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retrievablememories · 6 months

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cherry bomb | part 2 | jungkook (m)

pairing: jungkook x fem reader

summary: after your town goes into lockdown because of the cherry bomb massacre, you find out that the murderer's interest is on you. eventually, you’re left with no choice but to face him.

genre: horror/slasher, angst, smut, college!au

word count: 13.7k

warnings: major character deaths, gaslighting, hallucinations, anxiety/paranoia, grief, trauma, violence (including knife and gun use), torture, blood, gore, descriptions of dead bodies, a funeral scene, fuckboy!JK, oral (fem receiving), fingering, finger-sucking, handjob, cumplay(?), hair-pulling

a/n: this part is quite rougher than the first, so heed the warnings. same notes as the last part—not meant to be entirely realistic since this *is* a slasher. block/filter as needed. i didn’t mention this in part 1 but this fic is not set in present day; more like somewhere in the 2000s? i don’t think this fic would work as well with all this advanced technology/the prevalence of social media now

...also, i had this story all written out and then decided to completely change the plot at the last minute because i figured out a way to write the original plot i had wanted to do from the beginning. 💀 yeah…just leave your thoughts below

taglist is at the very bottom of the fic—for some reason i wasn't able to tag everyone who requested, so please reblog this fic so folks can see it

sources for the fic dividers: one | two

link to part 1

you’re standing in front of some stranger’s house in the early hours of the morning, your body heavy from exhaustion as your adrenaline has run out. this is not at all how you expected your night to end when you left your dorm hours ago. it must’ve taken at least 40 minutes to get to this house, and you’re less familiar with this part of town, which you try not to feel uneasy about. you suppose the farther away from the scene of the carnage, the better.

jungkook bangs on the door, calling out the name yoongi-hyung until the porch light comes on. though it’s illogical, you’re tense with apprehension that the murderer could somehow appear at any moment, and you hope whoever yoongi is lets the both of you in soon. so much for no longer looking over your shoulder.

a man with hair just as long as jungkook’s answers the door, looking disheveled and annoyed. “why the fuck are you banging down my door at nearly 2 am—"

yoongi stops speaking as he eyes the both of you up and down, his gaze going from the bite mark bruises you left on jungkook’s neck to the dried blood on your face to the bullet holes in jungkook’s car. his expression is between surprise and curiosity. “what the fuck is going on here?”

“can we talk inside?” jungkook says, though he doesn’t wait for an invitation before pushing his way past the other man and stepping inside.

“uh…hi. sorry.” you step inside too, glad to not be out in the open anymore.

yoongi takes another look outside the door at the state of jungkook’s car before closing and locking it. “mind explaining this shit? i thought you were going to that party you told me about?

“i did,” jungkook says, his voice full of frustration. “the fucking killer showed up at the party.”

“the fuck are you talking about?”

“you know what i’m talking about. that werewolf-masked freak? he came and just started stabbing people to death. we watched him shoot a fraternity member in front of us, dude. that’s why my car looks the way it does.”

“the campus is probably dangerous,” you add. “that’s why we came here. we just need somewhere safe to stay for the night.”

yoongi goes to the window and draws back the curtain. he peeks out the small holes in the side of the blinds rather than pushing the blinds down to look outside. “and you’re certain he didn’t follow you here? i thought he only killed virgins anyway. why the hell was he shooting at you?” then yoongi turns away from the window and looks at you. “oh. is this why?”

feeling put on the spot, you blurt out: “look, i don’t think that matters much anymore. he seemed to be killing anybody who was in his way.”

“and he was on foot the whole time, so there’s no way he could’ve followed us,” jungkook adds.

yoongi shakes his head and walks away from the window. “whole town is fucked, then. come on.”

you’re relieved to be able to scrub the blood off your face and change into fresh clothes. you initially thought it was peculiar that yoongi had spare clothes ready for you to wear until he alluded to keeping them on hand for any of jungkook’s hookups that he brings over.

“sure—of course.” you’d just nodded and tried not to look embarrassed as you accepted the clothes.

even after showering you don’t feel entirely clean, though. you think it might be impossible to return to feeling anything like your former self after tonight.

the couch has a pull-out bed, so it’s not as uncomfortable as it would be just sleeping on a regular sofa, which you are grateful for. you’re still arranging the pillow and blankets when jungkook walks into the room holding his own bedding.

“i think i should sleep here,” he says.

“there’s no room on the couch for the both of us,” you protest, thinking he means to take your spot.

“i mean on the floor. earlier, you didn’t seem like you wanted to be left alone in here.”

“oh.” you try to take the edge out of your voice; it’s hard to be polite when you’re still so overwhelmed with stress. “that’ll be uncomfortable though.”

jungkook just waves his hand and dumps his pillow and blanket on the floor before going to push the coffee table out of the way. “doesn’t really matter, i think we’ve been through worse tonight than sleeping on a hard floor…”

“thanks,” you say quietly, watching him spread his blanket out on the ground. you want to say something else, but you can’t think of anything.

“it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

after a few more moments of staring at jungkook as he arranges his sleeping area, you finally ask, “i was wondering how’d you meet yoongi? he doesn’t seem like he’s a college student. i’ve never seen him around our campus, at least.”

“he isn’t. he works as a music producer, so he’s out of town a lot, but this is his homebase. as for how we met—it’s a long story. he and my brother actually used to know each other, so…” you think he’ll explain further, but he just shakes his head. “but he’s a good friend.”

“i see. a music producer…nice. how cool for a little town like this.”

after everything is to his liking, jungkook gets under the blanket. “tonight was a lot, so try to get some sleep.”

you nod and turn the lamp off, though you’re doubting you’ll get any peace tonight. “yeah…you too.”

SATURDAY MORNING, NOV 4

you wake up around 11 a.m. on a strange couch wearing strange clothes in a strange room. with your brain’s half-conscious state, your terror reawakens; you think maybe you’ve been kidnapped by the murderer and the car ride with jungkook last night was a dream—until yoongi pops into your mind.

you try to regulate your breathing and settle back beneath the blanket, though you know you won’t be going back to sleep.

you haven’t gotten more than an hour of sleep in total, broken up into 20-minute intervals across the hours. every time you’ve tried to close your eyes and drift off, you see the frat member’s skull bursting apart again, shocking your entire nervous system. you can think of nothing but the piles of bodies and the deaths you witnessed. perhaps it’s better that you don’t sleep; you figure your dreams wouldn’t be any more tolerable than your thoughts.

as you shift around on the couch, your whole body screams with soreness. your arms, your ribs, your sides, your legs, and—to a lesser extent—even between your thighs where jungkook was last night.

you glance over and see that he’s still sprawled on the floor, blanket halfway kicked off. he’s actually awake, his face turned away from you as he blinks slowly and stares at nothing, but he doesn’t say anything and so neither do you. with you spending most of your night awake, you saw that he was able to get more rest than you did. lucky him.

it hurts to move, but you reach for your phone and check for any signs of lorelai. none. there is one text from camille, sent 40 minutes ago.

➤ camille: I talked to Lorelai’s sister. She went to go see about a missing persons report. The police took her information but didn’t seem very concerned about it and said she might have just stayed the night with other friends after the party. Apparently a lot of others had the same idea as you. Campus is a ghost town. They’re still identifying all the bodies, so no word yet.

➤ y/n: so we just have to sit here and wait to see if she’ll turn up alive or dead? that’s useless.

➤ camille: As per fucking usual with the pigs.

➤ camille: She also told me there’s supposed to be a lockdown or something. It’s on the news.

➤ y/n: a lockdown???

looking around the room, you spot the TV remote sitting on yoongi’s coffee table a few feet away. you try to sit up, but it takes you a couple minutes longer than you anticipate because of the pain. jungkook notices the movement from the corner of his eye and turns to look at you. “what are you doing?”

“tryna get the remote.”

jungkook grabs it and hands it to you, and you turn the TV to one of the local news channels.

➤ camille: They’re telling people not to leave their homes for anything non-essential while they search for him. Not sure how long that’s supposed to last. I guess now they wanna get serious about this fucking killer? Too late for that.

you and jungkook watch as the newscaster gives a rundown of last night’s events; to your small relief, it looks like the killer didn’t try to go to the campus after the murders at the party house. the newscaster goes on to announce that the police are instating a citywide curfew, which they’ll discuss further at a press conference in the afternoon. in the meantime, they advise everyone to only travel in groups, shelter in place if possible, and keep all windows and doors locked.

you laugh humorlessly, and jungkook glances at you again. “in groups? we were all packed into one damn house at the party, and how much did that help?”

➤ y/n: are you sure you’re okay at the uni?

➤ camille: I’m fine. My roommate brought some of her friends into our room so no one’s left alone. Either way, my dad is coming to help me move some of my things out and come back home.

➤ y/n: okay, please just stay safe.

➤ camille: You too.

“what now?” jungkook says once the newscast goes off. “everybody just stays holed up for like a month while they hunt for that guy?”

you roll your eyes. “people won’t stay in their homes for that long. i don’t know how any of this is gonna work. we wouldn’t be in this mess now if they’d cared when this first started happening.”

“you think so? students would still be getting killed. the only difference is that a good chunk of people would just be sitting at home freaking the fuck out and too scared to go anywhere while the killer would still be on the loose.”

“…damn. it’s truly bleak to assume we’d still be in the same situation. you’re an optimistic one.”

“better than deluding yourself about it.”

“whatever. where’s your family to freak out over you? somebody should be concerned about your whereabouts by now. didn’t you say you have a brother? speaking of, i’m gonna have to call my sister soon…”

jungkook turns back to the TV, and you can tell he’s become more tense than he was seconds ago. “yeah, but i’m estranged from them. yoongi’s my family.”

wrong thing to ask. you wonder about the reason for it but decide it’s probably better not to pry. “ah…that sucks.”

jungkook looks back at you like he’s irked by that response, but he makes a noise resembling a chuckle. “tell me about it.”

later that afternoon, after you’ve reassured your sister veronica on her work break that you are fine and at a “friend’s” house (because you have no clue how to refer to either of these men), you and yoongi sit at the kitchen table with brunch while jungkook goes outside to examine the damage to his car more closely.

it’s difficult to eat, but you do so anyway; you don’t want to be rude by wasting the food yoongi made. the news station still plays loudly from the living room as you wait for the press conference to come on.

“so, about you and jungkook...” yoongi starts, looking at you from over the rim of his cup of coffee.

“what about me and jungkook?”

“we both know he didn’t get those bites on his neck from a wild animal attack.”

you sit up straighter in your seat, a sudden spike of irritation hitting you. “aren’t we all grown here? who cares?” you try to sound unbothered despite feeling very green about all of this. after all, you’d only had sex for the first time last night.

“look, i don’t care. fuck him all you want. i’m just trying to advise you not to get emotionally involved, because that’s not how jungkook operates. the amount of girls i’ve had somehow coming after my neck when their situationship with him doesn’t work out is starting to get really old. it’d be best if you didn’t do the same.”

you’re simultaneously annoyed at his assumption of you and flustered because you want to prove him wrong about acting the same as the other girls. you hate both feelings. “i don’t want anything like that with him. i just needed something done and i got it. it doesn’t matter anymore.”

yoongi shrugs, and you get the sense he’s heard that before and isn’t convinced, but you can’t be bothered going back and forth with him about this.

the press conference comes on TV a few minutes later. they announce that classes at your university are cancelled indefinitely; parents and relatives will need to come move their students out, and the school will be operating with a skeleton staff and increased security presence for any students who can’t leave the campus. the citywide curfew will be at 8 p.m. every night, by which time almost everyone will need to be in their homes, and it will end at 6 a.m each morning.

“fun,” you say sarcastically. “at least i won’t have to worry about finals and trying not to get murdered at the same time.”

when jungkook comes back inside, you let him know about what he missed from the press conference.

“we should just stay here for now.” when you raise your eyebrows, jungkook says, “i basically live here when i’m not on campus for classes. plus yoongi-hyung lets me bring girls here all the time, this is nothing new.”

“if both of you are gonna be hiding out in my place, we’ll need to go to the store,” yoongi says. “more mouths to feed.”

“…or i could just go home?” you propose, your mind reeling at them already making plans. you feel awkward about staying in a stranger’s house for who knows how long. “i think we only really needed to stay here for the night. it’s fine.”

“will you have people there with you?” jungkook asks. “it’s not safe to be alone.”

you’re surprised he seems to be this concerned, but you answer: “well, i mean…my sister works 12-hour shifts as a nurse and she’s the only one living there, so…” you’d chosen your university because your older sister lived in the area, and because it was a tradition for women in your family to attend that school, but there were no other relatives you could turn to. your parents lived a couple of towns away.

yoongi comes to the conclusion so you don’t have to. “in other words, you’ll be alone most of the day.”

“…i guess. but i’m really not tryna impose on you by staying here.”

yoongi tilts his head, a small smirk on his lips. you automatically dislike the look on his face. “why don’t you take jungkook with you, then?”

you and jungkook glance at each other. “but, hyung…”

yoongi shakes his head. “you already know i can take care of myself. seriously, don’t worry about it.” and then yoongi winks at you. you don’t know for sure, but you take that to mean he’s probably packing heat like camille’s dad.

“if you’re sure.” turning to you, jungkook says, “so, how about it?”

“it’s my sister’s house, so i’ll have to ask her,” you say tentatively. “yeah…uh. let me do that now, i guess.” you pull out your phone to text her about it, though you know it’ll be a while before she gets another work break and can answer. “in the meantime…i think we’ll need to go to the store either way. and then to campus to pick our things up.”

“you’re right. let’s go then,” jungkook says.

the store is full of people panic-buying food and necessities in preparation for the curfew and effective lockdown, which you expected. you and jungkook end up going your separate ways to find the things you need because it’s quicker that way, and because you want to get in and out of the store as soon as possible. the crowdedness is too much like the party, and despite yourself, anxiety begins rising in you due to the claustrophobic atmosphere. you try to maintain even breaths as you keep searching for items. just what you need—a shiny new trauma to make your life harder.

you pass by a man in one of the less-crowded aisles before realizing he’s standing in front of what you need to get, examining one of the food packages. you wait a few moments to see if he’ll finish up soon, and when your eyes begin to wander, you see that there’s a long gray hair clinging to the back of his leather jacket, standing out clearly against the black. you probably wouldn’t have noticed this at all on any other day, except your mind has been on high alert for hours now; you find it strange that this strand clearly doesn’t match the shade or length of the hair on his head, which is short and plain brown. the shade of the hair also weirdly reminds you of something, though you can’t quite recall what; it remains just out of your mind’s reach.

you shake your head. he could’ve come to the store with somebody who has long gray hair, or hugged them before he left home, and a strand stuck to his jacket. it’s the least of your issues right now.

the man must feel your presence behind him because he turns around to look at you. you’re a little taken aback by his gaze; his expression isn’t mean per se, but very intense, as if his entire focus is trained on you.

there’s a second’s pause, like he’s thinking about something before he speaks. “am i in your way?” he asks, never breaking eye contact. his voice doesn’t portray any particular emotion.

“i just have to get something really quick.” he steps aside and gestures to the rows of food without a word. you slip in beside him and grab what you need before moving away again. “thanks.” you think about telling him about the hair on his jacket but decide against it; your decision is solidified when you spot a wolf figurine keychain on his keys, faded from time but still distinguishable. it makes your breath catch.

there’s no way it could be him. it was kind of dark in the party house with nothing but string lights and lamps illuminating it, and everything happened so quickly…but you do remember the colors of that mask. red, yellow, black—and that dark gray for the fur.

but maybe it’s really all just a coincidence; how much sense would it make to turn every person with wolf paraphernalia and random stray hairs into a suspect?

you walk down the rest of the aisle and away from the man with growing unease. maybe it’s time to find jungkook so you can get out of here; you can hardly keep yourself together, and despite your best attempts at logic, you can’t stop yourself from getting more frantic about those two things.

speeding up your walk and weaving through people, you look down every aisle in search for jungkook before you find him, rushing over to him as you breathe heavily.

“whoa, what the hell is wrong? did somebody do something?”

“no, i…”

“what happened?”

“it’s the…well, the…i saw, uh…”

“y/n.”

“i saw—the mask. the fur from the mask. do you remember it?”

“…you mean that stupid ass werewolf mask?” you gesture for jungkook to lower his voice. “wait, you’re saying you saw it in here?”

“no, i saw a man who had a strand of hair on his jacket…” it starts sounding ridiculous to your own ears the more you speak, but you continue. “the strand—it was the same color as that fur. the same length! and he—he had some weird wolf keychain…”

jungkook stares at you for a long moment before sighing. “you’re not serious? a random strand of hair that could be from anybody or anything? that could be from someone’s fucking grandma for all we know. plus a keychain…maybe he just likes wolves, y/n.”

you already know that saying i just feel like something is off won’t be enough to convince him. you sigh with a deep sense of defeat, considering that he’s probably right. maybe your initial assumption was the more sensible answer. “…right. i think i’m just really fucked up right now after everything that happened. can we finish up here?”

“yeah, we will. because you definitely need to lay down soon or something. you haven’t had any sleep all night, right?” the way jungkook eyes you with concern as if you’ve lost your mind annoys you. you’re about to give a smart remark when you notice something in the carrying-basket he has.

“…a baseball bat?”

“if the killer comes after us again, duh. we’ll be prepared this time. or at least i will.”

“good luck with that if he happens to have another gun.” rolling your eyes, you brush past jungkook to go to one of the checkout counters.

in the parking lot, you see that the man from earlier has also come out and is putting the last of his grocery bags into his car trunk. there’s really nothing spectacular about his appearance that would make him stand out in a crowd, with his average height and average looks, let alone incriminate him as a serial killer. yet that familiar unease won’t leave.

he sees you and jungkook walking towards the car together, and his eyes dart to the bullet holes in jungkook’s car. then he makes eye contact with you. you give a half-hearted wave, unsure what else to do with his eyes stuck on you. for a moment, his lips turn up into the faintest smile before he shakes his head and gets into his own car.

MONDAY, NOV 6

you’ve spent half of saturday and all of sunday trying to get used to living in your sister’s house with jungkook. veronica had been surprisingly okay with having him stay over, though most of it was her being relieved you finally found “a potential boyfriend who’s actually cute.” you didn’t have the energy to argue with her.

you’ve also been constantly checking on camille (to her eventual annoyance) and seeing if there are any more updates on lorelai. still nothing. your dread grows the further away you get from that bloody friday, but you try to keep your thoughts from straying too darkly.

right now, you, veronica, and jungkook all sit on the couch together in a neat little row, a bowl of popcorn in front of you on the coffee table and some science-fiction B-movie playing on the TV. your sister proposed the idea to distract yourselves from everything going on, but so far, you feel like it isn’t very effective. at least not for you. your mind keeps wandering to other things every 5 minutes.

eventually, veronica yawns widely, stretching her arms and legs before rising off the couch. “okay, i’m getting tired as fuck. i need to go to sleep for work tomorrow anyway. you guys enjoy the rest of the movie, okay?” she pats your shoulder as she passes by you on her way out of the room.

jungkook waves. “oh, sure. goodnight.”

“night, sis.”

when jungkook’s attention goes back to the movie, your sister makes eye contact with you and points her finger at you menacingly. you give her a shocked look while she mouths you know what i mean and swirls her finger in jungkook’s direction. embarrassed at the implication, you roll your eyes and turn your head back to the TV screen. having sex with jungkook on your sister’s couch is not high on your list of priorities tonight.

after your sister is gone, jungkook spreads out on the couch like it’s his own living room, placing his legs right over your lap. you sigh, looking over at him—and hoping that your eyes don’t linger too obviously on the expanse of thigh muscle that’s now on display from his shorts riding up higher.

“…really? i don’t want your big ole legs in my lap.”

jungkook just grins. “you should lay down too, it’s more comfortable this way.” you stare at him, and he tries to egg you on by pulling the sleeve of your shirt. “come on.”

“i’m not laying down on top of you, if that’s what you’re after.”

you do end up lying down, but on the opposite side of the couch so that your legs are tangled together, which really just increases the amount of contact between you either way—but whatever.

this makes jungkook laugh more. “ha, it’s like we’re scissoring.”

“so damn corny.”

you two continue watching the rest of the movie, but by the end of it you don’t remember half of what happened. taking the remote, you flip through the channels and try to find something else to look at. there isn’t much interesting to watch on a random monday night—which would be a school night anyway, if not for the current context.

as you search for a channel, jungkook asks: “what would you do if you found out who the killer was?”

you squint your eyes at his odd question. maybe the obvious answer would be to alert the police. but after days of having your anger stoked like a fire, that’s not exactly the answer you’d choose. “maybe i’d kill him.” the words leave your lips easily, and you hardly think twice about them once they’re out.

neither of you speak for a few long moments.

“does that scare you?” you ask, after the silence starts annoying you. you want to laugh, but there’s nothing really funny about the situation.

“…not really. angry women are kinda sexy. so are dangerous ones.”

you scoff. “i’m not tryna be sexy, you fool. and how many dangerous women have you dealt with? seems to me you only have a thing for the innocents.”

“it’s not like i only fuck virgins. you don’t even know me like that.” he nudges your leg with his foot like he’s also annoyed, but his expression doesn’t show any actual irritation.

“…if you want to go back and forth about it, go outside and argue with the wall or something. i’m in no mood, jungkook.” you shove his foot off of you. “just, holy shit. i wish i could have just one hour where i don’t have to think about any of this shit. my mind can’t even breathe.”

he’s actually quiet for a couple minutes after. you think he’s moved on from the conversation until he finally says, “i can give you an hour.”

your body becomes alert at that. the insinuation in his tone is obvious. you glance backwards as if your sister could hear you from upstairs, though you know that’s illogical. “i got what i wanted from you already,” you whisper.

“so? what if i wanted to give you more? you know you’re allowed to have sex with a person more than once, yeah?” he chuckles.

here he is making you this offer, and once again you feel like you’ve been reduced to the state of a confused lamb in front of a hungry wolf. you realize that the idea of letting yourself get more physically entangled with jungkook scares you. he is not someone you can turn into a boyfriend, who wants to be a boyfriend, and you are only looking to save yourself from any potential hurt. “it would just be sex—right? you have to know i’m not looking for anything deeper from you.”

jungkook smirks. like with yoongi, you don’t know if he believes you. “i know.”

you want to undo almost everything from the past few days. you can’t forget, but for a while, you want to just exist outside of the timeline where there’s a killer on the loose and one of your friends is missing. it’s too much to handle; your body is approaching its limits for the amount of stress it can take. you need a balm to numb the pain and the fear, and you dislike that you are giving into your base instincts to do so. you feel guilty, somehow. but pleasure is easy. at least it has been whenever you sought it on your own—and now you have someone else to give it to you. someone who is in front of you now, proposing it with all the willingness in the world. maybe there’s really nothing wrong with saying yes.

“jungkook…”

“hm?”

“please just shut the fuck up and don’t say another word about the outside world right now. i don’t want to think about anything but your…” you falter, still trying to get used to expressing what you want sexually.

jungkook sits up, his hands sliding up your legs and to your hips. “but my what?”

“um, your…” your thoughts end when he leans down and pulls the hem of your sweater up, planting a kiss on your waist where your skin meets the waistband of your sweatpants. one kiss turns into a second, and a third. the fourth becomes an open-mouthed embrace of his lips on your skin, and you make a small noise of pleasure when his tongue gets involved.

“careful. don’t want veronica to come down here, remember?”

you huff. “that isn’t happening any time soon, believe me.”

his kisses continue as he begins to slide your sweatpants down, revealing the waistband of your panties. once they’re fully on display, he leans forward to nuzzle his face between your thighs, his mouth and nose pressing into the seat of your underwear. his actions take you off guard. you actually give a brief chuckle from surprise, though you are also somewhat embarrassed. “now what the hell are you doing?”

“let me savor my meal before i eat it.” his warm breaths tickle your inner thighs as he speaks.

“ugh, don’t turn me off.”

“that’s funny, because i seem to have an easy time getting you wet.” to prove it, his fingers press into the seat of your underwear to feel the wetness that’s seeped into them; you sigh from the brief pleasure his fingers’ movements afford you before he pulls them away.

jungkook drags your panties down next, his lips trailing down your lower abdomen and across the curls of hair covering your pubic mound. your body fills with anticipation at the gradual pace of his actions and the purposeful, wet caresses of his mouth.

when he uses his thumbs to press your lower lips apart and expose you more fully to him, you have half a mind to be self-conscious about it until he places his mouth on you in earnest.

jungkook eats like someone who hasn’t done so in a while and doesn’t know when he’ll get to do it again. his mouth sucks at your clit like he’s desperate for you to come, tongue rolling over the swollen nub in an unrelenting pattern that has your stomach tensing, and you quickly realize you do have to try to silence yourself even if you know it won’t wake veronica up. you twist your hands into the sleeves of your sweater and lean your head back on the couch’s armrest as you arch your hips up closer to jungkook’s face, uncaring about how vulnerable you feel completely offering yourself up to him like this; right now, all you want is to feel good.

“gonna come quick again? maybe we can set a new record?” jungkook pins your knee against the couch with his elbow to keep your legs open as he slides two fingers inside, diving straight in instead of working you up this time. your body breaks out in a sweat and you know you really won’t last long once he does this, the tips of his fingers aiming for that dreadful, wonderful, and overpowering place inside you. you don’t know how people do this—you feel like you’re going to die when he stimulates that spot, and all you want to do is scream even though you can’t.

“a r-record? fuck off…” you choke out, though you begin to rock your hips into the rhythm of his fingers, needing so badly for him to take you over the edge again.

he chuckles. “i don’t think you want me to fuck off right now.”

you have no words for a good comeback when he buries his head between your legs and slurps at your pussy again and crooks his fingers repeatedly to where your orgasm is unexpectedly rushing down upon you, causing your body to tense as you gasp and stifle any sounds that escape with your sweater sleeve.

jungkook doesn’t stop there and you don’t really expect him to, because you’re beginning to learn he isn’t a one-and-done type of man. he keeps sucking and stroking you right into another releasewhile you push the beanie off his head, fist your fingers into his strands, and tremble over the sight of his pitch-black mess of hair between your thighs. something about the visual is so appealing to you.

after he has made you come for the third time, you watch him sit up on his knees to reach into his shorts and pull his dick out, his darkened tip slick with precum. his long hair falls into his face as he glances downward, using the hand he’d been fingering you with to lube himself up with your cum.

“come here,” you tell him, your voice coming out sharper than you intended; but he doesn’t care, because he follows your request without a word and presses himself into your side. the couch is just big enough to accommodate both of you in this position, but it’s still a tight fit, and your bodies are once again tangled together.

“let me touch you,” you say, your palm pressed to his stomach, feeling the firmness of the muscle.

he raises his eyebrows, like you didn’t even need to ask. “of course.”

“no, i mean…” he realizes what you actually mean as you brush his hand away from his shaft and wrap your fingers around it instead.

“should i teach you how?” jungkook brings his hand to overlap yours, though his breath becomes a bit strained when you slide your hand to the base of his cock and back to the tip again, the pads of your fingers rubbing over the sensitive head. seeing your fingers around him turns him on more than he thought it could, and it’s just a simple fucking handjob.

you roll your eyes. “stroking a dickshouldn’t be that hard.”

“everyone likes it differently, though. fast, slow, soft, or rough…just the tip, or the whole shaft.” you can’t deny that—or the way you find yourself throbbing at his words, his voice husky from the pleasure. which is why you let jungkook close his hand more fully around yours and guide your movements.

it’s captivating to observe his reactions from your hand on his skin—the heavy breaths he lets out and the soft moans and even softer whimpers that come in between the exhales. whenever you squeeze his shaft more firmly or rub your thumb against his leaking tip, you find yourself grinning at the rise and fall of his chest and the tongue that darts out of his mouth to lick at his lips. but mostly, your eyes are drawn back to the sight of your hand working him over, his thighs and stomach tensing sporadically.

eventually, you both look away from your joined hands and at each other’s faces. your eyes dart to his lips and back to his gaze again, and you shift your face forward to signal your desire for a kiss. he meets you there by pressing his lips to yours, and it isn’t hard for him to get lost in the meeting of your mouths and the heat from your palm on his shaft.

your free hand returns to his soft hair to tug on it as your tongues slide against each other. he grunts at the burn of his roots being pulled but doesn’t stop you; on the contrary, his body responds favorably as more precum swells from his tip and his nipples poke against the material of his shirt.

“do you like that, jungkook?” you mumble against his mouth.

“you know i do.” at some point, his hand falls away and he lets you stroke him on your own.

jungkook gives a shuddering moan into your mouth when he climaxes minutes later, thick streams of his cum shooting onto his shirt and dripping down your hand. he tries to keep quiet and doesn’t entirely succeed, but it doesn’t much matter.

you squeeze the few remaining drops of cum from his cockhead, trying to make sure you don’t grip hard enough to actually hurt him. you pull your sticky hand away from jungkook when you think he’s finally emptied, but he grabs your wrist and you look at him questioningly. you watch with shocked eyes as jungkook brings your hand up and takes your messy fingers into his mouth, sucking his cum from them. you know instinctively it isn’t the first time he’s done this—not with the look of pure satisfaction on his features as he licks his own seed off your fingers.

his enthusiastic pleasure is part of the reason why you accept when jungkook gives you a crushing kiss, passing his cum from his tongue to yours. you don’t know what you expected it to taste like, but it isn’t gross like you’ve heard others complain about when sharing their sex tales; despite being salty, the overall taste is neutral. still, it takes some getting used to.

when you pull away from each other, noses brushing and lips wet from each other’s spit, you look into his dark brown eyes and get the sudden desire to say something that’s been buried in the back of your mind for days now.

“why did you come straight to me that night?” you whisper. “like you already knew who you were there for.”

jungkook stares back, his lips curving up slightly. “i just wanted to. or i wanted you, more specifically.”

“that’s not an answer.”

“well, it’s my answer.”

“was i another one to knock off your list?”

“you think i have a list?”

“i’m not stupid. it’s not unusual for guys to have a list. plus, plenty of rumors go around.”

jungkook taps his fingers underneath your chin and kisses you on the lips again, though it is brief. “stop believing everything you hear.”

you clearly won’t be getting a straight answer from him tonight. with the moment broken, you sigh and begin pulling your bottoms back on. “…whatever you say, dude.” once you’re dressed, you climb over his body to get off the couch. you poke him in the chest as your eyes roam over him in his disheveled state, his shorts pulled down and his cum staining his black shirt. “might wanna clean yourself up, huh? i’m going to sleep. and, yeah…thanks for the distraction.”

TUESDAY, NOV 7

with the weather being as cold as it is and heading toward winter in another month or so, lorelai is surprised by how quickly the bodies began to smell.

she doesn’t know much of anything about bodily decomposition—because, to her parents’ disappointment, she wasn’t about to be a biology major and have to be around cadavers in a dissection lab—but if this were a movie or something, she would’ve thought it would take longer than just one day. the smell started to hit her the saturday after the party.

but ultimately, this isn’t a movie, and the fact that she’s trapped in a decrepit house in some remote part of town is her present reality.

she doesn’t remember anything about how she got to this house; she thinks she must have been concussed before she was brought here. her head has been hurting badly for days, and not even the simple relief of a painkiller is available.

what she does know is that she’s being kept in a dirty living room on an equally dirty mattress, her hands and legs tied by rope and zip-ties. if there were any miniscule chance of her escaping, it would be impossible to go anywhere considering both her ankles are broken, only adding to the amount of physical pain she’s been in for days.

the living room is mostly empty except for the bodies of some other students from the party, which have been scattered around the room. lorelai tries not to look at them—especially not at the ones she knows—but it’s difficult. they become even more terrifying to her when night falls, turning into dark, rotting shadows in the corners of the room. there has been nothing but the company of these corpses for days, and a couple of visits from the killer.

he's never once taken off his wolf mask or his gloves, and every other part of his body stays covered in all black. she doesn’t have the first idea of what he looks like underneath it all. he has spoken to her a few times, but the voice isn’t one she recognizes. his words when she first awoke inside this house still knock around in her mind, filling her with dread.

he’d crouched in front of her, watching her move around on the mattress and try to orient herself. he had the casual air of someone observing a flipped-up bug struggle on the sidewalk before crushing it underfoot. “you aren’t y/n, but you’ll do for now. we’ll have some real fun later on. you’ll help me give her a good scare.”

“how the fuck do you know y/n?” lorelai had struggled against her restraints, but this only made her newly broken ankles hurt worse. tears began to fall from her eyes from the pain and fear.

the killer had said nothing to that—only tilted his head curiously and stared at her, which was unnerving even if she couldn’t see his eyes.

“you have no fucking reason to go after her, she’s not even a virgin anymore you dumb fuck—” with those words, the killer had backhanded her, sending her already injured head into a fresh wave of agony.

“things would’ve been different if not for that fucking party. you students think you’re so fucking clever, yeah? and look how you paid for it.” it was impossible to see any facial expression, but his body language spoke of anger. “no matter, though. virgin or not, i’ll see this through to the end.”

now it’s yet another morning, and he has returned. he has a lot of debris in his hands—stuff like sticks and dry moss and foliage. he’s also carrying a small bag, the contents of it a mystery. everything he does causes alarm for lorelai, but now confusion joins in.

“ready to have some fun?” he asks. with duct tape over her mouth, she can’t answer back. she watches as he arranges the debris on the ground in front of her, her anxiety mounting as he takes a lighter out of his pocket and sets fire to the foliage.

leaning forward, he rips part of the duct tape away from her mouth with his gloved hand, causing her face to sting. “got anything to say?”

“wh-what the fuck are you doing?”

“i’m gonna stoke a nice fire here…get this knife hot enough to hurt.” he brings out his knife then, and lorelai shrinks away from the blade as he drags the flat of it across her throat—but there’s nowhere else to go, as she’s sitting up against the wall. “then i’ll just cut this pretty little body up a bit. the finishing touch…i think i’ll slice your throat open. how does that sound?” he takes the knife away from her neck to hold the blade over the flames.

lorelai’s breath hitches, and her stomach begins to physically hurt from the outpouring of anxiety flowing through her. she starts to sob, trying to speak through the tears and snot and drool. the only question she can muster up is, “wh-why?”

“this is for y/n—remember? i hope that concussion hasn’t fucked with your memory.” the killer watches the reflection of the flames on the blade as it grows hotter. “and…i’m doing someone a favor.” he doesn’t wait for her to speak again before putting the duct tape back in place over her mouth, leaving her to cry to herself and face her rising distress as he heats the knife until it’s burning hot. internally, she wishes there was any way in the world to get out of this situation.

it isn’t much longer before he’s finished. lorelai screams as he approaches her with the knife, and then at the feeling of the red-hot blade scorching her skin, though the sounds are stifled by the duct tape.

“now, be still while i fix you up.”

WEDNESDAY, NOV 8

you go outside that afternoon to check the mail and have an excuse to get out of the house; it doesn’t matter if it’s only for a few moments. you’re not used to staying cooped up in one place for so long with absolutely nothing to do, and you feel like you’re not too far off from going mad with cabin fever. it hasn’t even been a week since everything happened.

you open the mailbox, and there are the usual bills along with something strange: a blank envelope with no return address. even your sister’s address isn’t written on it. flipping it over, you see that the envelope was never sealed. someone must’ve just come up and put it inside the mailbox. but who the hell would do that, and for what reason? whenever any of your neighbors have something to give you or your sister, they come straight up to the house to do it.

inside the envelope is a set of polaroids. their content makes you drop the rest of the mail. your legs grow weak, and you end up sitting down hard on the end of the driveway, some of the polaroids slipping from your hands. the pictures show the bodies of some of the students from your university, their corpses posed in odd positions and some bare of clothing—all dead.

you struggle to breathe as you frantically flip through the rest of the pictures. in the center of all the group photos is lorelai, her neck torn open and her wrists and ankles tied. she’s still dressed the way she was the night of the party, though her dress is stained with dark brown blood. there are open cuts all over her bare skin, their appearance rough-looking and uneven as if they’ve been cauterized.

there are several group polaroids, several of lorelai alone, and several angles of the outside of a house, which must be the same one the bodies are being kept in. one photo of lorelai slips out of your shaking hands, and you see there’s barely legible handwriting on the back of it, which reads, “this is just the teaser, y/n.”

you scream and don’t stop screaming until jungkook comes running out of the house holding the baseball bat, as if the killer might’ve gotten bold enough to attack in daylight. a couple of your neighbors peek out of their houses and make their way over with concern on their faces once they see you sitting on the ground, your exclamations ringing through the street.

there’s a disarrayed group of people around you grabbing at your shoulders and asking what’s wrong, what happened, and then gasps and exclamations of shock when they see the polaroids. you feel yourself being pulled to your feet and then lifted up—maybe it’s jungkook, because it smells like him—but you’re too disoriented to make proper sense of anything right now. you can only think of how much time has been wasted, and how little time lorelai actually had left.

SUNDAY, NOV 12

in the main lobby of the funeral home, you sit in a chair next to camille, staring into empty space while the other girl tries to cry as quietly as she can. she cries as if she’s ashamed of it, and you wish you could comfort her, but you don’t know what to say or do. for the past few days, you’ve mostly just felt numb.

you’re waiting for veronica to come back out so you can leave, as she’d stayed behind after the service to talk to lorelai’s family for a little longer.

lorelai’s family had opted to have her cremated after seeing the state of her body. a lot of other families did the same after the events of cherry bomb, not even wanting to entertain the idea of a closed-casket funeral. you can understand their feelings about it if you push through the haze in your mind to consider it for long enough. though the morticians have done the best they can over the past week, sometimes knowing that your loved one has multiple stab wounds and eviscerated organs beneath all the makeup and fancy clothing is too much to handle.

when veronica finally comes out, the three of you walk outside to join the rest of the people who’ve started getting in their cars. some still linger in small huddles, shaking their heads and wiping their faces.

jungkook, who’d driven you and veronica to the memorial, waits outside for you all, leaning on the side of the building. you both thought it was probably better for him not to attend the service considering lorelai was never fond of him and he didn’t know her that well.

“is it finished?” he asks.

“it is.” veronica sighs. “god, funerals are so damn…bleak.”

you notice a man waving at your group from the other side of the parking lot and realize it’s camille’s dad. her posture straightens when she catches sight of him, and she hurriedly tries to wipe the rest of her tears before shoving her tissue into her pocket. “i-i think my dad is waiting for me. i…i’ll see you guys later, alright?”

“okay, camille.” the strange absence of emotion that you’ve been trapped in for the past few days suddenly cracks open when you notice camille’s anxious demeanor as she speed-walks away from the rest of you. intense sorrow overtakes you; you don’t want her to leave, but she has to go.

you are crying before you fully understand what’s happening. veronica puts her arms around you and squeezes you against the side of her body. jungkook reaches a thumb up to wipe away your tears, though you don’t let him get very far before turning your head away and into veronica’s shoulder.

“y/n…”

“how am i supposed to go on?” you exclaim, catching the attention of a few people nearby. “the police said maybe she’s just staying with friends. and now look. plus, the killer knows where me and my sister live now…maybe he always knew.”

“we don’t even have a clue who the killer is…” jungkook mumbles. “there’s no one you know of who might have a grudge against you?”

“no, jungkook. the police already gave me all that questioning. and it doesn’t help me feel any better to think maybe all these deaths are somehow my fault.” you scoff.

“y/n, nothing’s your fault because some freak decided to go around killing people; that was his decision.” jungkook argues.

you nod slightly to his words but say nothing else, not wanting to go further into that topic. you don’t know if you can believe him about that.

the parking lot is emptying out now, so you try to pull yourself together so the three of you can leave. “well…you don’t need to keep staying with us if you don’t want to. we have those assigned bodyguards now, so…” you glance in the direction of one other car sitting beside jungkook’s—inside it are two men the police force appointed after the polaroids of the bodies were planted in your sister’s mailbox.

jungkook looks at you as if he’s trying to gauge your expression; he himself looks surprised, though he attempts to play it off. veronica glances between you both, recognizing the awkward shift in the air.

“you don’t want me there anymore? i mean it is your house—” he glances at veronica “—so that’s fine with me if—"

“what? i didn’t say i don’t want you there, neither did veronica, it’s just if you don’t want to be there—"

“i never said i didn’t want to be there, though?”

you both become quiet, jungkook looking at you and you returning his gaze for a few seconds before looking off to the side. veronica is still standing between you both like she’d rather be anywhere else on earth.

“i just figured that maybe…” why are you being so concerned about me? isn’t this the part where we go our separate ways? is what you really want to ask. you have seen and learned enough from your friends’ and even your acquaintances’ experiences to realize that any other one night stand would not have cared so much. that’s how these things go, right? but he isn’t really a one night stand anymore, either.

you don’t even know if you’re considered friends with benefits, but what would that change? you’d still seen others tossed aside without much thought by their FWBs while in times of need. considering his history, you don’t understand why jungkook isn’t following the same template now, and you don’t think you should ask why for fear of breaking the illusion.

fed up with your own confusion, you decide now isn’t the time to lament on your lack of knowledge about these things. “nevermind. that’s fine. so you’ll stay?”

the corner of his mouth lifts in a brief smile. “i’ll stay as long as you won’t try to kick me out.”

you aren’t in the mood to attempt to smile back, but he seems to understand that. “right, well...good.”

“…now that you two have figured that shit out, can we leave?”

FRIDAY, NOV 17

jungkook thought that getting outside a bit more would help you feel better and prevent you from developing a complete fear of leaving the house, which is why you’re sitting in this claustrophobic little diner now with him, yoongi, and camille—and of course, your ever-present bodyguards in the booth behind you all. but this outing isn’t doing anything to mitigate your fears.

nearly 10 minutes in, you have to ask jungkook to switch seats with you so you’re not on the outside of the booth, as you’re afraid that it’s too easy-access if anyone—say, the killer, though you’ve been trying not to think so obsessively about him—were to come in and start stabbing you to death right where you sit. being on the inside calms you for a little while until you become anxious about the window beside you; what if he has a gun again and simply shoots through the glass? all he’d have to do is stand on the sidewalk and aim, his werewolf mask laughing at you with its eternally frozen growling expression, and your brains would be all over the table just like that frat guy’s.

your meal sits half-eaten as you get increasingly lost in your anxieties. the others are talking about something, but you can’t hear what. it’s like some of your senses have shut down or begun working incorrectly. the strawberry sauce in camille’s sundae looks too much like blood and even smells like it from the occasional whiffs you get, and you find yourself staring at the sundae dish and wanting to throw it across the restaurant.

jungkook’s hand touches you on the back, and the tension in your body increases. he feels it and draws away, though he keeps trying to meet your eyes. “are you okay?” he whispers.

“why ask that? she obviously isn’t,” yoongi says, like he’s annoyed with the obviousness of jungkook’s question.

“hyung, i’m just trying to help.”

“it was your great idea to come out here when she didn’t want to, though.”

“y/n—” camille starts.

“can’t you throw that out? it smells like blood.” your mouth feels useless and hard to maneuver, but you manage to say those words.

“what?”

“the…that. that thing.” everyone looks at camille’s melting sundae. yoongi raises his eyebrows.

“blood?”

“do you mean it—looks like blood?” jungkook suggests.

you raise your voice in irritation, not understanding how everyone else is unable to perceive the same scent that you do. “no, i-it does, but it smells like blood too! just get rid of it!”

one of the waitresses comes over to the table. “is everything okay over here?”

“um, we’re fine! i’m finished with this though.” camille hurriedly hands the sundae off to her, trying to keep the situation calm.

“oh, well—the rest of you too? that’ll be it, then?” she gathers everyone’s plates and leaves with a smile that attempts to be cordial but is still colored with unease.

her departure leaves a stiff silence in which you all spare glances at each other but try to avoid directly meeting eyes. camille is the first to break it.

“i’ll ask my dad if i can stay over with you,” she suggests. she suddenly sounds much more tired. jungkook’s eyebrows furrow slightly at her words; yoongi silently glances at the younger man. “just, you know…maybe the extra company would help? he’s been treating me like a kid again, but we should be safe with the bodyguards there, so…”

“you don’t have to do that,” you say, though you’re too exhausted to truly argue.

“you’re in shambles, y/n. and it’s not just for your benefit. i’m feeling pretty fucking alone right now, and it’s hard for my dad to understand the emotional side of it, so…” camille plays with her fingers and doesn’t look at anyone as she speaks; you know talking about her father can be a sore spot for her sometimes. “uh, anyway. not to trauma-dump or anything. just let me do this.”

you sigh. “fine…okay. do whatever you have to. can we just leave?”

as you’re all walking outside, jungkook pulls you aside.

“i still worry about you after that incident at the store, you know?” he admits.

you shrug his hand off your arm and glare at him. “you think i’m crazy.”

“i don’t. i just want you to be able to relax and not feel like you’re being hunted 24/7. i don’t think the killer is constantly waiting around the nearest corner for you, y/n.”

“you don’t know how close the killer could be. he knows where i go to sleep at night. so stop the bullshit, jungkook.”

“you’ll be okay. you have me, remember? i protected you that night…i can do it again.”

you examine his face for a long moment and find that you are too overwhelmed with stress and fear to be moved by his words. “i’d like to trust you…but the killer might just murder you too. then who’ll save me?” you don’t wait for his response before walking away to catch up with the other two.

LYING IN WAIT...

it’s strange to see the police bodyguards in veronica’s driveway and backyard everyday. it’s not the same two all day—they switch off so that there are two doing a day shift and two doing a night shift.

the security team at the hospital where your sister works is aware of the situation, so you try not to get too worried about her safety when she’s away from the house—but it’s difficult.

there have been no more kills connected to your university since lorelai. it seems like half the town has forgotten their fears and tried to go back to some sense of normalcy while the other half still hides away and lives in perpetual panic, including you. the former group of people has started muddying the waters for the police, with some teenagers getting brave enough to sneak around in wolf masks and vandalize buildings with red-lettered virgin graffiti just to fuck with the cops. there have even been a few people who turned themselves in claiming to be the killer—only their supposed confessions never matched the details of the case.

reporters have tried to hound lorelai’s family and your family several times for any speculations or answers on the killer’s identity, but none of you are willing to spread misinformation just to give them something to write about. however, that hasn’t stopped other residents of your town from sharing their speculations and even implicating their own relatives or neighbors—whether as a fucked-up joke or as genuine revenge just depends on whoever’s speaking. with all of these false leads, the police are still no closer to finding the killer than they’d initially been.

everyday feels like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, though the chances of any more kills are starting to seem improbable; the university is practically empty. but it doesn’t matter to you if the school is nearly deserted, because the killer has his aims set on you now, and you only wish you knew why.

up in your room, you and camille sit on your bed gazing out the window—the window that must always remain locked now, for fear of unwanted ingress. you’ve never been uncomfortable in your sister’s house, but lately you’ve been feeling like you’re boxed in with every wall pressing towards you.

sitting up from your lying-down position, you have to find the appropriate words for a moment before speaking. “camille—i can’t stop feeling like maybe we aren’t entirely safe,” you murmur.

camille raises her eyebrows. “why not? those guys stay outside all day, and we keep everything locked up day and night. literally, the only time the front door opens is for veronica to leave and come back from work everyday.”

“i don’t know. there’s no particular reason for it…it just seems like we’re waiting for something.”

“…yeah? for the killer to be caught.”

“but he’s made no moves recently. you remember the policeman’s daughter, right? i even texted her and she hasn’t heard anything new that we don’t already know. seems like things have slowed down at the police station. it’s not like that abandoned house was in the killer’s name or anything, so what leads would they have?”

camille frowns and rubs her eyes like something’s in them, but when she looks at you directly, you see her eyes are red from unshed tears. “…i want things to be okay, though. i’m tired of living like this. you know how i had to beg just to get my dad to let me leave the house. he’s constantly on edge.” you feel even more unsettled to see camille so distressed lately, as she’s always been the only one able to pull something funny out of a terrible situation—something enough to distract you from the horrors. “all i know is they’ll have to dig his ass out of some hole in the ground at some point. he can’t hide in this town forever.”

“yeah…i guess you’re right.” you still don’t feel reassured, but you don’t voice your doubts.

WEDNESDAY, NOV 22

“i think i might go mad,” camille says from her position on the armchair, her limbs splayed haphazardly across it and one hand stuck in a bag of chips.

you sigh. “you’re the one who wanted to watch this thanksgiving movie marathon.”

“the most mid holiday of the season,” jungkook adds.

“no one cares what either of you think, thanks.” it isn’t long before the program is over and the ending credits are rolling. with an exaggerated exhale, camille gets up from the chair and crunches the bag of chips in her hand. “i’m going to your room, y/n. you two just do whatever it is you do down here, since you hate my movie choices so much!”

“means we can finally turn the channel.” jungkook snatches the remote off the coffee table and does just that.

camille goes into the kitchen to throw out the chip bag and wash her hands. your focus returns to the TV. a few seconds later, you hear the upstairs flooring creak above the noise of the water pouring from the tap.

“what’s up, sis? i thought you were sleeping.” veronica is known to be a deep sleeper, so it’s not common for her to be getting up in the middle of the night. there’s no answer to your question. you glance upstairs, but your sister isn’t standing there; she isn’t standing at all, instead being carried by someone wearing an all-too familiar mask.

you scream as the killer tosses your sister over the stair railing. her torso has been sliced open from collarbone to navel, her body leaving a large splatter of blood on the floor where she lands. jungkook jumps to his feet but is momentarily immobilized as he gazes at your sister’s body crumpled on the floor. you slide off the couch and crawl over to her, still crying out, but there’s no life left to try and salvage.

the screaming brings camille rushing to the kitchen doorway. she can barely vocalize what’s wrong? before spotting veronica’s body and stopping in her tracks. in a moment that feels like it takes forever to pass, the killer pulls a gun from his waistband—you recognize it as one of the guns the policemen carry and realize he must’ve killed the bodyguard posted in the backyard—and shoots her in the chest twice.

“camille!” when you go over to where she’s lying on the ground, she is still alive but bleeding intensely and struggling to breathe. your knees slip in the blood that begins pooling around her. “shit, camille…p-please don’t die…” you press your hand against the wounds, but they’re bleeding so much that your efforts don’t help, and the pressure of your hand causes her more pain.

there’s the sound of a gunshot at the front door as the lock is blown off, and the door is banged open a few seconds later by the remaining bodyguard. he has virtually no time to fire off another shot before the killer is shooting him in the head first.

the killer throws the gun aside, taking his knife in his other hand and making his way down the stairs. “your sister left her window cracked open. i waited for days for a slip-up like that. see how much harm can come from a simple mistake? well, she was collateral damage anyway.”

even in your panic, it’s as if all your bodily functions freeze when you recognize the familiarity of the killer’s voice. camille reacts with a rattling gasp, but her body is becoming too weak for her to utter anything; all she can do is watch as the man stops at the bottom of the stairs and pulls his mask off.

“yoongi…” your voice breaks as you try to speak again, but nothing coherent comes out.

he drops the mask on the floor and brushes a hand through his hair. “i guess you weren’t expecting that. good. we kept it up ‘til the end.”

your lips form around the word we, but your vocal cords won’t cooperate. you twist around to look at jungkook, who is still standing by the couch.

the man who you’d gotten too close to for your own good and done so many firsts with, who’d promised you that he’d protect you and was even there for you on the day of lorelai’s memorial, looks at you now with eyes glowing from the thrill as his mouth twitches into a smile—small at first but growing into a full grin. “i almost can’t believe we staged all that shit and it actually worked. you really believed it all, y/n.

not all of those kills were hyung’s, of course...there’s no way i’d miss out on the best parts. you don’t know what it’s like until you kill a person for the first time. crashing cherry bomb was his idea, though. and lorelai was mine. that bitch would’ve kept you away from me, and i needed her gone for this kill to work.”

through tears, you finally muster up the strength to ask, “wh-why have you done this? that night…y-you mean to tell me none of that was real? being shot at—why would you—” your voice rises until you’re shouting. “you-you’ve killed so many people. what was the purpose?!”

jungkook’s smile fades somewhat as he pretends to think about it, acting like he’s reminiscing on wistful memories. “i realized that killing and fucking aren’t that different, y/n. the real ecstasy of it is in taking someone pure…and doing something to them that has never been done before, and can never be done again. there’s a certain eroticism in killing someone, stabbing them, entering them…it’s like sex in the most profane sense.”

“you’re disgusting,” you mutter, glaring at him through your tears. you can’t help but feel shame to think of the times you’d had sex with him. had he simply been imagining murdering you during those moments? it makes you want to throw up.

yoongi steps closer until he’s right in front of you and camille. “and as for me…i just enjoy it. practice really does make perfect. you wouldn’t believe how entertaining it can be to see someone beg for their life.” his lips turn upwards in a dark smile resembling jungkook’s. “but instead of raging at us, i think you have bigger matters to be concerned with.” yoongi gestures his knife hand to camille, and when you look down at her body, you realize she’s no longer moving.

you lift camille’s head up with your hands as if that could make her return your gaze, though you can find no sign of breathing or pulse. “god, no…” you scream in frustration, your hands slipping in her blood. you check once more and again for any signs of life, because there is just no possible way this could’ve happened, but there are none present. “please—i’m sorry…”

“time’s up.” yoongi grabs your arm and yanks you away from camille, jostling you to try to get you on your feet. you flail around in his grip, fruitlessly scratching at his arms that are covered by his thick jacket, before managing to elbow him in the groin with your frantic movements. “shit!” this causes him to loosen his grip, which is enough for you to scramble away from him, slipping in the blood as you go.

you make it to the other side of the room where the officer lies facedown—though there isn’t much left of his face from yoongi’s shot. you snatch the gun from the dead officer’s hand and point it in the direction of both men. the safety is already off; all you’d have to do is pull the trigger and kill either one of them right now. before you can act, yoongi uses his free hand to pull another gun from his waistband—his own.

“as i said before, i know how to take care of myself,” he says, flicking the safety off and aiming for you, though his stance shows he’s still in pain. “please don’t assume it’ll be that easy. do you even know how to shoot a gun?”

you and yoongi are at an impasse as you both point your guns at each other, jungkook looking on with casual amusement coloring his face. “fuck you,” you spit out. you remain hesitant to fire on him, knowing that even if you succeed, he could fatally shoot you at the same time.

“let’s not do it this way,” yoongi says, his voice low and soft in an attempt to be persuasive, though you just find it disturbing. “you were supposed to be a clean kill. a few stabs and it’d all be over. i’ll even let jungkook do it, since you seem to like each other so much. do you really want to be shot down like a dog like camille over there?”

“you and him can both fry in hell!” you shout.

yoongi glances over at jungkook. they both nod before yoongi hands the knife to him, and the younger man takes a few steps in your direction. you don’t know whether to point the gun at him or keep it trained on yoongi; your head is pounding with a headache that you’ve only just realized you have. “don’t come over here. stay away from me!”

you press your back to the wall as jungkook comes closer, inching towards your right side with his knife at the ready. you slide away from him as you keep your back against the wall. “hand it over, y/n. it doesn’t have to be like this.”

“hand it over and let you kill me? are you insane? you lied to me this whole time, you fucking piece of shit.”

jungkook scoffs and looks at yoongi as if to say can you believe this? “why wouldn’t i lie to you? you were always meant to die.”

he won’t stop coming towards you, and you’re running out of room to slide away from him. you grasp for anything to try to reason with him, though you know it’s futile. “you realize that if you kill me now and you conveniently survive, everyone will know it’s you? you’ve been living here for weeks, you jackass!”

“hyung and i have that covered. it’s not for you to worry about, considering you won’t be worrying about anything soon.”

jungkook lunges for you with the knife, thinking he can catch you off guard and overpower you. you scream and pull the trigger in your frenzied state of mind, shooting yoongi. the next few things seem to happen almost simultaneously:

you hear the crash of yoongi’s body hitting the TV stand and the TV falling to the floor.

you feel jungkook’s knife piercing your shoulder, causing you to fire a stray round into the wall from the unexpected burst of pain.

you hear another gunshot that’s not from you; you see and feel jungkook stumble into you, the knife sliding from his fingers and to the floor.

you realize that he’s been shot when his hand flies to the bullet wound on his lower back; he’d been standing in front of you, and yoongi meant to hit you, not him.

“jungkook!” yoongi’s shout is furious and regretful as he steadies himself on the TV stand.

trying to push the pain into the back of your mind, you clumsily grasp jungkook’s fallen knife and run for the stairs. more shots follow you and most of them miss but one, which strikes you in the thigh. while you cling to the stair railing and try to regain your footing, you are suddenly staring mortality in the face and understanding with a freezing-cold clarity that you will die right now if you don’t do something.

your nervous system vibrates with fear and adrenaline as you tighten your grip on the police officer’s gun and shoot yoongi with it twice—in the same area he’d shot camille.

these last two bullets finish him off immediately. you don’t think it’s fair, with how camille suffered and bled and died in your arms. for a moment, you’re so outraged that you wish he’d come back to life so that you could kill him again. you’re torn from these thoughts by jungkook.

“you bitch…he was my only family after everyone else threw me away. do you understand? i’ll fucking kill you!” jungkook is nearly writhing in the ground from his upset and from the hurt of his injury; it frightens you that this same man is someone you once thought you could grow fond of.

you aim the gun for jungkook next, but the chamber is empty. either way, he currently has no weapon, which leaves you with a small chance to get away before he re-arms himself. throwing the gun away, you stagger up the rest of the steps while his screams continue echoing up to you.

you give no thought to the blood trail you’re leaving behind as you rush to veronica’s room and to the window yoongi had entered through. you begin squeezing yourself through, keeping your grip on your knife all the while, but your injuries make it difficult to move. a few more tears slip out as you try to balance your injured leg on the tree branch beneath the window, and the desperation of wanting to give up clings to you.

you hear jungkook’s heavy and limping footsteps coming up the stairs, and you attempt to hurry, but you’re only halfway out of the window. when he crashes into the room, it’s unnervingly easy for him to grab your arm and yank your body back through the window, uncaring of how you get scraped up in the process.

he jams you up against the nightstand with one of the kitchen knives to your neck to stop your movements; his harsh maneuver causes the objects on the nightstand to rattle. the nightstand’s edge digs into the backs of your thighs, the pressure causing your wounded thigh to hurt more.

“you want to know why i picked you?” jungkook hisses, the knife’s blade stinging your throat as it begins to break skin. “you were just another choice out of many, but i decided you’d be the first one that i’d fuck and kill.”

it’s painful to hear, but it angers you at the same time. “fuck you!” in your rage, you spit in his eyes. jungkook jerks back and the knife shifts from its previous position at your neck; you take those few seconds to grasp the alarm clock off the nightstand and crash it against his head.

“shit—!” he cries out, stumbling and grasping the side of his head. he tries to grab for you again, but you jump onto the bed and crawl away from him, your stomach lurching at all of veronica’s blood soaked into the sheets. you spot a small decorative glass bowl on the dresser—the one filled with little candies that you’d always teased veronica for, saying she was so much like a grandma handing out treats to her grandchildren. when your feet touch the ground again, you clasp your hand around it like it’s a lifeline and fling it at jungkook’s head as hard as you can, just as he makes it around the bed to your side. the shards cut his face when it breaks, slowing him down further as he grabs his slashed and bleeding face. one of his eyes is blinded from the blood and glass.

this will probably be your only chance while he’s struggling to gather himself. you rush towards him with the knife handle tight in both of your hands and drive the blade into the middle of his chest, putting all your strength into that movement—just as his own knife impales your abdomen.

you are both simultaneously struck from the shock of being stabbed, and it takes you a few long moments to piece your mind back together as the pain radiates throughout your body. jungkook groans when you shift the knife around in his wound as you pull it out, letting his blood flow out freely. his breaths become wet and rattling as he chokes on his own blood, the red fluid staining his mouth and dripping down to his neck. he jams his knife further into your wound in retaliation so that the handle is flush against your body, causing your head to spin.

“i-if i die, i’m taking you w-with me.” jungkook gasps with his remaining effort. his body starts to sag from its standing position as he weakens, his hand slipping from the knife handle. he loosely grasps the comforter with one hand as he collapses to his knees, his torso becoming soaked with blood and his head bleeding from your earlier hits.

you drop your knife and lean against the bed too, shifting your body to find a position that could lessen the pain, but it’s impossible with a knife lodged in your abdomen. you know enough to understand that you’ll bleed out faster if you remove it, though, so you resist the urge. “you can rot in hell alone, jungkook.” you watch him struggle for what feels like minutes before his breaths stop altogether and his body slumps to the floor. he is just a blur of clothes and blood through your tears. you’ve never felt so lonely in your life.

you have a thought to call 911, but you’re becoming more and more lightheaded from the blood loss, and you can already hear sirens approaching on your street. you figure one of your neighbors must’ve called after hearing the gunshots; perhaps the bodyguard sent for backup before he was shot. your rescue has come much later than you would’ve preferred—or maybe everything just happened much faster than it seemed. you can’t tell anymore.

you can’t tell anymore, and you no longer want to look at the carnage around you, and nothing makes any sense. so, you close your eyes to it all; and when you feel someone lifting you in their arms—this sensation is so familiar—and maneuvering you onto a stretcher, you allow yourself to relent to it and empty your mind of everything.

@ihatemen55 @cottoncandyclouds-stuff @yunhofingers @heybabesposts @twilight-loveer @whipwhoops @mrsminho @junecat18 @hoshi-is-ult-bbg @okayiamkassandra @witchbitxhxx @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @thaiika @goldentea10 @iloverubberduckiez-blog @katie-tibo @ohsweetmimosa @dream-cvtcher @hoseokteardrop @lpgirl2324 @vanillacupcakefrosting @gukiemochi @jkslaugh97 @ahgasegotarmy116 @jeonjklibs @bangtans-momma @screamertannie @kenzietaetae @han-nah-banana @00frenchfries00 @taiwan0618 @laurynne5 @monvante @ynisthatyou @thiccthighs19 @jeonwiixard

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

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kaybreezy3000 · 3 months

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The Anti Hero's Pitfall of Arrogance

Five Hargreeves / Female OC

What happens when you disarm an exceptionally arrogant person, one that is a self-absorbed, teleporting, teenaged superhero? The answer is not great things.

Get ready for Five like you've never seen him before... (Chapter One and Two Post)

- This AU starts off when the Hargreeves are 16 and but is based off the show. It's going to give you a look inside Five's mind at that time of his life and not all of it is good, but I promise it's not all bad. I always make sure to give our boy his day to shine.

Warnings and Tags: sexually explicit content, flashbacks, teen bad behavior, survival horror, bad decisions, regret, POV Five, aggression issues, suffering, humor and angst and fluff, redemption, sweet Five and mean Five in same story, Dolores is a factor, hurt Number Five, Five makes fun and dirty check lists in this one, Young Five is really something, Starts as him in his teens then the rest he is 21, Plot twists and many tags left off to avoid spoiling the story, shocker ending

-this first post will be 2 chapters, the story is 44,600 words, 7 chapters total, posts will be every 5-6 days till done.

-this has sexually explicit parts but also a real story. If you want to avoid explicit material, click my AO3 link at the end of this post and read the version on there instead.

Chapter One: Fateful Days

I was always anxious after our missions, but not because of what we had just done. It was because I knew that we’d be thrown in front of the cameras, expected to perform another kind of show for the public. As we sat in our line of chairs waiting for reporters to call on us, instead of making my nerves easily seen, I carefully controlled my facial expressions and tried to hide my bouncing knees by discreetly pressing them down under my sweaty palms.

My answers to their questions always came out smoothly, not even the slightest waver in my voice. Years of practice learning to hide any sign of fear paid off in those moments. I was a perfectionist in all things, but in gaining fans, I failed because I know that I came off as the most arrogant and aloof of any of my siblings, but it was better than looking weak.

Number Five Hargreeves was not the most likable of the superpowered members of the infamous Umbrella Academy, but I pretended not to care about that and so many other things.

Our life at the academy was extremely private and exceptionally challenging, but it was while placed in the spotlight that I struggled the most. Those were the times I found it hardest to hide how young and inexperienced I really was when it came to anything that really mattered in the real world.

My indifference towards everyone was part of a façade, but also not. My behavior at home wasn’t much different than my public persona. I always knew the answers; I was always better than everyone at everything. This kind of thing, the missions, being the heroes, it was what we were made for; or that’s at least what dad always said. And I was damn sure going to be the best at it, and everyone was going to see that, including my family.

Not all of us had so much pride when it came to our powers or public appearance. Some of my siblings felt the exact opposite about all this, but me being me, I didn’t see anyone else’s suffering as relevant when it came to my flawed view of the big scheme of things.

I should have.

Constantly edging out my family because of my dickhead aspiration to best them was just as prevalent when we were all sixteen as it was when we were very young. Only then, I no longer would bat an eye over their private tears and their personal sorrows. Before that, sometimes I would make myself available to them. I would every so often try to comfort Klaus by reading to him to drown out the ghosts as he tried to fall asleep, or I would sit with Vanya just so she didn’t feel so alone. Ben and I often shared the same interests academically and he was the only one I considered anywhere near my equal in all things intellectual. But by the time we hit our teens, even he and I rarely spoke unless necessary.

At only thirteen years old, the cutthroat mantra we were brought up on was backfiring. Instead of being the team dad wanted, we were pulling away from each other.

As my own way of dealing with all the mental manipulations and general bullshit of our home life, the older I got, the colder and more closed off I became. I wasn’t the only one doing this. We all lacked when it came to handling anything emotional, but I was the biggest offender.

That was probably why, that fateful day, I wouldn’t let anyone else snag the fan letter that was tossed out over the loud line of spectators. I had to win.

It happened while we were doing our final photo shots for the press on the stairs of the courthouse. With my eyes gazing out at our admirers through my mask, I saw the girl that threw it, and next to me, I knew Luther and Diego did too. The girl was the type that caught everyone’s eye.

Even someone as self-absorbed as me could see that she was very attractive.

Based on what I could tell, she was the same age or near it. Based on her clothing, I quickly determined that she attended one of the city's prestigious private schools that was focused on the arts. It was one that was specifically for those that were musicians or dancers and destined to make their careers in that area. The dark blazer and matching pleated skirt weren’t that much different to ours, but the crest near her lapel showed that she wasn’t just an obsessed fan trying to dress like us, though the crowd was full of those too.

She was different. She was special; we all knew it. Her long strawberry blonde hair was slung over her shoulder in a tight braid, and when her big blue eyes met mine, she smiled in the most curious way.

My self-assured smirk faltered in an instant.

Being I was neither tall or strong, or funny or even charmingly ridiculous like Klaus, none of the fangirls or guys usually paid me any attention. Her looking at me in a flirtatious sort of way was entirely new territory for me and I didn’t know how to react to it.

The small white envelope with red lip prints pressed along its seal perfectly matched the girl’s lips that threw it. My plan to piss off my brothers in any way possible was still in place when it landed at my impeccably polished dress shoes. I stomped on it, then bent over and snatched it up before either could pry it out from under my foot.

If I remember correctly, Luther said nothing, but he did roll his eyes at me before he went back to waving at everyone like he was a princess on a float at Disney World-not that I had ever seen one of those, but I had seen pictures.

Diego elbowed me in the ribs as discreetly as possible, then angrily complained, “Stop trying to steal the show. You did enough of that in there with your cocky little stapler stunt and all your flashy-flashy teleporting crap. You are such an asshole, Five. That was meant for me!”

I would have nailed him back, but my death glare would have to do, because dad was watching our immature exchange, a scowl making his usual displeased face even more unpleasant.

It was not that I craved the attention of our female fans the same way that they did. No, that wasn’t it. For me, it was all about the satisfaction to beat them at anything and everything. What I did inside the bank to one of the would-be robbers was merely me doing my job. Fuck Diego and his stupid knifes. If he doesn’t like that I’m better at taking people out with nothing but office supplies than that’s his problem not mine.

I clenched the letter, determinedly keeping it from their greedy hands because I knew all too well that my brothers weren't much better than a pack of wild dogs fighting over a bone when it came to attention and if I let my guard down, the letter would be gone. Pivoting to my left to block Diego's next attempt at getting the letter, I also did my best to search for the girl who threw it, but to my disappointment, she was gone.

Looking back on it now, as I stare down at my feet trudging along with the worn heels of my boots scraping across the broken and burning hot pavement, I wish for nothing more than the chance to go back to that day, or even to the next day, so I could do just about everything differently. I wish that I would have not shut my family out in thinking I was doing something good for myself.

I wish I hadn't done what I did to that girl.

I wish I had the guts to walk away from all of that like she said I should do.

I walked away alright, just not the way she meant.

Now, all I want is to get back to fix this.

Now, my whole focus is surviving long enough to find a way home, which also reminds me that I wish I hadn’t stepped on that shard of glass that sliced through the side of my boot, causing a deep gash in my right foot.

The dried blood from three days ago is crusted to the torn leather, and the color of it reminds me of her lips and that deep crimson red on that letter.

I can almost feel them. They were the first and last real lips I ever...

Anyway ... Now is not the time to dwell on all that. I will always wonder who she really was and why she did what she did. But, right now, it’s looking like I’ll never know the answers to those questions.

Right now, things aren’t looking too hot.

Actually, they are, that’s the problem.

It’s very fucking hot.

The unforgiving sun is burning my back through my clothes, but I can’t take them off because they are the only thing protecting my skin from the sun’s scorching rays. Wandering in the heat of mid-day this time of year is not the best idea, but when we woke this morning, we had to go. If we hadn’t, we would have been sitting ducks, waiting the entire day out in the open, frying on the pavement, and that wasn’t smart either.

My breaths are becoming shallower despite my physical struggle to keep pulling Dolores and our meager belongings behind me in my cart. The strap around my waist that’s attached to the wagon is digging into the protruding bones at my hips. I can feel my skin rubbing clean off me because it’s already chafed from days of endless walking. I keep tripping more and more over the last hour or so, and I’m finding that my eyes keep closing for minutes at a time.

I stopped sweating a long time ago.

I am out of water.

I am not stupid. I know this isn’t good, and neither is the fact that I can’t feel my right foot anymore, but I refuse to stop to rewrap it or to stop and eat the contents of one of my unlabeled, beaten and bent canned goods. I rationed what we have with us, and I can’t eat for another ten hours.

Being dehydrated is nothing new and even turning back now, it’s still two days’ time to the last place that may or may not still have drinkable water.

As for my foot…

I will be okay. It will heal.

I will find water. That’s the biggest problem at the moment. I just wasn’t planning on this oppressive heat or that there would be no rain in the last two weeks. As I lay with Dolores last night, staring up at the stars, we could hear thunder to the west, coming from the direction we’ve been heading, but again the rain never came to us. Everything is drying up. The earth is cracking, and the roads are buckling in the heat wave that’s making it feel like we are in a furnace even at night.

For the last two days there has been nothing but windswept open areas. We haven’t found shelter because there’s nothing other than collapsed structures that at one time had been someone’s home, but now are nothing more than scattered rubble.

It’s like something blew everything around here clear off their foundations. There have been no abandoned cars along the crumbling road.

Seeing the very decomposed or skeletal remains of the passengers as I trudge by them would be a welcome site at this point.

As far as I can see, there’s nothing but minimal indications of long ago burnt vegetation. That may mean this had been cleared farmland. This being a rural area could explain why there is nothing out here, but it could also mean that I am nearing something horrible.

I am leaning on something horrible because this looks like another planet. One that looks like it never had the ability to maintain life.

I clearly went the wrong way. I like to pretend I’m smart, but that’s just one of my many issues. I lie to myself all the time and I always have.

Smart people don’t propel themselves blindly, teleporting forward twelve years in time to escape a life that can never be escaped, only to go so far that they end up at the end of the world, too pathetically weak to function and with no fucking clue how to get themselves back.

Yup. Stupid.

Maybe I am getting better with this whole lying to myself thing if I am openly admitting that.

“What do you think, Dolores, am I getting better owning up to my vast supply of shortcomings?” My voice comes out hardly a whisper on my cracked lips. I don’t even turn to look at her. I don’t have the energy.

‘I think we are in trouble. We need to turn around before it’s too late.’

Dolores ignores my ill-timed attempt at humor. She sounds scared, and she is right about turning around.

She never lies.

This was not where I meant to end up in a world where I’m the last living creature among the other few scurrying insects, and not to wherever the hell I am at, which is maybe still somewhere in bumfuck Pennsylvania.

Arrogance as my perpetual guide, and despite her warning, I keep on walking, dragging her along.

Depending on how you look at our codependent situation, she has to follow me. I like to pretend it’s willingly, but even as convoluted as I can make things in my brain, even I know the truth about that , but like usual, I am good at ignoring the truth. No wonder Dolores didn’t find that funny.

No wonder she is scared.

Since day one, Dolores has been unwavering in her vow to stay by my side, and to be whatever I need her to be. But now, as her partner and her only friend, and because we share much more than a platonic love at this point, it’s not fair of me to cause her so much distress. As I slowly pull her along, I can feel her worried eyes looking at my back and I hate that in doing this to myself, I’m doing it to her too.

“I’ll go just a little further, up over this next high ridge.” My torn fingers slipping out from under my waist strap, I point to what I mean, which isn’t more than another quarter mile.

My arm flops at my side after only having lifted it for the briefest moment. I don’t even bother to push down on the handles again or to slip it back under the strap before lurching along again.

“If I don’t see anything promising at that point, then I’ll turn back,” I reassure as my eyes scan the horizon ahead and the heat ripples off the ground cause the image in front of me to blur.

I know I took a wrong turn somewhere days ago, but that’s just it, in the apocalypse, every turn is wrong. It’s only by luck that I ever find anything helpful, like food, or any other supplies that might keep me alive. Even looking in obvious places, like in ruins of what was once a grocery store, or a pharmacy, can turn up next to nothing. It all depends on how damaged the area is. As we are finding, since we left the city and moved away from the devastated coastline, destruction seems to be everywhere, but this area is the worst I have ever seen.

It figures that when I finally venture out beyond the usual 100-mile radius I’ve been scavenging for the last five years that I’d go in the one direction that led me to this.

Road signs are sometimes still there, sometimes not, and even with maps for navigating it is hard, and that’s because almost nothing looks the same. 'Welcome to this town' signs are a huge help, but they are also a cruel reminder of the amount of life lost in each empty civilization I come across. Many signs are simply gone like everything else.

One big empty world, and to make things worse, now I think I’m lost in the wasteland.

I am in the middle of nowhere of Nowheresville and I don’t know what else to do besides keep walking.

I’ll certainly die if I stop.

“I know you’re scared, sweetheart. I will be okay; I promise I won’t leave you.” This time, my attempt to make Dolores feel better about my deteriorating condition is only in my head, and this time my reply isn’t just to her.

My mind is only half here on this desolate stretch of nothing. At least I’m aware of it, so that must mean I’m not fully hallucinating, which is great news. I do that frequently, and it’s for various reasons, like accidental high level food poisoning, fevers, being offensively drunk, general craziness, you name it.

When I say that I’m not leaving them, I mean my siblings too.

I never stop seeing the faces of the people I love but regarded with so much indifference.

Their blank and bloodied expressions, some crushed almost beyond recognition, some charred almost black, they all stare up at me from the remains of our burning home as I scramble to dig them free.

I never stop trying to tell them that I’m sorry, but they never reply.

They can’t because they are all dead and so is everyone else.

I’ll admit, I am not just dehydrated. I have an infection from that damn gash. The antibiotic I’m taking must not be good anymore.

The worms spill out of Allison’s broken skull as I pull her along to bury her with the rest of my family, but even that doesn’t make sense. They weren’t rotting when I found them. The rot came later.

Somehow even though it’s been years since this smell filled the air, I am hit with surges of smokey burning flesh, the scent coating my tongue, making my stomach instantaneously roar with sickening nausea but also ravenous hunger.

Nearly falling this time, I trip causing my injured foot to twist in an unnatural way. As I try to swallow my body’s attempts at forcing a dry heave, it’s with no saliva to help it along and the desert in my throat nearly chokes me. I cough on the upthrust of bile, the pitiful sounds of my gags are as weak as I feel.

I painfully stumble over my own feet, but manage to stay upright, swaying as I force my eyes off the quivering ground. I try focusing them instead on an area of broken road a few feet in front of me. One foot in front of the other, I keep moving, eyes ahead this time so I don’t fall over another large crack in the road.

My mind screams at me. ‘They aren’t here. You buried them years ago! Focus or you are never going to make it. You have to make it back; that’s all that matters.’

Dizzy, and confused, I try to remember again why Dolores and I are here. My plan was to search outside the city for anything to make our life easier. Something like a more forgiving weather pattern for example. Surviving the first several years in a suffocating nuclear winter and then the actual winters after that with only a handmade shelter and a sea of broken concrete around me has been working, but there must be places that were left in better, more livable conditions.

I can’t get physically strong enough to get back if I am starving all the time. I can’t get back if I freeze in the next few months when winter hits us again. I can run my numbers and figures, calculating the ways I can get back to them from anywhere. Being a few blocks from my childhood home, so close to the red waters of the toxic ocean while living in the ruins of the city library isn’t getting me any closer to them.

Dolores and I have been walking for forty-six days, seven hours, and thirty-six minutes, and my plan had been going fairly well until a week ago. Getting us away from the densely populated coast proved an okay move until I found myself in a very rural area, lost, and in the middle of a major weather change that I had no way of predicting.

After hardly surviving our last brutal winter, I thought there was nothing worse than the bitter cold, but right now, with my body literally cooking and no way to get out of the heat, I am finding that it may have been a major miscalculation to come so far into the unknown.

The valuable liquid remaining in my body is abandoning me in sheets of sweat again and that is just another not good sign.

Neither is the unexpected view of what appears to be a gigantic hole in the Earth. It covers the landscape as far and wide as my eyes can see. As I slowly make my way towards it, the road ends. There’s no more blacktop. It’s just dirt.

I can just make out the edge of the crater. The bottom of the abyss is empty as the rest of my world.

Just one massive hell.

“Dol-or-es… I messed-up ag-ah-in. Um-so- I shoo-d ha..ve listen-”

Just before the ground slants at an impossible angle, an angle that looks like it’s coming way too close to my face, that’s the thought that I can’t articulate that takes me away into the darkness.

I should have listened to her, only I don’t mean Dolores.

Chapter Two: Rain

After that weird exchange with that girl on the street, an unfamiliar excitement filled me. I wanted to read the note, but I couldn’t because we were still supposed to be smiling for the cameras. Then after our final group picture for the press, we were loaded into our waiting cars.

Klaus flopped himself down on the back seat next to me, causing me to have to move in the middle, which I knew was coming.

Not a second later, Diego took the remaining space to my right, glaring at me resentfully. “I mean it, man. That hot chick wasn’t trying to throw that letter to you. Just give it over. Why do you even want it? It’s not like you like girls or anyone else for that matter.”

I stared straight forward, my lips smugly pulled to the side. “I think that girl most certainly intended for me to get her little love letter and just like always, you are jealous of me.”

“Fivey you like girls, don’t you?” The way Klaus asked it and looked at me, it’s like he really thought that’s what this was about.

It wasn't.

Diego snorted out an obnoxious laugh as he pushed his knees into the back of Luther’s seat in front of him, while also taking up even more of my room in the middle.

“Five, doesn’t feel anything for anyone and if he did happen to swing the direction of the ladies, he wouldn’t have a clue what to do with one, especially not a total fox like that. Did you see those legs in that outfit, dude?”

Luther piped in his two cents worth next. “I did.” He turned back with his big muscular arm on the console so he could face us. “And Five, yeah, really? Diego’s surprisingly right for a change. What’s the deal with that letter? You could care less about our fangirls or guys, not that I’m saying it matters if you like guys or girls or whatever,” he blabbered.

Klaus laughed, interrupting Luther’s attempt to belittle me or support me or whatever that was supposed to be. “Oh...buddy, I saw them too, and though I don’t usually get a boner over the more delicate of the stems dancing around in this garden of life, I’ll admit, that girl was something, and I’d make an exception to stick it in her any day.”

At this point, I noticed our hired driver looking back at me through the rearview mirror with a look of disgust in his eyes. I supposed that this was not what he was expecting from the world's infamous superheroes. Turns out, the joke was on him and everyone else because we were way more immature and even more emotionally stunted than your average teens.

“Dude, stop kidding yourself. You’d fuck anything with legs.”

“True,” Klaus agreed to which Luther mumbled something apologetically to the driver.

Fuck me, I wished I was in the other car even though that meant I’d be with dad. My jaw twitched as I tried to ignore all the idiocy. The car pulled out, and rather than acknowledge the two morons or answer Klaus’s question, I looked out, hoping to see the girl again.

My hand wrapped tighter around the letter in my pocket, my smile returning as I thought about how she looked at me, and how mad they all were about it.

After sitting for a debriefing with The Monocle, one that was filled with ridicule even though we completed the bank mission successfully, we all sat for our usual mostly silent dinner, and then finally after hours of waiting to be alone, we were released and allowed to go to our rooms for the night.

I didn’t hesitate. In a flash, I was in my bedroom located in the third-floor attic space. Rushing out of my portal, moving a few steps to my desk, I pulled the chain on my lamp, filling the small room with warm yellow light.

My shaky fingers carefully worked open the letter as I sat down in front of my piles of notes and books. The kiss imprint was placed over the seal, but I did my best not to ruin it.

For as little as I thought or cared about girls, right then, you’d hardly believe it. I felt so unlike myself. My heart was racing as I unfolded the piece of paper inside.

Reading the first line, my heart felt like it stopped altogether.

Holy shit. She did write it for me. I was just being a jerk about all that, but…

What in the…

What is that supposed to mean?

My mind raced with the implications of the words, ‘I promise I will make it worth your while.’

I flipped the envelope, looking down at the red kiss she left me.

Did she like me? Like, like, like me?

I felt stupid even thinking about that question, but I couldn’t help it. It was like I was pissing brain cells and turning into Diego.

Our fans were known to pick favorites and collect our little plastic figurines and buy our posters, but I never thought I was one of those coveted idols, or that I was anything like my brothers when it came to irrelevant things like girls and who they ‘liked.’

The idea of this girl having pictures of me in her dorm room made my face feel hot.

She couldn’t get me out of her head…

Meticulously showering every part of my body and fighting for room in our shared sink area to finish my nightly routine didn’t help calm me down. Lying in bed trying to forget the letter and the girl was getting me nothing but more antsy.

It’s not like I never thought about girls. Diego was wrong about that. I was a teenager with rampant hormones running through me that caused intense feelings that occasionally couldn't be denied. When that was the case, I quickly took care of matters and moved on, nothing more.

I knew it was normal bodily function for someone my age to be stimulated with the simplest of things and end up with a hard on, or to experience the wonders of morning wood or mid-night wood accompanied by arousing dreams that seemingly come out of nowhere. I wasn't embarrassed by my need to pleasure myself. Like everything else, I approached it practically and efficiently, taking things into my own hands (or literally into my own hand as it were), and then after letting go of some of my millions of thoughts and a little bodily fluid I didn’t need, I was free of all that again.

Not everyone in this household was as discreet about their masturbation sessions. I had walked in on Klaus too many times to count while he was in the showers going at it. He may be a lot of things, completely uninhibited being one of them, but at least he cared enough to know that I was attracted to women not men. The shower thing with him and I and my blasé reaction to him jerking himself in there very frequently while I was in there too was probably part of that, but clearly my other siblings weren’t sure which way I ‘swung’ as they put it.

I couldn’t really blame them for their jokes. I never joined Klaus when he snuck out to meet our groupies for whatever they did together, but I had heard him and Diego going on and on about their various supposed exploits that they each have made when it came to those types of things that were intimate in nature. As much as I hated to admit it, if I had tried to talk to them about it, I am not sure what I would have said. They were right, I didn’t know anything about girls other than the basics that we learned in anatomy and physiology. And I was not intimate about anything unless you counted getting smacked in the face or getting choked out as intimate.

I hated not knowing things.

Fuck Diego and his teasing, and screw Luther and his perfect ‘I’m better looking than you’ thing he was born with. The more I lay there, the more I felt like I had to go meet the girl. I was curious what it was all about, but to be fully honest, I wanted to go because I thought that I knew what this was about and simply meeting me wasn't all she wanted.

This was my first chance to be around a girl alone that wasn’t one of my sisters. Who knew what could happen. Maybe something good?

At eleven fifty-five. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had looked at my window about a million times thinking about those red lips and that picture perfect smile. Just the letter afforded me major bragging rights but meeting her and the rest of it that could happen, yeah.

I had to go or I'd drive myself crazy wondering what I'd missed.

Springing from my bed, inelegantly tripping over my own feet while on my way to my wardrobe, I tore off my cotton sleep pants and t-shirt.

Flinging the doors open revealed what I knew all too well. I had nothing other than academy uniforms to call my own. With a cursed fuck it, I mechanically dressed as I always do, my practiced hands neatly pushing up the knot on my tie before pulling my vest down over the top of my stupid shorts. Knee socks and shined black shoes on, I was the picture of… Well… Myself, I guess.

Looking in the mirror, I threaded my fingers through my hair making sure it was lying flipped to the side like I preferred.

Glancing at my clock showed that I had exactly four minutes.

Blinking myself down to the street was nothing. If I really wanted to, I could blink blocks away or even further, but to do that, first I would need to know the coordinates of where I’m trying to land, or I would at least need to be able to see it or have been there before. I had never been to the corner of 25th and Park, but I knew approximately where it was, and if I wanted to get there in time, teleporting was the only way.

That was not super brilliant if I was shooting for blending in since I was dressed in my well-known Umbrella Academy uniform and I was going to have to use my power, but I had no other option. That blunder alone proved how little I was ready for the real world and how different I was to normal people.

By that late hour, the streets were thankfully mostly free of pedestrians near the Academy, but I knew that wouldn’t be the case closer to downtown.

Making sure to land out of sight, I blinked a block at a time, heading towards my destination. Each spatial jump left me feeling energized, with not even a hint of fatigue. Dad would be proud of me for that if not for the fact that I'd just snuck out of his house.

It took me nine blinks to get there, but even then, I wasn’t unsteady when my feet hit the pavement of the alley a block down from where the girl was supposed to be waiting for me.

It’s then that I noticed a storm was coming. The faint flashes of light followed by the sound of rumbling thunder were letting me know that our little rendezvous couldn't be outside unless it was very short.

Again, the reality of her waiting for me hit home. All of a sudden, I was not so sure of myself. I had no idea who she was or what this was really about. Even if this resulted in me finally having some experience with the opposite sex, this wasn't a good enough reason to do this. It’s not like I’d brag to my dumbass brothers about it if something did happen with the girl. I also could just lie and pretend I met up with her. I was no storyteller but I was sure I could come up with something that would make my brothers just a little less full of themselves when it came to me and my lack of knowledge as it pertained to girls.

What I was doing was so stupid and I knew it, but I couldn't help myself.

Glancing down the street, I didn't see her, but I did see other people. This area wasn't nearly as upscale as the block and surrounding properties of the upper east side where I lived. Here, there were cheap bars and clubs on each block, and the homeless were front and center nearly everywhere you looked.

Why would she ask me to meet her here?

As a man with a grizzly beard and a cart pushed past me from down the alley, he asked me for some change. I told him I didn't have any money, which was sadly true.

As he cussed me out and moved on, I found that I was really starting to regret my hasty decision to come, but that's when I saw her. I didn’t know how I missed her at first. It might have been because she was sitting on the sidewalk with her back against the darkened window of the corner store.

With a black baseball cap pulled down low as she played the guitar sitting in her lap, I just thought she was one of the many street people sitting out panhandling.

Ignoring the next guy asking me for change and the strange looks of a couple that staggered past me, I stepped out of the shadowed side street to get a better look at the red haired girl.

Sure enough, it was her. I could see that long braid, same as before, slung over her shoulder. She was dressed totally differently, not that I expected her to be wearing that short schoolgirl skirt, but I also didn’t imagine faded cargo pants, combat boots, and the baggy sweatshirt.

I could just make out the sound of strings being strum and the faintest sound of a female voice as I watched her.

Curiously, I felt drawn to her despite my new reservations. That was until a man stopped and dropped a few bills into the guitar case at her feet. She looked up, her smile of thanks as bright and warm as the one she'd given me earlier that day.

I stopped advancing, and my jaw dropped.

Tucked in tightly at her side was a duffle bag. The same kind that all the people out there seemed to have on them.

It dawned on me that she was homeless.

Why else would she be out here that time of night playing for money? I had so many questions, only one being, why wouldn’t her parents care where she was?

I couldn’t take my eyes off her as I back pedaled. Due to my inattention, my back ran right into a guy that looked like he could stomp me into the ground if he wasn’t so drunk, or if I couldn’t just as easily drop him in less than a second flat thanks to Reginald and his constant training.

I was in a daze as he shoved me aside and yelled, "Get the fuck out of the way kid!”

As I staggered, I heard her soft voice.

“Five?”

My neck snapped back her way.

Oh shit.

Righting myself, I stopped mid step in my retreat, but even as she stared at me, like a coward, I blinked away.

This time when I landed, it was with much less grace. I fell out of my portal, back on my ass, catching myself before my head slammed into the air conditioning unit behind me. Panting from shock and the jump to the rooftop across the street, I edged myself to the ledge of the building to look down at her.

She was standing there with her guitar in hand, motionless as she looked at the spot I had been standing in.

She raised a hand, rubbing her cheek as she frowned.

I felt like a first-class piece of shit.

I didn’t even talk to her but I thought I was more than willing to do other things with her that did not involve talking. Who does that? What was wrong with me?

I felt disgusted but I quickly swallowed it down.

Even sitting there knowing what I just did looked bad for so many reasons, I remained frozen as I watched her slowly turn around and begin to pack up her things. She crouched, taking the bills and change out of the case, stuffing her loot in the front pocket of her hoodie. Then, snapping closed the hard leather case, she didn’t so much as look back in the direction I had been before she took off down the street.

The first of the raindrops were beginning to hit the ground, pelting my hair and my shoulders. Instinctually, I pulled my academy jacket tighter around my middle even though it wasn't that cold.

The area we were in was nowhere near that private school whose uniform she was wearing, and she wasn't heading in the direction of where there was any housing that I was aware of.

I followed her.

I needed to know if I was right. A part of me, one that I didn’t want to admit was there but very much drove me in everything, needed to prove that she was not someone I should be associating with. I knew that sounded bad, but it was the truth I had been raised to believe. People like me didn’t talk with people like her.

Making sure to stay back so she couldn't see me, I went after her. She led me a few blocks away to an even more dilapidated and industrial looking area of the city that was not far from the docks. That was where I saw her enter what looked like an abandoned building. I knew it was not in use because it was boarded up. The only reason the girl got inside was because she knew that one of the boards was only being held on by one nail so she could swing it aside and disappear in the darkness.

I was right.

Why I didn’t stop there, I still don’t know.

Waiting just a few minutes to make sure she didn’t come back out, I entered the building the same way she did. It was nearly pitch black inside at first. My eyes had not adjusted to the dark because the boards were blocking most of the streetlights from shining inside the entire ground floor. When I could see, all around me was garbage and what looked like old moldy couch cushions and things that people must have used at one time or another while they squatted in there. But other than the obvious drug paraphernalia that showed at one time others had been using the place, the floor was quiet, and the girl was nowhere to be seen.

I knew she came in, and I didn’t see her come out, so I kept on looking. It wasn’t until I reached the top floor, by way of taking the stairs and blinking myself along when things didn’t look safe, that I heard her and the sound of water trickling as it made its way in through hidden parts of the building. Even with that and the sound of the hard rain falling on the roof, I could tell that she was singing again.

She had a very nice voice.

This floor of the building was like the others, only it wasn’t as dirty and it looked like no one ever ventured this far inside. From what I'd seen, the building should be and probably was condemned, and nobody should be there, but yet she was.

Unable to drop it even though I knew I was right; curiosity drove me closer to the sound of her voice softly echoing through the large mostly open floor.

The closer I got to her, the more I could hear the rain. It sounded like it was pouring down, splashing against something.

As I crept closer, my shoes ever so quiet on the gritty floor, I saw what appeared to be a small office enclosure off to the side of what was probably at one time a busy workspace full of factory workers.

Peering inside the glass windows, I could see her bag and her guitar case, but she was not there. I moved around the barrier into what appeared to be her makeshift home. I noticed mats laid out on the floor, made up like a bed and the blankets wrapped in plastic to keep them semi-clean. There were personal items, dozens of candles, and small stacks of books, the titles I couldn’t make out in the darkness.

It was bizarre, all of it was but her voice felt like it drew me to her. The beauty of the vaguely familiar French lyrics, ones of love, happiness and the beauty of life, rather than sadness and being utterly alone in a dirty warehouse in the murky darkness, were creating a strange sort of paradox of contradictions.

♫ Quand il me prend dans ses bras (Hold me close and hold me fast)

Qu'il me parle tout bas (The magic spell you cast)

Je vois la vie en rose (To see life in pink...) ♫

I knew that I could escape again in less than a second, and I knew that she was just around the other wall of windows. I could see her now, but it was clear that she couldn’t see me.

Her body was outlined by the ever-present city lights coming in from outside.

It looked like she was…

I couldn’t tell.

Brave or stupid, I came closer, moving around the farther side of the office enclosure.

Like a statue frozen in place, my eyes felt glued to the scene before me.

The rain was cascading down from a hole in the ceiling, one that wasn’t much bigger than a few feet but had clearly been there long enough to cause the roof to bend down near it due to rot.

The girl named Phoebe, was under the sparkling spray and she was completely naked.

Her arms were up over her head, drawing her hair back from her face as she angled it up, reveling in the chilly stream as bubbles slipped over the mounds of her breasts, down her flat stomach, and between her legs where they chose a path down either of her milky white legs.

I could smell the faint scent of the soap she held in her hand, the feminine rosy scent of it a stark contrast to the musty building around us.

Her calf muscles balled up as she rose on her toes as if she might just fly away. She looked like some kind of otherworldly angel that was above all the decay around her.

Her eyes were closed, and she didn’t open them as her hands slid down her body, rubbing the sudsy bar slowly over her chest with one hand while the other slid down between her legs.

I was in a trance as I watched this, fully aware that the sight was causing things to stir in me in places they shouldn’t, but I was unable to stop myself from looking. I didn’t even realize I had made an embarrassingly throaty sound until her eyes flew open, their piercing aim falling directly on me.

After the initial shock of seeing that she was being ogled by a perverted voyeur, those lupine eyes narrowed and that seductive looking smile of hers thankfully appeared.

“Five! You came back!”

She actually looked happy about that fact, and not at all bothered that I was still staring at her.

When I said nothing, the girl reached up to her towel that was hanging on nail sticking out of a pillar, not even fully wrapping it around her as she rushed my way.

“I thought you changed your mind. I am so happy you didn't," she chirped.

Now that she was standing right in front of me, dripping wet, with those eyes peering up at me and her towel dangling in front of her, I could see something else going on in her expression, but I didn't understand it. I just couldn’t put a finger on it. But she did put a finger on me.

I watched it happen as if in slow motion. She reached out and touched my arm, gently pulling me with her back towards the crude area where she slept.

"Come on," she whispered, and her touch and the sound of her voice sent waves of heat over my already burning skin.

Even if I had wanted to blink away from her at that point, my body wouldn’t let me.

Link to chapters Three and Four

Poor Five, so broken...

Thanks for joining me for another one of my Five-centric stories. The next post is coming soon but if you can't wait, click below.

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bigskydreaming · 9 months

Text

Totally random thought, but you know how no fandom has such a thing as completely normalized tags, BUT many fandoms or parts of a fandom have popular tags for finding fics on Ao3 with specific tropes?

Like for instance, I remember a few years back that a lot of the fic writers in the pro-Scott corner of Teen Wolf fandom tried to idk, kinda start a trend of using tags like ‘Scott-centric’ or ‘Scott McCall as Primary Character’ when posting fics on Ao3, because we wanted to make it easier for Scott fans to find fics that were specifically ABOUT him, given that there’s usually no way to differentiate between those kinds of fics and fics that have him tagged as being in it.....but he’s just a completely background character in a S/tydia or S/terek fic who has maybe a few lines....which of course is just....not what most Scott fans are looking for when they use Scott McCall in the search filters to try and find something about him to read.

And so anyone who follows us on tumblr, where we talked about this, know to search for ‘Scott-centric’ or ‘Scott McCall as Primary Character’ and they’ll definitely find any fics written by various pro-Scott mutuals....but tumblr isn’t the entirety of any fandom, lol, and there’s plenty of other fics on Ao3 that do fit that tag but wouldn’t necessarily think to use that tag in specific for people to search for.....and even if they DID try to make a distinct tag to advertise that Scott is the main character of their fic, there’s no guarantee that what they come up with would be similar enough phrasing to get sorted into the an common parent tag.

Because something I was thinking about recently is the fact that like......I SUCK at coming up with tags when posting a fic on Ao3. Its easily my least favorite part of the posting process because uh....as any longtime follower knows, I may be creative but ORGANIZED? Not a strength of mine, lol. I can write a 5K one shot no problem, but then tell me now I have to come up with tags that are actually helpful in guiding people who might be interested in it to find it, and I’m like.....Kalen.exe has stopped working.

And I do know I’m not the only one who struggles with tags....both coming up with ones to help people find their fic, or coming up with tags to search for to narrow down their options when looking to read a fic that falls within specific parameters.

The problem of course is getting specific tags to catch on in a way that’s actually opt-in and helpful to both writers and readers.

For example.....fics where Dick Grayson is depicted as being an asshole to Jason Todd when they were younger? Obviously on my no-fly list. Not what I’m ever looking to read, and not something I’d ever write. So of course I always filter out ‘Dick Grayson is a bad brother’ the same way I filter out ‘Scott McCall is a Bad Friend’....but its not like this is guaranteed to catch all or even most fics that contain these tropes. Because while there are writers who dislike these characters enough to highlight that they think they’re jerks, there’s plenty who also write the characters that way but almost as an afterthought or due to popular fanon trends.....while they themselves don’t actually think about the character in question enough that it even occurs to them to include tags that are specific to their depiction of characters who are just....not priorities for them, personally.

But at the same time, as a writer.....whenever I tag fics where I want fans of these characters to know that I am definitely not writing these specific tropes, so fans who are frankly exhausted by the prevalence can easily find my fic among the thousands and thousands of fics that pop up when you just search out their character tags.....

Like, I don’t actually think oh just use the exact opposite tag, even though I wrote the fic to BE the exact opposite of a Dick hates Jason or a Scott is a bad friend fic.

And THAT is because of how many fics get tagged something like Dick Grayson is a Good Brother.....by writers who view ‘being a good brother’ as Dick only ever appearing in that fic to support or prop up one of his siblings. Just like many Scott fans never go searching the ‘Scott McCall is a Good Friend’ tag because of how damn MANY fics tagged that only consider him a good friend when writing him as just.....existing to affirm or validate Stiles and only do what he says at any given opportunity, lol.

Obviously this is a generalization and there ARE fics tagged Dick Grayson is a Good Brother that I would like due to him having a positive relationship with various siblings but WITHOUT being sidelined and still getting to have a sizable role in the fic or a plot of his own....but unless they’re written or recommended by a mutual, I’m not necessarily likely to ever find that fic because in large fandoms like Batfam or Teen Wolf, even specific character tags can be tiring to wade through.

Like I don’t filter OUT these tags in the same way I do specifically negative tags, but I don’t search them out and I certainly don’t tag my stuff with these tags, because as an example....Scott McCall is a Good Friend pulls up 1,800 fics when I search just that tag in specific on Ao3.

And I think most Scott fans would agree that there are NOT 1,800 fics where Scott is portrayed as a good friend....but in a way that still lets him be the kind of nuanced or spotlighted kind of character Scott fans are looking for when they search for something to read. But its still a hell of an undertaking to search through even ‘just’ 1,800 fics in search of the relative few where he is a good friend BUT in a way that actually respects his character and doesn’t just make him a prop for the actual focal characters in a fic.

So when tagging fics I want LIKE-MINDED Dick Grayson or Scott McCall fans to find easily, I’m more likely to tag a fic with something like ‘Dick and Jason don’t hate each other’ or ‘Dick didn’t fire Tim.’

I don’t want to tag fics ‘Bruce Wayne Is A Bad Parent’ because so many of those fics exaggerate him into a one-dimensional abusive monster and that’s never what I’m trying to write and I don’t want people automatically filtering out my fic if I use that tag when THEY’RE just trying to avoid over-the-top abusive Bruce fics.....but at the same time, I DO like to focus on specific canon instances where Bruce has been problematic as hell, like NTT #55.

And I know and respect that there are many Bruce fans who consider a lot of these instances OOC and are just not what they’re looking to read when they look for fics about his dynamic with his kids.....so I’m not about to go tagging a Bruce-critical fic with ‘Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent’ just because I’m not writing that fic to smear Bruce’s character or paint him as an irredeemable monster. Because I get that 90% of the people who go searching the Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent tag aren’t looking to read a fic that highlights one of his more fucked up character moments while still trying to reconcile that within his larger characterization overall....realistically, most fans who search out the Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent tag usually prefer fics that don’t treat his worst parenting instances as canon.

So I think tags that are more nuanced or specific than ‘Bruce Wayne is a Good/Bad Parent’ or ‘Dick Grayson is a Good Brother’ or Scott McCall is a Good Friend absolutely WOULD be helpful for a lot of writers and readers alike....but only if they’re tagged with a phrasing that people actually search out, or that the writer thinks to specify as a tag.

The problem of course being....how do you make more specific tags popular or common enough that they actually catch on in a way that makes it easier to search for fics because these tags become a go-to search option for fans rather than just being a matter of one getting lucky enough to search with a phrasing that a writer thought to specifically tag for?

All of which led me to this thought:

What if instead of trying to make various tags commonplace among specific fandom circles of writers/readers.....any interested writers make use of just ONE specific tag. Something like including “open to tagging suggestions” - not unlike how many writers tag their fics ‘ask to tag’ when open to readers suggesting they include a specific trigger warning that they the writer might have overlooked or not thought to include in the first place?

It has to be acknowledged that you are occasionally going to run into the problem of some readers being presumptive or overbearing about this, framing their suggestions not as suggestions but as ‘you should have tagged your fic with this’......BUT I think the potential benefits mitigate or outweigh this likelihood.

A) Obviously no writer HAS to use any tags suggested by readers, but all the suggestions readers might make for tags an author hasn’t already included.....are going to be tags that reader would have searched for specifically TO find a fic like the one they’re commenting on.

And while it depends on how many suggestions a writer gets, its not necessarily realistic that a writer is going to end up adding EVERY tag suggested by readers.....but there’s definitely likely to be SOME suggestions that are useful and help guide more interested readers to that fic. Especially if you’re a writer who struggles with tagging and never finds it easy to decide what tags might be relevant or helpful for finding your fic.

B) Volunteering that you’re open to hearing about tagging suggestions makes it more likely that any readers who were put-off by your fic would be polite and helpful when suggesting there’s a tag that could help warn off fans who aren’t looking for the kind of takes you’re offering. The entire reason that tags like “Dick Grayson is a Bad Brother” ARE helpful as search filters is because a writer who uses that tag gets that fans of the character are not likely to enjoy their take on the character. They’re not the intended audience for that fic. Not everything appeals to every reader.

So there is a precedent for tags intended to warn off fans of various characters that this fic includes characterizations they’re not going to like.....and advertising that you as a writer are receptive to hearing about tags that could warn other readers they might not be the target audience for your fic - especially with longer fics - could in the longrun help you weed out readers who are most likely to be bothered by your characterization of their fave.

C) It could lead to more reader engagement with your fic in general. Readers who might otherwise just leave a kudo, not because they don’t WANT to comment on your fic but because many readers don’t know have a clear idea of what they want to say about a fic or what they liked about it......might be more inclined to think about what about that fic specifically appealed to them, and mention this with a suggestion for a tag.

Fans who like specific takes on a fave character WANT to see more of these specific takes. The more popular fics that use that take are, the more commonplace that take is likely to become, inspiring others in turn. The more fans are able to regularly seek out fics with this specific take, the more that take becomes known as something fans WANT to seek out, which in turn lets authors know hey, there’s an audience for this take.

So even if you’re a reader who doesn’t frequently comment because you don’t have any idea what to say other than ‘great fic, I really loved it’ and you worry that’s a lame comment or writers don’t want to hear that (its not, btw, I love any and all comments I get).....like, writers using a tag like ‘open to tagging suggestion’ provides both a focus for a potential comment and a REASON to leave a comment when you might not otherwise.

Because if there is a specific aspect of a fic that you really loved, or it resonated with you because of the author’s specific take on a fave character, letting that author know that this is something that you would’ve sought out their fic for specifically, if they knew from your tags that your fic contained this element or take.....that means there’s likely other readers who would be interested in this fic if they knew that specific appealing element was present.

And you’d not only be helping that author potentially find more readers who are the intended or ideal audience for that specific fic, but having that reason to focus on what about the fic made you love it so much makes it that much easier to come up with something specific to say about it, ie ‘and btw, I really loved this aspect of your fic in particular, or for this specific reason.’

Both of which - more readers and specifics about what readers liked - are things I think most writers would agree we all love.

Anyway, just a musing I was pondering. Thoughts?

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