to know that most of the reporters in the room do know a tactless question when they hear one, or at least that you inspire enough fear in people that they’re waiting with bated breath to hear your response. Next to you, Oscar tenses, you can feel it where your thighs are touching. You can imagine his face right now without looking, that pinched micro-grimace he does. The barest hint of a crease in the bridge of his nose as he tries not to scowl. You want to put your hand on his knee and squeeze it in thanks.

You don’t. Instead, you frown and cock your head to the side, meeting the eyes of the reporter across the room.

Slowly, measuredly, you repeat, “I’m sorry, do I expect to be replaced with another female driver next year? Is that what you said?”

He nods, bringing the microphone closer to his mouth as if you really couldn’t hear him the first time, “Yes, yeah. That is what I asked.”

You hum, pursing your lips as if you’re sincerely considering his question. You can see a few people in the crowd who are cringing already, some of them have been on the receiving end of your tendency to play with your food before you eat it. Your ego feels pretty good about that.

“Why would Mercedes want to replace me?” you ask in your most polite voice, feigning real curiosity to this man who you doubt has done any research at all on you.

“Um,” he errs, some of his former unflappable confidence leeching out of his tone, “Well, to give more women a chance in Formula One—”

You start to speak over him, done with entertaining his ignorance. You bite, “—there are other teams for that, actually. I don’t think it’s presumptuous to say that I’ve earned my seat at Mercedes, or that I’ve proven that I belong here so far this season. In which, I have not qualified or placed below a P7. And I certainly don’t think it’s fair of you to ask if I am going to voluntarily give up my hard-earned seat to another person because you think I am here because of some women’s inclusion effort by Mercedes. And, okay, who knows, maybe I am. But I am not giving up this seat without a fight, nor do I imagine that Mercedes are in a rush to find someone to replace me right now. You’ll have to ask someone to confirm that though.”

You wind down after that, punctuating your point with a firm nod; some of the fight and the fury seeping out as you start to reckon with the potential consequences of your outburst. Mercedes’ PR rep will have something to say surely, you’re just hoping you haven’t crossed some kind of uncrossable line. Another part of you doesn’t quite care as you watch the reporter gape like a fish out of water, feeling rather satisfied that you’d put him in his place.

Eventually, the room recovers and moves on from you. Checo is getting asked his opinion on tyres while you share a furtive glance with Oscar. He smiles approvingly, mouth closed and the apples of his cheeks pushed up into his eyes. You feel the urge to touch his knee again but resist, instead smiling back as covertly as you possibly can. A warm feeling spreads in your chest and you almost forget about the reporter and his stupid question in favour of watching Oscar’s slow-burn smile.

Mercedes is fine with it, it turns out. Apparently, you’re doing the heavy lifting for them in the feminism department and all they have to do is have Toto or someone come out and say a few words in agreement. It suits them fine, they don’t need to take any hard stances and you get the blame if anything goes horribly wrong. That grates at you, of course it does. But you’ve got a seat, haven’t you? You’re not going to give it up because Mercedes are covering their asses like the multibillion-dollar company that they are.

It means you’ve avoided the all-hands-on-deck PR meeting you thought you’d be stuck in tonight, but it’s left you in too sour a mood for this party. It’s some function, fundraiser, something or other and they’ve invited all the teams, drivers and ‘important’ FIA staff. This means there’s an inordinate amount of people here and you’re really not into it.

But you’re still here. You’ve shoved yourself into a cute, strappy, black top, and a denim mini-skirt and you’ve even added some cute jewellery in a feeble attempt to match whatever over-the-top outfit Lewis has arrived in. It’s at least a step up from your usual team polo and leggings, or the Mercedes hoodie that you pull on over it. You’re comfortable. You’re fine.

You pull a hand out of the pocket of your oversized leather jacket as Oscar comes back over with your beer. You smile at the expression on his face as you take the neck in between your fingers. He’s scowling openly, the corners of his lips curled up in distaste.

“Busy?” you ask, then you hold up the beer in thanks, “Cheers, by the way.”

“Hmm, too crowded,” he affirms, “I lost Lando.”

You shrug, taking a swig of the refreshingly cold beer, “Actually? Or did he run off with someone?”

Oscar snorts, “Yeah, no. He got into a conversation with Max.”

You laugh, “Yeah, in that case, I reckon we’ll see Lando in a few hours.”

“Definitely.”

The two of you share an amused smile before you’re back to looking into the crowd because sometimes, it’s hard for you to look at him— like looking directly into the sun. You’re aware of him in your periphery, standing there and rocking back and forth on his heels, occasionally taking a sip of his drink. He looks away for a moment, and you turn to look at him. Taking in the endearing swoop of his hair, the scattering of freckles and moles on the side of his pale face, the long line of his neck disappearing into the collar of his shirt. You shift your eyes slightly to the right of him, to the patchwork of vents and scaffolding in the ceiling, feigning as if you’d only been casually looking his way.

“That reporter was a piece of work,” Oscar says once he’s drifted his attention back to you.

You roll your eyes on instinct, and groan, “Tell me about it, holy shit, Osc. What an asshole. I don’t know if he was just stupid or legit didn’t know a single thing about me.”

“Mm,” Oscar hums in agreement, “and I like how no one asked you a single question after that. Way to go guys, that’s exactly how you show your support.”

You roll your eyes, still smiling a little at the contented feeling you’ve got in your chest, “I know, right. Trust, they all got on their keyboards afterwards to wax lyrical about how deserving I am of my seat. It’d be fucken’ nice if they acted like it during press conferences.”

“Yeaah,” he sighs, half-laugh, half-exhale, “It’s unfair.”

“Fucken' right,” you gripe, tipping your head back and letting a slip of fizzy beer cascade down your throat— the alcohol, though meagre, leaves you feeling loose, a little reckless, “It sucks Osc. God, I just want to be respected. If I had a dick and balls I’d be fucking killing it, dude. This is my rookie season, I’ve been scoring points every race. Except for the DNF, which was not my fault. But, fuck me, they don’t give a shit.”

You squeeze your eyes shut to stave off the angry tears that are sitting behind your eyelids, threatening. When you open them Oscar is staring at you, frowning, his brown eyes huge and sparkling and sympathetic. They’re like a black hole you want to fall into. Your heart squeezes. He’s so— ugh. Quickly, your mind supplies about a hundred answers to that question: sweet, cute, nice, adorable. Something stutters in your chest and you feel your cheeks starting to grow hot. That slow-burn smile of Oscar’s starts on his face, and you watch dimples form on his cheeks.

The moment is quickly ruined by a particularly nasally Italian accent that you vaguely recognise, “You know,” it says, clearly talking to you, “You should make sure to watch your tone. You never know who could be listening.”

Mood thoroughly dampened, you turn to face the interruption. It turns out to be one of the numerous men on the grid who won’t shut up about you, sharing unsolicited opinions left and right. He has his arms crossed against his chest and a smug expression on his face, as if he’s just caught you doing something terrible— instead of simply complaining about the subpar treatment you’re afforded.

He’s not worth your time whatsoever but God you’re angry. Maybe it’s just been too much shit on top of shit today but you cannot deal reasonably with this man right now— and you are not afforded the luxury of not acting reasonably toward someone like this, no matter how much of a dickhead they are. You open your mouth. Close it. Open it again. Close it and bite down on your bottom lip so nothing accidentally slips out. You’re trying to fish a semi-civil sentence out of a sea of fuck you fuck you fuck you on repeat and it’s not working.

“Are you threatening her?” Oscar asks, a dangerous lilt to his tone, and somewhere in the pulse of anger, you think this is the happiest you’ve ever been to hear his voice, “Because, I am pretty sure your team principal would not be pleased to hear that you’re going around threatening one of Mercedes’ drivers.”

He scoffs, trying to play it off, but you think you register a little bit of worry somewhere in there— Oscar can be threatening when he wants to be and McLaren are not exactly nobodies in this sport right now, “Please, I am not threatening her. I am just telling her that she needs to watch her mouth.”

“Right,” Oscar nods, mouth pinching, “Sure. Well, it would be our word against yours and I’m fairly sure your team principal would believe two drivers over you right now. Especially with that history, you’ve got, dude.”

A little thrill goes up your spine as his face goes white as a sheet. Oscar’s talking about the nice little list of comments he’s made that you’ve reported to your team and an FIA representative— which you’ve taken to doing every time anyone starts up a pattern of saying things about you or to you. They’re to cover your ass honestly, so you can’t be accused of making things up if push comes to shove. You’re sure they’ve made their way back to him and his boss; you’re glad they’ve made an impact (but perhaps not enough to stop him outright).

He sniffs, a nervous edge to his words, “I am not threatening her.”

“Okay. Apologise.”

“Excuse me?”

Oscar raises an eyebrow, “If you’re not threatening her, apologise.”

You bite the inside of your lip and grip the neck of your near-empty beer bottle tighter. Alright, Oscar can be scary. Noted. Very much noted.

“I—” He quickly thinks better of protesting and looks at you, lips pursed in a thin angry line, “I apologise.”

He looks at Oscar, Oscar looks at you. You shrug and nod. Good enough. You don’t need him to grovel, you think he’s been sufficiently humiliated already. Although, before he scampers off into the crowd at Oscar’s approval, you manage a dry, “You think I need to watch my tone now?”

He scowls, but says, “No,” anyway.

Then he stalks off into the throng of people.

You relax more the further that he gets away from the two of you. The tension dissipates into something warm and charged with a different kind of electricity entirely. You ignore the unease that tries to take root in your stomach and instead focus on Oscar at your side.

“That was—” you scrub a hand over your face, starting your sentence again, “Hm.”

Oscar sigh-laughs again, “Yeah, what an asshole.”

“Thank you,” you say meaning it wholeheartedly, “No one’s done something like that for me before.”

Oscar looks down at you, frowning, he shakes his head, “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” you answer, feeling bold as you put a hand on his bicep in an attempt to express how grateful you feel for him, for what he’d done for you, “It’s really not, Osc.”

He’s quiet, staring at you with big brown sparkling eyes for a long long moment. A long moment in which you fantasise about reaching upward and pulling his face down to yours, feeling his lips against your own. They’d be soft, you think— his hair would be too. You don’t think about it and you resolutely ignore the tug low in your gut.

“You deserve it,” he says eventually, loud enough that you can hear it, but not anyone else, “You are killing it, by the way.”

You breathe a laugh, “Yeah, I’d better be.”

You squeeze gently at his bicep, feeling the sinewed muscle underneath his dress shirt. Then you let your hand drop, trailing absently down his arm as you do so. Your fingers brush his hand, and he catches yours before it's out of reach at your side. Purposefully, he threads your fingers with his, squeezing firmly and brushing his thumb tenderly over your knuckle. You feel a little lightheaded when he lets go.

You sigh, masking the out-of-breath quality of your voice, “I need another drink.”

“Yeah,” Oscar breathes, “Me too, I reckon.”

🏎️ title taken from this song :)

[midnightshindig]

Rex who’s jealous of the reader’s long-standing friendship with Mark, which eventually turns into Mark becoming Rex’s wingman? Have a great day or night!

okay I’m loving this, shoutout to you guys for the awesome requests!!!

fic under the cut >:D

You and Mark have been friends since childhood, his dad is Omni Man, your Dad was Darkwing

You became friends through the barbecues Mark’s dad used to host

your dad wasn’t ever really one for socializing but after you and Mark because best friends, there wasn’t a lot he could do to avoid it

So, friends since you were both in grade school, you know a lot about eachother

its you, Mark, and William against the world

People often ask if you’re dating Mark or William, but once William starts dating Rick, everyone in your life seems convinced you and Mark will get together next

but cmon, you’ve seen his xmen print boxers

youve seen him try and fly by jumping off your patio and breaking his arm

The first time he took you flying he fucking dropped you and broke YOUR arm

That was fun to explain to your parents

You could never shack up with the guy who thought his dick had a bone in it for the first fourteen years of his life

Plus, there’s a guy you’re already pretty interested in…

You’re on marks bed criss crossed, leaning forward onto your palms

“Nooo way- you got to MEET Teen Team?!” Your eyes were starry eyed and wide, pure unbridled awe in your coice

”What- how did you?” Mark jumped at the sight of you in his room, shutting the window behind him “How did you get in?”

you scoffed, waving a hand dismissively “Please, you think I can’t break into a house?”

man he always forgets your dad trained you good..

“Anyways!!!” You interrupted, standing up ceremoniously “What was it like? I saw on the news- you fought with THE Atom Eve? What are they like-?”

your voice got dreamy and hazy as you flopped onto his bed “What’s Rex like?”

a moment of silence

Mark sat next to you on the bed, rubbing his neck “Um. He’s… he’s a character.” He smiled awkwardly

what was he supposed to say? Yeah he’s an asshole and also dating Eve

”Ugh, boo, I need details, Mark!” you sat up with a swing, hitting him with his pillow

”Well- ow! Okay Jesus-“ he grabbed the pillow

“For one- he’s dating Eve!”

ooooooooo nooooooooo

you deflated, narrowing your eyes at him

”Damnit. That sucks….” You continued

”Still though!! He was so cool all like pow! And boom!” You punched the air with enough momentum to flop back onto your back, giggling

“That’s insane- you’re insane. There’s nothing cool about him.”

but you didn’t care, he was cool to you

It’s a while later, like I’m talking a WHILE later, beginning of season three

You havent seen Mark in a while, your hangouts are sparse, mostly just bowling and reading comics at his house.

Things have been rough since Mark became a superhero.

For example

Mr Grayson, the guy who’d taught you to play baseball when your dad was too busy, had turned out to be a vicious Viltrumite

Hed killed your father. And while Mark had been busy cleaning up after his Dad, you’d been busy picking up the pieces after losing yours.

Darkwings apprentice and sidekick, Nightboy, was “there for you”, but he was kind of an asshole all things considered

Mark had been busy kicking ass and you’ve been busy with William at university, wanting to get away from the oppressive city you hailed from

You knew Rex and Atom Eve had broken up a while ago, but Mark was so preoccupied with Amber and then Eve(????) that he never got around to introducing you.

You were Darkwings child, it’s not like you’re some unimportant civilian, you kick ass when you need to!!!

and you do have Nightboys contact….

“Hey man! hook a person up, what’s Rex like?”

Left on seen

ooooo you were gonna fuck up that little dweeb next time you saw him.

copycat little bitch

ugh. He can’t even help a hoe out? Damn.

I guess that leaves emotionally unavailable Mark

”You want me to introduce you to the Guardians- oh my god Y/n you just want to meet your celebrity crush!!”

You roll your eyes “Duh, Mark. It’s not fair! It’s not like I’m some massive creep who stalks him, I’m single, he’s single, I’ve always thought he was cool as fuck!”

He sighs, pulling off his mask “Look, Rex is a rough dude, I’m not sure you’ll like him once you meet him in person-“

“Mark if you don’t invite him to our next bowling night I’m going to leak to the news that you wet the bed until you were twelve I swear to god.”

never let it be said you weren’t intimidating like your dad.

William rolled the ball, knocking down eight pins “Uh huh- oh yeah- let’s go boys!” He did a little victory dance, before walking over and slapping your hand to tag you in

“I still can’t believe you got hustled into this.” He commented, sitting next to Mark as you went up to bowl

Mark groaned, Rex at his other side watching your bowling ball intently “Yeah well- I didn’t have much of a choice.”

You hit a few of the pins, and managed to finish off all but one on your second roll.

The night had been going smoothly, introductions were exciting. You were surprisingly calm, Mark had expected you to flip your shit when Rex dapped you up

Rex was surprised at the invitation initially “You want me to come with you and your normal people friends… bowling?”

mark you know he’s a superhero right?

”Yeah- yes. Well, I think it’d do you some good, plus, they’ve been dying to meet you.”

Oh, that’s cool!

it doesn’t take much of an ego boost to get him to do things

so here he is. Bowling. With Mark, Marks very gay best friend, and Marks highschool sweetheart

he has no reason to believe this, you and Mark interact like Mark and William, but you’re different

Rex notices your city mannerisms off the bat, tense and stiff by nature, all your facial expressions carefully calculated to not draw attention from strangers, you have that signature “I grew up in Midnight City” scowl when not talking to someone. He swears you look familiar but he just can’t place it.

but it doesn’t matter, Rex has a much better time than he intends to, in no small part due to you

Mark and William are downright impressed by your candor, even managing to roast Rex a few times

is this even you? The same you who had a Rex Splode fanblog in highschool?

the night ends with Rex… asking you to drinks?

Oh my god no no no William and Mark give each other the fucking evilest look ever

Rex is smiling candidly the way he does, cocky and full of himself, but not demeaning

“Hey so this was fun! You’re not half bad at this! “ he laughs, and gently punches your shoulder

“We should get drinks sometime, like maybe after this?” He tilts his head and points to the exit with his thumbs

He figures even if you and Mark used to date in highschool, he’s with Eve now, no harm no foul, right?

home boy has to shoot his shot when a pretty thing like you whoops his ass at bowling

Theres no way Mark can let you go underage drink with the biggest fuckboy he knows

”AAACTUALLY, Rex-“ he places a firm hand on both yours and Rex’s shoulders “Y/n promised to hang out with me tonight”

his grin is forced and it’s obvious

Rex is just looking at him like “Mark what the fuck I’m tryna score here”

Mark raises his eyebrows at him and then gives him the harshest glare he’s ever recieved

You’re just in the middle like O.o

what the fuck is going on? You’re making faces at William trying to understand and William is just standing a few feet away with folded arms and a dad stare, the “you know better” kind of stare

what the fuck.

Rex gets back to HQ confused as ever, like what the hell was that?

Why was Mark so goddamn protective of you? You broke up!

he didn’t still have feelings for you…. Did he?

man what a dick move, Rex is fuming in the HQ common area just fucking pacing around

the newly appointed Guardian, Darkwing, notices him pacing and asks what’s up

“God- it’s nothing, Invincible invited me out with his super hot friend to go bowling but got super weird when I asked them out- like, full cockblocking!” He throws his arms up

“And they were so cute, too, great at bowling, check it out!” He pulls out his phone and pulls up a group photo from the bowling before

Darkwing just studies the photo and gasps

“Rex thats Y/n, my predecessors kid.”

mic drop.

He KNEW you looked familiar

what the HELL Mark?

”So do you like, have their number?”

Darkwing could help you two get together, but that’s his mentors kid and his insufferable asshole teammate. And also doesn’t give a shit.

”No.” he lies, looking away stoically

“Damn.” Rex mutters, folding his arms

Yknow what, fuck it! He’s gonna give Mark a piece of his mind-

and so Rex does, calling him as soon as he gets to his room

Mark answers with a “Hey man? What’s up?”

Rex can’t help but launch into a diatribe “You think it’s okay for you to be with Eve and still have feelings for your ex?! I’m shitty and even I know that’s shitty!”

Mark, who thinks he’s talking about Amber:

”WHAT I DONT have feelings for Amber- Rex that’s completely ridiculous-“

”I’m not talking about Ammm-berrr” he sings her name mockingly before continuing “You totally cockblocked me tonight!”

silence

”Wait Rex do you think Y/n is my-“

”I know they are! Cmon you guys are so familiar and close!”

Rex glares at the phone as Mark snickers on the other end

”Hey don’t laugh at me, asshole!”

”No, no, I’m sorry. I’m sorry- Fuck- Rex- ooooohhhh I’m sorry I can’t-“ he heard a thud on the other line followed by more laughing

“And where’s Y/n, I thought they were staying with you tonight?”

The laughing dies off “Sorry man, I didn’t want my childhood best friend- and nothing more- getting drunk, they’re only nineteen. And don’t do stuff like that often.”

Rex goes to talk but Mark cuts him off

”And- ugh this is too funny oh my god- Haha- god… They’ve had like an obnoxious celebrity crush on you since you started Teen Team.”

whaaaaaaat

Rex’s face burns red at the thought, and he quickly switches gears

”Okay then Mark I need you to be a bro and help me out!” His voice is excitable if not a little whiny ”it’s the least you can do after tonight…”

Mark can’t say no to him, and sets up another hangout.

you’re fixing your outfit in Marks mirror, putting on the last step of your skincare routine while talking

”I can’t believe you blocked me like that, not cool man”

”okay, I hear you, but we’re gonna go see the new Seance Dog movie tonight and I invited Rex-“

A brush clatters on the floor

”You invited Rex?!” You’re panicked, you’re not dressed up nice enough for that, but it’s too late, and Williams in the driveway honking to get you both into his car

It’s William, you, Rex, then Mark in the back row of the otherwise packed theatre

William discretely slides a back of breathmints into your palm, winking at you

oh this is an operation. These bitches are in on it.

Rex looks at Mark, then at the popcorn situated between you and him.

he plunges a hand in and roots around for a solid handful

William jabs you in the upper arm with his bony ass elbow, pointing to the popcorn with his eyes

You can take a hint, and reach “absentmindedly” into the popcorn yourself

Your hands brush against eachother, Rex taking the opportunity to hold your hand

And now your hand is intertwined with his on the arm rest dividing you

The movie goes on, Mark is having a great time and Williams on his phone texting his boyfriend, Rick

You hold hands that entire movie. He has surprisingly clammy hands

its cuz he’s nervous

After the movie, Mark and William fuck off to the restroom, but they’re actually just giving Rex the chance to do this:

”So! Now that those guys are gone, what do you say to going out without them sometime?”

“uh yeah- of course! I mean, what did you have in mind?” You can’t help but bat your eyelashes, and mark and William who are watching from around a corner groans at seeing you like this

ew ew ew why are you flirting you know how to do that? Grosssss

So you get Rex’s number and he gets yours, before William and Mark return to get everyone home.

”Ha- bye Rex, this was fun!”

everyone else in the car waiting for you to be done :(

Rex doesn’t care though, and chats you up for another ten minutes

he shows off his robotic hand and uses it to brush your hair behind your ear

Wow he’s smoother than Mark remembers….

William honks the car “I have an 8am class tomorrow, Rex!!”

ugh, to cut short such a sweet moment with such a babe

Rex settles to end things there, leaving with a wink and some finger guns

You FINALLY hop in the car and William speeds off so fast there’s dust clouds

Rex realizes he has no ride home…

And you two start dating!

how exciting!

Mark boasts it’s literally all thanks to him

like won’t let you live it down

its nice to have fun and do good things when the world isn’t crumbling

You should enjoy it while you can

[militaryapple]

Hi, I'm not sure if you're taking request but I love the way you write Caleb ☺️ Is it possible you can do a cute little fake dating troupe in college with Caleb?

It goes like, reader (non MC) and Caleb are friends and reader wanted a bf but she can't find one so she tried out this "men will start chasing you when you have a bf" theory with Caleb when Caleb thinks this is an opportunity to do couple things with his crush 🫢

wc. 939.

add ons: hii yes I can!! so glad u guys love my caleb he's so crazy I miss him

college. it was definitely something. work load 20 times heavier, professors who don’t really give a fuck wether you live or die or right, and dating. how you loathed the couples in your university. was it because you were unable to get a boyfriend yourself? maybe. was it also because half of every guy on campus was either a massive jerk, a guy in a frat or taken? maybe.. partly.. yeah.

everytime you were close to finding a guy, a perfect suitable guy who was funny or sweet or kind— he had to bail or he already had a girlfriend! yeah, total dreamboat. you could only sigh at the thought of you and someone on a date, going to the movies or watching some corny movie. wow you were really single and mindlessly scrolling on social media wasn’t helping your case one bit. post after post, jesus how did they do it? then you had an idea.

maybe you were pathetic and desperate.. oh fuck you’re in college. what’s worse? graduating with no love life or dying without someone who loves you. yeah, you would take your chances.

you silently typed up on your phone “how to become more attractive to men”. was it weird? yes. did you care? not really. it’s not your roommate was here, she would go on about how “life is amazing without a lover!” and “you don’t need to cry over a man!” in which she was silently resigned everytime you brought up how she had a boyfriend. so it’s come to this. better now than never anyways.

“men like taken woman, gives them a chase.” well fuck! that was your issue from the start?! what were you gonna do? get a boyfriend out of thin air to make guys ma— then you heard a knock.

you closed out of the tab as you walk to your dorm door, opening it as your gaze shifted upward, and holy mother of pearls did you find the holy grail. he was your answer.

“hey, pipsqueak!” caleb said as he held his arms out for you waiting for a hug, just to be greeted by a grab on the wrist and a soft ‘thud’ on your bed. you stared up at him, inspecting him closely. caleb was a perfect candidate! he could be your fake boyfriend!

.

.

“be my fake boyfriend.”

you were met with small chuckle as he covered his mouth and muffled out apologies. you were embarrassed, god this was embarrassing. if only you could rewind 2 minutes. god god god.

caleb smiled widely, “are you sure you want me as your fake boyfriend? what’s this even for anyways, pipsqueak?” his eyes soften as he got more comfortable on your bed. you could only smile in content. he didn’t say no, so you’ll take that as a win.

“guys are more attracted to you when you have a boyfriend.” you said shoving your phone in his face. he scanned over the phone closely before pushing your hand down to look at you. god were you pretty.

“that’s.. not real pipsqueak.” he said trying to cover his laugh. were you serious about this? you couldn’t actually believe this crap. this is why caleb prefers for you to come to him for this sort of thing, not some lousy thread you found on a very sketchy site. though he couldn’t just trample on your dreams so he went along with it, even if it was funny.

“I’m serious!” you snapped back. “just for a while, until someone shows interest in me! well more interest than my supposed boyfriend.. please caleb?” you begged, and he could never say no to you. you jumped up happily before leaning in for a hug but instead you were met by a subtle push and “ah-ah”. you looked at caleb puzzled as he got up. his arms moving to your hip while he leaned down, his and your breath almost kissing.

“if im gonna be your boyfriend for a while pipsqueak, don’t I deserve a little reward for helping you out?” he smiled, “even if it’s a fake we have to get used to kissing.”

kissing.

your first kiss, would be him.

you stared up at awe, he was handsome. just one kiss, it wouldn’t be bad right? you were flustered but no backing down now. better make this as real as possible.

You nodded in subtle approval before you leaned in, your lips touching as his grip on you held tighter. his free hand cupping your face. he was a natural at kissing, his movements were tender and he was so gentle with you. it was as if he didn’t want to wreck you. caleb moved his head back, breaking away from the sweet moment. “okay then, it’s official.” he said softly.

caleb would take you out often, every week, everyday to be exact and there seemed to be absolutely no luck with other guys. it’s not like it mattered anyways though, you were having fun with caleb, almost like he was your actual boyfriend.

as for caleb, this was perfect, he was almost glad he checked on you the day he did. you were a dream, and this “fake boyfriend” idea? would soon wash away when you start to only think of him as your actual boyfriend. taking you out, kissing you, holding you while you’re upset. everything.

as for the guys who chase you around? haha as if! he personally made sure on your first day of university that everyone knew you were his. well it doesn’t matter, it worked out either way. for both you and him.

[itendtothinkalot]

mr oh so popular (grumpy x sunshine ish)

summary: your life has always been pretty normal—nothing too exciting, just the usual. but then, bam! you walk past the campus heartthrob, yeonjun, only to find him face down on the ground, knocked out cold. and of course, your best friend insists on dragging him home to nurse him back to health. but here's the twist—why is he not as awful as you thought he'd be???

genre: flluff

characters: yeonjun x f!reader, best friend!beomgyu

words: 14k

warnings: period talk i guess, cuss words

There’s something magical about walking across campus at night. It’s quiet, the stars are out, and the looming stress of exams feels a little less crushing. Well, until your best friend opens his mouth.

“You know, if I had superpowers, I’d probably choose invisibility,” Beomgyu declared, waving a half-eaten popsicle like a scepter.

“That’s unoriginal,” you said, kicking a stray pebble across the pavement. “What’s the point of invisibility anyway?”

“Uh, everything? Sneaking into movie theaters. Skipping boring lectures. Spying on people to see what they say about me—”

You stopped walking and shot him a look. “Beomgyu, no one is talking about you. Or me. We're invisible enough.”

Beomgyu groaned, clutching his chest dramatically. “Ouch. Speak for yourself. I am not invisible.”

You raised an eyebrow, silently daring him to prove it. Right on cue, the sounds of cheering and laughter erupted from the quad, where a small crowd had gathered.

“Case in point.” Beomgyu pointed toward the commotion. At the center of it all, like a deity holding court, was none other than Choi Yeonjun.

There he was, perched on a bench, his grin brighter than the lampposts around him. Someone had thrown a varsity jacket over his shoulders, and it only made him look more cool (which you would never admit to anyone). People hung on his every word, laughing at jokes that probably weren’t even funny. Typical.

Beomgyu sighed, pointing at the popular male. “Y’know what, I changed my answer! That’s the kind of power I’d want. Not invisibility—charisma.”

You scoffed. “Charisma isn’t a superpower.”

“Tell that to him.” Beomgyu jabbed his popsicle stick in Yeonjun’s direction, where he’d just effortlessly flipped a water bottle, earning cheers like he’d just solved world hunger.

“Ugh.” You groaned, grabbing Beomgyu’s sleeve to pull him away before he started gawking in public. “I don’t get the hype. He’s not even that hot.”

“Not even that hot?” Beomgyu scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, you have to admit he’s objectively good-looking. Like, the guy could model for a skincare commercial. Dude’s poreless.”

“Sure, if you’re into guys who have a cardboard personality” you muttered.

Beomgyu snorted. “I’m just saying, there’s a reason half the campus follows him around like lost puppies. He’s got charisma or… something.”

“Well, good for him,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Meanwhile, the rest of us are just trying to survive finals week without a parade every time we turn in a paper.”

Here’s the thing about you two: You’d like to think you’re invisible to the student body, but that’s only half true. You’re invisible. Beomgyu, on the other hand, is doing just fine socially. Not popular, but just cool enough to get invited to parties and group chats. And yet, here he was, sticking to you like glue.

He calls it loyalty. You call it his inability to let go. Not that you minded. You loved him as much as he loved you.

Listen, you weren’t considered lame. You weren’t “unpopular”. You just… never stood out. Regular clothes. Regular reputation. Just… regular. It didn’t bother you most of the time. But when you stood next to Beomgyu—who, on his worst day, could still charm an entire room—it was hard not to feel like his boring sidekick.

“You know what your problem is?” Beomgyu asked suddenly, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“Hmm, let me guess,” you said dryly. “I don’t appreciate Yeonjun enough?”

“Well, yeah, but also, you don’t try to stand out. Like, at all. Maybe if you wore something other than jeans and that same hoodie every day—”

“It’s comfortable,” you snapped, defensively tugging at your hoodie.

“Comfortable doesn’t get you noticed,” Beomgyu countered, skipping ahead of you and turning to walk backward so he could wag his finger at you. “Look, you’re pretty but you’re always–”

“Gyu. I don’t want to be noticed,” you muttered, but your protest was drowned out by a sudden loud cheer coming from the quad.

Both of you turned instinctively. Of course, it was Yeonjun again, grinning like a celebrity as someone snapped a picture of him doing… I don’t know, something amazing. He could probably sneeze and get a standing ovation.

Beomgyu sighed dramatically. “Dude, just look at him”

You groaned and kept walking. “Let’s just get back to the apartment before you write him a fan letter.”

Beomgyu chuckled but didn’t argue.

—

“Crap.”

The word slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it. Beomgyu, who had been sprawled across the couch scrolling on his phone, glanced over at you with a raised brow.

“What’s your problem?” he asked, not even bothering to sit up.

“I think…” you trailed off, your face already flushing with embarrassment. “Ugh. I think I just got my period.”

Beomgyu blinked at you for a solid three seconds before casually returning his gaze to his phone. “So? Deal with it like you always do.”

“I can’t!” you snapped, flailing your arms. “I’m out of everything. Pads. Tampons. Literally everything.”

“Okay…?” He looked at you blankly, clearly not understanding the gravity of the situation.

“Okay? Beomgyu, this is an emergency. We need to go to the convenience store. Now.”

“We?” he repeated, his voice laced with protest. “Why do I have to come? You can go by yourself. You’re a fully functioning human with feet and hands.”

You shot him a glare, “Because I don’t want to walk there alone in the middle of the night, and you’re supposed to be my best friend. Remember? Loyalty and all that BS.”

He groaned dramatically, dragging his hands down his face. “This is not what I signed up for..”

“Oh, please. Like you’re doing anything important.” You gestured to his phone. “Come on, Beomgyu. You’re being useless, as always.”

“That’s Mr. Useless to you,” he grumbled, but he finally sat up, grabbing his jacket off the armrest. “Fine. Let’s go. But I’m not carrying anything embarrassing.”

“You’re carrying the basket,” you said, already grabbing your own jacket.

“What—? Hey! No way! You’re just gonna fill it up with feminine products and egh…”

The walk to the convenience store wasn’t too long, but Beomgyu made sure to complain the entire way.

“Why can’t you just stockpile this stuff like a normal person?” he whined, dragging his feet as you power-walked ahead of him.

“Why can’t you just shut up and help me?” you shot back.

The fluorescent lights of the convenience store were a welcome relief. You beelined for the feminine products aisle while Beomgyu lingered by the snacks, pretending he wasn’t with you.

“CHOI BEOMGYU!” You called him over. 

He looked up as if embarrassed to be around you, “Don’t use my maiden name in public like this!”

“Hurry up!” you called over your shoulder.

He reluctantly shuffled over, standing awkwardly next to you as you scanned the shelves. “Do you really need me for this?”

“Yes, because if I faint from blood loss, someone needs to carry me out,” you said dramatically, grabbing a pack of pads and throwing it into his arms.

He caught it, holding it like it was a live grenade. “Why am I holding this?”

“Because you’re the basket now,” you said, grabbing another pack just in case.

“Oh my god, wait—why is this, like, 16 inches?” Beomgyu asked, holding up a pack of pads like it was radioactive. His eyes were wide with genuine horror. “How big is your vagina?”

You shot him a deadpan look. “I don’t see you complaining when you’re telling me stories about you and your girlfriend.”

“Ex-girlfriend!” he corrected, practically shouting. “And I told you not to bring her up.”

“Oh, please. You’ll be calling her tomorrow, begging her to take you back. Like you always do.”

“I’ve matured since our breakup,” he insisted, puffing out his chest in mock dignity.

“You broke up yesterday.”

Beomgyu sighed dramatically, letting his arms go limp, the packs of feminine products dangling helplessly. “I don’t get paid enough for this friendship.”

“You don’t get paid at all,” you reminded him, already walking toward the register.

“And that is the problem,” he muttered under his breath, trailing after you with the enthusiasm of a kid being dragged to the dentist.

At the register, the cashier barely blinked at the assortment of items Beomgyu dumped onto the counter, but he was already bracing himself for humiliation.

“Don’t say anything,” he whispered to you through gritted teeth as the cashier scanned the pads.

“I wasn’t going to,” you replied innocently, though you couldn’t hide the smirk tugging at your lips.

Beomgyu glared at you, clearly regretting every decision that had led him to this moment.

As the cashier handed over the bag, Beomgyu grabbed it like he couldn’t get out of there fast enough. “Let’s go. Now.”

The walk back was surprisingly quiet—at least until Beomgyu couldn’t keep his mouth shut anymore.

“You know,” he said, breaking the silence, “I feel like I’ve just leveled up as a person. Like, this is a huge character development for me. I should probably put ‘Women’s Rights Activist’ on my Tinder profile.”

You snorted, shifting the bag in your arms. “Right…because you didn’t just complain the whole time we were in there.”

“I’ve changed…I am in fact the world’s best Female Supporter. Write that down.” he declared, nudging your shoulder.

“You’re not right but not wrong either,” you said dryly, rolling your eyes. “But don’t flatter yourself too much. You’re just barely tolerable to the female specimen.”

“Admit that I’m an amazing best friend though,” he said, flashing you a grin. “You’d be lost without me.”

“You’re right,” you conceded, smirking as you turned the corner toward your apartment complex. “Who else would I drag into my nonsense?”

He threw his arms out dramatically, like some tragic hero in a play. “Exactly. I’m basically a saint. Carrying the weight of this friendship on my—”

He froze mid-sentence, and you almost bumped into him.

“Can’t you see where you’re going, you noob?” you groaned, peeking around him—and stopped dead in your tracks.

Right there, sprawled across the pavement in front of the building like a very poorly placed mannequin, was none other than Yeonjun, the school’s King himself.

“Is… is he dead?” Beomgyu whispered, clutching your arm in a panic.

“Why would you say that?!” you hissed, smacking his hand away.

“He’s not moving! Look at him!”

And he wasn’t. Yeonjun, campus royalty and the undisputed king of cool, was lying face down in the middle of the pathway. His designer sneakers were scuffed, his shirt was wrinkled, and his golden hair was sticking up in about twenty different directions.

“We should call someone,” you muttered, reaching for your phone.

Before you could dial, Yeonjun stirred, groaning like something out of a zombie movie. Beomgyu yelped and practically jumped behind you.

“He’s alive!” Beomgyu whisper-shouted, like that made things any less terrifying.

“Barely, he’s drunk like hell.” you muttered.

And then it happened. Yeonjun pushed himself up on shaky arms, blinked at you both with bleary, unfocused eyes… and promptly threw up all over the pavement.

Both of you screamed.

—

You knew Choi Beomgyu was going to be the death of you one day. He was too kind for his own good, and you were convinced that if an armed robber ever needed help, Beomgyu would probably assist them without realizing the situation. He was nice. Too nice.

“I still don’t see why we had to help him,” you muttered, crossing your arms as you leaned against the kitchen doorway.

“He was lying on the ground in the middle of the night,” Beomgyu said, grabbing a glass from the cupboard.

“And?” you countered. “Maybe his friends ditched him for a reason. Ever think about that? What if it’s some kind of prank?”

“It’s 12 AM, not exactly prank o’clock,” Beomgyu replied, filling the glass with water. “I’ll grab him some painkillers. Just keep an eye on him, okay?”

“Why do I have to stay with him? What if he wakes up and murders me?” you protested.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Beomgyu said with a roll of his eyes. “He’s barely conscious. Relax.”

And with that, Beomgyu disappeared into the bathroom, leaving you alone with the stranger.

You turned your gaze to Yeonjun, sprawled out on the couch like some tragic hero from a drama. His disheveled hair framed a face that was undeniably handsome, even with the faint scent of alcohol still lingering in the air. At least Beomgyu had cleaned him up and changed him out of his puke-soaked clothes into something fresh.

With hesitant steps, you approached him, unable to resist examining his face more closely. He looked peaceful like this, his breathing steady.

Then his eyes fluttered open.

You screamed, stumbling back.

“Whoa, whoa!” Yeonjun groaned, holding up a hand as if to shield himself from your outburst. His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” you snapped, heart racing. “You’re the one who just woke up like a zombie in the middle of the night!”

Yeonjun winced, pressing a hand to his temple. “Can you not yell? Feels like my head’s splitting in two.”

You froze, unsure of what to do. Beomgyu had left you alone with this stranger, and now he was awake and talking. Great. 

“Where… am I?” Yeonjun croaked, his voice hoarse.

“Our apartment,” you replied curtly, motioning to the space around him. “You passed out on the street like an idiot. Beomgyu thought it’d be fun to drag you here instead of letting you rot out there like a normal person would.”

Yeonjun blinked, the name striking a faint chord in his alcohol-muddled mind. “Beomgyu?” he repeated, the syllables sluggish on his tongue.

“That’s me!” Beomgyu chimed as he entered the room, balancing a glass of water in one hand and a bottle of painkillers in the other. He grinned at Yeonjun, his usual sunny demeanor unbothered by the tension. “Hey, glad you’re awake! Here, drink this.”

Yeonjun looked between the two of you, his confusion deepening. “Wait… you both found me on the floor of…where?”

“Yeah,” Beomgyu replied cheerfully, handing over the water and pills. “You were passed out outside the convenience store. We couldn’t just leave you there.”

“We could’ve,” you muttered, narrowing your eyes at Beomgyu.

Beomgyu ignored you and focused on Yeonjun. “You didn’t look like you were in any shape to get home on your own, so we brought you here.”

Yeonjun hesitated, taking the glass of water with an awkward nod. “Thanks, I guess… but, uh, do I know you guys?”

“I’m Beomgyu,” Beomgyu answered, flashing a smile. He gestured toward you, introducing you. “Pretty sure we share a few classes.”

You gave a nonchalant shrug, clearly unimpressed.

Yeonjun squinted, his mind struggling to place you both. “Yeah, you do look kind of familiar…”

“Kind of?” you scoffed. “Unbelievable. You pass out drunk, and now you can’t even remember who dragged you off the sidewalk. Typical.”

“Don’t mind her,” Beomgyu said, brushing off your snarky tone. “She’s just cranky because it’s past her bedtime.”

You shot him a glare. “Cranky because you invited a total stranger into our apartment without asking. Much less one that reeks of alcohol.”

Yeonjun, still processing everything, shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “So… this is your apartment? Like, you two live together?”

“Obviously,” you replied. “Welcome to our apartment. We’re kind of like Good Samaritans. Except I’m not.”

Yeonjun let out a weak laugh, unsure if he should be offended or amused. “Well, uh… thanks, I guess. I owe you one?”

“You owe me nothing,” you said with a smirk. “But you owe Beomgyu. Big time.”

Beomgyu chuckled, waving off the comment. “Just rest for now. Drink the water and take the painkillers. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

Yeonjun nodded, sipping the water slowly. He couldn’t help but notice the way Beomgyu’s easy-going warmth contrasted sharply with your sharp tongue. Despite the headache and the awkward situation, a strange comfort crept into his chest.

“I’ll try to remember this,” Yeonjun muttered with a faint smile.

“You better,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Because if this happens again, I’m leaving you on the sidewalk next time.”

Beomgyu just laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t listen to her. She acts tough, but she’s nice deep down.”

“Deep, deep down,” you corrected.

Yeonjun chuckled despite himself. He had no idea how he ended up here, but something told him this wasn’t going to be the last time he saw the two of you.

You had gone to bed, hoping the night would pass quickly so you could finally deal with the unexpected guest in your living room. Helping people wasn’t the issue—you just hated helping those who didn’t seem to need it. Besides the fact he was piss drunk in the middle of the night after what seems like a frat party…seems like a life choice. 

But sleep wouldn’t come. You’d been tossing and turning for over an hour, and Beomgyu’s loud snores echoed through the paper-thin walls of your apartment. With a groan of frustration, you gave up and decided to warm some milk, an old remedy that usually worked.

As you shuffled toward the kitchen, you noticed Yeonjun sitting on the couch, hunched over his phone, scrolling aimlessly. You hesitated, torn between retreating to avoid interaction or saying something. Socializing wasn’t exactly your strong suit, and starting a conversation felt like scaling a mountain.

Before you could decide, Yeonjun broke the silence.

“What do girls mean when they say they want a break?” he asked, turning to look at you.

Caught off guard, you paused mid-step, clutching the mug in your hand. For a moment, you considered ignoring the question entirely. But the earnest look in his eyes made it hard to brush him off.

You sighed, setting your mug on the counter as you leaned against the kitchen doorway. "That’s... a loaded question," you replied cautiously, eyeing him. "Depends on the girl, I guess. What’s the context?"

Yeonjun let out a soft, bitter laugh and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up in messy tufts. "My girlfriend said she needed a break. No explanation, no real reason. Just… ‘I think we should take a break.’ What’s that even supposed to mean?"

You tilted your head, considering his words. "Could mean a lot of things," you said, grabbing the carton of milk from the fridge. "Maybe she’s overwhelmed. Maybe she’s bored. Or maybe she wants to break up but doesn’t want to say it outright."

His face fell, and you immediately regretted the bluntness.

"Sorry," you added quickly, pouring the milk into your mug. "I didn’t mean to sound harsh. It’s just… it’s better to be honest about what it could mean, right?"

Yeonjun leaned back against the couch, his phone forgotten in his lap. "Yeah, I guess. But I don’t get it. I thought everything was fine between us. We didn’t even fight. It came out of nowhere."

You turned on the stove, the faint hum of the burner filling the silence as you stirred the milk absently. "Sometimes it’s not about fighting," you said after a pause. "Sometimes people just… drift. Or they need time to figure things out. Doesn’t mean it’s your fault."

He stared at the ceiling, his jaw tightening. "It feels like it is, though. Like maybe I wasn’t enough."

You frowned, feeling an unfamiliar pang of sympathy. This wasn’t your usual realm of expertise, but seeing him so dejected tugged at something in you.

"You know," you started, glancing at him, "if she really cares about you, she’ll come back. And if she doesn’t, well… maybe she wasn’t the right person anyway."

Yeonjun turned his head to look at you, a faint, almost sad smile playing on his lips. "You sound like you’ve been through this before."

You snorted, turning back to your milk. "Not at all. I’m just good at reading people. Comes with the territory of being socially inept."

That earned you a soft chuckle, and the sound surprised you. It was the first time he’d laughed all night.

"Thanks," he said after a moment, his voice quieter. "For not sugarcoating it."

You shrugged, pulling the mug off the burner and pouring the warm milk into your cup. "Anytime. But don’t expect me to turn into a therapist or anything."

He nodded, his smile growing a little stronger. "Got it. No therapy sessions… just unsolicited midnight wisdom."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at your lips.

“You want some?” you asked, pouring another glass of warm milk.

Yeonjun nodded, leaning back against the couch. “If you’d let me.”

“I asked, didn’t I?” You slid the glass toward him, the faint clink breaking the quiet.

He smiled as he took it. “Thanks. You know, now that I’m more sober, you’re actually a lot less scary than I thought.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Scary? You thought I was scary?”

“Well,” he began, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips, “I was drunk, passed out, and your initial idea was to leave me on the street.”

You shrugged, unfazed. “The drunk thing seems to be on your own accord, so… not really my problem if you ended up like that, now is it?”

Yeonjun chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re brutally honest, aren’t you?”

“Only to people who can take it.”

“And you think I can?”

“People are probably telling you every day how much they love you or want to be with you,” you said, your tone matter-of-fact. “I figure you can handle a couple of reality checks once in a while.”

Yeonjun blinked, then smirked. “Oh, so you pay attention to me?”

“It’s literally hard not to,” you retorted, crossing your arms. “You’ve got a whole posse everyone looks up to on campus. You’re kind of hard to miss.”

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on his knee. “Huh. And here I thought I was invisible to you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not invisible, just… irrelevant. Until now.”

He laughed at that, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Wow. You really don’t hold back, do you?”

“Why would I? You asked.” You sipped your milk nonchalantly, but you couldn’t help noticing the glimmer of genuine amusement in his gaze.

“Well,” he said, raising his glass in a mock toast, “here’s to being ‘less irrelevant.’”

You huffed out a quiet laugh despite yourself. “Don’t push your luck.”

“And if it counts for something,” Yeonjun added, his tone softening, “I really liked your speech last term. The one at the student rally—about climate change?”

You froze mid-sip, staring at him. “What?”

“It was you, right?” he pressed, tilting his head slightly. “You organized the whole thing?”

Your mind raced. No one had ever given you credit for the rally before. Most people either didn’t notice or assumed someone else was behind it. It wasn’t that you did it for recognition, but hearing Yeonjun bring it up left you momentarily speechless.

“Yeah,” you said finally, setting your mug down. “That was me.”

Yeonjun nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “I thought so. It was really good. You had everyone paying attention, and I don’t just mean your speech. The whole event—it felt… important. You made it feel important.”

You blinked, unsure how to respond. Compliments, especially about something you’d poured so much effort into, weren’t exactly something you were used to.

“Well,” you mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant, “it’s not like I did it alone. There was a team.”

“Sure,” he said, his smile widening slightly, “but teams still need someone to lead them. And that was you, wasn’t it?”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and for a moment, the usual sarcasm you armed yourself with felt unnecessary.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, your voice softer than usual. “That means… something.”

Yeonjun studied you for a moment before his smirk returned. “See? You’re not as scary as you think.”

You rolled your eyes, but this time, the gesture felt lighter. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” he teased, raising his glass to take another sip of the milk. “I think I might be warming up to you.”

You huffed, shaking your head as you turned back toward the kitchen. “Good luck with that.”

—

The next morning, when you woke up, Yeonjun was already gone. On the coffee table, he’d left a note and, for some reason, a $10 bill. You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop the small smile that crept onto your face. You weren’t running a hostel, that was for sure.

Beomgyu wandered into the living room, rubbing his eyes, and picked up the note. “Ten bucks?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Does he think we’re a bed and breakfast for broke drunk kids? Also, why couldn’t it be a twenty?”

“What a switch-up from the ass-kisser last night,” you teased, grabbing the note from his hand.

“I couldn’t taint my image in front of campus royalty himself,” Beomgyu shot back, clutching his chest dramatically.

“Oh, shut up,” you said, already heading toward the bathroom. “We’re gonna be late if you don’t get your ass ready.”

As Beomgyu disappeared to get dressed, you glanced at the note again.

Thanks for the milk and the reality check. Maybe see you both on campus sometime?

It was signed with a small doodle of a smiley face, and you couldn’t help but shake your head. 

Later that day, as you rushed through the crowded hallways of campus, you spotted Yeonjun. He was surrounded by his usual group, his laugh ringing out above the chatter. For a moment, his eyes met yours across the sea of students. He nodded before turning away.

Typical. 

You knew nothing would be different. One night and a single conversation didn’t change anything, especially with someone like Yeonjun. It wasn’t as if his whole life hinged on that brief interaction. You and Beomgyu took your usual seats in the corner of the campus café, bantering like you always did.

You were mid-laugh at one of Beomgyu’s dramatic impressions when you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you found yourself face-to-face with Yeonjun.

“Hey!” he said, his smile easy and confident, like he’d done this a hundred times before.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Uh, hey?”

Beomgyu arched an eyebrow, looking between the two of you. “Royalty graces us with his presence,” he quipped under his breath, loud enough for only you to hear.

Yeonjun chuckled, clearly unbothered. “Mind if I join you guys for a bit?”

“Sure,” you said before Beomgyu could say something snarky. You gestured to the empty chair across from you.

Yeonjun slid into the seat, setting down his bag. “So, I’ve been thinking about last night.”

“Oh no,” Beomgyu muttered dramatically, earning a light kick under the table from you.

Yeonjun grinned but stayed focused on you. “You were right.”

“About what?” you asked, genuinely puzzled.

“About the reality check,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “You said people tell me what I want to hear all the time, and... yeah, you weren’t wrong. It’s refreshing to hear someone call me out instead of sugarcoating everything.”

You shrugged, unsure how to respond. “I wasn’t trying to give you some big epiphany. Just speaking the truth.”

“And I appreciated it,” Yeonjun said. “I’m not here to make it weird or anything. I just... wanted to say thanks. Also, you guys were a lot cooler about the whole drunk mess thing than most people would’ve been.”

“See?” Beomgyu piped up, smirking. “I am cool.”

Yeonjun laughed, and for a moment, the usual air of aloofness that seemed to follow him was gone.

“Well, if you want to thank us,” you said, crossing your arms, “you could’ve at least left twenty bucks instead of ten.”

Yeonjun raised his hands in mock surrender. “Noted for next time.”

“Next time?” Beomgyu echoed, feigning horror.

Yeonjun shrugged, his grin widening. “What can I say? You guys might be growing on me.” Although his eyes were lingering on yours when he said the latter.

You rolled your eyes, but even you couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips. Maybe, just maybe, one night could change more than you thought.

“Well, I’ll catch up with you later!” Yeonjun said with a wave before getting up and walking off.

You watched him go, and as soon as he was out of earshot, Beomgyu leaned over and poked your cheek with a mischievous grin.

“Ooooh, someone’s got a crush,” he teased.

“No, I don’t,” you shot back, swatting his hand away.

“Your ears are all red just from looking at him,” Beomgyu continued, undeterred.

“Oh, shut up. I just think he’s an okay person, that’s all,” you muttered, feeling the heat on your cheeks.

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Sure, okay. Whatever you say.”

He leaned back in his chair, studying you with a playful smirk. “So what the hell happened last night while I was asleep anyway?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “We just talked. That’s it. Besides, he has a girlfriend or whatever.”

Beomgyu’s grin widened. “So you’re one of those kiss-and-don’t-tell types of people?”

“For the love of god, shut up,” you groaned, shoving a donut into his mouth to stop him from saying more.

He chewed, still grinning, but thankfully kept his comments to himself. You couldn’t help but feel a little bit of relief. The whole situation felt like a weird blur, but it wasn’t like you owed anyone explanations—least of all Beomgyu, who always had something to say.

“I’m just saying,” Beomgyu mumbled around the donut, “You’re not fooling anyone.”

You crossed your arms, giving him a pointed look. “If I say it’s nothing, then it’s nothing.”

Beomgyu grinned, clearly not convinced, but dropped the subject for now. "Whatever, you're still blushing."

“Shut up, Beomgyu,” you muttered again, but this time, you couldn’t quite stop the smile that tugged at your lips.

Beomgyu stood up, giving you a playful nudge. “You know, if you wanted to talk more about Yeonjun, I’m all ears. I won’t tell anyone. Promise.”

You shot him a look, then grabbed your bag, shoving it over your shoulder. “I’m not talking about him. Ever. End of story.”

Beomgyu chuckled, following you out of the café. “Sure, sure. We’ll see about that.”

—

It was one of those rare times when Beomgyu wasn’t glued to your side. Usually, he was either at band practice, you were holed up in the library, or both. So, here you were, typing away at your thesis, getting lost in your thoughts, when you felt the chair next to you squeak as someone sat down. Not that you cared; the library was always packed on a Friday evening.

“Hey!”

You looked up to find Yeonjun grinning at you, his smile nearly infectious.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I saw Beomgyu, and he told me you’d be here. Looks like he knows you super well!”

You blinked in surprise, not quite sure how to react. The last time you saw him, things were casual, but this felt a bit more… personal? You adjusted in your seat, offering a small, polite smile.

“Oh, uh, yeah. He knows me better than I’d like to admit,” you said, feeling a bit awkward.

Yeonjun chuckled, his eyes still sparkling. “He said you’d be buried in work. You really take your studies seriously, huh?”

You shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious. “I mean, I have to. It’s due soon.”

“I get that,” Yeonjun said, leaning back in his chair with a relaxed smile. “I’m actually impressed you’re still here. I would’ve bailed a while ago.”

“I’m just used to it,” you replied, glancing back at your screen. “I’ve got to finish this.”

The conversation lapsed into a quiet hum until you looked up at him, confused. “W... why were you looking for me? Do you need something?”

“Oh, I just… had fun talking to you the other night,” Yeonjun said casually, as if asking you out wasn’t the most difficult thing in the world. “I was wondering if you wanted to grab dinner after this.”

He smiled, that damn perfect smile that made your heart skip a beat. You were caught off guard. You’d thought what happened the other night was just a one-time thing. You didn’t expect an actual friendship—or more—to come out of it.

“You want to have dinner with me?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Alone?”

Yeonjun leaned back in his chair, looking at you with a playful glint in his eyes. “Are you gonna murder me?”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. “No, I’m not gonna murder you.”

He cracked a smile. “Then yeah. I do. I think dinner with you sounds pretty good.”

You stared at him for a moment, trying to read the situation. It wasn’t like you didn’t enjoy his company; it was more the suddenness of it all. But something about the way he asked—like it was a simple, natural thing—made you pause. Maybe you were overthinking it.

“Alright,” you said with a shrug, trying to sound casual. “I just have a couple of pages left. You can just…do something else first while you wait. I don’t want to bore you.”

“No, I’ll wait.” He smiled, resting his head in his arms on the table, turning to face you with a bright grin on his face.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing up at him. “You’re just gonna stare at me for the next hour or so?”

“Yeonjun smirked, his gaze never leaving you. “I don’t mind. You’re much more interesting than any textbook.”

You couldn’t help but feel your cheeks warm slightly, but you kept your cool. “Is that so?”

He nodded.

You ignored him, focusing on your work, trying to push back the heat creeping up on your cheeks. You hoped he couldn't tell just how nervous you were with him sitting right next to you.

How were you even supposed to react? The only guy you ever hung out with was Beomgyu, and the two of you couldn’t be more platonic if you tried.

“Hey, so like, are the two of you dating?” Yeonjun asked, breaking the silence.

You looked up from your paper, staring at Yeonjun for a moment before bursting out laughing. “Me and Beomgyu? No? No. That’s gross. No. No. Never.”

“That’s a mildly offensive reaction that I will not tell Beomgyu about.”

“Oh, trust me, he’d give you the same response if you asked him.”

Yeonjun chuckled. “You two just seem attached at the hip.”

“Well, he’s my only friend, and somehow he’s clingier to me than I am to him. I don’t know why.”

“It could be because you’re really great company.”

“Oh, who else would think that?”

“Me?”

“We’ve had one conversation—”

“Two,” he corrected, grinning.

“Two conversations,” you repeated, rolling your eyes.

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow, leaning in slightly closer. “I don’t know… I think we’re off to a solid start. Besides, it’s rare I actually enjoy talking to someone this much.”

You glanced at him, then smirked. “You seem to have the whole school at your feet. I’m pretty sure you could find someone if you just threw a fish hook out there.”

“Well… they’re not as blunt as you.”

“Do you not have anyone telling you the truth to your face?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I do. My best friends. Soobin, I don’t know if you know him.”

“The tall one who does girl group dances on TikTok?” You chuckled, remembering the viral clips.

Yeonjun laughed, nodding. “Yeah. He’s great, but sometimes, you know, I don’t want him to worry too much. He treats me like his own child sometimes. It’s weird, especially since I’m older.”

You laughed softly at that. “I mean, I get it. Sometimes, friends can be overprotective, even when they don’t need to be.”

“Exactly,” he said, his tone a little more serious now. “But I guess it’s nice to have someone looking out for you.” He paused, giving you a sidelong glance. “Even if it gets a little annoying.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, I get that. Sometimes people just want the best for you, even if it’s a little over the top.”

“Like you and Beomgyu,” Yeonjun said with a teasing grin.

“Are you sure the two of you aren’t a thing?” he asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Positive.”

“Really?” Yeonjun sounded surprised.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “He’s just the only person who gets me.”

The conversation lingered in the air for a moment, and you returned to your work, but this time it felt a little less overwhelming, the atmosphere more relaxed. Maybe this wasn’t so weird after all.

—

At dinner, the atmosphere was calm at first, with you both eating in relative silence. Then, suddenly, Yeonjun slammed his chopsticks down on the napkin, causing you to jump, wide-eyed, and look up at him.

“I want what you and Beomgyu have!” he declared, his voice loud enough to catch the attention of a few nearby tables.

You blinked in confusion. “We have nothing.”

“Precisely,” he said with a sigh, leaning back in his seat. He looked both frustrated and thoughtful. “You remember the girl I told you about? My girlfriend—well, ex, I guess.”

You nodded slowly, unsure of where this conversation was going.

“We’ve been together for two years,” Yeonjun continued, running a hand through his hair. “And lately, I’ve started to realize... maybe I’ve just been keeping her around for comfort.”

You paused, taking in his words. The sincerity in his voice was clear, and it made you reflect on what he was saying. "What do you mean?" you asked carefully.

Yeonjun sighed again, the weight of his thoughts showing. “I don’t think I’m in love with her anymore. At least, not the way I should be. It’s like I’ve been holding on because it’s easy, because it’s familiar. And now... I don’t even know if that’s enough anymore.”

You stared at him for a moment, trying to process what he was admitting. “That sounds tough. But... maybe it’s better to face that now, rather than later.”

“Yeah, I know. I just don’t know what to do about it,” he said, his tone mixed with frustration and uncertainty.

“Sometimes you don’t have to have everything figured out right away. It’s okay to take a step back and think about what you really want. You can’t just keep holding on to something for the sake of comfort.” You spoke slowly, feeling the weight of your own words as they fell between you two.

Yeonjun nodded, though his expression remained conflicted. "I don’t want to hurt her, but I also don’t want to keep pretending. I don't want to be stuck in something out of habit."

You nodded, understanding where he was coming from. "But didn’t she ask for a break?”

“She usually does that to get my attention.” 

“That sounds not at all toxic.” you laughed.

Yeonjun let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know, it’s not healthy. But every time she does that, I feel like I’m losing her. It’s like I’m always on the edge of something—whether it’s fixing things or making them worse.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning in a bit. “So, it’s the constant cycle of drama keeping you in the relationship? Feels like a never-ending loop.”

He grimaced. “Yeah, pretty much. It's exhausting. But when it’s good, it’s really good, and I guess I keep thinking maybe we’ll get back to that.”

“But that’s the problem, right?” you said softly, your voice gentle but firm. “You’re holding onto the highs because you're afraid of letting go of the lows. But in the end, it’s the pattern that’s unhealthy, not just the relationship itself.”

Yeonjun nodded, the weight of your words sinking in. “I’ve been trying to avoid facing that. It's easier to stay in something familiar than to face the unknown, even if it means staying in a cycle that doesn’t make me happy anymore.”

“Exactly,” you agreed, giving him a knowing look. “It’s scary to let go, especially when you’ve been holding onto something for so long. But sometimes, letting go is the only way forward.”

The conversation lulled once again. You kept your eyes firmly on your plate, despite feeling his gaze on you. His persistence was relentless, especially with that sweet, almost oblivious smile he kept throwing your way.

Geez, it’s like he doesn’t know how cutehe is, you thought, rolling your eyes at yourself.

“Hey,” Yeonjun’s voice broke through your thoughts, soft yet curious. “Did you mean it when you said you’ve never had a boyfriend?”

You nodded nonchalantly, shoving some rice into your mouth. “Yeah.”

“That’s surprising.”

You raised an eyebrow. “How so? I thought it was pretty obvious.” You chuckled, brushing it off with another bite.

“Well, it’s just...you’re so pretty.”

His words hit like a rogue wave. You inhaled sharply, immediately regretting it as the rice caught in your throat. You choked and coughed violently, tears springing to your eyes. Yeonjun froze, wide-eyed.

“Oh my God! Are you okay?!” He reached out, panicking as you thumped your chest, struggling to breathe.

“Water—” you croaked, pointing desperately.

He fumbled for the glass in front of you, but in his haste, managed to knock it over, sending the liquid cascading across the table. Both of you stared at the spreading mess before he scrambled for napkins.

“Seriously?!” you managed to rasp, still half-choking.

“I panicked!” he shot back, dabbing at the table like his life depended on it.

Finally catching your breath, you glared at him, tears streaming down your cheeks from the ordeal. “This—this is your fault!”

He raised his hands defensively, his expression guilt-ridden, before breaking into a sheepish grin. “How is this my fault?!”

You shook your head, not wanting to admit that his words had thrown you completely off guard.

“What? Has no one called you pretty before?” he joked, his tone light and teasing.

You froze, the teasing suddenly landing in a spot you weren’t ready to acknowledge. You looked at him quietly, lips pressing together in a thin line, before turning your gaze away.

His grin faltered, replaced by a soft curiosity. “You’ve…never been called that before?”

“And why would anyone ever call me that?” you said, rolling your eyes in an attempt to deflect, but the slight edge in your voice betrayed you.

“Because you are,” he said simply, his tone devoid of the usual playfulness. “I’ve always thought so.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. “You’ve always thought so?” you echoed, skeptical.

“Well, yeah.” He shrugged as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Since the first time I saw you. You just don’t seem to realize it, which is kind of insane.”

Your face warmed, and you tried to mask it with a sarcastic laugh. “Right, and I suppose this is the part where I swoon over you and your grand compliments? Oh great Yeonjun, do sprinkle me with some more compliments!”

Yeonjun chuckled, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “You can swoon later. For now, I’ll just take the victory of seeing you blush.”

“I’m not blushing,” you retorted, pushing your plate away dramatically.

“Sure, sure,” he said, smirking as he sat back. “Let’s just say you win this argument because I’ve won something else tonight.”

You stared at him, incredulous, before bursting into laughter. “And what is that?”

“An image of you choking on rice.,” he quipped, his grin widening.

“You’re an idiot.” You shook your head, unable to fight the smile tugging at your lips. 

—

Days passed, and before you knew it, Yeonjun started showing up during lunch, casually plopping himself down next to you and Beomgyu like it was the most natural thing in the world. At first, Beomgyu gave him suspicious side-eyes, but Yeonjun’s easy charm wore him down.

Soon enough, Yeonjun began bringing his friend Soobin along. Quiet at first, Soobin would sit awkwardly beside Yeonjun, nibbling on his food while the rest of you chatted. But it didn’t take long for Beomgyu to drag Soobin into his whirlwind of jokes and antics, and suddenly the four of you were a group.

Once or twice a week, the four of you would find yourselves huddled together during lunch or after school, trading stories, cracking jokes, or, in Beomgyu’s case, plotting unnecessarily dramatic ways to prank unsuspecting classmates.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but the dynamic had shifted. What was once just you and Beomgyu had expanded into something bigger—and, maybe, better.

“I can’t believe it’s not just the two of us anymore,” you muttered to Beomgyu one afternoon as you watched Yeonjun and Soobin argue over who was better at Mario Kart.

Beomgyu smirked, leaning back against the cafeteria bench. “Oh, come on, you’re having fun. Just admit it.”

“I was perfectly content with it being just us,” you said, though the small smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. “But… it doesn’t suck having them around too.”

“Yeah, it’s the first time I’ve seen a duo as chaotic as us,” Beomgyu said, motioning toward Yeonjun, who was dramatically accusing Soobin of cheating.

Soobin, clearly exasperated, shoved Yeonjun lightly. “How do you even cheat at Mario Kart? It’s literally luck!”

“You took all the item boxes!” Yeonjun shot back, crossing his arms in mock betrayal.

“Wow,” Beomgyu said, shaking his head with feigned seriousness. “And I thought we were immature.”

“Y’know we can hear you two, right?” Soobin rolled his eyes.

“Kinda counting on it,” you replied with a shrug, sliding onto the bench between Soobin and Yeonjun. “Now, enough. I don’t need the two of you to end up throwing popcorn around like last night.”

“We picked it up straight after,” Soobin defended himself.

“I found two stray kernels behind the couch yesterday,” you shot back, rolling your eyes as you, giving Soobin a playful shove on the arm. "Two. Stray. Popcorn pieces. I rest my case."

Soobin groaned dramatically, holding his hands up in surrender. “Fine, I’m guilty. But next time, I’ll make sure Yeonjun eats all the evidence.”

“Me?” Yeonjun exclaimed, looking offended. “Why me?”

“Because you’re the one who knocked the bowl over in the first place!”

As the three of you bickered, Yeonjun’s gaze shifted for a moment. He noticed the way you laughed at Soobin’s retort, your head tilted slightly as you leaned closer to him. And when Soobin smirked and flicked your shoulder in retaliation, Yeonjun caught the glimmer of fondness in your eyes.

A thought crept into his mind, unbidden and unwelcome: Do they like each other?

He shook his head slightly, trying to push it away. But the more he observed, the harder it was to ignore. Your casual ease around Soobin, the way you teased him without hesitation, and the soft way Soobin seemed to glance at you when he thought no one else was looking—it all painted a picture Yeonjun couldn’t ignore.

“Earth to Yeonjun,” Beomgyu’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Huh?” Yeonjun blinked, realizing everyone was now staring at him.

“You’ve been spacing out for a solid minute,” Beomgyu teased, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Yeah, what’s up with that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Nothing,” Yeonjun said quickly, plastering on a smile. “I was just thinking about… Mario Kart strategies.”

Soobin snorted. “Sure you were.”

Yeonjun’s smile faltered slightly, but he forced himself to focus on the moment instead of the nagging thoughts in his head. If there was something between you and Soobin, he’d figure it out eventually—or, at the very least, stop thinking about it so much. Or so he hoped. In fact, he didn’t even know why that thought bothered him.

—

You glanced at your watch, then scanned the area for your friends, who were now ten minutes late. Weird, you thought. Sure, they were always late, but for lunch? Never. You were just about to call Beomgyu when his text came through: Gonna be a bit late, sorry! Not long after, Soobin messaged the same thing.

You sighed, already bracing for a solo lunch when a pair of hands suddenly grabbed your shoulders from behind.

“Boo!”

You screamed out of reflex, jerking forward and nearly tripping, only for Yeonjun to catch you by the arms. For a moment, you were staring directly into his eyes, close enough to see the tiny flecks of brown in them. Your face heated up as you pushed him away.

“You—you little shit!” you shouted, your voice louder than you intended. “You scared me!”

Yeonjun burst into laughter, throwing his head back. “Oh, come on, that was barely a scare!”

“Don’t do that!” You smacked his chest lightly, half-annoyed, half-flustered.

Still grinning, Yeonjun checked his phone. “Looks like it’s just the two of us for lunch today.”

“Oh dear god, save me,” you groaned dramatically.

He laughed again, grabbing your arm and pulling you toward the canteen. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. It'll be fun. Let’s go!”

To be honest, you still felt a little awkward hanging out with Yeonjun alone. You couldn’t stand the attention the two of you seemed to attract. With Soobin and Beomgyu around, there was always someone to deflect the focus, but being alone with someone as popular as Yeonjun was... exhausting.

Every few minutes, a girl would walk up to make a casual pass at him, twirling her hair or giggling at whatever he said, while Yeonjun just smiled politely. If it wasn’t a girl, it was some frat bro bounding over with a fist bump and a loud, “Dude, it’s been forever!”

It was tiring.

You sat across from Yeonjun, trying to focus on your lunch while he chatted casually, seemingly unbothered by the interruptions. When yet another girl sidled up to your table with a too-sweet smile and a “Hi, Yeonjun~,” you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

When she finally left, you leaned forward and deadpanned, “Is this what your life is like every day? Because I think I’d rather die.”

Yeonjun chuckled, resting his chin in his hand. “Pretty much. Jealous?”

“Not in the slightest,” you shot back, stabbing a piece of chicken with your fork. “I don’t know how you deal with it.”

“Well,” he said, smirking, “having lunch with you is definitely the highlight. You don’t try to flirt with me.”

You choked on your water at his words, coughing violently.

“Are you okay?!” Yeonjun asked, wide-eyed as he handed you a napkin.

“I’m fine,” you wheezed, glaring at him through teary eyes. “Stop saying things like that. You’re gonna kill me.”

Yeonjun just laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he leaned back in his chair. “See? Lunch with me is fun.”

“Sure. If it means being interrupted like a million times,” you sighed softly, taking another bite of your food.

“Though…” He paused, his gaze shifting toward you.

You looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Though what?”

“I did wish you would,” he said, his voice quieter now.

You tilted your head, confused. “Would what?”

“Never mind.” He waved it off quickly, shaking his head. “It’s stupid.”

“Dude…” You narrowed your eyes, now fully intrigued.

He hesitated for a moment, then let out a nervous chuckle. “I wish you would…flirt with me.”

Your fork clattered against your plate as you stared at him, stunned.

“Y’know,” he continued, rubbing the back of his neck, “I get it all the time from other people, but I don’t get it from the one girl who I think would actually be good at it.” He chuckled awkwardly, shaking his head. “It’s stupid, forget I said anything.”

“Why on earth would you think I’d be good at flirting?” you asked, baffled. “I’ve never done that in my entire life.”

Yeonjun smiled, soft and genuine. “Honestly? I think I’d like anything you said to me.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, you couldn’t form a reply.

“Oh crap, I forgot ketchup,” he said suddenly, standing up. “I’ll be back.”

And just like that, he walked away, leaving you sitting there in stunned silence. His words replayed in your mind—“I think I’d like anything you said to me.”

What was that supposed to mean? Was he just joking, or was there something more to it?

You picked at your food absentmindedly, your thoughts spinning. When Yeonjun returned with his ketchup, he was back to his usual cheerful self, as if he hadn’t just casually dropped that bombshell.

“So, what did I miss?” he asked, settling back into his seat.

“Absolutely nothing,” you replied quickly, avoiding his gaze. But deep down, you knew this lunch had changed something between you—and you weren’t sure how to feel about it.

–

Yeonjun paced his room, running a hand through his hair for what felt like the hundredth time. He couldn’t stop. His thoughts had been circling like a storm, and no matter what he did, he couldn’t find a way to calm the chaos.

What was this feeling?

He’d never felt like this before—this unrelenting, all-encompassing focus on someone. On you.

When he slept, he dreamed of you. When he woke up, you were the first thing on his mind. In class, during every lecture, every fleeting second, he found ways to connect everything back to you. A joke you’d made, the way you furrowed your brow when you were deep in thought, the way you smiled.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

He collapsed onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. Was it your smile? Or maybe it was your silliness—the way you could laugh at yourself and make him laugh, too. Or perhaps it was your honesty. The way you didn’t sugarcoat things. You were real with him in a way no one else ever dared to be.

But then his chest tightened as another thought crept in. The idea of Soobin liking you—of you liking Soobin—it hurt.

It hurt more than it should.

And Beomgyu—Beomgyu knew you better than anyone else. That bond, that closeness. It twisted something in Yeonjun’s chest, a feeling he hated acknowledging.

The idea of anyone liking you, of anyone else being the person you chose, was unbearable.

He groaned, grabbing a pillow and pressing it over his face. What the hell was he supposed to do with these feelings?

He had to get rid of these feelings fast especially since he knew you didn’t feel a single thing for him. 

—

The bass of the music pulsed through Yeonjun’s body as he walked into the crowded house, a drink already being shoved into his hand by a friend he barely recognized. The room was alive with laughter, chatter, and the occasional shrill cheer as someone won at beer pong.

He should feel at home here. Normally, he thrived in this chaos, weaving his way through groups with a charming grin and a quick joke. Tonight, though, the party felt... off. But this was what he needed, right? To get over you.

Yeonjun scanned the room and spotted a girl standing by the bar, her hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. She caught his eye and smiled, and for a moment, he let himself fall into autopilot.

“Hey,” he greeted smoothly, leaning casually against the counter. “Can I get you a drink?”

She giggled, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Sure. What are you having?”

They exchanged playful banter as he poured her a drink, his usual charm kicking in effortlessly. She laughed at his jokes, leaning closer, and for a second, Yeonjun thought he was doing it—distracting himself, drowning out his thoughts of you.

But then she said something—he didn’t even register what—and her laugh didn’t sound like yours. Her smile didn’t light up her face the way yours did. Her words didn’t carry that teasing edge you always had when you talked to him.

And suddenly, it hit him.

He didn’t want her.

He wanted you.

His hand froze mid-air, the glass he was holding tipping slightly. The girl furrowed her brow, confused. “Are you okay?”

Yeonjun blinked, snapping back to the moment. “Yeah, uh, sorry,” he said quickly, setting the glass down and stepping back. “I just—I need to go.”

Without waiting for her response, he turned and pushed through the crowd, his chest tightening with every step. What the hell was he doing here?

He didn’t want some random girl at a party. He didn’t want to distract himself or pretend his feelings didn’t exist.

He wanted you.

And for the first time, he realized just how badly.

—

The four of you were gathered around your usual table at lunch, the cafeteria alive with chatter and clinking cutlery. You were in the middle of an impassioned rant about how your student rally had antis, your hands animatedly emphasizing every point.

“I mean, can you believe some people still think it’s not real? Like, the science is right there!” you exclaimed, your eyes wide with disbelief.

Yeonjun leaned forward slightly, his chin propped on his hand as he watched you with an almost dreamy expression. He wasn’t really hearing the details of what you were saying—he was too busy soaking in the way your eyes lit up, the determination in your voice, the little wrinkle between your brows when you were especially frustrated.

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow as he noticed Yeonjun’s expression but stayed silent for the moment.

“And don’t even get me started on corporations acting like individual recycling efforts are enough to fix the problem,” you continued, your voice filled with passion. “We need systemic change, not just—ugh, whatever.” You sighed, leaning back and crossing your arms, visibly exasperated.

“You’re so right,” Yeonjun said suddenly, his voice softer than usual, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You blinked at him, surprised. “Thank you?”

“I need to go to the bathroom,” you said a moment later, standing and grabbing your bag. “I’ll be right back.”

As soon as you were out of earshot, Beomgyu leaned across the table, pointing a fry at Yeonjun. “Okay, what’s your deal?”

“What?” Yeonjun asked, startled, though the tips of his ears turned pink.

“You’ve been staring at her like she hung the moon,” Soobin chimed in, smirking as he sipped his drink. “It’s painfully obvious.”

Yeonjun tried to laugh it off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you know,” Beomgyu said, leaning closer, his grin mischievous. “You’re whipped. Admit it.”

Yeonjun groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Can you two not?”

“Dude, it’s fine,” Soobin said, laughing. “Just tell her already. This whole lovesick puppy thing is kind of embarrassing.”

Yeonjun peeked through his fingers, glaring at him. “She doesn’t feel that way about me, okay? So just drop it.”

Beomgyu and Soobin exchanged a look, their teasing smiles softening slightly.

“Well, she’s not going to know if you don’t tell her,” Beomgyu said after a moment, his voice unusually serious.

“Yeah,” Soobin added. “And honestly, she’d be lucky to have you.”

Yeonjun looked down at the table, his heart racing as he replayed the way you’d smiled while talking about something you cared so much about.

Maybe they were right. But the thought of risking your friendship still terrified him. Especially a friendship like yours.

—

The library was unusually quiet for a Wednesday afternoon, save for the occasional rustle of papers or the soft murmur of students whispering to one another. You and Yeonjun had claimed a table in the far corner, textbooks sprawled out in front of you as you both attempted to study. Well, you were attempting; Yeonjun was too busy doodling cartoonish faces on the corner of his notebook and cracking terrible jokes that somehow still managed to make you smile.

“Okay, but seriously, why do you write your notes like this?” he asked, pointing at your color-coded bullet points. “It’s like an art exhibit for highlighters.”

“Because it works,” you replied, swatting his hand away before he could smudge your meticulously written notes. “Maybe if you stopped doodling and actually read the material, you wouldn’t need to borrow my notes every time.”

“I’m a visual learner,” he said with a smirk. “I need diagrams, not words.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. Just as you were about to nudge him for his lack of effort, a shadow fell over your table.

“Hey, Yeonjun,” a girl said, her voice dripping with a mixture of shyness and flirtation. She held a notebook to her chest, her gaze flicking briefly to you before focusing solely on him. “I was wondering if you could help me with something from class.”

Yeonjun blinked, caught off guard. “Me? I’m the last person you should be asking.”

The girl leaned in a little too close, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, c’mon, it’d be fun~”

Your hand froze mid-note. You tried not to react, keeping your gaze fixed on your textbook, but the awkward tension was palpable. Yeonjun, to his credit, just laughed nervously and said, “You could always e-mail your professor,” before the girl finally left, albeit reluctantly.

You barely had time to process the encounter before another girl appeared five minutes later, giggling as she asked him to sign her notebook because it was “a good-luck charm.” Then came another, offering him a snack and batting her eyelashes so furiously you were surprised she could still see.

By the third interruption, you’d had enough. Not because you were angry, but because it was clear you couldn’t get any studying done with 100 girls coming up to get their way to him. You quietly stood, gathering your things. “I’ll give you some space,” you said lightly, trying to sound nonchalant. “Looks like you’ve got a fan club.”

Yeonjun’s head snapped up. “What? No, wait—” He grabbed your wrist before you could step away, his grip firm but gentle. His voice was louder this time, drawing the attention of the girls hovering nearby. “Actually, girls y’know what, I’d really appreciate it if everyone understood that I already have a girlfriend.”

Your eyes widened in shock as he turned to look at the group, a confident grin spreading across his face. 

One of the girls frowned. “Who?”

He pointed directly at you. “Her.”

You stared at him, absolutely floored. “Excuse me?” you whispered harshly.

Yeonjun only shrugged, leaning back in his chair like it was the most natural thing in the world. “What? It’s true. Well, kinda,” he muttered under his breath, low enough that only you could hear.

The girls exchanged looks, clearly skeptical but unwilling to press further. One by one, they walked away, their disappointed expressions oddly satisfying. Once they were gone, you yanked your arm free, glaring at him.

“What the hell was that?” you hissed, your cheeks burning.

Yeonjun grinned, completely unapologetic. “What? You were gonna leave me to fend for myself. I had to do something.”

“You couldn’t just say you weren’t interested like a normal person?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he said, resting his chin on his hand as he looked at you with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Besides, it worked, didn’t it?”

You groaned, sinking back into your chair. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re still here,” he pointed out, smirking.

“Unfortunately,” you muttered, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

—

The cafeteria was buzzing with its usual chaos—trays clattering, voices rising, and the occasional shriek of someone almost spilling their drink. You were balancing your lunch tray, trying to make your way to the table where Beomgyu and Soobin were already seated, but as soon as they spotted you and Yeonjun walking in together, their heads whipped toward you like they’d just uncovered the scandal of the century.

The grins on their faces were impossible to ignore.

“So,” Beomgyu began as soon as you sat down, his tone dripping with faux disappointment. “You confessed to my best friend without even telling me?” He sighed dramatically, clutching his chest like you’d personally betrayed him. “I thought we were closer than this.”

You froze mid-bite of your sandwich. “What?”

“Don’t act innocent,” Soobin added, his usually calm demeanor betrayed by the mischievous glint in his eyes. He tilted his head toward Yeonjun, who had taken the seat next to you with the utmost confidence. “We heard about the library incident.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered, glaring at Yeonjun. “This is your fault.”

“My fault?” Yeonjun raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin only widening. “All I did was save you from leaving me alone with those girls.”

“Save me?” you repeated, incredulous. “You told everyone we’re dating!”

“Well,” Beomgyu chimed in, leaning forward with an eyebrow raised, “if you’re not dating, you two sure are doing a great job pretending otherwise. You literally walked in here together.”

You rolled your eyes. “Because we were coming from the same place. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Uh-huh,” Soobin said, his tone suspiciously neutral. “And sitting next to each other? Laughing like you’re in your own little world? Totally platonic, right?”

“I’m surrounded by idiots,” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Nothing is going on. Yeonjun made up the girlfriend thing to get those girls off his back, and somehow, everyone else decided to turn it into a school-wide announcement.”

Beomgyu gasped theatrically. “So you’re fake-dating? This is even better.” He clapped his hands together like he’d just won the lottery. “This is straight out of a drama. What’s next? A contract?”

“Don’t give him any ideas,” you groaned, glancing at Yeonjun, who was clearly enjoying this far too much.

“I mean, it’s not the worst idea,” Yeonjun said, casually leaning back in his chair. “You get fewer annoying questions, I get fewer confessions to deal with—”

“Absolutely not,” you cut him off. “This is not happening.”

“Why not?” Beomgyu said, clearly loving every second of this. “Think about it. You’d make the perfect fake couple. The ‘grumpy and sunshine’ dynamic is a classic.”

“I am not grumpy!” you snapped, and Beomgyu cackled like he’d just proven his point.

Soobin, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke up. “You know, for something fake, you both seem awfully comfortable around each other.”

You stared at him, your brain struggling to form a coherent response. Yeonjun, on the other hand, just smirked.

“See? Even Soobin agrees,” Yeonjun said, shooting you a smug look. “Maybe there’s a reason everyone’s buying it.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “The only reason everyone’s buying it is because you’re too convincing for your own good.”

“Or,” Beomgyu teased, resting his chin on his hands, “because you’re secretly in love with him.”

You choked on your drink. “I—absolutely not!”

Yeonjun just grinned, leaning closer. “You sure about that?”

—

The café was buzzing with lunchtime chatter as you and Yeonjun settled into your seats. It was supposed to be a group lunch, but Beomgyu and Soobin had bailed last minute, claiming an urgent League of Legends match that couldn’t wait. Typical.

“Well, their loss,” Yeonjun said, popping a fry into his mouth. “More food for us.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help a small smile. “Do you ever get tired of eating fries?”

“Never,” he replied with a grin. “Fries are the love of my life. No offense.”

“And why would that be offensive?” you said dryly, sipping your drink.

Midway through your conversation, Yeonjun stood up. “Gotta use the restroom. Don’t eat all the fries while I’m gone.” He shot you a playful wink before walking off, leaving you to roll your eyes again.

As you sat there scrolling through your phone, a girl approached your table, her perfectly styled hair and designer bag making her stand out. She stopped right in front of you, arms crossed, her gaze sharp.

“Hey,” she started, her tone clipped. “I’ve heard the rumors, and I just have to ask—are you really dating Yeonjun?”

You looked up, mildly surprised by the confrontation. “Uh, I guess. Why?”

Her lips twisted into a skeptical smile. “It’s just... you don’t really seem like his type, you know? No offense.”

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “None taken,” you said with a shrug, matching her energy. “But what’s his type, exactly?”

She blinked, clearly not expecting you to stand your ground. “Well... someone more... polished, I guess. Someone who matches his vibe. I’m just saying, you don’t seem like the kind of girl he’d go for.”

You set your drink down and met her gaze directly. “Cool. Thanks for your opinion. Anything else?”

Before she could respond, Yeonjun reappeared, his steps light but his expression sharp as he overheard the conversation. “What’s not to like about her?” he asked casually, sliding back into his seat beside you. His sudden presence made the girl stiffen.

“She’s smart, funny, and gorgeous,” Yeonjun continued, his tone unwavering as he gestured toward you. “And for the record, she’s perfect for me.”

The girl’s mouth opened and closed like she was searching for a response. Finally, she managed to say, “It’s just…You could do so much better.”

Yeonjun tilted his head, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “There’s no such thing as better,” he said, his voice firm. “She’s already the best.”

Without breaking eye contact with the girl, he leaned toward you, his hand resting lightly on your cheek as he pressed a kiss to your lips. Which…well, caught you off guard.

When he pulled back, the girl looked utterly flustered, “I-I...hope the two of you are happy together then. I’m sorry.” she muttered before spinning on her heel and walking away.

Yeonjun turned to you, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “That wasn’t too much, was it?”

You blinked, still processing what had just happened. “Uh... no?” Your cheeks heated up from the sudden intimacy.

“Good,” he said, grabbing another fry like nothing had happened. “Now, where were we?”

—

The cool night breeze swept over the two of you as you walked side by side down the dimly lit street. The sound of your footsteps filled the comfortable silence between you, the faint glow of streetlights illuminating Yeonjun’s sharp features. You stole a glance at him, your heart oddly heavy as you mulled over your thoughts.

“Uh, y’know…” you said softly, your voice barely cutting through the quiet.

“Hm?” he replied, turning his head slightly to look at you, his hands stuffed casually in his jacket pockets.

You hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. “You… you kinda stole my first kiss, you know.”

He stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening in alarm. “Wait, that was your first kiss?” he asked, voice rising with panic. “Oh my God, I didn’t—I didn’t know! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

“Yeonjun,” you interrupted, laughing softly at his frantic apologies. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I just kissed you to get that girl to leave, and I didn’t even think—”

“Yeonjun,” you said more firmly, cutting him off again. “I’d rather it be you than anyone else.”

That seemed to stop him in his tracks. He blinked, staring at you withcuriosity. “Really?” he asked, his voice softer now.

You looked away, your cheeks warming despite the cool breeze. “Honestly, I felt like I’d never lose my first kiss anyway,” you admitted, your voice quiet. “I’ve always thought it’d never happen.”

Yeonjun frowned, stepping closer. “What? Why would you think that?”

You shook your head, forcing a smile and attempting to wave it off. “It’s nothing. Let’s not—”

“No,” he interrupted, his tone firm. “Why are you so afraid of liking someone? Or being with someone?”

You bit your lip, looking away. “I just…” You hesitated, unsure if you could even put it into words. Finally, you sighed, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I just feel like I wouldn’t be good enough for anyone.”

The silence that followed was heavy, and when you finally looked up, Yeonjun’s expression frustrated.

“Are you kidding me?” he said, his voice tight. “You’re the best person I know. Anyone would be lucky—so lucky—to even have you like them.”

You blinked, startled by the intensity of his words. “Yeonjun—”

“No,” he said, his tone firm. “You don’t get to say things like that about yourself. It’s not true, and it’s… it’s so frustrating that you don’t see what I see.”

Before you could respond, he stepped closer, cupping your face in his hands and pressing his lips to yours. It wasn’t hurried or fleeting like before—it was soft.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested lightly against yours, his breathing uneven. “It’s just crazy how you don’t see how fucking amazing you are. You’re smart, you’re literally the prettiest person I’ve ever seen and honestly I don’t understand why you’re so cute. You’re the only person I’ve ever liked this much and it’s killing me.” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You nodded slowly, your eyes still wide, your heart thudding against your chest.

“I’m stupid,” Yeonjun muttered, stepping back slightly, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Look, I didn’t mean to scare you—I shouldn’t have just blurted that out like that—”

“No!” you interrupted quickly, your voice firmer than you expected. “I’m not scared at all. I just…” You trailed off, suddenly feeling shy under his intense gaze.

“You just what?” he asked, his tone softening as he leaned forward slightly, his eyes searching yours.

You swallowed hard, your cheeks warming. “I don’t really know how to deal with this,” you admitted quietly. “I’ve never... I’ve never had anyone say something like that to me before.”

Yeonjun’s brows furrowed, and his lips pressed into a thin line. “You deserve it,” he said firmly, stepping closer again. “You deserve to hear it a hundred times. Every single day. You deserve to feel loved and appreciated and—and wanted.” His voice softened as he added, “Because that’s exactly how I feel about you.”

Your breath hitched, his words sinking in. “Yeonjun…” you started, but you couldn’t find the right words to respond. Your mind was a blur of emotions, too overwhelmed to sort through them.

He reached for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours before curling gently around them. “You don’t have to say anything right now,” he said quietly. “I just… I need you to know how I feel. And I need you to stop doubting yourself because you’re everything to me.” He paused, then added with a small, almost shy smile, “Even if I totally botched this confession and stole your first kiss”

A laugh escaped your lips despite yourself, breaking the tension. “You didn’t botch it,” you said, shaking your head. “It was... really sweet.”

He grinned, his confidence returning just a little. “Yeah? Sweet enough to get you to go on an actual date with me?”

Your heart fluttered, and this time, you didn’t hesitate. “Yeah,” you said softly, a smile spreading across your face. “Maybe.”

“Maybe? Ouch,” he said dramatically, swinging your joined hands slightly, his teasing smile lighting up his face.

You chuckled, looking at him through your lashes. “I don’t know. You did kinda steal my first kiss.”

Yeonjun stopped walking for a moment, tilting his head as if deep in thought. Then, with a playful glint in his eyes, he said, “You can have it back.” Before you could respond, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours again, softer this time, as if savoring the moment.

When he pulled back, you were laughing, your cheeks warm and heart racing. “Actually, I think I’d rather you keep it,” you said, your laughter spilling over as you leaned forward to kiss him again, this time initiating it yourself. “Here,” you murmured against his lips.

Yeonjun smirked as you pulled back, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “Two can play at this game, y’know.”

“Oh, can they?” you teased, arching a brow as you started to walk again, pulling him along by the hand.

He followed easily, still grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “Oh, they can,” he said confidently. “But fair warning, I’m really good at this game.”

“Guess I’ll just have to keep up,” you replied, smiling. “Though, I’d appreciate it if we kept this a little secret for now. I don’t really need Beomgyu asking me for every detail.”

“Right…” Yeonjun nodded thoughtfully, though his grin didn’t falter. “I’m sure it’s not that bad. We’re friends! In fact, haven’t we gotten closer?”

You gave him a look, raising an eyebrow. “He’ll probably want to interrogate you. Or worse…”

“But we’re friends…?” he repeated, as if that would shield him from the chaos to come.

“You don’t understand,” you said with a sigh, shaking your head. “He might be Beomgyu, but he’s insanely—and I mean insanely—protective.”

Yeonjun blinked at you for a moment before laughing. “Protective? Beomgyu? Are we talking about the same Beomgyu who steals fries off everyone’s plates and pretends to faint when he’s asked to help with anything?”

“Yes, that Beomgyu,” you replied with a deadpan expression. “The same one who ‘accidentally’ tripped a guy in middle school because he thought he was flirting with me. Protective doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Yeonjun let out a low whistle, his laughter fading as a hint of nervousness crept into his smile. “Okay, maybe I underestimated him. So what’s the plan? Do I avoid eye contact? Pretend I don’t exist?”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “No, just… don’t give him a reason to go full interrogator mode, and we’ll be fine.”

“That’s easier said than done,” Yeonjun muttered. He glanced at you, his playful smirk returning. “But you’re worth it. If I have to face Beomgyu’s wrath, I’ll do it.”

“Don’t get cocky,” you teased, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “He hasn’t even started yet.”

Yeonjun chuckled, but there was an undertone of determination in his voice as he said, “Let him. I’ll handle it. I like you too much to let Beomgyu scare me off.”

His words caught you off guard, your steps faltering for a moment. “Yeah, youre saying this now.”

He stopped walking and turned to face you, his expression sincere. “Of course I do. Beomgyu might be protective, but he’s also your friend. If he sees how serious I am about you, he’ll come around.”

A warmth spread through your chest at his words, and you smiled softly. “You’re being too cute right now. It’s really bothering me.”

Yeonjun grinned, leaning in just slightly. “The one time I don’t mind bothering you.”

–

The two of you were great at hiding your relationship—for a solid four days.

Beomgyu stood in front of you and Yeonjun, arms crossed, an exaggeratedly serious look on his face. “So,” he started, narrowing his eyes at Yeonjun, “you’re really dating my best friend?”

Yeonjun nodded, trying to keep a straight face but failing miserably as a grin tugged at his lips. “Yeah, I am.”

Beomgyu’s eyes widened dramatically. “And when exactly were you planning on telling me? Huh? Was I supposed to find out at your wedding? Were you even going to send me a save-the-date card?!”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Beomgyu, it hasn’t even been a week—”

“Don’t interrupt me!” he snapped, pointing at you with mock seriousness before turning his attention back to Yeonjun. “You. You toad looking son of a bitch. Answer the question.”

Yeonjun shrugged, clearly amused. “Toad looking– Honestly, Gyu? I was hoping you’d just figure it out and not make a big deal.”

Beomgyu gasped, clutching his chest like he’d been personally betrayed. “Gyu? You lost your Gyu privileges when you didn’t tell me about the two of you dating! And…not make a big deal?! I’m her best friend! It’s my job to make this a big deal! What kind of boyfriend are you if you don’t respect that?”

“Okay, okay, I respect it,” Yeonjun said, holding up his hands in surrender. “But you’re being a little dramatic—”

“Dramatic?” Beomgyu cut him off, pacing in front of you both like a detective in a crime drama. “Dramatic is when I trip a guy for flirting with her. This? This is serious. I need answers. What are your intentions with my little girl?”

“Little girl?” You scoffed.

“My intentions?” Yeonjun repeated, clearly holding back laughter. “I like her. A lot. I want to make her happy.”

Beomgyu squinted at him like he was trying to read Yeonjun’s soul. “Hmm…lame answer but okay. But what about—”

“Beomgyu, stop,” you interrupted, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not my dad and Yeonjun’s not on trial.”

Beomgyu ignored you, snapping his fingers at Yeonjun. “What’s her favorite color?”

“Uh… blue?” Yeonjun said, glancing at you for confirmation.

“Wrong. It’s green,” Beomgyu said confidently, even though he was completely wrong.

“It’s actually yellow,” you corrected, rolling your eyes. “Even I don’t know where you got green from.”

Beomgyu gasped again, this time looking personally offended. “How dare you keep secrets from me?”

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest. “What’s her favorite food?”

“Spaghetti!” Yeonjun answered quickly, as if it was obvious.

Beomgyu sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes. “Lucky guess, nimrod.”

“Nimrod? Really?” Yeonjun shot him an exasperated side-eye. “You’re pulling these nicknames out of nowhere now, huh?”

“Talking back to your father-in-law?” Beomgyu glared, clearly annoyed. “Strike one, Choi Yeonjun.”

Yeonjun blinked, flustered. “My father-in-law is younger than me by two years. This is ridiculous.”

“More back talk, huh? Strike two, fuckface,” Beomgyu snapped, his tone dripping with annoyance.

Yeonjun threw his hands up in frustration, leaning back in his seat. “What the hell, man? Why are you so worked up? I’m literally just trying to answer your questions.”

Beomgyu’s glare intensified. “It’s not about the answer, Yeonjun. It’s the respect you should have for me, as her best friend, I am literally obligated–”

“No, you’re not.”

Beomgyu ignored you, “OBLIGATED to earn my respect and you’re just making it harder for me to give you my approval.”

You watched the exchange with an amused expression but also a growing sense of secondhand frustration on Yeonjun’s behalf. Beomgyu’s intensity wasn’t helping the situation.

Yeonjun finally sighed, slumping in his seat. “I’m not even trying to be difficult, Beomgyu. What do you want from me?”

“I want you to respect the fact that you’re dating my best friend,” Beomgyu muttered, arms still crossed. “I’m watching you, Yeonjun. You mess this up, I swear—”

“Alright, alright,” Yeonjun groaned, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I get it. Strike three is coming, right?”

Beomgyu shot him a look, his eyes narrow with annoyance. “You better believe it, dumbass.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, covering your face. “Are we finally done?”

But Beomgyu wasn’t finished. He turned to Yeonjun with a dramatic flourish, holding his shoulders. “Listen up. When you’re holding her, you need to know you’re holding my whole world.”

“You got that off Pinterest, didn’t you?” you deadpanned.

Beomgyu waved you off, completely ignoring the comment.

But before Beomgyu could continue his interrogation, he suddenly stopped, his expression shifting into something softer. “Wait, I just realised…” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “You’re really dating now. Like, for real. You’re all grown up…”

And then, out of nowhere, Beomgyu lunged forward and wrapped you in a tight hug, burying his face in your shoulder. “I’m so proud of you,” he said, his voice muffled and suspiciously emotional. “I’ve watched you grow up, and now you’re dating this idiot! I can’t believe it!”

You froze for a moment, torn between laughing and tearing up yourself. “Beomgyu, are you… crying?”

“No!” he said, his voice cracking. “Shut up. It’s allergies.”

Yeonjun snorted, leaning against the wall. “Wow. Didn’t realize I was dating into such an emotional family.”

Beomgyu shot him a glare, though he didn’t let go of you. “And I cannot stress this enough, you better take good care of her, Yeonjun, or so help me I will cut your balls off when you’re sleep—”

“I will,” Yeonjun said sincerely, cutting him off. “I promise.”

Beomgyu sniffed dramatically before pulling back, giving you one last look. “Fine,” he said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “I approve. But only because I like you, Yeonjun. Don’t ruin it.”

Yeonjun saluted him. “Yes, sir.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “I can’t believe you turned this into a whole event.”

Beomgyu grinned, his usual mischievousness returning. “What can I say? I live for the drama.”

[jjscrybaby]

A request for JJ!!

I was thinking something kinda angst. So JJ hates the reader and she hates him. They both think each other has a great life and is jealous. But maybe one day on her usual bike ride around the cut, y/n sees JJ’s dad get aggressive with him and realises how JJ’s life is hard. But she doesn’t go to help because she was scared. Feeling bad that she didn’t help she wonders around and she goes home late which results in an argument with her mom. At that time JJ was doing a delivery with Pope and hears and sees everything and when y/n is outside walking around trying to calm herself down and distract from the pain she accidentally bumps into JJ and they have a talk.

jj maybank x fem!reader | hurt & comfort | (luke maybank being an ass, reader’s mom is also an ass, overall just bad parents!)

not proofread and written at 6am so my bad if there’s any mistakes 🤗

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

One of the main differences between you and JJ were your social status’. JJ came from the Cut, he grew up catching his own food, roaming the streets at the age of seven without a care in the world, stealing just to get by. You grew up on Figure Eight, you never had to lift a finger, your parents never had to worry about where their next pay check was coming from. He was jealous.

JJ grew up with freedom, with a group of friends he called his family, he never had to worry about grades or being perfect because no one cared if he was. You grew up with snobby rich kids as the only people you could hang out with, your mom dictated everything you did down to the clothes you’d wear to the mall, you felt embarrassed to even leave the house if your hair was slightly greasy. You were jealous.

You’d known JJ Maybank since you were a kid, you went to the same Elementary school and then over the years you’d see each other at parties or at the club where he worked. There wasn’t ever something that happened that gave you both a reason to hate the other, you just did.

Something your parents were definitely not aware of was the route you’d take on your weekly bike ride. You needed an escape from the ‘perfect’ life, so at least once a week you’d take your little pink bicycle and you’d ride around the Cut. You weren’t sure what it was that drew you to it in the first place, especially after the horror stories you’d grown up hearing, but you always felt calm when you rode around with your AirPods in.

It was about six o’clock, you were supposed to be home for dinner in an hour because your father had some clients coming over and you were wanted as well. You were about to head back home when the sound of yelling caught your attention. You turned round the corner, standing still at the end of the street.

“You smell like a damn bar!” It was JJ. You didn’t know he lived here, but then again why would you? You weren’t friends. There was an older man stumbling after him, following the blonde down the porch steps.

“Ain’t that rich comin’ from you?” The man, who you assumed was non other than Luke Maybank, snorted.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” JJ scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he turned to look at his dad.

“Means you ain’t better than me, kid. It’s in your blood, you’re a Maybank,” Luke mocked.

You could see JJ shake his head, a scowl on his face that was hiding the hurt he felt. “I’m nothin’ like you. And I never will be.”

“Say whatever you want, don’t make it true,” Luke shrugged, taking a sip from the beer that you hadn’t noticed was in his hand. “Where the fuck you goin’, anyways? Ain’t been home in weeks.”

Weeks? You had heard the stories about Luke, the robberies and the bar fights, but you didn’t think he’d treat his own son like this. He spoke to him as if he was a stranger, as if he couldn’t care less about him.

“Yeah, and I shouldn’t have bothered coming back at all,” JJ stated, turning to continue walking away. Luke grabbed his arm, yanking him back and holding him in place. “Get the fuck off me, man!”

“Gotta show some respect, Jay!” Luke yelled, making you flinch.

Why were the neighbours not coming out? Why hadn’t anyone done something about this? You felt sick, and you felt even worse when you got on your bike and rode away before you had to see how this ended.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

“You alright?” JJ hated that question, especially when he knew why it was being asked. The shiner that he sported now. Pope looked at him sympathetically, a sad smile on his face.

“I’m fine. Ready to get some good tips,” JJ shrugged, taking the grocery bags from his hands. “Who orders food at eight o’clock?”

“Rich people,” Pope muttered. “Don’t lose any of that shit.“

“Yeah, yeah.”

JJ walked to your house, he knew it was yours from the last name above the slip of paper Pope had given him. He was starting to walk up the driveway when he heard the noise coming from the open front door.

“I told you to be here by seven! It’s half past!” Your mother exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air.

“I— I got held up, I’m sorry.” He’d never heard you sound so small. Usually, when the two of you got at each other’s throats at a Kegger, you’d stand your ground without a care in the world. It was one of the only things he respected about you.

“Held up with what?” Your mom scoffed. He could see through the cracks in the bushes that she was shaking her head, looking disappointed.

“It’s just dinner, mom. I don’t need to be here,” you tried to argue.

“Well, I’ve already told the Henderson’s that you aren’t home. So, therefore, you will not be home. Don’t come back until they’re gone,” she stated.

“What? Mom. I haven’t got anywhere to go,” you exclaimed, voice wavering.

The door closed in your face and you let out a shaky sigh. You’d been preoccupied, feeling guilty for not sticking up for JJ, so you’d gotten home a little later than planned. Was it really that big of a deal? Tears fell as you wandered back down your driveway, trying to think of where the hell you can go.

“Uh, hey.” You flinched in shock, turning to see JJ lurking by the bushes with two grocery bags.

“What’re you doing here?” You asked quietly.

“Delivery,” he explained.

“Right, well, I can’t take it,” you muttered. “Just go knock.”

“Wait there.” You weren’t sure why you did what he said, but it wasn’t like you had anything better to do. You stood and waited, watching as he left the bags on your front door step and knocked before coming back; he didn’t even wait for a tip. “C’mon.”

The two of you walked through Figure Eight in silence, him puffing on his vape every now and then whilst you tried not to burst into tears. “I saw you and your dad, earlier.”

“What?” He turned to look at you in confusion.

“Outside your house.”

“Why were you outside my house?” He asked.

“I wasn’t, I just happened to be going past,�� you explained. You bit your nails before speaking again, letting out a quiet sigh. “He’s an ass.”

Surprisingly, JJ let out a chuckle. He nodded his head. “Yeah, he is. So is your mom.” You giggled, agreeing with him. “Guess we both have shitty parents, huh?”

“Seems like it,” you shrugged. “Never thought we’d have something in common.”

“You know, my friend, John B, his house is sorta the hangout for kids with shitty parents. Did you want to… you could come over, until you can go back home,” JJ offered. He sounded anxious, as if he was asking you on a date.

You found yourself nodding your head, shyly smiling at him. “Yeah, just until I can go back home.”

You didn’t go home, instead you spent the night chatting shit about your mom with JJ whilst he rambled about his dad. You ended the night in his bed, laid on his chest as the two of you shared a joint. You didn’t feel so jealous anymore, and you were certain he didn’t either.

[nereidprinc3ss]

hii i love love how u write spencer omds🥸

uhh i was wondering if you could write sth based off the song “we’ll never have sex” by leith ross? pls dont feel pressured to write this btw😭😭😭 hope ur having a good day lovely💗💗

hello my love i have no self control so this is extremely long and plotty but i love this song and i hope that this is any good at all crying emoji (i'm on a laptop LOL) enjoy!!

warnings/tags: angst/fluff, fem!reader, negative self-talk from reader, mentions of past sexual coercion/feeling used, mentions of past excessive drinking to combat social anxiety, ive been watching a lot of new girl lately and i think it shows, SO FRIENDS TO LOVERS, happy ending

You weren’t expecting to end up on Spencer Reid’s worn-leather couch at two in the morning, clutching a chipped mug of coffee in your hands as you listen to the sounds of the city from the street below. But there you are, sitting with your legs folded under you, in your favorite dress and first date-night makeup (now bleeding and smudged from all the crying.) And realizing that despite considering him one of your closest friends, you haven’t been to his apartment in a long time. There are, of course, good reasons for that—but you try to push those from your mind. 

“I’m really sorry about this,” you sigh, staring at your warped reflection in the glassy black surface of your coffee. Spencer is coming out of the small kitchen, now bearing his own cup. 

“Please, stop apologizing.” 

You glance up, tentatively studying him from behind the safety of your mug. While he may not have been asleep when you knocked on his door ten minutes ago, lachrymose and barely verbal, he must have been getting ready for bed. He’s clad in patterned pajama pants, mismatched socks, and an FBI crewneck that is just big enough to reveal the collar of the tee-shirt underneath. He’s already taken out his contacts, and you were startled by the reminder that he also has glasses. 

“So...” he begins, bringing you back to the present moment, “we don't have to talk about anything, if you don’t want to, but...” 

You sigh, watching coffee bubbles swirl like stars in a galaxy. 

“It’s fine. Honestly, I’m kind of embarrassed. I didn’t really think, I just... ended up here.” 

“Yeah... where did you come from?” he laughs quietly. “Not that I’m complaining. But I recall you not living super close by.” 

“No, no. I was actually on a date. Kind of.” 

“Ah.” There’s a beat of silence, and ostensibly Spencer is waiting for you to say more, but instead you take a sip from your mug. “At two in the morning?” You nod dully, staring at the labyrinthine pattern of the Persian rug.  

“I’m taking it that it wasn’t a very good date...?” 

A whoosh of air escapes from your puffed cheeks. 

“No it was not. Not by the end, anyway. It actually started really well, which made it even more disappointing when he...” you laugh, but there’s not much humor in it. “Well, when he kicked me out of his car on a street corner because I didn’t want to sleep with him.” 

You don’t look to see Spencer’s reaction—only take another long, baleful sip of coffee and ignore the heavy silence.  

“I’m really sorry. You... you deserve so much better than that.” 

An attempt at a jaded scoff from you falls flat. 

“Yeah, well. Tell that to the last three white house interns I’ve gone on dates with. It’s the same thing every time.” 

“Have you considered going on fewer dates with white house interns...?” The nervous humor is a thin veil over genuine critique. You shrug, biting the inside of your cheek. 

“It’s not just them. Every single guy I’ve liked since I was 15 has been like this. Even my past relationships, I felt like I was almost... tricked into, you know? I mean, these guys, they act all understanding and willing to take it slow or whatever, until you’re in a relationship, and suddenly they’re guilt tripping you so hard and making you feel so obligated to...” you catch yourself just in time, glancing up at Spencer. You’re not sure what to make of his expression. The drawn brow and slightly squinted eyes trained so intently on you could be sympathy, or anger, or pity, or apathy—you look away, not sure you even want to know what he’s thinking. “Sorry. You don’t need to hear all about that. Basically romance is exhausting and since I’ll clearly be single forever I’m considering running away to join a nunnery.” 

When he doesn’t respond for too long, you look back up quizically. 

“I’m not sure you know what romance actually is,” he says as soon as your gaze meets his, like the eye-contact activated some kind of hair-trigger in his vocal box. 

You blink, lowering the coffee cup to your lap. 

Says Spencer Reid? 

“...sorry?” 

He flushes, stammering to clarify himself. 

“I just meant—I—I know I’m not exactly fighting women off with a stick—” he interrupts himself with a self-conscious (adorable) laugh— “but... but I have been in love, at least once.”  

“Maeve,” you say, gently—trying to shove down bitter guilt as you remember how jealous you’d been when Spencer had first told you about her. “I remember.” 

He swallows and nods. 

“We never even met—we just talked. All the time. I had no idea what she looked like. But it didn’t matter at all. Because I knew her, and I loved her. Maybe things would have gone further if I hadn’t been calling her from public phone booths, but that wasn’t the most important thing to either of us. We were still in love.” You try to shut out the sharp ache in your chest. Being jealous of the way he speaks about a dead woman is so wrong.  

“What I’m trying to say is that romance isn’t solely about sex, or even physical appearance. It sounds to me like you’ve been with a lot of men who don’t understand that. And it would be such a shame for you to write romance off in general before you even get to experience it. You are... an extraordinary woman. You’re funny, and intelligent, and kind, and so capable of being loved. One day, someone is going to see beyond your pulchritude and prove that to you. I hope you let them try.” 

More tears blur the pattern on the rug, pooling in the rims of your eyes before spilling down your cheeks in fast, fat drops. Shakily you set the cup down, resting your elbows on your knees and hiding your face in your hands. You sniff once. Twice. Shake your head quickly, attempting to wipe the tears away without further smearing your makeup everywhere. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Spencer breathes, leaning forward but obviously unsure how to comfort you. “Please don’t cry, I wasn’t--I was trying to do the opposite of this.” 

“No, I’m sorry! You didn’t have to—you didn’t—I’m sorry. That was way too nice.” 

But you're not crying because he was nice.  

Someone will love you, but not me. That’s all you can hear. 

His voice is a mere whisper when he next speaks. 

“I meant every word.” 

You take a shuddering breath, allowing yourself a moment of reprieve behind the peaceful black of your eyelids. You can’t be looking at his face when you say what you’re about to say. 

“I had a crush on you for the longest time, you know.” 

Ringing silence. But it doesn’t last as long as you’d imagined. It’s not as world ending. 

“Had?” 

The little smile in his voice is like a fist around your heart. 

“Yeah. You know what changed?” 

“What’s that?” 

Absolutely nothing. 

“Every time I got super drunk and started hitting on you, you’d just drive me home. And I did it a lot. Like, for months. But you were such a gentleman. It drove me fucking crazy. So eventually I figured you just didn’t like me and I gave up.” 

Another stretch of silence. A breeze comes in from the open window, fluttering the curtains and cooling the tears on your face. His response is sad when it finally comes. 

“You thought I didn’t like you because I didn’t try to take advantage of you when you were drunk?” 

“Pretty much.” You smile ruefully, fingertips still pressed over your eyes. “God, listen to me. No wonder I get treated like garbage.” 

“Stop. Don’t talk about yourself like that. Did you hear anything I just said?” 

You sniff, looking to the ceiling. 

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. It was really sweet.” 

More silence. 

“But you don’t believe it.” 

A bitter laugh poisons the air around you. 

“I don’t know.  I’m kind of tired of waiting for someone to prove it to me. Just for once, I want someone to be interested in me beyond having sex in the back of their fucking... Range Rover, or whatever. Like, maybe all that stuff you said is true, but there’s no evidence to support it, and I know logically you’re probably right but I can’t help wondering if... if I’m the outlier. Maybe there just isn’t someone for me like that. Maybe I’m just gonna be the sex in the back of the Range Rover girl forever.” 

A noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob forces itself from your throat and you bury your face in your hands again, shaking your head. 

“Wow, I am so sorry,” you say a little too loudly, “I did not mean to be this honest tonight. Did you spike my coffee?” 

“You are not the outlier,” Spencer whispers.  

You sniff, lifting your head haltingly to look at him. 

“What?” 

His voice shakes slightly as he speaks. 

“You said you can’t help wondering if you’re the outlier, and maybe there just isn’t someone for you like that. That’s not true.” 

“Spencer, those are just words. You can’t possibly know that. Statistical probabilities don’t count.” 

“That’s... that’s not how I know.” 

Your heart drops as you study his face.  

No. 

Surely he’s not saying what you think he’s saying. 

Surely he wouldn’t do this to you after you’ve just told him everything you told him. You have been harboring feelings for him for years. Since you met. He can’t just spring this on you one night because you’re a little bummed out. If he felt the same, you would have found out a long time ago; he had ample opportunity to tell you. There was a period of months where you practically threw yourself all over him at every chance you got, and he did nothing. So this... this is just cruel—something you’ve never known Spencer Reid to be. 

You stand up, trembling slightly with rage and grief and humiliation. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t say things that you don’t mean just to make me feel better.” 

“What are you doing? Don’t--” 

You scoop up your purse, trying to get to the front door as fast as your gelatinous legs will allow. More tears are streaming down your face now and you don’t need him to see what he’s done to you—to see how much you care what he thinks. 

“It’s fine. Thanks for the coffee, I’ll see you around—” 

A hand around your wrist stops you in your tracks 

“Stop. Just... please give me a second to talk, okay?” 

With nothing left to give, you turn to him. 

“Don’t be mean, Spencer. Don’t act like you liked me too. That makes me feel... so much worse.” 

He takes a deep, shaky breath, as if steeling himself. Tawny eyes bore into your soul, and you realize that there is so much sheer nervous energy radiating off of him it’s infectious. Your heart begins to pound as he speaks. 

“I’m not doing that. I’m being an idiot, because you just told me that you don’t feel that way about me anymore but... but I do. And I have to tell you now because for six months I tortured myself wondering why you would flirt with me so much when you were hammered and then act like nothing happened the next day. There were so many times I almost told you how I felt but I didn’t and now I am because even if it ruins our friendship you need to know that somebody... that I wanted to be that person for you. I still do.” 

Your heart is like an unmoored zeppelin in your chest, bumping against your esophagus and threatening to either burst or jump out of your mouth. You take your chances, whispering so quietly it’s almost inaudible. 

“You... you like me?” 

“Yes,” Spencer sighs. “I have liked you for a very long time. And I’m sorry—” 

Whatever ridiculous thing he was going to apologize for, you don’t give him the chance. Instead you launch yourself at him, capturing his lips in a kiss that feels so much better than it’d ever been in your fantasies because it’s real. You hear his sharp intake of breath, but it only takes a second for him to respond, cradling your face in his hands like you’re the entire world. For a moment, time bends. Years of longing, of buried dreams crash into the present in a brilliant, dazzling explosion.

And then, as quickly as it started, he pulls away. The absence of his touch is like a vacuum, so much worse now that you know exactly how it feels to have his lips on yours, even if it was only for a few seconds. How the hell did you live like that for so long? How are you supposed to live like that ever again?

“You’re not thinking clearly,” he breathes, tilting his head back toward the ceiling like he’s barely holding onto his self control. “You just want someone to comfort you, I’m not going to take advantage of you when you’re in an emotionally vulnerable state and confided in me which is manufacturing a false sense of attachment—” 

You grab his wrists, which still graze your jaw.

“Spencer, stop intellectualizing for thirty seconds. I promise you I am thinking clearly.” 

“You said you used to like me, past tense—” 

“Yeah, I did. Do you believe every single murderer who says he didn’t do it?” 

“No, but—” 

“Have you ever heard the phrase; a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts?” 

“Of course I have.” 

“Then what more could you possibly need to be convinced that I really like you? I already kissed you! What is stopping you?” 

Another deep breath is taken by him that seems to suck all the air out of the quiet room. Briefly, you wonder if you’ve made a terrible, terrible mistake. If you really do like him so much more than he could ever like you.  

Until he looks back down, eyes so golden-brown in the dim light, so kind and full of affectionate concern as he carefully assesses every square centimeter of your face, looking for... well, you’re not exactly sure what. It’s like he’s extracting every thought from your head, turning them over like sun-warmed stones until he finds what he’s looking for. He smooths his hands over your hair, brushing strands away from your teary face. Finally, after what feels like an eternity of holding your breath, he speaks. 

“I just want you to believe what I believe about you. But I don’t want you to have to rely on me or anyone else for your own self-worth.” 

“Well, don’t you think very highly of yourself,” you tease with a sniffle. He laughs—it's quiet, but his smile is so bright without even trying that suddenly you can’t remember why you’ve ever been sad. The small miracle of his laughter makes you feel so light, and you realize it has nothing to do with the way he makes you feel about yourself. It has everything to do with who he is. 

Once the giggles die down, you tentatively mirror his hold on your face. 

“Spencer, I don’t like you because you like me. I’ve liked you for an embarrassingly long time. I liked you enough that I gave myself a severe hangover at least once a week for three months just so I could have an excuse to flirt shamelessly with you.” 

A half-sad smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, and he gently swipes under your eyes. 

“You never had to do that. I would have welcomed your sober brazen flirting with open arms.” 

“Well... do you believe me?” you plead. His amber eyes shine. 

“I do.” 

“Will you kiss me?” 

“If that’s what you want.” 

You nod, rising on your toes to meet him halfway. 

When your lips meet again, it is sweet, and honest, and slow, and deep. Still, there is no desperation--no race to an imagined finish line, no clash of teeth and pawing hands. It is a kiss for the sake of it—as if it were the greatest intimacy. Not a precursor to sharing a bed, but something bigger than that in and of its own. Something just as worthy and important. For the first time, you think you’re beginning to understand romance. And while you wouldn’t mind if things did escalate, you also know that Spencer knows that’s not what matters right now. Because he actually understands you—he actually cares. He will wait until you understand that you mean so much more than that to him.

To that end, he pulls away, gently supplanting his absence with a kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

“It would be polite of me to offer you a ride home, wouldn’t it?” he whispers, like it’s the last thing he wants to do. You bite the inside of your cheek, coming up with reasons not to go. One ridiculous one arises from the depths of your memory that you know he won’t be able to say no to. 

“Or... I could stay here, and we could watch one of those nerdy foreign films you’re always talking about?” 

A slow, perfect, high-watt smile blossoms on his face, and you know you’ve said exactly the right thing. 

“Nerdy? Oh, my darling girl... Soviet-era filmography is far from nerdy. небесная машина will completely defy what you thought you knew about the life of an average Russian villager in the 1950’s.” 

“Oh, good. Because I’ve really been meaning to change the way I think about the average 1950’s Russian villager,” you smile, already closing in to kiss him again. 

------------------------------------------ 

epilogue

Three hours later, you’re crying because the life of the average Russian villager in the 1950’s was so much worse than you’d previously thought. 

“It was good, right?” Spencer asks as the credits roll over a bleak snowy sepia landscape, leaning back to get a better look at you. You sit up from where you’d been leaning against him, furiously wiping your eyes. 

“It was terrible! Why didn’t you tell me that everyone except the kid dies in the end?!” 

“Because that’s the whole point of the movie!” he laughs, pulling you back into him. “I’m sorry. I probably should have explained how depressing this entire era of film was outside of the US.” 

“And also how long the movies were. I was not prepared for how many five minute long clips of empty fields there were going to be.” 

“You’re right,” he ammends, wrapping his arms around you in a way that gives you butterflies and makes you sleepy at the same time. “Next time we can watch whatever you want to watch.” 

Time passes like that—you in his arms, watching weak light slowly flood the room with half-lidded eyes and listening to the sounds of the city waking up from the street below, underscoring the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Thoughts float by like leaves on the ever-flowing current of your mind, and you’re happy to let them pass until one in particular catches your attention. 

“Spencer?” 

He hums, like he’d been deep in his own proverbial river of thought. 

“What does pulchritude mean?” 

It takes him a split second to remember the bit of conversation from earlier to which you are referring, but when he does, he chuckles, running his hand over your messy hair. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

And so you let it float away. 

[calebslittlecrow]

Focus? Put It Where It Belongs During Shifting Attempts

Let me with start with a little footnote about the post that inspired this post: A while ago, I scribbled something about “Expecting To Wake Up In Your CR” and this post is about what makes a lot of people expect to wake up here. And yes, I did read the comments, all of them. Did I reply? No. If you ask yourself why: because the thought of that much social interaction makes me shrivel up like a raisin in the sun. Bite me xD But really, I appreciate the comments… from a safe distance. Anyway, onto the good stuff presumably.

After indulging in a bit of shameless lurking in the community, skipping through comment sections and falling down the rabbit hole of part of the community on reddit starting to say shifting is just lucid dreaming after all, I tripped over a revelation like I trip over my cat late at night. Not really a new revelation, but it gets ignored with an impressive consistency: a whole lot of shifters redirect their focus back onto their CR while trying to shift. Brilliant strategy, isn’t it? It’s like trying to go on vacation while you duct taped your leg to your kitchen table. “But I want to go to my DR!”. Yeah, I’m sure about that, but you also grip your CR like an emotional support blanket reeking of trauma and disappointment. To put it into simple terms: Maybe your focus should be on your DR, not your CR, while attempting to shift. Not on what you are doing tomorrow in your CR. Not if your boss hates you. Not on the wet laundry you forgot in the washing machine (it’s molding, by the way).

Now, before someone decides to throw a tantrum in my inbox: I am not saying to ignore your CR 24/7. That’s unhealthy and mildly melodramatic. You should still try to function. Pay your bills, drink water, feed yourself something that didn’t come from the suspicious looking vending machine down the street. Maybe even water your houseplants (they already gave up on that probably).

But during a shifting attempt? Lock in. Full focus, full sensory override, tunnel vision. Pretend like your DR is the only reality that exists, because for those few minutes you are trying, it kinda is. The problem isn’t the method per se, not that you can’t visualize for shit or that you forgot to script the most unimportant detail about your DR. It’s oftentimes that your thoughts tap dance back to your CR every 0.3 seconds. Enough.

Most methods make you embody your DR self since 2018, right? So would your DR self worry about the bills in this reality or about Karen from HR? Probably not. Stop pulling yourself back to the reality you are trying to leave. When you try to shift, be it for 10 minutes or 45 minutes, your DR deserves your undivided attention. Smell the air, hear the sounds, imagine waking up in your DR and having it be so painfully normal that your CR feels like a dream.

Because you? You are not your job, not your dentist appointment, not the expired sushi in the back of your fridge you said you would throw out two days ago. You are consciousness, awareness, able to shift realities… and you let google calendar dictate on which reality you focus on? A bit disappointing. But you can do better.

TL;DR:

If you attempt to shift, focus on your DR like you mean it. You don’t owe your CR circumstances a single thought in those minutes. Act like your DR is the only reality that exists. If CR thoughts creep in, just swat them away, they don’t matter. You’re not anchored to this reality, unless you choose to be.

[luvingjeanie]

streamerboyfriend yuji x fem!reader PART TWO!

non-sorcerer!au, yuji is not a vessel, he’s just a goofy guy

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

streamerboyfriend!yuji who beefs with his chat over you. seeing as his audience is mainly girls, the moment they’re introduced to you, and the more you become a regular ‘guest’ on your boyfriend’s streams the ‘can yuji fight?’ comments start rolling in.

‘YES i can fight’

starts talking about fights he was in during highschool and pointing to his muscles (not flexing for the chat, simply holding his arm out) and says LOOK to prove he can hold his own😭🙏

streamerboyfriend!yuji who starts whining like a petulant child when you start playing along with the chat </3

streamerboyfriend!yuji who lowkey actually really loves that everyone thinks his girlfriend is so pretty, because you are!!!

OOOOO when his fans start editing you too??? he’s reposting sm😭

not ALL of them, but the good ones with songs he KNOWSS you like? yeah

sending all the ones he doesn’t repost to you

‘baby!!! look, ur so prettyyyy everyone thinks so!’

streamerboyfriend!yuji who UNFORTUNATELY is an attractive, charming, silly, kind guy with a majority female audience. now don’t get it twisted, he loves the support, he loves connecting with fans through chats, and he LOVES the kind, genuine ones. however, like with all attractive guys like yuji, there are some fan girls who may hate you because they have the most intense crush on him, and some even, with how much easier it is to connect and be personable through streaming, have a parasocial relationship with him.

any hate you get in chat? he already instructed the mods to get ON it so he doesn’t even have to say anything

any hate for you that comes up on his fyp or timeline (which is rare, due to his algorithm anything he sees in relation to his pretty girl is usually overwhelmingly positive) he has that person BLOCKED and sometimes goes to your phone to block them for you too😭

any hate messages you get? also blocked!

he doesn’t want to openly fight back, because of his following it would be too public and all around just not a good look, although you had to convince him of this

but over time people noticed the blocking and the few people (and i mean few, most of his fans love you) who were hating and being mean got the hint (most of them anyway, there’s still some crazy ones)

streamerboyfriend!yuji who helps you out with your socials when you inevitably get a larger following through his fans flocking to your socials🫶

that is if you were okay with yuji tagging you in posts! if you wanted to keep your socials private he’d obviously be all for that! he’s so supportive!

but!!! if you were okay and comfortable with getting a bigger following, he’d help you manage stuff!!! (would even try to convince you to stream yourself!)

‘c’mon cutie! you’d be so good!!’

‘they love you on my streams, i already know they’d watch yours too!’

‘more content of the pretty girllll’

streamerboyfriend!yuji who eats it up when you start getting sponsors and shit if you gradually start gaining your own fan base from whatever it is you do with your following😭

beauty content??? girl what is all this makeup in your shared apartment, but he listens to you talk anyway (a photo of him posing like a fucking idiot with some expensive product you got sent is uploaded on your ig story)

food/cooking/baking content??? PLEASE let him be in your videos to try the food😭 if you get invited to some nice ass restaurant and it’s a day he can’t go??? he WILL be pouting like a scolded child when you get home

cosplay content? your couples halloween costume goes CRAZY

your own gaming content?? if you play scary games he’ll sit beside you while you stream for funsies and fans love watching you two shit yourselves together over jumpscares😭 (i’m thinking the re8 baby has you both jumping out of your chairs)

whatever it is, he’s there for it, our supportive boy!

streamerboyfriend!yuji who is not nonchalant at all, he doesn’t care that he’s technically an internet celebrity (he hates that term, do NOT say it to his face, it makes him feel so weird), you’re still HIS girl

he WILL be reposting your tik toks of just you looking pretty, he WILL be reposting your ig posts and stories onto his, he’s GOTTA hype you up

will reply to a comment or two from his fans who are still at it with the ‘can yuji fight????’ shit just to be funny because he silly like that

streamerboyfriend!yuji is also, not only your boyfriend, but your bestfriend and you playfully bicker on stream ALL the time. when you first started appearing on his streams he was so sweet and nice and calm in contrast to how loud and stupid he usually acts

but when you become a regular guest he’s throwing quips right back, and any little remark you make??? jaw to the floor like its the most offensive thing any one has ever uttered

‘BABE i’m gonna get u cancelled’

‘go say that on twitter’

(you didn’t even say anything bad, he’s just a goofy goober like that🫶)

streamerboyfriend!yuji who doesn’t let anything get to his head, who is genuine, who is humble, who doesn’t change who he is because people like him (and crush on him), he’s still your same old, sweet and kind boy who just now has girls making thirst edits of him accidentally flexing his biceps on tik tok <3

[sleepymccoy]

@muirmarie's tags on this post

You got me writing the start of a fic for you here lol. Features #vague references to broader, undecided upon plot #arguing #arguing like a married couple #cuddling #unacknowledged sexual desire 1.6k

McCoy hit the table in anger and stood up. Vitriolic and far too personal insults rose up in him, but he swallowed them down and left, take the two small steps to the kitchen sink.

Crockery clinked behind him as he glared down at the pool of water in the corner of the uneven basin, saying nothing. The silence broke as Spock took a loud bite of toast, chewing evenly. He was doing that on purpose. McCoy knew it was getting to him too, he’d raised his voice. Not as much as McCoy, but still.

They were barely more than a month in. This was going to be a disaster if they kept arguing over breakfast like this. And then arguing over lunch and dinner, too.

McCoy groaned and pressed his hip against the bench top, crossing his arms. He wasn’t one to apologise over nothing, but he had also spent some time in marriage counseling and, despite how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, this marriage was starting to feel like one, and a bad one. His counseling sessions hadn’t worked. Obviously. Divorced. Remarried, twice now if you wanted to get specific about it. But he still had a few bit of advice that stuck with him.

To not think about what he wanted out of this disagreement - which, really, he didn’t care about. Most of the time he spent arguing with Spock was fun, not serious. This should be fun too, it just wasn’t - but instead to think about what he wanted tomorrow to look like. And how to get to that together.

He’s apologise for a peaceful lunch.

Spock drank from his cup of tea behind him, pointedly unbothered. It was an unconvincing performance.

“Sorry, Spock,” McCoy muttered.

The room was quiet, then the tea cup clattered onto its saucer loudly. McCoy smirked. That action didn’t have the intentional, bitchy message of untouched calm behind it.

“Doctor?” Spock breathed.

“I’m jumping down your throat, I know it.”

McCoy turned. Dawn was breaking outside, all pink and gold. Beautiful, but less captivating than it had been a month ago. Spock was looking up at him, somber and serious.

“It is forgotten,” Spock said softly.

McCoy scowled at him doubtfully, but retook his seat and got back to spreading butter on his bread.

“There are trying factors to this assignment,” Spock said over the top of his cup of tea. The steam billowed in his breath. “More than I had anticipated. I usually enjoy our disagreements, but I’ll admit I haven’t lately.”

Yeah, both of them. McCoy dunked his finger in his coffee and pulled back quick. Still too hot to drink. “That’s why they send couples,” he muttered.

“I don’t follow.”

McCoy pointed at the marmalade in front of Spock. Spock passed his knife in one hand, and the jar in his other. They were keeping McCoy’s expensive, real milk based butter out of Spock’s food. McCoy didn’t mind Spock drawing the vegetarian line in a more vegan way, Scotty’s fancy butter was one of the best things about his day in this lighthouse. He didn’t want to share anyway.

“Humans are a social species,” McCoy explained as he spread the marmalade on his toast. “Contact and comfort matter to us. I like your company, Spock, even when you’re getting up my nose, but- ” He sighed and glanced at Spock. Keep the peace. “I hope you take it as a compliment that you ain’t human. And I’m feelin’ the lack.”

Spock was watching him closely. He was still in uniform. Unbelievably. McCoy had taken his blues off a full fortnight ago. McCoy stuck his pinky into his coffee again.

“And you fulfill this craving on the Enterprise?” Spock asked.

McCoy had a sip of coffee. Perfect. “Yeah,” he said. And who knew what Spock thought of that, his raised eyebrow certainly indicated a certain amount of assumption. But McCoy spent an evening or two a week sharing a couch with Scotty or getting pushed around by Jim during a workout, and that was generally enough skin for him. He hadn’t really known it, but five weeks without a hug was catching up. He was antsy and irritable, and it was more than just Spock’s hit and miss personality.

Spock stood. “I need to attend to- ” He hesitated, and didn’t finish the bullshit explanation he had been about to give. He picked up his tea and toast and said a hurried, “excuse me,” then left.

Well, McCoy hadn’t been trying to be rude. Figured Spock would appreciate that McCoy was calling him emotionally distant, for once. But no. At least it hadn’t been an argument proper.

McCoy had a bite of marmalade toast and relaxed back into the seat. “Right,” he mumbled to himself, unconvinced.

-

The words on the page began to blur. He was barely a few pages from the end of the chapter, but really. It didn’t matter. They were here another four and a half months or so, and tomorrow was just another day. He could finish in the morning.

He forced himself to read to the end of the paragraph anyway, barely taking it in, then folded the corner, whacked the old analogue light switch, and curled up facing the wall. The experiment was going as they’d hoped. No results yet, but they weren’t expecting anything until the two month mark. And then they had to run it twice more for posterity.

At least he and Spock had been getting along today.

The ocean waves battered the rocks outside, which they did every night. McCoy had begun to find it soothing.

Far too soon light broke past his eyelids, pulling him from a dream. He opened his eyes groggily, and looked at the crack in the curtain. Still dark out, but the light was on. He turned.

“Spock?” McCoy asked the familiar, blurry figure that was partway through closing the bedroom door behind him. Why the fuck would Spock be in here? McCoy sat up awkwardly on one elbow, blinking at the room. “Shit, man, what’s wrong?”

“A minor issue, I have fixed it,” Spock said. He came up to McCoy’s bed and peered down at him.

McCoy rubbed his eyes. “Without waking me?”

“I assure you it was minor.”

“So you’re waking me now.” Was Spock here trying to piss him off? McCoy was perfectly fucking willing to take the bait, but his brain wasn’t working much just yet. He’d been well asleep.

Spock sat on the edge of McCoy’s bed. McCoy scrabbled away from him, pressing back against the cold wall.

“I have been thinking,” Spock said before McCoy had a chance to yell at him.

“Oh, okay?” McCoy said loudly. A vague insult filtered through his mind, that if it were worth discussing that he was thinking, did that mean he often didn’t? But it didn’t feel like the moment to needle Spock over semantics. McCoy was far more interested in why the fuck Spock was sitting on his bed in the middle of the night.

Spock ran his finger along a crease in the bed sheet, smoothing it. “There are duties a husband performs. Marital norms.” He glanced over his shoulder and met McCoy’s eyes with unnerving confidence. “They are contractually expected on this mission.”

Was Spock here to fuck him? McCoy shook his head. “Jesus, Spock, what’re you- ?”

“I will stay the night,” Spock interrupted. He swallowed. “Unless you ask me to leave.”

“Spock…”

“Rank has its privileges, and its obligations. You are human and require physical contact, I am quite able to appreciate the inconvenience of biological imperative. And I am your husband.”

McCoy pulled himself up to sitting, leaning against the bedhead. Absurd and dreadful though it was, a curl of disarming excitement building in his gut. “You offering to consummate, or…?”

“Doctor,” Spock breathed, turning away. His ears went dark green. He pulled his hand from the sheet, laying them in his lap. “I am offering to hold you through the night. Nothing more.”

“Ah,” McCoy said widely. He was feeling warm, and more than a little glad that it was cold enough for him to wear full flannel pajamas here. “Yeah, that makes more sense.”

Spock shifted up the bed, then swung his legs up and lay down in a way that was more reminiscent of Dracula than it was inviting a cuddle. But Spock was being kind, so McCoy swallowed the unflattering comparison.

And McCoy wanted the touch on offer.

McCoy sighed and tugged the sheet out from under Spock’s feet, then laid down next to him and smacked the light switch again. The room plunged into darkness as McCoy flung the sheet and blanket over himself and Spock.

“You know it’s not a contractual obligation, Spock,” McCoy told the darkness. “There are married couples who don’t sleep together.”

“We need not be one,” Spock said softly.

McCoy smiled and reached out, fingers bumping into Spock’s hand quickly on the small bed. Spock shifted to press his fingers to McCoy’s, then rolled to the side and wrapped his arm around McCoy’s waist. McCoy let himself get moved and shoved an arm under their shared pillow as he came face to face with Spock.

It wasn’t pitch black, but dark. He could tell Spock’s eyes were open, though. Glittering in the bare light. His breath was warm on McCoy’s face.

Spock pulled McCoy close and they slotted together. Legs tangled, chests pressed tight as they breathed in tandem. McCoy buried his face into the pillow and let Spock press their cheeks together. Spock leant into him and McCoy let himself relish the weight on him.

[retrievablememories]

cherry bomb | part 2 | jungkook (m)

pairing: jungkook x fem reader

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

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

word count: 13.7k

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

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

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

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

sources for the fic dividers: one | two

link to part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“the fuck are you talking about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

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

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

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

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

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

--

SATURDAY MORNING, NOV 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

➤ camille: As per fucking usual with the pigs.

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

➤ y/n: a lockdown???

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

“tryna get the remote.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

➤ y/n: okay, please just stay safe.

➤ camille: You too.

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

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

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

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

“better than deluding yourself about it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what about me and jungkook?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“no, i…”

“what happened?”

“it’s the…well, the…i saw, uh…”

“y/n.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…a baseball bat?”

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

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

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

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

--

MONDAY, NOV 6

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

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

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

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

jungkook waves. “oh, sure. goodnight.”

“night, sis.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“so damn corny.”

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

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

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

neither of you speak for a few long moments.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“jungkook…”

“hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“ugh, don’t turn me off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“that’s not an answer.”

“well, it’s my answer.”

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

“you think i have a list?”

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

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

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

--

TUESDAY, NOV 7

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“wh-what the fuck are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

“now, be still while i fix you up.”

--

WEDNESDAY, NOV 8

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

SUNDAY, NOV 12

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

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

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

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

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

“is it finished?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

“y/n…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

FRIDAY, NOV 17

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

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

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

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

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

“hyung, i’m just trying to help.”

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

“y/n—” camille starts.

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

“what?”

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

“blood?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

LYING IN WAIT...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…yeah? for the killer to be caught.”

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

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

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

--

WEDNESDAY, NOV 22

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[muzetrigger]

In celebration of Nevermore S2, I feel the need to explain why I’m hoping for more Ada page time/development and why she’s my absolute favorite character, despite the series being absolutely stuffed with quality.

Oh and also why MorellAda is peak. I WILL TAKE NO ARGUMENTS ON THIS POINT.

So yeah, MAJOR SPOILERS Y’ALL

Okay, so when we’re first introduced Ada, she’s a minor antagonist, not just in the sense that she’s not the main villain, but that literally, she’s just kind of an annoyance to both Lenore and Prospero. That being said, shortly after the Labyrinth arc, we see her genuinely impressed with Lenore and trying to make amends.

Now at that point, there’s no real reason for us to believe that Ada is telling the truth. Yeah, she seems like she’s being genuine, but so far, we also know that she’s been playing some social games to get ahead.

That’s where we get this first piece of insight into her character (not actually the first piece but whatever):

Ada chooses caviar as her last meal, despite not liking it, or ever having had it before. She is the only student who doesn’t enjoy her final meal, and that tells us that one, Ada doesn’t know what’s good for her; two, that she probably comes from a lower class background that never would have had access to caviar; and three, that she aspires to that upper class position. She is exactly what Morella would call a “phony” but while her phoniness impacts her social behavior in the ways that Morella criticizes, she’s also lying to herself without even realizing it.

Okay, but that’s a bit of subtle character development, so Red and Flynn hit us with this:

(In case you didn’t hate Montressor already)

This moment is so critical to understanding Ada because it shows that she has absolutely no limits when it comes to proving her worth to other people. Why? Because Ada has no sense of self-worth. She is completely dependent on other people’s thoughts to feel adequate. That’s why she clings so hard to Prospero and Annabel Lee, which makes this preceding exchange even more brutal.

Ada reaches out to Annabel for support, and Annabel ignores her.

Annabel BETRAYS her, and this is going to become something of a running theme for Ada.

Now, of course, Annabel has problems, but this is COLD.

So cold even Prospero is surprised, and this sets up why Ada crumbles so easily, because the one person she thought was her friend at this school, literally her roommate (and we know what happens when you’re not on good terms with your roommate), the person who gave her (fake) love advice, just left her out in the rain.

No one is on her side, not Annabel who’s ignoring her, not Prospero (who is rightly) annoyed with her clinginess, not Will who is supporting Montresor, and certainly not Montresor who is verbally abusing her.

The only person by Ada’s side is Morella, partly because she’s being targeted too, but also because Morella is trying to protect Ada.

(Look at that hug. That is a small puppy trying to cheer up her depressed friend.)

Chapter 39-40 firmly cemented Ada as my favorite character because we get a deconstruction of this preppy, pompous, phony personality into someone with crippling self-worth issues, and I don’t know about anyone else, but I relate HARD to those feelings of inadequacy and needing external validation. Will might be the doppelgänger, but Ada is the one with Imposter Syndrome.

Anyway, now we’re going to have to skip a few chapters, because while the haunted house arc is great, it doesn’t really do much with Ada’s character. We do learn that Ada was almost definitely a servant in her past life because she’s able to navigate the house’s secret passages, and we learn that yes, she’s a romantic who clearly doesn’t understand TPO (time, place, and occasion).

Those details are important to understanding Ada, because they help contextualize why her confidence is so abysmal (servants aren’t to be seen or heard) and why she clings so strongly to ideas of ladyhood and romance (the women she served would certainly have appeared to be more comfortable than her, though I’m sure Lenore and Annabel would disagree).

We also get this feast for the MorellAda shippers:

At this point, it’s implied that Morella has stonewalled dozens of students into Prospero’s death trap, but she makes one exception that she will not stand for, and it’s Ada.

At first, I thought this was a little weird, because why wouldn’t Morella protect Lenore? I mean, she’s the protagonist and clearly treats Morella better, but looking back, it’s telling that Ada is the one who Morella chooses.

Morella’s whole deal is that she wants to protect people, and Lenore isn’t vulnerable, Ada is.

Red and Flynn do a lot of excellent foil work in Nevermore, most prominently with Lenore and Annabel, but the contrast between Ada’s dependence on what other people think of her and Morella’s dependence on what she can do for other people is just another reason why I think MorellAda is so good.

But the real interesting events happen post-house.

Prospero has had it.

Now, was Ada being clingy? Yes.

Was she being totally oblivious to all of Prospero’s signals? Yes.

Did she deserve to be told directly that Prospero was just not that into her? Hell. Yes.

But did she deserve THAT much of a verbal beat down? Probably not, especially keeping in mind that Annabel told her this:

So now that I’ve thrown Annabel under the bus for her hand in this disaster, I want to look at one line from Prospero in particular:

“Nothing you say will make you good enough.”

It’s not the final line of Prospero’s diatribe, but it’s definitely the one that hits the hardest for Ada. She is trying SO hard to play the part of a lady in order to be loved, and she is being told that at a fundamental level, she is inadequate.

And she takes that about as well as someone who’s had this happen to them could:

A hatchet to the stomach’s going to ruin anyone’s day, but we can reasonably infer that the person who axe’d Ada was probably the young master she was serving and was having an affair with, and that he aimed for her stomach to abort any kind of child she might have carried.

Again, we see this theme of betrayal and rejection. Ada might not have been able to be a lady, but in an affair, she might been able to pretend that she genuinely had her master’s affection, even though she was just there at his convenience.

This was foreshadowed all the way back with Ada’s first confrontation with Montressor and it’s a great example of how thoroughly planned Red and Flynn’s writing is (Annabel Lee’s panic attack at Lenore’s death in the Labyrinth and the House Fire is another amazing example).

But, it’s also super traumatic which means we finally get Ada’s Spectre!

First, let me gush about how AMAZING this design is. Just aesthetically, it’s great. But it’s also amazing because of how it showcases so much of Ada’s identity. If you look at the spectre’s skirt, you’ll notice it has two distinct parts, a larger back that mimics a lady’s hoop skirt, and a pleated miniskirt, which wouldn’t be out of place in a skimpy maid costume. In her spectre form, we can clearly see Ada attempting to match a lady’s silhouette but upon closer inspection, we can also see the part of Ada that might have sparked her fatal affair, this symbol of risqué servantile behavior.

It’s also worth mentioning what ISN’T in the Banshee’s design, her abdomen. Obviously, this might be a reference to the fact that she was killed by a hatchet to the gut, but if we get dark with it (and it’s Nevermore, we can’t not get dark with it), what men traditionally (and unfortunately still do if the 2024 US elections are anything to go by…) value in a woman, her reproductive ability, is absent.

Ada, who places so much importance on what others think of her, is literally is worthless to them. (I want to clarify, I DON’T personally believe that, but from a 19th-20th century male perspective, that tracks.)

We could also read her abdomen’s absence as another attempt for Ada to play into feminine expectations. Because she’s missing her stomach, she has a tight hourglass figure. I don’t personally believe Ada has an eating disorder, but as the last dinner scene clearly indicates, she has a complicated relationship with food and what stigmas are attached to specific cuisines, and unfortunately many people do metaphorically throw away their stomachs to pursue beauty goals like Ada’s spectre does literally.

Stepping away from design, I also love how Ada acts immediately after getting the slightest bit of power.

She is PETTY.

She taunts Prospero (and let’s face it, you cheered. Don’t lie to me!), which I find so interesting because suddenly, Ada is the one giving opinions.

Ada is finally allowed to express herself.

Here, she takes it out on Annabel, which makes total sense. Annabel abandoned her and is the embodiment of what Ada craves outwardly. But Ada also recognizes that she herself is a servant who was forced to serve people like Annabel and denied their comforts because of her status. If Ada hadn’t been a maid, if maybe she had been a noble or a “true lady”, maybe should would have been allowed a romance or allowed to keep her child or at least allowed to live.

The Banshee is such a perfect moment, because until this scene, Ada has bottled up her insecurities and played the part of a loyal lackey and been this “phony”. As a servant, her entire livelihood would have revolved around keeping up appearances (or disappearances) around her masters, but as a ghost, Ada is more genuine than she has ever been.

And that’s so wonderfully displayed by how Annabel defuses the situation:

To the very end, we see Ada being vulnerable. Annabel takes advantage of her insecurities, and as the Banshee, Ada doesn’t try to hide the fact that it devastates her.

If the Montressor moment didn’t guarantee a place in my heart for Ada, Episode 71 definitely did. I’m not going to argue that characters in Nevermore haven’t experienced worse, but I will argue that no character in season one ever gets close to how pathetic and distraught Ada is here.

And what’s so heart-wrenching about this for me is that Ada is aware of how pathetic she is. She knows she’s been acting like an idiot and throwing a tantrum like a child, which is a surprising amount of insight and maturity for someone we have been led to believe is quite frankly an idiot. And yeah, I relate to those feelings of self-loathing and not knowing what to do or even where to start triaging a disaster I made myself.

Now, Montressor takes advantage of this like the abuser he is by swooping in and wooing Ada, but before that, I’m going to rewind like the shipper I am to replay this:

Again, we see Morella trying to help Ada! And obviously, that’s not what Ada needs at that moment, but it’s worth keeping in mind that out of everyone in the lecture hall then, Morella is the first and really only one to reach out to Ada. (Montressor is a manipulator. He doesn’t count.)

Last time skip, I promise!

The end of the Wall arc doesn’t quite reach the highs (or is it lows?) of Ada’s character development, but I’m so excited for what it sets up in season two.

So, Lenore and the gang find where Montressor has Cask of Amantillado’d Duke and they dig their favorite French man out while beating the shit out of our cowboy(?). There’s a ton of great moments (hell yeah, Pluto! Get him!) but the battle really swings in the misfits’ favor when Duke hypnotizes Ada to traumatize Montresor.

One, this is just an amazing display of Duke’s spectre, two, it shows that Montressor has reasons (maybe not great reasons but at least they’re reasons) for being such an asshole, and three, it shows us that mental spectre powers are straight up busted.

We already knew from Prospero that Ada’s fear factor could trap a person inside a vision of their own trauma so realistic they can feel the physical effects of it, but she can also send a man with a broken Fibula into a full blown frenzy, AND Duke’s hypnosis is something even he can’t dispel.

(Does this look like the face of a man who has things under control?)

It also sets up this exchange:

Morella is able to break through Duke’s hypnosis, and she does it without attacking Ada’s insecurities like Annabel did. Now, I’m a hopeless MorellAda shipper, so of course I reading into this, but even then, it showcases how important Morella is to Ada. After all, Morella is basically the only person who has stuck by Ada’s side this whole time.

…At least until this happens:

Morella has had enough of Ada’s excuses, and just like Prospero basically tells her to shove off.

But the painfully ironic part about this is, Ada is telling the truth. This ONE time, it really isn’t her fault. It’s Duke’s.

But Morella won’t let her get a word in and I love how Flynn drew Ada’s face. It’s a different kind of fear than when Ada was groveling in front of Montresor or reeling from Prospero’s rejection. Here, she isn’t afraid of being abandoned by Morella; she’s afraid of losing Morella.

I know that difference might sound REALLY contrived to some people, but in this case, Ada has a way to keep Morella in her life that doesn’t involve debasing herself and believes that Morella will listen to her. For the first time ever, Ada thinks she has a little control over the situation together with a friend, not an enemy. They can talk things out, and that really shows how close her connection with Morella is and how that connection can be the catalyst for Ada to start developing some self-respect.

Except Morella totally shuts her down.

Of course, I’m disappointed that there’s this “divorce arc” but it makes sense in context and it’s healthier for Morella to make a clean break from the posh crew (even though Ada clearly needs her wife more than ever, like come on, don’t leave her in Monstresor’s clutches!)

Speaking of which, I’m much more disappointed with how Ada immediately crawls back to Montresor and Annabel after being chastised. If there’s one thing I have on my season two checklist, it’s Ada learning to have some confidence in herself (and maybe tossing Montresor to the Hunt).

And I really want an apology from Morella and Duke to Ada. Now THAT’S delusional, and I might be the only one who thinks Ada deserves those apologies, because let’s face it, Ada is a wreck, but it would be nice, especially if she gives out the several dozen apologies she owes the misfit crew too, so that she can hang with them and spend more time with her wife Morella.

Anyway, yeah.

I really like Nevermore.

And I really like Ada. I think she’s severely underrated.

Of course I love Lenore and Annabel, and Morella is a precious and badass cinnamon roll, and Duke is so SO cool, and Pluto is cute as hell, and Eulalie is basically manga-Orihime (which is amazing), but there’s something so HUMAN about Ada.

I empathize with her in ways that I just can’t with the rest of the cast because… they’re just too awesome. I have difficulty believing Lenore or Annabel will ever feel something as fundamentally devastating as Ada has. At their core, they’re just stronger people. Ada is someone who needs more support and it’s nice to see those weaker characters treated with the same amount of care as a protagonist who we typically see stumble a lot but ultimately succeed. With side characters, there’s a genuine chance that they fail permanently and that adds so much to Ada’s stakes.

And honestly? I’ll say it. I think a lot of the students had alright lives or even good lives, they just happened to be cut short traumatically. Exceptions for Lenore (obviously) and Pluto (baby, you deserved so much better than your deadbeat dad), possibly Eulalie for having to live through WWII, but you’re not going to tell me that Montresor didn’t have a good run being awful, Duke didn’t have a successful performance career, and Prospero wasn’t a wealthy bastard. But who knows? We haven’t delved too much into the others’ backstories, so I could be very wrong.

Anyway, I guess this was just a very long-winded way of me saying I love Ada because I’m a total girl-failure and also I’m super excited for season two.

[five-rivers]

Dreams of Time 1

[For the phic phight! Based on prompts by @ventisettestars and @bubblegumbeech]

Danny would say he knew Clockwork fairly well.  Both in the sense that he knew Clockwork better than he knew other ghosts, and in that he knew Clockwork better than other ghosts knew Clockwork.  He knew from speaking to Poindexter, Skulker, Ember, Johnny, and Kitty (both during fights and during rare truces) that Clockwork was considered borderline mythical.  Both in the sense that a lot of people didn’t think he was real, and the sense that he was regarded as a deity.  Which was a weird thing to find out about someone you knew, but Danny didn’t have any room to comment.  He was half dead.  

All this to say, Danny had never seen Clockwork sleep before.  Or act sleepy.  Or even tired, except in an ‘I'm tired of your crap’ kind of way.  So, the addition of a massive, curtained bed to three main room of Long Now, his lair, seemed distinctly out of character.  

Out of theme, too, unless he was aiming for some kind of extended bedtime-based pun.  Which was… possible.  Not likely, Clockwork preferred irony as a comedic device, but possible. 

Although, he also liked pranks.  

Danny had no idea what kind of prank this could be, though.  

He lingered in the doorway, looking over the room, trying to spot any other clue as to what was going on.  Some other object, maybe.  A time viewer left on a particular scene.  A clock showing a notable time.  Clockwork himself, floating silently in a corner.

Nothing.  Nothing that stood out, anyway. 

Danny slid his backpack (stuffed with social studies homework - Clockwork never gave Danny answers, but he'd give hints) off his shoulder and put it quietly on the floor.  Cautiously, he approached the bed.  He remembered the time Clockwork had slammed him repeatedly into a bell, and while it hadn’t hurt that much, and Danny had arguably deserved it, Danny didn’t want a repeat.

Just like before, nothing seemed out of place, other than the bed itself.  Danny reached it, and lifted a hand to touch the curtain.  It was multi-layered, with the top layer a lavender gauze and the deepest one a dark, heavy, purple.  Brass stars were sewn into all the layers and they jingled against one another as Danny drew the curtains back.  

The bed was occupied.  Danny thought he might have known this, or at least predicted this.  Clockwork lay there, beneath the blankets, perfectly still, not moving, not breathing.  He wasn’t wearing his usual cloak and robes, but something more like a bathrobe or nightgown.  His long white hair was braided over his shoulder, looping over the comforter.  

But the most striking change to Clockwork’s appearance was the black and glittering ooze dripping from his eyes.  It looked like there were stars trapped in it.  

That… didn’t look good.  

Danny bit his lower lip, then shook Clockwork’s shoulder.  “Clockwork?” he said.  “Clockwork?  Can you hear me?  Wake up.”

Yeah.  Maybe not the most polite thing to do to a guy when you just showed up to his house uninvited, but Danny was worried.  This was massively out of character for Clockwork.  If Clockwork had just decided to take a weird nap in the entryway, fine.  Danny could apologize.  But if this was a sickness, or an attack of some kind, Danny couldn’t just leave.  He had to check.  

Clockwork didn’t stir.  

Danny didn’t know enough about how ghosts slept to know if that was normal.  

He stared down at Clockwork, stymied.  ‘Sleep like the dead’ was a common phrase, as was ‘I’ll sleep when I’m dead,’ but he’d never seen any ghost asleep.  Unless he counted Nocturn that one time.  

Speaking of Nocturn…  The black stuff under Clockwork’s eyes was familiar.  It looked like the substance of Nocturn’s body, made liquid.  Sort of liquid.  It looked distinctly gooey.  

Could this be–?  No, before, Nocturn had used bulky helmets.  But that had been when they were trying to keep the whole city under their control.  Maybe the rules were different when they were only putting one person to sleep.  

Actually, they hadn’t even needed the helmets to put people to sleep.  They’d used sand for that.  The helmets had been to collect dream energy and maybe to control the dreams and keep people asleep.  

Okay.  So, this might be a Nocturn thing.  Which meant Danny should…  Do what?  He should do something.  With his friends, he had overshadowed them to jump into his dreams, but, historically, him overshadowing another ghost, or another ghost overshadowing him, hadn’t exactly worked well.  In fact, one particular incident was downright apocalyptic.  

But what else could he do?  

He shook Clockwork again, fruitlessly.  

Maybe he should go back home and get some backup.  But then he’d have to leave Clockwork, and Nocturn might be around somewhere.  Could he bring Clockwork with him?  No, that wouldn’t be safe for Clockwork, with the trip through the Fentonworks lab and all.

Well, if the overshadowing looked like it was going poorly, Danny would just… disengage.  It wasn’t like he wanted to fuse with Clockwork or take over his body, he just wanted to wake him up.  

He ran his hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck.  This… was probably a bad idea.  Almost certainly.  But he wasn’t sure if there was a good way to deal with this.  

(Danny might have been freaking out about someone - even Nocturn - being able to beat Clockwork.  Just a little.  Internally.  As one did.)

Still, he stood there, looking down at Clockwork, hoping that a good idea would come to him.  

It didn’t.  

He took a deep breath.  “It’ll be fine,” he said to himself.  “How it was meant to be or whatever.”

Overshadowing was a deceptively simple power.  Go intangible and slip into something.  But there was more.  When Danny phased through something he could overshadow, he could feel something like a spiderweb.  Something delicate, connecting it to itself.  Something Danny could tangle himself in.  Or, when he was sliding into a dream or video game, something he could travel down, spiderwebs turning into highways with a shift of perspective.  

But in a ghost, the lines were less spiderweb and more chain net or root bulb. Dense, thick, and focused on a single point.  When Danny forced an overshadowing ghost out of a human, he had to push that knot out.  When he fought Poindexter, he’d lost that fight.  When he’d jumped into Nocturn’s dreams…  Well, Danny was glad he’d been trying to go after his dreams, because he’d been practically sucked in.  

Jumping into Clockwork was the same way.  He was just so strong, his will so solid, that the shift in perspective was automatic.  He was swept away, inwards, and emerged tumbling into Clockwork’s dreams.

He took a minute to orient himself.  Dreams were… strange.  And personal.  They didn’t really exist far away from the dreamer, the landscape forming and dissolving around them in a sort of bubble.  But even in that bubble, the rules of cause and effect, permanence, and persistence were suggestions.  

After the first time with Nocturn, Danny had asked Tucker how he’d perceived his dream, and it turned out that he’d thought there was only one Star, instead of the legions that Danny had seen.  It was just that Star was everywhere.  

Danny was apprehensive about what kinds of dream logic would prevail in the dreams of a person who could see time.  

But this looked…  Normal.  It looked just like Long Now’s entryway, actually, minus the bed.  

Good.  Normal was good.  

Okay, Danny’s next steps were clear.  Find Clockwork, figure out how to shock him or otherwise wake him up, and then work out what had happened in the real world.  Easy.  

Except for the part about shocking someone who could see the future.  That wasn’t going to be easy. 

Why didn’t he ever think these things through?  

He shook his head.  First, find Clockwork.  Then deal with the other stuff.  Who knew?  Maybe telling him he was in a dream would be enough.  

“Clockwork?” he called.  His voice echoed, but he got no other response.  He flew deeper into Long Now, calling out periodically.  Clockwork didn’t answer.  Long Now continued to look normal.  

Except–  Was it getting darker?  And were those stars moving in the dark?

That was all the warning he got before the shadows swirled around him and contracted, forming a sort of starry bubble.  Sleepwalkers, cloth-covered ghosts with stitched-shut eyes, rose from the black like swimmers from a pool and swarmed him.  

Danny fought, but the sleepwalkers were numerous and they were on their home turf.  Much like during his very first encounter with them, they pinned him and dragged him into place so their master could have a better look at him.  

Nocturn emerged from the darkness, and it clung to them, merging smoothly with their long robes.  They glared down at Danny with deep disfavor.  

“You,” they said.  “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to stop whatever you’re doing to Clockwork!” snapped Danny, angry at Nocturn for doing this, and furious at himself for not being able to get away.  

“What I am doing to Clockwork?” said Nocturn, rising up, their body elongating and looming over Danny.  They had to curve so as to avoid the low, rounded ceiling.  “What I am doing to Clockwork?  Better to ask what everyone else is doing to him.  Uncountable petitioners, begging for this favor or that, kings seeking to use him as a tool, those cursed Observants.”  Their lips curled.  “You.”

“Me?” repeated Danny.  “What did I do?”

“Paradox on paradox,” hissed Nocturn, circling Danny.  Danny craned his neck trying to keep track of them.  “Do you think your little jaunts through time are without damage?  Without consequence?”

Well.  No.  Danny knew his trips through time made work for Clockwork.  That was one of the reasons he started visiting.  But that didn't explain–

“Why do you care?  You attacked him and put him to sleep!”

Nocturn laughed.  “You seek to take me to task, but you know nothing.  Less than nothing.  Eons, I have been by Clockwork's side, and the oldest of your histories is younger than our relationship.”

Danny… blinked.  “Relationship?” he asked.  “Like- like a romantic–?”

“Of course a romantic relationship!”  Nocturn paced through the little bubble of starry darkness, back and forth.  “We have been lovers since before your kind had writing.”

“Okay, I kind of got that from the history thing, but–”

“I have had enough of this world harming him.  I have had enough of watching him work himself to his gears, trying to satisfy cruel masters.  I will have him rest in peace.  You will not disturb him!”

“And did you ask him before you did–”  Danny tugged at the sleepwalkers holding him in an attempt to gesture. “--All this?”

Nocturn scoffed.  “Do you ask your right hand whether it is acceptable to hold it with your left?”

“Oh my gosh,” said Danny.  “This is a domestic violence thing.  Are you even dating, or–”

“Our love transcends such distinctions.”

“You’re a stalker.  I can’t believe this, no wonder Clockwork never mentioned you–”

Danny’s words died on his tongue as Nocturn gave him a particularly poisonous look.  Okay.  Yeah.  Sometimes snarking at the person who currently held you captive wasn’t a good idea.  

“Why would he mention me to you, when our relationship far exceeds anything you could even dream of?” they asked.  It was only barely a question.  But then their expression slid towards contemplation.  “But he does care for you.  Somewhat.  He dreams of you.”

“And I dream of infinite tacos,” said Danny.  “What’s your point?”

“No, you don’t.”

“Huh?  I think I know what I dream about.”

“I am the Master of Dreams and Nightmares.  I know what you have dreamed of, and it is not tacos, infinite or otherwise.”  Nocturn leaned close, looming.  “You dream of stars.  Of tragedies that never happened.  Of your own death.  Of being loved in ways you never will be in waking life.”

“Uh, I think I know what I dream about,” said Danny.  “Also, excuse you, I am loved in real life.  Even Clockwork likes me.”

Oh, heck, that’s where they started.  That’s what Danny was trying to distract Nocturn from.  

“Yes,” said Nocturn, tapping a clawed finger against painted lips.  “You might be useful.  But not with that tongue on you.”  They snapped their fingers and the sleepwalkers moved, pulling at Danny’s lips and teeth.  “Oh, stop struggling, child.  I’m not going to cut off your tongue or whatever you’ve convinced yourself of.  I’m not a monster.”

Danny snapped at one sleepwalker’s fingers.  “Could’ve fooled me!  Augh!”  The sleepwalkers got their fingers firmly into Danny’s mouth and pulled his jaw open.  Their fingers tasted sandy.  

Nocturn held their hand out, and one of the idle sleepwalkers, standing behind them, pulled towards it, like it was being sucked into a black hole.  Its body warped, turning green, then inky, starry black as it swirled into a dripping orb a few inches across.  Dark liquid dripped onto Nocturn’s palm and disappeared, absorbed into their skin.  

Danny did not like the look of that.  Should he try a wail?  He hadn’t before, because this was Clockwork’s dream, and he didn’t know what would happen to him if Danny did something so damaging in his dream.  

“This servant of mine,” said Nocturn, “will make sure you do not say anything against the rules.”

What rules?

Nocturn leaned close, bringing the sleepwalker orb with them.  Danny felt something cold drip on his lips, and then press against his back teeth.  The orb was far too big to swallow and he gagged, trying to throw off the sleepwalkers one more time.  

But ‘too big to swallow’ was a problem for rigid humans.  It wasn’t an obstacle for ghosts whose bodies could vaporize or stretch like putty.  Not when that stretching was reflexive.  Danny’s throat expanded as Nocturn pushed.  But Nocturn didn’t push it all the way down to Danny’s stomach.  Instead, the sticky, gooey ball lodged somewhere in Danny’s esophagus and compressed when the organ seized around it, but didn’t move.  

Danny gagged and heaved, but the thing didn’t move.  All that came up were a few splatters of black that were lost in the black that surrounded Danny, Nocturn, and the sleepwalkers.  

But the sleepwalkers were fading away, disappearing, and soon only Danny and Nocturn stood there.  Or, rather, in the case of Danny, knelt there.  Without the sleepwalkers holding him up, he’d collapsed as he coughed.  

Nocturn grabbed the back of his collar and pulled him up as the darkness around them dissolved and Danny saw… Clockwork’s workshop?

And Clockwork.  

Danny tried to call out, but black liquid bubbled out over his tongue and past his lips, staining the front of his suit.  

… That was gross.  

But it also gave Danny time to realize that Clockwork was talking to… him?  To Danny’s doppelganger which was–  

Not that weird, actually.  He’d been in Sam’s dream and Tucker’s dream, and Nocturn had just said Clockwork was dreaming of Danny.  It was still a little unsettling to see.  

“I would tell you the rules,” whispered Nocturn, “but they are the rules of a dream.  You will figure them out…  Or not.”  They pushed Danny forward, and Danny experienced a brief moment of vertigo before finding himself sitting on the stool the dream double had been on, listening to Clockwork as he explained the function of a particular type of gear.  

Okay.  Danny didn’t know what game Nocturn was playing, but now that he was in front of Clockwork, he could just tell him that he was in a dream.  He opened his mouth and even more black ooze spilled out.  The action was completely silent.  

Okay.  That wouldn’t work.  Could Danny speak at all, now that Nocturn had forced an entire sleepwalker down his throat.  

“Clockwork,” he said.  

“Yes, Daniel?” asked Clockwork, looking up.  

Danny pointed over his shoulder.  “Nocturn.”

Clockwork’s gaze followed Danny’s finger, and then his entire face lit up.  “Ah, my love.”

“My love,” said Nocturn, significantly more possessively.  He leaned down as Clockwork reached up, and they kissed.  

Deeply.  

Ew.  Just.  Ew.  That was– That was going on way too long.  Way, way too long.  

(And some of Nocturn’s claims must be true, because if they weren’t, Danny was sure this would count as shocking.  It was certainly shocking to him.)

“I believe we are scandalizing your child, my dear,” said Nocturn. 

“Our child,” corrected Clockwork, absently.  “I am sure he will become used to it.  In time.”

“In your dreams,” said Danny, horrified, and not really processing the rest of the conversation, such as it was.  

Clockwork patted Danny on the head, ruffling his hair, then planted a kiss on Danny’s forehead, which was about ten times as intimate as Clockwork had ever been with Danny, and Danny felt his thoughts grind to a halt.  

What– What?

No, no, this was a distraction, he had to get Clockwork out of this dream.  

“Is there something the matter, dear?  I thought that you were working.”

“The problem was easily solved,” said Nocturn, carefully placing an arm around Clockwork’s shoulders.  “I thought that I would come watch you teach, if it is not an imposition, love.”

“Of course not.  And I am sure Daniel will not mind.”  He looked at Danny expectantly.  

Danny tried to form many words around a mouthful of inky ectoplasm (it had to be ectoplasm, right?) but the only one that managed to come out was, “No.”

Clockwork smiled.  “Very good.”  

Nocturn smiled, too.  Much more sinisterly.  

Danny swallowed.  This… was going to be a lot harder to deal with than he thought.

He really should have brought that backup. 

[xlatrina]

(Pt. III) Friends to Lovers HCs w/Homicipher x GN!Reader

Tags: Platonic + Romantic HCs, Friends to Lovers trope for basically every LI, Likely OOC for some LIs*, Mini Scenarios (so HCs are kinda plot-driven), *Multi-Part Series, entirely SFW

Also, changing tenses in some cases + not proofread again... sorry!

*Some of the LIs are likely written OOC (Out Of Character) mainly due to a lack of substantial in-game appearances (at least in my opinion!). 

*Split into multiple parts because I’ve come to realize that these HCs are muuucccchhh too long 😅 BUT!! I’m too lazy to shorten them sooo… YEAH lol

Part I (Big 🙆‍♂️)

Part II (Mr. Chopped 🪓)

Part III (Mr. Crawling 👣)

$$$

Mr. Crawling

This man is in love with you.

Lowkey could stop right there.

Well, anyway…

Mr. Crawling is a GREAT friend, actually.

Like he’s the kind of buddy that’s —first of all —down for whatever.

You said you tryna go walk through an unfamiliar part of the Apartments to try and find a mysterious elevator?

Well…

YEAH SURE HE’LL TAG ALONG

I MEAN… WHY THE HELL NOT, Y’KNOW??

“Me know place here,” He’ll say. More or less: I know this place!

And he’s so damn chipper about it, too!

He’s just an overall helpful guy.

He seems to have an intrinsic protective streak in him, too.

Which is interesting, ‘cause it’s like…

While it’s obvious he’s been in the Apartments for a long time, it’s clear that he hasn’t completely lost his sense of humanity.

I mean, trust —it’s definitely worn in some ways.

Like, he eats people bruh.

Trust, his sense of humanity is def gone in some ways...

But!! At least he's not as violent as the other ghosts can be!!

Like, generally speaking, you’ll find that he’s a pretty admirable dude.

He doesn’t hurt other entities for the pure sake of hurting them.

Defense, and alternatively —for food or other resources like clothes or tools.

Those would probably be the only reasons Mr. Crawling would ever just… attack someone, especially unprovoked (unprovoked, but not necessarily without reason).

That being said, he’s a social butterfly!!

He’s literally a professional yapper in every sense of the word.

Like… he could start a podcast LMAO

Podcast Bro!Mr. Crawling…

Anywho, he’s genuinely a people person and he likes being in good company.

Whether it’s you, Mr. Silvair, Mr. Chopped, Mr. Stitch(?), the Nurse, Mr. Wheelchair, the Hairdresser, etc…

He’s genuinely the type who could talk to literally anyone about anything for any amount of time.

If you’re a yapper too, this’ll probably be fun for you!

And hell, you may very well have met your match, LOL.

If you’re more introverted or quiet —no matter.

Mr. Crawling, being the professional he is, knows how to fill up any awkward silences with banter.

He doesn’t judge you at all on the basis of how you react to his yapping. Truly.

At the end of the day, he just enjoys sharing your company and getting to hear your voice, as little or as often as that occurs.

Hopefully, you don’t find his constant need for company annoying.

… Do you find him annoying?

At some point, Mr. Crawling begins to realize his feelings for you have changed…

In the case you accept him as a partner, he’s absolutely OVERJOYED.

Not only have you promised to indefinitely keep his company, but you also accepted him as your better half!

“You enjoy me?” He’ll ask, pulling himself over your curled-up form beneath the thin white sheets of the hospital bed.

“Me enjoy you,” you’ll say. You might even pet his head a few times, and he’ll giggle maniacally before dropping his head into your neck.

As Mr. Crawling’s fondness for you intensifies, so does his protective streak.

This guy turns into Papa Bear when it comes down to protecting his better half.

What Megan thee Stallion said??

“Three things I don’t play about: myself, my money, or my man!”

That, but more like: “... my friends, or my partner!”

Something like that, LOL.

Mr. Crawling’s sweethearted, bubbly, outgoing, protective, and quite affectionate. Intimacy is a language he speaks as fluently as his otherworldly one.

As we know, he’s very much the “high-maintenance” type.

He’s just super affectionate overall —and Mr. Crawling just wants to know that you’re always on the same page!

Tell him you love him. 

Tell him how fun it was exploring the same old dreary halls with him. Tell him how relieved you felt when he swooped in to shield you from danger, even though you could handle yourself just fine. Run your fingers through his hair and massage the nape of his neck as you tell him how much you’ve come to enjoy —and maybe even crave —his company.

And when you’re done…

Tell him you love him. Yes, again. Again and again and again and again and again…

He could never get enough. Truly.

He could never get enough of you.

With a boyfriend like Mr. Crawling, you’ll never have to fear a lack of comfort, protection, friendship, or intimacy…

Because he’s constantly giving it to you. 

You don’t even need to ask for any kind of intimacy —again, he’s giving it to you anyway.

And whether you’d like to shack up in a nearby spare room beside Mr. Silvair and Mr. Chopped’s loungeroom (of the sort) or if you take him with you to the surface world…

It makes no real difference in the way Mr. Crawling clings to you.

All he knows is so long as you’re both finding yourselves tangled together beneath the sheets each night, all is right in the world!

Mr. Crawling just wants to spend his evenings at home, and if home is where the heart is, then…

Well, you know how that goes!

[Part I (Mr. Big 🙆‍♂️) | Part II (Mr. Chopped 🪓, First Half/Second Half), Part III (Mr. Crawling 👣)]