#all of the aus mentioned here have a lot of story behind them. if anyone is curious about any of them :) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lokissweater · 5 months ago

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“i love you and i love you.” ᡣ𐭩

{yuta okkotsu x f!reader}

summary: yuta okkotsu has been hopelessly in love with you since he was fifteen. you, his muse and his reason to live as you took care of him growing up more than anyone else in his life. in fear of breaking your best friend pact and losing you entirely, yuta swallows his feelings for the sake of keeping you in his life, but he can only take so much.

warnings: college au, friends to best friends to lovers trope, lowkey ooc yuta oops, mentions of underage drinking, hopelessly devoted and lovesick yuta for reader, cursing!!! both reader and yuta cuss lol, lots and lots of fluff, ANGST, afab!reader, use of y/n, pet names, no smut in this one! slight sexual themes, reader is older than yuta by two years.

word count: 8.7k

authors note: YAAALLL i actually poured my heart and soul out into this one so i really hope it reaches your heart and soul as well! it is so so cute and i had so much fun writing it. this is definitely not the end of this au! i plan to write more short stories that take place after this one :) mwah.

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yuta was thirteen years old when he first saw you.

you were a casual friend of his older brother who had invited his entire group of friends over for a thanksgiving feast reunion amongst yourselves. yuta stayed locked in his room for the most part, from time to time lazily making his way down the halls and through the kitchen where you all sat to get a glass of water for himself, silently savoring at the food on the table.

eventually you had picked up on his lame attempts of coming into the kitchen for random excuses, concluding that he just wanted to gawk at the food and maybe score a bite or two of the pumpkin pie drenched in whipped cream, sitting pretty and proud in the middle of the table.

but after various unsuccessful attempts and various defeated stomps down the hall and back to his room after every shoo from his brother, he knew he wasn’t going to get even a lick. at the end of the night when the group settled down and many began to take their leave, yuta made his way back down one more time in search of any lucky scraps left behind.

but what he found instead was you, standing in the kitchen with a white porcelain plate in your hands, a slice of pumpkin pie drenched in whipped cream sitting pretty in the middle.

“for you,” you had said calmly, plate outstretched, beckoning him to take it. “i saw you come down a few times looking at it, and i think whoever brought it is taking the rest of it back home, so here.”

yuta had never spoken to a girl before, much less a fifteen year old one with the sweetest smile he had ever seen in his life on her face, but he timidly and awkwardly took the smooth plate from your offering hands, and muttered a squeaky thank you before stumbling down the hall and slamming his bedroom door shut.

from then on, yuta looked forward to the next time his brother would have his friends over, nagging at him constantly with questions of when, and even going as far as to straight up planning the hangouts himself (the location of all of them being at their house of course), but his brother would only shove him out of his room and lock the door shut.

luckily for yuta his wish was granted, and his curious eyes saw you around a lot more often than not, and you gradually became a close friend of yuta’s brother instead of just casual one. every time you came over to his house, you always greeted him with the biggest smile on your face before going into his brother’s room with the rest of the group. and over time, your greetings to yuta went from sweet smiles, to pats on the head, to ruffling up his hair occasionally, and to his personal favorite, the side hug.

you always were around in yuta’s growing life and always made sure he had gotten something to eat that day, or if he had a ride to soccer practice, or if his phone had enough battery to last him through his tutoring sessions, or even if he had someone going to watch his soccer games in the mornings (which was never).

yuta was fifteen when he realized he liked you.

“so no one is going?” you asked sharply, “again?”

yuta shrugged. “its at eight o’ clock in the morning. i don’t expect anyone to, not even you-“

“well i’m going,” you said simply, putting the rest of your textbooks away in your locker and slamming it shut. “geez not even your brother goes to your games? i’m gonna yell at him later.”

“it’s fine.” yuta shook his head and gave you a small smile, his insides twisting and contorting with an overwhelming boy crush for you. “a lot of my teammates parents don’t go either, usually only to the first two of the season.”

but not you. you went every single time, even going as far as dragging his brother with you so he could have family there to watch him play. yuta always made sure to turn and raise a hand to you from across the field, waving it side to side before getting back in the game, his heart thumping wildly in his chest with an insane sense of adrenaline to do good on the field and show off— because you were watching.

yuta was still fifteen when he realized you liked his brother.

firstly, he felt utterly stupid for not picking up on it before. yuta was always too busy staring at you and memorizing every inch and detail of your face to realize that you were looking at his brother the same way yuta looked at you. he was too busy running around in soccer fields and eating the ham sandwiches you always made for him after practices to realize how red your face would get when you sat next to his brother during his games, or when you gave him sandwiches. yuta was too busy drooling over you in his mind that sometimes you wouldn’t even notice him waving at you from across the field like he always did, your eyes trained on his brother instead, that sweet smile he was all too familiar with shining for someone else.

it wasn’t fair. it wasn’t fair at all. yuta felt like his brother always got everything and he always ended up with scraps. yuta never got a friend group like his, or a stellar reputation in a sport like he did, or people at his beck and call everywhere he went, or nominations for pointless shit like homecoming king.

but yuta didn’t give a flying fuck about any of that. he didn’t want any of that. he wanted you. just you.

but he couldn’t have you.

yuta was sixteen when he realized he was in love with you.

he had been for a while actually, and he knew it, but the thought alone of you liking his stupid brother only fueled the fire of denial to save himself from getting hurt more than he already was.

but it was absolutely pouring rain that day, his tutoring session having been cancelled last minute due to the weather, and because of this he had no ride home and no umbrella to even attempt at walking home, not that he could anyways seeing as it would take him thirty minutes to do so. yuta absolutely could not take that chance. he had his laptop in his backpack with all of his school work, and worst of all, his final project that he had been working on since the beginning of the school year, a precious green portfolio filled with notes worth more than gold to him.

yuta grumbled as he scuffed his feet against the concrete at the front of his school under a rooftop, lips pressed into a thin line in annoyance. his parents were at work, there was no way they could just drop everything and go to him (not that they would anyways), and his brother was too busy hanging out with you doing god knows what at god knows where— so even calling you was out of the picture.

at the mere thought of you hanging out with his brother, he sighed softly, sadly, and slumped down on a blue bench with his cold hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, eyes trained to the ground.

heavy pit pats of rain smacked against the ground as he sat there in thought, the sounds of cars zooming down the wet streets as the only source of life around besides himself, seeing as it was already late in the day and everybody else had gone home. without him even noticing, the front doors beside him creaked open as he sat there grumbling.

“yuta?”

his head snapped up upon hearing your pretty voice call out to him, his eyes wide as he saw you standing there with an umbrella.

“what are you doing here?” he asked softly, standing up. yuta looked at you then and noticed your eyes were red and tired, and a shock of worry shot up his spine.

“i was-”

“are you okay?” he asked quickly. “your eyes are red.”

“oh really?” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes with your palm, waving him off. “it’s nothing, i didn’t even notice.”

he pursed his lips, concern written all over his face as he took in your defeated expression, but before he could press any further, you spoke again.

“why aren’t you in tutoring?”

“oh they cancelled last minute,” he stuffed his hands further into his jacket and looked to the side. “i don’t have a ride home now because of it, and i can’t even walk home because it’s raining hard as fuck and i have my laptop in my backpack.”

you hummed in understanding, and even though it looked like the worst possible thing ever just happened to you, you gave him that same sweet smile he craved every time he saw you. “let’s walk to your house together. i have an umbrella we can try and fit under.”

he looked at you incredulously. “no no! it’s okay! you live down the street i don’t want to make you walk thirty minutes in the rain with me and thirty back-”

“it’s okay!” you laughed. “i would never leave you here by yourself yu, you know that.”

oh how he loved when you called him that.

his shoulders slowly relaxed, a wobbly cute smile spreading across his face, his cheeks a fuzzy pink. “okay.”

you walked together in a comfortable silence, your little umbrella just barely covering the both of you and yuta’s cheeks were still an intense pinky shade due to the close proximity, his steamy breath basically fanning the side of your ear as he huddled close to you.

after a few minutes spent walking on the sidewalk, yuta spoke up again.

“why are your eyes red?”

you immediately froze, but relaxed quickly.

“just tired s’all,” you responded weakly, but the little wobbling of your bottom lip told him otherwise.

yuta slowly lifted his hand and reached out, placing it softly on top of yours and clenching over the stem of the umbrella. the action caused you both to stop walking, your curious eyes snapping to his.

his palm felt like it was on absolute fire at the feeling of your soft hand under his, yuta’s breath trembling as he breathed out.

he swallowed. “can you please tell me why.”

your eyes flooded with tears then, and you shut them tightly as you dropped your forehead solemnly to rest against his shoulder, your frame shaking with quiet sobs escaping your lips.

yuta’s eyes softened and he quickly took the umbrella from you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders in a tight hug. his heart thumped so hard against his chest that he could hear it ringing through his ears.

he patted the back of your head gently. “what happened? what’s going on?”

you shook your head against his chest.

“y/n..” he sighed worriedly, running a soothing hand over your shaking back now.

“i have a crush on your brother,” you sobbed.

he knew. god he knew. but hearing you say it out loud broke his heart ten times more than it did when he found out on his own.

yuta slightly pulled back, bending his knees a little to look at you at eye level, his hand on your shoulder.

“i know.”

your eyebrows furrowed, more silent tears spilling from your eyes. “you know?”

yuta nodded, smiling sadly at you as he wiped your tears with his thumb, your eyes closing as he did so. “i spend almost every second of my life with you, of course i know. i noticed.”

you sniffed.

“weren’t you just with him now?” he asked.

your eyes shut tightly again, eyebrows contorted in pain as you nodded. “i confessed to him. i wanted to tell him before we graduated next month.”

you lifted your hands and covered your face, sobbing into them. “i’ve loved him since middle school.”

loved?

yuta’s shoulders slumped as he stared straight ahead, feeling like he wanted to crawl into a deep dark hole and stay there.

“he-“ you hiccuped. “he rejected me.”

his head snapped down immediately, eyebrows furrowing in a mix of disbelief and anger. “huh? he rejected you?”

you nodded, dropping your hands from your eyes and burying your head in his chest.

“why? what did he say?”

“he said he didn’t feel the same way—” you stopped for a moment to even out your breaths. “and that he was sorry.”

yuta scoffed, shaking his head. “what a big fucking loser.”

you snorted at that, and he looked down at you fondly, relieved you laughed.

“he… he thanked me for everything that i’ve done for your family though, especially you.”

he stayed silent.

“he said he was thankful that i was like another sibling for you, and that i took care of you.”

another sibling?

yuta didn’t say anything, that phrase like a slash through his heart while he still thought about how much of a fucking idiot he was to reject you. you, out of anyone deserved to get everything you wanted. you were selfless, incredibly sweet, the most gorgeous human being to ever walk this earth, and you had done so much for everyone that you neglected your own needs all of the time.

how could he not love you back? how could his brother not see the angel in his life that loved him, that sentiment alone an absolute privilege to have? something he would kill for?

yuta knew he shouldn’t make this about himself. he knew you were absolutely hurting and heartbroken, but he just had to know. it was eating him alive inside and out and over and over again as he kept thinking about it.

“is that how you see me?”

“hu-huh?” you hiccuped, picking your head up from his chest to look at him.

“as another sibling. is that how you see me?”

you blinked up at him, your eyes trailing over his furrowed eyebrows and worried gaze, and you hesitated for a moment, not knowing exactly why.

but you nodded, slowly. “you’re my best friend, yu. you’re not just anyone to me i care a lot about you. more than most people in my life.”

for a moment, yuta looked at you blankly, his mind unable to properly register your words. he didn’t know whether he wanted to cry, call up his brother and yell at him, kiss you, or run away.

a part of him knew that too, that you only saw him as a sibling. but like everything else in his life, he buried it down and chose to pretend like it didn’t exist for the sake of his heart.

but regardless of you not returning his feelings, he would rather be something to you than nothing at all. he would rather make some type of difference in your life and have a special spot, than be an absolute nobody to you.

so he smiled. he smiled with soft sad eyes and nodded, pulling you back in and resting his cheek against the top of your head. “you’re my best friend too.”

yuta didn’t see you around much at his house after that, which he understood.

but you still texted yuta everyday and hung out with him sometimes at school, and you still went to his games and practices and made him ham sandwiches after, and you still gave him that sweet smile he loved so so much.

but he never missed how sad you got around his brother, even at the mere mention of him. he never missed how your eyes stayed glued to the ground or had a far off look to them, your arms wrapped around yourself with a safe distance between you both.

when you graduated high school, yuta was a brat the entire ceremony. he was pissed. so pissed that you were two years older than him and that he wasn’t going to see your pretty self around school anymore, which was pretty much the only reason he tolerated it in the first place.

but when your graduating class threw their caps up into the air and his family went down to congratulate his brother, yuta made a beeline for you instead.

and behind that scowl on his face that he had the entire day, his eyes were glossy.

yuta never cried.

when you noticed, your shoulders instantly dropped and you ran to his open arms, practically throwing yourself on him. “yuuu! don’t cry for me!”

“who said i’m crying?” yuta grumbled into your shoulder.

you pulled back and smiled at him, “i’m gonna miss you the most.”

yuta smiled, but then faltered, and a sliver of fear shot up his spine. was this the last time he was going to see you? was this the start of you both slowly distancing, and then ultimately falling apart? were you still going to call him and text him everyday?

as if you could sense his fear, you quickly shook your head. “you’re literally stuck with me for life. you will never find another best friend to replace me, you got it?”

you waved your little index finger at him sternly, and yuta laughed. “i got it.”

yuta was nineteen when he almost kissed you.

after you graduated high school, luckily you went to a college that was only about a thirty minute drive from his place. you were still in yuta’s life, if not way more than it was before, which he thanked his lucky stars for. you went from being a best friend of his brothers, to being only his best friend, as you and his brother didn’t really talk anymore after high school.

and to that, yuta was happy.

and when he graduated high school, you of course were there, crying and pinching his cheeks and hugging him so tight his back cracked a little bit.

he didn’t go to the same college you did (although he definitely tried but didn’t get in) and went to one that was about forty five minutes away from home, one he commuted to everyday like you did for yours.

you both got so much closer that you obliviously acted like a couple, when you weren’t. yuta would pick you up from class and drive you to lunch, pay for all of your meals and anything you practically wanted despite you fighting him every time on it. he would kiss your forehead and your cheek and throw his arm around your shoulder when you walked, he would call you baby and compliment you every single day, and he would sleep over at your house almost all of the time, your head on his chest and his arm wrapped around your torso.

he knew best friends weren’t really supposed to act like this, but did you? you both had grown so accustomed to it that it wasn’t a weird thing for you both, but the constant questions from your mutual friends or even each others parents was a dead giveaway that it in fact, was not how best friends were supposed to act.

but neither of you seemed to care.

“stop moving yu!” you whispered harshly as you applied an aloe vera mud mask to his face. yuta snickered, dodging your fingers every time they came close to applying the mask, with the only reason he was doing it being because it made you laugh.

you were both sat on your fluffy pink rug in the middle of your room in your pajamas, surrounded by all of your skincare essentials and even the fancy products you only pulled out on special occasions. it was one in the morning at this point and you both were still up, trying to keep your laughter to a minimum in attempts at not waking up your parents downstairs.

“baby this stuff smells kind of funky,” he commented as you applied some to his cheek.

“the funkier the better,” you responded, focused. “kind of smells like you.”

he pinched your side and you giggled, flinching away. “i’m kidding! i’m almost done, don’t move.”

yuta listened and stayed still, watching your concentrated pretty face that was practically inches away from his as you applied the mask to the rest of his face, his poor heart almost giving out.

once you were done, you smiled triumphantly and wiped your fingers with a warm damp towel. “all done!”

yuta smiled fondly at you and kissed your cheek. “thanks. is this what you put on every night?”

you shook your head, “not every night, only when i want my skin to look extra good for special occasions.”

“which is..?”

“it’s usually when you invite me over to your family events or when we eat dinner at that one really nice place by your school.”

yuta stopped at that and he felt his heart clench at your words. he didn’t know why and he usually didn’t let it, but his mind was making him believe that maybe…

no.

he relaxed again, humming in acknowledgement. you picked up a circular pink little tub compartment thing and unscrewed the cap, dipping your ring finger in the shimmery product.

“what’s that?” he asked softly, nodding his head to it.

“it’s my lip scrub!” you responded enthusiastically, lifting your ring finger and scooting closer to him. his eyes looked straight at you as you slid your finger over his lips. “it has kind of like a rough texture, it’s supposed to exfoliate your lips and make them really soft.”

his cheeks slowly turned pink, his eyes trailing down to your lips as you sat back, finished.

“here— put some on me now so you can feel what i’m talking about,” you handed him the little tub and he dipped his index finger in, swallowing the lump in his throat.

he timidly lifted his hand and pressed his finger to your waiting perfect lips, softly and gently running the product on your bottom lip before going to the top, his eyes mesmerized and nearly drooling.

yuta was practically tracing you, wanting to burn forever the shape of your mouth into his brain to remember for the rest of his life, wanting nothing more than to press his lips on yours.

but he inhaled sharply and quickly dropped his hand. “i’m finished.”

you pressed your lips together and spread the product around, “did you feel it?”

he shakily nodded, wiping his finger on the warm damp towel before handing it over for you to do the same.

you held up a corner of the towel to his lips and gently wiped the scrub away, “and now they’re soft.”

you passed the towel back over to him, and you sat back, eagerly waiting for him to do the same.

yuta swallowed again and mimicked you, except he was much slower, much more gentle over your plush lips as he subconsciously leaned closer to you that by the time he was done, his nose almost bumped with yours.

with eyes half lidded, he stared at your lips in a daze, licking his bottom lip slightly as you looked at him with wide eyes. he wanted to, so badly, to just grab your face and press your lips together, to pour the love he’s had for you for the past four years out and cherish you with everything that he has.

“yu?” you spoke softly, your voice barely above a whisper, your breath fanning against his lips.

his eyes immediately snapped to yours and he flinched back like a deer in headlights. “so— so when do i take this off?” he pointed to his face. “the mud mask.. when does it come off?”

you looked at him curiously, your eyebrows slightly pinched together as you tried to make sense of what was happening, if anything even really happened.

“almost..” you responded, unfocused. “in about five minutes.”

yuta quickly nodded and pressed his lips into a thin line, his hands clenched so hard into tight fists that his knuckles turned white.

he couldn’t look you in the eye. what the fuck was he doing? he was going to scare you away if he kept doing things like this, if he kept almost slipping up and doing something that could jeopardize your friendship with him.

your trust.

you nudged his shoulder with your finger, and he finally looked at you.

“is the face mask bothering you that much?” you said with a silly smile, and yuta physically deflated, affection pumping through his system.

“no baby,” he shook his head. “i like it! i think i should keep it on for the rest of the night and go to class with it tomorrow morning.”

you snorted and shook your head, “don’t be mean.”

he raised his hands up frantically, “i’m not! you think everybody has the privilege of getting a free facial by their pretty best friend?” he held up his index finger and wiggled it side to side. “i don’t think so.”

you giggled, so much, and grabbed the warm damp towel again, scooting closer to him by your knees. you began wiping away the mask on his face, being careful of not going too rough in fear of accidentally irritating and hurting him. yuta held you by the hips, assisting in keeping your balance and rubbing little circles into your stomach with his thumbs.

your cheeks went a little pink after a bit.

as the rest of the night went on, and when you both finally settled into bed facing each other— his hand on the side of your hip, you softly traced the rather dark bags under his eyes and frowned.

“you need to get more sleep, yu. i think you’ve had these bags since you were fifteen.”

“it’s because i always grind so i can buy you a big white house with a wiener dog and a picket fence.”

you laughed a little too loud and slapped a hand over your mouth, leaning forward and resting your forehead against his as your shoulders shook. when you settled down, you removed your hand and smiled sweetly.

“only if the house comes with you.”

yuta’s breath hitched, and his eyes searched yours desperately, for any indication that maybe, just maybe, you…

no.

“what… you want me as a roommate?”

you playfully rolled your eyes and gently shoved his shoulder.

yuta was twenty years old when he confessed to you.

it was also the first big fight you guys ever had in your entire years of knowing each other.

your relationship stayed the same, two peas in a little pod through college that never seemed to go to one place without the other, so much so that when you did, people would often ask where the other half was. he loved it. he loved you so much, and he found it harder and harder and more heart breaking for him as the years went by watching you not be his in any way shape or form.

every time he visited your campus or went with you to your college parties, he noticed the lurking eyes it seemed like every guy had on you everywhere you went, and it agitated yuta more than anything else. he was still a stubborn brat, and instead of doing something about it and maybe telling you how he feels, he just endures the pain and scowls at their glances, leading you through crowds by the hand or by the small of your back.

he never really indulged in the traditional college experience like you did, and never ever talked to any other girl besides you. he never wanted to or had any interest in doing so, regardless of you returning his feelings or not. you also never really talked to any other guy besides yuta or made any mention of your dating life, people mostly assuming you both were.

yuta weaved through the crowd, trying to spot a place for the both of you to sit while you went to get drinks from the kitchen. upon finally breaking free from the pile of dancing sweaty bodies, he recognized one of your girl friends and a couple of others sitting on a long lounge sofa, her eyes perking up.

“y/n’s boyfriend! you came?”

he stopped a bit, then smiled wide.

“yeah! she’s in the kitchen now by the way, she’ll be over here in a second.”

and when you did come over, already a bit tipsy from the line of shots you got pulled into while getting drinks, you walked over to where yuta sat while greeting your friends, handing him a red solo cup. and instead of sitting in the spot yuta had saved for you right beside him, you settled neatly on his lap.

his eyes nearly bulged out of their eye sockets as you swung an arm around his shoulders for support and made yourself comfortable. you had never done something like this, and he swallowed the huge lump in his throat as trembling hands settled around your waist and over your lap. his arm tingled with the feeling of your thighs underneath, afraid to put his hands anywhere near them in fear of making you uncomfortable or accidentally grabbing your face and making out with you.

but the chance of that happening wasn’t anywhere near impossible, as he was already tipsy by his drink and his hand was already gently caressing over the skin of your soft plush thighs.

best friends don’t do things like this.

and he did not give a single fuck.

your boobs were practically shoved up in his face, his pinky cheeks absolutely blazing as his eyes darted to every corner of the house and anywhere else that wasn’t your tits, his lips itching to feel, to taste.

the night progressed and the both of you got increasingly more and more drunk, clinging on to each other on the couch or stumbling through the house, laughing when one of you would trip and almost face plant on the hardwood floors, leaning on to each other for support.

“your boyfriend almost knocked over the tub of tropical mix in the kitchen!” your girl friend yelled over the loud booming music, laughing.

yuta expected you to correct her, but you didn’t, and only laughed along with her.

“no it wasn’t him! it was me,” you giggled drunkenly, your arms around his neck as his were tight around your waist, your group standing off to the side of the dance floor. “he had to grab me and pull me from it!”

and that’s how it often was, just you and him. you taking care of him and him taking care of you in every way possible, trying to pay you back for all of the years you spent being there for him when he was younger and way more, simply because he wanted to.

and on a night where yuta was studying for finals in his room, his brother that was visiting from college came in and sat down on the edge of his bed.

“you studying?” he asked.

yuta nodded, not bothering to take his eyes away from his notebook, still scribbling down his notes. he never really had the best relationship with his brother, much less after what had happened with you getting rejected by him.

his brother took a deep breath through his nose and nodded. “i um… are you still friends with y/n?”

that caught his attention, and yuta’s eyes lifted from his notes to look at him. “yes? i’m with her like, most of the time. if you haven’t noticed.”

“no i have,” his brother murmured. “how is she?”

yuta took a second to respond. “she’s good.”

“that’s good that’s good. does she um- does she still have the same number?”

yuta put down his pencil and leaned back against his desk chair. “why?”

“i wanted to just catch up with her is all,” he shrugged. “i saw her when you brought her here for mom’s birthday and i hadn’t seen her since graduation.”

“catch up with her?” yuta mumbled. “since when do you give a shit about y/n?”

his brother scoffed. “i always have, yuta.”

“didn’t seem like it when you rejected her and started dating one of her close friends like the next day.”

his brother didn’t say anything, and yuta rolled his eyes at the lack of response, picking his pencil back up to continue his work.

“i still have her on social media and see what she’s up to… she posts you a lot. are you guys like— a thing?”

yuta bit the inside of his cheek. “no.”

his brother visibly relaxed for whatever reason and nodded. “i just want to talk to her again, is all. maybe buy her dinner—”

yuta pushed his textbook away, dropped his pencil again and spun around, looking at him with narrowed eyes. “fuck no.”

his brother scoffed. “i’m not asking for permission—”

“fuck no.”

“yuta i’m your brother i literally took you to school everyday and took care of you—”

“y/n did that.” yuta cut him off. “y/n gave me rides to school when i didn’t have my license and bought me food when i didn’t have a job. she also came to every single one of my games regardless of the weather and helped me with my homework when i was too stupid to figure it out on my own, everything you should’ve done.”

“that’s not true—”

“yes it is.” yuta crossed his arms in annoyance. “she didn’t have to do any of that. she never had to take care of me the way that she did but she did it anyways. she took on your role because you were too busy being a dingus doing god knows what and she knew that. y/n has done more for me than you’ve ever done in your entire twenty two years of living.”

his brother sat there in silence, yuta’s heavy angry breathing being the only thing heard in the room.

“okay well—” his brother stood from his bed and walked over to the door. “i’m just going to text her—”

“why the fuck are you gonna meddle into her life now? what… are you bored? are you not satisfied with whatever fucking girl you find up there at school?” yuta threw his arms up in irritation, his blood beginning to boil. “you treated her like shit. like absolute dog shit when you ignored her and avoided her for months after she confessed to you. do you understand how disrespectful that is?”

“whatever man it was high school—”

“and what, that gives you a pass to treat her like that? when that happened i was sixteen picking up the pieces you shit all over at your grown age—”

“i’m leaving.”

and with that, his brother walked out and slammed the door shut, and yuta was left absolutely red. red with anger he had never felt before in his life as he grabbed his notebook and chucked it across the room. he hated how casual he spoke of you, like you were just another girl he was going to try and get to know and fuck— to then leave without another word like his brother’s been doing his whole fucking life to girls. but not to you, it couldn’t happen to you.

and it was like yuta was going through the five stages of grief because then he was afraid. what if you let his brother back into your life? what if you fell for him again? you’d done it before the chances were not zero of you doing it again.

yuta didn’t want to lose you. he would rather gauge his eyes out and eat them for breakfast.

with that, yuta stumbled through his room putting on his shoes and snatching his car keys from his night stand, running down the hall and slamming the front door shut before getting in his car.

the drive was only about fifteen minutes to your house, and he felt so bad that it was nearly two in the morning and he was most likely going to wake you up, but he couldn’t stand it. he was going absolutely crazy, everything in him gnawing and eating him alive, his brother having pushed every single button in his body and more.

his tires screeched as he pulled into your driveway, thankful that your parents were away on a getaway trip as he slammed his car door shut and made his way up to your front door. yuta rang your doorbell twice before you finally opened it.

slowly, you peeked your tired eye through the slit, and your body immediately relaxed at the sight of him. “oh my god yuta, you scared the absolute shit out of—”

you stopped, your face falling at his livid expression and the way his chest heaved erratically. “yu? are you okay? what’s going on—”

but yuta only pushed passed you and trudged up your stairs without another word. dumbstruck, you closed your front door with a click and locked it, following him up the stairs and into your room.

“what’s wrong?”

“my brother is visiting from college.” he mumbled, sitting stiff on your desk chair. you moved to stand in front of him.

“…you mentioned that yeah—”

“and he… he told me that he wants to reach out to you.”

your eyebrows furrowed, taken aback. “me? for what?”

“he says he wants to catch up with you, see how you’re doing. be friends again i guess.”

yuta’s eyes remained stuck to the floor like glue, and you remained silent as you processed his words, confused out of your mind.

“i mean… i mean i guess? i guess that’s fine—”

his head snapped up, “that’s fine?”

you shrugged, “yes? i don’t see the big deal i don’t—”

“baby—” he shook his head in disbelief. “he absolutely broke you and treated you like nothing in high school, and you’re fine letting him back into your life? great.”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “why are you being like that? he just wants to be friends again and that’s fine with me—”

yuta scoffed. “he doesn’t deserve it! he doesn’t deserve you—”

“yuta, whatever happened between your brother and i was years ago! i’m over it! this isn’t a big fucking deal!”

you hated fighting with him, god how much you hated it, and the way that he looked at you now was making you absolutely sick.

“so you’re just gonna be friends with him again?” he shrugged, looking at you with narrowed eyes.

“yeah?”

“you’re fucking stupid,” he spat, getting up from your desk chair and walking over to the door, reaching for your doorknob.

you instantly grabbed his shoulder and spun him around to face you. “what the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“what’s wrong with me?!” he raised his voice, jabbing a finger to his chest. “what’s wrong with you! do you not remember how bad you got when he did what he did?! do you really think i would stand here okay with you rekindling your little love for my brother?”

you scoffed, “my little love?!”

and before you knew it, angry tears were streaming down your face. you hated the way he was talking to you, and you didn’t know how your argument escalated so quickly and so drastically as you wiped your cheeks furiously.

and at the sight of you crying, yuta faltered slightly, his eyes softening.

“why do you think i still love him? i don’t! i haven’t since he rejected me!—”

“who says you won’t start again?” he spoke lowly, arms crossed over his chest. “my brother never had to lift a fucking finger for you to be head over heels for him. you don’t give a shit about yourself and you’re willing to throw yourself at him again—”

“shut up.” you spat, sobs raking through your body. “the fact that you’re stuffing a bunch of fucking words into my mouth and assuming i’m going to jump into your brothers arms is bullshit.”

“i—”

“is this how low you think of me?”

“no baby i don’t—”

“yes you clearly do because everything that’s come out of your mouth—”

“no! no i’m sorry i don’t—”

“then why—”

yuta shoved his hands into his hair exasperated, “because i love you!”

he let his arms fall limp, his eyes glossy and red with the most gut wrenching look on his face that read pure exhaustion. you had never seen him so torn.

“i love you and i love you and i have since since i was fifteen,” his voice shook with each word, hands trembling at his sides. “more than a best friend, more than anything in this world, and i never saw you like another sibling like you did for me.”

“fi.. fifteen?” you spoke so softly he almost didn’t hear you.

he nodded sadly, silent tears slipping down his cheeks and you automatically reached up, softly wiping them away with your thumbs as he closed his eyes, much like how yuta did when you got your heart broken by his brother on that rainy day.

yuta never cried.

“i swallowed it. you loved my brother and i swallowed it. i didn’t give a shit if you only saw me as a sibling because i would rather make some type of mark in your life and be in it than not have you at all. but i can’t take it anymore.”

he let out a sob, and he instantly shoved his face in the crook of his arm in embarrassment.

“yu…”

“you mean absolutely everything to me baby,” his voice was muffled a bit by his elbow, and after roughly wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his sweater, he dropped his arm to look at you again. “i would do absolutely a-anything for you. you’re precious to me and the prettiest girl i have ever laid my eyes on and will ever lay my eyes on.”

he hiccuped and crossed his arms over his chest, staring up at your ceiling. “but i know you don’t love me like i love you. i’ve known for years and i just can’t bring myself to let you go. it’s so bad that i would rather you break my heart over and over again than let you go for the sake of my wellbeing and watch you walk out of my life—”

“yuta, can you please look at me?”

“i— i can’t,” he shook his head as his voice trembled, tears slipping from the sides of his eyes as he continued to stare at your ceiling. “i can’t do it—”

you slowly reached out and cupped his wet cheeks in the palm of your hands, tilting his face down gently to look at you, your eyes filled with remorse at the defeated look on his face.

“why didn’t you tell me?” you asked softly. “why didn’t you tell you were hurting so much?”

he shook his head slowly in your hands. “it’s not fair to you. i didn’t want to put you in a difficult position—”

“what difficult position, yu?” you spoke so gently, so sweetly to him that he almost fell to his knees. “how could you have kept this in for five years? i can’t even imagine—” you hiccuped, “i hate that you were hurting because of me-“

your voice began to contort again into sobs, and he quickly shook his head. “no baby no, it was not because of you, you did nothing wrong. you did the exact opposite.”

you wiped more of his tears with your fingers as he spoke, listening intently.

“no one gave a shit about me the way you did. not even my own parents, and not even my stupid brother that pretended like i practically didn’t exist. you were the only one that was there and you didn’t have to be. you could’ve easily ditched me at any given point and you never did, and i can’t thank you enough for giving me a reason to keep going.”

he wiped his eyes. “and that’s why i fell in love with you so hard because you were so selfless and sweet and i love your smile. i don’t think i could ever make up for everything you’ve done—”

“but you have!—” you interjected, but yuta only shook his head.

“no i haven’t. i’m a stubborn asshole who just said a bunch of shit five minutes ago that i didn’t mean and i only hurt you and i never wanted that—”

“yuta.” you spoke firmly. “you’ve literally done more for me than anyone else in my entire life and i hate that you can’t see that or give yourself credit. you were there for me when i went absolutely insane after your brother rejected me even though you loved me then. you put your own feelings aside to take care of me baby..”

you softly took his hands and led him to sit with you on the bed, wiping his wet cheeks with your sleeve.

“do you not remember when even though you didn’t have a job, any chance you got money you would spend it on me instead of yourself?” you laughed softly. “the minute you got your license you drove me anywhere i wanted… and even to little things like the store because you said you didn’t want me to spend gas money.”

yuta slightly smiled.

“you never ditched me either, when there was every opportunity you could’ve. you always make sure i eat and get enough sleep… and you make me so happy yu, i wish you could see how much i miss you when you’re not around.”

he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and leaned in, softly planting a kiss to your cheek. you smiled warmly.

“who told you i didn’t love you back?”

yuta froze. “you did?”

“when?”

“the day my brother rejected you?” he cocked his head to the side. “i had asked you if you saw me as another sibling and you said yes.”

you threw your head back and moaned, “oh my god yu, of course in that moment because i was stupid and into your brother and i had just gotten rejected!”

you deflated and smiled at him warmly then, your eyes shining with emotions he didn’t allow himself to believe were there. for five years, yuta forced himself to believe you could never return his feelings as a form of protection, and now there was a huge wall in his brain that was itching to come down.

you scooted closer to him and wrapped your arms around his neck, your foreheads touching. “ask me again.”

“hm?” he was dazed, wide eyes staring into yours.

“ask me that question again,” you spoke softly. “the one from that day.”

yuta swallowed thickly, his breathing shaky through his nose, reiterating the phrase he played through his head like a broken record since it happened.

“as another sibling…” he murmured. “is that how you see me?”

you shook your head gently against his forehead, “no… to me—” you leaned back slightly and tilted your head to the side. “you look like the man i’ve been in love with for the past three years.”

silence. nothing.

and then, his eyes welled with tears as he tackled you down and just cried. he cried and he cried into your neck and shook like a little leaf, you holding him so unbelievably tight as your bottom lip wobbled. yuta’s arms were snaked around you as he held you with just as much force if not more.

half a decade. half a decade yuta spent hopelessly lovesick for you that your words burned over his entire body like a fever, his mind reeling and hazy. he held on to you so fucking tight and refused to let go of you, in fear that this was all just some horrendous sick dream and he was going to wake up alone in his bed without you.

you placed a hand on the back of his head as you hugged him, “i love you so much yuta that sometimes i feel like im going nuts.” you laughed softly. “it was always you… it’s been you that’s why i said earlier that i didn’t care if your brother wanted to be friends again, because i love you and i don’t give a shit about him and i’m sorry i made you upset—”

“no,” he lifted his head from the crook of your neck and looked at you, his cheeks flushed with dried up tears and red eyes. “that was just me being an absolute dick and scared of re-living high school all over again. i took that out on you and that wasn’t fair at all, baby. i’m sorry.”

you carded your fingers through his hair. “we both have things to be sorry about, and a lot of years to make up for.”

and finally, yuta grinned so big that his cheeks hurt.

“can i—“ he exhaled shakily. “can i kiss you?”

“please.”

and he smashed his lips against yours, greedily kissing you with so much desperation as he lip locked with you, his hands squeezing and roaming your body. the sound of your lips smacking was loud, and his kisses were so needy and sloppy against your soft plush lips that you squeaked at the intensity. you felt him grin again at your noise and he pulled away from you.

“i’ve wanted this for so long…” he breathed out, his breath fanning against your face as you tried to recover from what was probably the best kiss of your life. you nodded frantically, too dazed and caught up in the thought of his mouth on yours to respond with sentences that made sense.

he chuckled cutely at this, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “i love you and i love you.”

and since then, it was like the final wall had finally crumbled down, and yuta began to live like he was supposed to, like he was meant to, with you. his days of yearning and silent torment were over, and most of the time it still felt like a dream whenever he was by your side.

things stayed relatively the same between you two, as you now acknowledge how much of a couple you both actually were acting prior to yuta’s confession. the only major difference now though, was that yuta earned the privilege to call you his and give you sweet kisses as he picked you up from class, or when you make and hand him those ham sandwiches you always do just for him, only this time adorned with a honeyed kiss of your own.

sitting on his living room couch now, your head resting on his lap as a random horror movie played in the background, yuta’s fingers gently brushed over the features of your face as you stared at the tv, his eyes stuck to you like sticky lovesick glue.

you turned your head to look at him after a bit. “why don’t you start playing soccer again?” you hummed. “is there a team at your school?”

yuta nodded, “there is baby.”

“why don’t you try out?” you smiled sweetly at him, and his heart ached. “i always loved watching you play. i miss it.”

“okay,” he tapped your nose. “just for you.”

you rolled your eyes playfully. “and i’ll start dragging your brother with me again.”

yuta’s eyes flung open as his jaw dropped, and you snorted, giggling uncontrollably as he tickled and pinched at your sides. “i’m just kidding! i’m kidding! i’d rather die.”

he let out a boyish laugh, his eyes sparkling as he looked down at you. “as much as i hate him, i can’t thank him enough for being a stupid dingus.”

you quirked an eyebrow, “thank him? why?”

yuta gently and softly pinched one of your cheeks as he smiled at you, and it was then that you noticed the bags under his eyes were nearly gone. he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips, moving some of your hair away from your face after he did so.

“because he brought you to me.”

and you smiled, that same radiant sweet smile that made him fall in love with you in the first place, as you reached up and ran a tender finger under where his eye bags once stood, your voice light and airy as you spoke—

“i love you and i love you, yuta.”

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jungkookstatts · 1 year ago

Text

Not in the Way You Think

[Summary]: You've been after your best friend for ages. But how are you supposed to know that he's after you too if he insists on being a bachelor until his dying breath?

[Theme]: ChildHoodFriendsToLovers!AU, NonIdol!AU, VirginReader!AU, BachelorJK!Au, Fuck-Boy JK, Virgin Reader

[Rating]: 18+, explicit content, dry humping, protected sex, fluff, somewhat angst, many many years of pining, making out, oral. Soft dom/Dom JK, sub Reader, virgin things, mention of alcohol and a pen

[Word Count]: 6,043

[A/N]: Hi. I've resurrected. For now. Enjoy! Also, if anyone knows what's going on with my materialist -- sos!!

[Materialist]

“Sorry, but there’s no fucking way,” your best friend scoffs against the lip of his dab pen. He was about to take a hit, but was abruptly stopped before you told him something completely unbelievable to his ears.

��Jungkook, I’m serious,” you whine.

God, this is so embarrassing. You fiddle with the rims of your hoodie's sleeve, examining it in shame. You can’t dare to look at the face of your best friend on the other side of the couch. His words already make you feel embarrassed enough, you can’t imagine what looking at his face would do.

“Y/n,” he starts again, that disbelieving smirk proving to adorn his features. “You’re 24 years old. What the fuck.”

“24-year-olds can be virgins, too, Jungkook,” you roll your eyes. “Not everyone strives to have over 30 bodies on their ‘fucked list’ by this age.”

You feel so embarrassed. Of all people, you thought your best friend wouldn’t shame you like this. It’s already embarrassing enough to be at this age and to not have tried anything sexual with anyone before. You’re inexperienced. You know that. But the conversation originally didn’t start this way. What was once a talk about which flavored soju was better than the other, turned into a ridiculing conversation about your lame sex life. The last thing you need is his bantering about how shocking it is to hear everything you haven’t done yet.

“57,” he corrects you with yet another smirk. This time, there’s a tease in his eye, obviously waiting for your reaction on his body count number.

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes. “Forget it.”

You try to grab the remote on the coffee table, but Jungkook takes it before you can.

“Wait, now,” he laughs when you smack his arm. “I’m not done asking about this yet.”

“Jungkook!” you whine. “I’m seriously so embarrassed. I don’t want to talk about it with you anymore.”

“Have you ever kissed anyone?!” He raises his pierced eyebrow. “What about Taehyung? And Soobin? Aren’t those guys your ex’s? You had to have done something with them, Y/n, c’mon.”

“Yes!” you blush harshly. “Of course I’ve kissed people before. I’ve just never…done anything dirty with them.”

“Not even like a hand job or anything?” he raises his other eyebrow.

“Jungkook, please stop reacting like that. You’re making me feel worse,” you tuck your hair behind your ear.

It’s no news that Jungkook is not only your childhood best friend but he’s also been a notorious fuck-boy since about 5 years ago when the two of you moved to a different city to attend the same college. He has always told you that he was going to spend his university life being a bachelor, making it a goal of his to see how many girls he could get underneath him by the age of 25. He's gathered quite a lot. Except now, he’s more knowledgeable than you for once, and you’re not taking the news so well.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. But his words prove to be carried with no remorse. “Not even oral?”

“Jungkook!” you kick his knee. “Seriously. I continued this conversation with you because I thought you’d be nicer about it. You’re obviously the experienced one here. But clearly, you’re not experienced enough to know that not everyone is constantly looking for which sexual activity to try on the next stranger.”

You’ve been his #1 ear to all of his stories for years now, no matter how repetitive they can be…or how much they secretly punch you in the gut every time he tells you a new one.

The two of you couldn’t be more opposite. He’s sporty and social, you’re quiet and mellow. He’s into the music and business world, whereas you’re into radiology and all-things-hospital. He’d rather spend his free time partying and making himself feel good in any way that he can, whereas you’d spend your free time wrapped in a book or having coffee over a new podcast about aliens.

But no matter your differences, the grunge boy that you grew up with sitting on the opposite side of the couch, making fun of you and laughing at the sheer difference in how the two of you chose to live out your college years, will always be your best friend. He might remain a crush or even your first love, but nothing can change the fact that the two of you click like two peas in a pod. You couldn’t trade anything for that, even your secrets about what you feel for him.

“Woah, hey,” he chuckles. “Sorry. I’m just–wow. It’s just shocking to me, I don’t know. Especially for you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you scrunch your eyebrows together.

“Well, I mean,” he laughs awkwardly, putting his pen on the table. “It’s no secret you were the girl every guy was trying to get into their bed all throughout college…and high school.”

“Tch,” you shake your head. “As if, Kook. Don’t try to make up for ridiculing me about my sex life by covering it up with fake scenarios.”

“I’m serious, Y/n. Just as serious as you are about this,” he says. “You thought that Soobin, the university's #1 crush–a guy even more wanted than me–would agree to go out with you and date you if you weren’t the hottest chick in the school?”

“Yeah, well, that was short-lived,” you scoff, remembering the events of your break up. “He didn’t really want me. Or well, he did, but not like how I thought.”

“This is why I’m shocked,” he explains further. “Literally every man that I knew talked about you. I don’t know how their efforts could have gone unnoticed by you. But I guess you were too in your head to notice. You had the hottest man in the school, but not even that was enough to even make you think about doing anything with him?”

As much as that information flatters you, it doesn’t satisfy you at all. Truthfully, Jungkook could talk about any man in the world that might want you. But if that category doesn’t include him, the thought doesn’t arouse you at all.

Your own brain can’t even wrap itself around why you were so hung up on him. Why would you possibly want a guy like Jungkook to want you. He’s careless and reckless. He doesn’t give things a second thought and pushes all your buttons at the worst times. He’s foolish and irresponsible – a walking stick screaming ‘bad news’.

But at the same time, he is oh-so gentle. He’s kind and sweet, considerate and respectful. His touch makes you jolt, and his voice relieves your headaches in an instant. You feel safe when he is there, and absolutely terrified when he is not. He’s strong and capable, but also sentimental at heart.

You don’t think you could find anyone else like him in the world. No one like your Jungkook.

No wonder your past relationships didn’t work out for you. Taehyung you broke up with out of frustration. It was with him that you realized that Jungkook was too in your head to be dating anyone fairly. And just when you thought you were over Jungkook being your ideal man, Soobin walked into your life. But since he broke up with you over your own inexperience, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about how maybe you waited too long. No one wants someone who has no idea what they’re doing in the bedroom at the age of 24. Most of society at this age is dating to marry. You’re still dating for the experience.

“It’s not that I didn’t think about doing anything with him,” you respond. “I just–I don’t know. I couldn’t. It didn’t feel right. He wasn’t–I don’t know. We just weren’t a good match. The same goes for Taehyung and everyone else before him and Soobin.”

Your best friend is quiet for a moment, trying to wrap his head around everything that you’re saying.

“But it’s all irrelevant now,” you continue. “We’re graduated, and there’s nothing I can do about previous male efforts towards getting me in their sheets. It’s just–there’s something wrong with me.”

“Clearly,” Jungkook agrees. “Sex is like–life. You truly don’t know until you try. Do you even masturbate?”

“Jungkook,” you sigh quietly, as a disappointed palm presses against your forehead. “You weren’t supposed to agree to that.”

“Well, do you?”

“Of course, I masturbate.”

“And that hasn’t persuaded you at all? Don’t you imagine what it would feel like to have something other than your fingers or some toy getting you off?”

“That’s so graphic,” you scowl.

“Well, do you?”

You roll your eyes.

“I do, don’t get me wrong,” you agree. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just too hung up on a scenario that’s not possible–at least not for me.”

“You’re pined after by millions, Y/n,” he sits up straight on the couch, his legs folding against the cushions to get a better look at you. “Any scenario is possible in your world. Especially related to sex. You could get any man that you wanted to if you just broke down a wall or two and went after them.”

“That’s not–never mind,” you give up. You’re too embarrassed to admit anything. You also don’t really want to. Risking your friendship with Jungkook isn’t worth letting out a secret like this. You’d lose him forever, and you can’t risk that. “No one wants a 24-year-old virgin,” you begin again, trying to move on from your previous words. “Unless they’re a crazy perv, or one of those dudes who thinks that only ‘marriageable girls’ should be virgins until they tie the knot. And, well, those guys are just…weird.”

Jungkook laughs at your words and a small smile forms on your lips from the sound of his laugh.

“Y/n, what are you saying?” he exclaims amidst his laughter. “Look at you! You haven't lost a cent of your desirability in all the years I’ve known you. Any guy would want you.”

“But not you,”

“Huh?”

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck. Why did you just say that?!

The thought slipped past your lips without a second thought. There’s heat in your cheeks, and you can’t bear to look at Jungkook’s face. You might have fucked everything up now. Just over a thought you didn’t think twice about. Your brain must have been done suppressing it, but now you have to sit here and wait for the consequences of letting it all go.

“Sorry,” you clear your throat. “C-Can you give me the remote? I’d like to drop this and finish this show.”

“Nuh-uh,” he laughs in disbelief. His rough hand gently wraps around your wrist, forcing you to look at him again. “What did you just say?”

“Jungkook, please,” you cry. There’s fear in your voice. You’re so scared of losing him, you can’t even think properly. All you want to do is pretend like nothing happened. Like this whole conversation didn’t happen and you were back to talking about flavored soju. The thought of losing your best friend floods your mind, and you beg him with your eyes to stop. But he’s unrelenting.

Jungkook scoffs at the look in your eye, his grip loosening on your wrist before sliding it off completely.

“Y/n, you are so oblivious, it actually gets on my nerves more than anything in this world sometimes,” he says.

You feel your heart sink to your stomach.

“I didn’t think I’d actually have to tell you this because I thought it was obvious how I feel about you,” he laughs to himself. “I don’t know how long you’ve noticed, or if you’ve even noticed at all, but I’ve had a crush on you since freshman year of high school, Y/n. And it’s only grown since then. So don’t think for a second that I wouldn’t want you.”

Words fail to leave your lips. You’ve had so much shock and embarrassment during your time spent with him tonight. But nothing could have prepared you for this.

“Jungkook, none of this is making sense,” you stop him. As much as your heart leaps at his confession, a part of you is still completely misunderstanding something. “You mean to tell me that you’ve had a crush on me for how long? And yet in the meantime, you’ve made it your mission to be with every woman on campus? How in the world do you expect me to think you had feelings for me when every Saturday morning you tell me about whose pussy you were up the night before? How was I supposed to know?”

There’s a bit of anger in your voice. All these years of getting your heart shattered over his countless stories about girls that weren’t you. About how he kissed Emily on Friday night and then fucked her best friend, Rachel, in the ass a few hours later. About how he went all the way home one weekend just to fuck your high school calculus teacher. Or about the countless times you’ve walked into your shared apartment with him, only to look down and see an extra pair of girly high-heels sitting by the door next to his shoes. Or the many pairs of unfamiliar panties you’ve found in the wash. Or the smell of strong perfume constantly stained on his side of the couch.

“How in the world did I expect you to think I had feelings for you?” he reiterated your questions irritably. “Y/n, I asked you to be my date to prom! Hell, don’t even try to cut out the fact that we almost kissed when we graduated high school. I hung out with you every day after school in both high school and college. Fuck, half the reason I came to this university was to be by your side. We even have an apartment together!”

“You’re my best friend, Jungkook!” you explain.

“You don’t have to remind me,” he runs his hands through his hair in frustration. “I gave up trying to make us anything more than friends a while ago. Fuck, every time I lay with a girl it’s the biggest reminder of all that we’ll only be friends.”

“Fuck you, Jungkook,” you cry. A tear falls down your cheek from his words. God, you’re so frustrated and angry and annoyed and so relieved. You don’t know which emotion to put first. “Fuck you. You shattered me into pieces. You call me oblivious when I’ve spent years loving you. But you’ve been too busy telling me about who you’re going to fuck next to notice."

Jungkook breathes heavily, anger leaving his nostrils. His eyes are foreign to yours. You’ve never seen so much emotion in them at once.

And then suddenly he’s on your side of the couch, hovering over you, holding your jaw in his big, tattooed palm. His lips sear against yours kissing you with passion you’ve never felt before.

It’s second nature to hold his face in your hands. His ears slip between your middle and index finger; the cool metal of his earrings touches your skin gently.

You moan into him when you glide your right hand into his locks, pressing him tighter against your body. Jungkook grunts at the feeling of your hand in his hair. Never in a million years did he think he'd feel you like this. No matter how many times he’s imagined it before, no matter how many times he’s pretended it was you instead of the stranger beneath him, the feeling of imagining you is nothing compared to the feeling of actually having you right there in his arms.

You can feel him lay his weight heavier on you the more you kiss him. It prompts you to wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him tighter against your body.

Jungkook’s lips detach from yours slowly, his thumb lightly pressing against your bottom lip as he pulls away.

“I’m sorry,” he kisses you again slowly. It’s wet and soft, but you don’t mind. It’s him, and he feels right. “I guess we gave each other too many mixed signals.”

You kiss him back, holding his chin between your index finger and thumb.

“Are my signals clear now?” you ask him gently.

“If you’re telling me that you want me…more than just friends,” he presses his nose against yours. “Then they’re clear as day.”

You smile against his lips when he indulges on you again. Jungkook kisses you slowly and softly for another few minutes. It’s much different from the kissing you did a few minutes ago. This time, he’s gentle, and so are you. Your hands find purchase at the base of his scalp again, and you smile as he moans at the feeling. This is a whole new learning curve for you, and you’re finally going through lessons you’ve restricted yourself from accessing for a very long time. It feels so good. It feels amazing to have him in your arms like this.

But still, somehow there’s something missing. There’s a pit in your stomach, a wetness in between your thighs that begs you to rub up against him. And so you do, but you’re stopped with a firm hand on your hip from the man above you. You suddenly feel embarrassed again.

"Y/n,” he pants against your lips. He looks down at your conjoined hips. A part of him feels embarrassed at the sight–he doesn’t think he’s been more hard in his life. But he respects you more than to indulge in his own fantasy right now. “You’re still a virgin,” he reminds you.

“I know,” you exhale. “But I want you, Kook. I want you to be the one to take it.”

“Y/n,” he coos, swiping his thumb across your cheek. “I think you should think about it. I’m not the most romantic person in bed. I also don’t think I’m cut out to be your first. I don’t deserve you like that.”

“Don’t say that Jungkook,” you scrunch your eyebrows together. “You say that as if I haven’t been imagining you in the same way that you imagine me. You say that as if I haven’t been waiting for 10 years to kiss you like this. I want you. I’ve wanted you for so long, and I think this moment is why I haven’t been able to indulge in sex with anyone else. I feel right with you.”

You watch his eyes dart from your eyes to your lips. He’s lazy with his decision on which to focus on right now. His heart is so overwhelmed, he doesn't know which feature of yours to honor first.

“What are you doing to me,” he laughs at himself. You smile back at him, and he swears nothing has ever been more right than how it is at this moment.

“Will you take me, Jungkook?” you ask him again, much softer this time. It sounds strange coming from your mouth. You’ve never asked anyone to do that for you. The only person you’ve wanted, or have imagined, taking it away from you has been Jungkook. And here he is above you.

“Fuck,” he whispers. Your words send all the blood straight to his cock, as if it didn’t have enough blood in it already. “If that’s what you want.”

“It’s what I want,” you confirm with him. “I want you.”

“God, I want you, too,” he says, kissing you passionately yet again. This time, he scoops you into his arms, sitting you up on his lap. You straddle him perfectly, your thighs hugging his, and your core pressed temptingly against his own.

Jungkook moans at the feeling, his hands finding purchase on your hips before slowly grinding them against his own.

Your hands fall from his jaw to his shoulder, the feeling of his clothed dick against your pussy is much more shocking than you thought it would be. Never in a million years did you think such a strange action would feel so good.

“Kook,” you whine against his lips.

He breathes lightly against yours, trying to keep his composure as you make yourself feel good on his thighs.

“Can I touch you?” he asks gently. His hands remain on your hips until you nod, giving him permission to explore your body in whichever way he would like to first.

He watches your face as he slides his hands up to your waist. His fingers make their way under your silk pajama shirt, causing you to jolt at the feeling of his skin against yours. It puts a desire in your heart that you’ve never felt before. You’ve never wanted to explore anyone else like this.

“C-Can I touch you?” You ask him this time.

Jungkook laughs a little at you asking for his permission. In a way, he’s not really used to that. He finds it endearing that even though he’s fucked a lot of girls in his lifetime, the fact doesn’t take away that he’s still worthy of asking something like that to you. The other part of him laughs as if he’d ever say no to you.

“Please,” he gives you permission.

With that, you look at the fabric of his shirt leaning against his collarbone. His typical black shirt covers just enough to make you curious.

But your eyes move to your own hands, which are delicately mimicking his actions, except they start by pushing up his shirt from the bottom. Your fingertips feel his abs underneath them. They’re defined, and you hate to admit that they make you really nervous.

Your eyes flick to his, and they read your mind like a book.

With one motion, he takes his hands off your waist and pulls his shirt off, revealing all his glory to you in one quick second.

You take a deep breath, and he chuckles a little. But his laughs stop the minute you touch him again. They slide up his abs, your fingertips feeling his honey skin underneath you. They slide to his arm, covered in ink. They’re a perfect representation of him, and you haven’t told him enough how much you love them. They’re passionate and edgy, handsome and strong, but gentle and honest all at the same time.

You almost get lost in his ink when he slides his fingers further up your shirt.

Your breath stops in your throat when he grazes his fingers on the underside of your boob. You’re not wearing a bra, and the fact only excites Jungkook more.

But he wants to be patient with you, even though he knows that the two of you want this so badly.

“Can I?” he asks again.

“Yes,” you give him permission in a whisper.

With that, he slides the silk fabric up and over your shoulder, his breath stopping in his throat when he sees you.

“Fuck Y/n,” he breathes out. He looks to you for permission again to touch you, and you nod with a small smile on your face.

Jungkook gently cups the underside of your breasts, his body leaning forward as he does so. His lips wrap around your nipple and you gasp when he twirls his tongue around your sensitive bud.

The sensation prompts you to press your hips deeper against his, eliciting the sweetest sound from his throat. His black jeans frustrate him, the barrier is too thick between you and him.

He sucks on you harder before popping off and transferring his torture to your other nipple. Your pussy feels like it’s almost gushing arousal from his mouth alone. A raspy moan leaves your mouth as he gently bites on your bud, prompting you to tug at his hair.

“K-Kook,” you moan. “Please,” you beg.

Jungkook pops off your nipple, his mouth trailing kisses up to your neck. His hands slide up your back, holding you close against his chest as he kisses and sucks on the sweetest parts of your neck. You know he’s learning you, and you’re 100% willing to let him continue.

“I want you inside of me,” you pant against his ear. “Please, Kook. I want you.”

Jungkook pulls away, resting his hands on your waist again.

He looks at you with more seriousness now, although his lips are red and swollen and his skin is starting to shimmer with the slightest bit of sweat.

“Are you sure?” He asks you again.

“Yes,” you hold his cheek.

“Okay,” he smiles.

With that, he stands up with you wrapped around his waist. You know where you’re going, and you giggle against his neck at the fact that this is reality. You’re in his arms, your skin against his, and he’s on his way to make you feel closer to him than you ever have before. This is the only man that you’d let do this to you, you’ve realized. And the relief that it is finally happening makes you giddy and so so happy on the inside. You can’t help but hold him closer.

Jungkook gently lays you on his sheets. They smell like him, and you feel warm inside when he tops off the scent with himself hovering over you.

“Have you…you know,” he gulps. “Used anything before?”

“Like a dildo?” you clarify.

“Yeah,” he kisses your neck again. He’s completely overwhelmed with you. He can’t stop kissing you, and he doesn't want to stop anytime soon. The urge to mark you as his own–to show every man that you belong to him–is so strong. He can’t help being so proud that this has finally happened. That you’re with him, and that this is the start of something new between the two of you.

“Other than my fingers,” you sigh. “No, not really.”

Suddenly, Jungkook stands up, uncomfortably fiddling with the zipper of his jeans. What you said made his dick hurt with arousal. His jeans are too tight on him now, and he wants to feel all of your skin against his.

You watch him take off his jeans, feeling overwhelmed by the look of his cock springing free underneath his gray Calvin’s.

“S-Sorry,” he apologizes for the change in pace. “They were getting tight.”

“I can see why,” you exhale.

You feel taken aback by Jungkook’s size. It’s still clothed by his boxers, and he already looks like he’s going to rip you open. No wonder he is in such high demand.

“I’ll prep you,” he promises. “N’ go slow.”

You watch him give himself a few pumps over his boxers, closing his eyes from the feeling of releasing a little bit of tension. He smiles when his eyes land on your face, your eyes completely fixated on his dick.

“Something caught your eye?” he laughs at the expression on your face.

“Shut up,” you smile.

Your breath stills when he hooks his fingers around the rim of your pants, asking your eyes for permission before he continues. You allow him, and soon you’re left in just a pair of boy shorts with a huge stain soaking at your core. The sight has Jungkook immediately leaning himself on his elbows against the mattress to get a better look.

“Fuck,” he whispers, sliding his hands on the underside of your thigh. He pushes your legs up, examining you for the first time. “You’re soaked, Y/n.”

“S-Shut up,” you shy. “Do something already.”

Jungkook laughs at your embarrassment, hooking his fingers underneath the waistband of your underwear and sliding it up and off your body.

“As you wish,” he whispers against your core. You don’t even have time to react before his mouth gently envelopes your clit. He sucks on it as you squirm beneath him, the intensity of his pleasure feeling like it’s going to be a lot to handle.

You slide your fingers into his hair when he plays at your entrance. It’s so wet, and he can’t control himself from sliding his finger in, knuckles deep, as you moan from his actions.

Your responses only fuel his fire, causing him to lap you up even more, to slip another finger in and curl it up into your g-spot. He can feel you tense, and he knows you’re close. He wants you to get there, but you stop him before he has the chance to.

“Want you, Kook,” you whine. “I wanna cum with you.”

“You wanna cum with me?” he restated your statement as a question.

You nod feverishly against his pillows, your eyes coming to lock with his.

“I want you inside of me when you make me feel good,” you explain. “That’s how I want it.”

Jungkook gulps. Fuck, if that wasn’t the hottest thing he’s ever heard.

“If that’s how you want it,” he smiles.

With a swift motion, he gets up to take off his boxers, his dick slapping against his abdomen as he does so.

It's almost comical how quickly he reaches for a condom in his nightstand drawer, slipping it on while his eyes stay right on yours. They tell you he’s been longing for you for so long. That this moment was one that he always dreamt of, but never thought would become a reality. You can only hope that yours convey the same.

Jungkook hovers over you again, his tip lining up with your entrance.

“Are you sure you want this? I can stop right now if you want me to,” he asks you again. There’s a worry in his eyes, as if he doesn’t think he’s the right one to take this from you.

“I want you, Koo. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life. Please take me,” you plea.

You watch that man above you gulp before he kisses the tip of your nose. He rests his elbows on the sides of your head, trapping you underneath him. With a kiss, you feel the burn of being stretched suddenly flood your system. He pushes in slowly, your back arching into him as he struggles to find a normal breathing pace.

It hurts, but he goes slow. He’s aware of your discomfort, and he wants you to say something before he continues.

“S’ this okay?” he asks you.

When you look down, you realize he’s only half way, and your head tilts back against sheets. He’s so big, you don’t know what to do with yourself.

“Mmhm,” you grip his shoulders. “You can move, Kook.”

Jungkook pulls out, and then goes back in quicker and deeper this time. The feeling causes you to dig your nails into the skin of his back, the pain and pleasure bringing you to a high you’ve never felt before.

“Ahh- Y/n,” Jungkook moans on top of you. His head falls into the crook of your neck as he keeps a steady and slow pace. “You feel so good,” he pants against your skin.

“F-Faster, Kook,” you beg, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Mm,” he hums, happily obliging to your request.

Jungkook speeds up the pace, his hips slapping against yours lewdly. There's so much liquid shared between the two of you, but neither of you care. It feels too good to stop.

“M’ feel good, baby?” He asks you, hovering his lips above yours. “This what you wanted?”

“Y-Yes,” you cry, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach from the name he called you.

Jungkook suddenly takes your hips in his hands firmly. Sitting on the back of his heels, his body towers over you before ramming his hips into yours again. The action causes you to tilt your head back, feeling fuller than you were just a minute ago in this new position.

“Yeah?” He licks his lips. His face looks demonic–like an actual sex demon is on top of you right now. “This is what you wanted, huh? You wanted to be fucked by this fat cock so bad, didn’t you, hm?”

Jungkooks fingers grip your hips tighter, slamming them against his own even harder than he did before. You can feel him against your cervix, hitting your g-spot with every exit and entrance of his cock in your pussy.

“Wanted you so bad, Koo,” you cry.

You feel your toes start to curl, and a part of you feels scared that you might cum too quickly. You want this to last longer.

“Yeah?” He bites his lip. Hearing you say that makes his head go fuzzy. The girl he’s wanted for so long, the girl he thought he could never have, is finally his. And he’s a part of something that is so special to you, he feels honored and overwhelmed all at the same time. “You gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna cum on my dick?”

“K-Kook,” you whine. “S-Say you wanted me, too. S-Say–”

“Fuck, Y/n, I wanted you so bad,” he grunts at the thought. He feels angry for the time he’s lost due to thinking one thing when it was actually the other. He could have been with you like this every night. He could have been loving you and holding your hand, and kissing you all day long had he just grown a pair and done it earlier. He should have kissed you at graduation all that time ago. Or maybe even earlier at prom. He’s wanted you all along. And thinking about how he felt when you got together with Taehyung and Soobin made him feel a jealousy he’s never felt before. He can only imagine what he’s done to you. The fact that he had someone new every night to talk to you about makes his heart hurt with the fact that telling you those things might have shattered your heart into dust just as you dating someone else did to his own.

“I wanted you then, and I want you now, and I want you after,” he continues. “I don’t want to let you go ever again.”

Your back arches from his words, your neck falling back from the pleasure and the pain all at once.

“Koo,” you grab onto his wrist. “I think I’m gonna cum.”

“Yeah?” He bites his lip again. His hair falls in front of his face as he watches your breasts move with his dick inside of you. “Cum for me baby, I’m not that far behind.”

Jungkook falls on top of you again. But this time, he brings your legs up over his shoulders, pushing into you even further than before. You’re starting to think he has an endless cock. Every new position he puts you in, you feel another inch inside of you.

You feel a white heat wash over you, and somehow you see stars as he continuously moves his dick in you harshly.

“A-Ahh,” you hear him moan. “You’re so tight–m’ gonna cum,” he tells you against your ear. “S’ that–that alright?”

He holds out until you let him, nodding into his cheek, too blissed out from your orgasm to form a worded response.

His thrusts get sloppy after you give him permission. The last few of them are hard and deep before you feel his dick pulse inside of you. A stream of sweet moans and your name falls from his lips as he releases inside of you. Out of all the music in the world, this is the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard.

After a few moments to catch a breath, he pulls out, not wanting any of his cum to leak out of the condom as he begins to soften from his post-sex glory. Jungkook kisses you gently, moving your hair off your sweaty face. He kisses your cheek and your forehead before tucking your hair behind your ear.

“You okay?” he asks you gently.

You laugh at his question. Hell, you were more than okay. Your best friend, first love, and current love, just took your virginity. Although you know you have a lot to experience in the sexual world, you whole-heartedly believe that it cannot get any better than this.

“Yes, are you?” you ask him back.

Jungkook laughs in the same way that you laughed at him.

“Is it safe to say that you’re my girlfriend now?” he asks.

“Only if the feeling is mutual.”

-----

[End. Do not copy. Original work of @jungkookstatts, 2023 ]

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dumbseee · 1 year ago

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united in grief.

f1 au/fic: in which, you’re jules bianchi’s little sister. you’re the same age as charles and grew up with him, when jules passed away your world completely fell apart, and you left monaco for paris. eight years after jules’s death you finally decide to comeback to monaco to visit your old friend.

charles leclerc x bianchi!reader.

fc: madison beer.

warnings: mention of jules bianchi, grief, angst, fluff.

note: happy eighth heavenly birthday, jules, we will always love and remember you, champion 🤍

y/n just posted a story!

caption: missed you monaco 🤍

you really thought about going back for a while, you missed you life in monaco so much. all your friends were here, your family was here, even after jules’s death they stayed, but you couldn’t. every step you took in the luxurious city reminded you of your brother. his presence was everywhere. you were seventeen when you lost jules, he was your whole world, you always wished you were the one in that car. you left monaco for paris because you needed a fresh start in a new city where you could walk without feeling the people’s eyes on you. but a small part of your heart wondered if leaving monaco meant that you were abandoning jules too. he was buried there after all, his soul was now forever in monaco and you were leaving to run away from him.

but your parents reassured you, and told you to fly with your own wings, to find your way, that no matter what jules would be proud of you, and would follow you because he was now your guardian angel. that reassured you a lot since your worst fear was to disappoint him. but your parents were right, jules was an angel when he was still here, and he’s still one up there. so whenever you felt bad, defeated, sad, you knew jules was around you, that gave you the strength to stand up and stay strong. you had to, for your brother. to make him proud.

that’s why you decided to attend today’s race. the monaco grand prix, your brother’s home race. he loved that circuit so much because he knew his friends and family were watching him and cheering for him. you came back without telling anyone, but of course your mother had to tell pascale, so the elderly woman immediately called you to invite you to have lunch with her and lorenzo, her oldest son. you couldn’t say no, because you missed the leclerc, but also because you knew how much you leaving hurt them. you left without saying goodbye, it was too hard for you, so once jules’s funeral was over, you packed your bag and left.

pascale and lorenzo welcomed you with open arms and big smiles, the mother apologised for charles and arthur’s absence but they were busy. charles… you were glad he wasn’t here because you didn’t know how you’d be able to look him in the eye. "you should go to the grand prix with us." lorenzo had told you, with his usual warm smile. at first you refused, but after thinking it over you realised that you owned it to charles, you left him behind when he was also mourning. of course it was harder for you since he was your brother, but jules was everything to charles. his second older brother, he was also lorenzo’s best friend. you hated yourself for being such a selfish coward. guilt was eating you alive and lorenzo noticed it. "don’t be too hard on yourself y/n, jules isn’t going to be happy." he smiled and you had to fight back your tears.

so you came with the leclerc to charles’ home race, you knew that your presence would be the only talk in town and on the internet. "oh my god, y/n!" someone yelled from behind you and you smiled when you saw ‘little arthur’ like you called him back then. he ran to you and made you spin in his arms. you laughed and brushed his hair when he finally put you down. "look at you! where is my little boy?" you asked, still laughing. he flexed his muscles and flashed you a cocky smile before pascale came to hit him in the head. "where is charles?" she asked. "getting ready in the garage, he’s really nervous, i think you should go say hi." he told you. you immediately took a step back, you were nervous as hell too, but for different reasons than charles. what if he didn’t want to see you? what if seeing you ruin his race? what if-… "he still talks about you y/n, he misses you so much you have no idea." pascale chimes in, patting your shoulder.

you were in front of charles’ driver room, you knew that he was just behind it. you could hear voices inside which had to be charles and his teammate. you closed you eyes and knocked three times before waiting. a tall and tan man opened the door for you, he smiled at you and you recognised him as carlos sainz. "isa is waiting for me, see you on track charles." he told charles. "it’s nice seeing you here, y/n." you smiled and watched him go. you took a deep breath before walking into the room. your hands were sweaty and you didn’t know where to look. "y/n?" you haven’t heard his voice in nearly a decade, so him calling your name startled you. "h-…" you couldn’t even finish that charles had closed the gap between you, pulling you in his arms. his face was buried in your neck and his arms were hugging you tightly. you were completely frozen, you didn’t expect him to be that affectionate after what you did to him. "charles, i’m so sorry for leaving." tears were now rolling down your cheeks. he broke the hug and immediately wiped your tears.

"sorry for what?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows. his hands rested on your shoulders, his touch soothing you. "i’m not mad at you for leaving, y/n. i just wished i was here with you to help you through the grieving process." he smiled and you looked at the ground. he was too good to you, you didn’t deserve it. "you lost jules too, i acted like i was the only one grieving, i didn’t realise the impact my brother had on people’s lives." charles gently kissed your forehead and stroked your cheek. "let’s talk about that later, let me enjoy your presence, you don’t know how much i missed you." he hugged you once again, and this time you wrapped your arms around him, savouring the moment. "my lucky charm is back in town." you couldn’t refrain your laugh at his cheesy comment.

"and charles leclerc wins the monaco grand prix for the first time in his career!" the whole stadium cheered for the monegasque meanwhile you couldn’t stop crying. he won. he won in monaco. it was his goal and he did it. pascale hugged you while cheering for her son, lorenzo and arthur ran to their brother. but you stayed in your seat, looking at him jumping everywhere and celebrating with his brothers and carlos. then, when he turned around to face your direction he did something that sent shivers all over your body. he pointed at you, then at his heart, and then at the sky. this was jules’s celebration every time he’d win something and you were there to support him. he honoured jules even when he finally fulfilled his dream. "jules, you are so loved." you muttered to yourself, looking up at the bright sky.

liked by charles_leclerc, arthurleclerc, philippe_bianchi17 and 2 682 789 others.

y/n: coming back in monaco was hard, but i wanted to be here for charlie, i was scared at first because i knew that i handled my brother’s death terribly but in eight years i forgot how kind you were. i finally understood why jules loved you so much. congratulations on winning your first grand prix in monaco! i’m so proud of the man you became charles, i know that my brother is proud of you and will always look after you. je t’aime charlie ♥️

charles_leclerc: this one was for you, and of course jules, i’m so happy to have you back, je t’aime aussi ♥️

fan1: i can’t stop crying wtf

fan2: jules’ death affected everyone, even the people who never even met him, like me, he was such an angel

fan3: your brother is proud of you y/n! don’t be too hard on yourself!

fan4: we love you!

fan5: so happy to see you healthy!

fan6: man, this family suffered too much, i hope they’re happy now

fan7: charles and y/n relationship is so cute omg

fan8: the way he dedicated his win to the bianchi siblings 🥺

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dreamwritesimagines · 6 months ago

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The Eye of the Hurricane [26] - Breaking the Rules

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: Fighting for the crown comes with decisions.

Word Count: 2600

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Violence, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship, mentions of sex. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

Growing up as your father’s heir, you had to memorize certain rules.

Honoring the alliances was one of them. No family could survive on its own in this line of work against all the others, and it was a matter of honor not to cross or go behind your allies.

Not putting civilians in danger was another. The business and its deals or disagreements could only affect the people who chose to be in it, civilians were always off limits.

But the most important rule that was drilled into your and every heir’s head?

Never, ever do anything to break the truce.

“Y/N?”

Your head shot up and you tried to smile at Becca. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

No.

No you really weren’t.

What you and Bucky were planning was way too dangerous, which meant that you couldn’t say that to anyone, Becca included.

“Sure!” you said as Leila came back to the table, carrying coffees.

“Thanks babe,” Becca pecked her on the lips and she smiled at her.

“Not a problem!” she said. “So, is there any reason why you look so gloomy, Y/N?”

Shit.

“Gloomy?” you asked with a small laugh. “I don’t look gloomy.”

“Is Ethan being his tortured lover self again?”

“He’s not—” you stopped yourself. “I haven’t talked to him in a while actually.”

“Bucky then?”

“Oh is this about that girl you told me about?” Becca asked. “Anna?”

You blinked a couple of times. “Uh…”

“Anna?” Leila asked and Becca waved a hand in the air.

“This incredibly hot woman Bucky is doing business with.”

“Did I say she was incredibly hot?”

“You said hot and I stalked her,” Becca said helpfully, “She is incredibly hot.”

“Thanks a lot Bec,” you muttered and Leila tilted her head.

“Let me see!”

“I’m not gloomy because of Anna,” you said and paused for a moment. “Although, Bucky does have a meeting with her today.”

“Here,” Becca said, handing her the phone and Leila raised her brows, staring at the screen before licking her lips.

“Maybe she just has a terrible personality.”

“You guys are the best,” you muttered and Becca let out a laugh.

“We’re joking, obviously you’re hotter.”

“For some reason I highly doubt that,” you pointed out and Leila rolled her eyes at you.

“You are,” she said. “But jealousy is less about looks and more about the vibes.”

“I’m not jealous!” you said, your voice going a pitch higher before you cleared your throat. “I wasn’t even thinking about her until you brought her up.”

“Then what—” Becca started but your phone started vibrating on the table, making you grimace when your eyes fell on the caller ID.

“Excuse me for a moment,” you said and grabbed your phone, then walked out of the café to answer it. “Auntie?”

“Y/N hi honey!” her cheerful voice reached you. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

“Nah, I’m just with my friends,” you said and she hummed.

“Well then, clear out your schedule for the afternoon because we’re having an aunt-niece lunch,” she said, making your eyes widen.

“Oh I actually—I had this thing—”

“I already made the reservation, I’ll send you the details,” she cut off your stammering. “See you in two hours!”

With that, she hung up and you threw your head back, letting out a groan.

“Great,” you muttered to yourself. “Just what I needed today.”

Of course your aunt had picked a restaurant in your father’s territory and of course it was already swarming with your father’s people. Unlike you, she had no problem with being followed by bodyguards even if the restaurant seemed to be closed to any other people but you two and the bodyguards, so you tried not to roll your eyes as you sat down, the waitress bringing your food almost immediately. You pulled your brows together and your aunt sat up straighter.

“I ordered for the both of us already,” she said, making you hum.

“Wonderful,” you said. “Thanks.”

“So,” she smiled at you. “I figured today is as good of a day as any to catch up!”

No, today was supposed to be about you having an existential crisis at home, and yet here you were.

“How’s marriage going?”

Jesus Christ.

“It’s going well,” you said curtly before digging into the salad in front of you. “And you? How are you after the break up?”

“Oh,” she waved a dismissive hand. “Let’s not talk about that. Bucky seems like he grew into such a gentleman!”

“Mm hm.”

“And George is happy being retired?”

You thought for a moment, then shrugged your shoulders.

“Bucky is doing a great job,” you said, unaware of the proud tone in your voice. “So yes. He probably does miss being more involved in the business but it’s Bucky’s time now. George knows it.”

“Promising heir turns into successful king, not much of a surprise there,” she commented and you sipped your wine.

“Exactly.”

“And speaking of heirs…” your aunt said, making your eyes shoot up to hers.

Fucking—

Yeah, you had walked right into that.

You knew that everything you said and did, even the smallest reaction would be reported back to either Ian or your father, so you had to keep your calm. Even though anger had started to boil deep inside you, you lowered your wine glass, tilting your head at her.

“Hm?”

“Your father may have mentioned that things between you and him are rather tense lately,” she said. “Especially after him naming Ian as his heir.”

You frowned, feigning confusion before taking your fork into your mouth again.

“I didn’t think they were tense,” you said after swallowing your bite. “Is that what he thinks?”

She paused only for a moment.

“It is,” she said. “And you know how important family is. We don’t always have to see eye to eye, but we do have to support each other.”

“Does father think I won’t support Ian?” you asked silkily and she licked her lips, deep in thought.

“Ian worked really hard to be where he is right now, Y/N,” she said, making you pull your brows together. “I am aware that you might feel some resentment but that position belongs to Ian now. And we as his family must make sure to make his job easier.”

You wanted to laugh at the audacity but managed to keep your expression under control. Of course she supported him, that much wasn’t surprising but—

Ian working for where he was?

He hadn’t even bothered to go through half of the training you had.

“I don’t know why you’re telling me this,” you told her. “It’s father’s job to make Ian’s job easier, he was the one who named him heir. What I think about his decision doesn’t hold any power in this, I’m not in the business—”

“Yes you are.”

You scoffed. “Well, that’s news to me then. Do you know something I don’t?”

She shot you a look.

“You and I both know that some bosses in the city support you to become the heir, not Ian.”

You bit back a smirk and took another sip of your wine.

“Which is normal, outsiders can have different ideas, it’s the family that decides on the heir,” she said. “But Bucky…Bucky is family now.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I don’t control Bucky.”

“Yes you do,” she insisted. “And Bucky doesn’t necessarily like Ian, does he?”

The realization dawned on you in a second; your father hadn’t put your aunt up to this.

Ian had, because he felt threatened by Bucky.

Which in all honesty was a bit insulting, because even with other bosses supporting you to become the heir, he still didn’t think you yourself were a viable threat to him.

You pushed at your salad with your fork, pretending to be nonchalant.

“Strange as it may sound, me and Bucky don’t really spend our time talking about Ian,” you said and your aunt heaved a sigh, then reached out to clasp her hand over yours.

“Honey,” she said. “You know what will happen if a war breaks out.”

“Tell that to Ian, not me,” you said. “He seemed to be very interested in a war the last time we spoke. I know what happens if a war breaks out, does he?”

“He’s still very excited to prove himself,” she said, making you clench your jaw. “So he may come across a bit… wild but he will not start a war.”

“Funny how everyone around him seems to have to make excuses for him.”

“So many people died before the truce,” she insisted. “So many families. I know that your father promised you that position, but you cannot set the whole city on fire just because he changed his mind. Ian is the heir now, you and everyone else need to make your peace with it.”

Anger was pulsing through your veins and you dug your fingernails into your palm, then pushed at your plate and stood up.

“I have this thing, so…”

“Y/N—”

“And for the record, I’m not setting the whole city on fire,” you told her. “Make sure to hear the same thing from Ian, will you? Because from the looks of it, people aren’t that thrilled to do business with him when he’s been foaming at the mouth to start a war.”

With that, you walked out of the restaurant with your bodyguards following you.

As much as you hated to admit, your aunt’s words did manage to make you even more restless. You had tried to take a nap but it was no use, and by the time Bucky got home, you had been pacing in the apartment for almost an hour now. He had some blood on him so he had gone straight to the bathroom to take a long shower, and when he came back, he found you by the window, your gaze fixed on the skyline.

“Hey beautiful.”

You looked over your shoulder and tried to smile at him.

“Hey,” you said. “Whose blood was it?”

“Some idiot,” he said. “Not important. Are you okay?”

“How was the meeting with Anna?”

“It was good, everything is going pretty smoothly. Are you okay?”

You turned around to see him better, then nodded your head.

“Sure!” you said. “There’s uh…there’s dinner in the—”

“What’s going on?” he cut you off, stepping closer to you and you heaved a sigh, then shrugged your shoulders.

“Nothing, it’s just…it’s been a long day.”

“I thought you were meeting Becca today.”

“I did,” you said. “Then my aunt asked to have lunch together so that totally ruined my day.”

He raised his brows. “What did she say?”

“Usual bullshit,” you said. “She wants me to support Ian.”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, that’s gonna happen.”

“And Ian is intimidated by you.”

“Good,” Bucky said. “Does he also know the only reason he’s alive is because of the truce he’s been so excited to break? Someone should let him know.”

“He thinks he’s untouchable, you know that,” you said with a roll of your eyes. “He doesn’t even carry a gun, he’s that sure of himself. Ryan carries his gun for him.”

Bucky threw his head back. “Does he—” he started but was cut off when his phone vibrated on the table. Your heart skipped a beat as he read the text message, then held up the phone.

“So…” he said. “Are we doing this tonight?”

You swallowed thickly, your heartbeat getting faster before you ran a hand over your face.

“Bucky, is this a mistake?”

He tilted his head. “Why would it be a mistake?”

“We’re ordering a hit on a shipment,” you whispered. “That’s breaking the truce.”

“Eh, it’s not like they’ll know who did it.”

“But if they somehow figure it out?” you insisted as you stepped away from him to pace in the room again. “I keep telling myself Ian is the wrong choice, but what does it say about me that I’m willing to risk war? That I’m willing to risk so much bloodshed just to get there?”

“That you have what it takes.”

“Do I?” you asked him. “At that cost? You heard the same thing I did while we were growing up, over and over again. Never break the truce—”

“We’re not breaking the truce,” he assured you. “No one will know it’s us, and even if they did somehow figure it out; your father will kill me on grounds of breaking the truce sweetheart, nothing will happen to you.”

Even the thought of it was enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“Don’t say that,” you murmured, rubbing at your eyes. “Just don’t.”

He shot you a playful smile. “I thought you wanted me dead.”

“If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead,” you grumbled as you approached the window to look outside again. “It just feels…”

“Overwhelming?” he asked you as he came closer before his hands clasped over your shoulders, massaging there, making your eyes flutter close.

“A little,” you admitted and he hummed.

“Of course it’s overwhelming, we’re pushing you to the top.”

You opened your eyes again, then turned around to look at him better.

“Why are you risking your own life for this?”

“Because I want to see you at the top of the food chain,” he said, then flashed you a smirk. “And on top of me but—”

“Bucky,” you said warningly as if that didn’t make your stomach do a happy flip despite the tension and he chuckled.

“Because unlike what your father seems to think, you’re the right choice for this.”

“And you still think that about me even if I’m putting the truce in danger right now?” you asked and his smile widened.

“You could shoot me right now and I’d still think that, princess.”

You nibbled on your lip, a warmth spreading in your chest before you let out a bitter chuckle.

“We’re both fucked up, you do realize that?”

“I know,” he said. “But fucked up or not, will you be alright when Ian inevitably burns your father’s empire down? The empire that belongs to you?”

You swallowed thickly as he ran his fingertips over your bare arm, awakening fire underneath your skin.

“Stop playing by your father’s rules,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “It’s your game now, you make the rules.”

You pursed your lips together before taking a deep breath, then looked up at him.

“Give the order.”

Bucky smiled at you, then touched the phone’s screen before taking it to his ear.

“Do it,” he said, then hung up, making you let out a breath, your head spinning because of the adrenaline rushing through you. Bucky stepped closer to press a kiss on your temple and you rested your forehead on his chest for a moment, letting his irresistible scent fill your nostrils.

“You’re alright.”

“I’m alright,” you muttered to his chest and pulled back to nod your head as if trying to convince yourself. “I am.”

“You are,” Bucky said, then smiled at you. “So let’s get drinks and dessert, hm? To celebrate your first ever hit order in the business?”

A nervous laughter climbed up your throat. “What?”

“Yeah I’ll even put a candle on the champagne— or on the cake, I haven’t decided yet,” he told you, pulling you by the wrist through the room while you giggled.

“Bucky wait, I need to do my makeup if we’re going out—”

“Less whining more walking princess, come on,” he said and you snatched your coat off the hanger as you walked past it, then followed him out of the apartment, still smiling.

Chapter 27

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bgomtori · 11 months ago

Text

☆ falling behind - k.th

synopsis - where everyone around you falls in love but you.

-> taehyun x reader

-> strangers to potential lovers, college au!

-> warnings! talks about the inability to fall inlove, yn zones out a lot, mentions of almost dying and being suicidal, alcohol, slowburn

-> note! happy tyun day!! love this man so much :' + laufey is so theraputic, i love her songs sm

love, a complex and profound emotion, an emotion experienced by many at least once in their lifetime. many may find solace in the warmth of shared gazes and the gentleness of intertwined fingers. love is like a canvas painted with the hues of understanding and compassion, where every stroke tells a story of shared excitement, or even bitter arguements. however, not everything is perfect, love can be exhausting and scary. while people yearn for the feeling of affection, some individuals decide to isolate themselves and prevent hurting themselves in the future, and completely destroy the meaning of love.

you sighed at the thought of being attracted to someone romantically, as you listened to your friends' sappy love stories about their partners, you couldn't help but feel a tinge of jealousy in your heart. when someone confesses their feelings to you, you can't help but feel disgusted, why can't you feel any romantic feelings towards anyone, like a normal human being? were you a robot? why can everyone around you fall for each other but you? your best friends have been in and out of relationships for god knows how many times, but you could only watch that happen. while everyone was falling inlove, you were falling behind.

"the right one will come to you, maybe by then, you'll feel your heart racing faster." ningning reassured you. but how? how would you know how love would feel like? you looked down, feeling devastated about the thought that you may never get married in the future. "don't worry yn! they'll come to you, it may not be in college, but maybe when you start working? who knows, or maybe they're here right now?" giselle exclaimed, trying to be more positive after seeing your gloomy state.

"i've never fallen in love with anyone before, how am i supposed to know how that feels." you groaned, stirring your coffee even though the milk has already been mixed in. "don't worry! the both of us can help you." you looked up from your sad coffee, just to see your friends stare at you with hopeful looks, you couldn't help but chuckle at them.

"fine." you couldn't believe you agreed to something like that, how were you going to find someone to try, or force yourself to fall inlove with. you were an introvert, you barely knew anyone that was in your college, all you did was follow your friend group around campus and laugh along with their jokes. as you left the cafe, walking in the opposite direction of your friends, you couldn't help but wonder how it was like for you to openly like someone, hold hands, or even kiss. the thought made you cringe, hell no, you can't imagine yourself doing that. however, the sound of finally having a shoulder to cry on, and calling someone yours, made you smile to yourself, that must be nice.

you were completely lost in your own world, not even noticing the traffic light infront of you, it was still red. cars quickly zooming past before the green man appears, you were clueless enough to almost step foot onto the busy street, until someone yanked you away, making you shriek in fear. you came back to your senses, finally realising that you were infront of a traffic light, you looked over your shoulder to notice the man holding you back from almost killing yourself. he was quite attractive, despite his outfit being a graphic tee with some sweatpants on, he had a nice face with big eyes.

"are you blind, or suicidal? why would you walk onto a road with oncoming vehicles." his tone was harsh, you could feel him belittling you. "i was lost in my thoughts, sorry.." you spoke barely in a whisper, slightly embarrassed that a stranger had to save you from a tragedy. he finally let go of your bag, walking away into the distant, you stared at his disappearing figure, wondering why he looked so familiar.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

"please yn, let's watch the football finals tonight. don't you wanna support our school." giselle whined, hugging onto your arm. "fine.." you grumbled, you were forced into this, you wanted to go home earlier today after your lecture and rest, but the universe has planned a different fate for you.

"yes! then you're gonna follow us to the after party too." your head turned towards ningning so fast, your head could fly off. "i didn't agree to that." you almost shouted, "nuh uh, you need to socialise, especially since you're in college." ningning gave you a smug look before walking off towards her classroom. you rubbed your head in annoyance, you couldn't believe that you were forced into this, but you were slightly excited, maybe you could find the someone you've been longing for. you quickly shook your head, why would you be thinking about stuff like that now. what are the chances that you would meet your future partner.

"i hate this so much." you mumbled to yourself, taking a seat near the back of the lecture theatre, trying to complete the last few questions of the homework assigned. you hoped that the day would go by faster, so that you could be in the comfort of your own home. yet again, you were occupied by your own thoughts, zoning in and out of lessons, only to be interrupted by the sudden movement at the front of the lecture hall.

"kang taehyun, how many times have you been late to class this month alone." the lecturer complained, taehyun apologised for his tardiness, completely ignoring the lecturers fussing as he made his way to the back of the class, where the only seat available was the one beside you. you stared at his face, trying to make out who he was, he felt familiar.

"oh it's you." he suddenly said, you looked at him with a puzzled expression on your face. that was the guy who saved you yesterday, you blushed at the sudden memory. how embarrassing.. "is this class the reason why you wanted to walk onto oncoming traffic? if it was, i understand." taehyun joked, taking out his laptop from his bag. you rolled your eyes at him, did he really think that you wanted to kill yourself?

"i already told you last night, i was just in my own world, i didn't notice the road infront of me." you retorted, taehyun chuckled at you, bringing his attention back to what the lecturer was teaching. you couldn't help but sneak glances at taehyun, he had to admit that he was fucking attractive, how have you not noticed him before. heck, you didn't even know that he was in your class to begin with. you quickly snapped yourself out of it, trying to focus in class.

"you really zone out a lot." a voice brought you back to reality, you didn't even realise that class had already ended, which part of lesson did you zone out at? "sorry, i think i'm just tired.." you rubbed your heavy lidded eyes, about to leave your seat.

"i'll send you my lecture notes, you gotta repay me though." taehyun stated, you stared at him in confusion, why was he acting so nicely to you? "what are you staring at me for? do you want to fail?" ouch, he was really straightforward. you gave taehyun your email in order for him to email you his notes. you briefly thanked him, walking out of the lecture theatre as fast as you could. you saw your friend group standing in the distance, probably waiting for you, you jogged up to them, giving them an apology for holding up their time.

"what took you so long?" ningning asked, eyeing you suspiciously.

"i zoned out in class, so i needed to get notes from my tablemate, sorry." you explained yourself. ningning gave you a slow nod before pulling you along with her, "well, let's go hang in your dorm before we head out for the match."

not long after, you've been lazing around with ningning and giselle, talking about basic things like what you did during the day, your classes, and obviously, their current partners. you sighed into the palm of your hand, looking down at your phone, scrolling aimlessly on tiktok, nodding your head occassionally at what they had to say.

"i'm so excited to support him later, hey yn, do you want me to introduce some players on the football team to you? i think there's some that may suit you." giselle suddenly questioned, you flinched at the sudden question, shit, you weren't listening at all up till that point.

"it's fine, i'm not looking for anyone right now." you mumbled out your answer, apparently that upsetted giselle, causing her to pout at your words. "you gotta have a look at them, seeing you all single and lonely hurts me too." she whined into your arm, making you cringe a little. you let out a nervous chuckle, pulling her away from your arm, "i'll try."

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

this was definitely new to you, the loud screaming, along with the band blasting in the background felt foreign to you. the stadium was packed with students from your school and the opponent's school. the guys were already warming up on the sideline, getting in their stretches as quickly as possible, looking up at the bleachers time to time to spot their friends, family or partners. you looked at the players from the opposing school, you have to say they looked really tough to play against, hopefulky your school would be able to beat them.

now you scanned the players from your school, but to your luck, you accidentally made eye contact with a certain black haired male, kang taehyun? you really didn't know he was apart of your school's football team. you stared at him with widened eyes, shocked to find him there. he caught your gaze, returning the same surprised look you had before slowly waving at you. you looked around you, maybe he was waving at someone else? ah fuck it, you waved back at him, giving him an awkward smile.

"you know taehyun?" ningning teased, bumping your shoulder as if you successfully flirted with someone. you rolled your eyes, "yea, he's in my class. he was the one who gave me notes earlier today." you bluntly replied.

"ooo, he isn't the type who would help someone so easily." giselle smirked, giving you a knowing glance. you glared at her, no. you and taehyun would never be something like that, he was out of your league, and especially if you may not even feel any romantic attraction, you can never be with taehyun.

"that'll never happen." you whispered out, leaning onto the railings infront of you, staring at taehyun as he runs across the field, dribbling the ball with his foot before passing it over to his teammate. yea, he was kinda attractive, but he was off-limits. you hear chanting from your side of the stadium, before it turned to loud screams of delight. they scored, your school scored. you clapped your hands, smiling at the field infront of you. this was fun, something out of your comfort zone, yet so exhilarating.

the match was extremely close, it was currently a tie between your school and the opposing school, the win for your school was dependent on this singular penalty kick. the whistle was finally blowed, signalling for the penalty kick. the tension was high, the stadium was pin-drop silent, eyes fixated on the ball infront of taehyun. everyone was praying for either a good or bad outcome, taehyun took a deep breath in, backing up from the ball slightly, getting a few jogs in before kicking the ball towards the goal.

there was a brief silence before the referee called for the whistle. the game ended, the crowd roared in happiness, screaming their lungs off. the boys on the field jumped onto taehyun, hugging him.

"holy shit, you just helped us win the entire season, you sick bastard." yeonjun yelled, slightly tearing up. taehyun smiled widely at his teammates, if it weren't for them, he wouldn't be able to score that perfect goal at the end.

"they did so well!" ningning slapped you shoulder, along with giselle, making the two of you hiss in pain. "come on now, let's go to the after party before it gets too crowded." ningning exclaimed, hugging the two of you by the shoulder, pulling you guys towards the taxi stand.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

"let's all get fucking wasted tonight, this win was ours, let's celebrate it." a tall, lean male shouted causing the whole room to burst in screams and cheers. this night was going to be a hectic one.

fuck, but now this was an awkward situation for you. you were sitting at the corner of the room, sipping on the alcoholic beverage you had in hand, snacking on the snacks infront of you. apparently, giselle and ningning left you to take care of their bags while they were off finding their partners, it's even worse that you barely knew anyone here, you only knew their names, but have you spoken to any of them? that was another thing.

you scrolled on your phone, tuning out the obnoxiously loud music that was blasting, you really wanted to leave. you were zoning out from time to time, either that or observing the people around you. pockets of couples dancing with one another, or making out with each other near where the toilets were, gross. you sighed to yourself, this was getting boring, how much longer into the night must you be here? giselle was supposed to introduce some of the football players to you, but guess that was scraped off her agenda.

"zoning off again?" a voice broke your trance, making you jolt in your seat. it was kang taehyun, again.

"you don't seem like the type who would go to parties." taehyun assumed, taking a seat next to you.

"i was forced here." you simply replied, not wanting to socialise with anyone right now. there was awkward silence between the two of you, allowing you to dive into your thoughts again. recently, you realise that you have been seeing taehyun more often than usual, why was that? was it because he saved you from not accidentally killing yourself.

"you wanna leave this place together?"

"excuse me, what?"

"you heard me, wanna ditch this place, i'm getting bored here." taehyun admitted, shrugging his shoulder while waiting for your response. you played around with your fingers, you were getting bored as well, but is it really worth it to leave this place with a guy you barely knew? furthermore, you have two designer bags that were entrusted to you. well fuck it, you're gonna leave with an attractive guy.

"you know what? sure." you stood up, looking down at the male who was staring at you with shocked eyes, taehyun could only chuckle at your actions, pulling you through the crowd. finally, the air didn't feel hot and sticky anymore. the cool breeze hit your skin, making you shiver slightly. you quietly followed behind taehyun to his car, hoping that he wouldn't knock you up in his car or something.

"where are we going?" you asked, your voice was soft, you weren't exactly comfortable with going into a vehicle with a male in it.

"i know a spot, i find you interesting, i wanna get to know you more." taehyun answered, unlocking his car door. you sat in the passenger seat, not knowing what to do. this was so new to you.

"don't feel too uncomfortable, i won't do anything bad." taehyun reassured, reading your exact thoughts. you nodded your head slowly, looking out of the window, taking in the views while softly humming to the music in the background.

"you're not a talker aren't you?" taehyun broke the silence, trying to brighten the tense atmosphere, only to be shot down by your quick, 'yea'. taehyun remained quiet for most of the ride, unable to find topics to talk about.

"what's your view on love?" you suddenly questioned, taehyun was taken aback, he didn't know how to respond to your inquiry. did you always start conversations like that?

"hmm, i think it's quite meaningful?" taehyun was deep in thought, what really was his view on love. he didn't know, it comes and goes for him, he has never experienced real love. "how about you? you must have had a horrible experience to ask me that question." taehyun shot back the question to you. you stared out of the window, unable to form any words, you barely knew this guy, but he seems reliable.

"it sucks."

"what?"

"i think love is hard to understand." you mumbled, feeling slightly embarrassed, now you looked like a loser.

"wow, what made you think that." you pursed your lips, opening up to a new person was harder than you expected. "it's better if i don't tell you.."

"why not? don't trust me enough?" you groaned, rolling your eyes in the process, "i barely know who you are, i'm not telling you my personal feelings." he was getting on your nerves, even though he didn't do anything to harm you.

"yet you're sitting in my car, not knowing where i'm bringing you. wow your priorities are set." taehyun sarcastically said, he was right, you remained silent, unable to argue back. "cat got your tongue?" taehyun tease, you could hear the smirk that was adorned on his face.

"just shut up." you scoffed at him, bringing your attention back to the scenary outside. it was empty, too empty for your liking, at this point you felt like you were getting kidnapped. you recited multiple prayers in your head, you haven't even been able to live your cat lady dreams, but now you may be killed by a football player. how sad is that? you squeezed your eyes shut, hoping that maybe a slight nap would be the solution to whatever was happening currently.

"we're here." you stirred from your nap, looking around to check your surroundings. an empty, secluded field, away from the vibrant and bustling city, away from the chaos happening at the party, this was theraputic. the way the wind blew gently into your face, the pretty view of the ocean, plus the night sky embellished with countless stars, the moon's soft glow adds a touch of silver to the tranquil scene.

"you always come here?" you sat next to taehyun, making yourself comfortable as you watched each wave crash onto the rocks below.

"yea, to relieve stress or when i wanna be alone. feels nice right?" taehyun took a deep breath in, the air felt so much cleaner here compared to the polluted air in the city centre. you nodded your head, humming in response, "so why'd you bring me here?"

"nothing in particular, you're quite interesting i guess." taehyun shrugged, his large brown eyes meeting yours, you felt yourself heat up under his intense gaze, what's this feeling? why does it feel so icky, yet so nice..

"so, about earlier, can you tell me why.. why you think love is so complicated." you let out a nervous chuckle after hearing his words, he's going to make fun of you, definitely. "it's kinda embarrassing." you whispered, rubbing your sweaty palms against your thighs.

"i won't judge." taehyun reassured, his eyes speaking to you that he can be trusted. you sighed, comtemplating on whether you should tell him or not, your head was telling you no, but your heart said otherwise.

"i, i don't think i can ever fall for someone romantically, and even if i did, i don't think i'll be able to commit into a relationship." you admitted, your voice was barely a whisper.

"have you tried it with the right person?" taehyun suggested, his eyes now fixated on the glimmering stars in the sky, you continued to gaze at the ocean, knees proped up to your chin, resting your gead on your knees.

"no."

"then that's the problem i guess." taehyun said non-chalantly. "no, but i've not felt any of those sensations you get when you're in love, like butterflies in your stomach, kicking your feet in bed when they reply you. i want to feel those as well, but it's so hard.. seeing all my friends fall in love is so wholesome and it makes me feel happy for them, but what about me? i'm always falling behind." you complained, plucking the grass beneath. you could feel him staring at you, your eyes darting around the empty field as if you were searching for something. his silence was killing you, you shouldn't have said that, the longer the silence was, the more you felt smaller under his piercing gaze.

"sorry–"

"what are you sorry for?" you smacked taehyun's shoulder for interrupting your apology, "let me finish, i'm sorry for suddenly ranting to you like that."

"you're apologising for that? you're cute." taehyun joked, laughing at you. your face started to heat up, how humiliating, you should have shut your mouth from the first place, but that wasn't the thing that bothered you, rather the fact that he called you cute. why was it that when it came out of his mouth, you feel flustered?

"you're just protecting yourself from hurting yourself, there's no wrong in that. even if it means you barely experience what love feels like, it's better to build up your walls than to go through a heartbreak." taehyun looked into your eyes, before looking at the ocean again.

"but experiencing love is better than never being able to have a shoulder to cry on, or rely on. i just want to find someone to love too." you groaned, hoping that it'll make him understand where you're coming from. as much as you supported your friends with their love lives, you've always wanted to have what they have, but your heart shuts this emotion out.

"then wanna try with me?" taehyun suddenly blurted out, his eyes gazing into your now widened eyes. is he insane, does he want to get heartbroken this badly?

"you're not gonna want to be with me." you mumbled, rubbing your fingers against one another.

"but this is my own decision, let's try it. you've not met the right person to love yet, maybe i can be the one." his hands on top of yours, as if he was reassuring you that it was fine to try out love with him. your heart skipped a beat, what is this? why are you feeling so giddy? your lips tugged upwards, "alright." you agreed to his proposal, making taehyun smile to himself, his thumb playing with your hand.

"you know i've noticed you for some time, i've always thought that you were quite cute and interesting." taehyun admitted, his cheeks flushing a light hue of pink that was barely visible under the moonlight.

"what." your jaw dropped, here you were thinking that no one was into you.

"crazy right?" you nodded your head.

"let's go now, it's getting late, i'll send you home." taehyun quickly stood up, pulling you up together with him, walking back to his car, this time hand in hand.

perm taglist! (send an ask to be added) @mrsyawnzzn @tinyelfperson

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ihavethedreamies · 5 months ago

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Oh, Baby-Girl | Bang Chan

Bang Chan - Stray Kids

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~5.5k

Pairing: Bang Chan x Tall!AFAB!Reader

Genre: Mafia AU!, Reader-Insert, Smut, Some Plot

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Mentions of Guns (Mob/Mafia type stuff), Bodyguard! Chan, Mob Boss Daughter! Reader, Swearing, Kissing, Oral (F! & M! Receiving), Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, Spanking, Daddy Kink (it is Bang Chan after all), Unprotected Sex (Not Recommended), Big Dick! Chan

Author's Note: Oh no, what is this? I couldn't have possibly wrote this since I am working so diligently on packing. Well, as long as it's here…

There is just something about the choreography for Chk Chk Boom that did something to me, I'm sure many of you agree.

P.S. If you haven't read my stuff before, or much of it, you might not notice, but the rest of you have probably figured out I got a bit of a face-fucking fascination. Thanks for getting to know me.

I am cross-posting this on Archive and Wattpad. Please reblog! If you know anyone that would like this or future fics but they aren't on here my name and icon are exactly the same on the other sites. Happy reading!

Being a mob boss’s wife isn’t nearly as fun and glamorous as the movies and shows (and TikTok) make it out to be. However, being the mob boss's daughter? A bit of a different story. You were protected from the violence and crime, but still got to reap the rewards. Fancy clothes, expensive jewelry, a nice car, and a bodyguard as well. Despite never being able to see him, you knew you were well protected as you walked down the streets of New York, spending all of your papa's corrupt money. A few designer shopping bags hung in the crook of your elbow over your cropped jacket, fur lining the ends of the sleeves and lapels. Faux of course, you might be the daughter of a criminal, but you weren't a monster. The thin heels of your over-the-knee (also faux) leather boots clicked on the sidewalk as you tapped away on your phone with your thumb. People moved out of your way as you walked, you just had the aura of 'fuck around and find out'. The gum in your mouth smacked as you chewed, sneering at a child who didn't move out of the way fast enough. Your eye roll was hidden behind your Versace sunglasses, but your down-turned lip covered in dark red lipstick was still obvious. Your stiletto acrylic nails were the same dark red and clicked against your phone as you scrolled through your search results. Despite how you looked and dressed, you still preferred to shop sales. That gave you more bang for your buck, since your father did limit your money some. As you passed an overly full trash can, you plucked the gum from your mouth and onto the pile. It had lost all its flavor… Approaching the next store, you were about to enter when you suddenly felt something instinctual rise up in you. You halted, people scurrying around you still, and with your natural height paired with six-inch pumps, you still stood a head above a lot of the passersby. You felt vulnerable for some reason and huffed in frustration, shoving the door open to the boutique you had stopped in front of. It wasn't your original destination, but you instantly felt safer being inside. It wasn't anywhere close to the first time your ingrained sense of danger had kicked in, and it wouldn't be the last. You know there was at least one bodyguard tailing you even if you never saw him, but that didn't mean the shelter of a store wasn't welcome.

"Welcome." One of the employees calling out snapped you out of your trance, having been looking out the window at the street. You turned and gave her a forced smile and removed your sunglasses. Deciding to look around while you were in the shop, you admired some of the items, but none of them were up to your standard, but that lingering feeling…lingered. Picking up a pair of shoes to look over, you looked out the window more, trying to see if you could pick out anyone lurking outside. Nope. Pressing your lips together, you sighed and moved to leave. Stepping back onto the street, you looked around again, trying to be subtle, almost like you were looking for a cab. Still not seeing anything that stuck out, you moved on and toward your actual destination. You were hit with an even greater sense of doom as you heard the screech of car tires in the distance and you spun around to see a black SUV hurdling down the street, unusually empty for New York. Like it was in slow motion, as the vehicle approached, the window rolled down and a gloved hand stuck out, a Glock in his hand.

"Shit!" You moved to duck behind a parked sedan, and you yelped when your heel snapped as you dove for cover. Your ankle twisted and your tights ripped, but you got behind the vehicle as you heard the gunshots. People around you screamed, and you scrambled to hit the emergency button on your phone, but… It was shattered. It must have hit the sidewalk harder than you did.

"Fuck!" You shoved the device into your purse, and you watched as people ran and screamed. Getting up just enough to peer through the blown-out window of the car you hid behind, your ankle protested, and you fell back down, catching yourself with your hand.

"Did you get her?" You heard a gruff voice shout followed by, "No!" Then, through the running pedestrians, a huge man appeared, a gun in his hand. He was right down the sidewalk, and you were right in view. Before you even had the chance to pray, a figure stepped between you and the assailant. You couldn't see since he was in your way, but you heard his gun go off and watched the goon fall from between the legs of your savior. He had to have been the bodyguard that your father told you was constantly at your tail. The man groaned and cursed, the same SUV coming to help haul him away, clutching as his knee. Sirens grew closer and you tried to get up, pushing on your scraped hand. You winced again, at least three of your nails on that hand were broken, a fourth cracked, and your heel was ruined. It would have been way too awkward to try and stand with just one pump, so you took off your other one.

"Here." The man who saved you had an accent, you couldn't quite place it in the moment. His leather-gloved hands grabbed your forearms and he more or less yanked you up. When you stood before him, he was…short. About an inch or two shorter than you…with your heels off. He was also really fucking hot. It was clear he was a bit shocked at the height difference as well since he had never been so close to you. Was he the guy always guarding you? You guessed it didn't matter if he was shorter if he was protecting you from afar. He shoved his pistol in the back of his pants, and you watched his white t-shirt struggle across his muscular chest as he did so.

"You okay, love?" Australian, it was definitely an Australian accent. And it was also really fucking hot.

"Y-Yes." You finally answered and you jerked to grab your bags, but he was grabbing them along with your purse before you could get close.

"Can you walk?" He nodded at your bare feet, and you stood on one of them, rolling your twisted ankle to test it. Putting weight back on it, "I can manage." He then started to lead you into the nearest alley as the police cruisers grew closer. At least you had stockings on as you meandered through the not exactly clean back alleys, and he finally brought you to another big black SUV parked behind some bakery.

"Here." He opened the passenger door, and you climbed in as he threw your bags in the back. You sat, shaking still as he climbed into the driver's seat.

"Sh-should I be up front?" Your voice was also shaking still, and he started the vehicle.

"The windows are tinted, but we'll be quick."

"Quick? Where are we going?" Your father's building was a good twenty minutes away, let alone the house on the outskirts of the city.

"Closest place is mine."

"Y-you are my bodyguard, right?" You just realized that even though he saved you, that didn't mean it was his job. The man huffed and wrangled his leather jacket off, tossing it in the back as well. The clean lines of your father's crest were tattooed into his bicep, and you slumped in the seat.

"What's your name?"

"Chan."

"Just Chan?"

"Yep." It seemed he had been waiting for you to buckle up, because he reached around you to grab the still unfastened belt, doing it for you. He smelled really fucking good too and your head swam. The spike of adrenaline seemed to get all parts of your body worked up, but you forced the wave of arousal down. It was not the time nor place for any of that. The ride to his place was quiet, thankfully, because if he talked more, you would be a goner. Trying not to be obvious, you would look to the side to stare at him. His side profile was immaculate, strong nose and jaw line, full lips.

"So…are you…?" You didn't know how to word your question without sounding rude.

"Korean." He knew where you were going, and you let out a small 'ah' of understanding. Your father didn't get along with the Yakuza nor the Chinese mafia, so Korean made sense. Korean-Australian at that…right?

"Australia?" You wanted to make sure, not great at picking out the different British-origin accents.

"Yep."

"Am I annoying you?" He sagged at your question and shook his head.

"No, love, just trying to keep an eye out." He pointedly looked in the rear-view mirror and you let out a quiet apology. The silence made since then.

"Put your sunglasses on." Chan nodded at the item in your hand, and you did so, pointedly looking out the window as he pulled up to the security gate of his building's parking garage. Getting in without any comments from the guard, he parked in what you assumed was his designated spot. The guard got out and opened your door for you, giving you his hand for assistance. You grunted when you landed wrong on your still upset angle and he caught you, making your chest press to his.

"S-sorry." You flinched back, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and he smiled gently.

"It's okay, Miss (Y/N)." Fuck, if you're already attracted to a guy with an accent, don't EVER let him say your name. As he was out of view to get your bags you mouthed an exaggerated 'oh my god' and quickly shut your mouth when he shut the back door. He led you toward the entrance door for the building, staying slow to accommodate your slight limp. Getting in the elevator, you still kept your sunglasses on just in case, though the building seemed pretty secure. That didn't mean the security watching the cameras were always completely trustworthy though. Enough money can convince most people of anything. You exhaled tiredly as you stopped by his door and Chan pressed the code into the number pad and it pinged. He held the front door open for you and you entered, hobbling down the entry hall. It was a nice place and you wondered how much your father paid him to watch you nearly 24/7. Or…

"So, are you my guard a lot?"

"During the day." So, yes.

"How long?"

"Hm…about three years."

"Ah." That was a pretty long time. So, he probably knew a lot about you, and you had never seen him before in your life.

"Oh! I need to call papa…" You rummaged through your purse that he had set on the coffee table. As you sat on the couch, you then remembered that your phone was broken.

"I'll handle it, love." Chan set your shopping bags and your shoes down as well and you had totally forgotten about your heels. When did he grab them too?

"I need to call a few others as well, if you want something to eat you can rummage through the kitchen." He nodded toward the other room behind where you sat and you nodded as he went down the other hallway, deeper into the apartment. You took the chance to look around and you wondered if he was ever there. Well, if he watched you all day for three years, he probably wasn't. The decoration was simple, almost like it was a hotel room rather than a living space, but it was nice. Maybe his bedroom was more personal? Hearing his muffled voice from further in, you stood and meandered to the kitchen like he suggested. Opening the fridge, there was more than you expected since the rest of the apartment was barren. Nothing stuck out though, but you noticed an object was in the oven despite it being off. You knew exactly what it was. Opening the oven, you grabbed the pizza box and opened it as your mouth watered. You weren't sure if the pizza was your favorite because you had it all the time (it was a front for your father's shenanigans) or if you genuinely liked it. Holding the day-old slice, you chewed absentmindedly, snooping through the rest of Chan's kitchen. He had a little wine display on the counter, and you pulled one of the bottles out to look at the label. You snorted, of course he had your family's vintage. Maybe he got a discount? At least you knew you liked it. Holding the slice in your mouth as you reached for a wine glass in the cupboard, you had to get on your tip toes to reach one. Could he normally reach them? There was dust on the glass, and you pondered if he ever used them.

"Sorry I don't use those glasses often." His voice startled you, but you kept a firm grip on the glass then set it down.

"That's fine… Do you just…drink from it?" You easily and expertly pulled the cork out with your bare hands since it was sticking out enough and he blinked at the ease with which you did so. Just because you were the daughter of a mob boss and didn't fight yourself, didn't mean you weren't strong. Your father made sure if it came to it, you could punch a guy's teeth out just as well as any bodyguard. That didn't help with guns, mind you.

"Uh, no," he huffed an airy laugh, it was actually kind of cute, "I just use a normal glass." He went to the cupboard next to the one you had been in and grabbed a square-shaped cup that looked like it was more for whiskey than wine.

"Are you doing okay, love?" He leaned against the counter as you poured yourself a glass after giving him some.

"I guess. My ankle kind of hurts still." You easily balanced on one leg, lifting the other foot to roll the joint around, testing its pain level.

"Just because I've never met you face to face doesn't mean I don't know you. Are you okay?" He pressed and you flinched to look at him. It wasn't…creepy perse, just, odd. You sighed, taking a sip, your hand still shaking a bit.

"Y-yeah. I mean, I've been around guns and stuff, but… I myself have never been shot at, you know?"

"I do, actually." He smiled cheekily and you sighed in mock annoyance.

"Well, it’s a little unfair that you seem to know me so well and I have no knowledge of you." You walked around the island and back toward the living room, sitting in relief on the couch. You crossed your leg over the other, injured ankle dangling in the air. Chan sat down next to you, leg up on the cushion so he could face you, toned arm resting on the back of the sofa. You felt his eyes linger on your tight-clad legs, your leather short-shorts showing most of your thighs. His gaze stopped at the tear in the supposedly tear-proof pantyhose, then snapped his head up like he just got startled awake. The man knew you knew he was ogling your legs and the tips of ears turned red as he cleared his throat. How was such a handsome man so cute?

"What do you want to know?"

"How did you get to be my bodyguard?"

"I had no mafia ties before. I guess that was a good thing. I was more or less scouted to be a bodyguard when I was a bouncer at some penthouse night club. It seems some of your dad's guys saw I was good, and I got offered way more money than any other job. They doubled it when I took the spot as your personal bodyguard."

"I see. Where did you learn to shoot so well?"

"I started at the shooting range when I was in college with my friends. I got better through work and your father made sure I was an expert before he put his baby girl's life in my hands."

"Hm, you obviously don't know me that well." You picked on a very small detail, wondering if he would know what it was.

"Hm, not his baby girl, his little kitten."

"Oh, maybe you do know me well then?"

"Quiz me, baby-girl." The way he said it was so different than two seconds prior. His tone deepened with it and a smug look settled casually on his face. You couldn't help but watch his throat move as he swallowed a sip of wine and you took a sip yourself, then set the glass down.

"What is my favorite color?"

"Red. Something else."

"Brand?"

"Prada. Something real (Y/N)." Chan leaned further into the cushion. You were right at eye level, and you wondered…

"Does it bother you I'm taller?" You changed the subject so fast he nearly got whiplash. You genuinely were curious. You were tall for a woman anyway, let alone when you did wear heels, and some guys didn't care for it.

"Height doesn't play into what matters, baby-girl." His slightly cryptic answer intrigued you, but you moved back to the previous topic.

"What's my favorite book and why?" He sighed, huffing a laugh at your shift back.

"You tell people it's 1984 because of the psychological implications behind it, but your favorite is actually Dragon Rider because it got you into fantasy. You read it eight times in elementary school, and you have a signed copy." Chan grinned at your bewildered expression. Once again, in any other situation that would be creepy as hell that he knew, but three years of observation would key him in.

"Okay, smart guy," you picked your glass back up, slinging your legs up under you on the couch, facing him.

"Why do I currently not have a boyfriend?" That was something you couldn't just say, it had to be observed.

"You hate romance. Flowers, chocolates, a fancy meal. You hate it, but because you like fancy clothes and jewelry, men think you lean that way. You'd prefer a movie date at home or going horseback riding." Shit, that was a little creepy. More so that he knew you so well, it was like he could see into your head, that kind of creepy. Not that he was a creep. Chan nearly cackled as he giggled at your bewildered expression, and you whined. Why was he that cute?

"Why are you that cute?" You accidentally spoke your thoughts aloud and you immediately froze, since he did too.

"I'm cute?" He managed to get out after you both sputtered for a few seconds.

"W-well, I mean-"

"I'm cute?" The simple inflection change completely shifted the meaning of his question.

"You think I'm cute?" You whispered and he set his own glass down, then took yours so he could do the same. He shifted down the cushion, so his knee touched yours. Chan leaned in and you clenched your jaw to remain strong. Don't kiss him, don't kiss him, don't kiss him.

"Baby-girl, if I didn't do you really think I would still be watching you ten hours a day, every day?" Oh. That was a good point. Chan crooked a brow, waiting for an answer or something, don't kiss him.

"You want to kiss me that bad?" he finally asked, and you jolted back, eyes leaving his mouth and shooting up to his eyes.

"What?! No?" Your voice cracked and he pressed his pretty lips together, so he didn't laugh at you.

"So, you don't want me to?"

"I never said that-" He caught you. Literally. You had tried to reel back so you could get off the couch, but his hand grabbed your wrist. It was gentle, but tight enough that he could yank you back to him, and he swallowed the squeak he pulled out of you. Your body melted, all the tension from the earlier attack as well as the sexual kind that had been quickly taking your body over, left. The kiss grew from a low heat to a full inferno rapidly. Your jacket was shed, then your necklaces and bracelets, and as his tongue crept into your mouth, you clawed at his shirt. Your fingers unevenly scratched at his skin through the fabric since about half of them were broken. You both panted when he pulled back. He slightly shoved you down so your back hit the cushion and he sat up more on his knees and you watched with glee as his shirt came off. Fucking hell, he was perfect.

"Oh my god." You gasped and his smug grin twitched briefly in bashfulness, but he composed himself.

"Let me see you, baby-girl." He easily held himself up over you as his body nestled above yours, his strong jean-clad thigh jammed between your mostly bare legs. He kissed you again as his fingers easily plucked the buttons of your shirt open and he pulled you up by the shirt. As you sat up, you yanked the shirt out of where it was tucked into your shorts and then tossed it away before falling back. The micro-fiber was a much nicer feeling than what could have been cold leather. You shivered when his calloused hands ran over the smooth and soft skin of your sides and tummy. His nose ran over your collar bone, and he nuzzled the swell of your breasts where they sat in your plain nude bra. If you knew you were going to get fucked that night, you would have worn something much sexier.

"Don't worry, it's coming off anyway." It was like he could read your mind and you yiped in shock as he unfastened the front latch so quickly it was like he did it telepathically.

"You wear them with a front latch because you can't reach around your back from when you hurt your shoulder in middle school." He really did know you well. You just blinked but then Chan forced a mewl from you as his strong thigh pressed hard into your covered mound.

"Focus, baby-girl." His voice had lowered even further, and it made you shiver. Strong hands gripped your ass over your shorts, pulling your hips to grind on his leg as his mouth met yours again. You whimpered through the kiss, goosebumps raising on your skin as the button of your shorts easily slipped open, the zipper was pulled down, and then your pants were soaring through the air somewhere you cared not.

"These are already torn…" He justified as he grabbed the hem of your pantyhose and easily ripped them to literal shreds. Chan let the remnants fall to the floor and you felt your slick through your panties against your bare thighs. At least your panties were a cute lacey purple and not just plain nude.

"You're absolutely stunning." He praised, hand running up your thigh so he could hitch it against his hip. Chan rolled his hips, and you squealed at the large bulge in his pants pressing to your barely covered cunt. If he felt that big through jeans, what the hell was he hiding? He chuckled where your hips jumped to get another brush of friction, reaching into his back pocket. As he pulled the foil package from his pants you snatched it from him.

"Planning this?" You tried to tease him, but his gaze darkened.

"Oh, baby-girl, I've wanted to fuck you for two years now." The man declared. You turned the packet over to look at the label, making a mental note at the size, then you looked at him coyly.

"You clean?"

"Yes?"

"Good." You tossed it behind your shoulder, then grabbed his belt loop, pulling him to you as you sat up. You smirked up at him, head tipped back so you could look him in the eye.

"Can you really feel me like you want through a rubber?" He swallowed hard, all that confidence from before seemingly to leave, then rushed back.

"Not even fucking close." He admitted, pushing you back down and starting to lay open mouth kisses against your neck. He sucked hard, his teeth nibbling the flesh and you shuddered with a delighted whine.

"We can put my pill to the test." You teased and he groaned, kissing down your chest. His mouth sealed over your nipple as he wrestled his jeans off and you exhaled in bliss as his fingers rubbed at your folds through the fabric still covering them.

"You care about these?" He snapped the hem of the undergarment. You did, but you really wanted to watch him tear them up more.

"Nope." You popped the 'p' and the lace ripped and joined your other items of clothing somewhere behind him. You yelped when his hands grabbed your waist and shoved you up the sectional, so he had room to lay on his stomach. Before you got the chance to prop yourself up on your elbows, his tongue ran up the folds of your pussy and his nose brushed your clit.

"Fuck!" You tossed your head back, body twitching as he decided to bury his tongue inside you. He groaned at your taste, hands roughly grabbing the backs of your thighs. He rolled you back, holding your legs apart and up as he mouthed at you like a man starved. Your little mewls and squeaks flew out between heaving breaths, and you felt his grip tighten, knowing he would leave bruises. When he let go of your left leg, he made sure you rested it on the back of the couch, and then his finger pressed into your twitching cunt.

"You’re drippin’." He chuckled, then added another finger and your whole body seized. Expertly, he crooked his fingers up, the ends pressing against your cervix and with a final lick to your clit, you came. He eagerly helped you ride out your high, then cleaned his fingers off with his tongue as you panted for air. Your forearm was slung over your eyes as you came back to earth, and you only moved your arm to watch as he removed his final garment. You hadn't even got a chance to look at him in just his boxers, but there he stood in absolute glory. His cock stood proud, arching up toward his toned stomach and you heaved yourself up so you could see him better.

"Oh~" You giggled, wrapping your fingers around his cock and he groaned at the feeling. You bit your lip, eyes meeting his giddily, then you swallowed the tip, whining at salt of his pre.

"(Y/N), baby-girl~" He tossed his head back as you took more of him into your mouth. He was thick, your jaw protesting a bit, and you still had a good few inches to go when the head hit the back of your throat. Your eyes flicked to his again, and you made sure to watch his face and you kept going, only gagging slightly as your nose pressed to his groin.

"Oh, fuck." He nearly whimpered, hands gripping your hair, then loosened his grip. He groaned as you bobbed your head, breath harshly moving through your nose as his cock filled and left your throat. His hips jumped and the sudden movement made you gag a bit harder, but it made your cunt clench as well.

"Shit, sorry!" He panicked, but you pulled off slowly, giving him your best boba eyes.

"Wanna keep going?" You hoped your intention was clear and he didn't even hesitate. The hands still in your hair pulled you back onto his cock and you sat like a good girl as the fat head of Chan's dick battered your throat. Your eyes rolled back, loving not just his rough movements, but the pretty noises leaving his mouth.

"Hm, you want me to cum down your throat, baby-girl?" Chan's hips jerked unevenly, and you could feel his dick pulse on your tongue. You hummed and nearly wiggled with glee as he pressed your nose hard against his lower stomach and painted your throat white. You eagerly swallowed each pump and drop, and he mumbled something about wondering why he waited so long to have you. Only half-softened, he pulled out of your mouth, and you licked the rest off his release of your lips. You didn't even get the chance to give him a smug grin before you were flipped over onto your stomach, and he heaved your hips up.

"Tell me if I do something wrong." His comment seemed odd, but it seemed he really did know you well. You gasped a moan as his hand smacked your ass, the skin stinging, and he could see your empty cunt clench around nothing.

"You want daddy's cock?" His thumb ran through the slick of your folds, and you trembled. There was a very specific reason you only called your father 'papa'. You only wished you had found Chan sooner to actually put it into practice.

"Fuck, yes, daddy!" You squealed in joy, hiccupping when his other hand slapped your other ass cheek.

"Get ready, then baby-girl." You were ready mentally, but your pussy wasn't. Your cunt burned as he buried his fat cock into you with one thrust. You reveled in the sting, craved it, and your already tight walls clenched around him hard. Even if he wasn't fucking you from behind, you were sure he was long enough to fill you completely, the tip nestled tight against your cervix.

"Fucking hell." You sighed, nails digging into the thick fabric of the couch. He let you get used to the stretch, but you just wanted him to move, you were even getting antsy.

"Move, please." Your wiggled were stopped with a hard spank. You yelped.

"Daddy, please." You corrected and he ran his thumb over the reddening skin.

"Sure thing, love." Your cunt tried desperately to keep his cock inside, and a few drops of your wet landed on the couch. Your breath left you when his hips snapped, fucking back into you hard and fast, his pace not letting you catch it back. He loved the little mewls and grunts he was literally fucking out of you. Your cheek was pressed to the cushion, drool already pooling from the corner of your mouth. He had waited too long to take you, he decided, and he was going to make up for the lost time.

"Ch-chan, fuck!" Your orgasm was cresting fast, a familiar burn rising with your orgasm. Spank!

"Fuck, daddy, I'm gonna-" Your breath shuddered as your orgasm hit and he slowed his pace some, grinding his cock into you as your pussy spasmed.

"Oh, baby-girl~!" He groaned as your cunt squirted even more slick onto his groin and balls, even both of your thighs. You slumped after what seemed like minutes and heaved for air, but he wasn't anywhere close to done. Your near scream as he started to pummel his hips against your ass again went straight to his head. He leaned over you, hands near your shoulders. Normally, he was used to leaning over a girl quite a bit, but his hands fell to the sides of your shoulders rather than your head, your body just as long as his, legs even longer. Despite the small height difference (in your favor), you felt small under him, he had broad shoulders and thick muscles, and an even thicker cock. The hard and deep thrusts turned shallow, his dick barely leaving your cunt but battering it at the same time, bringing you up to and over another orgasm fast.

"So deep, daddy~" You nearly cheered, and he found your weakness. He pressed his hips into yours, barely moving them and you gasped, a fourth orgasm already approaching. He felt your walls clench harder and you felt your pussy start to sting, but you needed to fall apart again. It was too much for him then, your raw heat and gummy walls begging him to pump you full.

"Gotta test that pill." He mumbled, then groaned as he finally fell over as well. The sticky heat of his cum filling you, so much it spurted out from around where your bodies met, pushed you over the edge as well. Your head swam from the force of your final orgasm, stars dotting your vision. As he panted for air over you, he watched your eyes flutter; you were wiped out.

"I'll let you sleep over, baby-girl. Gotta rest for when I fuck you stupid tomorrow morning."

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retrievablememories · 2 months ago

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marrow | dpr ian

summary: you're not the only eater. many of your kind exist, but you have always tried to avoid them, continuing to play the charade of the normal, boring life that you can never truly have. until one day, someone shows up at your door.

pairing: dpr ian x black fem reader

genre: horror, angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn romance, bones & all au, 1980s au

word count: 22.9k

marrow (noun):

a soft, highly vascular modified connective tissue that occupies the cavities of most bones

the choicest of food

a/n: this is a “bones & all” au, so if you didn’t like the movie/book you probably won’t like this. based off both the book and movie but with some changes.

please heed the warnings; there are strong HORROR elements in this fic. (i mean, people are eating other people…) if you’re not interested in reading about these particular concepts, please just scroll on by, make use of your filter settings, or block me.

as we all know, this is just fiction...it doesn't claim to be an accurate/real representation of anyone.

dividers: here | here

1985

You smell him before you can see him.

It comes as somewhat of a surprise: You don’t realize you’re smelling something different, something other than Alicia’s perfume, the cigarette tray, or the stale, woody air of the motel’s office, until it’s right up on you. It makes your body stiffen with fear. Not that you have any right to be afraid.

After a few long minutes, though, no one walks in. You don’t see the familiar blinding sight of headlights flashing in the windows as a car pulls up. And yet the smell remains. Despite your apprehension, you get up from your chair behind the desk to see if anybody is outside, walking to the windows facing the expanse of the parking lot. That is when you see a figure lying on the ground, somewhat obscured by the shadows where the office’s lights don’t reach. It looks to be a man, though you aren’t 100% sure.

From what you can see, he’s covered in blood. Large stains of it ruin the white of his shirt and the blue of his jeans. You could guess that it’s probably not his own. Your mind jumps ahead of you, trying to create the image of him feasting on the body of some unknown victim, of him carrying a bloody bag filled with someone’s clothes and trying to find somewhere to hide it…

It’s a terrible thing to think. Maybe he’s an innocent person, severely hurt. He probably used what little strength he had left to drag himself here for help.

But the smell never lies.

You quickly grab a flashlight sitting in one of the cubbies on the wall. Then you open the door, the jingling of the bell loud in your ears, and give the parking lot a quick sweep before stepping outside, seeing nothing but the same cars that’d been parked at the same motel rooms earlier. With it being a one-story motel, there wasn’t much area you needed to scan.

Standing out here now and pointing the flashlight into the shadows, you can see he’s still breathing, at least. But now you can also see the dried blood around his mouth and down his neck, which makes you want to promptly walk back into the office and lock the door behind you. Turn out all the lights and pretend no one was ever here.

There’s a big blood stain in one area near his abdomen like he was stabbed; you can see that the fabric is torn. Whoever he ate clearly didn’t go willingly. But when do they ever?

Again you think about going back inside—maybe telling Alicia to call for an ambulance. You think of calling the police, and shame immediately follows. How could you call the authorities on him knowing you and him share the same crimes? You’re unsure of which action to take, but it’s a little late to make the decision now. You see him begin blinking from the light you’re shining directly in his face; you hadn’t paid attention to where you were pointing the flashlight as your mind raced with options. He raises a bloodied hand to shield his eyes, the movement causing him pain.

You shift the light away, pointing it in the vicinity of his torso again. Only now do you pay attention to the numerous tattoos covering his skin. Unsure what to ask or say, you can only come up with a broken “...Hey.” You haven’t used your voice in the last hour.

He doesn’t reply. Instead he pushes himself to sit up, his hand hovering over the presumed stab wound.

“What…uh, what are you doing here?”

He looks at you like he’s deciding whether he ought to be suspicious of you or not. The irony. “I need water,” he finally says.

“Water? I think you need a lot more than water.”

With effort, he starts getting to his feet, and you can’t help flinching away. It feels stupid to act this way, to still be so afraid. As if being afraid could allow you to pretend that you are more human than you really are.

And what timing—Alicia appears at that moment after being locked up in her room sorting paperwork all night. The door bell sounding off behind you makes you jump hard, the wooden beads on your braids all rattling against each other. You spin around to look at Alicia, who’s too busy staring at the man in front of you with concerned eyes.

“What the hell? Are you okay?” she asks, her voice loud in the relative quiet of the parking lot. The motel being located on a less-frequented stretch of highway means things are often quiet like this, with only the sounds of cicadas and frogs and occasional passing vehicles to fill the late hours.

“I’m fine,” he says, disinterested in her concern.

Her eyebrows rise at his accent. “You ain’t from around here,” Alicia says, as if that intrigues her.

“But you’re not fine. Haven’t you been attacked?” you argue, gesturing toward the wound he can’t keep his hand away from. He lets it drop to his side then.

“I’m fine. I bandaged it. I just need water.” His tone and the dark quality of his expression don’t leave much room for you to object.

You and Alicia look at each other for a long moment; when she sees the tension in your face, you both come to a silent agreement. Strange people and motels go together like thunder and rain, but that fact often keeps you in something of a hypervigilant state. Unbeknownst to Alicia, you are certain you know why this man has shown up here bloody and wounded, insisting he only needs water and not even asking for medical help—which would entail needing to be admitted to a hospital—and you conclude it’s best to get him off your hands as soon as possible.

Once you do, you can start trying to forget about him and the smell of blood clinging to him. After not encountering it for so long, its return makes that familiar taste of iron rise up on your tongue like it’s encoded in your DNA, activating your salivary glands from just the memory of eating, and you feel like an animal for it.

Alicia relaxes her shoulders and puts on a gentle smile. “Well, okay. There’s a bathroom in the office. You can get cleaned up in there. And we got plenty of bottled water too, though it ain’t the fancy stuff like Evian.”

So you let him in.

You listen to the water running in the bathroom while you sit with your back rigid in your desk chair, like you’ll need to spring into action at any moment. Alicia doesn’t bother to speak, knowing the walls are too thin to get away with it, and leans next to you to write on a page of your notepad instead. You watch her small lettering fill the white space:

He looks fucked. We’re probably more dangerous to him right now than the other way around. You think he walked all the way here from town bleeding like that? Maybe someone dropped him here.

You realize with a jolt that Alicia thinks it’s all his blood. You shake your head but give no explanation. After a pause, she shrugs.

Still, you know where the gun is.

“Please…” you choke out, not wanting to think about having to use it tonight—or any other night, for that matter.

You don’t know if he’ll be a danger, considering he clearly ate not too long ago. But you can never say that for certain. Every cannibal’s appetite and impulses are different.

When he comes back out cleaned of blood, Alicia casually slides the notepad out of sight and stands up straight again. The shirt he was wearing is balled up in his fist, leaving him standing there with nothing but his jeans and shoes on. Seeing people in various states of undress, especially in the South during the warmer months, is nothing new. Still, his nakedness feels oddly misplaced in this macabre situation, and you don’t know where to put your eyes. You end up fixating on the bandaging around his middle, which is all stained through with old blood. It needs to be changed, but that’s not your problem.

Alicia blinks for a moment, the side of her mouth quirking up slightly.

“Of course—silly me. You’re probably wanting some new clothes, ain’t you? We might have something in storage. I’ll just be a few minutes.” Alicia takes a pair of keys from one of the desk drawers. You want to grasp her arm and tell her not to go, but she just directs her eyes to the notepad; you nod reluctantly and watch as she heads to the back door of the office and out to the storage building a couple yards away. It’s a spacious outbuilding that holds everything needed in the running of a motel, including the commercial laundry machines.

Now that the man is somewhat calmer, he looks at you like he recognizes you. You turn away from him when you see the change in his gaze. It’s strange to be seen and known by another eater. Though it’s happened several times, it always unsettles you. You don’t know anything about him, but you’re suddenly, maybe irrationally, worried that he’ll reveal your secret to Alicia.

“I’ve never met another one like me,” he says.

There are several things you want to say. Why didn’t you say it sooner? Have you really never smelled another eater until now? Who did you eat? Will you just leave already? None of these questions are what comes out. “Never?”

“Never. But I suppose I don’t stay anywhere long enough to find them.”

Then please leave soon.

“When was the last time you ate?”

You bolt up from the chair. There’s nowhere for you to go, though, so you stand there wiping your sweaty palms on your pants and glancing at the back door, hoping Alicia returns soon. “Don’t ask me that.”

You still won’t look at him, but he tries and fails to meet your darting eyes. You find a different part of his body to focus on. This time it’s his hand resting on the desk counter and the intricately designed tattoo that covers it.

“You must get hungry sometimes.” He leans closer, but the tall counter overlooking the desk keeps you separated. “Are you gonna tell me you’ve never had the urge to have a bite of her?” He gestures his head toward the back door. “It’s so fucking lonely out here, maybe no one would notice if you did.”

“Shut the fuck up.” You surprise yourself with the force of your reply, though your voice shakes. “I-I have self-control.”

And then he laughs. Like you two are old friends catching up—like you didn’t just curse him out. It makes him wince immediately, and his hand goes to his wound again. He sighs. “Sorry, darling, but I don’t think it’s about self-control.”

You ignore the name, though it irritates you and reminds you of the sleazy men that often make their way to the motel looking for midday entertainment in harassing young women. “We’ve both been born infected with it,” you say, your voice tight. “It can’t go away, but it’s something that should at least be minimized—not just given into whenever.”

“Is that how you think of it?”

“How could you not feel bad about it?” Despite yourself, you feel tears stinging your eyes. “Each one of them was a person with a life and dreams. We’re the ones stealing that every time we give in.”

“Feel bad about it?” He seems to consider that for a moment, his dark brown eyes far away. “The only thing you can do is get used to it. I would think that at some point, after you’ve eaten enough, it wouldn’t be shocking if it didn’t feel wrong to you anymore. Or if you started enjoying it. You’ve never felt that?”

You don’t answer his question, too disturbed and mentally exhausted to continue arguing and unable to agree with him. You wish he’d never crossed into this part of town, that you’d never met him. His presence makes your head and your chest hurt. He is everything you are and everything you don’t want to be, facing you head-on so that you cannot ignore it.

He’ll go away like the rest have, you try to reassure yourself. You’ve never befriended any of the other eaters you’ve met; at most, you ran into them a couple more times but never saw them again after. But even as you think it, it feels like a lie.

You sit back in the chair with a stilted movement just as Alicia returns, feeling like the precarious little life you’ve built is suddenly on the verge of collapsing. All the effort you’ve put toward modeling the spectacularly average life of the everyday human being—gone.

“Sorry that took a while. I figure you can’t put new clothes on with all that—” she gestures to the bloody bandage “—going on, so here you are.” Alicia hands him a small stack of clothes and a first-aid kit. “I hope that’ll do you some good, mister….?” She looks at him expectantly, and you realize that you haven’t known his name this entire time.

You feel his eyes on you when he answers, but your mind is elsewhere.

“It’s Ian.”

—

The next time you’re struck by the familiar smell of another eater, it happens in the early morning hours when you’re helping an older couple check out of their room.

It causes you to stumble and break in the middle of your sentence as your mind blanks, and you have to take a moment to remember what you were saying. The two elderly folks look at you strangely, their previous neutral-at-best demeanor now giving an air of annoyance. But at least they’re on their way out. You tune out their unsubtle mumbling about young people and their drug use as they finish up and step out the door.

You watch the front windows with a rising panic in your guts, wanting to run and hide but unable to move your feet. What horrific luck do you have to encounter two within the short span of three weeks? It seems that whenever they smell you, they come to you—whether it’s to size you up or attempt to make an acquaintance.

And a few minutes later, there’s a beat-up sedan, a gray Renault Alliance, pulling up in one of the parking spaces.

What you don’t expect is for the person to be Ian.

The ground has been kicked out from under you. You think maybe you’re suffering from acute vertigo. Your breaths and heartbeats are simultaneously too slow and too fast as he gets out of the car, wearing a button-up shirt that he only bothered to button halfway and black pants. He’s pristine this time—no blood, no torn shirt with an open wound, though his movements hint that he’s still healing. His eyes are shaded by sunglasses, but he takes them off as he walks to the door, making eye contact with you from the other side of the glass. That look sends cold water down your spine.

In another life, if he wasn’t like you and you weren’t like him—if you both didn’t share this bodily pestilence, this cursed impulse—maybe you would’ve felt some spark of interest. Maybe you would’ve thought of him as handsome, giggled with Alicia about it later, a brief respite from your mountains of paperwork. But in this life, you don’t feel anything but repulsion and fear.

You’re momentarily blasted with the unbearable summer heat when the door opens. It’s quickly chased away again by the air conditioning, causing your skin to prickle. Ian gives a close-lipped smile as he stops in front of you.

“Why are you back here?” you whisper.

“Checking into a room. That’s allowed here, right?”

If he’s a paying guest, you can’t really turn him away. He hasn’t done anything yet to warrant that. Even if he does eat other people on a regular basis.

You look past him to the car sitting outside. “Why didn’t you drive last time?”

“I just got it.”

“From which dealership?”

He taps his fingers against the sunglasses and glances down before answering, his voice low. “I think you know.”

Some part of you wants to know who it was in a futile attempt to keep their memory alive if only in your own mind, but you don’t ask. You don’t even know what type of person they were, after all; maybe he’d rid the world of some domestic abuser. It could be…understandable, in that case. People die everyday, you try to remind yourself—a useless platitude you have always told yourself after the act is over. It never absolves the guilt. They would’ve died someday anyway only goes so far when their blood is underneath your fingernails.

“And why come back here, of all motels? There are others in this area that don’t have mold in the bathrooms and roaches in the walls.”

He pauses after hearing that information, like he’s trying to figure out whether you’re pulling his leg. “I thought I’d be in pretty good company here, you know.”

“I don’t want your company,” you say wearily, watching him as he starts taking cash out of his wallet. “Do you think I’ll let you stay here just because—?”

“Because we’re the same? Because you’d cover for me?” he says, voice even lower like he only wants you to hear. That doesn’t matter anyway. Alicia is busy cleaning and preparing one of the newly vacated rooms, and it’s just you two in the office. There would’ve been one more person present if anyone had answered your For Hire ad in the paper, but it still remains only you and Alicia running this joint. “My God, darling. Forgive me for thinking you’d have a little mercy on a fellow cannibal. Anyway, I wouldn’t be so obvious as to do it here.”

You give him a look of disdain. In all sensibility, you should turn him away. You have no obligation to help him or break the law in doing so. The circumstances of his last appearance were already outrageous, and now he shows up with a stolen car. Who knows if someone might come here searching for him and making you and Alicia complicit in his mess? And ultimately, you want nothing more than for him to stop bringing up the whole cannibalism bit. Deep down, you are afraid that these mentions of it—maybe even the simple proximity to him—will reawaken the urge you haven’t felt in over a year now.

You’ve stayed silent for a beat too long. In a mess of movements, he shoves his wallet back in his pocket, slips his sunglasses back on, and brushes a hand through his hair, disappointment visible in his expression. “Okay, then. I’ll go elsewhere.” Something about his reaction makes your stomach twist. Maybe the sheer resignation in it. You shouldn’t care where he goes after this, if he has anywhere to go. He’ll be miles away from you again, just like you want. But…

It comes rushing out of your mouth as his hand reaches for the door handle, and you have no idea why you say it. “How many nights?”

—

It’s been a few days since Ian checked into the motel and you haven’t heard anything from him since then, but sometimes you spot “his” car in its parking space when you go to see about one of the other rooms. Whenever it’s not there, you can’t help but wonder where he’s gone and what he’s doing.

Without seeing him, you would almost be able to forget that he’s there, if not for the smell. It constantly keeps you on edge, more than you already tend to be. Alicia picks up on your restlessness but of course doesn’t know the origin of it—meaning she’s left to come up with a new guess everyday.

“Well yeah, he was surely strange…but maybe he appreciated us helping him out and just wanted to return the favor?” she’d suggested on that first day when he returned and you’d let her know with a less-than-thrilled attitude. “It ain’t like he’s the first weirdo to come around.”

“Maybe you just ain’t getting enough sleep. That’s enough to turn anybody’s mind out. Hope somebody replies to that ad soon so we can have some more help…” she’d said the day after that.

“You missed him earlier, but he came by the office this morning. Had an extra one of those breakfast muffin thingies and left it here. Ain’t that nice? He’s pretty cute, actually. You sure you ain’t just crushing and feel weird about it ‘cause he’s a paying customer?” Alicia laughed one afternoon, the third day of his stay. “Worse things have been done at this motel, Y/N.”

“No, Alicia,” was all you could muster up, and your stiff reply was just as good as an actual confirmation in her mind.

Sometimes, even though you are deeply ashamed of it and try never to acknowledge these rare moments after they happen, you stare at Alicia with her long curly brown hair and her sinewy limbs and her shining brown eyes, taking in the full breadth of her humanness, and you wish she were like you. Even though it would take away her normalcy and happiness…if she could smell that blood-curdling aroma that only you can—if she could understand the weight of this secret—if she knew what it was like to feel the rough grind of bone fragments between her teeth—

—maybe everything could be easier. You wouldn’t have to live with an imagined cowl of judgment, which she had yet to even bestow upon you, always blanketing your mind. And though you’ve always thought it better to have fewer eaters in the world than more, maybe navigating this existence wouldn’t be so isolating.

—

One muggy evening, the motel office phone rings, and you see on the caller ID that it’s from Ian’s room. You have to take a pause to steel yourself, letting it ring for several moments before you pick up the receiver.

“Hi, how can I help you?”

“Hey, yeah, um, the sink faucet has started leaking quite badly…not sure how that happened. It wasn’t like that last night.”

You sigh quietly, knowing you’d suggested changing all the faucets to Alicia a while ago, but the budget wasn’t quite there to do so. The summer festivals will be starting up soon, though, and festivals mean a higher number of travelers, so maybe there will be more money for it by the end of the season.

“...I’m sorry about that. I’ll be right there.”

“Right. Thanks, dear.” Your mouth twitches, but you don’t reply; you just nod as if he could see you. Neither of you hangs up. For an awkward stretch of quiet, punctuated only by the shuffling sound of movement, it seems like he wants to say something else. There’s an intake of breath like he will. You slam the phone down before he can.

You find the toolbox in its usual spot and take your umbrella from the stand before heading out the door. It’s raining lightly outside, the force of the droplets picking up and then dying back again every so often, but the humidity is so high that you feel uncomfortably soggy by the time you get to his room.

When Ian opens the door, there’s a cigarette burning between his fingers.

“Um, hello.”

You don’t like the way he smiles at you—like you’re co-conspirators on some big scheme. “Hi. You know where it’s at, yeah?”

You resist rolling your eyes. “Of course.”

He lets you in and then leaves the door propped open so he can stand outside and smoke. At least he won’t be breathing down your neck while you work like some other guests do.

Some game show program is playing on the small box TV; it looks like Press Your Luck. The sound of the TV and the rain falling outside accompany you as you set the toolbox down on the sink counter and start making the necessary fixes to the faucet. Situations like this one, though annoying, do give you a tiny bit of reprieve; you become too engrossed in the work to think about all your life’s problems.

That is, until you realize the problem with the faucet is too convenient to be caused by any natural malfunction or wear and tear. No he didn’t…you think, though part of you is still trying to convince yourself that your eyes and brain are deceiving you.

When you’ve successfully repaired the faucet, you straighten up and are startled to find Ian already leaning against the bathroom door frame, the cigarette now gone.

“Uh—well��works like a charm now.”

He acknowledges your work with a small nod. Before you can say anything else, he immediately says, “How do you experience it? The hunger.”

You could swear that your heart ceases beating. Your words come out in a shaky rush of breath. “Please stop.”

“You’re the only other one I’ve met, and I have to know what it’s like for someone else.” His voice and expression are genuinely pleading, and this takes you aback. “Please try to understand where I’m coming from.”

You put the tools back in the toolbox with trembling hands, your mind racing with things you should and shouldn’t say. “It doesn’t happen often,” you finally admit, your voice so small that he has to step fully into the bathroom to hear you. “There are usually months or years between occurrences. But when it comes…it’s oppressive. It’s like I’m being gnawed on the inside, like I have to do it or I’ll die. The last time was before I met Alicia.” The blurred memory of it causes you physical pain; it’s impossible to escape the self-hatred and disgust you feel, enclosed in this small room with him.

“Who was it?”

You shake your head. The thought of recounting what happened—no, what you did—makes you shudder. You refuse to let the barbed words leave your mouth for fear of being cut by them and bleeding out, but you find yourself mentally back in the scene anyway; you can almost hear the lapping of the lake and the distant sound of her voice if you concentrate. “Her name was Marygold. That’s it.”

He nods, left to accept that you don’t want to talk about her. “Years…hmm. The urge comes every few weeks for me.” He smiles sarcastically. “Lucky one, aren’t I?”

“...I thought you said you enjoyed it,” you murmur.

“Look, dear: What’s not enjoyable is always having to cover your tracks—or making too big of a mess and having to leave the area because of it.” He crosses his arms. “The guy whose car I have? He was just some lonely grocery store worker. You probably want me to say something noble, like I ate a fucking axe-murderer or something. No—I just needed a car again, and he was convenient. That’s how it is.

Maybe I could try to ignore the urge, put it off, but I don’t. When I feel it, I just go and find someone to satisfy it. Does the average person debate about whether they should eat a meal when they feel hunger? No, they just eat.”

You groan, your stomach lurching as you clutch the edge of the counter. “I-I can’t believe you messed up the faucet to get me in here to talk about this. What if Alicia had come instead?” For a second, you allow yourself to consider the danger in that implication—if Alicia had been in here with him alone…

He gives an airy laugh at your mention of the sink. “So I wasn’t very clever, then.”

Trying to gather yourself, you pick up the toolbox and glare at him. “I’ve told you plenty. Don’t ask me about this anymore.” In reality, you haven’t said even half of what he wants to know about, but getting anything else from you is impossible at this point.

Ian steps aside to allow you to leave the bathroom. You grab your umbrella from where it’s resting against the dresser and hurriedly open it.

“Please don’t call again unless it’s a serious problem. One that you haven’t purposely fucking caused.”

He raises his eyebrows. “That’s unfair. Staying here means I’m also paying for your services, you know.” Then he adds, “Not that I believe in superstitions, but I thought it was considered bad luck to open umbrellas indoors.”

You roll your eyes, already halfway out the door. “That’s ridiculous. And it’s not like I was born with any luck to begin with.” You let the lock click behind you, not bothering with a goodbye or goodnight.

—

Guests continue to come and go as the season rolls into the beginning of July; they mostly consist of travelers from outside of the area, contract workers, and truckers. You and Alicia work yourselves to near exhaustion with upholding the motel’s operations. You have often thought it lucky that you found her when you did, as she’d just fired her previous two employees for stealing funds when you answered her ad. You don’t know how she would’ve done all this alone, owning and upkeeping this motel after her divorce from her husband; but she always carried herself as if she were just happy to be doing something entirely of her own volition, without him ordering her every move.

Amidst this rush, Ian’s been at the motel for several weeks now. You wonder if he plans on living here, as it seems he has nowhere else to stay. But he’ll need to eat soon, won’t he? Guilt begins gnawing at you as the days pass. You’re putting the other motel guests’ lives in danger just by having him here.

But he’s been doing this just as long as you have—and with greater frequency. He should know by now to avoid eating too close to home. In those quiet moments when you have more time to ruminate, you find yourself hoping that he’ll go somewhere farther out, maybe to one of the bars or a nightclub. As long as it isn’t here.

But you don’t know why you debate with yourself over this or wish such a morbid thing. Someone will have to die either way.

—

The last person you checked in had been hours ago, and the cut-off was at 10:00 p.m. No one else would be coming through here tonight. With that, you’d mentally prepared yourself for another night of getting things in order for the next morning. A half-empty cup of coffee sits on your desk as you go through the budgeting again, the computer’s light illuminating your face and straining your weary eyes. New bathroom faucets, I’m coming for you…you think.

Alicia’s floral perfume swirls around the room as she goes about tidying up the lobby area, switching out the magazines for more recent copies and sanitizing every hard surface with cleaning spray and a cloth. A couple with kids had been through earlier in the day to check out, and their kids had great fun making a mess of things, to the chagrin of their tired parents. Neither one of you had gotten around to cleaning it up until now.

You’re closing out of the budgeting spreadsheet window and about to move onto something else when your stomach twists and aches. It’s been so long that for a few precious seconds you don’t recognize the sensation, but then dread smashes into you when your brain registers it.

The smell of Alicia’s perfume is suddenly too loud. The smell of her body, soft and muscled and warm, is too loud. Your eyes drift to her tanned legs revealed by her shorts, and you’re overwhelmed with the need to sink your teeth into the fat of her thighs, the muscles of her calves. You swear you can already taste the blood running through her veins; you imagine how it’d feel on your lips. You want to sob from how badly you want it and how badly you don’t.

Your eyes sting with gathering tears as you breathe hard, your panic increasing. You should get up and go to the door, run outside and get the hell away from her. Even if you have to run into the highway and surrender yourself to death by speeding car, you should leave and spare her of this nightmare, but you’re incapable of making yourself move anywhere but toward her. Your body acts without your volition.

That’s how you find yourself rising from your seat, pressing your body against the desk counter as you take a couple of strained steps in her direction. Her body is angled away from you as she finishes wiping down an end table, and you see her cheeks rise as she grins in satisfaction at her own work. You understand innately that this smile will be the last, and a terrible ache swells in your heart. You know you’ll regret not seeing it fully so that you could imprint it in your mind.

“Alicia…” you moan, anguished.

She turns to you in alarm, and you want to scream when she walks over to you. “Y/N! What’s wrong? You look like you’re in a world of hurt.” Her breath is warm, and beneath the scent of spearmint, you can still smell a hint of what she’d had earlier. Some frozen TV dinner of mashed potatoes, meatloaf, and peas. You yearn to share her meal—suck her tongue into your mouth, chew it into pulp.

The sights and scents are all too much, and you are so, so hungry.

“Are you ill?” Alicia asks, brows furrowed as her hand clutches your arm. In your hypersensitive state, you feel each individual finger, the lines on her palms, and the swirls of her fingerprints. Though they are hands you have thought about many times before, it’s as if you know them intimately now—like you formed them and carved all the lines yourself. “I knew it. I’ve been putting too much stress on you, ain’t I? You coulda told me, Y/N.”

Tears drip down your cheeks as you shake your head in denial of her words. “I...I’m sorry.”

Alicia’s expression is soft and remorseful, her mouth downturned. “I should be telling you that.”

Her selfless words only worsen your guilt, even as you lean forward—your body controlled by a force you can’t deny—and press your lips to her neck.

When it’s over an hour later, the only things that remain are her bloody clothes. Physically, you feel frighteningly satisfied with your hunger now alleviated. Your reward for it? A shower of blood. The vinyl floor surrounding you is covered in red. Drops of blood streak down the front and side of the wooden desk, with more on the wooden wall behind you. There are probably more microscopic drops of blood all around the office that you’ll never be able to find. The air is filled with a mingle of odors; the cleaning fluid she used earlier, your unfinished coffee, iron and flesh, the ever-persistent woody, rustic smell of the office itself—and much farther in the background, Ian.

From your place on the floor, you drag yourself up onto your desk chair and fumble the phone receiver with slick hands. It’s difficult to see the buttons with the tears blurring your vision, and you futilely wipe them away, which just smears more of Alicia’s blood across your face. You have to think for a moment to remember which room number is his, and you desperately hope it’s correct as you punch it in.

You think you could faint when you hear his familiar accent. “Hello? That you, Y/N?”

“Help me,” you cry, your voice strangled from the tears and hyperventilating. ��God, fucking help me!”

He hangs up a second later. You don’t know what you expected, but that wasn’t it. You begin resigning yourself to your fate as you slump into your seat, the receiver clattering on the desk. Some guest will find you here tomorrow and call the police, and you won’t be able to prove either innocence or guilt. What could you say—I ate her, all of her? You could open my stomach for the evidence; I don’t want to live anymore anyway? Despite what you tell them, the police will think you insane and continue searching for a body that no longer exists. That’s how it often is; another eater had told you this many years ago.

A fresh wave of tears bursts forth, and it causes you to miss the figure rushing past the windows and flinging the door open.

When Ian comes up to you with concern in his eyes, his hands reaching out to steady your shoulders and hold your bloody, tear-drenched cheeks, you don’t know whether he’s your demon or your savior. You feel a perverse relief at his presence, knowing that only he can understand your situation; and you resent him enormously for the casual way he can do the same thing and hardly think of it. It’s this curse you share, borne differently.

“We can clean this up,” he insists as he kneels before you, eyeing all the blood around him like he’s done this a hundred times before. You shake your head and begin to mumble a rebuttal, and he grasps your cheeks more firmly to regain your focus. “Darling, listen to me. It can be like it didn’t happen.”

“It did happen,” you retort, voice strained with anger. “Even if no one else knows it, I will. I can’t stay here and work here everyday knowing I—” your words break, “—that I killed Alicia.”

“You can do it, Y/N. You can get used to it. You have to get used to it, learn how to clean it up and move on. You don’t want to live a life constantly on the run—believe me.”

You practically snarl at him through the tears. “I can’t run a fucking motel by myself.”

He pauses, and then says, “I could do it with you. It’s not like I have shit else to do.”

You scoff. “And what when you need to eat? What then?”

“I could—”

“Start eating the guests, and this will become known as the motel where people go to disappear. How long do you think you’ll get away with that before the authorities come?”

“I’ve already told you I wouldn’t do that,” Ian insists. You think he might continue trying to argue with you, but then he says, “Okay. Okay. If you want to be done with all this, then we have to get the fuck out of here.”

“And leave it like this?” you groan, glancing at the bloody floor.

Ian finally lets you go so he can stand up. “Of course not. We have to clean everything. How many hours do we have until this office is supposed to open?”

You two spend the next several hours meticulously scrubbing every surface in the office. You try to turn yourself into an automaton—focus on the motions your body needs to perform and empty your mind. You aren’t successful. Too many times, you find yourself sniffling and averting your gaze from Ian’s direction so he doesn’t see your teary eyes, which is ridiculous in hindsight; he’s already seen you sobbing and covered in someone else’s blood. Held your face while you did so, like you were a small child. It doesn’t get much worse than that.

When the cleaning work is done, you stuff Alicia’s clothes, your bloody outfit, and the stained rags and brushes into several plastic bags you dig out of storage. Ian promises to stop somewhere so you can burn them all later. Everything else you take is more clothes to wear, some essentials, and your birth certificate folded small and stuffed in one of the pockets of your traveling bag—your only form of ID, and the only memento you have left of your birth parents.

Before abandoning the motel, you remove Ian’s name from the guest ledger to make it seem as if he never stayed there; his motel room looks untouched by the time you’re both done getting his things out of it and fixing it back up. You return his room key to its designated place on the wall of keys and then hurry out of the office, unable to spare another look at the place you’re leaving behind. You and Alicia lived and worked here for so long, spent so many exhausting nights and early mornings keeping the motel going even when it seemed like it might not survive, but there’s nothing left for you now. In just one hour, you destroyed it all.

So in the early morning hours when the motel guests are still asleep and there’s no one to witness but the gradually lightening sky and the cicadas, you and Ian hit the highway in his stolen Renault Alliance.

Once you’re a few miles away from the motel, you roll the window down to get some fresh air, and the warm breeze is one of the few things that helps hold you together. You almost want to stick your head out the window. Maybe if you fill yourself with enough oxygen, it’ll replace all the remnants of Alicia inside you. But you don’t want that to happen, either; you have nothing else left to remember her by but some bloody clothes that will be destroyed anyway. Only the memories of her smile, her sunny demeanor, her melodious Southern accent, and her perfume will remain in your mind, vulnerable to the passing of time. And eventually, those too will begin to fade and lose their clarity, gone to the same murky place within you that the other victims reside in, revived occasionally by your unpredictable nightmares.

“Where are we going?” you ask, and it’s the first thing either of you have said since you left.

“I’ve already been through most of the North…and I’m not really eager to go back soon. So unless you want to hang around the South a bit longer, it should probably be out West.”

“...I’d prefer the South. What kind of trouble did you cause up North?” you ask, your voice devoid of any meaningful emotion.

Ian glances at you and taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “Some…people saw me eating someone. I took someone to this broken-down house, looked like it had been abandoned for years and I knew people rarely came through that area, so I thought it was safe. But some fucking teenagers came there to do their graffiti and shit, and…”

“What did you do?”

“I ran. I hid out in the woods until night, and then I got the fuck out of the state.”

“Which state?”

“Pennsylvania.”

You nod slowly. “And then you come down here and get yourself stabbed. By the person you were eating, wasn’t it?”

Ian chews on his bottom lip before saying, “Yeah.”

In another context, you would make some comment about him being sloppy with it even after his years of experience, but you’re too drained to engage in the back-and-forth that would cause. You sigh and sink deeper into the seat.

“I’m not from this town either, you know. I’ve already done my fair share of running. But with the urge being so infrequent, it’s easier to stay in one place for a while. And even if I do give in to it, sometimes…I can pretend as if I didn’t. Buy myself some more time. Not much evidence but clothes, after all. And clothes are easy to get rid of.” You’re silent for a few moments. “But Alicia…” You close your eyes. “I can’t pretend.”

—

The beginning of your new life is exhausting. You’d forgotten how stressful it is to live like this; you’d gotten used to having one place to live in, the promise of running water everyday, and consistent meals that didn’t come out of a convenience store or vending machine.

You gladly watch Ian flirt with waitresses or waiters at the restaurants you stop in so you can get discounted meals. It doesn’t take much negotiation for him to get cheaper stuff at the occasional farm stand, either; the vendors are quickly enamored by his smile and his charming manner and those pet names he likes to lavish on every living creature. You don’t know where he got all of his cash from—probably that poor grocery worker’s house—but you do remain cognizant of how much of it is left every time you both have to buy something. You haven’t even touched the money you took from the motel safe yet, but that won’t last forever either. Your mind always remains ten miles ahead of where you are in the present, making it harder to focus on anything.

Sometimes you find an abandoned or empty house to sleep in for a few nights, left standing alone by the homeowners who are on vacation—whether permanently or temporarily. Entry is easier thanks to your lock-picking abilities. But most often, you two sleep in the car. Ian lets you have the entire backseat, which made you feel awkward at first. “Are you sure?” you’d asked.

“Quite. Why not?”

“...You don’t have to be so courteous considering we still barely know each other. I mean, you…” you faltered.

He’d given you this sarcastic smile and said, “How sweet of you to think of me, darling. I could sleep back there with you so neither of us has to deal with the front seats—”

“Nevermind. I’ll take it.”

And other times, he chooses someone at random—a bearded man at a gas station, an older woman at a grocery store, some sluggish-looking twenty-something eating lukewarm scrambled eggs at a down-home eatery—and spends a few days watching their movements. He’ll follow them at an inconspicuous distance in the sedan and find out where they live; subsequently, there will be hours of mind-numbing car-camping nearby as you both wait to see their vehicle turn down the road at the break of dawn or the onset of afternoon. Another day means more opportunities for observation.

But not everyone owns a car. Sometimes he’ll become interested in someone who’s traveling on foot, and he’ll leave the car to you while he trails after them for hours. You hate it the most when he does this.

He has enough decency to tell you a specific place where you can both meet at again in a few hours—maybe a park, or a drugstore—or he’ll say something about meeting you back here later.

“Later” is an unknown to you. Not knowing exactly when he’ll be back and not wanting to sit in the same place all day drives you mad. You might go to a local trinket shop or an outlet store or some boutique downtown to try to ease your anxiety. But sooner rather than later, you end up in your agreed-upon meeting spot, watching for his reappearance in the side mirrors.

Whether he walks or drives, you’re always left waiting on him once he decides to eat them.

The very first time he played this game, he’d told you to “come back later,” front door open and one leg already outside the car. You’d both been tailing a man for a couple of days already, and he had been none the wiser. He’d just returned home from work not too long ago; the sedan had rolled in after, and you both watched his house from your distant spot among the trees—waiting for something to happen? You didn’t know. The sun was setting, making way for the dark of twilight to paint the world; through the trees, you could see the glow of the house’s lights in the distance.

“What? Wait, what are you doing?” you hissed. You impulsively reached for his arm to pull him back in the car and then thought against it, retracting your hand. But you didn’t need to bother with pulling him back, because he leaned into you like he was telling you something confidential.

“Trying to give you a break. I would ask you to join, but I know you hate this and all, so just come back in like, two hours.”

You were unsure how to respond. You stared at him, knowing what he was about to do and wanting to stop him but understanding that your efforts would be futile. “Ian, what if I can’t find my way back here? It’s going to be pitch fucking black.”

He took your hand in his and squeezed it. If this was meant to comfort you, it did nothing of the sort. “You will. Just remember the street names.”

Then he’d left. You didn’t stay to watch him approach the house; you climbed into the front seat and carefully navigated the car along the path that wasn’t really a path and back onto the road. You waited the two hours, your eyes twitching to the car’s dashboard clock too many times as you drove aimlessly around the town with your palms sweating, hoping not to seem suspicious. All the while, you repeated the street names in your mind so that you could get back easily.

When the time came, you did find your way back—just as he said. The door was already open as you walked up the grassy path to the porch, your legs trembling from what you might find. Ian stood there with the yellow glow of the interior outlining his form, and as you looked past him, you saw that there was nothing amiss inside. There were no signs that any death had ever happened here, carefully scrubbed and cleaned away.

And that is how you ended up with a new home to stay in for a little while.

You’ve never seen him consume anyone, and you don’t ask. But sometimes you wonder…after he makes himself known to them—what does he do? Force his way into their house? Play whatever innocent persona that would give him a good reason to be suddenly on their doorstep, in their driveway? Does he press his lips to their neck the same way you do, the last gentle touch before the ravaging, or go for another body part—or does he kill them through some other method before ever sinking his teeth in?

Deeper down, you always wonder if maybe this will be the time he fails. That maybe he’ll change from hunter to hunted, or that he’ll be caught again.

He seems to have a preternatural skill for picking the types of people who no one would really miss, though. People who live alone and often in homes or trailers that sit off on a densely wooded and scraggly piece of land, separate from any houses nearby. Too far away for anyone to hear screams for help. Sometimes they’re the type of people who’ve burned all their bridges with their loved ones and whose calls for a savior would probably go unanswered anyway. This ability of his deeply unsettles you, but you never admit this aloud.

Once, you ask Ian why he even puts in so much effort—why he goes this far just to find someplace for you two to lay your heads at night that isn’t the worn material of the car seats. You aren’t expecting some virtuous or sappy answer, but you don’t quite anticipate his actual response either.

He hesitates for a moment, as if wary of how you’ll respond. “I like it—that’s all. That slow pursuit and the inevitable ending…somehow, they taste better that way.”

—

Initially, you weren’t sure if it mattered to have some sort of disguise. You’d crossed paths with hundreds of people at the motel and wondered if you might someday be recognized, that they would somehow know what you’d done, why you left the motel, and expose you to the national papers. (Some regional papers had reported on the motel’s sudden and unexplained abandonment, you find out later, but they proffered no clear answers for it or your and Alicia’s whereabouts.) But you didn’t know if those largely brief encounters would be memorable enough for anyone to recall you months later.

Either way, you end up taking your braids out not too long after you’ve been on the road. They were beginning to frizz to an unmanageable level anyway, and your chances of having them continually refreshed is virtually zero now. In a way, it’s a relief to not have them anymore, as if you have somehow transformed into a different person—a stranger you could look in the mirror at and not recognize as an eater—by letting your hair free. You burn the hair and all of the wooden beads inside a fire pit at a camping site, watching them die nestled in the flames.

But there are always occurrences that refuse to let you forget. Because on that same campground, you catch wind of another eater a few days after your arrival.

Their scent makes your stomach drop, as it always does in the presence of another eater. You wonder if they have purposely decided to stay at this site because they smelled you and Ian, or if they’re merely passing through. How will the encounter unfold this time, with three of you present?

When you go to talk to Ian about it, you find him by the river, where he has managed to catch a few fish. They sit nearby in a cooler. The midday sun beams down on the both of you with no relief, and you have to shield your eyes from the water’s reflection.

“I hope you know how to gut those, because I’m not doing it,” you say, frowning.

“It’s fine, babe. I’ve got it.” You scoff and roll your eyes, unimpressed.

“Can you smell that?” you ask him abruptly, quieting your voice.

He looks at you thoughtfully, but you continue shading your eyes from the sun and trying to appear casual and not at all disturbed. The continuous tapping of your foot gives you away, though. Ian glances around to see that none of the others near the river’s edge are close enough to hear, and eventually murmurs, “Yeah, I can.”

“Okay. Okay, maybe—”

“You’re nervous?”

You return his gaze then. “You’ve never met other eaters. I have. Let’s just boil it down to this: It’s often better for us to stay out of each other’s way. Us being dangerous to everyone else doesn’t mean we aren’t a risk to each other, too. Not because we feel actual hunger for each other—I’ve heard that isn’t possible. More strange genetic shit no one can explain. But some will feed on other eaters just because they can.” You shift uncomfortably. “Some see it as like…a conquest, I guess.”

“Is that why you were so eager to see me gone back then?” You don’t expect him to say that, and it takes you aback for a moment. He smirks, but the expression doesn’t have a genuine quality to it—like he’s only showing levity because he assumes you will be repelled by him without it.

“No, it’s…not why.” The real reason feels too vulnerable to disclose, so you don’t. Again, you find yourself unable to meet his eyes, and you return your attention to the blinding waters. “Look, I just wanted to tell you so that you’re—aware. I’m not saying we have to up and run away, but…”

Ian’s face becomes hard to read; you don’t know whether he’s feeling apprehension or whether he’s neutral about the possibility of meeting another eater. Or maybe even fascinated by it. “I get it. Let’s just see if they make the first move or something. And if they show themselves as dangerous to us, then we can leave.”

You don’t love the idea of sitting and waiting for something to happen, but you aren’t fond of the thought of packing up and hitting the road again either. You are beginning to enjoy this campsite; it’s not so remote that you feel isolated, but all the campers are spread out enough so that you can avoid feeling crowded in or watched. Or like you’re exposing others to danger. “Fine. Let’s see.”

—

You and Ian sit outside at the fire pit after eating, listening to the cacophony of frogs at the river and other night sounds as your after-dinner entertainment. You hear a train in the distance and wonder where it’s going. You imagine hitching a ride on it and traveling someplace where you can settle down without the prying questions of new neighbors and the requirements of real estate agents—buy a house and live in one place for the rest of your life like normal people get to do.

You scrub your face with your hands and sigh. Ian perks up at your heavy exhale, a question in his eyes.

“When I mentioned genetics earlier…” you try to order your words correctly, “...I think I got this thing from my mother. I was told that I was given up for adoption as soon as I was born, as her parents didn’t think she would be fit to raise me, and they didn’t want me either. They didn’t specify why she couldn’t raise me, but I always assumed it was because of that.” This is more personal than anything you could’ve told him earlier, and you aren’t sure why it comes spilling out now. “I don’t think either of her parents were eaters. I think it can skip generations, but I’m not really sure…I don’t exactly sit and have tea and reminisce about family trees with other eaters.”

You’d been passed between many foster homes as an adolescent, never truly feeling like you belonged in anyone’s home or that any of your new “family members” loved or cared about you. At best, you were tolerated or left to your own devices. At worst…you’d once lived with a strictly religious older woman who was half the cause of your constant feelings of guilt. She never found out that you are an eater, but there was plenty more than that for her to convict you about. The lectures about hell and brimstone still come back to mock you if you let your mental guard down for too long.

During the time when you’d been traveling through the world on your own, you only took shelter in churches—abandoned or not—if there was truly no other suitable place to camp for miles. The large windows always reminded you of eyes peering down on you, seeing inside of your soul and cursing you for the blood you’d spilled.

Ian leans back on his hands. The flames of the fire pit illuminate his face, and somehow, he looks different. Like the act of reaching so far back into the past is making him into someone younger, softer, and newer to the world.

“...I guess it would be my dad, then. I never knew him, and mum would never talk about him. I don’t know anyone else in my family who would be. Family secrets always stay so well hidden.” He begins chucking little sticks and other debris into the fire pit, and you watch them spark as they hit the flames. “Mum tried to hide mine once I started, but I felt like such a burden to her…I just went out on my own as soon as I could.”

“So when did you start, then?”

“When I was starting high school. What about you?”

“I was still in the single digits…eight or nine, I think…” I’d snuck out to my friend’s treehouse at night even though I wasn’t allowed to, and the hunger came without a warning. Despite the blood inside the treehouse, no one could ever figure out what happened. The missing posters all over town haunted me. The finer details are gone now, but you still remember the basics of it. These things arise in your mind but you don’t say them, wanting to avoid the sting of voicing what you did.

“So it’s not the same timing for all of us? I’d thought it was some fucked-up symptom of puberty that none of the other kids at school had gotten or something…” Ian says, his voice trailing off. After a moment of silence, you laugh and keep on laughing, though it’s more an expression of your incredulity at this situation—at your lives—rather than true amusement. Ian laughs alongside you, though he sounds more light-hearted about it than you do. “I’m serious.”

“Ah…yeah. I guess it kind of is, in a way,” you whisper, just enough to be heard over the fire popping and the forest’s sounds. “A coming-of-age type of thing. You can never be the same after it happens.”

“That first time was scary for me, but mostly because of mum’s reaction when I told her.”

“What about before you told her?” you ask, wondering if you’ll regret this question.

Ian tilts his head back and stares up at the stars for a moment. “Physically, I felt…complete. Like…I don’t know, sort of like something in me had been starved and empty my whole life and I didn’t realize it until I finally ate.”

To your surprise, you feel some measure of envy at this, wishing it could be that straightforward for you. If you could eat only to satisfy the need, to achieve wholeness, and not feel any particular emotion about it—least of all the normal combination of negative emotions that crash down on you afterward—things could be so different.

This and all your previous conversations together might be the most time you’ve spent talking about the urge with any one person. That realization cools your blood and makes you want to draw back again. You’ve told him about your relatives and nearly spoke of your first time, and now you find dangerous words itching in your throat: I think I envy you. Maybe it’s all too much to lay in his hands and trust him with—even though you had no choice but to trust him with your life at the motel.

Trying to restore the emotional distance between you, you get up from your spot on the log and promptly announce, “I’m, uh, gonna go piss.”

Ian’s eyebrows crease in the middle, and a short laugh bursts from his mouth. “Uh, sure, be my guest.”

You walk off into the trees, trying to tell yourself that the physical distance is enough for now—even though you feel like you’ve splayed your chest cavity open before him and let him scrutinize your every cell.

—

You wake up in the tent alone the next morning, pulled out of sleep from the sound of voices nearby. It’s not unusual for Ian to wake up before you; with you not needing to get up at dawn hours anymore to run the motel’s affairs, you take every opportunity to sleep as long as you can.

Within seconds of waking, you realize the smell of the other eater is much stronger, which raises alarm within you. You peek your head outside the tent’s opening to see what’s going on, adjusting your scarf on your head. Outside, you see Ian talking to someone else at the picnic table—someone who you can only assume is the other eater. She has strawberry-blonde hair that reaches the middle of her back and skin that’s been tanned from weeks in the sun; there are freckles across her face and chest, and her eyes are a clear blue. She seems engrossed in the conversation, and though you can’t see Ian’s face, he must be the same way; this is the second eater he’s met after knowing none at all his entire life. You’re reminded of the almost desperate way he’d appealed to you in that motel bathroom, and all your internal organs wince at the remembrance.

And then she glances over his shoulder and sees you sitting there yards away. A small smile shifts her expression, but it doesn’t have the same energy of the friendly smile you get from a passing stranger in public. It says I know what you are, and we both know you cannot hide it from me. It creates that familiar unease in you.

Ian notices the change in her face and turns to look at you as she gets up from the table to walk over to the tent. “Hello there. We were just having a nice little talk; it’s not often I meet other eaters who’ve never encountered their own before. You caught yourself a rare one.” She smiles with her teeth now. “I’m Sherry. What’s your name?”

You tell her a fake name, still cautious about your identity. You wish you’d been awake earlier to catch the beginning of their conversation, but it’s too late to ruminate on that. “What did you talk about?” you ask, shuffling out of the tent now. You’re only wearing a tank top and sleep shorts because of how hot the tent can get when you’re both in it; you don’t know how the hell Ian puts out so much body heat.

“You know, the things every person talks about…the weather, things to do ‘round here, favorite foods.” Sherry cocks her head at the last phrase, as if amused by her own words. You’re unable to muster up a smile to match hers. “Personally, I like to feed every month…I think Ian would agree. It’s too bad you don’t indulge as often, I hear? You could eat plenty more—not just when the hunger tells you to.”

It’s clear that he’s said more than he needed to. You shoot him an annoyed look, and Ian smiles weakly before biting his lip.

“I’m fine,” you say curtly. “Really. A few times a year is more than I could ever have asked for.”

Sherry nods, her smile never becoming less amused. “You’re one of those eaters who’s not fond of the whole deal. That’s charming. Maybe you were gifted with more compassion than the rest of us. Or maybe you’re just…repressed.”

A blurred montage of all the people you’ve previously consumed flashes in your mind, along with the lives they lived, and you don’t know whether to feel angry or defeated. “Better some compassion than none, I would say.” Even with the annoyance behind your words, it seems useless to say this; there’s nothing you could say to make her see things your way.

“To each their own.” Sherry shrugs, nonchalant despite your irritation. “But I suppose I should be going now to get my day started, so—nice meeting you two.” You both watch her depart, Ian giving her a wave before she disappears into the trees. You sigh deeply, trying to tamp down the boiling in your chest as you begin picking out something to wear for the day from the small pile of clothes you own.

“Alright, look—she came up and said hello, said she had smelled us, and I…I was curious about her experience,” Ian says.

“I don’t know why you’re explaining anything to me; you’re grown and can talk to who you want. No one was chewed to pieces, right?” you say sarcastically. “That’s pretty much a win.”

“Because you’re obviously annoyed.”

You stand up straight now, gesturing angrily with your clothes as you speak. “Maybe because you should’ve left me out of your conversation. I didn’t even want to talk to you about this shit at first, do you remember? But you kept fucking begging me. Now some stranger knows about my situation without me ever sharing it with them?”

Ian smooths his hair back with both hands and sighs. “Okay, I can see how maybe that was fucked up. I shouldn’t have said anything about you to Sherry, but do you realize she would’ve known you’re an eater anyway?” You glare in response. “I’m sorry, alright? But it’s hard for me to get used to you being so closed-off about it when all I’ve ever wanted was to know I’m not alone in this shit. It doesn’t make any bloody sense to me!”

“Because I never cared about being alone in it,” you say, and a tiny flare of guilt pricks you from the dishonesty. “I didn’t think about who else might experience it. I was too busy trying to hide what I was. Even if I did consider it, I didn’t want to be around anyone else who could’ve been—like me.”

Deep down, you realize that despite what you’d sometimes fantasized about Alicia—that if she were an eater too, she’d understand you without judgment and you wouldn’t have to live under such stressful circumstances—the reality is nothing of what you thought it would be. Living your life with another eater hasn’t relieved you of the condemnation and shame you always feel, and you wonder if maybe the emotions have been ground too deeply into your soul to escape them.

The darkness in Ian’s gaze reminds you of the way he’d looked at you and Alicia when you confronted him in front of the motel office. “Stop bullshitting, I don’t believe you. People get lonely about smaller shit everyday, but you didn’t care whether you were the only cannibal in the world or not?”

Before you can respond, you hear the sounds of foliage rustling and feet shuffling; there’s a small group of people walking one of the trails yards away and laughing about something. You can make out flashes of their clothes through the tree branches and bushes. Sweat springs up on your body.

You lower your voice, hoping they haven’t heard any of your conversation. “I don’t give a fuck if you don’t believe me. Your experience isn’t the only one there is. Just stop telling others my business. You don’t have that right. For all I know, you could’ve slipped something about the motel.”

Ian’s eyes widen. “I didn’t say a damn word about the motel! All I mentioned was that sometimes the urge takes years for you, and that you hate it when it happens. You think I’m that unreliable, after all I’ve done to help you since then?”

You know he’s right about the motel, at least. You’re still somewhat incredulous that he dropped everything to help you clean up and escape unseen when he could’ve stayed in his room, acted like nothing happened, and left you to be hauled off by the law. But you’re angry, and though it may be petty, you don’t want him to be right about this. “What am I supposed to think of you? I don’t fucking know you like that. In case you forgot, we were perfect strangers not too long ago.”

“And I try to know more about you so that we aren’t strangers, but you never want to talk about anything. Last night was something rare, but does that even matter to you?”

Your conversation from last night is like a distant memory, the personal details you shared with each other now dust in the wind. You wish you could take all of those words back, embarrassed from the vulnerability you allowed yourself. You wish you’d never known about him being a kid in high school, not knowing what to make of the new life that was waiting in his DNA, and that you hadn’t felt some measure of sympathy for him after hearing that story. You wish you’d done a better job of keeping him at arm’s length.

You gather your clothes close to your chest and shove your feet into your shoes so you can head for the river. “I’m starting to think it was a mistake. That’s all I know.” You walk past him without waiting to see if he’ll reply, trying to ignore the hurt in his expression.

—

The next morning is similar in that you are awakened by the sounds of voices again, but this time they are alarmed. Shouting, searching. Farther away, but approaching your area.

Ian’s next to you sleeping this time, his back to you as you sit up; at the start of this camping excursion you both had agreed to sleep facing away from each other, mostly for your own comfort. But it’s also convenient in this current situation when you’re still pissed at him.

You climb out of the tent to get a better listen, standing in the early morning air that’s already becoming too hot. You realize now that the shouts are someone’s name—Michael. The distress and pain are palpable in the voices of the people calling for the presumably missing person, and your stomach begins hurting with dread as your mind fills in the blanks about what might’ve happened. Not in such a public space…

Ian pokes his head out of the tent a few moments later, his long hair covering his eyes. “My God, what the hell is going on?”

“How would I know?” you scoff, squinting through the trees. You see a middle-age man and woman heading your way; there are other individuals spread farther out in the forest, still calling that person’s name. You catch glimpses of them through the foliage, their hands cupped around their mouths and heads swiveling like owls. When the couple reaches your camping spot, you notice the tear streaks on both their faces.

“H-have either of you seen this boy between last night and this morning?” the woman blurts out, holding up a picture with shaky fingers. The person depicted is a gangly blonde boy with a bowl cut who looks to be fifteen at the most. His wide smile shows his metal braces, and he’s holding up a large catfish. “We can’t find our son, p-please. He l-likes to go out exploring by himself even when we warn him not to, even at night—and he didn’t come back this time—he must’ve went out last night and got hurt or something, b-because some other campers found a patch of bloody grass…” The mother collapses into incoherent sobs.

The father tries to pick up where she left off, though his brown eyes are also wet and red and troubled beyond measure. “S-some other campers found this area of bloody grass in the deep woods away from the marked trails, so we—we thought maybe he got hurt and wasn’t able to find his way back—this is our first time camping here—b-but…”

“There…there was so much blood,” the mother gasps, shaking her head and clutching the picture so tightly you think it might rip.

“I-I’m…sorry,” you say, your throat feeling choked with a guilt that’s not yours to bear. “We haven’t seen him, or anyone else. We went to bed pretty early and only just woke up, so…” You ate dinner in silence with Ian last night before heading to bed earlier than usual. He’d stayed out by the fire pit smoking a cigarette for a while longer before coming in beside you.

The father nods, though your words seem to be another weight on his shoulders dampening his hopes of finding his son. “Thank you,” he mumbles, gently tugging the mother along to the next camping area.

“Jesus…” Ian mutters. It’s hard for you not to get lost in a rabbit hole of thinking about that boy and his apparent love for fishing and what he might’ve become if given the chance and the time. If only someone had had some kind of mercy on him. If only some otherworldly force had saved him. If only someone had simply not chosen him as their meal.

You walk away from the tent, trying to settle your nerves and corral your thoughts. You don’t know where you’re going, and you don’t respond to Ian’s call of your name, but you let your feet carry you away until you’re standing at the shore, looking out over the river. You listen to the tiny waves splash against the shore and feel the cool water run over your feet and try to let it ground you.

Maybe you shouldn’t care. Not when you’re capable of the same; it’s too hypocritical. Still, you can’t stop thinking about it as you dig your toes into the mud, trying to block out the sounds of the search party in the far distance. You’re almost ready to crouch down and put your hands over your ears when a hand touches your shoulder. You whip around to see Ian behind you.

“What?” you ask, voice coming out louder than you intend.

“Relax,” he murmurs. “It’s not like anyone thinks it’s us.”

“Why would they? And who cares about that?” you snap. “A boy is dead, and you’re sitting up here—of course it wasn’t us. But we do know—”

“We don’t know that he’s dead, and we don’t know that either.”

“You don’t think she did it?”

Ian sighs. “Should we assume that? If she did—it was always gonna be someone, Y/N. If not him, someone else. No one gets spared when you have to live like we do, you know that.”

“You two seem quite similar, honestly,” you say, exasperated. “Maybe it’d make more sense for you two to be together like this instead of us. I just can’t understand how you think.”

Maybe you’ve made a huge error. Not by accepting his help, or even by renting him the motel room—you’d have to go further back than that. You shouldn’t have even gone out to check on him that night. You could’ve avoided this all if only…

One decision. The difference between you being in this campground-turned-crime-scene and you standing at the motel desk taking yet another stranger’s information was just one decision.

…But you still would’ve eaten Alicia, wouldn’t you have? The hunger is always beneath the surface, just waiting to reemerge. If not then, it would’ve been later.

You’re spinning out of control. The thought comes to you suddenly: There’s no way you can sustain this strange relationship with him, in which you travel endlessly with no destination and you try to pretend like he doesn’t eat other people and like you don’t have the same craving. Your talk at the fire pit should’ve shown you that; how can you ever be on equal ground with him in the way that another eater like Sherry could? And why should you want to? You’ve been trying to outrun this desire to consume for as long as you’ve had it; you won’t let him make you think this is normal.

Even if your thoughts are anchored more in your current emotional frenzy than in reality, you’re unable to regulate yourself to see things differently. A vise of panic grips your body and crushes you between.

There has to be a way out of this.

“Y/N. I don’t think you’re in the right state of mind right now,” he says more gently, noticing the frantic vibe emanating from you. “If you’re that concerned, we can leave, okay? Remember, we said we’d leave if things didn’t feel right?”

“Right…” you murmur, though your mind is elsewhere, planning. “Tomorrow. We can leave tomorrow.”

When night falls, Sherry returns to your campsite. To your knowledge, the search party is still out there somewhere, pushing out to the very edges of the campground’s boundaries to cover all the bases. All of the other campers who didn’t get involved in the search have either decided to stay to themselves or leave.

“Hey, friends. I come with gifts.” Her smile is big and white in the dark of night as she holds up some beer cans and a pack of cigarettes.

That’s how the three of you end up sitting around the fire pit, smoke from both the flames and the tobacco curling through the air. Your beer can sits nearly empty in your lap; you’d taken a few apprehensive sips at first, and then more, in an attempt to numb yourself out. Sherry leads the conversation, talking about her travels and the exciting things she’s done and never once bringing up anyone she’s preyed on. You don’t know if she avoids the topic for your comfort. You highly doubt she cares. You say little to either of them, too lost in your own mind to engage.

But eventually, amid a lull in the talking, she sighs as if burdened and then smiles. It’s an odd contrast.

“I’ve always preferred to feed on males,” she announces. “I like to pretend each one of them is my father. I guess you could call it daddy issues, but I don’t give a fuck.”

Your heart quickens. “Your father?”

“‘Course. He’s the one who gave me this little gift. Then tried to kill me for it. Ain’t that something? Didn’t even do me the dignity of eating me; he tried to strangle me with his bare hands like some kind of brute.”

“That’s so fucked up,” Ian mutters.

“If I didn’t fight him like a bat outta hell, I’d be dead. I didn’t eat him after. I just ran away from home and never came back. But shit, sometimes I wish I had eaten him.” She chuckles, taking a drag from her cigarette.

“So, the boy…” you start, but don’t know how to finish.

Sherry leans her head against her palm and studies you before saying, “Take a guess.” Ian raises his eyebrows.

“But why him?” you ask, voice cracking. “Why in a place like this, with so many others around? Don’t you think it’s dangerous?”

“It’s not if you know what you’re doing.” Sherry shrugs. “Besides, he was curious, easy to lure, and outside at night when he shouldn’t have been. They never expect danger to come from a sweet little thing like me. You should take advantage of that.” Sherry gestures to you, grinning again. “Use your feminine wiles and all that shit.”

You pour the last bit of your beer into the grass and stand up from the log you’d been sitting on. “It doesn’t work like that for me.” You walk back to the tent feeling chilled despite the humidity of late August. You try to ignore the sensation of two pairs of eyes following you.

—

That morning, you wake up much earlier than Ian does. You check to make sure he’s asleep, his chest rising and falling evenly, as you crawl from under the covers. You’re as careful and quiet as can be as you gather your things in the tent and strewn around the campsite—though they are thankfully few—and shove them into your traveling bag.

Once you have all your belongings together, you slip back into the tent. Ian’s jeans are folded in the corner with his other clothes; you know the car keys are in one of the pockets. As you slowly search through them, you hope that he won’t awaken. You watch his face for signs of consciousness, and as you do, the sight of him lying there scratches at something deep inside of you. It arouses a sentiment you don’t want to think of as sympathy. Are you betraying him in some way by doing this?

The feel of metal against your fingers causes your heart to race. You slide the keys out with as much control as you can muster. Then you back out of the tent, telling yourself this is the last time you will see him, before letting the flaps close and obscure your view of him.

You don’t breathe properly again until you’re in the parking lot, clutching the strap of your bag and the car keys like you’re being hunted. You falter in your steps, however, when you see Sherry in the parking lot too, messing with something in her car—a boxy, dark red Chevy. She isn’t the only person out here—there’s a man and his small child at their own car, the man tiredly searching for some beloved toy in the backseat while the child whines—but somehow you feel cornered.

You try to ignore her as you shove the key into the lock and throw your bag into the passenger seat, scanning the trees as if Ian might be there, shouldering his way out of the foliage. There is no one.

“Leaving so soon?” You turn at the sound of Sherry’s voice, unsure when she got over here and how she moved so soundlessly. “It’s probably for the best; there’s rumors the park rangers are gonna be temporarily closing this site.”

You shrug, your body stiff. “And?”

Her eyes search the car as if looking for something in particular. “Doesn’t look like enough stuff for both of you. You’re leaving Ian behind?” She laughs, her face simultaneously surprised and amused.

You don’t owe her an explanation, you tell yourself. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I won’t. When I think about it…you two probably wouldn’t have made it very far together, anyway.” She throws her hands up in a casual what can you do? motion and makes for the treeline, calling over her shoulder. “Maybe you’ll change your mind about eating one day.”

“Maybe not,” you mutter, sliding into the front seat and starting the engine.

—

Summer fades into fall, though the weather doesn’t yet reflect this change.

You drive for miles and try not to think about many things—most prominently, Alicia or Ian. Yet, your version of not thinking about Ian involves a lot of ruminating on whether you should’ve left, what happened to him after, where he might be now, whether he decided to tag along with Sherry or just ended up alone again. You feel sick whenever the last possibility crosses your mind.

It doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. He was alone before me, and he’ll be fine after me. We were never really going to work anyway.

During your worst times, you wonder if you were purposely setting him up for disaster; you’d told him yourself how dangerous other eaters could be. You know you would never try to feed on him, but what about Sherry? The guilt threatens to make you implode; sometimes you want to fly back down the highway and find him again somehow, and say…what? What could you say to make it less horrible? Whenever your mind turns down that road, you attempt to convince yourself that it doesn’t concern you anymore. Whatever happens to him, good or bad, is no longer your business.

Not thinking about Alicia involves a lot more open wallowing and feeling sorry for yourself while simultaneously hating that you feel any pity for yourself. You deserve no one’s sympathies. But that doesn’t stop you from curling into the backseat and recalling past memories through sobs, dragging your fingernails down your arms until you bleed and scar. Even when you’re asleep, your dreaming brain conjures terrible scenarios in which everything is normal again, you’re working at the motel again and you’re laughing at some silly comment she’s made, shying away from her as she tickles your arm or pinches your side, and it feels so real that it’s physically painful when you awaken.

So you spend your days like this, hoping to somehow purge the trauma from your system by ignoring it—and doing a terrible job of both. You go entire days without speaking to anyone, walking through parks or down busy sidewalks without regard for the people around you who buzz with life and excitement. You count the money you have left every night and begin shoplifting to try to slow down your spending. You even consider finding a job again, though you still don’t trust yourself to be in such close proximity to other people for hours at a time; you just have to find a city you like enough to live in first. Somewhere populous enough for you to be insignificant, and fast-paced enough for you to have plenty of distractions from your oppressive thoughts.

You ponder this idea one early morning in a small diner; there are a few people here for their breakfast, but not an uncomfortable amount. The other diners are too sluggish or disinterested to regard your presence—or each other’s presences.

The atlases for several different states lie on the table in front of you; you flip through one on Georgia. You and Ian had collected many of them while traveling. Maybe you could work somewhere that doesn’t require you to be around too many other people. A call center, perhaps. But you’d still have coworkers. Maybe a typist job; you’d spend all day behind a computer filling in spreadsheets and taking tedious phone calls. It wouldn’t be much different from what you used to do. You could sew clothes in the backroom of a tailor’s shop, or take some mind-numbing factory job…

You just need something to occupy your mind. Being left alone with nothing but your thoughts and the road ahead of you is wearing you thinner each day. Was it even this bad during the time you spent alone after Marygold? You can’t remember. Maybe your brain is blocking the memories for your own sanity.

As you place your tip on the table for the waitress, she stops in the middle of gathering your dishes and observes your face. You catch her gaze and stare back, wondering if she knows you from the motel. You’re beginning to mentally spiral when she says,

“You look like a girl who’s lost to love.”

“Love?”

She puts a hand on her hip, looking at you like you’re the saddest thing she’s seen all year. It makes you uncomfortable. “You have that lovelorn look I’ve seen a thousand times before. Poor thing. Who would think of breaking your heart?”

Myself. “I don’t love anyone,” you mumble, chest aching as you say the lie.

“Everyone loves someone,” the waitress says. “I believe you’ll find someone new, if that’s what you’re yearning for. Don’t be so down.”

You shake your head, wanting to escape this diner and this conversation. “I’m a little too fucked up for that.” Your voice fractures on the last words, and you hold your body still in an effort to stop yourself from crying. If you hold your breath long enough, maybe your body will shut itself down and forget that it was about to break.

“Everyone’s a little fucked up, too, girlie. But that’s why you find that special someone who can put up with your crazy—or someone who has the same wild hair up their ass.”

You swallow hard and let out an exhale; there’s still a sheen of tears on your eyes, but the drops haven’t fallen. Your lips form a miniscule smile at her turn of phrase, amusement briefly flitting through you.

“Anyway, I don’t mean to be nosy. I just didn’t want you to leave here looking so depressed.” You probably look more disturbed than you did when you first entered the establishment, so you’re pretty sure that mission has failed. But some part of you appreciates that this stranger took the time to even speak to you, to care that you looked upset and want to do something about it.

She smiles and places her hand over yours. You allow yourself to take comfort in the touch for a moment; warmth spreads upward from where your hands meet, sparking something in your chest. But in an instant, the vault door in your heart slams back closed from where it’d cracked open, and the fears rush back in, spiking all your senses into anxiety. You’re soon pulling away, slipping out the front door and into the morning sun.

—

You’re not sure how to feel when you smell him again.

The scent comes to you while you’re in a grocery store, debating whether to pay like all the other customers or just steal the few essentials you need and leave. The end of October is days away, and the vibrant Halloween decor and packaging are in full force throughout the store.

Many emotions race through you at once. You become hyperaware of your increased heart rate and the sweat that prickles your body, and you can’t figure out whether you’re afraid of or angry at his presence. Or relieved. You wonder how he managed to find you again—probably the same reason why you know he’s here without laying eyes on him, though that seems unlikely. You don’t think any eater can pick up smells from that kind of distance. Then you consider that maybe this is just a coincidence, the two of you arriving in the same place. Or some sick variant of fate. Could the universe be that cruel?

You think about dashing out of the store before he can see you, though there’s not much point. Why should you run? You were here first. If so-called fate has decided that this reunion was always going to happen at some point, then you don’t want to spend the rest of your life running from him. So you wait for him to come to you, trapped in a tornado of emotions.

You’re in the vegetable aisle trying not to get sprayed by the misters suddenly cutting on when you see him. You shake droplets of water off your hand and then you glance up and he’s there, approaching you like he only intends to leave this store with one thing: you. For a split second, you wonder if it’s really him; his hair is unkempt under a baseball cap, and he’s wearing a pair of yellow-tinted glasses you’ve never seen on him. His bag is slung over one shoulder.

You can feel the anxiety pouring off of him when he stops in front of you; his fingers tremble as he fidgets with his rings. He has the air of an older brother—or what you’d imagine one to be like—annoyed and afraid after you’ve run off without him in the store and gotten lost, and you don’t know whether to laugh or cry or curse.

“Didn’t expect to ever see me again, huh, darling?” Ian keeps his voice mostly even, but it sounds like that requires significant effort. “Not the way you drove off with my fucking car, I bet.” It was never your car, you think.

“How did you even find me?” you ask, voice small.

“Think about it. The atlas.”

You do think about it. And then you remember; you’d talked about the next place you’d travel to after staying at the campground. You both agreed on a random town named Hendersonville, which is where you are now—but only after months of directionless hopping around from city to city. How would he think to come here now, months after the fact, when it’s possible that you could’ve already been through the town and long gone, or decided to never visit Hendersonville at all? Terrible fate…

Something else catches your attention before you can reply to this. Despite the agitated state you’re both in, you realize that you’re picking up on his scent and no others.

“Did you and Sherry…?”

“She’s dead,” he says.

That’s the last thing you expected to hear. “What?”

He pulls down the collar of his T-shirt. There are many scars along the junction of his neck and shoulder that weren’t there before, and it takes you a moment to notice that some of them resemble teeth marks.

“So…” Your throat seizes up, and you have to clear it a couple times to speak again, though you avoid speaking too loudly. “...she tried to eat you?”

He lets his collar go and nods with a jerky movement. “After only a month. I had to kill her or she would’ve done me in. It was close.”

Your words haunt you yet again. Us being dangerous to everyone else doesn’t mean we aren’t a risk to each other, too. And for that reason, you don’t understand why he’s returned to you, a fellow cannibal.

You are shocked again when you register that there’s a small part of you that feels sorry for Sherry. You think of how she tried to regain control after her father’s attempted murder of her by preying on so many other men, doing to them what she wished she had done to him, only to end up dead by another man in the end. There’s something terribly unfair about it all.

“I…see.” You realize you’ve been holding a bell pepper for an awkwardly long time, and you waffle between getting a plastic bag for it or setting it back down. Frustrated, you toss it back with the others.

“Then I ate her,” he continues. You resist the urge to recoil.

“And you’re back here in front of me because…why? You’re not worried I might turn on you the same? I did take ‘your’ car.”

His laugh is colorless and dry. “You’re fucking joking, right? I know how you are. You can barely stand to talk about it, and I’m supposed to believe you’d eat me?”

“Shut up.” You’re more offended by him saying I know how you are as if he understands you so intimately after only a few months. It angers you to think maybe he could know you—know all these unpleasant things about you and still want to return for you. You begin walking away from him then, though there’s no real urgency in your movements to get away from him.

“You shut up. You may have tried to throw me aside, but we both know we’re not finished with each other.” He follows you into another aisle; there’s an old woman pushing a cart coming from the opposite direction, and he waits to speak again until after she’s gone. “We’re some of the few who know what it’s like.”

You suck your teeth, feeling foolish. “But…that’s why I left you. Thought you’d gravitate to Sherry, fit better together.”

“You see how well that turned out. What does it really matter that we feel differently about it as long as we’re not trying to fucking kill each other?”

You don’t know how to respond to that, because responding would mean admitting you’ve put yourself through months of emotional torment on the basis of a false and impulsive assumption. You want to bury the guilt chewing at your organs but it only worsens when he says,

“I just—fuck’s sake. I don’t want to be alone again.”

You stare at each other as those words settle in the air, though you struggle to maintain eye contact and soon look away with a wince. The most unbearable part of it is the pain in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I fucked things up when I shouldn’t have. I…misjudged.” Your words fade at the end, as you are left with nothing else to say to remedy the situation. Ian rubs a hand across his face, shifting his glasses up as he does so, and you pretend like you don’t notice the redness around his eyes. The both of you continue walking down the aisle, slower this time, the silence between you thick. Neither of you feels any better than you did before this meeting, but at least there aren’t thousands of miles between you anymore.

Finally, he says, “So. Are you gonna get anything, or will we just walk around until closing?”

“Well…I don’t know. Do you have a car? How did you get here?”

“I’ve been hitch-hiking. And walking. But mostly hitch-hiking.” As if to prove it, he slides a wad of cash halfway out of his jacket pocket.

“Oh. I—was thinking of finding a job,” you blurt out. It has nothing to do with your current conversation, but you feel like you’ve lost your ability to talk to him in his absence. You reach for anything to stop from thinking about the reason why he was gone, why he had to hitch-hike with total strangers. “To get more money.”

“And staying here?”

“No…there isn’t anything in this town for me. But maybe somewhere else.”

“Gotta find somewhere to live, then. I’m guessing you aren’t counting on having a roommate.” His voice is cynical, and you know he probably expects you to abandon him again.

“It was just an idea,” you mutter. “I haven’t even tried to look for anything.” You find that you’ve walked back around toward the entrance of the grocery store. A life-size skeleton grins at you open-mouthed from where it’s been propped against a display bin, all 32 teeth showing. You shake your head and sigh. “Let’s just get out of here. I’ve been in here long enough.”

The sky is turning dark blue with the onset of night as you walk outside; the streetlights have already come on. You go to the driver’s side of the sedan and gesture for Ian to get inside. He hesitates for a moment like he might reject—your heart nearly ceases—then throws his bag into the backseat. Exhaling, you get behind the wheel. For a moment, you just sit there with your hands slack on the wheel as he gets in beside you and lights a cigarette with shaking fingers.

You almost miss his quiet words when he speaks at the same time you start the engine up: “Did you even miss me?”

You don’t know if you can admit that you did—or that “missing” him felt more like something had been scooped out of you, your insides painfully scraped clean afterward. You chalk it up to your inherent loneliness, the reason why you’re drawn to him despite not wanting to be. You wish your heart hadn’t reacted so painfully at the possibility of him deciding to leave you after all, and yet you have no one else. Not your grandparents who abandoned you, your cannibal mother lost somewhere in the world, or your father who died before you were even born.

“I…regretted it.” You don’t look at him, occupied with pulling out of the parking spot. “Yes, if it makes a difference for you to know…I regretted it all the time.”

He says nothing for a while. You wonder if your reply was enough, if he expected more. It feels like there’s a third thing in the car with you, sitting in the space between your bodies and preventing you from fully accessing each other—everything that remains unsaid.

“Where are you staying now?” he finally asks.

“An abandoned barn near here. Seems like the owners just up and left all their things. Still smells kinda like horse, but…the loft isn’t so bad.”

“...Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

—

“You never did tell me exactly how you showed up at the motel that first night,” you tell Ian. “I deserve to know that much, at least. What brought you into my life.”

It’s the second week of November, and you’re still in Hendersonville.

You gaze at the large pond before you, your view broken every so often by Ian walking through the overgrown grass around the pond—treading an aimless path but never venturing very far from the car. The engine is still warm underneath your butt where you’re half-leaning, half-sitting on the hood, and you try to enjoy the warmth while it lasts.

The pond is about 10 minutes from the barn where you’re staying, and you’d driven here several times when it was just you. But you’ve only been here during the light hours; seeing everything at night is much different. Something about it feels overly familiar in a way that unsettles you. The scene threatens to dredge up old memories of your nighttime swims with Marygold—right down to the nearly full moon, huge and clear in the sky. You have to fill the quiet with your voice if you have any hope of outrunning the dark thoughts.

Ian crosses his arms and sort of side-eyes you, like maybe he’s skeptical about you initiating a conversation like this after the fallout of the camping excursion, and you mimic him until he breaks with a small, barely-amused laugh. Better to focus on his past issues than your own, you figure—as fucked up as that may be. You don’t move your gaze from him as he tells the story, watching him continuously flick around a few loose strands of his hair on his forehead.

“Right. Well…I tried to eat this young farmer guy—saw him at this country bar, or he saw me, and I guess he liked what he saw…I ended up going home with him, because I was hungry. That’s why I’d gone to the bar that night. Told him I was living on the streets and had barely eaten in days. Made him feel sorry for me. And then I tried to eat him…but when he started fighting it, I didn’t realize he had a pocketknife, and he got me pretty good before I ended up killing him. Too much commotion alerted the neighbors. I only had enough time to try to bandage it before I had to get the fuck out. Walked through a fucking corn field…then eventually I reached the highway, and you know the rest.”

“So you killed someone and didn’t…finish them.” The thought of that almost bothers you even more than the eating itself. It just seems senseless. The man could still be alive now, but his life was ended and went to complete waste; his body didn’t even serve its purpose as sustenance. You realize that this isn’t even the first time this has happened, thinking back to that time he was caught while up North.

He doesn’t seem offended by your shift in mood—maybe just weary. He rubs his eyes. “It happens. But I aim to make sure it happens as rarely as possible.”

You turn away and look across the pond again, your mind getting lost in the dark copse of trees on the other side. Being outside at this time of night is not the most comforting thing in the world, but in truth, is your nature really that different from whatever dangers lurk in the woods? “I wonder, then…how are we any better than the average serial killer?”

“We kill because we have to.”

“Being chained to our physiology doesn’t get rid of our blame.”

“I never said it did,” Ian replied. “And that’s your problem. Eating doesn’t need to be innocent or pure or blameless in order for you to accept that it’s a part of yourself…it just is.”

You can’t muster the will to counter him, and he doesn’t press the matter, likely not in the mood for yet another round of verbal sparring. He resumes walking his circles, wearing trails into the grass. You continue sitting on the hood long after the engine has cooled, watching the moon’s reflection tremble on the water’s surface and imagining what you’d tell Alicia and Marygold and all the others if they could hear you, somewhere in the universe.

I’m sorry. It’s just who I am.

—

With Hendersonville behind you, you’re back to sleeping in the car many nights. Among the various things you see as you travel through urban cities and rural areas, fall festivals are common occurrences everywhere.

There’s one coming up in the distance now; you’ve been idling in evening traffic for minutes, and it becomes clear that this congestion must be because everyone’s heading to the festivities. You press your face closer to the car’s window glass to see. The bright lights of the numerous booths, rides, and decorations illuminate the late evening. Countless people walk or run around, some wearing elaborate outfits.

You’re just coming from a mom-and-pop restaurant where the wife of the owner had called you darling even more than Ian does. She’d assumed you both to be lovers and gave you a free slice of pumpkin pie to share, and neither of you bothered to correct her if it meant treats you didn’t have to pay for.

As you observe the festivities, you see that there are two booths set up on either side of the festival’s main entrance; one claims to offer some type of spiritual readings, denoted by a large sign of a purple crystal ball. But your eyes catch on the bone-white trailer sitting on the other side of the entrance. It has been converted into a mobile booth with a large sign with red and blue lettering that asks one question: Are You Going to Heaven? An older man with graying hair sits in the booth, hands clasped together as he watches groups of people entering the festival grounds. It’s too far away and too dark to be entirely certain, but you don’t think you’re imagining the cross hanging up behind the man on the trailer’s wall or the thick book resting near his hands.

“Looks like they’re having fun,” Ian says, face illuminated in red by the taillights of another car, one hand on the wheel.

“Mmhm…” you answer, your mind still hung up on that booth and sign as the car finally drives past. Memories of your former life knock at the door of your consciousness, but you don’t let them in.

You’re unable to ignore your discomfort later that night, though, when you and Ian return to the safe parking spot you’d found days earlier and settle in to go to sleep. The cold has finally become a permanent fixture as the months venture deeper into late autumn, and you clutch your blanket tightly to your body as you drift off in the backseat.

In your dreamscape, you wake up in Alicia’s bed in the living quarters of the motel office, blood dripping from every part of you—hands, arms, face, chest. The sight of your bloody hands splayed out in front of you makes terror spike through your body, your breaths coming short. As you turn to look at your surroundings, you see the remains of Alicia lying on the bed next to you, her torso almost completely hollowed out. Her brown hair is streaked with new and drying blood—same as the red-dyed ivory of her broken rib cage. Her dead eyes look at you with a frozen expression, pained and imploring. Begging, even. Why did you do this to me?

You have the sensation of screaming, feeling it emanating from your body and hearing the sound pierce your ears, but your mouth isn’t open. You try to scramble off the bed and away from the mess you’ve made of the woman you love, but no matter how hard you fight, you have no leeway; it’s like the sheets are holding your limbs hostage, sucking you in like quicksand. Sweat pours from your body and stings your eyes.

In the next moment, you’re no longer struggling, and Alicia is no longer next to you. You’re not in her bedroom at all anymore; you’re sitting at a kitchen table you don’t recognize. The kitchen has a rustic and homey appearance, as if it belongs in a country homestead. Lacy floral curtains frame each side of the window above the farmhouse sink, allowing the dark orange evening sunlight to stream in, and the black wood stove a few feet away from your chair has a steady fire burning inside of it. Someone’s cooking, then, or preparing to cook. Who?

Ian turns to face you from where he is standing at the counter—when’d he get there? You didn’t notice him before—with two porcelain plates in his hands and a delighted grin on his face. Have you ever seen him look so happy before? You smile back at him as your eyes shift from his face to the plates; balanced on top of each is a perfectly bloody heart, the muscle thick and hardy and still beating although it’s attached to nothing. The kitchen floor around you both is stained with large swathes of blood, which have sunk deep into the wood’s fibers, though you hardly notice this.

Ian sets the table and sits in front of you, and neither of you bother with utensils as you pick up each heart with your hands. You hold the heart against your lips, feeling the slickness of it and letting the blood smear across your mouth, marveling at the constant pumping motion of its ventricles. It’s endearing, you think. How it tries so hard to maintain life when it’s fruitless anyway.

Then you bite into it.

You both eat ravenously, blood staining your mouths and hands the deep shade of carmine. The taste of the raw flesh is better than any food you have ever consumed, and innately, you know this is what you were made for. You laugh at how good it feels, glancing up at Ian with pure mirth. The indulgence is so sweet that you don’t notice the wood stove growing hotter and hotter in the corner of the room until the wallpaper behind it catches fire.

By the time you finish eating and regain enough wherewithal to realize what’s going on, the entire room is ablaze, and you are alone. The fire crawls up your chair and then engulfs the table. There’s nowhere safe for you to run, but you try anyway as the flames catch hold of your feet and then your legs, eating their way up your body. You stumble through the house screaming, the heat raging around you at an incomprehensible level.

Your skin begins to slough off and you scream endlessly for it to stop, but it never does. There is always more skin to replace what’s being scorched off of you; it grows back with an unbearable itching sensation as it knits together, only to burn right up again. You collapse to the ground on your hands and knees, though it’s excruciating to put weight on any part of your body.

Through the brightness of the fire and the heat haze, you make out a strange white and blue pattern on the floor in front of you, and you realize that it’s shards from the porcelain plates. Together, the broken pieces spell out:

Are You Going to Heaven?

You wake up in a flurry of limbs and blanket, hitting Ian who’s sleeping in the reclined front seat. The accidental violence combined with the sudden rocking of the car is enough to startle him awake. His voice floats out somewhere in the chaos, but you don’t really register it as you fling the car door open and stumble out of the sedan. You walk a couple yards away from the car—just enough to let the cold night air spear through your skin and convince you that you’re no longer trapped in a much hotter place. You hear the front car door open behind you and footsteps on the grass as Ian steps out. He calls your name, and you pretend not to hear as you stare at the ground and then toss your head to the skies, hands on your hips for some sort of stability. Your stomach aches badly, but you can’t get sick now.

“What’s wrong? Did you have a nightmare?” he asks when he gets closer.

It takes you more than a minute to work up a response without the possibility of a scream or vomit tumbling from your mouth, and he waits patiently as you do. “Y-yeah. It’s…probably not that big of a deal…I was…” The next words spill out before you can think to keep them inside. “Just a bit…freaked out by a…sign.”

“A sign?”

“The sign at the…festival. The white booth…” You wave your arm, unable to say much more. A steady throb is starting to take over your skull, and it’s too much effort to keep talking.

Ian thinks for a long moment before he seems to realize. He takes another step towards you. “Babe, look at me; it’s okay. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you. You’re fine. I know it feels bad in the moment, believe me, but you’re here now, and you’re safe.”

“You can’t guarantee that,” you murmur. You can’t imagine the look on your face right now, but your eyes feel dry and painful, like you’ve actually been in a fire pit for hours. Maybe he can safeguard you against the physical dangers this world presents, but he can’t hold your hand into the afterlife. If there even is one.

He grasps your upper arm, but only lightly so as not to make you more distressed, and draws you into his side—his head leaning into yours, his hair tickling you when the wind blows through it. You find yourself sagging into him even though you hate yourself for doing so. You don’t deserve this show of affection, not after how you left him behind and not even before then; you desperately want to preserve the distance between you, and yet you want this touch, too. You’re unable and unwilling to tease apart those feelings, though, as the only things that register in your mind are that he is warm against you, he is doing his best to comfort you, and his smell—the smell of him, not of being an eater—has become familiar to you in a way that disarms some frantic part of your brain. Because of all those things, you allow him to put his other arm around you and silently hold you in that grassy lot.

And for the first time since you met in that grocery store again, you feel like whatever’s between the two of you isn’t broken beyond repair.

—

1986

The next time you eat someone, it happens at a nightclub in January.

Going to this club is Ian’s idea, although you agree to it when he brings it up. In hindsight, you can’t say what possessed you to do it. You’ve never been a fan of crowds of people because they could readily create a catastrophic situation if your hunger comes. Maybe it’s how fresh everything still feels after the New Year passes—the sensation of anticipation it brings. Maybe it’s the blanket of stars that appear extra luminous tonight, rivaling the shine of the city buildings around you. Maybe Ian has just gotten better at using his powers of persuasion on you, or his recklessness has rubbed off on you, similar to how you feared his desire for flesh would increase your own when you first met him.

No matter the true reason, you find yourself amidst a scene of sweaty strangers boxed in by the small club’s four walls. The other people’s proximity to you quickly spikes your anxiety, driving you away from Ian and back to the outer edges of the room, though he tries at first to persuade you to dance with him. You give him a slight smile and an eye-roll and let your arm slip through his tattooed fingers.

“Go dance,” you mouth to him before heading toward one of the many booths lined up against the far wall.

You sit there watching everyone dance for a little while, working up the nerve to rejoin the crowd. There are so many bodies, all moving to the sound of In My House playing over the speakers at what must be max volume.

“Did you come here alone?” a feminine voice shouts from your left, startling you. You turn to find a woman with softly-waved hair that touches her shoulders; she wears a dress with big swirls of color, the flared skirt stopping just past her thighs. Your gaze goes all the way down her pantyhose-clad legs to her high heels and back up again. The pink and purple lights framing her from behind make her seem like she’s glowing.

“Uh—” Awkward pause as you try to figure out how to respond. “I…didn’t, but the person I came with is just my friend, so…” You shrug. It feels somewhat odd to refer to Ian as a friend, even after all this time. You are two people traveling in the same direction, lashed together by your fatal flaw, but you suppose “friend” is as accurate as it gets.

She smiles amusedly, undeterred by your awkwardness. “So that means you’re free to dance with me, then?”

You think about how you rejected Ian’s offer and chuckle to yourself. Ironic. But you find yourself not wanting to say no to this woman with her sweet brown skin and dimpled smile, despite your inner sense of judgment trying its best to pull you back. So you accept, still feeling embarrassed as she slides her lace-gloved hand into yours and guides you onto the dancefloor again.

Her perfume contains different notes, but as you dance together to another uptempo pop song and the aroma encircles you, it reminds you of Alicia’s signature scent all the same. You try to put that reminder out of your mind, though it’s difficult. Instead, you make an effort to focus on her shining face under the lights, the long gold earrings dangling from her ears, the sway of her black hair and dress as she moves.

You Give Good Love comes on afterward, and before you know it her body is pressed to the length of yours, virtually no space left between you as she tucks her face into your neck. You put your arms around her and sigh at how she fits against you, thinking you might like to do something like this more often. All the time, really. It feels good in a way you don’t quite have words for, even though you’re still surrounded on all sides by a bunch of sweaty and excited people. Just by the movements of your bodies, you could close your eyes and be spirited away to some other realm where everything is right—where you are not the monster you’ve come to believe you are.

You are finally beginning to relax a bit when your stomach twists painfully.

All your organs freeze from the shock of this unexpected sensation. You have paused indefinitely, and you watch your body from above as you and the woman continue moving together, two dark figures flashing in and out of the strobing lights. And yet, you simultaneously feel yourself still in her arms. Her breath is on your neck, warm and smelling of alcohol and some fruit—lemons. The muscles of her back are beneath your hands; you want to peel her skin away and see what they look like underneath, run your fingers across the striations. Her soft cheek is pressed to yours, so soft that it makes you want to tear into it like the flesh of a plum and swallow it. Your mouth twitches with the desire to consume.

“No!” you shout, pushing her away from you so fiercely that she falls back into someone behind her. You turn and begin shoving a ragged path through the club-goers. The sights and smells of pure humanness are overwhelming, begging you to tuck your face into the nearest neck or arm joint and just bite. There are too many hearts beating in one space, too many lungs expanding with wet and bloody life. You begin to cry, but you force your body to continue moving until you’re stumbling through the club’s back exit.

In the dank alleyway behind the club, you splash through a puddle and collapse behind a dumpster, pressing yourself into the corner and hoping that the smell of garbage will disappear your appetite, though you know it doesn’t work like that. You tuck your head between your knees and try to breathe evenly. The music is only slightly less loud out here; whereas it was simply an overzealous volume before, you feel like you’re being crushed by the sound itself in your overly sensitive state.

You don’t know how long you sit there shaking, the hunger ripping your stomach apart and forcing a long whimper out of your mouth, but your whole body jumps when you hear the exit door slam open. When you look up, Ian’s stepping out of the doorway and fumbling with the limp body of a man, his hands clasped around the man’s arm and waist.

You watch with terrified eyes as Ian lowers the man to the ground in front of you, leaning him against the wall so that he won’t slump over. “No—what are you doing—”

The man in front of you is too drunk to put a sentence together and barely seems to know where he is. His sweaty brown hair flops in his eyes, and his bearded mouth moves with nonsensical speech.

“No,” you cry again. “I can’t do this. Don’t make me do this!” Ian crouches beside you.

“Darling, you have to eat.” His hand is on the back of your neck, not forcing you toward the man but trying to ground you in your body. He’s so close that his words reverberate within your nervous system. Eat. You shake your head, but you’re becoming lightheaded from the sheer hunger. The smell of alcohol from the man is overpowering, but underneath it you can still detect his vulnerable fleshiness, and you need to know how it tastes. As if once again disembodied, you watch your hands reach for the man’s shoulders, Ian’s own hand slipping away from your neck, and bring him closer so that his throat is bare to you.

You mouth at the sweat on his neck, the saltiness intensifying the taste of his skin; you lick his Adam’s apple and savor how the ridge of it slides against your tongue. Then you bite down.

The tears continue to roll down your cheeks as you devour the man. Ian doesn’t leave you to dine alone, however.

He reaches into the mess of the open chest, digs between the deflated flaps that are the lungs, and tugs out the man’s heart. Takes a bite of it. You watch as he does, horrified but unable to look away even as you crush part of a rib between your molars. He offers it to you—tears the muscle in half and gives you the unbitten part. You accept it with eager hands and eager mouth, chewing through muscle fibers like it’s a delicacy. Ian licks the blood from his fingers, a smile playing at his lips, and goes back for more.

It’s too much like the dream, and it frightens you. You half-expect a portal to hell to open beneath you both and send you free-falling into a lake of fire. But you are unable to make yourself stop. Neither of you stop until an hour has passed and the blood and a pile of crimson-stained clothes are all that remains.

You find a still-intact plastic bag in the dumpster and place the clothes into it before tying it thrice and shoving it as deep into the trash as you can.

Using an old rag from the dumpster and another puddle of water at the back of the alley, you both do your best to remove the blood on your hands and faces. It makes you feel disgusting, but it’s the best you can do for the time being, and you can’t go inside the club or onto the streets like this. Then you shove the rag back underneath the pile of trash, too.

As you and Ian emerge from behind the dumpster and walk down the sidewalk to find the sedan, despair envelops you. You accept it inside of you—let it spread throughout your bones and blood without much of a fight. You are defeated, understanding fundamentally that you can never be like the people in the club, the people walking these city streets, no matter how many of their human peculiarities and normalities you try to adopt. The knowledge hollows you out.

On the way back to the house you’ve been squatting in, you steal a cigarette from Ian’s pack and turn the radio to several different stations before choosing some talk show discussing nothing you care about. Emotionally, you’re floating somewhere in the space between numb and wounded.

But people die everyday, right?

Like with Alicia, Ian tries to prevent you from becoming lost in your grief about it. There isn’t anything said between you during the car ride. But once you get to the house, he wipes the fresh tears that spring forth, runs the shower for you, and makes sure you have clean clothes for afterward.

“Are you good?” he asks before you get in the shower, standing in the bathroom doorway with you. He brushes your cheek with the same hand that plucked the heart out. There’s still blood underneath a few of his fingernails and staining the cross on his ring. For a few seconds, you feel an unfamiliar comfort in knowing that he has seen you destroy another person and feels no animosity or repulsion toward you because of it.

“I’m fine,” you murmur, shifting your face into his palm. But the moment passes, and the chill overtakes you again. You step away from him and shut the door, letting the bathroom fill with steam.

—

Your feelings toward Ian have always hovered in an odd limbo, going from distrust to tolerance to something that can be called companionship. But just like the seasons transition into each other, something inside you starts to shift after that night at the club.

Your eyes begin lingering on him when he lifts his shirt to wipe away sweat or strips it off entirely when the heat becomes too much. Your gaze can’t help but be drawn to the way his long hair sticks to his damp, darkly-inked neck, or how his cigarettes fit between his full lips like they were made specifically for his mouth. When it’s the last few weeks of winter and you have no choice but to sleep together in the backseat for extra warmth—the car’s HVAC system on its last leg—being smushed into that small space with him isn’t unpleasant like you once assumed it would be. Far from it.

When you and Ian go to a theater one day—one of those matinees in the middle of the week that only elderly people attend—and end up watching a random film that you didn’t know was a romance, you are startled when you have the sudden thought that you want him in the same way. That you wouldn’t mind him holding your face in his hands again but kissing you this time, or walking down a street hand-in-hand, or lying next to him in some stranger’s bed and listening to him talk until you fall asleep. You try to send those thoughts somewhere far away, but days pass and they keep coming back, and that wanting in your chest only grows.

You’re reluctant to think of your feelings as love—at least not yet, with your heart still grieving the woman perished by your own hand—and you know he can’t save you from this reality that you must live in until your time ends. But as imperfect as everything is, you feel like he knows you in some inutterable way. You begin to believe that this could be enough. Maybe you’ve always subconsciously understood that the world of love is no home for monsters, proven by the multiple times it has expelled you from its viscera, leaving you shaking and bereaved. But maybe whatever this is now could be enough to escape its view and its judgment—two monsters together to leave the humans to their softer affections.

And though he doesn’t say anything outright, Ian notices your newfound attention, smiling knowingly whenever he catches you looking. His hand stays on yours for longer than it needs to whenever he passes you items, his fingers trailing away from your skin like they regret having to leave. When he shoplifts supplies when the money is low, he swipes silly little trinkets that he says he “thought you would like.” You catch the way he always presses his body closer to yours when you’re sitting together on a pier, on the hood of the car, on a random bench—anywhere. The tension builds between you for what seems like forever, drawing so tight that you’re almost afraid you both may get hurt when it snaps.

When it finally does, it feels natural to do, this dance that unfolds in the backseat of this sedan he stole over a year ago. You both know the hunger for flesh intimately even though you experience it in such different ways; instead of it being a grotesquerie that would repel a normal lover, it’s a bond that has inextricably tied you together, for better and worse. In that sense, the joining of your bodies is just another type of desire for you two to tease out the intricacies of.

The catalyst is one question posed to you on a humid summer night. “...Darling, answer me honestly.”

Ian’s eyes are heavy with some mix of want and curiosity when you turn to look at him. You’re both sitting in the backseat as you study a map from one of the atlases; you’ve spent a half-hour trying to figure out the best route for your next destination in Georgia, tracing the lines illuminated by the car’s dome light. Maybe you’ll both try settling down this time; find that new job like you said, and live in one singular place for a few months. Someone else’s house you can pretend is your own, someone else’s car you can drive around the city. Years are too heavy to think about, but months…you can do months.

But it’s clear your decision-making is over. Your attention had broken every time you sensed his eyes shift to your face and stay there for a little while, searching for something, before moving back to the map. Now, you let the map lie forgotten in your lap.

“What is it?”

“Would you hate it if I asked to kiss you?”

Your body temperature rises, but you reply to his question with a question. “Have you thought about that before?”

“Many times.”

You swallow hard. You want to ask him about the first time that thought crossed his mind—did he realize it around the same time you did?—but you say, “And why do you think I would hate it?”

“Things will change between us.”

“Things have already changed between us, several times.”

“This is different,” he insists, and you notice that the space between you has decreased, bodies subconsciously drifting even closer together. “If we go down that road, I don’t want us to go back. I don’t want you to have to wonder about whether I care for you. I want you to trust me.”

You lean your forehead against his, a small smile forming on your lips. “I already trust you, Ian.” You have never vocalized it before, but you find that you really do mean it.

Then you move forward, doing yet another thing that would’ve been utterly absurd to you this time last year—pressing your lips to his. Your insides feel like they’re melting, but not in the uncomfortable way that comes from the summer heat. It happens in a way that makes you think that, maybe if you both melt down into your very basic parts and become nothing but atoms, you might blur together completely. Ian’s reply is immediate in how his hand comes up to your nape, his mouth separating from yours for one painful second only for him to kiss you deeper. The map slips between you and to the car floor. It’s strange to indulge in this close proximity with another person without the threat of death, without the underlying worry that you’ll become hungry in the worst way, but it’s also freeing to a degree you didn’t know was possible.

That’s why you allow yourself to become submerged in his body heat, his mouth, his hands—everything.

Afterwards, you both climb back into your clothes only halfway; your shorts are left somewhere underneath one of the front seats, and Ian doesn’t bother putting his shirt back on—though it stays off most of the time anyway. Your bodies are sluggish but satisfied as you rest your head against his bicep, tracing your fingers along the tattoo under his sternum. They come away damp from the sweat that shines on his body. You still feel all the places on your own body where his lips and fingers touched, as if your skin has been imprinted, and you wonder if it’s the same for him.

The window is rolled down to let the smoke curl out as Ian takes a drag from a cigarette. A soft rock station plays on the radio, and he taps the beat of the song on your knee with his free hand. For the first time in many years, your mind isn’t crammed full with constant thoughts of guilt and contempt about being alive and being what you are. Even if it only lasts for tonight, for now, you can just exist.

#dpr ian x reader #dpr ian imagines #christian yu imagines #christian yu scenarios #dpr scenarios #black reader #x black reader #female reader #fem reader #black fem reader #x black fem reader

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clalog · 6 months ago

Text

Friendly Collaboration Pt.6

Paring: hokeyplayer!sunghoon × onlyfan!reader

Genre: social media!au; academical rivals; smut

Worming: only fans use; smut (mdni please); swearing; probably grammar mistakes (not English speaker/dyslexic)

Synopsis: Sunghoon get obsessed with a only fan creator he casually find on a stressed day and he truly believes he is in love with her even if he never see her face. He doesn't know that behind the screen his is university rival and he doesn't know what kind of deal they'll make

wc 1.753

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For Ruka happiness the party was actually better than the last one. Probably it was because of the less amount of people, still a lot but at least it was only people that know one another and not the all college, or maybe cause Jay was in control of the music “Since I’m the birthday boy” and he actually has good taste.

Obviously you lost Lily, you weren’t even surprised, surprising was finding her baking cookies with Minho. -Can I halp?- Wonyoung ask excited. She was enjoying the party next to you the whole time, not that she hates it, she likes talking and getting to know people, but at the same time her social battery isn’t that up so you understand why she wanted little calm baking cookies with her roommate and a guy she was surprised was poly.

-Did the boys know you are using the kitchen?- You asked while Minho was giving Wonyoung a task.

-I’m fucking one of the mentioned boys and thanks to him even when i’m not at my dorm I’m cooking for an army of people, I can do whathever in the kitchen I used-

Lily cover Wonyoung ears with her hands. -Do not use bad words in front of the baby- If eyes can kill, Lily would be dead after the way Wonyoung looks at her. -I don’t use bad words, other people can- Then she looks at Minho with a more curious face. -How is it going? With the three of you?- Minho pauses for a moment. -Somewhere- Was easy to understand that he does not want to talk about it with your roommate so the conversation easily goes on the story of how Lily has the amazing idea of baking cookies.

That was the last time you saw Wonyoung.

The party was slowly fading away, so you find Ruka who was with two girls from her class, Pharita e Asa, their dorm was the same as yours so you four decide to go home together so you start calling Lily and Wonyoung and no one answers. Since there weren't a lot of people it was easy to find Lily, literally, Ruka just went up on a chair and screamed Lily's complete name and she appeared like a ghost in a horror movie. But when you ask her where Wonyoung was, she has no idea.

You left the two together cause you were sure Wonyoung would make sure to be next to Lily without losing her, and even if she did she would have found you or Ruka. The five of you start to look for the girl, inside and outside the apartment, calling her no stop, but nothing. Ruka and Lily goese at your apartment for looking if she would have go home without telling you, unusual since she is the first one in the group who ask for talling one other our position all the time, is not like her going home without telling anyone or write it in your group chat.

You, Asa and Pharita were looking for her around the boys dorm, thinking maybe she got out for a little bit of air and something bad happened. After some time, Ruka and Lily come back. -She is not at home, did you find something around here?- The rest of you shook your heads in dissent. -Lily what happened after you finish the cookies?-

-She was talking with Minho about dance since he is doing hip hop while they were waiting for them to cook-

-May she is still inside with him- So the five of you go to the direction of the boys dorm once again.

-Girls really you were so nice to stay with us and looking for her- Ruka was taking the way back as an opportunity to thank her two friends.

-That nothing, more people the better-

-No girl left behind, even if you don't know her-

Niki was the one who oppen you the door. -Lost something?- Inside was left just the boys and they where clean around. -Someone, is Minho stille here?- You ask try to look better inside. Niki let the five of you enter again notice that all of you were pretty worried for something. -He just go away with his other friend- -What happened?- The rest of the hokey team stops their groceries. -Wonyoung, we can’t find her- Ruka answer Jake's question. -Minho was the last we know she was talking with- -Ok let me call him, maybe she tell him where she was going, is unusual for her not taxing- Sunoo take is phone but Jounwoon stop him.

-She is in Sunghoon room- He said confidently. Everyone turns to Sunghoon. -I know nothing about it- He quiky said, hands up. -We were talking and at a certain point she just fell asleep so I put her in Sunghoon room. I forgot to tell you girls, I’m sorry- Ruka literally put all the weight on the couch in relief. -The metter is if she is safe-

To make the situation less awkward and more light you decide to find the funny side of the situation. -My dear Joungwoon you would be dead when she wakes up- You laugh. -So true- Lily agrees with you laughing. Joungwoon became rad. -You didn’t wake her up bro, you made her go to bed without letting her do her skin care routine. If I was you I would pray she didn’t have a death note- Ruka continued the joke and gladly Sunoo participet to -Did you have already decided the dress for the funeral? The photo is easy, you look amazing in the shooting we do for this season-

-You know what, we should wake her up, so we can go home and let you guys clean in peace- You immagine Lily was going toward Sunghoon room before Jounwoon stopped her. -She is already sleeping don’t worry, we would wake her up in the morning-

-Oh no hockey player, we have not left our Wonyoung with the seven of you, she is coming home with as- -Don’t worry Ruka, they are ugly but not harmful- -Do not care- -I Agree to the Kawaii one. Where would I going to sleep if she did not leave?- Songhoon comments and you desperately want to make fun of him, but you are too tired to pay attention.

-At this point just stay here, help us then sleep in Sunghoon room with her. That one is already doing it anyway- Heeseung suggested pointing at Asa who was in fact cleaning around. -Sorry, I don’t like disorders. I’m Enami Asa, happy birthday- She said and you wonder why she was presenting herself, didn’t all the invited people Jay actually know, but no he and the rest of they boys said a loud “Nice to meet you”. -Since we are in a presentation moment, who are you?- Sunoo said pointing at Pharita. -Pharita- She simple answer. -And who invited you to the party?- Jay asked, he didn't seem angry, just curious about how many people were actually at his birthday party. -I did- Riki answer. All the boys smile at Riki then look again at Asa then Pharita then again at Riki but he wasn’t looking at any of them. -Presentation finish, what we do?-

-I like Jake's idea- After your sentence you start helping clean and like that everyone continues without another question.

With 12 people the house was clean pretty fast and the group ended up eating the cookies around the table.

-But you were joking befour, she is not going to actually kill me?-

-Bro I’m not sure, she never misses her night skin care routine, I didn’t even believe she could be able to fall asleep without doing it- Ruka answered Joungwoon with a big smile. Sunghoon believes they are messing with him, or using him as a test to see what would actually happen.

-I’m bored, but I don’t want to go to sleep. In for Truth or Dare?- Sunoo suggested. -How can you suggest the most middle school game of them all?- Befour Jake and Sunoo started fighting, Lily commented. -I like that, we can know one other better and do not need big brain so even the most tired of us can play- Sounghoo was happy to see that it was actually just some weird question like “would you prefer wakes up as a giraffe or a hippopotamus” or “the most embarrassing moment you experience in kindergarten” and the dare was fun too like Sounghoon ended up kissing Jay and Lily have to pay a vibrator, but you can’t wait for see what Asa teacher would answer at her email about the last test she take but written backward. -If something bad happens you take the full responsibility- She said to her friend Pharita who suggested it. Then was your torn and Sunghoon just wanted to join the show since it was the first time you said dare. -Stay in lingerie for the rest of the game- -Are you for real?- She ask Lily shock. -Come on, you are wearing your sexyest set- -If the boys are going to be weird I will beat them up- Sunoo said making a fist with his right hand and looking at all the boys in the room one by one. Sounghoon was disappointed, he wanted something he can make fun of you for, and he would definitely not body shame you. But then you quickly strips and he notices.

He already saw that lingerie, the black one with hearts on the sides. He recognizes her stomach to, or better, the three moles under the belly button. When you sat, Sunghoon's eyes went toward Sunoo who was already looking at him, he knew he understood. Was clear that the girl he had been masturbating on for a month now was Sunoo's friend, but why her? She is too much? She only wants to make him miserable? He can’t ask you to fuck him, his ego is too big for kneeling in front of you and beg you to considering him. He receive a punch on his right side were Heeseung was siting. -Bro truth or dare?- The battle was pointing at him. -Truth- He quickly answers but unfortunately was Sunoo the one who decides to give him the question. -There is someone in this room right now you want to fuck?- He wants to lie, it would be so easy to lie. But he is too tired for it. -Yes-

Series Masterlist | ClaLog Masterlist

⚠️This is a work of fiction, every reference of character sexuality or personality are from the mind of the author for plot purposes and DO NOT describe the real life person

⚠️Everything on this fiction is from the mind of the author, the stolen of the story or parts of it is punishable by law

All banners made by @cafekitsune

Tag List Open

@deobitifull @namdeyuoi @heelovesmeknot @cheese-fri24 @yubinswrld @jungwonsstrawberriesnchocolate @tasnim10

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anyamaris · 7 months ago

Text

Title-Golden Hour

Word Count-2273

Summary-You have no idea how you got here, and the people you encounter aren't helping. It's time for you to remember what they said.

Trope-Ateez lore au

Pairing-Lost!F!Reader x Ateez (Lore based au Ateez)

Warnings-None really, it's a little unhinged in a weird ass way. Mentions of drinking. Memory loss, lots of chickens. A cock to the face.

A/N-So I wanted to go completely off the rails and explore some of the fun of the mv as well as Ateez lore. I'm planning on exploring each member in upcoming fics based in this. This is just the intro!

Dedicated to @sanjoongie because you let me scream about this and support my unhinged ideas. I hope this helps to get you excited, don't worry. Bandit San is coming.

A huge thank you to @frenchkisstheabyss for beta reading it and supporting my insanity, I love you so much, hyung.

The song playing during the dance is Blind off the new album.

Tags- @cultofdionysusnet @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @yoonguurt @shinestarhwaa @stardragongalaxy @kpop-stories-21 @starlitmark@millennial-fangirl @ericssmile @wooahaeproductions@changbinslovelylegs @yeosxxx @millennial-fangirl @starillusion13 @duchesskaren @minki-moo @woosanbby

@cafekitsune Thank you for banners and dividers! 🤍💜🤍

“Golden hour

The brightest moments in life

Those moments are like quick flashes

And never come back”

You’d been driving along this dusty road since before dawn, miles of desolate desert stretching behind you.

Blinking, you try to clear your head, the only memory you had were those softly spoken words and an almost hypnotizing hum bouncing around in your exhausted mind.

Then everything was static.

Wiping the sweat from your brow, you shield your eyes from the hot noonday sun.

Your old, reliable car was smoking behind you, the hiss of whatever had caused your breakdown filling the air.

Distant outcroppings of rock terrain are all that greet your eye beyond the rusted old buildings surrounding you.

The faint repetition of pickaxes echo through the open area as you survey where you’ve been stranded, the tings and clinks setting an almost eerie soundtrack for your current predicament.

Where in the world am I?

Turning to look towards the run down motel, you manage to catch a glimpse of some cowboy hats bobbing in conversation.

It must be nice to be drinking this early, you muse, studying the three figures in chairs gathered around a small table, the crystal of their whiskey glasses reflecting the sun's harsh rays.

A bell rings and your attention is drawn to a tiny building with a red door surrounded by green.

Is that…a diner?

Your stomach grumbles in response, causing you to take a step towards the sudden aroma of chicken hanging in the air.

It didn’t appear that anyone was at the gas station at the moment, though the sign proclaimed “mechanic on duty.”

Your stomach growls at you once more, and you decide that you can inquire inside the diner while you appease your appetite.

Walking towards the impossibly small building, the chime of a bicycle startles you and you leap out of the way as a pack of people ride by.

Not one of them looks back at you, but for some reason you feel as if each and every pair of eyes are on you.

You swear you didn’t even see his face, but you can almost picture the blonde man leading them with the beret grinning maniacally at you.

Hongjoong, a voice your own and not your own ping pongs around your brain.

Remember what I said.

A soft giggle echoes in your mind, tickling more than just your aural senses.

It’s as if you can feel that laughter under your very skin.

Trying your best to ignore the creeping confusion teasing at the edges of your mind, you step forward to push open the red doors.

The man behind the counter wearing a trucker hat turns to study you as you enter, tilting his head as he narrows his dark eyes.

His name tag reads, ‘Yunho’.

You glance away as you take in the inside of the diner, walls lined with gold albums, one L-shaped counter taking up the majority of the space.

There are other diners in colorful, flashy clothing seated on the red stools as your empty stomach gives another howl of protest.

Blushing at the embarrassingly loud noise, you nod your head to the other customers as they turn to eye you.

The tall man in the hat’s expression changes at the sound, tapping his spatula in his palm.

“Sounds like you could use a bite to eat.”

His blinding smile seems to take up your entire vision and suddenly you’re pushing open the red doors once more.

“Remember what I said!”

Your brow furrows, turning to see the cook waving to you as you leave.

Remember…?

Your memory is only filled with the buzz of static as you try to recall anything that happened after you entered the building.

Frowning, you realize you’re no longer hungry; your stomach is full and you can only scratch your head in confusion as you bid the strange man goodbye.

Yunho.

At least you recall something from the hazy lunch.

Glancing across the way, you notice that your car is no longer where you left it.

Instead, it’s on the side of the building, and the form of a man moves around inside of the building as the blue ‘ice cold’ sign flickers.

When did I move my car? You wonder, somehow knowing it’s being taken care of.

Rubbing your eyes, a sudden weariness takes over as you plod over to the run down motel, figuring it’s best to at least find out if there are lodgings.

The three men who were drinking before you entered the diner are nowhere to be seen as the old motel sign creaks and groans above you.

Entering the dilapidated building, you notice the silhouette of a man at the desk, his chair squeaking as he turns to glance at you in surprise.

As he opens his mouth, a rooster flies into your face with a flurry of feathers, causing you to reel backwards.

Landing on your ass, you find yourself in front of a motel room door, white chickens grazing around you as you ponder what the hell just happened.

“If you need anything, I’ll be around. And remember what I said.” a deep, velvet voice says, and you turn to watch the man who was in the office saunter back into the rusted main building.

Yeosang.

His name is all you can summon from the strange black hole of your mind, recalling the plaque on the desk that told you as much.

Looking down at the golden key in your hand, you just chalk your fuzzy memory up to exhaustion, slipping the key into the lock.

Before you can enter the room, you freeze as a man in a white suit and hat slowly strides towards the gas station.

Is he riding an ostrich?

He raises his a red lollipop to you, winking as if to say-

Remember what I said.

Seonghwa.

The moment you think it, he nods and turns to continue on, yet there’s no recollection of meeting him before.

Massaging your temples, you enter the small room, collapsing immediately upon the bed.

Remember what?

Why does everyone keep saying that?

Why do you know these random names but can’t recall any interactions?

It’s like you’re losing time here.

Maybe this is all a dream…

Before you can even open your heavy eyelids, you can hear music coming from the old television set on the dresser.

“All you need to do is remember what I-”

“Said.” you mutter, peeking an eye to glance at the screen.

The form of a purple clad man in a top hat with a cane beams back at you, looking almost satisfied that you finished his sentence.

Mingi.

It’s strange how you keep recalling these strangers' names, yet somehow…

You don’t even remember your own.

Rising from the strangely comfortable mattress, you finally glance around the room you’ve been sleeping in.

More framed albums, posters of random music shows, awards and accolades fill the walls.

Slipping your legs off the bed, you find yourself stepping on the litter of dollar bills all over the floor.

Frowning, you lean down to pick one up, rubbing your fingertips over the paper to see if it’s real.

This place is insane and you can’t help but feel like you’ve fallen down some kind of crazy rabbit hole.

Chicken hole, you think, eyeing a white chicken as it struts out of the bathroom, clucking at you happily.

Music plays from the television, drawing your attention to the spectacle of a man in a blue suit, with a red flower on his lapel.

A mariachi band plays in the background as he bows, looking up at the screen to give you a sassy little smirk.

“Tonight, we dance til the sunrise! Remember what I said.” He proclaims, causing you to flop back on the bed.

Wooyoung.

STOP IT!

Soft laughter fills your head as you glance over at the screen, a wanted poster of a man with a mask in all black on the screen.

“Have you seen the Masked Bandit? Call 1018-1117!”

That’s not even a real number, you think.

Opening the door to go back outside, another commercial plays before you can shut the door.

“Don’t be like Jongho-remember what we said-”

Static overtakes your mind, and suddenly you’re outside, chickens pecking the ground at your feet.

The sun is dipping below the horizon, and you hear the loud laughter of a large mass of people in the distance.

A large red brick building looms and you can see some colorful banners as if decorated for a party.

Was that here earlier?

Following the sounds of music, you suddenly hear the loud roar of car engines and you rush over to see what is going on.

Cash litters the ground even out here, and your foggy brain starts to register more of your environment.

Dollar bills are being used as banners, hanging in windows, and thrown all over the ground like confetti.

As the sun sets, you approach the peculiar celebration going on, eyes wide at the sight of the colorful outfits, the loud music playing, the vast array of curious eyes as the turn to take in your arrival.

“You came.” A voice says, the hand on your back gentle yet firm as it guides you towards where everyone is gathered.

“San?” you ask, shocked that his name came out before you even thought about it.

The man in the black hat and vest grins at you in delight, dimples peeking out as he gives you a single nod.

Before you realize what’s happening, the sky is darkening and the blaze of a fire is lighting up the night.

Music seems to come from everywhere and nowhere as you turn in circles, the beat of the song coursing through your very bones.

Yeah, it spreads when I see you, fire

The sound of an accordion playing catches you off guard, and you notice the song is in so many different languages yet you seem to understand everything.

All you can interpret is the red moon rising, the blaze of the fire as the beat takes over.

Before you can take another breath, you’re being spun around into someone’s arms.

You barely sense the bodies writhing around you, compelled to sway your hips and get swept away with the atmosphere.

I feel an unbearable thirst, crazy

It’s as if you’re in a fever dream as you take in the gleaming eyes of the man holding you in his arms, his blonde hair tinged with red as you hear his delighted giggle.

I'll whisper to you until the sun rises, singing

You blink and suddenly your hand is in the man in the blue suit’s, as he twirls you around happily.

Dance just for you tonight, follow, follow

Another blink, a set of strong hands holding your hips, swaying them as he holds you close, his deep voice singing along to the song.

Singing only to you.

I'm tickled, I'm going to cut off all the perfect lines, babe

The man in the top hat and cane is dipping you, whispering yet another line,

Come closer, come dance with me-

Your hands are in the long, dark tendrils of a man with big doe eyes, his tongue darting out as he mouths the next line.

I know you want to, let’s dance

Strong arms pick you up and swing you around, a delighted laugh escaping your throat as you lose yourself to this fever dream.

His angelic voice rings in your mind, whisking you away to another world-

Until the break of dawn

My love I'll sing for you all night

A tall man yanks you to him, his large hands splayed over your lower back as he guides you through steps you shouldn’t know, yet you move confidently with him.

Matching steps under the moonlight, cha-cha-cha

Feel my heart getting hot, pam-pam-pam

Your hands meet the bare skin of a chiseled chest, the now familiar dimples greeting you as he grips your hips to sway in time with the music.

Over and over, you’re spun around, with each breath, a new face greets you, until you’re looping back around.

You’re becoming almost familiar with them each as you feel them draw you deeper into their forbidden dance.

Hongjoong, Wooyoung, Yeosang, Mingi, Seonghwa, Jongho, Yunho, San….

Over and over they blur in and out of your vision until the chorus builds and their voices combine gloriously, hypnotizing you;

Dance tonight, in this burning night

Queen of the night, star of my eyes

Wake me up with your gaze

Take my soul, take my heart, love is blind

Take my soul, take my heart, love is blind; Let's go

The night sky gleams golden as the edges of your vision start to fuzz, many sets of arms assuring you that you won’t fall as the world goes black.

The heat of the sun beats down upon you, the clucking of chickens invading your sleep hazed mind.

Holding your hand over your eyes to shield them, you look up at the men standing above you.

They're dressed much differently than the previous night, and you sit up slowly, wondering what happened.

Clad in wide brimmed work hats, shovels and pickaxes in hand, the maniacal eyes of the blonde man meet yours as he kneels beside you.

“Come on, love.” he says, his voice dancing as he tucks a tendril of hair behind your ear.

The sound of a clarinet fills the air as a distant rooster crows.

“What…where are we going?” You ask him, looking around at the eyes studying you.

“Gotta work.”

#cultofdionysusnet #ateez au #ateez lore au #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #Ateez work au #Ateez golden hour au

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mrsstruggle · 23 days ago

Text

The Beast of War - Chapter 2 // Teen Wolf x Marvel AU

This is the second part of the Shadow Wolf Series. Read The Lost Child First if you haven't!

Series Summary: In the aftermath of discovering her true identity and reuniting with her long-lost family, Y/N Stilinski finds herself adjusting to a new chapter of her life in Beacon Hills. With her brother and his friends in their senior year at High School, the town faces a fresh new threat. Y/N must navigate the complexities of her new life while confronting the looming threat that threatens to hurt her and the people she loves.

Warnings: Language, Mentions of Death/Injury/Grief/Torture, Possible Grammar Mistakes (please let me know if there is anything else)

Series Pairings: Derek Hale x Reader, Stiles Stilinski x Malia Tate (for now), Steve Rodgers x Bucky Barnes, Bruce Banner x Natasha Romanoff, Vision x Wanda Maximoff

Words: 4.9k

Note: This is not my best work, but here it is! Also, looking for penpals if anyone would like to be penpals with me!

Additional Note: While this is a Teen Wolf x Marvel AU, not everything is true to the shows/movies/comics. I had to change things for the story.

One Last Note: Y/N was adopted by Tony Stark and Pepper Potts. I did this so more people can see themselves in this story.

***I do not own Teen Wolf or Marvel or any related characters. This is a work of fanfiction and is meant for entertainment purposes only.***

Masterlist

The Beast of War Masterlist

The Lost Child Masterlist

Previous Chapter

---

Slowly opening her eyes, Y/N notices that Derek isn’t in bed next to her. Rolling over, she sees that Stiles isn’t in bed either. She rolls back over to look at the clock on Derek’s bedside table—it reads 10:28 AM. Sighing, she debates whether to get out of bed or stay there a bit longer.

She grabs her phone from her bedside table and scrolls through it aimlessly. She starts to type a text to send to her dad when the bedroom door opens. Y/N looks up from her phone as Derek walks in. His plaid pajama pants hang low on his hips while his chest is free of clothing.

“I see you’re finally awake,” Derek teases, lying down next to her. He wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her closer to him, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m surprised I slept this late. With all my morning shifts, I’m used to getting up way earlier than this.” Y/N replies, cuddling into Derek’s embrace. “When did Stiles leave?”

“He left earlier to get to school. He was running behind, so I told him that we’d put the mattress back so he didn’t have to do it.”

“You are a big softy.” Y/N teases.

Derek rolls his eyes, “Shut up.”

“When do you go in to work today?”

“I took the day off today. Peter and Isaac should be fine on their own today, and Cora will keep them in line anyway.” A month after the fight with Kate, Isaac moved back to Beacon Hills. He says it’s because he got bored of France, but Y/N knows it’s because he missed his friends and pack. Not long after he moved back, Cora did the same. After seeing her brother and his girlfriend plastered all over the internet, she decided to move back for moral support and to protect her brother—not that he needs it.

Isaac and Cora now both work at the Hale Garage. Isaac mostly does smaller things, such as oil changes or dent removals, but Derek has been teaching him other things to help his skills grow. Cora mostly likes to sit up front and work at the front desk. Other than the occasional phone call, appointment setting, or dealing with people who go in, she doesn’t have to do much. She likes that there is not a lot of work that she must do, and Derek likes getting to work with his sister—and he needed someone to take over Lydia’s job with school starting back.

“What about you?” Derek asks.

“I should probably get up and get ready,” Y/N groans. “I’m supposed to meet Steve and Bucky at noon, remember?”

“What are you helping them do again?” Derek asks, watching Y/N roll out of bed and walk to their bathroom.

“I’m supposed to help them move into their new place. I don’t even think they really need my help. I think they are using this as an excuse to hang out with me.” Y/N replies with her toothbrush in her mouth. “It’s also why we got them that stuff yesterday.”

“Do we need a code for if it gets too much for you?”

Y/N laughs, spitting out the toothpaste in her mouth and wiping her face clean, “I think I’ll be okay. Did you want me to speak to Bucky about the open position at the garage?” She wasn’t going to say anything about it, but she does know that Bucky needs a job.

Derek watches as Y/N walks out of their bathroom with clothes in her hands, “What do you think about it?” After Tony and Peter left last night, they didn’t speak about Tony suggesting Bucky for the open position. Derek hasn’t thought about it much either. He’s aware of Bucky’s dislike of him, so he assumes he won’t apply.

“I think,” Y/N says, stripping off her pajamas, “that he needs a job, and Tony thinks he would know what to do. Plus, I know you and Stiles are still a little wary about any of them, so this would give you an opportunity to get to know him a bit.”

“And you’re not?” Derek questions, leaning back against the headboard and watching Y/N as she slowly and teasingly puts on her clothes.

“I am, but this is a way for someone who isn’t me to check one of them out. Since my judgment is clouded, I’m scared I’m going to miss major signs I should be seeing.” It’s not that she thinks they are this group of evil people who are out to get her, but it’s hard for her to trust new people. She has her memories back, and she knows that they love her, but fifteen years is a long time—people change.

She’s changed. She’s not the toddler they knew her as. She’s an adult now with a life that, up until recently, didn't include them. That’s what scares her. It took her three weeks after the war against Kate to cave and look up everything she could about the Avengers. While she knows the media can’t be trusted or believed, she still saw a lot of concerning things.

They are public figures, and how they handled the grief of losing her is plastered all over the internet. From articles to YouTube think-pieces, people never gave them a moment of peace. There are even true-crime podcasts and YouTube channels where people do their makeup with smiles on their faces and talk about the mysterious disappearance of 3-year-old Y/N Stark. She can’t imagine how much pain they were in—and still in.

Y/N is scared that one day, they will pack up her things and take her back to the now-old compound. She sees the pained look in their eyes when she tells stories about herself growing up or when she calls Noah, Dad. What if one day they decide they want to go back to the way it was before Pepper gave her to Hydra and no longer accept her new life?

This isn’t something she thinks of often, and she knows, realistically, that they aren’t going to do anything that she doesn’t want, but the little voice in the back of her mind likes to worry. She hasn’t voiced her concerns to Derek, but he knows how she feels because he feels the same way.

“You think my judgment isn’t clouded?” Derek questions.

“I think that they are putting in an effort right now, so we need to do the same,” Y/N says, crawling into the bed and Derek’s lap to straddle him. “I can just tell him about the position. It doesn’t mean he will apply. And if he does apply, you don’t have to give him the job if he won’t fit. I want us to put in an effort, but not if it’s going to hurt your business.”

Derek stares into Y/N’s eyes before sighing, “Fine, you can tell him about it, but I can’t promise anything.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” Y/N smiles, pressing a kiss onto his lips.

Derek smiles at the happiness radiating off her. She hasn’t said anything to him, but he knows her thoughts around her ‘new family’ are complicated. He knows that he should be putting in more of an effort to get to know them, but it’s hard when some of them don’t seem to like him—some of them being Bucky and Steve.

Steve is, at the least, friendly with him when they come over from time to time. He puts in a little effort for Y/N’s sake, but Derek can tell that Steve isn’t his biggest fan. Bucky, on the other hand, hates him. The few times that Y/N has invited them over for dinner, Bucky puts in the effort to ignore him or glares at him when he speaks. Y/N tries to ease the tension between them, but nothing works. Derek thinks it’s because they are both so protective of Y/N.

Y/N thinks it’s something deeper. Bucky is the only member of the Avengers who hasn’t tried to get to know anyone but Y/N. She doesn’t think it’s because he resents the life that she has outside of them, she thinks he’s scared about what the others think about him and what he’s done. She thinks he’s scared that the others won’t want him around her if they truly know about him.

She knows that dealing with Hydra and knowing about what Hydra has done to her has triggered old, hidden memories and insecurities that he had long buried in his mind. Even though they haven’t spoken about their experiences, she can see the way it’s brought up some old thoughts.

She sees the way he flinches when Stiles refers to him as ‘Winter Soldier.’ She sees the way he withdraws within himself when Scott talks about how he believes he can save everyone and goes on his moral high ground I’m better than everyone spiels. She sees the way he flinches when people touch his metal arm—even Steve.

Y/N wishes that Bucky would give the others a chance and get to know them or even spend some one-on-one time with her without Steve or someone else so she can tell him about them. If he did, he would realize that he has a lot more in common with them than he thinks, and they don’t judge him for his past.

If he spoke to Stiles, he would realize that he understands what it’s like to hurt and be responsible for people’s deaths while not in control of your mind and body. If he spoke to Liam, he would realize that Liam understands what it’s like to fear losing control. If he spoke to Lydia, he would realize that she understands what it’s like to be afraid of your own mind. She’s sure if he spoke to them and got to know them, he’d find even more in common.

“You owe me for this,” Derek says, his hands settling on her hips.

“What do you have in mind?” Y/N smirks, running her hands up and down his abs.

“I’m sure I can think of something.”

“I’m sure you can.” She leans in to kiss when his phone goes off on his side table.

“What now?” Derek groans as Y/N reaches over to grab his phone. He takes the phone from her hands to see a message from Peter. “I guess I will be going in to work today.”

“What happened?”

“Someone just dropped their car off, and it needs its brakes replaced.” He says while he types back a response to whoever texted him.

“Doesn’t Peter know how to do that?”

“They apparently requested me specifically.”

“I don’t blame them.” Y/N teases, her fingers running along the waistband of his underwear. “I’d specially request you too.”

Derek sets his phone down next to him and grabs Y/N’s hands to stop her from teasing him more, “If you keep teasing me, we both won’t be leaving this bed today.”

“That’s not much of a threat.” Y/N rolls her before sliding off him and fake sighing in disappointment, “But if you insist on going to work…”

“Well, it is what’s paying for the remodel of the house.”

“I assumed your large inheritance and the money made from the people living in this building was going toward the remodel.”

“No, most of my inheritance is still safely tucked away while the money made from this building has gone toward my new Camaro and making sure you and the pack are taken care of,” Derek presses a quick kiss to her forehead before getting out of bed.

“If Peter has $117 million in inheritance money, how much do you have?” Y/N asks, watching Derek walk over to the dresser.

“Let’s just say if we wanted to, we would never have to work a day in our lives, and neither would the people around us.”

“You have that much money, and you still make me go to work?”

“Is this you trying to tell me that you’re only with me for my money?” Derek teases, walking into the open bathroom to finish getting ready.

“No, this is me wondering why you force your hot girlfriend to work if you have enough money to have her naked on a beach somewhere with nothing but time to do other things.” She can hear Derek’s laugh echo throughout their bathroom. “If I knew that I could possibly marry into old money, I wouldn’t be trying so hard for my bachelor’s, and I would’ve dropped out of school a while ago.”

“Possibly marry, huh? Who said I want to marry you?” Derek questions teasingly.

Y/N rolls her eyes playfully, “Oh, so you don’t want to marry me? I guess I better start packing my things then…”

Derek laughs as he walks out of the bathroom, fully dressed, toward Y/N, “I think we both know that one day you will be Mrs. Y/N Hale.”

“Who said I’ll take your last name?”

“You don’t have to take my name if you don’t want to.”

Y/N thinks for a moment, “Actually, I think we should get married as soon as possible so then I don’t have to have the awkward conversation with anyone about whether I’m going to stay a Stilinski or become a Stilinski-Stark. If I’m a Hale, then there will be no room to argue.”

“Save something for the vows.” Derek jokes before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her lips. “I’ve got to go. Hopefully, I won’t be gone too long. What time will you be back?”

“I don’t know how long I’ll be at Steve and Bucky’s, but tonight I’m going to the station to help my dad get ready for his date tonight.”

“I can join tonight if you want me to.” Derek knows that Y/N is happy that her dad has finally decided to get out there and go on a date after years of throwing himself into his work and struggling with the death of his wife, but he wants to be there for her in case seeing her dad with a different woman brings up some old feelings.

“Sure. I’ll come back here before the station if you’re done with work by then.”

“Okay.” Derek grabs his phone and presses one last kiss to Y/N’s lips. “Love you. I’ll text you when I get off.”

“Okay. Love you more.” Y/N smiles widely at him, watching him leave as he rolls his eyes at her childishness.

After he walks out the door, she grabs her phone to check and see if she has any notifications. Turning her phone on, she notices that Steve has texted her saying the moving truck arrived a little early if she wants to go over now. She quickly replies to him before grabbing her stuff to head over to his new place.

---

Y/N steps out of her car in front of Steve and Bucky’s new rental house. The four-bedroom, two-and-a-half-bath home is smaller than what Steve and Bucky are used to but considered average-sized in Beacon Hills. It’s also only two blocks away from the Stilinski house. Even though Y/N doesn’t live there anymore, she still considers it her home and is there quite frequently. She knows that is part of why they chose to rent it.

Walking up to the open storage container sitting in the driveway, she sees Steve and Bucky removing boxes from it and carrying them into the house, “Hey!”

“Hey! Thanks for coming.” Steve says, setting the box down in the garage so he can hug her. “We’ve moved all the big items into the house already. The only thing left are the boxes.”

She looks into the open storage container to see a few left, “How is there only three boxes left? Didn’t this just get here?”

“We don’t have that much stuff.”

“How?”

“We lived at headquarters. Most of the stuff there was Tony’s.” Bucky replies, walking into the garage with a rare smile on his face. He pulls Y/N into a tight hug in greeting.

“Did you never think about getting your own place?”

“We did, but a certain incident put that thought to a halt.” Steve answers. From the sad he’s looking at her, Y/N can assume he’s talking about her disappearance. She wants to ask more questions, but she’s not sure that she wants to know the answers. Most of what she knows about how they, and the other Avengers, took her disappearance is from Stiles and the extensive research she did on them.

“Well, then, I guess we need to do a bit of shopping,” Y/N says, moving to grab a box from the storage container. She sets her phone and keys on top of a box before picking it up. “You also need to show me where to put this.”

Steve picks up the box he previously set down and motions for Y/N to follow him into the house. She follows him through the laundry room and into the open kitchen and living room area. Y/N sets the box in her hands down on the other boxes that are piled up against the far living room wall and grabs her phone and keys from the top of it.

“Do you have any furniture, or is it just boxes of stuff?” Y/N asks, noticing that she doesn’t see anything other than boxes.

“Our couch and bedframe should be here tomorrow,” Steve replies.

“Is that it?”

“We thought that maybe we could go shopping together one day when you aren’t busy,” Bucky says, walking in with the last two boxes. “If you’re interested?”

“Sure. I’ll have to check my schedule and see when I’m available.” Between work, rebuilding the Hale house, and splitting her time between her two different families, she feels like she’s always doing something or having to meet with someone. She knows she needs to start saying no when people ask her to do stuff, but she has a hard time doing that. She sets her purse and phone on the kitchen counter but keeps her keys in her hand as she turns back to them, “Where’s your cleaning supplies?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we should probably scrub the place down before we start unpacking, so what box is your cleaning stuff in?”

“We don’t have any cleaning stuff,” Steve says, double-checking the labels on the boxes even though he knows they don’t have any.

“Then how did you clean at the compound?”

“Tony had people that did that,” Bucky replies.

“Even your room?” Y/N doesn’t understand how they don’t have any cleaning stuff. Even if they didn’t clean at the compound, they should have bought stuff for their new place.

“Yes.” Steve and Bucky look a little embarrassed that they are unprepared.

“Did you plan on hiring someone to clean this place too?”

“Um,” Steve doesn’t know how to answer that. He and Bucky hadn’t discussed much about their moving situation. They just wanted a break from the Avengers and wanted to be closer to Y/N.

Y/N smiles teasingly at the scared and embarrassed look on their faces, “So you have no furniture, nothing to clean with, and judging by the labels on these boxes, nothing to eat with either. Did you own anything at the compound, or did Tony own everything?”

Steve and Bucky glance at each other with wide eyes. They should’ve done some shopping before moving in. Since she said it out loud, they realize they don’t have anything to cook or eat with. Steve is also realizing that they don’t have any toilet paper, laundry detergent, or other things they will need. Anything they needed at the compound was always there. They never needed to buy anything. They also never needed to restock because people would restock things for them.

Y/N laughs a little at them, “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I kind of assumed this would happen. Follow me.” She turns and walks to the front door as the trail silently behind her. Unlocking and opening the door, she walks over to her parked car, unlocks it, and opens her trunk. “I stopped and got a few things for you yesterday.”

Stepping back from her car, Steve and Bucky can see that it’s full of things they need. With her back seats down, she was able to get them more than she planned to. She bought them a nice vacuum, a broom and dustpan set, a Swiffer mop, rags, dusters, and various cleaning sprays and scrubs. She even bought them toilet paper, laundry detergent, dryer balls, dish soap, towels, and other various necessities.

Closer to her front seats, there are boxes of pots and pans, plates, silverware, cups, and a few other kitchen items. In her passenger seat, there is a stack of organizers and containers. She even got them a few games and puzzles for fun.

“Thank you, but there’s no way we need all of this,” Steve says in shock, giving Y/N a little side hug to show his appreciation.

“Do you want your place to be semi-clean or clean-clean? Also, not everything is for cleaning. From the way you and the others talk about the compound, I assumed you would need a few things.”

“This is still a lot of stuff. You didn’t need to do this,” Bucky says, pulling her into a hug too, “but thank you.”

“You’re welcome, but I’m not the only one you need to thank. I might have been the one who picked everything out, but Derek was the one who paid for it.” Y/N says, pulling away from Bucky. She can see the smiles on their face falter at her Derek paid for it.

“We will make sure to thank him the next time we see him,” Steve says, his smile a little more forced than before, “right, Buck?”

Bucky hums in fake agreement. It’s not that he’s less grateful now that he knows Derek paid for it, he just doesn’t like Derek. He swears he’s just protective of Y/N, and he doesn’t trust Derek, but Nat thinks he’s jealous. She also thinks he’s bitter that Y/N has this whole life that, up until recently, doesn’t include them.

“Well, let’s get all this stuff inside and start scrubbing everything down,” Y/N says.

---

They spent two hours scrubbing and wiping everything down before taking a break for lunch. Steve ordered two pizzas and a few drinks for them. Now, they are standing around the kitchen island as they quietly eat their lunch.

They haven’t spoken much since they started cleaning. Y/N put on some music, and she showed them what to do, but they didn’t say much after that. Part of it was due to them concentrating on their tasks; the other part was due to them not knowing what to say.

“How has work been?” Steve asks Y/N.

“It’s been good,” Y/N replies, “With no current threats in town, we haven’t been as busy as we sometimes are.”

“Tony said another journalist visited you at work recently.”

Y/N rolls her eyes a little at his protective tone, “They were just some college kid that had a few questions. They were mostly just asking about my thoughts and feelings on everything.”

“What did you tell him?” Buck asks curiously.

“Nothing that he couldn’t have guessed himself. How’s your job search been?”

Bucky huffs in frustration at that question, “I had a Zoom interview two days ago, but they only asked me questions about Steve the whole time. From the Captain American photo I could see in the corner of the room, I’m guessing she was a fan.”

“Well, I know of a job opportunity if you’re interested.” She knows he’s not going to like her suggestion, but she told Derek she would tell Bucky about it.

“It’s not at the hospital, is it? I’m looking for something less stressful, not more stressful. I also don’t think I’m qualified.”

“No, it’s at the auto shop. Derek is looking for someone to help out, and Tony said you would know what to do.”

Bucky almost declined immediately, but a sharp look from Steve stopped him, “I don’t know…”

“You can always just apply and think on it. His interview process is pretty simple. He’ll ask you some questions, and then he tests you out for about an hour to see if you’re a good fit. There’s no guarantee that you’ll get the job, and if you do, you can decide whether to accept or not.” Y/N shrugs her shoulders as she wipes the pizza grease off her hands.

Bucky thinks for a moment. On one hand, he wants a new job, and this one would allow him to learn more about Derek. On the other hand, Derek would be his boss, and he would have to spend time and speak to him too. “I’ll think about it.”

“Great,” From the smile on Y/N’s face, Bucky could tell that was the right answer.

They finish eating their lunch before unpacking the boxes. After they unpacked the last box, they said their goodbyes, and Y/N left to go home to pick up Derek.

---

“Maybe I should’ve gotten a haircut.” The sheriff mumbles, looking at himself in a handheld mirror.

“I think you should be lucky that you still have hair to cut,” Stiles says.

“I think you look great,” Scott counters.

“Thank you, son I should’ve had.” The sheriff smirks at Scott.

“Don’t listen to Stiles, Dad. I think you look handsome.” Y/N says, fixing his hair a little with her hand.

“God, what am I doing?” The sheriff struggles with his tie before Y/N stops him.

“What you’re doing is taking a night off and going to enjoy a lovely dinner with your date,” Y/N replies, fixing his tie.

“And who are you having dinner with?” Stiles asks.

“None of your business,” Noah answers.

“Why does Y/N get to know and not me?”

“I didn’t tell her who it was. Derek was the one who figured it out.”

“Derek knows too?!”

Derek just smirks and sits back against the sheriff’s desk. He likes that he knows something that Stiles doesn’t.

“Stilinski!” Someone yells somewhere in the sheriff’s station.

They follow the sheriff out of his office to see the boy who yelled for him. His lawyer is standing in front of him as Parrish and another officer stand next to him.

“I’m going to kill you,” he says, staring at Noah.

“Donovan, if you think that shocks me, remember it is well-documented in your Anger Expression Inventory. Officers, take him out of here.” Noah says, nodding his head at the officers.

“When I say I’m going to kill you, I mean I’m going to get a knife, and I’m going to stab you until your heart stops beating.”

The station is silent for a moment before Stiles breaks it, “Wow, that was awesome. Really, that was great. Do it again, but as Christopher Walkin.”

“Maybe shed a tear this time. I want to see the anger issues overwhelm you as you think about the little cell you're about to live in.” Y/N adds.

Donovan nods his head, stepping back before lunging forward toward them. Scott jumps in front of Stiles as Derek jumps in front of Y/N. Donovan continues to yell as the officers pull him out of the station and toward the transportation van.

“Well, he’s got some issues,” Y/N mumbles, slipping her hand into Derek’s to reassure him that she’s okay. “We should get out here so you can get to your date.”

“Us too,” Stiles says after he finishes his quiet conversation with Scott.

“You have to promise to call me afterward and tell me how it went. If I don’t hear from you, I will call you myself.” Y/N says, fixing her dad’s tie one last time.

“I will text you afterward,” The sheriff compromises.

“Thank you.” She hugs him goodbye, and Derek whispers a little dating advice to him before they leave. Stiles and Scott trail behind them before breaking off toward Stiles’ jeep.

“Do we want to pick something up or make something at home?” Derek asks as they sit in his Camaro.

“I want you to make that dish of yours I really like. I think we have the stuff for it.” Y/N replies, trying to give Derek her sweetest look so he won’t turn her down.

Derek huffs and rolls his eyes as he turns the car on, “The things I do for you.”

“Do you think I should be worried about what that guy said to my dad?” Y/N asks quietly. She made fun of him in the moment, and she likes to think that nothing will ever happen to her dad with her and everyone else around to protect him, but they do live in Beacon Hills, where anything is possible.

“With the things he has to deal with, I think some angry human boy is the least of his worries. He’s probably more worried about his date than him.”

“That’s true. It’s just that everything has been calm here recently. I can’t help but worry that something is coming. Stiles seems to be worried about something, so I’m worried too. Maybe it’s nothing, but there’s this feeling in my gut that something’s not right.”

---

@xxemmarldxx @esposadomd @ladyjenjay @ts1mp0ne @misshale21

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