#told me to wait until morning . wait until morning and we can figure this out. otherwise i am on the verge of cold blooded murder. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

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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rose-pearls · 4 months

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Snow on the beach

I was inspired by the song "Snow on the beach" from Taylor Swift ft. Lana Del Rey. So hopefully you enjoy this!

Main Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187, @nyx2021, @thestarspangledcaptain, @kmc1989 (open)

Camp Half-blood had been buzzing with excitement since the announcement that there would be snow coming towards the camp in the early hours of the morning. A big part of the children had decided to go home but some of you had decided to stay at the camp. Most of you had spent the early part in the evening around the fireplace in the Hermes cabin talking about stories of your childhood. There had been some roasted marshmallow, warm chocolate, and sticky fingers but most of all laughter. It had been the first time you had felt like a real teenager, without the dangers of the outside world looming over you.

Your plan had been to retire early, hoping to be awake early enough to catch some of the snow falling across camp but it seemed as if Clarisse had another idea as you heard her knock at midnight.

“What are you doing here?”, you can’t help but ask, the Hephaestus cabin had been empty for the most part as all of your half-siblings had decided to go home.

“I wanted to go for a little midnight stroll, what do you think?”, she asks, a soft smile on her lips as she looks at your attire. You had stollen one of her hoodies, and it had been keeping you warm. Her eyes that were roaming over your figure made you blush before you quickly let her in.

“You want to go on a walk in this weather?”, you quickly ask as you try to warm yourself up from the chilly air that had made his way inside the cabin.

“Yes, it will be romantic, no one is going to go out today so it will just be the two of us,” she tells you while coming closer to you and bringing you closer to her by the waist.

“Or we could stay here and keep each other warm under the covers?”, you say, trying to look innocent but judging by the way Clarisse pinches your side you know she understands what you were saying.

“As much as the idea is appealing, and trust me it is, I do want to walk a little bit and then we can get under your covers.”, she says, and it doesn’t take you long to agree as she looks at you with puppy dog eyes.

“Fine, but let me get my coat and scarf,” you tell her, and she waits for you on your bed until you are ready. She quickly takes you hand in hers before dragging you outside, looking excited to be going out in the cold.

Just like she had said there doesn’t seem to be anyone outside as you start to walk towards the lake, some lights are still on, but you can see that they all seem to retire to bed.

Clarisse’s fingers are still a little bit sticky from the marshmallows she had earlier in the evening, but you don’t mind as you remember her bright smile as she told you a story of her childhood. She would go sledding with her mother, every year before Christmas dinner and opening the gifts, it had been the one thing she always looked forward to. Maybe this is why she wanted to go for a walk, you couldn’t really go sledding but at least you would be outside in the cold.

As the two of you arrived at the lake you suddenly felt something cold on your cheek, and as you look up you saw white snow starting to fall.

“It’s snowing!”, you hear Clarisse say in glee and you can only laugh in excitement at the sight of it.

It had been a long time since you had felt so young, the snow reminded you of all the early mornings with your mother as the snow was falling down outside.

Clarisse drags you closer to the lake and you can’t stop looking around in awe, at the sight of the snow while you were at the lake. The both of you start twirling around while yelling for the thousand time that it was snowing.

“You know this feels like a scene from a movie,” she whispers as she once again holds you close in her arms. There is snow falling around you, but you don’t care about it as you look into her soft brown eyes.

“It does, like a scene from a romcom,” you say, and she shakes her head softly in amusement.

“I love you,” she tells you so quietly you aren’t sure you have heard her, but there is that fierce love in her eyes that tells you everything you need to know, there is also a bit of uncertainty, but you squeeze her waist in reassurance.

“I know I don’t tell you that often, but I do. You are the best thing that happened to me sunshine. I can’t even imagine a life without you in it anymore,” her words make your heart flutter, and you feel the need to protect her from anything and everything. She had swept you off your feet at your first duel, literally and emotionally. Ever since then you had been falling for her even more every day.

“I love you too, so much you don’t have any idea,” you whisper, and she seems emotional at your words.

“I think I do,” there is that knowing smile on her lips, and you can’t help but kiss them, the coldness of the snow combined with the lingering taste of chocolate make you smile into the kiss.

She holds you impossible close and you can’t stop kissing her, ignoring the snow seeping into your scarf.

“Common, we should head back before we get sick,” she whispers against your lips and you can’t help but whine at the words, wanting to stay in the moment with her.

“I wish we could stay here forever but unfortunately we don’t have the equipment for it,” she whispers, and you can’t help but agree as you start to feel cold.

“Fine, but next year I am buying the best winter jacket, and we are staying here together,” you tell her, missing her look of surprise at the mention of still being there together next year.

“Next year?”, she can’t help but ask as you stop in your steps.

“Of course, and every year after that until we need to leave Camp Half-blood and then we can find a fun sledding spot. Unless you want to spend the holidays with your mother, which I completely understand,” you get ready to continue to ramble about the possibilities before you get cut off by a searing kiss.

“I love you so much,” she says, and you look at her in surprise before a warm smile appears on your lips.

“And I love you,” you tell her before taking her hand in yours and starting the walk back to your cabin while chatting about possible sledding spots.

#percy jackson x reader #percy series #clarisse x reader #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse pjo #clarrise la rue #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x fem reader #clarisse la rue fluff #clarisse la rue imagine

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minty364 · 3 months

Text

DPXDC Prompt#61 Part 3

Danny was kind of in awe at the Batcave. Of course he hadn’t seen it, he never met his father either and really wasn’t looking forward to the conversations he was about to have with everyone here.

He looked around while Batman watched until he cleared his throat and motioned for Danny to follow him. They eventually made their way into a conference room where Red Robin was already sitting typing something away on his laptop. He smiled and stopped what he was doing when he noticed Batman and Danny walk into the room.

“You do look just like Damian! Well I guess you are Damian in your universe, you said you came from an alternate world right?” Red Robin started as Batman and Danny took their seats at the table.

Danny took a deep breath before he started talking, “Yeah, but I don’t go by Damian anymore.”

Batman and Red Robin seemed surprised at this, “Wait really?” Red Robin asked, looking genuinely surprised, “Your counterpart here really prides himself on being Bruce’s blood son.”

Danny remembered being told how great Father was by Mother but the fear of being found alive after he fled made it impossible for him to find out. He knew he should probably get back to his own dimension but the thought of getting to know Father even a little bit and even from another universe made him rethink getting back as soon as possible.

“I… fled the League, I went into hiding, so I changed my name. I’m sorry but we’re strangers in my world.” Danny finally said after gathering his thoughts. He waited a moment but when no one said anything he continued, “You can call me Danny, I live in a small town called Amity Park in my world.”

“What else can you tell us about your world? If we can figure out what got you here we can figure out how to get you back,” Red Robin asked.

Danny thought about how much he should say after a moment. He could tell his counterpart here did trust his Father, he could tell from his body language from their brief encounter. He decided after a moment it would probably be fine to reveal himself here, if the him from this world trusted them then he would too.

“This isn’t easy to tell you but I’m not getting back the way I came. The portal that got me here was one way.” Danny started, “There are natural portals that kind of pop in and out of all worlds that lead back to the ghost zone or Infinite Realms as I've heard it called by some of the ghosts.”

He let them soak in the information before continuing, “The folks that adopted me built a portal to this realm and while I was in a fight I got thrown through a natural portal and ended up here”

Red Robin seemed to raise his eyebrow at him, “Ghosts?” he asked skeptically.

Danny sighed again, “Yes, I don’t have an easy way to get back is what I’m trying to say”

Batman thought about things for a moment before speaking, “You're welcome to stay here until we can get you back home, I have a colleague through the Justice League that would know a thing or two about the supernatural. We can talk about things in the morning for now let's get some rest. It sounds like this will be a long term thing, so I will have Alfred take you in the morning to get some clothes and basic needs.”

Batman stood up and left the room probably to change out of the batsuit. A few seconds passed and then a knock on the door was heard and an elderly man wearing a suit walked in.

“Master Tim, Master Damian, Isn’t it time you both got ready for bed?” He asked.

“Oh right, Alfred, meet Danny, he’s Damian from an alternate world.” Red Robin said before standing up, “I’m headed out to change out as well. Danny, Alfred can show you to the room you’ll be staying in while you’re here.”

Danny turned to Alfred, “If you’ll follow me, Master Danny”

He followed the friendly butler out of the room and up some stairs before they got to the main floor. They turned down a few different hallways, honestly Danny would be more worried about getting lost if he didn’t have years of training navigating complex paths.

When they finally got to Danny’s room they parted ways and Danny headed in.

It was a rather large room, larger than any room in the Fenton house that was for sure. Danny often forgot how rich his blood family was and now that he was here he was in awe of how different it was to his own life. The room even had its own attached bath. Danny took a warm shower before changing into some Pajamas that were left out for him.

Eventually he drifted off to sleep. He’d explore the mansion and Gotham tomorrow.

Master Post:

Last:

#dp x dc prompt #dp x dc #dc x dp #danny fenton #danny phantom #writing prompt #Danny and Damian are the same person #identity shenanigans #I was going to reveal his big secret #I'm going to have Danny reveal it to Damian first though #I'm not sure where I'm going with any of these honestly #If anyone wants to pick up where I leave off on any of these go ahead #I'm on here to spread creativity as is my mission in life #my asks are open #all my prompts are free to use #part 3

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navybrat817 · 4 months

Note

Does Stud know what Smartie is getting him or will he try to get a hint?

He doesn't know, nonnie.

Cookies and Hints

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky tries to get hints about his gifts as you bake together.

Word Count: Over 1.1k

Warnings: Fluff, established relationship, teasing, implied smut, humor, slight feels (it’s me, okay), talk of celebrating Christmas, Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?).

A/N: More short and sweet for Stud and Smartie. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

There was something sweet about baking with Bucky. The kitchen became a hub for communication and collaboration as you made something tasty together. It was a way to be fully engaged and present with each other while creating new and happy memories. You looked forward to those moments together.

Even when Stud tried to drive you crazy.

You pinched the bridge of your nose before you scooped the last of the cookie dough onto the tray. “For the twentieth time, I'm not telling you what your gifts are,” you said.

You had just finished wrapping his presents this morning since you didn't want to wait until Christmas Eve. How you managed to sneak them in without him getting a glimpse was a proud moment since he was much stealthier than you. You wanted to surprise him and he was making it more and more difficult.

Especially since he kept giving you puppy dog eyes.

“First, I did not ask you twenty times,” he said, leaning against the counter as he watched you open the oven and carefully placed the tray in. “Second, I’m not asking for you to tell me what the presents are. All I asked for was a hint.”

“See, but if I give you any hints, you’ll figure out what they are,” you told him, setting the timer on the stove. “You're a smart man.”

“I appreciate the compliment,” he smiled almost sheepishly, which made you smile in return. He deserved all the praise. If no one else would give it to him, you would. “But I really think one tiny little hint wouldn't hurt.”

He doesn't know when to quit, does he?

“You were totally that child that went looking for your presents, weren't you? Wait, did you go into my room?”

Bucky placed a hand on his chest, a wounded look in his blue eyes. “Do you really think I'd go into your room without your permission?” he asked, the corner of his lip twitching. “I could also get the cats to ‘play’ with the wrapping paper. I mean, you can't blame them if they’re curious.”

Fair.

You thrust a finger in his face as you spun toward him. “James Buchanan Stud Barnes, don't you dare trick the cats into doing your dirty work. And I am not giving you a single hint and that is final,” you stated.

Of course, your attempt at intimidation didn't deter Bucky. Not when he locked eyes with you and wrapped his lips around the tip of your finger. You sucked in a deep breath when he flicked his tongue against it, the same way he did against your clit when he went down on you.

Oh, fuck.

As if he knew your womb clenched and panties dampened when he released the digit from his sinful mouth, he smirked and winked. “You sure about that?”

Jutting your chin out, you nodded. “Yeah because I used your full name, so… There.”

There's that stellar education of mine put to good use.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” you began, reaching over to grab the used mixing bowl with as much grace as possible when he tampered down a laugh. “I need to clean this and you need to stop distracting me.”

“You know we can clean together and you can still give a clue,” he pointed out, reaching for the bottom of his T-shirt as you walked to the sink. “And if I really want to distract you, I can take this off.”

“Keep your shirt on,” you ordered, thinking it over as you turned on the water. “For now.”

You faced the wall as you rinsed the bowl, determined to stay strong. You wouldn't break. Bucky didn't need any hints. Not a single one.

You straightened up when he came up behind you and placed a hand on each side of the sink. Why did he have to smell so good? You didn't turn around, but you felt your heart speed up as the heat rolled off his firm body.

“Come on, Smartie,” he breathed low against your neck, his nose brushing along your skin. “Just a little hint and I won't bother you for the rest of the day.”

Maybe I want you to bother me.

You closed your eyes and almost dropped the bowl when his lips followed the path. “You're not playing fair,” you whined.

He chuckled as he pushed against you, letting you feel the outline of his cock. “Neither are you,” he groaned when you moved your hips back against him.

“You started it.”

“And I'm more than happy to finish it,” he promised, gently nipping over your pulse. “As long as it's inside you.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Before you allowed him to do exactly that, you managed to spin around in the cage he made so you could face him. “You really want a hint?”

His face softened as he reached behind you to shut off the water. “Only if you really want to give me one.”

“Okay. Here it is,” you said, leaning in so your mouth touched his ear and smiling when he shivered. You wanted his heart to race the same way yours did. “Your gifts were all bought or crafted with love.”

It wasn't a clue at all, but it would tell Bucky all he needed to know. That no matter what you gave him, you selected and crafted them with care. Because he was your special guy and you wanted to spoil him a little.

The way he no doubt spoiled you.

You smiled widened as you leaned your head back. You thought baking cookies together was the happy memory you would make, but seeing the happiness in his eyes as he gazed at you warmed your heart. It was a look you cherished being on the receiving end of.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” he gently admitted, his gaze drifting to your lips before he closed the gap and kissed them. “Now that I have my hint, I need to taste you before those cookies finish baking.”

Yes. Spread my legs wide open and taste how sweet I am.

“Mmm. I may need to finish cleaning,” you teased, his large hands gripping your hips as he moved you away from the sink.

“Why clean now since we’re going to make it dirty?” He questioned, lifting you and placing on an empty spot on the counter. “And after I’ve had my fill, you’re gonna let me frost your cookie.”

“Bucky, no,” you giggled as he tugged at your pants, knowing full well you’d let him fill you up.

“Bucky, yes,” he smiled.

And as the scent of the sweet and sugary cookies filled the kitchen, that was exactly what he did.

We know he'll love his gifts. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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mysunshinetemptress · 6 months

Text

Your Royal Support

Leah Williamson x Royal!Reader

Warnings: none fluff talks of Leah’s ACL recovery

Disclaimer: for the purposes of this story actual timelines have not been taken into account I.e Princess Diana and Prince Charles separation.

You hadn’t had to dress in your dress uniform since June when you attend the Royal Garter, but here you where fixing your sash again out of nerves you looked in the mirror before looking at the sleeping form of you fiancé in bed. Leah and her family had travelled to Windsor yesterday to watch the 26 year old footballer accept her OBE and unlike the other recipients of the awards taking place this morning they all slept at Windsor castle, you where happy to sleep in a hotel but your father had insisted on it stating family stay with family when they visit not in a hotel and it wasn’t like the castle couldn’t accommodate them.

Leah stirred slightly as you turned holding your aiguillette in order to stop them from banging together and creating noise wanting the younger girl to sleep a bit longer knowing today was going to be long. You walked towards the bed and leaning down you kissed her head “I’ll see you shortly my love.” Watching her a moment longer you left knowing your Equerry James was standing waiting to give you the rundown of the day.

You had attended a few meetings before the ceremony regarding the statement that would be made at the end of the month regarding your engagement to Leah, you refused to make any decisions without her input stating that whatever information you received would be relayed back to her. You had left that meeting to a flurry of texts from Leah and Amanda, both looking for you in a form of panic as Leah grew more nervous of this afternoon’s ceremony. You called Leah immediately and you could have sworn the ringtone hadn’t even sounded before she answered “hello my love.” Leah sighed hearing your voice “everything ok.” Leah shook her head before realising you couldn’t see her “I don’t think I can do this Y/n.” You looked around the corridor of the castle before walking down towards the left and stopping when you came across the window you where looking for peering out of it you could see into the apartment you had left this morning now though you could see Leah pacing the room with Amanda sat on the couch both dressed. You smiled before beginning to talk again “your already halfway through Le.” Leah shook her head “that doesn’t make sense Y/n the ceremony isn’t for another hour and a half I’m not even close to being half way done.” You smiled once again watching Amanda try to get Leah to sit “your already dressed, your hair is done and although I tell you every morning you don’t need it you have makeup on although on a day like today I understand so you are already ready for the ceremony waiting for it to happen after those two it only has to happen and then we go out later, that’s four things on a check list two completed two to go your halfway done.” Leah sighed again “you always know what to say.” You laughed “if I didn’t by now then you should reevaluate our relationship it’s my job to know you.” Leah smiled before stopping “wait can you see me.” You laughed again watching Amanda and Leah look around the room trying to figure out where you could see them “I told you, you call, you ever need me in moments you feel like no one can see you I can, I see you.” Leah turned looking out the window before spotting you waving at her “oh I love you.” You laughed nodding along “I know but I loved you first.” Leah laughed at the statement you made every time she told you she loved you, you had said you had fallen in love with her when you where on a royal engagement with your older brothers to the Arsenal academy as a kid. You had never publicly had a relationship until her and even then it was rather private stating you had known from the moment your hands touched you knew there was nobody else and even stated you didn’t mind waiting as she dated other people because you knew it was going to be you who she loved last. You smiled at her once more before talking again “I better go I have a meeting with Will about you know what, see you shortly darling.” Leah blew you a kiss before hanging up and turning to her mum who had been watching the interaction.

You stood down the hall waiting for the Williamson family to arrive fixing you uniform nervously before your head shot up at the sound of a wolf whistle, you couldn’t help you face become hot at the sight of Leah walking at a fast pass in order to reach you “I love it when you wear your uniform, your keeping that on all day.” You smiled nodding “sort of have to but I can take the jacket off when we start dancing later thank god.” Leah smiled before placing her hands either side of you cheeks pulling you into a kiss “I’m so proud of you.” Now it was Leah’s turn to blush “seriously Le I am and I worry I never tell you enough but I’m proud of you for one everything you have accomplished in your football career, two for how high you have held your head through these difficult months but mostly I’m proud of you I’m proud of you knowing who you are, never forgetting where you came from while you look forward to where you want to go in the future for understanding you have a voice and using it not just when the public see, I’m proud of all the time you have been in so much pain and admitted to it, whether it is your acl or your endometriosis I’m proud of you not letting anything or anyone define you and I’m proud to be your fiancé I will tell you that I love you how much I have always loved you till I can no longer speak but I need you to know I��m also just as proud of you, thank you for loving me, allowing me to love you, for taking on the crazy that I and my family are and the burden our status brings, for being there when I need you for collecting me and all the baggage but thank you mostly for your support I hope I have supported you as much as you have and will always need because you are always there for me.” Leah melted into your arms “don’t make me cry before I have to go stand in-front of your brother and then the press.” You kissed the top of her head chuckling slightly “but you have and I know how proud and loved I am from you I never understood what love was or how we are meant to only be in love with one person for the rest of our lives until I met you y/n now I don’t want anyone else to be there holding my hand in the hard times and making me smile as hard as I do in the good ones I know trust me I do.” You pulled her into a kiss once more before separating to hold her hand as her grandfather cleared his throat to gain your attention “well are you kids ready.” You nodded pulling Leah into you before turning to the door nodding to the hand stating you where ready when they were.

You stood beside Amanda holding her as Leah stepped forward to receive the award looking at you briefly at something William had said before smiling. “I can’t wait till you both get married.” You smiled at Amanda “any idea where it’s going to be yet.” You shook your head slightly “no not at all Papa has said we could use Westminster Abby, that holds roughly 2000 people but I don’t know it’s already getting televised that’s more people seeing our relationship than either her or I want if I’m being honest, he has also said we could get married here at St George’s chapel like Harry and my cousin but if I’m being honest I would marry her in a registry office with you guys as witnesses but I’m not allowed.” Amanda smiled squeezing your arm “I know your role is hard that there are so many eyes looking at you constantly wishing you harm, but she has told me that for you she would stand in front of them all and protect you no matter what, I worried about her being with you I’m ashamed to say but I did your mother died after marrying into your family, your sisters in law have been torn from limb to limb in the media, as a mother you want to protect your child and that’s all I want for her happiness and protected and for a while I didn’t see you being able to protect her, but then you drove through the night after she got a concussion and you postponed meetings and appearances when she did her ankle and you sat and held her so tight yet so gently when the doctors told her she had endometriosis and you promised her and I you would find the best doctors to look after her should she ever need it, but recently you have shown me your in it for the long run with her acl injury that you would do anything to protect and support her through her worst and best and I feel so much more at peace, it’s you and her until the stars come calling and you really have shown us all that.” You pulled Amanda into a hug feeling yourself tear up. “Thank you.” Amanda laughed lightly “I should be thanking you.” You shook your head “ thank you for being the mum I always needed.” At this Amanda hugged you tighter.

William stood talking to Leah before they both turned to see you talking to Amanda “you know she never knew our mum not really anyway she was to young when she died but she is so like her in the way she loves.” Leah looked at him confused “my mum had a good heart when she fell in love with something she fell hard and she did everything she could to express it whether that be speaking about charity’s or loving her kids. Y/n loves you wholeheartedly and that is the best trait my mother could have passed down to her.” Leah smiled at him looking at you and Amanda hugging “I hope she knows I love her just as much.” William smiled “she does trust me.” William presented Leah with her badge before pulling her into a hug “and we can’t wait for you to join the family.” Leah smiled one last time before stepping back bowing slightly and walking over to you and her family. You stepped back allowing the Williamson’s to grab Leah first a habit she didn’t always appreciate but she understood before you scooped her up into a hug “my girls an OBE.” Leah laughed “I can do you one better my girls a literal princess.” You laughed grabbing her hand waving to your brother before exiting the room and into a private quarter where you couldn’t help but grab her and kiss her not caring who was watching.

“I love you.” Leah smiled into the kiss “I loved you first.” You smiled back before grabbing her into another kiss

#leah williamson x y/n #leah williamson x you #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson #woso one shot #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso soccer #woso #british royal family #prince william #royalty #awfc

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ramonathinks · 4 months

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who’s your god? — geto suguru (oneshot; no part two)

summary: suguru geto is the reincarnation of a powerful god or so he claims, using his abilities to prey on as many weak minded housewives as he can.

warnings: (18+, minors/ageless/blank blogs will be blocked) mention of church/religion, sex, adultery, cult like themes, sacrilege(?), begging, pet names (good girl, slut), corruption, finger sucking, public sex, people are watching, geto refers to himself as god, spanking, manipulation, race isn’t mentioned but i envision all my y/n’s as black so yeah. yes, repostttt

A-are you sure?” You swallow and gulp, staring at the man in front of you. His dark hooded eyes staring back at you.

“I have no reason to lie to you.” He says in a hushed tone as your husband walks up the stairs. With every painful creek of the staircase you can’t help but to wince. “Your purity… is in danger, has been for a long time… many of those in higher powers have spoke to me, they do want to help you to remain pure… to be in a good standing of course. That’s why I’m here.”

“Is there anything I can do?” With pleading eyes and shaky hands you scoot closer to him. You children deserved a pure mother, one to help them cross over when the time approached. You longed to be reunited with your husband when time was right.

“Why, of course.” He did a sly slimy smile. “We’ll sit some time aside and pray on this together at the temple.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much sir– eh, master geto.” You could see his lip curl at the name change and seen his nails dig into him palms. Pulling out a simple cross necklace from the insides of his black robe, he handed it to you, placing it into the center of your palm and closing your hand to form a fist.

“Keep this. Wear it. Don’t take it off until we next meet. It’s vital for the ritual we’ll have to preform.”

So you did. You wore it everywhere and didn’t take it off. Anything to keep your purity safe. You showed with it on, wore it underneath all your shirts and dresses.

“The gods spoke to me,” A phone call on the early morning after three weeks had passed. “It’s time.” It wasn’t even dawn yet, just a little past 3am and you were drowsy. “Wear something light. Very thin.”

You swallowed and looked over yourself, all of the sudden nervous and self conscious. Your body a bit more full and plum since the birth of two babies, everything thin you owned was tight against your body.

But you slipped into a long sleeved dark old dress you owned, that covered your entire body and hugged your figure.

You couldn’t help but feel so out of place and so weird when you walked into the sacred temple. Masked and cloaked individuals stood still, you could barely tell that they were breathing yet alone alive.

Swallowing, you made your way to the center of the temple, where you knew Geto would be waiting.

He stood with great posture and a small cross between his fingers, pressing his lips against it before rubbing his fingers against it, up and down. Your core tingled and you gripped the sides of your dress, feeling too hot to keep walking. Your knees buckled and your hands clutched at the wall by your side.

“Master Geto, he—lp!” You slipped and fell to the floor, landing with a small oof that left your mouth. A buzzing sensation on your clit and even feeling a rough hand on your folds. Massaging and pulling them apart.

“Just let it over take you. Just be glad, I didn’t do this while your husband was around. I’m being mighty merciful to you, my dear.” His voice is a shiver up your spine and his presence overtakes you, you feel him all over and he hasn’t even walked over to you yet.

“Tell me, my dear…” His voice cures your ails, making every moment more breathable again. “If I told you that the only way to keep your purity intact would be the touch of a god, would you still be willing?” His voice is sly and cocky.

You squeeze your eyes tightly, a light relief of touch making you moan heavily before it’s quickly snatched away. “That was just a taste, a small taste of purity that could welcomed back into your little soul.”

Something stirred up inside of your chest and a heavy weight made you groan, making you painfully uncomfortable and aware of just what you were missing.

“I need it.” You voice hoarse and detached, you weren’t sounding like yourself. “I’d do anything for it—!” You voice faded.

You felt several hands on you all at once but nobody was there. Solar bright hotness scarred your chest while the cross marked itself into your skin, the smell of burnt flesh all around you.

As if hours had passed, Geto finally approached you. Putting your head in his lap. He crouched and whispered in your ear, “I’m going to fuck the purity back into you.” Licking the insides of your ear before biting and sucking on the lobe. “You’ll be clean again.” He promised.

Slipping your dress up and removing your dainty underwear. “Already so soaked. You’re already ready for me.” His finger caressed your lips and he kissed you. His tongue licking throughout your mouth and sucking on every inch of your tongue.

Cloaked and masked individuals circled around you both and you clang into his grasp, shivering.

“They have to watch. They have to be here.” He explained calmly. “They’re praying over us, praying for you and your purity… shall I ask again, if you really want this? Remember the feeling that you felt…” That feeling was all you could think about, his touch and his voice amplifying everything.

He knew you wanted it. Hanging it over your head. Watching you pant and groan, your thighs sticky and your head spinning. “Please… you know I need it.”

“What would you husband think of you now…” he twists his fingers in your mouth, drawing them in and out. “Watching you beg like a little slut for me to fuck you… would he like it?”

You couldn’t bare to answer. “Please just fuck me already…” you pleaded with him, your eyes clouded with lust, his filled with sin and all he could do was drink it up.

The dizziness continued as the people watching stepped closer, you gulped and trembled, feeling like you can’t breathe.

“I’m going to give you exactly what you need to be pure again.” He pulls his robe off quickly and your eyes follow. His body sculpted to perfection, lean and a perfect built. Your eyes trailed down to his cock and you tried not to moan aloud.

Long and girthy with a dark pink tip, standing curved and full at your attention. You swallowed hard.

Leaning over you, he rubs himself between your cool wet gooey folds, lining his cock against your entrance. “Ready?” He murmurs and your eyes look between his then to his cock before you look to the lingering eyes around you.

“Yes. I’m ready.” Your voice strong and steady as your hands grab at his shoulders.

He slipped between your thighs and all of the heat and sweat around your body disappeared when a small moan left your lips. His cock completely splitting you open and his fingers digging into your thighs. Your legs spread wide as his hips thrust forward, hard.

Burying his nose into your neck he does a deep laugh. His hips wild with ever thrust, the splashy wetness from your pussy echoing around the temple. Moans bounce around with each time he plunges in and out of you.

Clenching around him, he groans, pulling himself out before quickly tapping his cock against your wet folds that open wide for him. He feeds your deprived insides his merciful cock with a sinister smile before he says:

“Tell me, who’s your fucking god now? Huh? Who do you belong to? Who is fucking you, hm? Who’s fucking this pussy pure?”

Gripping his shoulders harder and meeting his thrust you finally whisper, “You… you are, master Geto.”

His hips stutter when you tighten up on him, “Oh, so tight… so fucking tight.” He squeezed your thighs and ram inside of you, both of your moans loud. “Gonna fucking cum inside this pretty pussy.” He promises, jerking his hips and fucking deeper inside of your core.

Feeling every twitch from you, he uses two fingers to rub at your needy swollen clit. “Oh you like that? You like when I fuck this flower open?”

He plants kisses up and down your throat. “Please just…” you lock your legs around his waist, tightly. Wetness sliding down your thighs.

He shutters and sighs, rocking his hips and thrusting harder inside. His eyes intense as they glare down at you. “Such a good girl,” He says, his voice guff and his cock throbbing hard.

Your nails dig into his skin and your pussy squirts as he works his way in and out of you.“Take it.” He tip kissing your womb ever so gently before he’s pounding inside again, watching your thighs jiggle with every moment.

“Take my cum.” He growls, stilling over you. His body shakes and so goes yours, once his cum is planted inside of you, your body feels cool again.

Panting, you look into his dark eyes. “Am I pure?” Your eyes shining with hope and pleasure.

“Far from it.” He says and your face falls. “Turn around.”

Embarrassed and confused, you turn on your stomach.

You feel his rough hands touching on your ass and squeezing the plushness of it before he does the unexpected. A loud slap rings throughout the temple and you grown in pain. “Count.” He does another one to the opposite cheek.

“O-one…” Your soaked folds growing even wetness. “Two…”

Rubbing his cock between your ass he does another slap. “Three—!”

“I’m going to have my way with you for the rest of the day… until you physically can’t anymore.” He says with a deep chuckle. “Ready?”

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wannabeschyulersister · 4 months

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figure it out

"i'm still trying to figure things out." "you sure had a lot of things figured out when you kissed me yesterday." (I can’t find the prompt list that I found this under but credit to owner. I’ll tag them if I find it.)

The tension in the kitchen was so thick to the point where it was uncomfortable. The two of you hadn’t spoken a word to each other in hours and others had noticed.

You couldn’t wait until the end of the night when you could run out of The Bear. You wanted nothing more than to be far away from Carmen Berzatto in that moment. The nerve of him.

“Hey, Chef? You good?” Sydney asked you when she noticed you were scrubbing your station a little too hard. You practically cracked the counter.

“Yes, Chef.” You answered, snapping out of your thoughts that consumed with an annoying chef.

“Why don’t you take off for the night?” She suggested, “I can finish cleaning up.”

You shook your head, “No, I’m almost done. I appreciate it though.”

Sydney was about to press on that you should head home before Tina called her name from across the kitchen. Sydney gave you a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before walking away.

Carmen was standing somewhat nearby and heard your conversation with Syd. He wanted to go up to you and ask if you were okay just like she did but he didn’t know how.

Things had gotten so fucked up and he knew it was all his fault. He had to go and act like the moment that you shared last night meant nothing to him. When in fact, it meant absolutely everything to him.

He looked over at you and saw that you were getting ready to leave for the night. He knew in that moment, if he didn’t try to fix things, it wouldn’t matter. The damage would sever you both completely.

Once your station was spotless, you said goodbye to Tina, Marcus and Richie. The cold, fresh air outside put you at ease instantly. You felt claustrophobic in that kitchen during the night.

It’s normally your favorite place to be.

“(Y/n).” You heard Carmen call out your name. You didn’t even realize that he had followed you outside. He was in such a hurry to catch you that he didn’t put his coat on.

“I’m going home.” You didn’t even turn back to look at him. Instead focusing on getting your keys out of your tote bag.

You heard the sound of his footsteps hurrying to reach you, “(Y/n), will you please just talk to me?”

“No, I don’t feel like talking right now.” You told him as you felt his hand on your arm. He grabbed your elbow and pulled you towards him. You hated how you got chills from his touch. You told yourself that it was because of the cold weather instead.

Carmy stepped in front of you so that you had no choice but to look at him. “You can’t leave upset.”

“I’m not upset. I’m over it.” You told him stubbornly. You were absolutely lying.

“(Y/n), I know you and- and I know you’re still mad.”

“Don’t stand there and act like you know me, Carmen. If you did, you’d know how much what you did hurt me this morning.”

It hurt Carmen to his core to see you standing in front of him so clearly upset. It was all his fault.

“Things have been a mess around here. I’m still trying to figure things out.”

You scoffed, “You sure had a lot of things figured out when you kissed me yesterday.”

“(Y/n)-“

You cut him off, “I listened to you, now you need to listen to me. I was embarrassed this morning when I walked in and you absolutely blew me off like we didn’t share this moment last night. I even went out of my way to get your favorite coffee. Which I gave to Richie by the way. If you regret kissing me, you could’ve handled it a completely different way.”

“I don’t regret kissing you, (Y/n). Not one bit.”

“Then why did you not even look in my direction when I first saw you this morning? Why did you recoil away from my touch? It was like you didn’t even know me.”

“Because I’m a fucking idiot,” Carmen nearly shouted, “I fuck up good things that I have going on because I fuckin’ feel like I don’t deserve it.”

His confession shut you up.

“I love what I do. It’s fuckin’ stressful as fuck but you know what gets me out of bed every morning? N-not helpin’ customers or whatever, it’s you. Knowing that I’m going to see you.”

“But this morning-“

“This morning was a mistake. I was a dick and I’m sorry for upsetting you. It’s the last thing that I ever want to do.” Carmy took a step closer to you, “I don’t expect you to forgive me. Fuck, if I were you, I wouldn’t forgive me.”

“Then what should I do?” You asked him softly even though you knew deep down what you wanted. His apology meant a lot to you. It was all that you needed to hear.

Carmy looked at your lips before looking into your eyes deeply. It was the same look he gave you before kissing you senseless the night before.

“I can’t make that decision for you. But whatever you choose, I’ll respect it.”

“What if I say I never want to talk to you again?” You asked hypothetically.

Carmen looked a little panicked, “Uh, I’d really hate that.”

“What if I say that I want you to kiss me again?”

Carmen seemed to like that answer a little more by the small smile that appeared. “I’d really like that.”

You moved closer to him and placed your hand on his chest right over his heart. The touch was gentle but Carmy felt the intimacy through his whole body.

Inching as closely as you can without touching his lips, you kissed the corner of his mouth, “Have a good night, Carmy.”

You figured that he could use a little teasing after wringing your heart out emotionally that morning. Turning and walking away, you heard him groan lightly.

“(Y/n), you’re killing me.”

You looked back at him, “I expect my favorite coffee in the morning, Berzatto.”

“Of course. Anything else?”

“A kiss.”

You could see him blush a little, “I can make that happen too.”

#carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto x (y/n)#carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto #the bear imagine #the bear x reader

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ynscrazylife · 6 months

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THE BAT IN THE SHADOWS 🦇🕸️

— CHAPTER TWO

Summary: Bruce Wayne is the happiest he’s ever been in a while. He has a beautiful wife, amazing children, and is stopping crime left and right as Batman. All that shatters when you, his wife, mysteriously disappears.

Pairings: Bruce Wayne x Wife!Reader, Batfamily x Batman!Reader, Avengers x Reader (Platonic)

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Having to wait until morning to pull the security cam footage from nearby stores was hell. In the meantime, Bruce filled out a missing persons report (and nearly broke down whilst doing it). The worst part of it all was having to come home, alone, and face his family.

His kids and Alfred were exactly where he left them, all in the living room.

“Where’s Mom?” Dick was the first to ask, arms crossed. Neither he nor his brothers could hide the worry flickering across his face. Not even Alfred, who was usually so composed.

“I believe,” Bruce began, wanting to be strong for them. The image of your smiling face flashed in his mind and he slammed his hand against the nearby wall to steady himself. Get it together, he told himself. The weight of your shattered phone in his pocket felt like tons of bricks. “She’s been taken.”

He hated that that was all he could say on it. That was all he knew. He hated that he had to say it at all.

Five rounds of “What?!” echoed around the room. Bruce forced himself to look at Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian. At their pain. Their shock.

“I only found her phone, broken. But we will bring her home,” Bruce said, knowing that there was no keeping his children out of this investigation. “I will take the lead. I’m going to go downstairs and start working. Anyone is free to join me, but I’d also suggest trying to sleep. If you can.”

He started towards the stairs. Then, half-way there, he stopped and turned around, opening up his arms. It took a second, but the boys came to him, and Bruce tucked them in his arms with a strong, tight hug. Alfred watched for a moment, then walked around and put his hand on Bruce’s shoulder.

“We will find her,” Bruce vowed.

And, he thought, if you were harmed in anyway, if a single hair was out of place, he’d destroy whoever had enough nerve to do this.

Standing by Commissioner Gordon’s side, Bruce peered over the employee sitting at his desk, who was starting up the footage on his computer. They found the closest store to the spot where your phone was found and as soon as the sign switched from closed to open, they walked in.

“Here you go,” the employee murmured, pressing play.

The footage was grainy and dark but with narrowed eyes, Bruce was determined to take in all that he could. As soon as you walked into frame, Bruce couldn’t help but tense up, nervous about what they were going to see.

Your pace started slowing as you took out your phone. Then, a jolt of electricity — where it was coming from was off-screen — hit your in the back. Bruce fixed his jaw, trying not to lash out or yell or even cry as he saw you fall. The thought of you, limp on the hard, dirty sidewalk . . .

Then, two figures came into frame, lean builds and wearing all black. Bruce watched how one stomped on your phone screen and he took a breath. They were saying something to each other, but the footage didn’t have audio. It was impossible to make out. He curled his fingers into a fist when they each took one of your arms, starting to drag you away. They didn’t seem to care at all that your head was bouncing off the ground and Bruce wanted to smash the screen.

He’d make them fucking pay, that was for sure.

Gordon did the talking, thanking the employee and whatnot. Bruce was in a daze, the footage playing over and over again in his head. He hadn’t even realized that Gordon wrapped up the conversation until he was pulled outside. They went a few stores down, trying to find more security camera footage of where they took you.

When they did, Gordon and Bruce watched as the kidnappers haphazardly tossed you into the car. As if you were nothing. As if you weren’t the most precious thing in Bruce’s life. He made fists again. They drove away and the one good thing was that the footage captured the license plate.

Gordon drove them to the police station and Bruce practically forced him to speed. A goddamn license plate, that was their only clue. Bruce’s only hope. He was pacing back and forth while the police actually ran the plate, never staying still for even a millisecond.

Finally, Gordon emerged. “They must’ve stolen the car. We’ll start sending patrol units out, contact other local departments . . . We will find this car. We’ll find them,” he said confidently.

While patrol units drove all around the city and beyond, Bruce did the same in his Batmobile. He spent every minute of every hour on the road, only returning for food and a couple hours of sleep after numerous calls from Alfred. It was the second time when he came home that he saw how much this was affecting his children. A wave of guilt hit, he knew that he hadn’t been paying as much attention to them as he should’ve.

You would’ve told Bruce to leave it to your fellow detectives, who were hellbent on getting you home. You would’ve told Bruce that he didn’t have to be Batman. He had to be home. God, you were so good, it sometimes hurt.

Bruce sat with his four boys on the couch, his arms wrapped around them. He updated them on the case, told them everything he knew. Of course, they asked to join him on patrol, but Bruce told them there was no need. He was going to take a few days off to spend with them.

It was after those few days that Bruce received a call from Gordon. They were in the middle of a somber dinner when his phone rang and the vigilante sprang up from his seat, nearly knocking his chair over. Everyone paused their eating.

“Gordon?” Bruce asked. The last few times, Gordon had nothing big to tell him, but Bruce answered his phone the same way every time.

“We got the car. It’s abandoned, but they drove out of the city. Parked near the woods.”

Dick, Tim, Jason, and Damian all wanted to go search with their father, but Alfred assured Bruce that he’d have them finish their dinners. Bruce gave each one of them a kiss on the head and promised to be home at a reasonable hour (which Alfred would hold him to, bless the man) before he rushed off.

It took a little while to get to the coordinates that Gordon sent, but when he did, he found detectives and cops and even civilian-organized search parties. It warmed Bruce’s heart, how much the city adored you. They knew you as Mrs Wayne, the kind and brave detective.

He joined the search as Batman, looking high and low. He got deep into the woods when finally, he found something. A group of costumed people all looking around, some confused, some awed. Bruce could tell they didn’t belong.

“Identify yourself,” he growled, coming out of the shadows and approaching them.

They all turned to him suddenly. No one moved or said anything for a second, until a redheaded woman came forward. She looked to be around your age, maybe a couple years older.

“This is probably going to come as a shock, but please, hear me out,” the woman began.

“I don’t ‘hear’ people out. Identify yourself, now,” Bruce demanded, in no mood for games.

The woman sighed softly. “Fine. You can call me te Black Widow. Back home, I — we — are known as the Avengers. We’re looking for someone named Y/N,” she told him.

#bruce wayne fanfiction #bruce wayne angst #bruce x you #bruce x reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x batmom #batfamily x reader #dc batman #batman fic #batman fluff #batmom #batmobile #avengers x reader #mcu avengers #dc marvel crossover

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lou-struck · 1 year

Text

They Said No... Part 2

Obey Me! x MC!

Featuring: Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, and Belphegor

Part 1 HERE

Part 3 HERE

~We all get asked to do things sometimes that we do not want to do. And it's okay to say no, but sometimes you need a little extra help to get the point across.

Warnings: Pushy Demons, talk of pact control, Threats, Betrayal

Satan:

The Avatar of Wrath has a bit of cat fur on his usually pristine uniform but has never been happier, RAD is hosting an animal adoption event, and he has spent most of his morning with the adoptable cats having the time of his life. The only thing he is missing is you.

You would love every minute of the event, and so Satan has made it his mission of the day to find you and bring you to the feline-filled classroom.

Stepping into the nearly empty corridor, he sees you sitting on one of the ancient stone benches, mindlessly scrolling through your DDD with one hand and toying with a button on your uniform with the other.

"Mc, there you are." a voice interjects before he can even open his mouth; you lift your head and look towards the owner of the shrill and unfamiliar voice. A Demon Satan doesn't care enough to recognize steps towards you. "I've been looking for you everywhere."

"Oh, hi." You don't meet their gaze, opting instead to stare at the ground in a way that tells Satan you would rather be anywhere else than talking to them. It irks him greatly, but he can't just interrupt yet.

"The brothers aren't here, so you can speak freely now. Did you see my messages?" they ask, taking another step towards you. "You know I've liked you for a while now, but I don't understand why you won't go out with me."

You look up at them apologetically but take a step further away from your not-so-secret admirer. "I'm so sorry, but my feelings are not the same; I've told you before that I am not interested, so can you please leave me alone.

"NO," the lesser Demons shouts, "you don't understand. I like you, which means you are Mine."

That is all Satan needs to hear, and his legs move forward on their own. His anger at this lesser Demon threatens to bubble to the surface as he approaches. Stepping between the two of you protectively.

The Demon flinches but doesn't back down entirely. They open their pathetic little mouth to babble out some delusional retort, only to have their words die on their tongue.

"MC said they were not interested in the likes of you," he growls, his emerald eyes aglow as he stares down your harasser. "I suggest you leave before you manage to make me even angrier than you already have."

The Demon leaves satisfyingly quickly, leaving Satan with you. He notices that you look a bit shaken up but utterly relieved to be rid of that Demon. The wrath he felt earlier disappears as you throw yourself into the safety of his embrace.

The cat can wait, but for now, he just needs to make sure you are okay.

Asmodeus:

Asmodeus is feeling particularly radiant today; the only thing that he thinks he can attribute this glow to other than the universe recognizing his beauty is that his elation to be going on this special little outing with you is showing for all the Devildom to see.

How lucky are they?

He feels light on his feet as he walks down the cobbled streets of Majolish to the little bistro you promised to meet him at for your Devilgrammable date.

His Peach-colored gaze scans the plaza until it finds you sitting at one of the adorably small tables on the patio, your figure clad in the sweater he bought for you a few weeks ago. You just look so cute. He feels his heart flutter in a way that doesn't quite fit the Lust for which he has been known.

But you are not alone; standing over you is a demon he has seen you frequently talking to at RAD.

A friend of yours?

Maybe?

But something feels off about the way you are looking up at them as if they are making you uncomfortable. As pretty and kind as you are, Asmo knows that you are trying very hard to keep your emotions undetectable. He has to know why.

Focusing on your conversation, he is able to hear what the other Demon is trying to talk to you about.

"Mc, y-you said we were f-friends," they whine in an exasperated voice. "Why won't y-you help me?" large tear drops run down their pearl-colored skin and onto the pavement below.

"What you are asking me to do is wrong," you say calmly. "I would never do that to Asmo or anyone else for that matter."

"All you have to do is tell Lord Asmodeus to love me as I love him." they huff. "But you wouldn't even do that for me. I love him, and I deserve to have him for my own."

"I wouldn't be telling him you want me to order him to do it," you say. "I don't think I can be friends with you anymore."

The Demon waves your words off as if they were nothing of consequence, an action that makes Asmo narrow his eyes as he starts to approach. "I never wanted to be friends with some ugly human in the first place, I only wanted Asmodeus, and you were a means to an end. But it seems that you just want to keep all the Brothers for yourself."

"Even if Mc did want to keep us for themselves, they deserve to," Asmo interjects at last, hugging you from behind and placing his head on your shoulder. "I mean, just look at them; they are soooo cute."

The earlier cruelty that had been on the Pearl demon's face vanished in an instant as their cheeks flushed heavily. "L-lord Asmodeus," they breathe. "I didn't mean it like that; the two of us were just having a bit of a friendly disagreement, that's all."

All of the annoyance and irritation that Asmo had been feeling comes forward, and he exudes a threatening aura as he stares down the Demon, not caring enough to charm them into submission. "Yeah, no, I heard more than enough to know that you need to stay away from Mc." he sighs, lowering his voice enough to send a shiver down the other Demon's spine, and they rush away.

Now alone, Asmo turns his attention to you and smiles brightly as if nothing had happened. "Sorry I'm late, Hon; let's go and order our drinks; I think after that, we both need a little extra love."

Beelzebub:

Beel feels like he's going to die of hunger. Whenever RAD does schoolwide exams, he is not allowed to eat in the classroom. It seems like ages since he has last eaten. The test took him a lot longer than he thought it would take. But before he leaves to go to Hell's kitchen, he wants to find you and bring you along with him. He doesn't quite understand why, but food always tastes better when you are with him.

He hears your voice from down the hall, a happy smile resting on his face as he follows the sound. He says you sat at one of the long study tables in the common room, a mountain of books at your side, and one of your classmates standing over you.

"I'm sorry," you say softly. "But I told you before. But I have too much on my plate right now. You'll have to do that part of the assignment yourself. "

Your classmate sighs, shaking their head in disapproval. "And I thought you were a nice MC, the kind of human who wouldn't hesitate to help out someone who needs it. You obviously don't have anything better to do, so just do my portion of the project. I'll pay you for your work."

What?

Why is this Demon being so mean to you?

Beelzebub truly doesn't understand why your classmate is treating you this way; you were very nice in turning them down. And he wouldn't want to do someone's project, either.

You clear your throat, "It's not about the Grimm; I just don't have time to do someone else's work. If you're struggling, I suggest you ask a professor to give you an extension."

Your classmate is hovering over you now, trying to intimidate you with their size. "You don't seem to know your place, Human; when a demon asks you to do something, I expect you to bow your head and do it obediently."

The Scene before him is too much for poor Beel; angrily, he steps forward, placing a large hand on the other Demon's shoulder. "That's close enough, Mc said they did not want to do anything for you."

The Demon flinches as he turns towards Beel in shock. "B-Beelzebub, I'm sorry, but I needed to remind this human that we demons are superior.

Beel's hunger and anger have fused into one, and he looks down at the Demon with disdain. "Mc is and always will be more important than you; if anything, you should be doing their work."

"no, they don't; I just need them to do their own work." You interject

"R-right, thank you." They mutter, picking their bag off the floor and running away.

"Are you alright, Mc?" he asks, looking at you with a violet gaze of adoration. "That must've been pretty scary."

You nod and take his hand, "I'm okay now, Beel, thank you for stepping in. Can I buy you lunch as a thank you?"

"Could we go to Hell's Kitchen?"

"Absolutely," you smile, "anything for my hero."

Hero? He likes the sound of that for some reason; he smiles happily, picking up your books as the two of you walk side by side out the doors of RAD.

Belphegor:

It's the stiffness in his neck that wakes Belpheghor from his nap. Maybe taking a nap on top of all of these decorative pillows wasn't that good of an idea after all. He sits up slowly, rubbing out the knot in his neck, feeling quite annoyed at the situation.

"Oh Belphie, you're awake." you smile, poking your head into the doorway, "I just placed an order for food. It should be here soon if you're hungry."

Just like that, all of his annoyance has vanished. "Thank you, Mc." he grins boyishly; moments like these make him happy to be awake.

"No problem, I think they are getting close; I'll wait by the door until it arrives," you say before disappearing down the hallway.

It's then he realizes that you probably had to order a lot of food since Beel is getting home from the gym soon and will need help carrying it all to the dining room once it gets here.

Belphie gets up from his seat and heads over to the front door where you must be waiting.

"You sure ordered a lot of food. Do you need any help bringing it in?" a voice asks. The delivery driver must be here already.

"Yeah, I guess I did go overboard," you say good-humoredly. "But It will all get eaten, I promise you that."

"You're pretty cute, aren't ya?" The delivery man cooed, pulling back the bag playfully. "How about you give me your number, and then you get your food?"

You laugh nervously at his words. "I'm sorry, but I can't do that."

"and why not?" They laugh cockily. "Are you feeling a little shy? Because that's cute too."

Belphie's jaw clenches as he wonders what is with this guy. How dare he try and take you away from him.

"I'm taken," you respond, the irritation slipping through your voice as you meet his gaze.

They scoff, tossing the bag of food on the ground roughly. "Aren't you just a fricken tease then? All I ask for is your number, so how about you be a good human and give it to me?"

Belphegor knows you could have handled this guy, but he was honestly so irritated he had to step in. "Ugh, you're so annoying. Mc already paid, so you can go on your way."

Your harasser is arrogant, not stupid. He knows that he has no chance against one of the seven avatars of sin. He shuts his annoying mouth and stomps down the steps of the House of Lamination.

You watch him leave with a relieved smile on your face, "are you okay, Mc?" he asks, grabbing your hand.

"I am now," you smile "Thank you for helping me, Belphie."

#obey me nightbringer #obey me shall we date #obey me scenarios #obey me x reader #obey me #obey me headcanons #belphegor x reader #belphegor fluff #obey me beelzebub #obey me satan #omswd x reader #satan x reader #asmodeus x reader #asmo x reader #beelzebub x reader #beel x reader

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leclsrc · 1 year

Text

see it through ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, fake dating au, fluff!, humor, slight angst, slow burn-ish, yearning

word count: 9k

“It’s a proposition for the fans.” She smiles. “It’s a fake relationship.” Or: you go from social media manager to girlfriend in under a day. Keeping up appearances for Charles’ family isn’t easy, until it is – and until they’re not really appearances anymore.

notes... internet translated italian ahaha

auds here... this fic is quite long! i hope you all like it. title from this bee gees song which reappears in the fic later. few music references here so if you like to listen to music, just look for the titles, they’re famous!

You’d gotten the phone call on a Saturday morning.

Barely morning, you realized when you were digging for your phone in the sheets, half-asleep—it’d been five minutes past noon. You’d swiped, pressed the phone to your ear, and waited for the other end to speak, eyes shut.

“Good morning,” a vague voice had said on the other said, distinctly American. “This is Jenna Griffin, newly appointed PR specialist for Ferrari. Your boss told me you were free for lunch on Monday, so can I pencil you in for a one-thirty meeting?”

You click your tongue. “Um, yeah.”

“Wonderful. Monday, one-thirty. Apologies for the weekend call, it’s for Mr. Leclerc.” The line buzzes dead after, and you flop backwards onto your bed, confused out of your mind.

Your job for Ferrari was simple—create social media content, do the occasional damage control, have a pre-interview discussion with journalists, and generally stay out of everyone’s hair. It’s not a high-maintenance job, but it pays well, and you get to travel; plus, you’re young, and you figure this is just a stepping stone for a more legitimate post. Your point is, you’ve never gotten into trouble before, and are only at meetings to take minutes or get assignments.

Which is why a Monday lunch meeting—on your vacation, nonetheless—seems so out of the ordinary. And arranged by a PR agent from Ferrari? Last you’d heard, cars were objects and didn’t need publicity. The whole affair gives off a vibe of semi-mystery, almost, like you’re in the MI6 and taking lucrative calls in alleyways.

You feel through your bag for your hotel key card, wallet, and phone, and finding them all there, you leave and make your way to the restaurant. You’re not too nervous; you’ve had to have your own sit-down talks with higher-ups and even Charles or Carlos before, but none of the “you’re fired” variety.

The restaurant isn’t far from where you’re staying, so you shove sunnies on and trek there, managing to make it inside unscathed.

Table 17, the text reads, and you’re quickly ushered into a private section of the place. It’s empty, save for a couple and a far-off table seating one guy, whose back is to you. You realize it’s Charles when you squint your eyes harder. The waitress doesn’t give you much of a choice and seats you across him, promising to return with noontime champagne.

You slide your sunglasses onto your hair and look up. “Hi,” you say politely.

“Hey,” Charles says back casually. He wears a Richard Mille and a few other bracelets, a linen blue polo, and jeans.

“New PR thing?”

Charles smiles, shrugging. “Man, I’ve no idea. Wake up on Saturday and I’m due for a meeting. Is this for social media?”

Huh, so he doesn’t know either. “I don’t know. It was a super random call for me, too.”

He shrugs. “Both clueless.”

“Right. So, to be clear, we’re waiting for—”

“I am so sorry I’m late,” a woman says sheepishly, her heels clicking along the tiled floor. She definitely looks the part for a PR officer: pantsuit, heels, a blond bob, ridiculously expensive handbag, eccentric sunglasses. “Scusami, really.” Her Italian apology has an American twang.

“All okay,” says Charles with a small smile. “We were barely waiting, no?”

You nod, offering a tight-lipped smile of your own. “Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

She slides into the seat beside him and waves a waiter over, ordering in quickfire English; clearly, she’s been here before. Absently, you wonder if her previous affairs in this restaurant were also to have clandestine meetings. Your reverie doesn’t last long, though, because immediately Jenna’s starting her agenda. “So, are introductions in order?”

“I, um,” you say, “I’d say so, yes.”

“Alright, spectacular. I’m Jenna Griffin, just moved to Monte Carlo after living and working in SoCal. I’ve been appointed as a PR manager for Charles here, but don’t worry. You’re in good hands. I’ve handled three Kardashians, two NBA players, two One Direction members, and a lot of nepo babies.”

“Wow,” you say, nodding.

“Cool.” Charles says, clearly impressed.

Jenna’s gaze flits between the two of you, both smiling at each other. “Right,” she says. “Let’s get down to business.” She clears her throat and pulls out her phone from her handbag, scrolling for a few moments. While the silence settles, you steal another glance at Charles, and hide a chuckle when you find his eyes already glancing back at you.

“Aren’t we waiting for Carlos?” He asks, taking a sip of water.

His PR agent looks up briefly, then answers. “Actually, it’s just you two today.”

You nod slowly, burrowing even further into the confusion you’d been feeling since Saturday. It wasn’t like you were expecting Carlos, per se, but a meeting with just you and him—now, that’s a bit strange.

“So, I know this is all very confusing. But it’s happening for a reason,” says Jenna. “Charles—and I really only feel qualified to say this because I’ve done my research—has been on a streak of…erm, well, lady-related scandals lately.”

“Oh, God,” Charles groans across you, and you chew your lip. You’ve seen the headlines, but you’re still clueless as to how this concerns you.

“As a PR agent, I think it won’t do good for his public image to be seen as somebody who sleeps around.”

“It was two headlines,” Charles cuts in with a laugh. “And they were both fake. Please don’t misunderstand.”

Jenna clicks her tongue. “Yeah, the public definitely has some thoughts.” She turns to her phone and reads off of it. “‘Charles is a playboy and not a driver’, ‘Leclerc is too busy pulling girls’… times ten thousand. So, yeah, it’s a bit of a smear.”

“Right, okay. Listen, I’m not sure I understand,” you say with a stuffy laugh. “What has all this got to do with me?”

“Everything,” she answers with a smile. You raise a brow. “Well, you see, we PR managers always have a network. We keep tabs on who’s who, and who needs what. As a new manager, I need to implement some of my strategies around here. Go digging, you know? Find something good. And when I found your pretty little face in the background of many of Charles’ paddock photos, I realized you could help create something newsworthy.”

“Are you talking about a PR stunt?” You ask, your frown deepening.

“Well—virtually, essentially, yes.” She opens her mouth to explain but is interrupted by the serving of champagne and appetizers. “Okay. Don’t think this is a haphazard decision. Naturally, we had to find out if this would even be a good idea…”

“Which it’s not,” you say, taking a swig of champagne.

She nods. “The thing is, your bosses and I really did go over several scenarios, and this one seems the most likely to keep your fans engaged. This way, the appearances won’t look so staged.”

“—Jenna,” Charles says, clearly having detected your hesitance, “I don’t think she’s interested.”

“It’s fine,” you say, but you still sound off-put. It’s not fine, not really. “I don’t see how this is going to help Charles, though. I’d think the idea of him being committed to somebody would just further alienate his fangirls.”

Jenna chuckles. “While that is, to some extent, true, the number of fans who would go gaga over the two of you far, far outweighs the opposing population. This is a special case. A girl next door social media manager with a social media presence—and a wildly popular, totally charming Formula One driver? I mean, talk about Harry and Meghan! Everybody loves love. And, might I add, Charles’ male fans might actually like seeing you two together.”

You sigh, a quick huff of frustrated air. “So, what is this then?”

“It’s a proposition for the fans.” She smiles. “It’s a fake relationship.”

You reach for champagne, but find you’ve totally drained your glass. The room falls into muted silence, and you can’t bring yourself to look at Charles. You didn’t expect this on a Monday afternoon. You thought maybe it was a job termination. Or a leaked text message. Somehow, this is the strangest of all possibilities.

“So, good?” She chirps. “I’ll send you the primer.”

You both stare at each other. “We’re not actually going to. Right?”

“Right. We are not dating.”

—

“We’re dating!” You chirp, practicing your appearances in front of Carlos and Lando, who had visited the former.

“You two look like two people dating pretending to be friends,” Lando observes.

You grumble. Many of your shots had been staged pap photos outside his apartment, or fans happening to catch you two together; no official statement had been released, according to Jenna’s “masterplan.” For the most part, it was a good dynamic of putting up a façade for the public and settling back into a platonic relationship within minutes.

Nothing really goes wrong at first—and then Charles ruins it.

It happens after a Ferrari event in spring. You’re in Monza again, weather humid when you re-shoot the fifth TikTok for the day with Carlos. There are celebrities to and fro, even more journalists and a shitload of fans crowding the perimeter of the area. You’ve successfully pulled off the fake dating stunt, keeping a lowkey profile and doing your job.

There’s a green room for the drivers and close managers to wait and rest, where you stow yourself away to avoid the crowds. You review the reels and stories for the day, and cap it off with a “goodbye, Tifosi!” post with Carlos that’s enough to quell the many notifications.

Granted, many of the said notifications are of the speculative nature. Some are wondering if it’s you posting or if a new hire was underway to make room for the new couple. You ignore them anyway and take a seat on the couch across Carlos, sighing with exhaustion.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” He teases.

“Ha-ha,” you say, unimpressed. You gesture to the TV behind him, showing a live feed of Charles’ last interview of the day with Natalie Pinkham. Once this is over, you’re free for the week: free of social media manager and fake girlfriend responsibilities. The thought alone makes you well up with relief.

You and Carlos both watch intently as Charles answers several event-related questions that, to your horror, simmer into personal ones. Natalie sounds excited when she goes, “Any plans for the week with a special someone?”

Charles has no thought behind his eyes, a muted wave of panic coming over him as he fumbles for a response. “My family’s staying up in Tuscany, in a farmhouse we own, stay in for spring and summer. We are actually visiting them for the week.”

We are actually visiting them for the week. Your look of pure, unadulterated shock doesn’t go unnoticed by Carlos, who’s quick to snap pictures of you on his phone. What the hell is Charles talking about? Tuscany? No, family?

“I take it you didn’t know about this,” Carlos says with a laugh.

“You think?!” You holler, still appalled. Charles has a lot of gall to spin this without your permission, or Jenna’s for that matter. You know she’ll love it, though; it’s really, mainly, you who has a problem with it. Anxious, you get up and watch the broadcast end; not a minute later, Charles enters and offers a can of sparkling water to you.

“Thirsty?” He asks casually.

“Very,” you pipe, taking a gulp.

“You’re welcome,” he says teasingly.

“Oh, thanks! I think I’ve been busy thinking about the fact that I’m meeting your family!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He yells, trying to match your agitated volume. “I didn’t know you were watchi—I was nervous! I didn’t know what to say anymore! And—you kno—well—and Natalie kept asking a ton of questions!”

Your face of disbelief matches his of sheepish apology, facing each other frozen. Across you, Carlos lets out an incredulous laugh, mumbles something about wanting popcorn. You honestly can’t blame him. Had you been an outsider, you would’ve relished in Charles’ slip-up, too. Instead, you’re the one who’s apparently going to Tuscany on Friday to meet the extended Leclerc clan.

“It’s fine. It’s gonna be”—you attempt to find an appropriate adjective—“bearable. At least we don’t need to keep up appearances there.”

You’re met with disagreeable silence. When Charles doesn’t chime in with an agreement, you turn slowly back to him. “No.”

“It’s only for a week—”

“No!”

“A week!”

You’re both standing up, pacing around the other frantically. Pretending to suddenly be bumped up from social media manager to Charles’ girlfriend was a daunting enough proposition. Getting hate mail and death threats was enough incentive to let you want to leave. Timing exits and entrances was difficult. And now, pretending to be together in front of his family? His family.

“Why can’t you just tell them we’re not actually dating?!”

“It’s just—it’s complicated having to explain why.” You remember his assortment of man-whore scandals and realization sinks into you. You sit on the arm of the couch, deflated and contemplative. Despite your own knowledge of the scandals being totally baseless and false, you understand it’s difficult to explain the lengths of tabloids and online rumors to older family members.

You might have to grin and bear it.

“Fine.” You digress. He cheers silently. “One week. Once our quickie breakup is finalized, you’re telling them it ended well. I don’t want to be in anybody’s bad graces.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.”

Tuscany won’t be so bad, you think. What’s the worst that could happen?

—

Charles’ extended family greets you at their farmhouse when you arrive heaving two pieces of luggage. It’s populated by two aunts, three uncles, and two younger cousins, and their hospitality is contagious. They all somehow remind you of Charles, their faces, their laughs, their easy attitudes.

His aunts, Mia and Giulia, are the first to pull you in for a hug and inspect your face. Good eyebrows! Good lips! Healthy attractive child for you both!

You have to pry yourself off of them with giggles and smiles and pretend the kid comment was never uttered for your own sake. They’re kind, ushering you inside and serving dinner immediately, inquiring about the drive and if it was bad, if Charles had spotted any dead sheep or cattle on the way (none.)

His cousins are both little boys, eleven and six, shy and with thick accents. Charles’ smile is huge when he speaks to them in Italian, eyes comical and animated. His three uncles all eat fairly quietly, talking about politics, or racing, only when they feel like it.

They ask many questions, and tell so many stories, over limoncello and rigatoni that leave you stuffed after two platefuls. You didn’t think you’d be satisfied so soon after the drive, but you’re grateful for it. His uncle Giorgio leads the tour of the house, his voice slow and constantly sliding into Italian, but Charles is quick to supply a translation into your ear. Lit by terrace lights, you get a night view of the house, surrounded by the hills, the lemon trees, and a swimming pool in the back. Further back, there are two horses for riding, and bicycles for easier transportation.

A vineyard borders the other side of the hill, owned by a different family. You can’t digest the beauty of this place, even without the sun to provide a better view. You’re back inside, being shown the rest of the wide dining room and kitchen that lead out onto a balcony-terrace area, and then clambering the stairs to be shown your room—a beautiful one on the second floor that overlooks the hills.

“This is so beautiful,” you say honestly. “Thank you so much. And Charles will be staying…?”

“In my childhood bedroom!” He quips excitedly, already halfway out the door to review his living situation.

Giulia and Mia share a look and then the former goes, “Wait, Charles!”

He slows to a halt and turns, awaiting their words. “Ay. Bambino, because you have been in Monaco so long these days, and we have gotten a lot of stuff, your childhood bedroom is now more of a… storage room.”

“A storage room?!” He sounds scandalized.

“Bambino, mi dispiace,” she continues. “But—let’s not be conservative! You two have been dating now for a year, correct? Surely, you’ve slept in one bed.”

Your face grows warm. “Um, actu—”

“Shh,” Mia says kindly. “No need to make excuses. Charles, stay with your girlfriend. And we will wake you both for breakfast. Ciao!”

You barely voice your assent, managing to wedge in a thank you! before the door closes and leaves you and Charles alone.

In a room without a single couch. The only non-bed “resting” space is a single chair, and as much as you want to, you don’t want Charles to break his spine trying to sleep on it. The situation is clear. You need to configure the bed.

“We cannot sleep on the same bed.”

“I’ll take the floor.”

“No! I mean—ugh. I don’t want to risk you pulling a muscle. Also, more importantly, if any of your family walks in and sees you sleeping on the floor, they’re going to think we’re freaks.”

“The bed is big enough for us both,” he says, gesticulating. You narrow your eyes. If you’re going to be avoiding physical contact, it definitely isn’t. It’s like the gods had decided to bless the room with a bed perfect for two people snuggling.

You place your hands on your hips, analyzing the best way to tackle the situation. You won’t lie, you’d thought about the possibility of sharing a room—but a bed was completely different. You’d expected a couch, a loveseat of some kind, both of which are woefully missing. Thinking fast, you take the three decorative, cylindrical pillows and place them vertically on the centre of the bed.

You step back. “Okay. That’s our boundary.”

Each side is a bit small, but it’s the price to pay, you think, taking a long look at your handiwork. Beside you, Charles snorts. “That is not going to work.”

“I’ll bet you it will,” you say matter-of-factly, retreating to the bathroom to get ready for bed. When you emerge, Charles is fast asleep, half his body on your side of the boundary. You have to pour water on his face to shoo him away, and that’s when you’re positive your creation will work.

You place yourself gingerly on your side of the border, remaining perfectly still as you drift off to sleep. You wake up the next day on Charles’ chest, pushing him away before admitting you’d been in that position in the first place.

You slide him five euros over breakfast.

—

Charles is a good driver, skier, and biker—you can attest to this from being by his side, reviewing pictures and videos of him for a living.

But there’s one thing he absolutely sucks at, and it’s teaching. You thought you’d never have to attest to this, but here you are, with scraped knees and a smudge of soil on the hem of your shorts, on your sixth attempt to learn how to ride a bike.

It’d been his idea, like many of the odd things you’d gotten yourself into. “Let me make up for dragging you along,” he’d said, and then proceeded to commit attempted murder every time he sent you away on the bicycle. Five tries did you no good; Charles’ directions contradicted each other and came much too fast, causing you to crash into the grass or skid yourself to a halt, your sneakers coated in a light layer of dust.

“Why are we still trying?” You ask woefully, examining the scratches on your calf. And to think you would’ve gotten to go truffle hunting with his uncle had Charles not swept you away to bike.

“It is an important life skill. Just—don’t look at the ground. Okay. Andiamo!” He sends you off again, watches as you twist and careen into a bush. Again. Your groan of pain matches the ooof he lets out, jogging to help you up. You turn away from the ground and toward his face. His laughing face.

“Ow. What?” You ask, raising a brow. You flex your fingers, waiting for him to pull you upwards.

“You smashed into a bush and a berry’s all over your cheek.” He says, still laughing when he helps you up. You hold the tip of your pinky to your face, press down, and sure enough, when you inspect it again, it’s stained a dark berry color.

“Is this toxic?!” You ask, agitated.

“Che? Toxic? No, no. It’s a juniper berry.” He reaches over and swipes his thumb across your face, sending you into a frozen state. Your hands remain at your sides while he focuses on wiping the rest of the fruit off of your cheek, showing you his stained finger afterwards with a proud smile. “All gone.”

You turn and pick up the bicycle. “One more for good luck,” you say, shaking off the nerves and gut churning feeling deep in your stomach. You situate yourself atop the bike, trying to remember and re-remember all the tips Charles had given you.

“Don’t look down, just breathe, keep your eyes trained straight. If you crash, on the grass always. Better than this path.”

“Got it,” you say breathlessly, determined. You take off, eyes trained on the landscape in front of you, leaving the house behind and gliding quickly downhill. It takes you a beat to realize, however, that you’re not falling. You’re doing it—properly. You turn to voice your pride, but that’s what gets you caught in your thoughts.

Charles is cheering behind you, but once he detects you’re stumbling, he runs the few metres over. Still, he can’t catch you fast enough; you do manage to turn right and land on the grass. In his own rush, Charles trips on the horizontal bike, and lands right beside you, atop your arm.

Eventually you’re both doubled over laughing, your fingers finding purchase on the blunt grass. You both only quiet down when you hear his aunt’s car, old and rickety, grow louder. You look up to find Giulia peeking out of the driver’s window, her face as amused as it is confused.

Beside her, Mia yells. “Buon lavoro, Charles!”

“What’d she say?” You ask, still half-laughing.

“Good job,” he replies, entertained. “She said good job.”

—

Charles takes Giorgio’s Vespa and rides you both to town two days later, even with the offer of a car. He claims the motor ride is the best way to experience Tuscany at its finest. Nothing about the two-seater bike on the pebbly road feels fine, though, and you’re seriously contemplating broken ribs when he makes a sharp turn. It’s only a ten, fifteen-minute ride, but the downhill slope makes it seem faster—and more dangerous.

Your grip on his waist had gone from loose and hesitant to tight and anxious, your voice a mantra of possible death in his ear. He can’t help but laugh, revving harder and chiming in with a biting remark of his own.

“You know who this is named after?” He shouts over the wind whipping both of you.

“Mmm?” You ask.

“Apollonia, from the Godfather.”

“Oh, Christ. The girl who died?”

“Hey, she was beautiful! My uncle loved the movies so much, his Vespa had to be named after her.” You lean onto his back for purchase, still unused to the speed at which he zips through the countryside. Eventually, after a few turns, the terrain turns from rough to smoother, and he parks at the busy-looking town square, populated by locals and tourists alike, but not with the traffic of more popular cities. Alleyways lead to smaller corner stores and cafés; a chapel overlooks the area, and a market populates the centre.

“What would you name your bike, if you had to?” You ask as a follow-up, removing your helmet and shaking your hair out. You pull at your dress to straighten it out.

“Well…” He takes both your helmets and stores them in the bike, leading the way toward the bustle. “My uncles, and my father—they always say we name our most precious things after beautiful women. Apollonia. My other uncle, Leo, he named his sailboat after his mother, Bianca. Even my dad would name few objects after my mother. It’s a way of honoring them, you know?”

You nod, stopping at a produce stall and examining a bunch of tomatoes. “I think that’s sweet.”

“Yes, so I guess… well, I don’t know, really. My mother’s name, maybe?”

“She’s got a beautiful one,” you comment offhandedly.

“Yeah. Or, if we go by appearances, I suppose your name.”

You ignore the flush of nerves that well up in you and turn back to face him, confused and amused. “My name? Why’s that?”

“I mean,” he coughs, crossing his arms and smiling, “people think we are together, so if I get a bike, and they ask for her name, I must say yours, no?”

“Only if you want to,” you chirp back, amused. What had possessed him to suddenly bring you into the discussion? Neither of you are pretending for all these strangers. Here in town, you’re friends again, browsing the market, walking around stalls, eating free samples of pesto and cheese.

“I do want to,” he says. It’s a joke, you’re sure. Half-sure. It’s a joke.

The town square’s noise begins to die when the sun sets. City-dwellers leave to take trips back to main hubs of Italy, and with no nightlife in the area, many in the square are families or couples sitting down for dinner. The ride back, while short, might be dangerous in the dark; you tug on Charles’ sleeve to relay your thoughts.

“Don’t worry,” he says dismissively. “I’ve biked here past midnight.”

“What were you even doing in town at midnight, hmm?” You tease lightly, following him around. There’s not much to do except eat at this point, judging by the way you’d both exhausted the stalls in the afternoon. He rolls his eyes, mumbling excuses.

“You womanizer,” you whisper in an exaggerated scandalous tone. You poke his bicep. “Bedding the locals.”

“I was not, ay!” He defends. You’ve noticed his accent is so much thicker here, where he has to speak Italian all the time, except with you. It sounds nice. “I would come to smoke weed.”

That’s even funnier, you think, throwing your head back to laugh. Thoughts of teenaged Charles, tinged pink and tan from summer, on a momentary break from a junior racing career, biking fast back and forth—for a joint no less—are both funny and endearing. “That is so cute, Charles. Drug virgin.”

“Don’t speak of those when we’re in front of the house of the Lord,” he says sarcastically, gesturing to where your cyclical walking had landed you: back in front of the town’s chapel. There’s a pot of holy water by the front doors and a rack of candles for lighting and offering. Besides that, there’s a coin drop box being manned by a priest.

In silent agreement, you walk in sync to the candles, lighting one each and whispering brief intentions. You’re not religious, you’ve never been; a church seemed foreign to you, always. But you figure there’s no harm in a candle and an offer to the big guy, if he’s there.

There’s a mural painted by the doors, which you observe silently while Charles goes to drop donations into the box. You catch bits of their conversation. Good evening. Are you a tourist. No, we live up the hill, visiting for spring, yes.

The rest you don’t catch, turning to Charles and watching him talk, animated as he is solemn. The priest smiles at you politely, turns to Charles, goes, “Siete qui insieme?” You rack your brain for the Italian you’d picked up recently but can’t match it to anything.

Charles nods. “Qui per cenare, ed esplorare.” Esplorare, explore? You fail again, but continue listening anyway, occupying your eyes with the mural.

“È la tua ragazza?” The priest asks with a soft chuckle.

“Oh, sì, sì.” Charles looks very sure of himself when he says so.

The priest nods once. “Se ti sposi, allora dovrebbe essere qui, no?”

Charles turns slowly, looks at you, then smiles. “Okay,” he says, still looking at you. “Farò in modo che accada.” Then they’re exchanging quick Italian goodbyes and he’s walking back to you, guiding you to a nearby restaurant for dinner.

“What was that about?” You ask, the curiosity getting the best of you. You don’t remember what they said, so you can’t plug it into Google Translate; your last hope is getting Charles to translate it for you. You figure it’s no problem. He’s always translated for you during your stay here so far, word-for-word recounts that have you feeling fluent in the language after decoding them. Whether it be a family anecdote or a market transaction, the language has never become an issue for you.

You walk beside him, awaiting the translation that never comes. Instead, he smiles, shakes his head, and says, “That was nothing.”

—

Your first, last, and only close call happens during a wine and poker night with Charles’ uncles and aunts. You’d spent the morning semi-cuddling (to beat the early a.m. cold, you both insisted), and then a majority of the afternoon in the nearby vineyard volunteering to help pick grapes, and they’d offered to let you wind down for the night inside.

It starts off well enough—you and Giorgio best the first two rounds, much to everyone else’s chagrin, and you rest on the sofa, reading Giulia’s cookbook with a glass of wine. At quarter to midnight, Charles’ six-year-old cousin, Marco, comes inside and slots himself beside Charles, eyes sleepy.

“Cugino,” he says. Cousin. His voice is squeaky and childish.

“Yes, Marco?” Charles asks, preoccupied with his cards.

“Put me to sleep,” he says in accented English.

“Later. You should wait.”

“Can she do it?” A chubby hand rises and points toward you. You offer a small wink, sipping wine.

“Only if she wants to,” Charles says, turning to face you. You chuckle.

“I’d be happy to, Marco.” You smile.

“Cugino.” Marco tugs on Charles’ sleeve to regain his attention. “What’s her favorite color?”

Oh, shit. Neither of you had really thought this would come up, so you hope Charles can fake it well. While you know everything about him, he knows not much about you, especially little niche facts like this one. Charles clears his throat and goes, “Blue.”

“Favorite song?”

“Uh. Marco, aspettare. OK?”

“Why should he wait?” Giorgio asks, gruff. “Your aunts and I are curious, too.”

Charles meets your eyes, and you try to signal for him to lie, which he ends up doing. “It’s Take a Chance on Me. ABBA, zio.”

You do know that song, but it’s definitely not your favorite. You close the cookbook and get up, pacing onto the seat beside Marco and leaning against it, smiling and nodding. Beside Giorgio, Mia asks sweetly, “Do you have any tattoos, dear?”

Just you, or are Italian aunts ridiculously straightforward? You open your mouth at the same time Charles does, and that’s what leads to your downfall. Yes, one, you say. No, none, Charles says at the same time. You both look at each other, eyes wide.

His uncle grunts. “Bambino, do you know nothing of this lovely girl?”

“You misunderstand,” Charles says. “I thought she wouldn’t want to share that yet, zio. I tried to cover for her, but, er—she seems okay with sharing it.”

It’s a flimsy excuse but it seems to work, and the poker game resumes without any more questions about you.

Still, you grow nervous, frustrated a bit, and, once you spot Marco asleep, you take him into your arms and mumble a polite goodnight, carrying him upstairs. The call was just too close. Why did Charles feel the need to interject like that? Had you been caught in such a lie, you’d need to reveal everything.

Something else tugs at your chest, but you refuse to admit it incites an unhappy feeling out of you. Charles’ lack of knowledge about you did nothing but remind you that in the end, he did know nothing about you, and this was just contractual and obligatory and for the press-turned-for the family. You pat Marco’s forehead, sighing. You shouldn’t be so upset, but you are.

You know a lot about Charles, but it’s a cold fact that he can’t say the same about you; at least, not to the extent that you know him. The doors and staircase creak, signifying the game’s end and everyone’s retreat to bed; you await Charles’ entrance, which comes after you hear him opening your room, finding it empty, and then—

“Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, hushed. You get up and walk past him, crossing the corridor and opening the door halfway into your room.

He says, then: “You really never tell me anything about yourself.”

You freeze, turn, suddenly frustrated all over again. Suddenly sad. “Yeah. You really know nothing about me.” It’s exaggerated, so it cuts deeper.

He’s upset, you realize. “Do I have to beg for these sorts of basic facts? I wa—I…” He pauses. “I want to know you more. I’ve always wanted to.”

“You didn’t even think to—to ask me the most basic questions before we got here.” You’re aware he didn’t owe you this, but your irritance doesn’t quell. “My favorite song, my favorite movie, color, anything. I could name all that on your behalf.”

“Every time I ask, you deflect. You never told me, either,” he says defiantly.

You scoff and ponder for a minute before shaking your head and clambering down the steps. You need some fresh air, having gotten mad so quickly. You know it makes no sense—he never needed to ask about you. Prior to last week, you worked with him. Still, everything’s changed now, and it feels hurtful knowing he can’t name these things about you.

You take a seat on the terrace chair, pretend not to notice when he sits beside you, separated by a table.

You hug your arms closer to yourself, sigh. “It’s, a koi fish on my hipbone. Hurt like a bitch.”

He looks at you, curious. You continue.

“My high school superlative was ‘most likely to be elected president’—embarrassing, I know. I won the local spelling bee. Thrice in a row. I love the color green, and the movie Fantastic Mr. Fox.”

You pretend you’re not feeling anxious from the sudden sharing, clearing your throat and keeping your gaze trained on the landscape of houses and hills around you.

“I love crosswords to a worrying degree, I’m a dog person but have never owned one, and my favorite song is Don’t Go Breaking My Heart. I kill it on karaoke.” Finally, your eyes slide slowly over to look at Charles. He’s already looking at you, smile soft on his flushed, pink face.

“I didn’t think of you as much of a singer,” he says, eyes crinkling from the size of his smile.

Huffing and stifling a laugh, you cross your arms defiantly over your torso. Your lips melt into a pout, and you flip him off in an attempt to stave him off. He just laughs harder, gulping the rest of his wine with ease.

“To be fair, I think I dance better,” you respond proudly. “It’s still bad, but it’s better. Better than you, anyway.”

“Is that a challenge?” He asks, mouth half-open, still caught in a laugh. “Wow. Okay, d’accord. It’s on.”

“It is most certainly not a challenge, Charles!” You object frustratedly.

“Challenge accepted!”

Against your vocal protests, he gets up from his chair and reenters the house, exiting with his phone in one hand and the rest of the wine in the other. He browses his selection of songs, humming until he seems satisfied with one of them. He pours you both a glass of preparatory red, a grin lighting up his face.

You burrow into the chair, unrelenting when he stretches out a hand to invite you to dance. You only end up giving in when you’ve successfully finished your wine, getting up and straightening out the wrinkles in your dress.

Your hand is still loosely clutched around his when he plays the Bee Gees song he’d queued up, and then both of you start dancing.

It’s a bit fast-paced, but you catch up well, letting yourself move fluidly to the song. All the while, your hand remains looped around his, like an anchor, a saving point. You shut your eyes to immerse yourself in the song, a smile on your face. When you crack them open, you watch Charles dance goofily, with moves you’d be totally embarrassed by otherwise. This time, you’re strangely endeared.

Where you expected yourself—the both of you, really—to be stiff and awkward, you’re both loose and easygoing, chuckling and laughing as the song progresses. Your dress swishes by your knees softly when you move, letting go of his hand momentarily. It flexes with the feeling of his absence. Charles dances like he has no care in the world, with movements that would rival a fifty-year-old’s. You find that you don’t have a care in the world either, watching him with a stupid grin on your features.

Your heart swells and seizes, and you swallow, not wanting to realize why yet. He reaches for your hand again, seeks it in the evening light. You give it to him easily, cut his search short. You’re what he looks for.

He lifts your linked hands right as the song starts its ending, and you realize you’re supposed to twirl around them. With a laugh, you follow, letting your arms stretch out when you’re done. He pulls you back, with strength that sends you barreling into his chest. “Dude,” you mumble, giggling. “Charles, you ruined my flow.”

You both part, but barely; your hands are still clasped, your distance barely increased. You stare up at him when the next song clicks on.

It’s slower this time, a song you recognize from films and novels. You remember this specific rendition from two years ago in Silverstone, when Charles had shared over a meeting that he’d been busy teaching himself the piano—specifically, The Way You Look Tonight.

The song continues, your hands still together, your eyes boring into his. The moon makes his light eyes a different shade, all green and soft edges rivaling the intensity of his stare. “Come on,” he says. “Why stop, no?”

He raises your hands, guides his vacant one to wrap around your waist. It’s warm there, secure, belonging. With all the hesitance in the world, you wrap a hand around his upper arm. Your gaze is unbreaking.

“Thank you,” he says, steering you both into a slow, easy rhythm. The nerves melt away slowly when you continue to sway. You cock a head to the side in a silent request for elaboration.

“For sharing.”

“Oh. It was only right,” you reply. “Considering you know nothing niche about me.”

“Tell me…” He starts, but the words tangle in his throat, lodge themselves there in a fit of nerves. He breathes, breaks the gaze. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind… if you told me more.”

A brief shine of surprise passes through your eyes, and you nod. “Alright.”

“Alright.” He smiles.

“Do you think, ” you say, swallowing the sorrow, “we’ll need to keep doing this when the week is ov—?”

“Let’s not dwell on that,” he says quickly. He sounds—sad, almost, at the thought of this being fake. In the days spent here, picking grapes, drinking wine, going on bike rides and practicing Italian, it was easy to let the lines blur. Perhaps he’d forgotten.

You realize, when he leans forward and slots his chin atop your head: you’d forgotten, too.

—

Despite the tension, the next day goes fairly normal, and Charles takes you to town on Apollonia late at night. The Tuscan air is crisp and clean when he parks by a pub, loud not with techno music or hip-hop, but Italians singing. Inside, it’s not so crowded, populated by regulars, few tourists, and several older people.

Charles orders himself a beer, and a cocktail for you after you request something sweet. The bartender gives you an extra one on the house, and you and Charles seat yourself in front, watching people sing on the stage.

“Vi piace cantare?” Someone asks, and Charles quickly supplies: he’s asking if we like to sing.

You wave your palm back and forth. So-so, you signal. Charles, of course, ever the social butterfly, slides into a natural conversation with him, about Italy, pubs, beer, and singing. The guy introduces himself as Antonio, owner of said pub and a man who is apparently more than happy to clear the queue of singers for you two.

“Wait, seriously?” You ask. Antonio nods, clapping Charles on the back. You’d have thought they’d been friends for years or something.

You immediately turn down the request, but Charles scrambles onstage, having downed two bottles of beer. You’re overcome with horror as you watch him walk across the small stage to the side of it to request a song, encouraging whoops from the crowd.

“Ohhhhh. Oh, no. This is not a good idea,” you say, gulping. “Plus, I’ve had a lot to drink. Your aperol spritzes have so much alcohol in them.”

Beside you, Antonio laughs. “Non si preoccupi—do not worry. He seems to be a confident guy. You’re in good hands.”

“Am I? He didn’t even ask if I wanted to sing. I don’t even know what to sing.” You watch him whisper a song to the guy in charge of the pub’s ancient karaoke system, half-sure that the song archive stops after 1990. The stage creaks when Charles reaches for another mic and then stretches his arm out to offer it to you.

You muster your best angry face, but he just laughs. “Come on. You will like it.”

Gulping the rest of your cocktail, you accept the mic, and then his hand, strong in yours as he helps you climb onstage. The crowd of locals and few tourists cheer for the both of you, and you don’t do much to hide your stage fright; even the buzz of alcohol can’t help you. You hope (and know, deep down) that Charles will.

“Buona sera a tutti,” Charles says, met with more raucous cheering. “Io e il mio amico cateremo per te stasera.” He bows, and you follow a bit stiffly, not knowing what he’s saying.

“Amico?” Someone jeers from the audience. “O fidanzata?!”

Charles laughs, and you know he’s truly entertained because his eyes crinkle the way they do. You fiddle with your dress, your hair, anything to channel the nerves. He waves the crowd off with a shush motion and then turns, gestures for the song to start. He catches your eye, anxious, quells your nerves by taking your hand and squeezing it. Don’t worry, he mouths. I’m here.

You identify the song before two seconds of it even play, and the realization is breathtaking: your favorite. You shut your eyes and let a huge smile come onto your face, laughing. You almost can’t believe him for this.

He starts off the song, taking your hand and leading you into a dance. Don’t go breaking my heart.

You twirl around him, exaggerating your movements and smiling. I couldn’t if I tried.

Somehow, you find dexterity, flow in the movements, the words. Maybe because you love the song so much. Charles matches your enthusiasm, singing loudly and exaggerating his accent to incite laughs from the onlookers. When he speeds up, so do you, allowing both of you to join in an upbeat rhythm that leaves you panting.

Ooh-hoo, nobody knows it, you both sing, laughing and shimmying toward each other. You both point and laugh, joining hands again when the chorus ends to sing your lines all over again. Charles always leads you well, alert as he is excited, letting you melt into him, adapt to the dance. You feel like you’re floating.

Don’t go breaking my heart, he sings.

I won’t go breaking your heart, you sing back, ducking underneath your hands, laughing.

The tension, warmth, spark between you grow as the song begins to close, your words breathless, faces flushed with alcohol and semi-exhaustion. Even if your face seems to show it, though, you find you’re not tired at all, smiling as your heart beats faster. You pull away, dancing to the last bits of the song, having let go of all your worries, nerves. Why were you ever nervous? You always trusted him.

The song fades to an end when you pull together, faces as close as they’d ever been. You’re both breathing heavy with the intensity of your dance, smiling. You shut your eyes, laugh, with the ecstasy of this moment. From the crowd, the bartender yells: “Ora bacia! Kiss!”

Both you and Charles turn to the crowd, who quickly cheer him on, and laugh. But they’re not kidding, you realize—they’re all yelling kiss in unison, intermittent whoops and cheers joining the chant. It’s like a rural Italian version of an MLB kiss cam.

You turn back to Charles, who’s looking at you already. His eyes dart to your lips. You’d never done it before—appearances never went that far—but the crowd is unrelenting, and you nod back when he cocks his head to the side in silent question. Like always, you’re nervous. And again, like always, he helps you through it.

Warmth blossoms through your chest when he leans in and presses your lips together.

That would’ve been enough to satisfy the crowd, you think, but neither of you pull away. Sparks ignite your stomach, your hands looping around his neck, his around your waist. You kiss him back effortlessly, like you’d done this a million times before. You feel him smile against your own smile, laugh when you laugh.

The kiss is nothing if not dizzying, the perfect kind, the kind of the fairytale variety. His lips are soft, a bit chapped, against yours; when your tongues meet, they taste like aperol spritz and beer. Your hands tighten around his neck, like you need him still against you, when you both pull away for air. The crowd cheers.

You barely even hear them, staring into his eyes.

—

The night becomes cloudy, raining softly over the hills when everybody’s done singing; Charles boards Apollonia and like always, you wrap your hands around him, leaning against his back. You’re a bit tipsy, but above all, you’re utterly conflicted with how everything’s seemed to turn in on itself within the last few days.

The rain only grows as Charles revs harder, and the Vespa skids to a screeching, horrible stop. Thankfully, you’re not far from the farmhouse, so you don’t walk much; still, both of you are drenched, Charles’ arms stained with motor oil that drips off with the force of the rain. He stows away the bike, turns back to you. You’re looking at him expectantly.

“What is this?” You demand, raising your voice.

“Rain,” he replies blankly.

“This.” You wag a finger in between you both. “We kissed in Antonio’s pub, Charles. And we might—we might tell ourselves it was because of the crowd’s pressure, but we know. We both know that kiss was for nobody but us.”

He wipes a hand over his face. “What do you want it to be?”

“I don’t know,” you say honestly, sighing. Your hair is dripping with rain. “I really don’t.”

“I’ll tell you what I want,” he says. And he pauses, like he always does when he’s unsure, nervous, bumbling, and then blurts it out. “You—I want you. I was a fool to realize it late. But years of being with you, around you… I should’ve known earlier, I—”

“Charles,” you cut in, not expecting the sudden rawness. “No, no.”

“You’ve got to realize,” he says desperately. “I do. I constantly think of you, feel for you, look for you, look at you. I’ve known you for so long, I always end up liking you all over again. Everything comes back to you. Seeing you here, a place I love—seeing you love it here—listening to you sing, dancing with you—don’t you—haven’t you gotten it yet—?”

You stare at him.

You’re faraway, on the clouds, dry from the rain, when he says it. I love you.

—

The morning after is quiet, muted. You drown in your own overbearing thoughts.

“Got a lot on your mind?” You emerge from them quick, eyes darting over to Charles’ two aunts leaning by the doorframe of the dining room. You offer a polite smile, hoping it hides the conflict in the recesses of your mind.

“A bit,” you reply.

“Come join us,” Mia offers. “We will pick lemons outside. For lunch.”

You take a basket from the entryway and follow them through the front door and onto the yard, matching their slow pace, relishing in the morning sun that hasn’t yet grown too hot.

Tuscany is beautiful. Despite your best efforts, you’d grown to love it here over the course of the week. The hilly terrain, the fruit, the constant goat sightings, the bike rides to town where you clutch Charles’ shirt out of fear you might fall off.

They seem to spot good lemons within milliseconds, balding the branches in minutes. Perhaps because of your own cloudy thoughts, or maybe their breakneck speed, you fail to catch up, and they notice.

Mia again brings you out of your thoughts, guiding you three to the next tree. “Are you upset, bambina? Is Charles being a pest?”

“Oh, God, no,” you say with a laugh. “We—he’s a great tour guide. I never explored Italy before, and it’s beautiful here. He bikes me to town, because I can’t, uh, ride, unfortunately. He transacts for me, because my Italian is hopeless. He buys wine and cheese and lets me pet sheep when we bike past them on the hills.”

“Bambini innamorati.” Mia sighs fondly. “What is it you like about Charles?”

You hum, thinking. There are lots of things you like about Charles, but surely his family share the same sentiments. What’s unique? What about him is just yours? “His humor, I suppose,” you say. “He finds the fun in everything, even in competition, in boredom. Everywhere else, his good traits—everyone knows them. A stellar driver, charming, kind. Good-looking. But his humor, I think… I think he reserves his weirdest jokes, his best laughs, for the best people in his life. I’m just glad I’m there.”

Giulia is the next to speak, slow and encouraging, prompting you with a question you’d once dreaded but now feel excitement to hear: “Tell me again, how you and Charles met?”

It’s a rehearsed story, with bits of lies that you and Charles had to insert to make it appear more romantic and less coworker-esque. But you’d only told the short version before. To some journalists, to his cousin. You figure you’ll lie less and tell a more unabridged version. “Oh, okay,” you say, nervous and collecting your thoughts.

“I work with Charles. I was spending time with him a lot, so naturally, we became somewhat friends. Not very close, but comfortable enough. I had to take pictures and videos for him and his teammate, so we really were together a lot. I suppose that’s how we met. How we became… something more, is a totally different story. I think the best thing about it was that neither of us were looking for it.”

You breathe, pausing. “It simply happened—despite both of us not expecting, not needing a relationship, it happened anyway. Almost funny, how young people like myself look for the moment of love at first sight. The staggering moment of eye contact and realizing you’ve met your soulmate. But—it wasn’t like that for me. It happened slowly, like I had to dissect what I felt. Like my heart had always known, so I had to catch up with myself and realize I…”

You pause. You really aren’t lying. “…I’m in love with him.”

Giulia and Mia exchange a knowing look over the branches.

—

“So, are you dating?” Natalie asks. It’s the first race of the season, and everyone’s excited—but this interview moves slowly, Charles dictating the flow of it himself. He smiles.

“Yes, we are.”

“Well, there’d been rumors a few months ago that this was a PR stunt, calculated by your new officer, Jenna Griffin. So, tell me again, are you dating? For real?”

Charles seeks you in the crowd of the meet-and-greet fans, finds you in the front row. You roll your eyes when he smiles fondly at you. A Tuscany trip and several months later, he thinks, has changed everything.

For the better. “For real.”

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #f1 x reader

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girlgenius1111 · 5 months

Text

pay for your crimes

part 4! Ona and R get Alexia and Mapi back for trying to play Cupid. Or they try to.

no warnings!

You and Ona spent the morning... busy. You spent the afternoon busy too, but in a different, less sexy way: figuring out how to trick two of the most observant people on the team was a challenge. The two of you decided that Ona would call Alexia and tell her that you didn't reciprocate her feelings. You would continue your radio silence to Mapi, as if nothing had happened. At practice tomorrow, you and Ona wouldn't speak to each other, and you figured Mapi would corner you and try to get you to talk, if she didn't call you immedietly after hearing from Alexia. You'd tell her nothing happened, and even though she'd presumably know the truth from Alexia, she wouldn't be able to admit it.

The biggest problem here was Ona; she was a horrible liar. Growing up, she didn't hide much from her parents, so she didn't get practice then like most teenagers do. You really didn't know how her call to Alexia was going to go.

Predictably, Alexia answered on the first ring, her voice ringing out into the room over the speaker, clearly expecting to be told how good she was at matchmaking.

"Hola Capi" Ona let her voice quiver slightly. You turned away from her, worried eye contact would cause both of you to break into giggles.

"Ona! How did it go?" Alexia's words were said with so much excitement, you almost felt bad. Almost.

"Not great."

"What?" The confusion in Alexia's tone had you biting your lip to keep from laughing.

"We talked. You were wrong, Ale. She doesn't have feelings for me. And I didn't tell her I had any for her. I think it's better we just keep some space until we can be friends again." Ona's voice was filled with emotion, and you knew it was the stress of lying, but it sounded like she was genuinely upset.

"No, Ona that can't be right. I'm... i'm sure she has feelings for you."

"What because of the way she looks at me? I don't think that is more convincing than her telling me to my face that she doesn't have feelings for me."

"No, Ona it's not just that. Its..." Alexia was clearly struggling to not admit that she had firsthand testimony that you had admitted to being in love with Ona. "It's more than that. You just have to trust me, go talk to her again," she practically begged.

"Ale, I already trusted you. It didn't work out that well. She doesn't feel the same way, it's time to move on."

"Ona if you just-" Alexia sounded almost frantic at this point.

"No, Capi. I just need some time okay? I'll see you tomorrow." And with that, Ona hung up, just in time for both of you to collapse into laughter. She'd impressed you, keeping it together well. It turns out that the shakiness in her voice from being dishonest seemed similar to how she sounds when she's emotional.

The two of you had just stopped laughing, and regained your breath, when your phone rang. Seeing Mapi's caller ID flash on your phone literally only minutes after hanging up with Alexia was enough to push you both into another fit of hysterical laughter. You had to let the phone ring out before you could pull yourself together, wiping a few stray tears from your eyes.

"Alright, keep it together, I'm gonna call Mapi back. And Ona, don't you dare look at me or I'll lose it again." Ona took a deep breath, wiping the smile off her face, and turned around so her back was facing you on the couch. You took a deep breath too, before pressing the call button. Mapi answered before the first ring had even finished.

"Hey Mapi. What's up?" You made sure to sound a little dejected, but as though you were trying to hide it.

"Y/n! Um..." Mapi trailed off; it seemed she hadn't really thought calling you through all the way, and she didn't know what to say. Digging your nails into your palms to stop yourself from laughing again, you waited for her to decide what to say.

After a minute she finally spoke. "Patri told me you left the bar with Ona last night. What happened?" She tried to sound casual, but you could hear the serious tone in her voice. Ona turned to look at you, mouthing the words, Sure, Patri told you, before you pushed her shoulder to turn her back around.

"Oh yeah. I was just kind of drunk and freaked out over those weird guys. She just took me home. Nothing happened." You, as opposed to Ona, were a great liar. You knew how to lie, and how to layer a lie; allowing someone to see through what you wanted them to, but not alerting them to what was really going on. You let your voice shake slightly, trying to sound as though you were putting on a brave face.

You were met with silence from the other end of the phone. You don't think you'd ever lied to Mapi before, and she clearly didn't know what to do with it. She would know from Alexia that you and Ona slept together, and had a conversation, but she had no way of telling you that. She was stuck.

"Are you sure, nena? If something happened, you can tell me." Her voice sounded so genuine, so reassuring, that you had to really fight to keep yourself from telling her the truth.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Nothing happened." You cleared your throat, hoping to make it seem like you were fighting back tears. "I'm hungover though, and I don't really feel that good, so I'll see you tomorrow."

You hung the phone up before she could respond, groaning as you sat back heavily on the couch. Ona turned around, pulling your body to lay your head in her lap. She smiled down at you, and you grinned back up at her, admiring the freckles that adorned her face. You were beginning to think they were one of your favorite of her features. She absentmindedly ran her hands through your hair, and you melted a little at the sweet gesture.

"Should I be worried at how good of a liar you are?" She made it sound like she was joking, but you could sense a hint of insecurity in her voice. Instead of responding right away, you pulled her head down, pressing a deep kiss to her lips. When you broke apart, she was gasping for air, her eyes looking slightly dazed.

"As long as I keep kissing you like that, you don't have anything to worry about. I'll never lie to you, Oni. Promise." She returned your smile, before it fell from her face. Concerned, you asked her what was wrong.

"I'm gonna have to lie to Alexia tomorrow. In person. All day." She looked genuinely terrified at the prospect.

You laughed, "You're just gonna have to try your best to seem like an emotional mess and not a lying one." She sighed, clearly thinking deeply about how she was going to approach the next day.

-----

Ona returned to her apartment that night, and you decided you would arrive early to practice, to see if anyone asked you any questions, and Ona would arrive late, to avoid being asked questions right away.

You walked down the hall towards the locker room, thinking you would be the first person there. You stopped when you heard voices, leaning against the wall to shamelessly eavesdrop.

"-don't understand, why would she lie to me? She's never lied to me before, this is not normal." You felt a pang of guilt at the sound of Mapi's voice. She sounded really concerned, and kind of hurt. You reminded yourself that her and Alexia needed to be taught a lesson about their matchmaking, as they were getting too confident in their skills.

"I don't understand why they won't just admit whats going on to each other. I mean y/n straight up told Ona she didn't have feelings for her. They are making this so complicated, and now we have to get even more involved," Alexia sounded frustrated.

"I hate to point this out," Ingrid broke in, although she didn't sound that regretful, "but if you guys hadn't meddled in their relationship, they might have been able to take their time and figure things out themselves."

You didn't have to see Mapi and Alexia's faces to know they were both glaring at Ingrid.

"Helpful, Ingrid. Thank you. Ale's right though, we have to fix it, maybe we can-"

You walked in then, airpods in, pretending you hadn't been eavesdropping. You made sure to keep your gaze down, and your face neutral as you headed to your locker and set your stuff down. You could feel the three girls staring at you, and you pulled your airpods out before looking over at them.

"Hi?" You acted confused, catching them staring at you.

"Hola, y/n. How are you?" It was Alexia who responded, her eyes looking over you searchingly.

"Fine. How are you?" you turned back to your stuff, still listening, but began to pull your training kit out of your bag.

"I'm... fine." Alexia responded slowly, and you hummed in response, pretending to be distracted. The rest of the team started to trickle into the locker room, and you let yourself fall into conversation with Pina and Patri, who, unlike some other people, would never have mentioned to anyone that she saw you and Ona making out against the wall.

You watched Ona walk in out of the corner of your eye, and she sent you a small smile, back turned to Ingrid, Mapi, and Alexia, who were still huddled together in front of Mapi's locker, looking as though they were trying to construct a solution to end world hunger. They weren't paying attention to you, so you sent Ona a small smile back, before turning back to your conversation.

You didn't notice Ingrid clock the looks you and Ona exchanged, or the way her eyes followed the two of you the rest of practice. You and Ona made a game of it, seeing who could make the fake tension between the two of you the most obvious.

You thought you had won when you pretended to hear someone calling your name on the other side of the field when Ona neared the water cooler you were standing by. However, Ona took the cake when she took you out with a particularly nasty tackle that left you sprawled out on the grass, not bothering to apologize, going so far as to step over you before you could get up. The whole team exchanged looks at that one, and even though your body ached from the impact, you really weren't mad; Ona was competitive, you knew this.

Mapi helped you up, shooting a glare at Ona, and you had to hide your smirk in your shirt, wiping off your face with it. You still hadn't noticed Ingrid watching the two of you carefully, whereas Mapi and Alexia were individually focused on each of you.

When practice ended, you headed into the locker room, leaving a couple players out on the pitch to work on penalties, including Mapi and Alexia. As you neared the door to the locker room, you felt a sharp pain on your ear and yelped, feeling yourself be dragged down the hall. You heard a similar yelp coming from the other side of you, but at the risk of losing your ear, you didn't turn around to look for the source. Instead, you let yourself be pulled into the medical supplies closet, turning to face Ingrid, who let go of your and Ona's ears once the door shut behind her.

She looked at the two of you, raising an eyebrow, before she reached out a hand and pulled the neck of Ona's training top down slightly, revealing the many, many hickeys littered across her upper chest. It's possible you had gotten carried away yesterday morning, and Ona had to be careful about which top she wore, as the marks were barely covered by her shirt. Ingrid must have spotted one peaking out. You both blushed, and Ingrid sighed.

"You know that you're driving both of them crazy right? They think they've ruined your relationship, and both of you are going to die alone unless they do something to fix it." You fought back a laugh, and could tell Ona was doing the same.

"This is what they get for trying to play cupid. It could have ended like this, and they need to be taught a lesson. Who knows who their next victim could be," you joked, looking for a laugh from Ingrid, but only finding a serious face. "Oh come on, Ingrid, I heard you telling them the same thing this morning in the locker room." Ingrid opened her mouth to respond, but Ona interrupted her.

"Wait, how did you know?" she questioned, and Ingrid rolled her eyes.

"It's painfully obvious to everyone except those two! The little looks, little smirks at each other when you think no on is watching. That absurd tackle. The only people who don't know are Alexia and Mapi, because they're too upset to notice." Ingrid was shamelessly scolding you both, and you started to feel guilty. She turned her attention to you before speaking again. "You know Mapi cried yesterday when she got off the phone with you? She knew you were lying to her and she couldn't understand what she did to make you not trust her."

It made sense why Ingrid was so upset. She was fiercely protective of Mapi, and even though you knew she agreed with you, making her girlfriend cry was clearly a step too far.

You sighed, "We weren't trying to upset them, it was just supposed to be a little joke." Ona murmured her agreement with your statement.

"Well you did upset them. They both really care about the two of you, and thought they had really messed up. So now you're gonna go march into that room and tell them the truth, before you make my girlfriend cry again. Got it?" Her hands were on her hips, and she was glaring at both of you as you hung your heads in shame, and agreed. Ingrid had a reputation for being a big softie, but she could really turn on the stern when she wanted to.

She led you out of the closet, bringing you to an empty conference room, leaving with a warning to stay put. You and Ona looked at each other, exchanging wide eyed glances, not finding the situation so funny anymore.

"Damn, I really didn't expect them to be that upset," you stated.

"You know, I always assumed Mapi was in charge in that relationship, but clearly I've underestimated Ingrid" Ona mused, shutting her mouth tightly as the door opened again.

Ingrid walked in, with an incredibly confused Alexia and Mapi trailing in after her. You met Mapi's eyes, and she looked so worried that the guilt you felt tripled. Ingrid gestured for everyone to take seats at the table, looking like the least professional business meeting anyone had ever had.

"Tell them what you two did," Ingrid said, when it became clear neither you nor Ona were going to start the conversation. Mapi and Alexia turned to the two of you, confused.

"Well. We did talk yesterday. And we realized that the two of you were both telling each other things, and trying to get us together, and we were kind of annoyed, so we decided to tell you guys that we weren't together. But, we are. We figured it out," you started.

Ona continued, "and we didn't mean to make you guys upset, we thought it would just be funny."

Alexia and Mapi looked back and forth between the two of you for a minute, before saying at the same time, "so you ARE together?"

You and Ona nodded, and the two girls opposite you let out huge sighs of relief. Mapi ran her hands over her face, and you hadn't realized how tense she had looked until you watched it leave her body. Alexia looked like she was fighting back tears, which was incredibly alarming; you'd seen Alexia cry maybe 3 times. You and Ona started spouting out more apologies, but Mapi held up a hand, and you both grew quiet.

"We were upset because we though we'd pushed too hard and ruined your relationship. Can you imagine how guilty we felt? Lying to us was really mean. That being said, we shouldn't have started conspiring together in the first place, and for that, I'm sorry." Mapi was so rarely serious, it was really a sight to behold.

"What happened to the little Ona I knew that used to cry every time she lied?" Alexia was glaring at Ona, and you laughed quietly.

"She used it to her advantage. She had to sound upset to be convincing," you responded, and Ona slapped your arm, shooting you a glare.

"Alright, we've all apologized, everyone knows the truth, are we free to go now," Ona asked, directing her question towards Ingrid.

Ingrid looked between the two of you for a moment, before sighing, and standing up, heading towards the door.

"Fine. But you should probably make sure to cover up those hickeys all over your chest before you change in front of everyone tomorrow Oni." She smirked back at you, heading back into the locker room, as Alexia and Mapi looked at the two of you in horror. Ona made to bolt out of the room, and Alexia chased after her, demanding to see what ungodly things Ona had allowed you to do to her.

Mapi still looked grossed out at the thought, but you crossed the room, wrapping yourself around her in a hug.

"I'm sorry I lied. I never meant to make you feel like I didn't trust you," you mumbled into her shirt. She wrapped her arms around you, squeezing tight.

"All forgiven, nena. I can't stay mad at you. As long as you're happy, I'm happy." You pulled back, smiling at her. You heard a shriek come from the locker room, followed by Alexia's voice.

"My god! One wasn't enough, y/n, you needed to leave 15?" You winced, and Mapi looked down at you, her face once again one of disgust. You shrugged at her, and she wrapped an arm around your shoulders, walking you back to the locker room, hopefully to help you save your girlfriend from Alexia, but more likely to join in on the teasing. You found that you didn't really mind it.

-----

this was.. way more fun to write than I was expecting. hope you enjoyed :)

#woso imagine #woso #woso x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #ona batlle x reader #mapi leon #alexia putellas #ingrid engen #ona batlle

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