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theharrowing · 4 months

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White Lies 🤍 2: Sleep sweet, pretty

Yoongi is everything you could ask for. He is attractive, confident, and smart. And his partner Taehyung is as possessive as he is beautiful. Too bad a relationship would be a major conflict of interest.

You need to have them, at all costs.

🤍 Yoongi x Female Reader x Taehyung

🤍 word count: 7.4k + screencaps of conversations

🤍 college au, cop au, partial social media au with a lot of written story, strangers to lovers & established relationship, yandere, hurt/comfort, smut, fluff, angst, slash, poly, minor character injury & death, graphic violence, nsfw, 21+.

🤍 warnings: a lot of deception; very forward flirting; use of date rape drug; effects of being drugged against one's will. there is no assault of any kind, just fear.

🤍 notes: ignore the fact that the chats switch from dark mode to light mode. i use dark mode on my phone, but sometimes it gets switched and i forget to change it back. these screencaps result from me literally texting myself haha it's a labor of love okay. also don't forget mc's fake name is Sandra. she won't be referred to this for too many chapters.

🤍 written parts beta read by @neoneunnajimin

🤍 posted nov. 2023 | read on ao3

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* * *

You pace around beside your couch and stare at your phone as it rings, watching as the 212 number takes up the screen. With shaking thumbs, you halt in place and accept the call, anticipating what Vante's voice may sound like.

"Hello?" you ask as demurely as possible, squeezing your eyes closed.

The voice that greets you is deep, rough, and with an accented lilt that makes your heart race. "Well, hello, pretty."

It takes a split moment to get your bearings. How could someone's voice sound like honey and barbed wire all at once?

"H-hey, V," you finally say, biting on your bottom lip and opening your eyes. Although your apartment lighting is not terribly bright, you have to blink a few times.

"Wow," Vante says, "your voice sounds so sweet."

You huff out a quick, quiet sigh, lips upturning as you catch the bottom one between your teeth, and then you begin to pace around some more. "Yours is very…"

"Very…?"

"Handsome," you respond meekly. "Very handsome."

Vante chuckles, and it is a sound so rich and deep you physically swoon, knees weakening some as you twist your body in the direction of your bedroom, needing to move around and let out some energy.

"So…" Vante begins, and you smile further as you mirror him, asking, "So…?"

"So, what are you wearing?"

After a pause, he clarifies, "To the date, I mean," with a tone that is playful and seductive.

With your free hand, you fidget with the bottom hem of your black sweater and almost regret considering an outfit so plain. You remind yourself that the plan is to string him along, at least for now.

Playing along with V's demeanor, you giggle, doing your best to sound shy. "Nothing too flashy…I was thinking a black tee tucked into black jeans. It's cooling down, so maybe my favorite oversized forest green flannel. And some black boots."

"And this tee…will it be a crew neck, or maybe a v-neck?"

You mentally pat yourself on the back for being the most clever person alive as you say, "A v-neck, in your honor, of course."

"Of course."

"And you?"

"I was thinking about wearing a tight white tee tucked into some tight black jeans. With boots, and maybe a flashy designer jacket."

You hum and close your eyes, attempting to remember Vante's body type in the many photos you have seen. As far as you remember, he is a bit muscular and seems on the taller side. Broad and masculine but not overly ripped.

"Emphasis on the tight," you tease.

Vante chuckles, forcing your eyelids to flutter closed, then he says, "God, there are so many things I want to say in response to that, but I feel I should save them for the second or third date."

"Wow," you respond, feeling a sudden shyness that only increases as he continues to laugh.

"Alright, pretty," he finally says, "just wanted to hear your voice quick, but I should let you get back to winding down. I have to finish up here and then catch my flight home."

"Sounds good. Safe travels."

"See you soon," Vante sing-songs, and you feel yourself swaying when you say, "Looking forward to it."

And then the call ends, snapping you back to reality. Your eyes focus on the top of your wooden dresser and you heavy-blink, reminding yourself that this is a mission and that you are not, under any circumstances, supposed to get close to either of these men.

But god damn does Vante sound real fucking sexy. This might be a problem.

* * *

The Marías play loud and dreamy as you twirl and sway through your room, holding your soft green flannel in both hands. It fans out with each movement, and you twist it dramatically to drape it over your shoulders.

Although you are dressed down in a tee and skinny jeans, you look good. The garments hug your curves nicely, and the shirt shows off just enough cleavage without it feeling like too much for a casual night at the bar.

You apply a little makeup to your eyes and cheekbones, then look over your jewelry, deciding on a simple pair of gold hoops and the necklace that you always wear – a small gold charm in the shape of a rabbit's foot dangling from a thin gold chain, for luck.

Although there is plenty of time to eat a meal before heading to the bar, you feel so antsy that you only manage to pick at a salad and some fruit. You chug some water and then check the time.

And with a deep breath, you decide to head out early and text your boss.

// these two conversations take place at the same time - you can use time stamps to track the back and forth if you want to //

With the phone you were using to text Vante slid into your small black leather purse, and the phone you were texting Seokjin with sitting facedown on the countertop, you swivel to the left in time to find the man who had been sitting across from you taking a seat one stool away.

"Hey," he mutters, head tilted down too far for you to see his face clearly. "I hope you don't mind that I join you on this side? Things over there got a bit too wild for my taste."

Two things stand out about the way this man speaks. The first is that there is a hint of an accent, especially on certain consonants, and it seems that he is speaking in a slow and measured way that almost makes his words feel somewhat forced. The second is that, despite feeling forced, his voice is very deep but also quite mellow and soothing.

Although he does not sound like the man you spoke to on the phone last night, there are enough hints of similarities that remind you of him. At least you are somewhat certain that this man is not Vante based on physical stature, but you decide to stay alert just in case.

"I don't mind," you respond, making your voice sound as sweet and inviting as possible.

The man, who seems to be wiping at his drink-dampened black shirt and jeans with a grey bar rag, looks up and regards you with a familiarity in his eyes that causes you to pause. You watch as his face comes clearly into view beneath the visor of the black baseball cap, and his eyes linger on you.

Time feels as if it slows down as you watch this stranger's eyes trace over your face. And then he blinks rapidly, gives his head a quick little shake, and chuckles.

"Sorry, you…" he begins, turning his attention back to his shirt, then glancing your way briefly to say, "you remind me of someone."

"Oh?" you ask, swiveling on your stool enough to fully face him.

The man hums, then sighs and lets his arms drape at his sides. He looks defeated; the wet mark on his shirt is pretty large.

"Lemme buy you a drink to make up for that person's sloppiness?" you ask with one of your wide, winning smiles.

He shakes his head and tosses the rag onto the bar, turning his body to face the counter but staying angled slightly toward you, tilting his chin at the two shots that have been neglected beside your purse.

"Looks like you're expecting someone."

"I was," you clarify, dragging out the 's' as you rotate toward the bar but keep yourself slightly angled at him. You glance back at the shots of Fireball. "I think I got stood up."

From the corner of your eye, you watch the man straighten up, and you smile to yourself as he mutters, "Oh! Oh, that's so unfortunate."

Although you should check to make sure Vante is still not receiving or responding to your messages, you feel bold enough to turn to the man and slide one of the two shots his way.

"Join me?" you ask. "Not as a date but just as…a person who can help me with these shots."

"Are you sure?" the man asks, reaching for the glass and eyeing it suspiciously. "What is this, anyway?"

Rather than answer, you watch the man lift the shot glass to his nose and frown. Through a giggle, you say, "It's Fireball," and reach for the second one.

"Cinnamon," he mutters in understanding rather than a question, and you nod, swiveling once more to face him. He concedes with a shrug, saying, "Alright," and your smile wider.

"Cheers," you say, holding your shot toward the man who mutters, "Yes, cheers. To accidentally having poor judgment and winding up beside one another."

You laugh as you tap your glass against his and lift the shot to your lips. The cinnamon flavor kicks you square in the mouth, cloying your senses with a bittersweet assault of artificial earthiness and heady whiskey.

The man winces and shakes his head, slamming his glass against the counter ungracefully and sticking out his tongue. You take the opportunity to tease him about his toast, asking, "Poor judgment, eh?"

With a deep, pretty chuckle, he says, "You made a date with a flake and I humored conversation with a slob."

Briefly, your gaze flicks to the woman who had been talking to him before, and she is shouting something while waving her arms emphatically, thankfully not holding a drink. When he finishes his statement with, "And here we are," you rip your gaze away and regard him.

This man is very attractive up close, with soft lips and a sharp stare. If you squint he would look similar to the photos you have seen of Min, only his nose is more straight and pointed, and his eyes appear to be a light hazel green.

You offer your right hand and introduce yourself as Sandra, sitting tall on the barstool and watching as he hesitates to lift his own.

"My English name is Cody."

"Cody," you mutter, feeling your lips fight the urge to smile, and you know that your eyes are widening, but you attempt to stay as straight-faced as possible. Cody is such a bro name, you would not have guessed it was his. Cody grabs onto your hand in a warm, firm shake that does not last long enough, and you ask, "And your non-English name? Or is that impolite to ask?"

"Not impolite," Cody responds, "just reserved for those close to me and when I travel back to Korea."

What are the odds that you meet someone from Korea while being stood up by Vante? At least you feel justified in the swirling thoughts that insist Cody seems similar to Min.

You even wonder if Min Cody, or Cody Min, could be someone's name. You hope that another drink will quiet those thoughts enough so you can have a pleasant conversation with him before walking back home. Once there, you can do some searches just to put your mind at ease.

"This round is on me," Cody insists as he sits high in his chair and reaches for the wallet in his front pocket.

Another loud group enters and files around the bar to where the two of you sit, and as you get the bartender's attention, Cody begins looking around behind the two of you.

"There's a hightop in the corner. Would you be comfortable going there?"

Although the bar is not too dimly lit that retreating to the corner would shroud the two of you in shadow, there is some comfort in being seated at the bar with a tender nearby. But the crowd only seems to get bigger and louder, settling on stools to your right while others stand behind those seated, and so you nod, already fed up with this group.

"Sure, yeah," you say as you slam back the remnants of your drink. "I'll secure us a spot."

"Gin and tonic?" Cody asks, stopping you in your tracks. An icy chill works down your spine, and you wonder how the hell he knows what you are drinking. But then he adds, "Or was it something with vodka?"

Although his addition assuages some of your discomfort, there is a nagging feeling that he somehow knows what the bartender poured for you, making you uncomfortable. Your drink was clear, so gin and tonic is a fair assumption.

"Y-yeah," you respond, testing him by saying, "It was gin and tonic. Tanqueray."

Had he watched the bartender, he would have known the man poured you Hendrick's. Cody seems unfazed.

"Sounds good," he says, adding, "I think I'll have that too," as you turn away with your purse clutched tightly in your hand and approach a tall round table in the corner with two stools sitting vacant beside it.

As you take a seat on the little wooden stool, you attempt to settle your pounding heart and unravel this situation mentally. The feeling nagging at you to be weary of Cody is quite present, but you are unsure whether it is him that makes you feel this way or if you are struggling to set aside the case that you are working on.

Seokjin has been going to great lengths to keep things secretive, which in and of itself causes disquiet. And now Cody carries similar enough traits with one of your targets that the foreboding nature of your job is all that you seem to be able to think about.

It is unfair to you for these thoughts to cloud your mind so heavily, and you hope that this next drink will help you relax. Sure there are a lot of coincidences, but this is a large city with a diverse population. Coincidences certainly can happen. Unfortunately, as soon as Cody approaches with the glasses, your bladder begins to ache.

"Thank you," you sing-song as you stand from the stool that you only sat on a moment ago. "I need to run to the bathroom quickly."

Cody responds, "Have fun!" and you giggle as you walk toward a small doorway off to the right that opens into a hallway containing two gender-neutral restrooms. As you enter the closest of the two rooms, you click the lock on the door handle in place, then begin to shimmy your jeans down and take a seat, fishing through your purse for the other phone and finding that Vante has, in fact, never seen your last messages.

You wonder if there is a chance that he has somehow found out that you are an officer attempting to make contact with him. But it would make more sense for him to simply still be in Europe, possibly just playing a game with you because he takes pleasure in toying with people. It seems dramatic even when you think about it, but what else could it be?

As you put your phone away, reach for toilet paper, and wipe yourself off, you take a deep breath in and out and try to center your thoughts. Tomorrow, you will regroup with Seokjin and form a new plan. If you have to wait a little while to get onto Min's tutoring list, it is not the end of the world. For tonight, you should just enjoy yourself.

With your pants buttoned and everything in place, you wash your hands, inspect your face and hair to verify that you still look as amazing as ever, and exit the restroom. Some top 40s song from the 90s plays that has a lot of the college kids shouting, and you return to your seat while Cody types something on his phone and then slides it into his front pocket.

"So do you always come to the bar alone and wear a baseball cap to hide your identity?" you tease, unsure where any of this is coming from but feeling a strange burst of energy. You reason with yourself that you still need verification that he is not Min.

Cody laughs, reaches for the hat, and pulls it off. His hair is clearly bleached blond and colored mint green, which is a little more difficult to see in the less well-lit corner. It falls over his forehead, parted down the center, nearly covering his eyes, and he looks dreadfully pretty.

"Is this look less threatening?" he asks, running a hand through it only for it to fall neatly in place again.

Once more, the nagging voice in the back of your head tells you that this haircut seems similar to the one in the surveillance photos of Min. You remind yourself that you have never seen the man in person and that your brain could simply be filling in information in an attempt to create patterns because that is what human brains do best. But the similarity is striking.

"Yes," you say after too long of a pause, angling yourself toward him, slightly to the left from facing the table.

"This one's for you," Cody says as he slides a full drink in your direction.

You take the chilled glass and lift it to your lips, then you playfully say, "And you didn't drug it, I assume?"

Cody does not immediately respond to what you say; he stares blankly for a split moment before blinking and chuckling. The pause makes you worry, but then he says, "I assure you I did not, but if you would like to switch—"

"No, no," you insist, feeling awkward for saying anything at all. If it weren't for all the time you spent shadowing the special victims detectives over the summer, you would likely not instantly assume that any drink offered from a stranger could be tainted.

With a sigh, Cody says, "Nah, here, switch with me. We'll just swap out the straws because I had a sip of mine."

Before you can respond, he gently pulls the drink from your fingers and replaces it with his own. You watch as he swaps the straws, feeling your mouth tug into a smile, and when he is finished, you pull the drink to your lips and have a sip.

"When the drug kicks in, you might have to walk me to a cab, though," Cody jokes, insinuating that he has now drugged himself, and you nearly spit out the gin and tonic that has barely had a chance to settle on your tongue.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry," he laughs as you struggle to keep your composure and swallow your first sip. You set that glass down and raise your hand as if threatening to backhand him, making him flinch and dramatically gasp.

Without thinking, you say, "You're a pain in the ass," making him laugh harder.

"It's not funny to joke about that, I know," he says, still chuckling. "But in my defense, you started it."

Rather than respond with words, you simply hum and have another sip through the straw. This seems to amuse him, causing the laughter to continue.

Conversation with Cody is nice and easy. He tells you that he is a student at a nearby university, and you tell him that you are also a student – the same lie you tell to everyone.

He talks about growing up in New York with one American parent but visiting Korea often, hoping that once he graduates he can spend more time with his family. You describe your past and relationship with your family with very general, distant details, excluding a lot.

The parents that come along with your fake identity are not too exciting; mom is a legal aid and dad is a veterinarian. You attend such a prestigious school to follow in their overachieving footsteps, blah blah blah.

By the time you discover Cody can speak three languages and has a deep love of anime, your drinks are empty. And although you should stop while you are ahead and call it a night, a large part of you wants to keep drinking.

"Another?" Cody asks, and you sigh, nibbling your bottom lip.

"I want to," you say, uncertainty in your tone.

Cody must pick up on it, saying, "But…"

"But I also don't want to get very drunk."

"We can switch to non-alcoholic," he offers, shifting around on his stool. "Or go somewhere else." You raise an eyebrow, and he lifts his hands as if in surrender, insisting, "No funny business! Just thought we could hang out somewhere quieter. Doesn't have to be one of our places. I don't live too close by anyway."

This surprises you a little. "No?"

"Nah," he shrugs, "I just like the atmosphere in this area more than where I live so I cab over to waste my time and cash here, instead."

Although you should not blurt, "I live nearby," you do anyway. In an attempt to not sound like you are trying to get into Cody's pants, you add, "But I don't know what we would do. I don't really watch TV."

"Have you eaten?" Cody asks, seemingly unfazed by your word vomit.

As if on cue, your stomach grumbles, and you giggle while shaking your head. You remember the meager amount of food you managed to eat before shuffling out into the evening.

"I had something light, so…no. Not really."

"Why don't we grab a bite nearby? Maybe that will give us the reprieve we both seek…I'm sure most food establishments aren't this loud and rambunctious."

The reprieve we both seek… It's nothing too big or wild, but it is just austere enough to make you think about Vante. Although you feel frustrated that your mind is so eager to continue circling back to him, you consider that if this were Min sitting before you, there is a good chance they both speak similarly. It could be a slip up.

"Or…not…" Cody says, and you rapidly blink out of your thoughts and shake your head, offering a smile and a giggle.

"I space out," you supply plainly, "a lot. Sorry."

"Ah," he responds, sitting up a little higher. "No problem."

"Do you eat meat? There's a burger shop nearby that I really like."

Cody smiles and shrugs. "I eat everything."

As you stand up to stretch, the room tilts. It catches you off guard, and you halt your movement, then do your best to breathe through it and blink it away. Cody has his head tilted down, putting on his hat, and you are thankful that he does not seem to notice.

With a smile, he lifts his hand and says, "Lead the way," but there is something different about his voice. Deep and inviting in a familiar yet unfamiliar way, and far more accented than it had been all night.

You shake it off and nod your head. Despite only having two drinks and a shot, you are not a heavy drinker as is, and on an empty stomach, it is enough to weigh you down and make you paranoid. You just need to get out into the cool open air and you will feel much better.

But your feet are heavy. Each step that you take feels weighed down, and there is a lightness to you that feels as if fog is simmering through your system. Alarm bells begin beaming through your body, and you worry that perhaps you should try to get rid of Cody and call Seokjin.

Cody places a hand on your lower back. "Everything alright, space cadet?" he asks in the same tone he has taken all night, and you nod.

You are certain he could not have done anything to your drink while you sat there and drank it with him. And if he drugged both drinks, he should be equally affected.

But if he did do something, you are not eager to draw attention to feeling sluggish. You think it would be best to just get rid of him somehow. It just becomes a matter of how much time you have before the effects hit you harder, if at all.

The two of you make your way through the bar, and you oddly feel much more in control when you are moving steadily rather than little by little. You forget all about getting rid of Cody and walk right to the burger spot around the corner.

But standing on line at the counter in the brightly lit space feels overwhelming, and it all comes back again. You open your mouth and say, "So," but catch yourself. So you really did drug my drink, huh?

"So?" Cody asks, leaning close, and you notice a musk that cuts through the deep-fryer stench. It's nice and rich, inviting but not cloying.

"So I usually get the bacon cheeseburger," you ramble, "and fries. But I imagine everything here is pretty good."

"Good to know," he responds, voice bright. You think his hand may be on your lower back again, but you are not quite sure.

When it is your turn to order, your mind screeches to a halt. You stare up at the white menu board with red text, and you cannot find words.

"Was it a bacon cheeseburger?" Cody supplies. "A number two?"

"Y-yeah," you respond, looking at the bored teen behind the register. "No tomato, please. And a soft drink."

"You?" the teen asks, eyes moving to Cody.

Cody hums, soft and dulcet. Hypnotizing. "I'll have the same, but with tomato please."

Without asking, Cody pulls out his card to pay. Only, when he begins to hold it out, he quickly pulls it back. "Actually," he mutters, "I should use this cash."

Although you are unable to see the name on it, you notice that it is a black card, which feels far too prestigious for a university student to have access to. You realize that neither of you told one another your age – you just assume he is close to yours.

The cashier gives the two of you a number and two empty paper cups, and you make your way over to the soft drink dispenser and stare at the options. Caffeine could make you feel better, but then you risk the chance of staying up late. Sugar might cause you to have a hangover in the morning, but you think you could risk it for some lemonade.

"Preference?" Cody asks, holding up the beverage cups.

You have gravitated to the ketchup dispenser to fill two tiny paper cups, still thinking about beverage options.

"Lemonade, please. With like…half ice? Not too much."

"Got it," he responds, holding one of the cups under an ice dispenser.

"Ketchup?" you ask.

"Two please."

You manage to get all four tiny paper cups of ketchup into your left palm, then turn to watch Cody securing plastic lids over both drinks and grabbing two paper-wrapped straws. The two of you sit, and you take your drink and straw with a small, "Thank you."

Perhaps it is the prospect of having food in your system that is causing you to feel more energized, but maneuvering through the booths and finding one along the wall is easy. You begin to wonder if maybe something about the gin and tonic was just off. Maybe you got hit with a wave of intoxication.

Once you get settled, Cody takes out his phone and smiles at the screen before typing out what you assume to be a response to a message. His smile lifts, showing off his gums and pearly teeth, and you catch yourself staring before blinking your gaze elsewhere.

Out of curiosity, you pull the phone from your purse and check to see if Vante ever saw any of your messages, and you frown at the discovery that he has not. His behavior is weird, but you suppose you were also planning on playing games with the guy. Still, being stood up is being stood up, and it is hard not to take it personally.

Cody continues typing away at his phone while you wait for your food, chuckling quietly from time to time and making you feel awkward for sitting here with nothing to say. It is not that you don't have people who you can also text, but it feels rude to do it when you are with someone in a restaurant.

Not that it is a date, nor do you two owe each other anything, you remind yourself, feeling silly for forgetting that simple fact. The two of you are just strangers who happened to meet and who decided to share a drink and a burger. Nothing more. In fact, if you remember correctly, Cody removed what looks like a wedding band from his ring finger earlier in the night.

Another grumpy teen brings your food in bright red baskets, and Cody finally puts his phone away. He smiles and says, "This looks great," and lifts his gaze to you for only a split second before looking back down.

Something in his eyes seems different, but you are unable to put your finger on what. They seemed sharper, somehow…almost seductive.

You reach for your food and dig in, doing your best to not moan when the grease hits your tongue. Conversation continues to be non-existent with the exception of Cody groaning through a mouthful about how good his burger is.

Once you are down to just lemonade and some wayward fries, you excuse yourself to the bathroom. Unfortunately, your bladder is on a bit of a timer when you consume alcohol, and the added liquid does not help.

You are grateful when there is no line and make quick work of relieving your bladder and washing your hands. The mirror is covered in stickers, but you lean forward on your toes and do your best to take in your state.

To your surprise, your pupils are constricted quite small, and you begin to worry all over again that something could have been added to your drink. Somewhat sluggishly, you turn and grip onto the door handle, yanking it open and feeling tired from every small movement.

Cody is back on his phone when you return, but he regards you with a polite smile and glances at you long enough for you to notice that his eyes seem perfectly normal – a sign that he likely did not drug both drinks, and evidence that he likely did not drug yours.

This fixation only makes you feel paranoid, and you wet your lips, eye up the rest of your food, and decide that you should call it a night. Cody's fries are all gone, and he barely has any soda left, which you find rather disappointing because you would have liked to leave alone. You suppose you still can.

"Well, I'm just down the block," you say, rubbing your hands, which begin to sweat, down your thighs. "It was nice to meet you."

"I would offer to walk you home," Cody says through a sigh, leaning back in a stretch, "but being that I am still a stranger, it may make you uncomfortable to have me knowing where you live."

You hum and nod to acknowledge and agree with what he says.

"But if you'd like I could sit on a phone call?" he offers, resting his arm over the back of the booth.

With a shrug, you shake your head to decline, but your mouth betrays you by saying, "Alright, sure."

"Yeah?" Cody asks, smiling brightly and sitting up from his relaxed position. He takes out his phone, and although you only catch a glimpse of his lock screen, there is something familiar about the image. It's the colors. Tan skin, greyish fabric, gold jewelry. You wonder where you may have seen it before.

Cody breaks you from your thoughts, asking, "What's your number?"

Once more, your mind draws a blank, and you search your brain. What is your phone number? "Uh…212...555…55…26—wait."

Cody looks up from where he is typing on his phone, and you realize you had given him your actual number and not the burner number that Vante has.

"That's my work phone, it's 5505."

With a light chuckle, Cody finishes saving your number. And then he must call you because your purse begins to vibrate.

"That's me," he says with a smile and a wave.

"Alright," you respond, reaching absent-mindedly for your cup of lemonade and taking a large gulp. Although you do not look at Cody, you can feel his eyes on you.

Your phone stops vibrating, but you open your purse and pull the device out, ready to call Cody back once you begin your walk. Not that you think you need to, seeing that your block is relatively safe and you are not shy about walking at night. You carry pepper spray and a knife in your purse, but you are also worried you may not have the coordination to wield either.

With a limp lift of your hand, you begin to wave, muttering, "Uh, thanks. I would have finished my drink and gone home feeling a little defeated tonight. It was nice to have company."

Why are you saying all of this? Cody is attractive, kind, smart, and has a fun sense of humor, but you were planning on just brushing him off. Plus he might be married.

He smiles and it is bright and disarming. From where he sits, his head is tilted back enough to see under his baseball cap, giving a view of his handsome features and long, pretty throat that bobs when he swallows.

"I'm glad," he says, voices soft and deep. "You also made my night better. I almost forgot all about how damp my sweater and jeans are."

"Almost," you repeat, smiling. Suddenly, you feel shy – why do you feel shy? "Alright, well…I'll call you."

"Okay," he says, smiling as he sits up.

You turn to leave, and the room tilts once more. So hard, in fact, that it makes you queasy. From the corner of your eye, you notice Cody sitting at attention, and you wonder if you visibly lurched.

"Ugh, I'm a lightweight," you complain, hoping to brush it off, but before making another move, it begins to feel as if the floor is sinking away.

"Sandra?" Cody mutters, "You alright?"

"Y-yeah," you insist, but you are not alright. Something is definitely wrong.

"Maybe I should call you a cab? Or something?"

You shake your head, "I live too close. It's not worth it."

"Alright, then how about I walk you? I'll keep my head down. I won't look at where we go."

Although you mean to laugh, it comes out in a scoff. "Alright, fine."

Cody is quick to get on his feet and slot an arm around your waist, holding you loosely but making you feel secure. The two of you walk through the somewhat tight path between booths, hips pressed against one another and warm, but then he gives you space as soon as there is some to give, only resting his hand against your back as he reaches for the door.

"How many drinks did you have?" Cody asks in a way that is gentle and not at all accusatory.

"Just what you saw," you respond sluggishly. "Two plus the one shot."

The two of you walk to the left and down the block. In the fresh night air, at a steady pace, you feel much more comfortable. It's the stopping and starting that seems to fuck with you.

At least the weather is nice – a chill in the air but not cold. The seasons are certainly changing, but at a pace you can acclimate easily to.

Cody hums some tune, and you keep wanting to ask him what it is, but you find that you are unable to make yourself speak. This causes your palms to prickle with anxiety.

"How long have you lived here?" Cody asks after about a block.

"A few years," you respond robotically, curious why you are suddenly able to talk without issue.

"I was wondering why a college student isn't living on campus. Then again…you seem too old to be living in the dorms." This line of conversation feels strange, but you can't pinpoint why. "Did you take some time off in between schooling?"

"No," you respond before you can stop yourself.

"Did you study something else before theater arts and music?"

"Yeah."

"Interesting."

Fear spikes, and you worry that he may ask you what you previously studied. It is so odd that you are so easily answering questions that you would ordinarily lie around – your undercover persona did not study anything before becoming a theater arts major. She traveled and worked at her father's veterinarian office as a receptionist while taking some time to decide what career path she wanted to take.

Cody stops abruptly, muttering, "Shit, my shoe is untied," pulling you from your spiral.

As he bends to sort that out, you lift your gaze from where it had been glued and unfocused to the sidewalk and look around. Just up ahead is your building.

"Oh," you say weakly, "we're here."

You continue on without your companion, putting one foot in front of the other and reaching for your purse, which is slung over your shoulder. Although you use this purse often, you struggle to get the zipper opened, and you stumble while focusing on it too much.

The hand on your back returns, helping you to feel steady, and Cody asks, "Need some help with that?"

Luckily, you find your keys and hold them up, feeling triumphant. Cody walks you to the front landing, up four short steps to the high Victorian door, and waits patiently as you attempt to grab hold of the correct key, only to drop them to cement in a loud clatter.

You feel frustrated as you say, "Fuck," and Cody is quick to bend and hold them out.

"Large gold one," you say, and he lifts the correct key and leans to slot it into the keyhole.

The last thing you want is for this stranger to walk you to your front door, but your dizziness is only increasing, and you are unsure whether you can make it to your second-story flat alone.

The brownstone you live in is just like any other – tall and old as fuck. As you enter and begin toward the stairs, every footfall can be heard, creaking in a greeting you are all too familiar with. The staircase is tall, and you grip onto the railing and make your way up. Cody seems to hesitate.

"I don't have to continue if you think you got it," he says.

Without stopping or looking back, you grumble, "Need my keys."

Cody meets you on the stairs, and with a hand on your back, gently presses you to walk up. You are grateful for his warmth and for his assistance.

And, at this point, if he tries anything once you are in your apartment, it will all be caught on camera. Not to mention, there is a Glock in your nightstand.

"Thank you," you mumble as you reach the top of the stairs and turn right to the tall white door. "Small gold key."

Inside your front pants pocket, your main phone buzzes with a notification that there is someone at your door. You ignore it, seeing as that someone is you.

Cody is quick to find the correct key and unlock your flat. He holds onto your arm while you kick out of your boots, and he toes out of his shoes and says, "Just want to get you a glass of water, okay?"

From where the two of you stand near the front entrance, there is a camera trained directly on both of your faces hidden in a bookshelf. You accept his offer and hobble off toward your room.

Your flat is somewhat of a rectangle. You enter into the living room, and to the right, straight ahead down a hallway is your large master bedroom. Tucked away on the left as you walk through the hallway is a kitchen and then a bathroom.

It feels too warm in your flat, pulling you off kilter, and you throw your purse toward your bed, which rests in the center of your room against the right wall, missing and watching it hit the floor in a loud thud. Then you stumble forward and fall to your butt on the edge of the mattress and begin to yank at the sleeves of your green flannel, wiggling about in an attempt to shed it from you.

Cody appears with a large plastic white cup and halts in the doorway. He shifts, and you catch him averting his eyes.

"Just trying to get rid of this thing," you grumble impatiently as the garment falls from your left shoulder but won't comply to go any lower. With a sigh, you give up and smile at Cody.

"You can just set it here," you nod toward your small wooden bedside table. "The door will lock when you leave. Thanks for the help."

Cody approaches slowly, and you wonder if it is meant to put you at ease – no sudden movements – but the anticipation begins to weigh on you. You want to lay down and go to sleep, and you want Cody to leave.

He smiles and levels his face with yours, eyes searching for something. Then he places the cup on the table and says, "I hope you feel better."

"Thanks," you mutter, wishing he would leave.

Cody bends and lifts your purse from the floor, which is open and spilling its contents. He sets it beside the cup of water and hands you your phone. Then he stands straight and fishes his own from his pocket, thumbing around before calling you.

He lifts the phone to his ear, and when you continue to stare, he tilts his chin toward the vibrating device in your hands. With a knit brow, you cock your head to the side but answer his call, lifting the phone to your ear.

"I figure that if I am being trusted to leave on my own, I should give you some assurance that I am, in fact, leaving."

"Okay…" you respond, drawing the word out. You could have all the assurance you need by watching the video footage from your hidden camera, but you suppose this is a kind gesture.

Cody smiles, lifts a hand, and waves. Then he turns and leaves the room.

"It was nice meeting you, Sandra," he says, drawing your fake name out nice and slow.

"You too," you mutter, heavy with sleep.

"Sorry the night ended this way."

You sigh. "Me too."

"If you ever want drinks and a burger again, let me know. I'm just a short cab ride away."

Briefly, you wonder if the two of you hit it off. It was fun and comfortable talking with Cody, but you are still concerned with how drunk you became – if that is what you can call whatever is happening to you.

"Alright," you respond too late, hoping to be polite.

In the living room, you hear some soft sounds and then the door opening. Although it is faint, you think you hear it closing, as well.

"I have left your humble abode," he says as the phone in your pocket buzzes with another notification to alert you that someone is outside your apartment.

You assume that the reason he insisted on calling was so that once he was outside of the apartment, you would only hear his voice through the phone. It is a nice gesture.

"Thanks again," you say, sighing with relief.

Through the phone, you can hear the steps creaking as he descends the stairwell. "My pleasure."

You begin to fade fast. Although you know that you should drink water, you twist your body, lift your legs onto the bed, and curl up. You feel too warm to care about your comforter, but you lament not having enough energy to get out of your jeans.

The phone ends up under your face. Miraculously, your cheek does not end the call.

"Tired," you mutter, feeling your eyelids flutter.

"It was so nice meeting you," Cody says, and in an instant, your blood turns cold.

That is the exact voice you spoke with on the phone last night. The accent is much more prominent, just as it was last night, and it is much more gravely. It is unmistakable.

He adds, "Sleep sweet, pretty," before hanging up, and you curl in on yourself, panting and shivering, hanging in a horrifying liminal space of being too afraid to want to sleep but too intoxicated to keep your eyes open.

'Cause I know what you're thinkin' about Babe, I'll let you spin me around I know what you're thinking about Babe, I'll let you spin me around Babe, I'll let you spin me around Babe, I'll let you spin me around

🎵 visit the playlist!

the feelings of being drugged are all kinda made up but also based on the drug ghb. please do not feel the need to sully your internet searches! i will explain it all in detail in upcoming chapters. and you may have noticed that because mc is a detective and trying to figure out who these men are, there is a lot of talk about facial features and accents. this is in no way meant to fetishize these characteristics, it is simply detective work - i tried to keep it as broad/general as possible. the little ploy that was played at the bar is based on something called "operation fireball" - google it if you're into true crime!

also!!! please never take a drink from a stranger or leave a drink unattended!!!

CAN YOU TRACK WHO THESE PEOPLE ARE THAT MC IS COMMUNICATING WITH??? everything will be made clear soon, but feel free to speculate!!! readers of the taegi pov probably already know what's going on, but mc pov purists will have all the questions answered quickly, as well!!! don't worry. 🤍

ARE WE HAVING FUN? QUESTIONS??? CONCERNS??? REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE THE LIFEBLOOD OF THIS SITE, BUT LIKES ARE ALSO SUPER APPRECIATED!!! 🤍🤍🤍 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! I LOVE YOU! DRINK SOME WATER AND STRETCH YOUR NECK!!!

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#yoongi x reader #taehyung x reader #taegi x reader #taegi smut #bts poly #bts yandere #bts angst #bts smut #bts social media au #undescribed #undescribed images #fic: white lies

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