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mysecretlittlelibrary · 1 year ago

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One Last Lesson

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: okay so there's some switching on both sides but mostly dom!Spence, oral (f receiving), age gap (reader is over 21), teasing, pet names, marking a lot, p in v sex, praise/minor body worship, yk I love some dirty talk so- that's there, multiple orgasms, riding, marking- I hope I got everything??

Genre: Just fluff, Just smut

Summary: It's been a year, Spencer is yours, but it seems someone just won't back off at the alumni gala

A/N: I wasn't planning on a Pt. 3 for this yall it was a duology lmao- I saw the demand but I had nowhere to take it; so you can thank @shan-yee because their comment inspired the continuation of this saga :)

***

Spencer walks over to you and places his hands on either side of the counter you're sitting on. You're spending the night at his place and right now he's cooking dinner.

"You know, it's been almost a year now." He says kissing your neck.

"Since what exactly?" You ask him.

"Since you graduated is what I meant, but also since we made it official technically." Spencer squeezes your hand and then grabs a spatula from a drawer and walks back over to the stove.

"Oh yeah, we're a few months off from it I suppose." You hum.

"The alumni gala is this weekend. Do you- plan on going?"

"It's this weekend? Really? I didn't even realize."

"Oh." He says, his back is facing you but you're positive he's leading up to something and that answer didn't give him the lead up he was hoping for.

"Why are you asking?" You smile.

"Well I was thinking that if you were planning to go we could go together. I mean I'll be there regardless but like- it'd be nice to go as a couple. If you wanted to do that." He shrugs.

"Do you want me there Spence?" You ask.

"Of course I do. I always want you by my side."

"Then I'll go. We'll go. As a couple."

"You're sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" You frown. Spencer turns around to look at you.

"Well you know, I don't want you to be uncomfortable if people say-"

"I don't give a fuck what anyone might have to say. I like you Spencer, I like being with you. Nobody's random opinion is gonna make me stop feeling that way." You shrug. Spencer's eyes soften, adoration shining in them.

"Okay." He smiles.

"Oh, but when we go we should change the timeline a little." You say.

"What do you mean?"

"Instead of telling them we've been together almost a year, tell them it's only been a couple of months." You shrug.

"So if we've only been together a couple of months what's like- the rest of our story?"

"Well we can say we ran into each other at a bar a few months ago, got talking, and realized we had a lot in common- decided to see where things go and it's been great so far."

"Okay." He nods.

"I know you don't particularly like lying but it's for you. I don't want anyone doubting the ethics of our relationship and calling into question your job. So stick to that story and try not to oversell it with details. The more complex the harder it is to keep things straight."

"Well, what if they ask for details?"

"I can't imagine we'll spend a lot of time apart at the gala so chances are I'll be there to handle that for you but if you find yourself alone and they ask you something you don't want to risk complicating- just tell them 'things are still new and you don't wanna risk jinxing anything' and then find a way to change the subject to literally anything else."

"Things are still new and I don't wanna risk jinxing it- okay sure. You're a- good liar."

"I've thought about it before, in case anyone started asking questions- at least for the next few years. After a while, no one will care but you know, for now. I don't want you to lose your job or anything because of me." You shrug. Spencer walks over to you and tilts your head up to look at him. He kisses you sweetly and quickly.

"That's sweet of you to be that concerned about it but you shouldn't stress too much about my job." Spencer says.

"I know, I know, but I care about you, Spence. Of course, I'll worry about that sort of thing."

"You're so cute." He chuckles, returning to the stove to finish cooking dinner.

"Yeah, I know." You say jokingly, making him laugh harder. A few minutes later, dinner is finished and you move from your spot on the counter to the living room to eat and watch TV with him.

~*~*~

When the day of the gala comes around that weekend, you spend more time getting ready than you usually would. Your dress is a gold floor-length number with no sleeves and a dangerously high slit. You pair it with black lace gloves just because you can and your makeup is killer if you do say so yourself. Not that you have to, Spencer's reaction when he comes to pick you up is more than enough confirmation that you look drop dead.

"Woah." He breathes out, his eyes wide.

"Hello to you too Spence." You chuckle stepping into the hall and locking your apartment door.

"I- hey. You look stunning baby."

"Thanks, you don't look too bad yourself love." You wink at him as you loop your arm through his. He's wearing a black dress shirt with gold detailing which you didn't know he was planning on wearing when you picked your dress but how convenient that you match. You notice he's forgone a tie and left the top couple of buttons undone and part of you wants to skip the gala altogether, but you got all pretty so to the gala you will go.

By the time you arrive, it seems the event is already in full swing, the hall is full of familiar and unfamiliar faces between faculty, alumni, and current students- who apparently are welcome and encouraged to attend these things. In fact, you're barely there for 10 minutes before some of your former classmates get a hold of you and drag you away from Spencer. So much for being together most of the night. It's fine, you remind yourself, he's a big boy, plus he's got his script. You focus on the conversation you're part of, a few guys and girls from your department are playing catch up, everyone sharing the most important news from their lives post graduation.

You find yourself in several more of those kinds of conversations with various groups of people over the next hour or so. Side effect of being half part of so many social groups during college you suppose. Every once in a while you steal glances at Spencer, who mostly seems to be enjoying himself with his colleagues. You know Spencer was expecting this night to be a sort of debut for your relationship at his job so you wanted to be with him most of the night but maybe this is fine, him with his people and you catching up with friendly acquaintances you haven't seen in a while.

Just as you're settling with that idea you catch Professor Greene beelining towards Spencer and you can't help the internal eye roll when she walks up to him with a megawatt smile. You split your attention between the conversation you're currently part of and Spencer's interaction with Professor Greene. With things official between you and Spencer, you're much less worried about her honestly but you watch Spencer for signs of discomfort so you can rescue him if needed. You haven't heard much of her from Spencer since your little stunt last year with the hickeys so you're surprised to see her so friendly with Spencer. When you catch her place a hand on Spencer's arm and he awkwardly breaks the contact you decide to step in.

"I am- so sorry to cut this conversation short, I just- it looks like I need to rescue my date from a conversation he absolutely does not want to be part of but I will find you again to finish this before the night ends okay?" You tell Jordan, a friend of yours who you had classes with literally every semester of university.

"Girl don't even worry about it go save your man." He chuckles waving you off.

"Thank you babes, if I don't catch you again tonight, I'll just text you." You rush out before making your way over to Spencer and Professor Greene. You keep your pace light so as to not look vexed but you reach them rather quickly.

"Spencer! There you are! I've been looking for you." You smile, placing your hands on his arm gently. He relaxes with you at his side, matching your smile with one of his own. You turn to Professor Greene, still tucked against Spencer's side. "You're Professor Greene, right? I'm y/n." You stick an arm out to shake her hand and she takes it albeit a little hesitantly.

"Have we met before?" She asks with a curious frown.

"Not formally." You smile.

"I'm- gonna grab a drink. Y/n, do you want anything?" Spencer asks.

"I'll have a mojito if they can make one. If not then I'll just grab champagne from one of the trays floating around the room." You tell him.

"Professor Greene? Would you- like anything?"

"No thanks, Spencer." She says with a tight smile.

"Okay well you two wait here, I'll be back in a sec." He says jogging off. You can't help but smile as you watch him go.

"He's so sweet." You say before you can stop yourself.

"Oh that's cute." Professor Greene says.

"Sorry?" You turn to her.

"Are you one of Spencer's students?"

"No, I've graduated. Almost a year ago now. Why do you ask?"

"Well, it's just- perhaps I'm assuming but it seems like you have a bit of a crush on him." She says and you can't help the surprised chuckle you let out.

"Excuse me?" You ask with a smile.

"I'm not judging or anything. It's cute and totally not unusual! That's why I asked if you were one of his students, I mean- not that anything would come of it but having a crush on your professor and all is pretty common despite the- taboo around it. I one hundred percent get it." She explains.

"Oh, do you? You get it? See- the thing I get is that you have a bit of a crush on that professor but I'm fucking that professor so I'm not sure you one hundred percent get it seeing as we are not in the same boat." You say, your tone deceptively cheery.

"Excuse me?" She blinks at you incredulously.

"I'm not daft Professor Greene and neither is Spencer- it's quite obvious you fancy him which is totally not unusual and not that anything would come of it but I one hundred percent get it. See you don't need to placate to me because I'm the person he came here with. I'm the person he'll be leaving with." You say. Professor Greene's eyes narrow for a moment before widening.

"Wait no you have definitely been a student of his, I remember you. A plucky thing- sat in the front row."

"Surprised I left an impression." You cross your arms.

"Spencer always seemed particularly concerned with you."

"I was his best student." You shrug.

"Oh I'm sure you were. Extra credit will do that." She scoffs.

"I didn't need to suck his dick to be the best in his class I'm just that good. We only started seeing each other a couple of months ago not that it'd really make a difference he still wasn't interested in you at any point. You'd think by now you'd get the hint." You say and she levels you with another glare.

"Did you know they make flavored mojitos? The guy at the bar asked me what flavor you wanted. You didn't mention a flavor but I know you like passionfruit so I hope that's okay." Spencer's arrival doesn't break the tension between you and Professor Greene but you shoot him a sweet smile as you take the drink from him.

"Passionfruit's perfect baby, thank you." You tell him. "I was just telling Professor Greene here about how we got together."

"Yeah, Spencer, I didn't know you had a girlfriend!" Professor Greene says with a smile that's too wide to be genuine.

"Oh! Well, yeah things are still pretty new, I haven't made it a point to go around announcing it. Plus it's not like we're close or anything." Spencer shrugs and puts an arm around you casually, pulling you closer to him.

"Well yeah I know I know it's just- well that's kind of a big deal, isn't it? A girlfriend. You've got a bit of a bachelor reputation you know." She says and you let out a sharp disbelieving laugh.

"Do I? That's news to me." Spencer looks at you with a chuckle.

"Oh you know what I mean Spence."

"Not really but I guess it doesn't matter. I'm pretty private about these things, even though I'm obsessed with her."

"Aw you're so cute." You gush with a hand on his chest.

"Well you do make quite an interesting pair. If you'll excuse me, I see Darla and I've been trying to track her down all night so I'll leave you to each other." Professor Greene dismisses herself and rushes off to start another conversation elsewhere.

"'I didn't need to suck his dick to the best in his class'? Are you insane?" Spencer turns to face you with an incredulous smile on his face.

"To be fair it didn't start there!" You say.

"Oh yeah? Give me the breakdown."

"You left and she made a snide comment about me having a crush on my professor that 'wouldn't go anywhere', I got a little snippy with her and then she implied the only reason I was one of your favorite students is because you were screwing me but like I'm smart I don't need to fuck you for an A I already had one before you even touched me so- I was basically just telling her that."

"When you say a little snippy-"

"I honestly don't think you want to know." You shake your head.

"What did you say to her?"

"TLDR, I told her she has a crush on you and I am fucking you so we're not really in the same boat which was- probably escalating but she started it by trying to patronize me." You shrug and Spencer sighs though you can see his shoulders shake in silent laughter.

"You are-" he stops to laugh again. "Incredible."

"Thank you baby." You smile.

"Honestly that was very uncomfortable but I will admit there was something... captivating about that battle of wits you had going on." His head dips to press a kiss to your neck.

"Captivating huh." You hum.

"Yeah, you're hot when you get all territorial." He smiles down at you.

"You're saying that now because this time I didn't take it out on you." You chuckle.

"I mean, I certainly wouldn't have been against walking in tonight covered in hickeys like last time." He mutters.

"Naughty boy. Keep that up and we'll have to leave early you know." You muse.

"I mean I've spoken to everyone here I need to talk to." Spencer's hand slides down over your ass for a moment.

"So worked up so quickly."

"Come on princess, let's get out of here. I owe you one hell of a thank you for dealing with Professor Greene." Spencer mutters in your ear trying to sway you.

"If we're going to leave early, you'd better make it worthwhile professor." You tell him pulling him through the party towards the exit. He stops you just outside the hall to pull you into a kiss.

"Don't I always?" He winks at you and takes the lead then, walking you to his car and helping you into the passenger side. Once he pulls out of the parking lot, you put a hand dangerously high on his leg, rubbing up and down his thigh 'absentmindedly', watching the way his fingers grip the steering wheel tighter with each passing moment. At red lights, you lean over to kiss and nip at different spots on his neck, you didn't mark him up before going out but there's no reason you can't do it now. By the time you're back at Spencer's apartment, you can tell your teasing did exactly what you wanted when he rushes you through the lobby and into the elevator. He hardly lets the elevator doors close before he corners you against one of the walls. Spencer kisses you, rough and hot, his hands gripping your upper arms.

"You'll be the death of me one of these days." He breathes out. The elevator doors open then and you drag your fingertips up his thigh with a dangerous smirk before getting off. You can hear him let out a harsh breath before he follows you to the door. Spencer unlocks the door and lets you in, barely shutting the door before he pulls you against him in another searing kiss. One of your hands tangles in Spencer's hair tugging lightly which he rewards with a grunt and a nip at your lip. Eventually, you pull away from him, grabbing his chin a bit to tilt his head out of the way of his neck.

"Hm- they're not great but- by the end of the night I'll mark you up so well it'll be like a signed my name on you." You hum kissing him again.

"Whatever you want princess. Tonight's about thanking you, any particular way you want me to show my gratitude? Because personally, I'd like to peel this dress off of you and bury my tongue between your folds." Spencer mutters, trailing soft kisses across your neck and shoulders.

"That- that sounds like a great way to start." You say.

"Perfect." Spencer pulls you down the hall into his bedroom. His hands drag down your arms, pushing the sleeves off and subsequently dropping your dress to the ground. He lets one hand grab onto yours to help you step out of the dress and immediately drops to his knees in front of you. Spencer pulls one of your legs onto his shoulders, grips the back of your thighs tightly, and buries his head between them. You jolt forward as his tongue swipes through your folds, catching your clit and you tangle your fingers in his hair to steady yourself.

"Oh god." You gasp as Spencer pushes his tongue inside you, thrusting in and out, caressing your walls all while moaning at the taste of you and the feeling of you pulling his hair. Spencer can feel your legs start to shake and tightens his hold on your thighs when he drags his tongue up to focus on your clit. "Fuck!" You squeak, actually squeak, when Spencer flicks at the bundle of nerves with practiced precision that has you trembling in his hands.

"Spence." You moan his name in warning, your orgasm building quickly. He increases the pressure slightly, just enough to push you over the edge with a cry, your fingers tightening in his hair, holding him against you as you ride out your orgasm against his mouth. As the aftershocks of your release ease, Spencer eagerly laps up the juices flowing from you, his nose brushing your clit with each draw of his tongue. You gasp when Spencer hooks his arm under your leg still draped over his shoulder and presses his hand at the small of your back as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks harshly on the little button. You jerk against his ministrations but his hold is steady- even as he releases your other leg to bury two fingers between your walls. He pumps the digits quickly and you can feel another orgasm building.

"Holy- shit that feels good." You whimper and you feel Spencer smile around your clit for a moment before he continues to suck on it feverishly. Spencer pulls your second orgasm from you so quickly that you don't even realize how close it is until you're screaming from the force of it. Spencer works you through it, his fingers slowing but not stopping until your walls ease up against them. He gazes up at you as he licks his fingers clean before kissing just below your belly button. He kisses his way up your body, hands trailing over your skin until he's at his full height.

"One hell of a thank you baby." You say breathlessly. Spencer laughs and leans down to kiss you, cupping your face with his clean hand. You use the time to pull his shirt free and undo the buttons, then focus on his pants, tugging off the belt and shoving the slacks down his legs. You let Spencer walk you back towards the bed and lay back when your legs hit the edge of it. You watch as Spencer finishes undressing himself and crawls over you.

"I'm not done thanking you yet princess." Spencer says kissing your neck. He lines himself up with your entrance and sinks in with one thrust. He groans against your skin at the feeling of your wet heat engulfing him. "If I believed in heaven this would be it." He breathes out and you giggle a bit. That is until Spencer cocks his hips back and rocks them into you pulling a moan from your lips effectively ending your giggle fit. Spencer sets a dangerous rhythm of sharp, deep thrusts that have your back arching off the bed.

"So good- Spence, feel so good inside me baby." You moan, your nails marking angry red lines down his back as he takes you.

"I know princess- fuck I know." He grunts reveling in the sting of your fingers clawing at him. Spencer can feel his balls tightening as you drip down his shaft and he leans back to toy with your swollen clit. The sudden extra stimulation has whines and mewls falling freely from you as your third orgasm rushes you. The feel of your walls spasming around him sends Spencer into a frenzy, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chases his own release. Your mind clears just in time to catch the signs of his impending orgasm and you muster enough strength to flip Spencer onto his back. He blinks at you in shock but only for a moment as you start riding him and his face scrunches up in pleasure. Spencer throws his head back and you lean forward to darken the hickeys you left earlier and add more as promised. He lets out a string of curses and grips the sheets so tightly you think he might tear them as you bounce up and down his length. When you feel his muscles clench beneath your hands you sit up, examining the marks now covering his neck. You're more than satisfied with them. You thread your fingers into Spencer's hair and tug, forcing him to look at you.

"I wanna watch your face when I make you cum Spence. Don't look away." You tell him sharply. Spencer tries to nod but your hand in his hair stops him.

"O-Okay. F-fuck, whatever you want- please just let me cum." He begs.

"Go ahead baby." You tell him and that's all it takes for him to let go, hot ropes painting your inner walls.

"I was supposed to be expressing gratitude here." Spencer says after a few moments of silence, when his breathing is settled.

"I feel plenty thanked don't worry love. It's way more fun having you beg me to cum anyway." You say turning your head where you lay just enough to kiss his chest. Spencer lets out a small disbelieving chuckle and you can feel him shake his head as his hand strokes down your back.

"I love you." He says.

"I love you too." You say with a smile. How lucky you are, to have your crush work out so perfectly. Although if you ask Spencer who the lucky one is he'll surely say it's him. Luck is the only explanation for him to now have the object of his desires for months in his arms like this every night. Thank goodness you called him out that day in his office, or he'd have never gotten this far.

***

Part 2

Tagged Users: @regulus-black-223048, @perkypink19-blog, @p0ssywhippedcream

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut

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lincolndjarin · 1 year ago

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Oh Honey. ✩ Chapter 2

chapter two : beware the jabberwock

series masterlist ao3 kofi main masterlist

a/n : took a while to get out but here is chapter two !!! i have a lot of fun writing this fic bc the pacing is so much different than bks but i'm excited to get this chapter out bc i loved writing it so much and i'm so happy that people enjoy this fic so far !!

pairing : monster!joel miller x mortician!reader

rating : 18+ mdni - explicit content, read all warnings

word count : 15.1k (i'm so sorry idk what happened)

summary : new relationships are tricky, especially when your boyfriend likes to disappear for several days with no explanation.

warnings, etc. : dub con?? i'm gonna tag this with that because the sex is like weird in this?? a lot of it is angry or reluctant from one participant at times so i'm gonna tag it just in case, soulmates au, no outbreak au, language, graphic descriptions of violence, gore, fear, feeling of being stalked, feeling of being watched, me making up things regarding the embalming process, animal death, graphic description of the mortuary process, menstruation, derealization (sort of), smut, oral f!recieving, p in v, biting, just like a lot of mouth stuff lmao, cum eating, rough sex, degradation, sort of dumbification, joel is a bit beastly, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, praise, use of the pet name bunny, nightmares, periods, menstruation, joel is a terrible boyfriend, angry sex, injury, blood, blood drinking, manipulation, not a/b/o but something i made up that is sort of along those lines??, body horror, monsters, predator & prey dynamic, a lot of stuff happens this chap so i might have missed some sorry!!, no physical description of reader but joel is described as being abnormally strong and does pick reader up, there is no actual fucking of a monster yet we can't just do that right out the gate it's a thriller it destroys the thrill if they fuck immediately, that being said; this is a monster fucker fic - proceed accordingly

comments and reblogs are appreciated!

You don’t sleep well after your dream.

Just staring up at the ceiling until the sun is starting to shine through the windows.

Not that you’ve been sleeping well recently to begin with. And Joel suddenly feels less safe, the grip of his arms around you feels more like it’s trapping you rather than protecting you.

It’s Joel.

Just take a deep breath.

It’s Joel. Joel Miller. Sweet, handsome, kind, Joel Miller. Joel who came back, even though you assumed you’d never hear from him again.

It was nothing more than a dream.

Stop making up monsters.

You slip out of his arms, quietly making your way over to the fridge to try and find something to make for breakfast. You haven’t gone shopping in a while, all you’ve got is half a loaf of bread and a few eggs. Good enough. Clicking the stove on you set a pan down, cracking the eggs with a small sizzle as they hit the metal.

“Up already?” You didn’t hear him wake but when you turn he’s propped up on an elbow watching you.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Not technically a lie.

“Are you okay?” He sits up a bit and you can feel him sizing you up.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

You aren’t really.

But you can’t really tell him why, so why bother.

He stretches his arms above his head as he gets up, making his way over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist, and resting his head on your shoulder as you flip the eggs.

“Hungry?” You’re desperate to think about anything but your dreams, as you speak his grip around your waist tightens.

“I could eat.” You shudder for several reasons as his teeth graze your neck before nipping at you.

“These should be done in a few minutes, I just gotta make the toast.” You laugh softly as the scruff of his beard brushes against you.

He makes it too easy to forget your fears.

“Mhmm.” The vibrations from his humming make you gasp, nearly dropping the spatula in your hand as he squeezes you for a moment. You work around his advances, putting the bread in the toaster as one of his hands slips under your shirt.

“How many do you want?” You hold up the bread in front of him, trying to get him to pay attention but it’s getting difficult to stay focused on your task when something is currently pressing against your ass.

“I think I’m fine with just this.” He squeezes the bare flesh of your torso making you yelp a bit as his hand drifts further up.

“What happened to your third date rule?” He groans as you reach over to the stove, turning the burner off to keep the eggs from burning before turning around in his arms, your back pressed against the counter.

“We should go to dinner tonight.” He smiles before leaning forward to kiss you but you put a hand between his mouth and yours.

“What makes you think I’ve forgiven you enough to warrant another date?”

He pouts. His bottom lip sticking out a bit as he frowns.

“Wouldn’t matter if I did anyway, it would only be the second date.” You shrug.

“Last night was the second date.” He says rather matter of factly.

“That didn’t count.” You can’t help the smile that threatens to form on your as his frown deepens.

“So you wanna wait for two more dates.”

Definitely not.

“Tonight?” For a brief moment you try and think of anything else you might be doing but you don’t exactly have a social life here in Honey.

“S’gotta be, I’m spending tomorrow with Ellie and then I’ll be busy with work, gotta catch up on some things.”

Why would he need to catch up if he’s been busy all week?

“Tonight works.” Even after what he put you through you still feel the strangest pull towards him, dragging him to the table with you as you set down a couple plates.

“I’ll be here at eight?” He sits, an accomplished look on his face.

“Works for me.”

You have an uneventful breakfast.

Neither one of you talks about his disappearing act. And eventually he has to leave for work and so do you, so he gets his things together once you eat.

“Get dressed, I’ll drive you to Maria’s, I gotta pick up Tommy anyway.” He takes a sip of whatever juice you had left over in the fridge as you nod, finding something clean to wear before following him out to the truck.

He makes it too easy.

He smiles like everything is fine and he holds your hand as he drives.

“Have a good day at work.” You return his smile and he leans across the truck cab to kiss your forehead.

“You too, I’ll see you tonight.”

“See you tonight.” You wave at him as you walk up to the house, Tommy’s just leaving, giving you a pat on the back as he passes you before jumping in the truck with his brother. With a weak smile you watch them go.

There are no bodies today.

It’s a paperwork day for both of you. You know Maria’s dying to ask about what happened but she never does, just staring up at you every once in a while, always looking like she’s about to say something before choosing not to.

You decide to throw her a bone.

“I’m having dinner with Joel tonight.” You can’t ignore the surprised smile on her face.

“I’m glad you two seem to be getting along.”

“Yeah, apparently he got caught up in his work for a few days.” You try and get a reaction out of her but she goes emotionless, giving you only a hum in response.

You don’t try to start another conversation after that until you say good night at the end of your shift. Giving her a small wave before stepping into the misty evening air.

You keep your eyes on the trees the entire walk home but nothing seems out of sorts and before you know it you’re safe in the camper.

You’re dressed and ready to go when the truck pulls up. You aren’t sure where exactly you’re supposed to be going but you’re ready nonetheless, deciding on just jeans and a plain tshirt. What you aren’t expecting is when Joel steps out of the truck with grocery bags and a grin plastered on his face.

“I thought we could cook together.” He says as he makes his way up the steps inside.

“You know how to cook?” You try not to sound as surprised as you are but he just laughs.

“I have two kids. I know how to cook.” He sets the bag on the counter and you open it, he’s brought bread, cheese, and cans of tomato soup.

“What exactly do you plan on cooking?”

“Grilled cheese.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and any worries you had about tonight go out the window.

“You really went all out for tonight.” You raise your eyebrows at him.

He nods, searching through the cabinets for a pan and a pot.

“When you said cook together you meant you cook and I watch, right?” You lift yourself up onto the counter as he lights the stove.

“Obviously.” He sets everything down and you watch him fish around the top of the fridge for a few seconds before pulling down a rather dusty old radio. “I knew she had one somewhere.” He grins as he sets it down beside you, plugging it in and fidgeting with the knobs until the static turns into music.

You don’t recognize the song that plays but he does, as he hums along, opening the two cans, emptying them into the pot.

You had been so nervous about tonight, nightmares aside, you had expected a totally different Joel, the kind of person who ignores you for a week and expects immediate forgiveness. But instead he continues to be just Joel. Joel, who’s very presence lulls you into an overpowering sense of comfort. The moment he stepped inside the camper the entire space became heavy with his cologne, everything smells like the forest, as if you’re surrounded by pine trees and not the four walls around you.

“We should do something this week.” He turns to you as he butters the bread, setting it in the pan with a quiet sizzle.

“Don’t you have work, and Ellie?” You tear open the plastic wrapper on the cheese, handing him a few slices.

“I do, but I can get Tommy to watch her for a night.” He tosses them down onto the bread before opening a drawer, riffling around until he finds a spatula.

You hum along to the music with him when the song changes to something familiar, watching him cook.

He looks at home with you, like he belongs right here.

You both laugh your way through dinner, it’s outrageous how charming he can be, he tells you about the house he’s building, and how his brother ordered the wrong kind of cement. (You didn’t know there was a wrong kind.) And he tells you about how Ellie’s picked up some curse words, apparently there’s quite an argument happening between the Millers regarding who she learned them from.

You’ve always been hesitant to talk about work, especially on dates because you never know how people are going to react. Not everyone has the same relationship with death that you have. So when he says, how has working for Maria been? You aren’t exactly sure what to say.

“It’s good.”

“That’s it? It’s good?” He looks up at you, giving you that lopsided fucking smirk and you can’t help but just melt at the sight of it.

“We’ve been… busy, lots of work the last few days, now we’re just funeral planning, this week we’ve got a funeral pretty much everyday, Maria’s swamped.”

“What made you choose this line of work?”

You never really know how to answer that question.

“Because I like to play with dead things.” Never gets the laugh you hope for, and the real answer just makes you sad.

“I like to fix things.” You instinctively break eye contact, staring down at an uneven floor board you’d never noticed before under the table. “I like knowing that I can help people in that way, to fix them one last time.”

For a moment he doesn’t speak, when you look back up at him he simply looks at you with something that resembles yearning.

“That’s nice.”

You’re glad he thinks so.

He takes the dishes, rinsing them in the sink despite your protests.

Your palms are getting clammy.

This is, by his count, your third date.

Is it weird that this feels scheduled? It was different when you’d brought him home after your first date, that felt natural, your body innately wanted to be with him. How do you even start this kind of thing when it feels so planned? You both know what you want but it feels strange to just outright say, so is this the part where we have sex?

He dries his hands on his jeans and clears his throat as he turns back to you, holding his hand out, you aren’t really sure what he’s doing until he pulls you up from your seat, wrapping his other arm around your waist.

It isn’t the kind of song you can slow dance to, it’s fast and upbeat.

But as far as you can tell, Joel isn’t the kind of guy who dances in the first place, so you bring your free hand up to his shoulder and join him in his attempts to dance.

I heat up, I can't cool down

You got me spinning

There isn’t a lot of floor space in the camper but he makes it work by holding you close and mostly just spinning you as he nods along to the music.

'Round and 'round

'Round and 'round and 'round it goes

If his goal was to put you at ease then it’s working, any remaining nerves you have fizzled out completely. You laugh in earnest, not out of fear, as he bumps his nose against yours.

Where it stops nobody knows

Every time you call my name

I heat up like a burning flame

Burning flame full of desire

Kiss me baby, let the fire get higher

He keeps his forehead flush with yours as you continue to sway your hips back and forth to the beat, the both of you laughing and spinning, you watch curiously as he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply.

Abra abracadabra

I wanna reach out and grab ya

Abra abracadabra

Abracadabra

With a satisfied sigh he opens his eyes, his gaze going from simple infatuation to something darker. When the song ends he pulls you close, so you’re chest to chest and reaches over, turning down the radio.

“So…” You can’t stop smiling as you stare at him through your lashes.

“So.” He gently guides you, his hands on your hips as he walks you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed.

“I’ve got a long day tomorrow, I should probably get some sleep.” You give him an exaggerated yawn and point at the bed, plastering a mock apologetic look on your face.

“You’re really funny.” He leans down to give you a chaste kiss before picking you up. His strength is still a wonder to you.

The way he throws you down onto your bed makes you erupt into a fit of giggles but he certainly isn’t laughing anymore as he drags you by your ankles to the edge of the mattress, a look of concentration on his face now.

“Joel!” You shriek as you hear the tearing of the zipper on your jeans.

“M’sorry.” He grumbles, making no effort to slow down as he tugs them down.

He doesn’t sound sorry.

“It’s a zipper, just unzip it for Christ's sake.” His sudden change in demeanor leaves you a little breathless, in the blink of an eye he’s gone from remarkably gentle to practically unhinged.

“S’too late for that.” He groans softly as he kneels on the camper floor, throwing your legs over his shoulders.

“You owe me a new pair-” Your voice trails off into a stuttered moan as his mouth latches onto the front of your panties, dragging his tongue over the wet spot that’s been forming all night.

“We can go to the mall sometime this week.” He mumbles against your cunt before you feel his teeth grazing the fabric before tearing it apart completely.

“Jesus, Joel!” Instinctively your hands grip his hair as he buries his face between your legs.

How sharp are his teeth?

He’s all consuming. Like he’s trying to lay claim to every single part of you. And he’s loud, it’s a good thing you don’t have neighbors. Lewd slurping noises as he laps at your dripping hole like it’s his fucking job.

He flattens his tongue, dragging it through your folds, for a moment you aren’t sure what he’s doing, but it feels fucking amazing. The way his tongue moves in and out of you, occasionally drawing a lazy circle around your clit, it isn’t like anything anyones ever done before. It takes you a moment to realize that he isn’t necessarily trying to make you feel good (despite the effect it may be having on you,) you’re pretty sure he’s tasting you.

Drinking you in. If he’s trying to get you off it’s only because he wants more.

“S’ so sweet.” He mumbles against your thigh, biting the meat there making you cry out a bit before he returns to his work between your legs.

“Joel- fuck, Joel please.” You manage to stutter out between gasps, when did he become so gruff? You never could have predicted that he would be like this in bed, his grip on you is certain to leave bruises and you can barely think straight after just a few minutes with his head between your thighs. The noises he makes as his lips wrap around your clit are down right pornagraphic. Your vision is starting to go white around the edges as he does the first gentle thing since he started, sucking that bundle of nerves almost lazily. Through shuttered breaths you manage to mumble out his name a few more times your vision whites out completely.

You’re a little surprised at how quickly he manages to pull an orgasm from you, your skin coated in a thin sheen of sweat as you sit up, pulling him up by his hair as you crash your lips against his, tasting your own slick on his tongue. He moves so feverishly as you feel his hands spreading you again, teasing your entrance with two fingers before slowly pushing them in.

“Joel- oh my god-” He silences your rambling with his mouth again, swallowing your groan once he’s knuckle deep inside you. His brows furrow in concentration as he starts to pump them in and out of you. “P-please.” You stammer out.

It’s such a sharp contrast to the Joel you’re used to, he’s so… unruly.

“So fucking tight.” He mutters before grinding his palm against your clit, pulling another series of gasps from your throat. “Such a pretty, tight, wet cunt.” He whispers against your jaw and you feel a third finger pushing into you.

You hadn’t expected him to be so vulgar, turns out he’s only all southern manners outside of the bedroom. You’re starting to see stars all over again as you feel the stretch of his thick fingers, he nips at your jaw before pressing them in deep, focusing on grinding the heel of his palm into your clit until you’re soaking his hand, hands tugging at his hair as a second orgasm is ripped out of you with a shudder. Your head falls back with a noisy whine, you can’t decide if you want more or less, his touch burns your skin but you feel so cold without it.

“Please, please Joel.” You exhale the words, scratching lightly at his shoulders with a whine.

“Tell me what you want.” His voice is lower than ever and you watch as he unzips his jeans, shoving them off and taking his cock in between his fingers, still slick with your release. Your eyes go wide as he strokes himself a few times, he’s thick, hefty, you’re trying not to stare slack-jawed at the way he fills his own hand. You grab the bottom of his shirt, pulling it off in an attempt to feel more of his skin against you.

“Fuck me… please.” You tack on the please at the end hoping he doesn’t make you wait much longer as you gawk at his pretty tan skin. You don’t even know where to look, you run your fingers through the coarse sprinkle of black and gray hair on his chest as he crawls further up the bed to hover above you.

He takes your thighs, pushing them up against your stomach, his eyes dark with something reminiscent of hunger. You hook your own arms around your knees to keep yourself in that position as he takes hold of his cock once more, guiding himself into you with a strangled groan.

“Christ…” He mumbles under his breath as he slides just the tip of himself in, your own breath hitching at the size of him. He tilts head town, pressing a soft kiss to your chin.

He splays his palms out on your thighs, leveraging himself as he carefully rocks his hips back and forth, slowly working himself into you. The camper fills with the sounds of your collective noises. Joel is loud. Grunting and growling as he fully buries himself in your heat.

He scans your face for signs of distress, tears pricking the corners of your eyes, the tiniest sting from the stretch pulls a whine out of you but you only nod as he stares into your eyes.

“More, Joel.”

Once he has your approval he starts moving, setting a pace that for a few thrusts is slow before picking up. Quickly becoming downright brutal, every slam of his pelvis against yours drives his cock deeper into you. He feels as if he was made for this, he’s just big enough that it doesn’t hurt, simply an overwhelming feeling of fullness.

Your body begins to tense up all over again, you wrap your arms around his torso as much as you can in this position, scratching at his back. He leans forward, going in for a kiss before moving around your face, kissing your jaw, forehead, nose, and temples. When he kisses the apples of your cheeks you feel his tongue darting out.

Did he just lick up a tear?

He snaps his hips forward, disrupting your train of thought, his teeth barred as he does so, eyes fixed on every one of your reactions. He’s practically snarling as you let your head fall back against the mattress, the head of his cock driving into your g-spot.

“Wanna come again already, bunny?” You make a real spectacle of yourself, hooking your legs around his waist, trying to pull him in deeper. “Greedy little thing…”

“Joel please-”

“Joel please.” He mocks. “Is that all you can say now?” You keen softly but he only grins as you tighten around him.

“P-please…” You squeak out as he snaps hips forward once more.

“Come again, I wanna feel this pretty cunt come.” He snarls against your neck, leaving a trail of bites until he reaches your shoulder, a particularly harsh bite has you crying out.

“Joel!” You grit your teeth, a wave of heat washes over you as you come one last time, you feel his tongue dragging across the bite mark.

It’s all so close to being painful.

Your stomach aches from the overstimulation, and you register a faint stinging feeling when he laps at the bite. Your walls clench around him, strangling his cock, and his hands instantly leave your legs, gripping the sheets instead.

“Fuck, fuck.” He barely pulls out in time, coming on your stomach. You reach down in your haze, scooping some of his load onto your finger before sliding them between your lips.

Fucking salted caramel.

Sweet and sticky on your tongue.

He pants above you, watching with an intoxicated look as you dip your fingers into his cum over and over again until your stomach is bare.

He nudges his nose against yours, rubbing every part of his face against you for a few minutes. It’s wildly intimate and you're once again a little taken aback by his sudden tone shift.

“Was that okay?” He drawls, once again searching your face for any indication that you might not be.

You nod, beaming up at him and letting him rest the bridge of his nose on yours for a few moments more before you slip out of his arms, stepping into the bathroom. You relieve yourself before going to sort yourself out in the mirror.

You’re bleeding.

Where he bit you, two mirroring crescents, red and angry on your shoulder, leaking blood.

“Shit.” You grab a handful of toilet paper, wiping it clean before rinsing it in the sink and returning to him.

“Everything okay?” He’s pulled his boxers on, tossing you his shirt which you’re eager to put on. You don’t want him to see the bite.

“Everything’s fine.” You crawl back up into the bed beside him.

He stays the night, pulling you to his chest and caging you in with his arms.

And you aren’t haunted by dreams.

In the morning a part of you worries he’ll disappear all over again, you’re a little surprised when he texts you just a few minutes after he drives off. [ can’t wait to see you again soon bunny ]

Joel follows through on his promise.

A few days later he picks you up from work and drives you to the outlet mall about an hour away, saying he needs to get some stuff for Ellie as well. Apparently she likes to throw plates so he wants to find the kind that suction onto the table. As he drives the radio plays a country song you don’t recognize which he hums along to as you watch the trees outside the window.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you about my aunt.” He turns the music down once you start speaking.

“Darlene? You probably know her better than I do.” He doesn’t seem very eager to talk about her but it only makes you want to know more.

“Doubt it. All I know about her is that she wasn’t close with anyone in my family.”

“You weren’t close? But she left you her camper.”

“That’s why I need to know anything you might know about her, I know nothing.” He seems hesitant and you’re worried if you keep pushing it he won’t tell you anything at all.

“She was a lonely old woman, had me fix things for her often, I honestly think she just wanted company.” His voice softens a bit as he says it.

“She didn’t have friends here in Honey?”

“Not that I know of, she was a bit of a shut in, sweetest woman I’ve ever met, just a bit… skittish. She worked from home and I’m pretty sure someone delivered her groceries. The only time I ever saw her outside was when I was fixing her roof and she sat in a lawn chair to talk to me while I did.”

“She worked from home?”

“Yeah, something on her laptop, I’m not entirely sure.” You’ve never seen a laptop.

You’ve been living in the camper for nearly six months and you’ve never seen a laptop.

But that’s not what interests you the most right now.

“What do you mean by skittish?” You’re trying to gauge his reaction but he doesn’t seem to have one.

“Maybe skittish isn’t the right word. Eccentric? Some of the kids in town called her ditzy Darlene.” His expression sours as he says it.

“That’s horrible.”

“It was.”

“Why?” He seems more reluctant than ever but now you’re just upset on behalf of the woman who left you everything.

“She fed into a lot of the legends around town, and didn't seem to have any hobbies outside of monster hunting.”

“Monster hunting?”

“She was the only local who went to the gift shops, searching for a monster she swears she saw.”

Sounds familiar.

“Did she ever find any?”

“Monsters?” He laughs. “Not that I know of.”

“Did you think she was crazy?”

“I think she was lonely, and I think when you spend that much time alone your mind can wander.”

“But did you think she was crazy?”

“No.” He puts an end to the conversation by putting the truck in park. You hadn’t even realized you were there, the outlet mall is so small. His southern manners remain persistent as he jogs around the truck to open your door for you, holding onto you to provide balance as you hop out.

You aren’t sure where anything is so you just follow him, taking his hand in yours as you walk. He takes you into a clothing store you don’t recognize the name of and waits patiently as you try on a few different pairs of jeans. It’s been quite some time since you’ve bought new clothes so you get a few pairs, you’re worried it’s boring for him to just wait outside the changing room but when you walk out with three pairs slung over your arm he still looks happy as can be. When you go to pay he opens his wallet, silencing your protests with a reminder that it’s his fault you needed new jeans in the first place.

After that he takes his time, the two of you walk hand in hand through each store, he doesn’t even look around most of them, seemingly content with just spending time with you.

He manages to find a few rubber bowls with suction cup bottoms for Ellie as well as some spanish flashcards and you decide to get a pair of blue hiking boots, if you’re gonna be walking everywhere you might as well be comfortable.

At the last store you stop at you find a nice perfume, spraying a bit into the air and inhaling. It reminds you of springtime, it’s light, floral, but when Joel catches a whiff of it he scrunches his nose up.

“You don’t like it?” You set the bottle back down.

“I like the way you smell now.” You frown, trying to remember what shampoo and body wash you’ve been using. If you recall correctly it’s just some generic brand you’d bought ages ago.

“I didn’t know you spoke spanish?” You remark, pointing at the bag containing the cards, opting to just change the subject rather than give yourself a headache trying to remember.

“I don’t, but Sarah does and she’s been insisting I teach Ellie while she’s gone, something about it being better if she’s bilingual.”

“I think that’s sweet.” You swing your arms a bit, keeping his hand in yours as he walks you out of the store and in the direction of the truck.

“Of course you think it’s sweet, you're not the one with two daughters who will be using their secret language against you.” He takes his keys from his pocket, clicking the unlock button.

“It’s not a secret language, if your baby can learn it then I’m sure you can.” He helps you up into the truck once more, shutting the door behind you.

It’s almost comically difficult to keep your hands off him when you’re alone, especially now that you have a taste for him. Even just being in the truck with the windows up is suffocating, the smell of his aftershave or his laundry detergent drives you mad the moment you’re stuck in an enclosed space with him.

You slide across the truck so you’re in the middle seat as he pulls out of the parking lot. It’s like you feel sick when you aren’t touching him, like you’re suffering from this barely noticeable nausea and you don’t realize you were even dealing with it until it’s gone.

You watch curiously as he keeps one hand on the wheel and brings the other to rest on your thigh. His shoulders relax the moment he does, his frown lines smooth themselves out a bit.

He’s just so warm, and he’s so nice to be near. Today he smells like a candle you used to have, something you lit around Christmas time. He smells like cookies and peppermint.

You can’t help but turn your head a bit, trying to discreetly inhale the scent of his jacket.

To say that Joel Miller becomes the perfect boyfriend would be an understatement.

He drives you to work, he sends you flowers, (which gets confusing in a funeral home.) he holds open doors, and he always texts you back.

Quite literally everything gets better once he’s back in your life.

You don’t get anymore mangled bodies, only a few from the nursing home and one from a nearby hospital, it’s mostly just funeral planning these days. You see Joel daily, Maria and Tommy seem a little surprised every time he dotes on you and you can’t help but wonder what he’s done to earn such a reaction, but he’s so sweet you hardly care. Between both of you working and him having a toddler you’re shocked he makes as much time for you as he does. You see him every morning when he takes you into work but he also insists on seeing you twice a week, whether it’s going out, or ordering in, or just dragging him into your bed, he always makes time for you.

You even spend a little time with Ellie. Joel spends a lot of time with her at the funeral home so you often see her in little doses, she seems indifferent towards you which worries you until you realize she acts that way towards everyone but her father. It’s remarkable to watch him with her, he’s soft with you but with her it’s something else entirely. She sticks to him like glue and you’ve never once seen him look bothered by that fact, you assume she’d get bored just sitting in his arms but she never does. He likes to tell her jokes and you aren’t even sure she understands them but without fail she bursts into a fit of giggles every time he gets to the punchline.

It’s good with him, everything is easier. Everything just sort of makes sense with Joel and for the first time in a long time everything feels right.

Until the morning you wake up, a sticky feeling between your legs and an ache in your belly.

“Shit.” You roll out of bed, quickly shedding your clothes, tossing them into the laundry bin before texting Joel.

[ hot date idea for us, you drive me to the laundromat and then watch me do my laundry ]

Setting your phone down you hop into the shower, washing away the blood with a groan, you spend far too long under the water, when you finally step out and check your phone you’re running late, you pull open the curtains a bit to see if Joel’s already waiting for you but much to your confusion you aren’t met with the familiar sight of the truck.

You had never really discussed him driving you to work; it was just something he’d started doing, you probably shouldn’t have expected it to be a permanent thing.

You haphazardly pull yourself together, tossing on whatever looks clean before grabbing your phone and bag, rushing out the door.

The cool morning air stings your face as you quickly walk down the familiar gravel driveway towards the home, you’re already preparing your excuse for why you’re so late but Maria doesn’t even notice as you step into the office, she’s busy on a call.

You recognize the look on her face, she’s talking to a family. You step inside, taking a seat in one of the chairs across from her desk as you wait. She seems to be at the end of the conversation.

You couldn’t be more grateful that she takes care of telling the families. You’ve never been good at that kind of thing. She hangs up with a gentle, goodbye, smiling up at you as you try and imagine a situation in which your job was to deliver such terrible news.

The ache in your stomach snaps you back to reality.

Fuck. You forgot to bring anything.

“Any chance you have a pad?” You give her an apologetic look.

Based on her expression you’d think you’d just asked her for a lung. Several emotions flash across her face in an instant, but mostly she looks like someone who just solved a riddle that had been plaguing them for quite some time. She snaps out of it quickly though, giving you a curt nod.

“Of course, let me just run upstairs.”

It’s an older man, graying and wearing what is obviously hiking gear.

Poor guy.

He’s torn apart, the worst you’ve seen so far, his limbs have all been individually torn off, they lay, separated from the rest of him on the table.

It’s an open casket so you’re gonna be down here all day.

You text Joel one last time before setting your phone down.

[ gonna be pretty busy all day, got another bear attack, i’ll call you when i’m on my way home. ]

With that you get to work, putting on your gown and gloves, and starting at the torn clothes. It’s hard to figure out where his clothes start and his skin ends with the condition his body is in but you manage to cut him out of everything so you can properly assess the damage.

You’re getting used to seeing these messy wounds, the sight of torn flesh. It should be a pretty easy job all things considered. He’ll be in a suit so you’ll just reattach everything and no one will ever have to see the extent of his wounds.

You check everything twice, making sure that you’ve got the left and right correct before you start sewing things back up. You try to mimic the way you saw Maria do it, careful and practiced stitches.

You finish the legs easily enough, both had been ripped off just above the knee, you’re about to start on the arms when you drop the needle in surprise.

How didn’t you realize this before?

You’ve been preparing these bodies for weeks now and you’ve never once noticed one harrowing detail. You’re used to tending to bodies that have already seen a pathologist. Bodies with their organs in a bag, with their blood drained, ready to be prepared for a funeral or cremation. And you’ve been so focused on doing a good job to impress Maria that you’ve failed to take note of the most obvious thing before you.

There’s no blood.

None of the bodies you’ve tended to from the bear attacks have blood, all of their organs remain intact but because Maria declares cause of death you know she doesn’t drain them. You’ve drained everyone who hasn’t been sent in from a bear attack.

Maybe Maria drained them before you got in.

But that isn’t possible, you know that, you’d have seen the equipment, and you’ve gotten bodies straight from the scene, already drained.

You reach over to grab a scalpel off the table.

You shouldn’t do this. You could probably be fired for it, but as long as no one finds out you’ll be fine. All the damage to this cadaver has been done to its limbs, so hypothetically, if you were to slice open his chest you would see blood, dried or otherwise.

So you do just that.

You carve out a small, clean, incision vertically on his sternum.

Nothing.

You’ve got a pen flashlight that you shine into his chest cavity only to find his organs. Dry.

He’s been completely drained of his blood.

You stitch him up quickly, finishing the job as swiftly as possible before running up the stairs, mumbling a rushed excuse to Maria before running the entire way home.

Joel doesn’t text you back.

This isn’t happening, not again, he wouldn’t do this again.

You feel like you’re gonna be sick.

An image flashes through your mind.

Joel.

Lips curled back in a snarl.

No. That wasn’t real, it was just a dream. Although the line between the two has been getting blurrier.

Joel isn’t out there draining people of their blood, that’s absurd, even if he goes missing and those dates happen to coincide with the days that you get bloodless corpses.

It’s a coincidence.

Or it isn’t.

Maybe for one second you should just let yourself consider the possibility that something is terribly wrong.

You thoroughly check the two bodies you get the next day.

They come in together, a couple from out of state hiking in the park. Neither one of them bleeds.

The day after that you wake up early and walk to the funeral home as the sun rises. You watch the hearse wheel in the body, and you make sure you’re the first person to see her.

A tragically beautiful woman who appears to be in her late forties, maybe early fifties.

None of her wounds are bloody, and when you open her chest cavity it’s like someone drank her insides with a straw.

You’re nearly at your breaking point, nothing you’re looking at makes any sense.

You spend that night in bed, unable to sleep as you try and figure out what the hell is going on.

Joel doesn’t answer your calls.

He doesn’t respond to your several angry texts.

And something deep down within you tells you that asking Maria would be a mistake.

You’re completely alone on this.

So you call Maria and you tell her that you’re sick and won’t be in tomorrow. Then you look up the bus schedule in and out of town.

The bus comes in and out of Honey twice, every other day. Lucky for you, today is one of the days the bus will be there in the morning, and return in the evening.

The bus stop is empty when you arrive, the misty morning air clings to your skin as you stare out into the surrounding forest.

Something is out there.

And you’re gonna find out what it is.

You can’t keep being afraid, this is your home now, and you won’t be driven away by some imaginary monster.

It starts to drizzle when you look out the window of the bus, watching Honey disappear behind you.

You have a plan.

Well sort of.

You’re going to find some literature on the subject. You’re sick of feeling crazy so you’re going to prove yourself right. Something is very wrong in Honey, and monster or not, you’re going to figure it out.

You don’t catch the name of the town you end up in, you just get off at the stop that looks the most tourist friendly, assuming that there has to be a book store somewhere in town.

You only have to walk main street for a few minutes before you find it.

It’s a quaint little shop tucked in between an attorney's office and a gift shop.

Betty’s Books

Dimly lit and jam packed wall to wall with books, a small elderly woman sits behind the counter, reading a Stephen King novel.

“Excuse me?” You clear your throat as she looks up at you over her wiry glasses.

“How can I help you?” Her smile is warm, it fills the entire shop with an aura of comfort.

You’re going to sound ridiculous. And the moment you do this you’ll be speaking it into existence.

You don’t have any other options.

“Do you have anything on local urban legends?” You try not to sound too ashamed but her smile never falters as she points.

“Back left corner, dear.”

“Thank you.”

“Let me know if you need anything else.” She’s already buried her nose back in her book before you turn towards the rest of the shop.

You begin searching the shelves for anything that could possibly help you, there’s several different books on bigfoot and the loch ness monster. There are a lot of empty spaces between books and you have to assume that this is what most tourists are buying.

People in search of ghosts and myths.

Are you any better than them?

Running out into the darkness, looking for a monster you very well may have made up.

You look through a few more options before finally settling on a thick, leather bound book, you pull it from its place and stare down at the embossed cover.

A Beginners Guide to Cryptozoology : West Virginian Monsters

You aren’t going to find a better place to start.

You move back towards the front, stopping in front of the children's section.

Lullabies & Poems for Bedtime

A rabbit with a pocket watch, asleep under a tree, adorns the cover.

Ellie might like that.

Even if you’re madder than hell at her father.

You grab the little white book, setting both onto the counter, paying before stepping out into the rain. You’ve got hours until the bus back to Honey returns so you quickly make your way to a diner across the street, keeping the books tucked into your jacket.

A little bell chimes as you push the door open, sitting yourself at one of the free booths you set the books down on the table.

The waitress brings you coffee and water as you set your jacket aside, you order a plate of fries just to give you something to do as you watch the rain on the diner windows for a bit.

Eventually you know you can’t put it off anymore so you open up the book and sit back, taking care to read every single page, not wanting to miss a thing.

The first thing you learn is that there are a startling number of unnamed monsters.

It covers the basics in the first few chapters, mothman, bigfoot, chupacabra, and werewolves, but the second half of the book is entirely monsters with no names, only ink drawing accompanying the descriptions. For a while you find nothing, eventually ordering a milkshake which you sip as you skim the pages.

After two hours you’re about to give up when you stumble across a page that finally shows something familiar.

A drawing of a body, mangled, with wounds you recognize.

Five slashes across the chest, both arms completely torn off.

This creature is thought to reside only in heavily wooded areas, it was speculated to be located in the southern United States for several decades before disappearing completely.

Since then people have claimed to have seen this creature in many different locations although the majority seem to be centralized to the east coast of North America, resembling a lich, or a wendigo.

When you turn the page the illustration of the monster stares back at you.

It’s hard to make out what’s what and it looks mostly like inky scribbles but within those lines you see the creature you’ve been imagining. Long, sharp limbs, massive shoulders, and a face almost reminiscent of a humans, everything is just… distorted.

While technically unnamed, there are many unique pieces of folklore attached to this specific creature. Witnesses claim to have seen this monster transform from human to creature and vice versa, as if they walk among us in their free time.

What sets the creature apart from many other creatures of this variety is their affinity for humans. More often than not we’ve gotten reports of these creatures seeking out human mates.

We have several different claims from people saying they’ve seen the transformation happen right before their very eyes. One man claimed to have watched his sister in law turn at Thanksgiving dinner. Another says that he saw a cousin's boyfriend disappear into the woods during a wedding, transforming into a beast as he did.

According to old legends there is thought to be a connection between these creatures and their mates, quite literally bonding them in blood. The males are believed to be linked to their human mates menstrual cycles; if they have one, the females are linked to their own. There are many different descriptions of what this means for human mates. Some believe that when this creature comes in contact with their mate that they permanently revert to their human forms. Others believe they’re hunger for flesh only grows after coming in contact with them.

But most believe that they eat their mate. Plain and simple. That their blood is more potent to them than anyone else’s, so much so that any love they may harbor for them is irrelevant, they are simply blinded by their bloodlust.

Its victims often resemble that of an animal attack. Bodies torn apart, mangled, often believers of this legend are ‘disproven’ because of this fact, but there is always one thing that separates this creature's kills from that of an animal. Animals who eat their victims will do exactly that, eat them, this creature does no such thing, while it does massacre its victims it will rarely consume its flesh, preferring the taste of blood.

There have been no confirmed sightings of these creatures and we have been unable to trace its origins or obtain any photographic evidence, maybe it really is just an animal.

Monster or bear? It’s up to you.

It’s up to you.

You slam the book shut.

It’s nonsense.

Joel isn’t some blood drinking, period monster. But you came all this way, looking for a monster, and seemingly you’ve found it.

You pick up the little book for Ellie, taking a sip of your coffee.

Maybe it’ll make you feel better.

You open it to find a familiar little song on the inside of the cover.

I know you,

I walked with you once upon a dream.

You flip through it, mostly admiring the beautiful illustrations, they look like watercolors. There’s a frog with a crown, princesses with flowing gowns and witches grinning up at you from the pages. It isn’t until some random page in the middle that you actually stop to read the poem. The drawing accompanying this one isn’t colorful, only black ink, a drastic change from everything so far.

Jabberwocky

By: Lewis Carroll

It unsettles you to look at so you focus on the words instead. You know this creature, it’s from Alice in Wonderland. The poem is whimsical, you can imagine a child finding it rather entertaining should a parent read it with enthusiasm. You don’t have a parent reading it to you though, you’re alone, staring at the lines that have caught your eye.

Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

No more books today.

When you check your phone there are no new notifications. So Joel is either a terrible boyfriend or a potential murderer.

How comforting.

Fuck it.

You click on his contact.

[ TEXT ME BACK RIGHT NOW. OR WE’RE THROUGH. ]

Monsters aren’t real.

Joel Miller is just the worst boyfriend (soon to be ex-boyfriend) on the planet.

It doesn’t help that you catch a glimpse of a tampon wrapper in your bag when you throw your phone back into it.

It’s a coincidence.

You can’t say anything to anyone about this, how would it look if ditzy Darlene’s niece showed up and started spinning stories of her own? You can’t do it, you know exactly what people would say. They’d say it ran in the family and they’d find a reason to be cruel to her even in death.

So you take the bus home in silence.

For the next few days barely speak to Maria other than polite greetings, you’re certain she doesn’t notice, both of you are swamped. You’ve got a body everyday the rest of the week and she’s up to her neck in paperwork.

And Joel never texts.

Maria’s juggling Ellie and trying to fill out papers when you get in the next morning.

“Thank god you’re here, can you run upstairs and grab something for me, there’s a little makeup bag on the counter in the bathroom, I forgot it earlier and I’m waiting on a phone call regarding the couple we had.”

“Of course.” You set your things down before reaching for Ellie. “Here, let me take her so you can do that.”

“You’re a lifesaver, thank you.” Almost as if on cue the phone rings the moment she says it. You head towards the stairs, the toddler in your arms scrunches up her face as if trying to recall your identity.

“You know me, silly, I’m friends with your daddy.” At the mention of her father she seems to relax and you open the door at the top of the stairs.

You’ve never actually been in this part of the house before, you’ve always stayed in the business section. You don’t get a chance to look around, the bathroom is the first door on your left. A bag the size of a pencil box is on the counter, you hand it to Ellie, her little hands play with the bag as you carefully bounce her in your arms.

“Do you know where your daddy is?” You poke her in the belly making her smile at you for the first time. “Not gonna snitch?” You tickle her side, earning a tiny giggle. You let her play with the zipper as you bring her back downstairs. “Any bodies today?” You yell as you descend the stairs.

“Had a cremation from the home this morning, I’ve just got a lot of papers, I’m planning six funerals simultaneously right now.”

Six massacred corpses in six days.

“Where’s Tommy?” Ellie puts up a bit of a fight for the bag but you set it down on the desk just in time to watch Marias grip on her pen tighten.

Yikes. Must be a sore spot right now.

“He’s got a work thing, left me with that little monster.” She uses the pen to point at the toddler who’s already starting to get antsy in your arms.

If you’ve got no bodies today you might as well offer to help.

“I can watch Ellie if you’d like.”

“Really? You don’t mind?”

“Of course not, want me to keep her upstairs? I’m sure you don’t want me watching her in the basement.” You laugh a little as she nods.

“You really are a lifesaver, I don’t know how I managed without you.”

“Oh stop, you clearly did just fine before I came along.” Your face gets a bit hot at the compliment.

“I’ll be up in a few hours once I finish up here, you two have fun.” She doesn’t give any instruction beyond that so you just take Ellie back upstairs. You haven’t spent much time with her beyond the small interactions in passing but you know she doesn’t like doing nothing unless it’s with Joel. She’s trying to get out of your arms the second you’re at the top of the stairs. You set her down in the entryway and she’s already running into the kitchen.

You don’t want to snoop but you actually get to take a good look around as Ellie settles in front of a pile of notebooks and a mess of crayons on the kitchen floor. It’s a pretty open floor plan, the kitchen and living room are all one big room and from the looks of it they must watch Ellie often, an outsider would assume they have a child of their own. A play pen is set up on the floor of the living room and toys are scattered everywhere.

“Are you hungry, sweetie? Do you want something to eat?” There’s different snacks on the counter as you walk over to where she’s playing.

“Yes please.” Her voice is clear and high pitched, you’re actually a little surprised, you didn’t even know she could talk, she’s always silent when you’re around. There’s an assortment of different things on the counter so you just find something that’s already open. Handing her a little container of apple puffs, she doesn’t look up from her drawings, just blindly reaching over and grabbing a handful as you sit at the counter to watch over her.

She’s a very well behaved baby all things considered.

You have to stop her from drawing on the walls a few times and at one point she stuffed a handful of food between the couch cushions but other than that she’s rather relaxed. She sits and draws mostly, only occasionally getting up and doing a few laps around the room before returning to her papers.

At one point she makes her way to where you’re sitting, slapping your leg to get your attention until you pick her up, she points to the window above the sink and when you take her there she simply stares out at the trees.

She’s focused on the woods as you watch her expression, her face is oddly serious.

After a few minutes you set her down, unease filling your body. She doesn’t seem to mind though as she runs back to her drawings, you return to the counter, checking your phone for a few minutes until she appears in your peripherals once more, tapping your leg again, handing you one of her drawings.

At several different moments this week you’ve thought that you’ve reached your breaking point.

None of those compare to how you feel when you pick up the paper Ellie had been scribbling on.

It’s crude and mostly indiscernible but you know exactly what you’re looking at.

A monster.

A broad shouldered, sharp toothed, crayon monster.

You stare at the little girl, trying to keep your composure as you pick her up, setting her in your lap and pointing at the mess of scribbles on the page.

You feel crazier than ever, asking a toddler for help but no one else is around and you’re running out of options.

“Can you tell me what that is, sweetie? What did you draw?” You hand her the drawing back which she crumples a bit in her fist before setting it on the counter, you point again at the creature. “Ellie, honey, can you tell me what this is please?” You’re doing your best to keep calm as she kicks her legs a bit before staring up at you with a frown.

“Daddy?” For someone so small she speaks so loudly and clearly, but you just shake your head.

“I know, honey, you want your daddy, I wish I knew where he was but you’re stuck with me today.” You smooth out her hair a bit as she scrunches up her face, looking rather upset.

“Tío.” She points down at the drawing before looking back at you for approval, you just smile. You feel like an idiot. Asking a child for help. A child who can barely speak.

“It’s okay, you’re too little to understand.” You hold her under one arm as you walk around the counter to the fridge. “How about I get you some juice.”

You find a clean sippy cup, pouring her some apple juice before setting her back down, handing her the cup and searching through your bag.

“I almost forgot, I got you a present.” She perks up immediately, setting her cup down as you hold the little white book out towards her.

“Thanks!” Her eyes light up as she takes it from you, it’s one of the few times you’ve seen her smile without her father being in the room, sitting on the floor before looking back up at you, tapping the spot next to her until you sit as well.

“Do you want me to read it to you?” You watch as she sets it down in front of her, she’s surprisingly gentle as she flips open the cover.

“No thank you.” She’s enraptured by the illustrations, not caring for the text, laying down on her stomach, and sitting up on her elbows as she slowly flips through the pages, her eyes wide as she points out everything she sees to you. You rub her back, nodding along, you’re mostly just happy that she’s excited.

She kicks her feet as she explains the big red bird on the page to you. After a few more minutes of her babbling she turns the page again.

Jabberwocky

She giggles wildly as she points at the page and suddenly you’re filled with dread all over again. She’s positively captivated by the drawing, refusing to turn to a different page when you urge her to move on.

You don’t speak again until Maria comes upstairs to check on her, when you do it’s to tell her you aren’t feeling well, and you’re going home.

You’re going on a monster hunt.

There’s nothing left to do. You need to soothe your fears before you lose it completely and you aren’t going to stare at the trees and wonder for the rest of your life.

You stop at one of the tourist traps in town, you need supplies for tonight.

A camera.

It’s an easy in and out stop. You buy a polaroid camera, and several packs of film.

No one will believe you otherwise, you’ll be ridiculed the same way they did Darlene. You think of her as you walk back home, what if she was right about everything? She spent her life in fear of a monster no one believed in and they mocked her for it, and at the end of the day she might have been right.

Maybe the monster is real and it isn’t Joel.

Either way you’re going into the woods tonight. Your backpack is packed with the essentials, your water bottle, camera, an extra film pack, one of the knives from the kitchen (wrapped in a towel,) and a flashlight.

Once you’re packed you put your boots and jacket on and head out.

It’s like everything quiets down the moment you step outside. The forest hums, beckoning you in, and how could you refuse such an offer?

You manage to keep your hands steady as you flip the switch on your flashlight, stepping into the trees. It feels so much colder now than it did when you were walking home.

With dusk settling the sun is no longer there to keep you warm or to guide your way. You haven’t actually seen much of the forest, so you decide to walk in a straight line to avoid getting lost as you carefully step over a tangle of roots. As a child you loved nothing more than playing in the woods behind your house. But after just half an hour in these woods you suddenly resent the trees, they no longer bring you any comfort as you carry on into the cold dark night. You’re just about to give up and turn back around when suddenly something changes.

Without warning and with seemingly no cause you feel a chill rush through your body, your hair standing on end. Your blood runs cold and you hear a sound you’re all too familiar with at this point.

The tearing sound rips through the air.

Your instincts tell you that you’ve become prey rather suddenly in this situation but you can’t turn back now, not when you can prove to yourself that you aren’t losing it.

As quietly as possible you reach back into your pack, grabbing the camera already loaded with film and holding it in your free hand. The beam coming from your flashlight trembles slightly as you carry on towards the noise.

It’s louder than it ever was in the dreams. In the dreams it was subdued, almost as if you subconsciously knew that it couldn’t hurt you. As you carry onward you can’t help but wonder if you’re just imagining it at this point. It doesn’t seem to get louder as you walk. It simply fills the air completely, you’re being directed purely by your instincts. You know it’s this way as you move forward a few more steps.

You scan the trees with your light, seeing nothing out of the ordinary until you finally see it. Your finger instinctively flips off your flashlight.

You almost didn’t catch it.

But your legs keep moving and you get closer and closer to the hunched figure.

It’s hard to describe, like your eyes don’t want to accept what you’re seeing. A voice in the back of your mind tells you that you’re getting too close but you can’t seem to stop yourself as you carry on until you can get a good look at it.

You can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as you realize it isn’t Joel. But that relief only lasts a moment as you see what you’re actually dealing with.

You aren’t sure how big it is. It’s big. That much is clear but it’s crouched down, it’s almost human, it may have once been human. You’re having trouble making out most of it in only the moonlight. It’s less broad than the illustrations you’ve seen, almost slim, with how close you are now you can see that it’s eating.

A buck, one of the biggest ones you’ve ever seen is splayed out across some rocks. It’s stomach has been ripped open. You watch, with morbid fascination as it digs its maw deeper into the gore.

How curious, it’s wearing clothes. Or at least the remains of some clothing, a bit of fabric clings to its crooked spine, it wears the tattered collar of a shirt like a necklace. Navy blue sweatpants stretch around the creature's waist, the fabric pulled taut, it looks like they make it just past its knees. The elastic around the ankles has snapped.

The funniest part of all of this is that you feel nothing but fear for the creature. You aren’t disgusted and you certainly don’t hate it. You’re just afraid, so afraid that before you can slap your hand over your mouth you burst into a peal of laughter.

Fuck.

It all happens so fast, you aren’t ready in the slightest to be face to face with it and suddenly you are, purely on instinct your hand twitches and with the flash of the camera you get a single moment to stare at it.

It’s so close to being human.

It’s mouth is too big, a blood soaked tongue falling past a row of jagged, pointed teeth. It’s almost like someone stretched out a person's face like it was made of clay. And it’s male. Intricate branching horns stretch out from under the hair crowning its head.

“The doe’s don’t have antlers.”

Your dad was a hunter, you know your antlers, you aren’t exactly sure but if it was a deer it would be a thirteen pointer. You should run, you’re about to but then you finally look it in the eye, just as the final remnants of the camera flash flicker out.

There is something worse than hunger, or thirst, or rage in its eyes, if that was all there was you could scream or cry. But this leaves you frozen in place.

Recognition.

Like it knows you.

And the moment it recognizes you it snarls, an ear-piercing sound that rips through the quiet of the forest, blood spewing from its maw at you, flecks of crimson tint your clothes and hands as your eyes go wide.

It’s a good thing your legs move faster than your brain, you’re already sprinting away from the creature.

You lose your flashlight almost immediately but you know where you’re going, you couldn’t be more thankful for your decision to go in a straight line. You don’t stop moving, running blindly back the way you came, never once daring to look behind you.

You know it’s there, you can hear it, and you can feel it.

Its breath is hot on your heels, you can hear the branches splintering directly behind you. Everything is a blur, stray branches sting your exposed skin but you don’t stop, you can’t, your muscles ache as you push onward, keeping your hands out in front of you to guide you through the darkness until you finally see the road up ahead.

You’re nearly there, almost feeling relief, almost.

An icy hand wraps around your ankle, you’re yanked backwards before you can process what’s going on, your back dragging across the forest floor and in an instant you’re beneath it.

This is it.

You wanted a monster, you got one. And now you’re going to die for it. It snarls as its maw falls open, you’re face to face with a row of shimmering, gore smeared teeth. This is it.

He smells like cinnamon.

It tilts its head ninety degrees, its jaw closing in on your throat as you close your eyes, tears now flow freely down your face and finally you can’t contain your terror anymore.

You scream.

A trembling shriek falling from your lips and much to your confusion a killing blow never comes. After one more shuddering breath you open your eyes only to find you’re just staring up at the trees. You sit up, still out of breath.

He’s a few feet away now.

Thrashing around frantically as he stumbles backwards. As if your scream had upset him. He bellows, his twisted hands clutching his skull like he’s angry with himself. You cover your ears instinctively when it snarls in pain.

He can’t help it.

You’re scrambling to your feet once more, giving him one final glance, you look into each other's eyes.

“Run.”

It speaks.

You break into a sprint once more, not daring to stop until your feet touch pavement. You don’t get the sense that you’re being followed anymore but you’re still in shambles. The adrenaline is slowly starting to fizzle out and you’re painfully aware of the wound you sustained during that encounter. Your ankle is torn up, two deep gashes from where it grabbed you are bleeding an alarming amount. You stumble, the sight of it making you nauseous.

You get a moment's respite and you manage to compose yourself enough to retrieve your phone from your pocket. Walking backwards, keeping your eyes on the forest as you slowly continue to back away. In your desperation your blood stained fingertips frantically swipe across your phone screen, you don’t realize until it’s too late that you’re calling the only person who isn’t going to answer.

Yet when you bring the phone to your ear you hear a click.

“Joel?” You can’t fucking believe it. He actually picked up.

“Sweetheart? Are you okay?” He can definitely hear the panic in your voice.

You just break down.

“I’m by the road, on the way from Maria’s to my camper, I- I need you to come get me, please, it’s- it’s following me, but I think I lost it please, Joel.” You’re in hysterics as you catch a glimpse of one of the few streetlights down the road. You hear the sound of keys and you swear you hear Maria saying something in the background but you’re too frenzied to focus on that.

“Who’s following you? Stay right there m’on my way.” You can hear the truck starting in the background as you keep running, not daring to stop even though it doesn’t feel like you’re being pursued anymore.

“The monster… in the woods… it’s not a bear Joel.” You’re out of breath when you finally stop, standing in the middle of the road underneath the street lamp, spinning around to try and somehow keep an eye on all of the darkness around you.

“Stay where you are, I’ll be there in two minutes, okay? Stay right where you are.” You’re about to beg him to hurry when the line goes dead.

You must look like a mad woman. Standing in the middle of the street, covered in blood, and spinning in circles to try and keep an eye on every single direction as you listen for any signs of movement.

Your heartbeat never slows, you can hear it pounding in the crushing silence that surrounds you.

It only takes a few minutes before you see headlights approaching in the distance. You don’t even let the truck come to a full stop as you open the door and jump in, closing it behind you as you scramble towards Joel as if he could protect you from the goliath you saw in the darkness.

“Drive! Now Joel, go!” You yell as he accelerates just to the point of following the speed limit as he heads towards your camper.

“Bunny, please, calm down.” He wraps the hand that isn’t on the steering wheel around you but you shove him off, sliding back to the other side of the truck.

“Don’t tell me to calm down, Joel, not after what I just went through, I saw it, a real monster grabbed me.” You’re stumbling over your words, trying to get them out as quickly as possible.

“Slow down, just tell me what happened.”

“I told you on the phone, I just found a fucking monster, Joel, that’s what happened.”

He’s gone silent now.

He probably thinks you’re crazy.

That’s fine. You know you aren’t, you saw it, watched it feed. There’s deer blood on your boots.

“You didn’t see a monster.” When you look he’s shaking worse than you are. You don’t dare turn your head further but you watch in your peripheral as he grips the steering wheel, his knuckles going white.

He’s lying.

Why would he lie?

“I did, I took a-.” You reach into your bag and your stomach fills with dread as you realize you dropped the camera.

“You didn’t. You’ve been spending too much time alone, and you shouldn’t be going out in the woods by yourself to begin with.”

“And who’s fault is it that I’ve been alone?” You snap.

He doesn’t have a response to that. And you don’t have anything else to say, not like he’d believe you if you did. You should probably break up with him, for several reasons.

Except you can’t.

If you do, how will you stop people from being needlessly murdered? He may not be the monster, but he knows something, and you need to find out what it is.

So you’ll ‘forgive’ him. Again. Because you need to get to the bottom of this.

And maybe, despite it all, you’re still terribly attached to him. He keeps disappearing, without warning and with halfhearted excuses as to why and all you can think about right now is how badly you missed him, and how badly you need him.

“Does Tommy have Ellie tonight?” You mumble, trying not to sound too irritated.

“I was stopping in to see her before leaving her with Maria for the night when you called.”

“Why?”

“I was gonna come over here and apologize.” He sounds just as sincere as he did last time but you still scoff.

“What’s the excuse this time?” When you turn to scowl at him he looks guilty.

“I was out of town on a work trip.”

“And you couldn’t answer your phone.”

“I forgot my charger at home.”

It’s a preconceived lie. You’re certain of it based on how quick he replies, and it’s not even a good one. He could have borrowed a coworker's phone or bought a new charger; it wouldn't have been difficult. But he doesn’t want you to know where he really was.

Every bit of this confuses you.

You saw something in the woods, but it wasn’t Joel? Joel was with Ellie and then he was with you, he couldn’t have been slaughtering lost hikers. It doesn’t make sense. One thing is for certain though, and it’s that you can’t break up with Joel until you know what's going on or more people are going to be killed by that thing you saw in the woods. You aren’t really sure what to call it, but you know that you found the thing that’s been killing.

And he knows something about it.

He had no reason to get as rattled as he did if he didn't know something about what you saw. So you can’t break up with him, not until you figure this all out. Until then you just have to play the part of a clueless, loving girlfriend. Which shouldn’t be too hard considering the fact that for some reason there is still a sick and twisted attraction to him despite everything you know, settling in your stomach. You bite your tongue, going the rest of the short drive in silence. When he finally pulls up to the camper the engine goes quiet as he turns the key. You had no intention of inviting him in but you won’t stop him if he follows.

You slam the truck door shut, stomping up to the door, his footsteps following close behind.

“Let’s talk about this.” He reaches for your arm as you’re unlocking the door but you just shove him off. You leave it open, kicking your shoes off as you slip out of your jacket as you flip on the lights.

“I don’t want to talk.” He shuts the door behind him, you note that he locks it behind him.

How presumptuous.

Correct, but presumptuous.

“You’re clearly upset, bunny.” He kneels down, untying his own boots before kicking them off. You glare down at him until he stands, trying to pull you into his arms but you just shove him away again. His eyes go wide as he takes you in.

Based on his reaction you really must be quite a sight.

“Jesus, you’re a mess.” He looks genuinely concerned but you brush it off.

“Thanks.” You scoff but when you look down you realize you’ve been leaving a trail of blood in your wake.

“Do you have a first aid kit?” You should send him away. Tend to yourself and go to bed, but instead you just point to the cabinet containing the kit, sitting on the table as he retrieves it, tossing it down beside you. He doesn’t ask what happened, grimacing as he lifts your leg to examine your ankle.

He doesn’t need to ask, he knows what happened.

He tends to your wounds in silence. You wince as he wipes the lacerations on your ankle, they look bad enough that you consider just going to the hospital but he doesn’t seem too worried. They’re just shallow enough that you don’t think you’ll need stitches.

You don’t watch as he sprays it with antiseptic, quickly wrapping it in a layer of gauze and then bandages.

When he’s finished you’re ready to get angry with him all over again but the moment you open your mouth to yell at him he grabs you by the chin, taking a clean piece of gauze and gently dabbing the thin cuts that litter your face.

You stare up at the ceiling light, refusing to meet his gaze.

He tends to every one of them, taking extra care as he smears ointment on each one. When he’s finished he takes anything bloodied and gathers it in his hand, standing to toss them into the bin under the sink. You don’t turn, but out of the corner of your eye you see him bring his hand to his mouth.

Your blood.

He tasted your blood.

You can feel the bile rising in your throat but you just swallow it back down.

“Now we can talk.” He makes his way back over to you but you just shake your head.

“I already told you, I don’t wanna talk.”

“Bunny-” He takes another step towards you.

“Shut up.”

“Don’t be like that.” There’s real remorse in his eyes, you might even feel bad if you didn’t know that he was lying to you.

“Shut. Up.” You push him so he stumbles back onto the bed. “I’m not crazy.” He props himself up on his elbows to look at you as you say it.

“I know.” He sounds almost apologetic.

“Take your clothes off.” You mumble, already tossing your shirt to the side.

“Are you sure?”

You’re sure that he knows what’s out there in the woods and he isn’t telling you.

“I am.” You kick your jeans off to emphasize your point. You know he won’t deny you this. Whatever sick, unexplainable force pulls you into his arms affects him as it does you. You don’t just want him, you need him.

You hadn’t realized it until he’d disappeared again, but now you couldn’t be more aware. It’s as if your entire life you’ve felt wrong. You’ve been in a state of discomfort for as long as you can remember, like a vital part of you was missing. But you got used to it, and you learned to live with the odd sensation of never feeling like you're in the right place, nowhere ever felt like home.

Joel feels like home, in a sort of twisted way.

From the moment you first saw him everything cleared up. It was like you had finally found your center of balance, and when he disappeared he took all of that with him.

This is more than just attraction.

With that he tugs his flannel off, you grab the bottom of his shirt, impatiently pulling it up over his head, not wanting to look him in the eyes, you stare at his shoulders as you climb up onto the bed, straddling his lap.

“I really think we should talk-” He starts again so you reach behind yourself, unclasping your bra, glaring at him as you let it drop.

“Then talk.”

He looks at you like you’re something to eat.

“That’s not fair.” He finally manages to pull his gaze off of your chest, looking you in the eyes, his pupils swallowing his irises leaving you to stare into the darkness of his eyes.

“There’s nothing to talk about, you went away for work and you forgot your phone charger.” You reach between the two of you to remove his belt, tossing it behind him on the bed before trying to unzip his jeans. “It was just an unfortunate series of circumstances.” You grumble before lifting yourself off his lap so he can shove his jeans off.

He’s glaring at you now. Good. He should know that you’re challenging him. Everything from this point on is a game, you just have to catch him in a lie. You grind down against the straining fabric of his boxers, hands on his shoulders to balance yourself as you rub yourself against his clothed erection, drawing a hiss from between his teeth. Before you know it his hands are gripping the hem of your panties.

“Go on Joel, rip them off. I know you’re plenty capable.” You say it like the accusation it is. He’s strong enough to do a lot of things, you aren’t sure if tearing a person in half is one of those things but you’re determined to find out. He knows what you’re implying but he does it anyway, grabbing the fabric on either side of your hips and easily tearing them to shreds.

“You don’t know what you do to me.” He murmurs, leaning forward to press his forehead to yours.

You do.

He does the same to you. A carnal desire, your most basic human instincts are reduced to nothing the moment your skin is against his.

You don’t waste any time, slipping your hand under the waistband of his underwear, watching his cock spring free, slapping against his stomach. You unceremoniously spit in your hand before taking him in your fist, watching his jaw go slack as you rake your nails against the underside of his cock, feeling him twitch in your hand. You keep your eyes trained on his face as you notch him at your entrance, tilting your head to the side as you hesitate.

The veins in his neck jut out as you slide the head of his cock over your clit, hissing softly as you do.

He’s purposefully showing restraint.

He clutches the sheets, his knuckles go pale and you can’t help but wonder if he isn’t touching you because he’s worried he’ll hurt you.

“Fuck me, Joel.” You lean forward, biting his stupidly plush bottom lip. He doesn’t move his hands from where they are and you can’t help but scowl against his mouth.

He’s holding back.

He knows exactly what you’re doing and he’s trying to prove you wrong. How long has he been holding back?

In one sharp motion you slide down on his cock, forcing an obscene moan out of yourself, but it isn’t loud enough to cover the ripping sound. Your eyes wander downward, his are rolled back but all you can focus on now is your torn bed sheets in his clenched fist.

Holy hell.

“Fuck. Me.” You rasp out, lifting your hips again before dropping them back down. His head falls forward this time, his mouth latching onto your shoulder, muffling his growl.

You know that growl.

“Fuck me or leave, Joel.” You take his face in your hand, roughly pulling him back so he’s eye to eye with you.

You heard that growl in the woods less than an hour ago.

“You’re playing with fire, bunny.” He glares at you but you just stare right back.

“I won’t say it again.” You give him one last warning and he finally brings his hands to your hips, with a grunt he lifts you up, slamming you back down on his cock, you can feel him brushing against your cervix as you cry out.

At his age he shouldn’t be able to do that.

He does it again, moving you like a ragdoll up and down on his length, a lewd squelching fills the air, egging him on. He tilts his head down, his teeth scrape against your breast, and you can hear a roar building in his throat. He fucks you like a fleshlight, moving you effortlessly up and down on his cock, your chest bouncing with each thrust.

He shouldn’t be able to do any of this.

Neither one of you speaks, you can feel the camper swaying ever so slightly as he slams into you, thrusting his hips up to meet yours as he pulls you down onto him.

He makes it look effortless.

Another growl rips through the air and you know neither one of you is gonna last long if he keeps going at this pace. He hammers into your sensitive spots with every thrust, your clit rubbing against the dark curls along his pelvis.

He’s merciless with the force at which he moves you, he’s started nipping at your shoulder and you know he’s close as they get harder and harder. You finally feel him break the skin and just like that he’s lifting you off of him, his mouth clamped down on your flesh, you feel his cum between your legs as he finishes on your folds. The sensation of him slipping out of you sends you over the edge right along with him, your stomach tightening as you groan, letting your head fall forward onto him.

You feel better already.

Not good, just better.

He manages to keep you both upright for a few more moments before collapsing down on the mattress with you in his arms.

And then it’s just quiet.

Until the mattress squeaks as you get up. Wiping yourself off with a towel and turning the lights off before returning to bed without a word. He’s the one who finally breaks the silence.

“If you want me to leave, I’ll leave.”

“You can stay.” You mumble, rolling over to face away from him.

It’s better if you know where he is.

That’s what you tell yourself.

It’s easier to swallow that excuse than the truth, that you can’t shake the terror from your encounter with the creature and now amount of fucking is going to change that. You don’t want to be alone, no matter how angry you are. He doesn’t seem to take the hint though, snaking his arm under yours and pulling you to his chest.

You start to push him away but you feel a wave of calm wash over you when he does so you just settle back against him. You close your eyes, praying sleep might come but all you see in the darkness is that open maw closing in on you.

You know that growl.

It isn’t Joel. It can’t be Joel, he was with Ellie and then he was with you.

It wasn’t Joel.

You’re more than used to waking up in the woods at this point. Monsters and men torment you in your dreams whenever they get the chance to.

But tonight is different.

You don’t feel the cold, wetness of the forest floor on your back before you open your eyes. Instead you only feel steel, you make an attempt to sit up on instinct but you can’t. In a panic you open your eyes to find yourself cuffed to the cadaver carrier from Marias basement.

This can’t be happening.

This is the kind of dream you get after your first body.

You’ve had this dream, years ago when you’d just started studying mortuary sciences. Although now it feels worse, more ominous than it had previously.

That probably has to do with the fact that you can’t move.

In response to that petrifying thought you begin to uselessly tug on the cuffs, your ankles and wrists attached to the cold unforgiving steel of the table you’ve sewn countless bodies back together on.

You don’t strap cadavers down, there’s no need to.

The door swings open and you’re thankfully able to sit up enough to watch Maria and Joel walk in, solemn looks on both of their faces.

You open your mouth to call for help but something stops you.

No.

No, no, no.

Your jaw is wired shut.

The sudden realization makes you gag as you shake the table with the force of your panic.

Maria is always thorough, your mouth is full of cotton.

They act as if you’re as lifeless as any other corpse as they stand beside you, despite your muffled screaming, tears immediately flowing from your eyes as you feel your throat constrict around the cotton.

“What happened to her?” He sounds so far gone even though he only stands a few feet away.

“You know what happened to her.” Marias sorrow turns to a look of resentment as she turns to Joel.

“Bear attack.” He says it more to himself than to her.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“You never do.” Her voice is full of a hatred you haven’t ever heard in reality.

She looks at you with a pity you’ve had on your own face before. It’s the same look you give every corpse on a table.

You follow Maria’s gaze down at your body and find your chest sliced open, the inside dry.

And then you wake up.

Of course Joel is there when you sit up in bed with a strangled cry, a fresh flood of tears falling down your face.

“Bunny?” His groggy, sleep ridden voice resembles a growl, sending you backwards away from him, your back hitting where the mattress meets the camper wall. He’s already up, he moves towards you but the moment you flinch away from he stops. “Are you okay? What hap-“

“Don’t come any closer.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Thankfully he doesn’t move towards you, he holds his hands up ever so slowly. He’s acting like you’re a cornered animal.

You can’t seem to find your voice. Every single logical and rational part of your body and mind tell you to get as far away from him as possible. To fight tooth and nail to get past him, to run away and never look back. You’d never get away with that though, he’s too deeply rooted in you already. He’s made for you. Sculpted by the gods to be everything you’ve ever wanted all in one neat little salt and pepper package, served up to you on a silver platter.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay, you’re okay.” He inches forward a bit but the way you pull your legs up against your chest, trying to make yourself smaller makes him move back. “It’s okay, it’s just me.”

Yeah Joel, that's the problem.

a/n : i have such mixed feeling abt this chap but whatever i really like it so ?? idk

I am no longer doing taglists so follow @lincolndjarinnotifs and turn on notifications to be notified when new chapters are posted !!

#lincolndjarin #joel miller #tlou #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #tlou hbo #joel tlou #the last of us hbo #monster fucker #monster lover #monster romance #oh honey #fic : oh honey

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ddmmyuta · 2 years ago

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mark lee as a boyfriend…

ok so like MARK LEE (or should I say spark-lee) is such a cutie. like imagine him as a boyfriend… soooo cute! he is always smiling and giggling with his goofy ass laugh, he just loves spending time with you (which is hard because ehem ehem sm).

his ideal date with you would either be baking some random shit or getting coffee at a cute café. when you two bake you are like the mother giving your child (mark) the bowl with ingredients and spatula and you just ask him to mix it. he can’t do anything else, cause let’s be honest, around you he can’t focus straight. you are so special to him so I also think he likes café dates so that he can look into your pretty face, drinking coffee/tea while you ramble about global warming��slay!

he is not so touchy, but he does hold your hand when you go for walks and he does give small pecks on the cheek from time to time. I feel like mark is more of a ‘acts of service’ type of dude… he will hold your bag when you tie your shoelaces, bring you flowers and your favorite drink, make you a corny card for every accomplishment… that type of stuff. he texts you a lot since sm uses him like a aespa robot and he can’t always see your cute face, loves to FaceTime and calls you every week at least once like with his mom (y’all are cute).

you are the funniest human to him, imagine the amount he laughs around Johnny times 10, like he thinks every phrase coming out of your mouth is pure comedy. he stares at you frequently cause you are the moment, you are his princess/prince, you are his watermelon. he loves everything about your appearance but he especially loves your mouth: the way it smiles, talks, kisses… he just loves it.

anyways, hope y’all enjoyed! get some sleep y’all mark stans gotta sleep on behalf of him lmao!

song for this fic:

youtube

#mark lee #mark nct #mark x y/n #mark x reader #nct127 #mark fluff #nct smau #nct smut #nct fluff #Youtube

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anawrites3 · 6 months ago

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Hellooo 💕

For the wip ask game I’d love to know more about Neil and aggressive omegas💕💕💕💕💕

Omg so sorry I missed your ask! Thank you for taking interest 💕

I'm gonna assume 'Neil' is autocorrect and you actually meant nwil haha It's short for 'not what it looks (like)' and it's a 4+1 polycule Teen Titans story where Jason, Tim, Damian and Duke each think that Dick is dating someone else and they caught the suppoused SO "cheating".

We have Duke thinking Dick is dating Wally and then seeing Wally with Artemis, Jason thinking he's dating Roy and seeing Roy with Kory, Tim thinking Dick's dating Joey and seeing him with Garth and Damian thinking he's dating Kory and seeing her with Donna. Cass and Steph are not in because they know they're in polycule lmao

The +1 is when they all decide to tell Dick that his suppoused SO is cheating on them and they make it a big thing with calling everyone into one room to announce it. The best thing is, Bruce had no idea at all that Dick is dating anyone and now he's learning that he's dating not one but multiple partners haha

A snippet;

Wally was Dick's boyfriend. They didn't exactly announce it when Wally was introduced to him but Duke would have to be completely stupid not to see it. The way they were always pressed close, the mere way they looked at each other with so much love and trust. So of course Bruce had to hate Wally. Of course Damian, who often acted like a guard dog when it came to Dick, hated him too and both Tim and Jason acted disgusted by all their flirting. And they flirted <i>a lot</i>. "Come on, babe." Wally whined into Dick's shoulder. He had his arms wrapped tightly around Dick's waist and was doing his best to distract him from cooking. Duke, who came to the kitchen to do his homework in peace, pretended not to even notice them. "Just this once." "No, Walls." Dick laughed, swatting at him with a spatula. "And don't try to change my mind about this, it won't work." "Are you sure?" Wally purred. Duke lifted his head just in time to see the way he slipped his thumb under Dick's shirt to stroke at his bare hip. "I heard I can be very convincing." "Not in front of my baby brother." Dick scolded and actually hit Wally's arm this time. Duke blushed and lowered his head sharply. "Oh, come on, I'm not even doing anything." Wally grumbled but came back to simply hold Dick's waist. "And Duke doesn't mind, right dude?" "I don't even know what you're talking about." He denied, scribbling furiously in his notebook. "Yeah, sure." Dick drawled sarcastically, before adding. "You don't have to put up with his bullshit, Duke. You can just tell him what a loser he is, like everyone else does. He won't even mind." "Hey! You love this loser!" "Do I?" Dick teased with a smile. His eyes were shining when he looked at Wally over his shoulder and the redhead answered by shifting minutely, in a way that brought their faces closer. "I don't think Wally's a loser." Duke said loudly to interrupt their moment. They seemed very happy and in love and you know, good for them but they really didn't have to make out in front of him. Or so close to the food. "You're a great guy, Wally. I don't get why other guys are so mean to you all the time. " "Aww, thanks, little bat!" Wally sent a smile his way and winked. "You're my favorite too." "Ekhem." "Second favorite," He corrected himself quickly, hooking his chin on Dick's shoulder. "That goes without saying, babe. Anyway, I think they're just jealous. Y'know, of my speed, my hilarious jokes and obviously my good looks. Who wouldn't be?"

And this little moment :3

"With Wilson's son?!" "Bruce, it's not-" "Does Wilson know about this?" Bruce demanded. Oh yeah, Slade knew it all right. He walked in on Dick and Joey in one of his safehouses, in full Deathstroke regalia and a gun in hand - Dick was never going to live that one down.

And aggressive omegas is a fic based on that post that showed some animal dynamics anddd the last part about hyenas the "males will present their erections to females to show submission the same way other animals present their throat" got me like 👀👀👀 And I thought about the wolrd where omegas are the more aggresive ones. Especially when they're in heat - they're almost feral then.

So Slade wants to help Dick through his heat because he's sure he'll be able to handle him and of course Dick agrees because heats are much better when alpha is helping out even though it doesn't happen often because alphas are mostly afraid of omegas in heat. And at one point Dick manages to pin Slade down and he bites him bloody so to calm the omega down at least a bit Slade decides to show submission

And it does work and make Dick all pleasant because his alpha is showing himself off so nicely :3 and then they fuck nasty lmao

A lil snippet;

The smell of in-heat omega hit him as soon as he opened the door. Slade stopped in front of the apartment, his hand still on the doorknob and he took a moment to just enjoy the smell. It was sweet but not overwhelmingly so, caramel-like and Slade wasn't usually a big fan of sweets but this one made saliva gather in his mouth. He waited a short moment to let that scent wrap around him, enjoy it some more before finally stepping over the threshold. He got just enough time to close the door behind himself and turn the key to properly lock it, before a quiet creek sounded behind him. Body slammed into him, throwing him to the ground and normally Slade would just dodge it and attack back before the other person knew what was happening but this time it wouldn't do him any good. Dick Grayson seated himself over his hips, fingers digging into Slade's wrist to properly pin his hands on the floor by his head. Dick's upper lip was curled up in a sneer as he growled, pupils dilated and sharp fangs displayed in warning. "Omega." Slade greeted and Dick's nails dug into his skin even more.

Thank you for asking!! 💕💕

#anon #my reply #wip ask game #my writing #sladick #wallydick #birdflash #polycule #teen titans polycule

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angelxd-3303 · 2 years ago

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Could you maybe show us how the whole Luigi coming out thing went down? I feel like that’d h a funny experience! I low key think Mario would know Luigi was into guys before he did lmao! Because have you seen his interactions with Prince Peasley? Definitely not straight-

Well, not overly funny; this is based a lot on my own anxieties over coming out. I do imagine Mario knew, but perhaps he just kinda assumed that Luigi knew what he knew(?), and was surprised that Luigi thought he'd think any less of him.

--------------------------------------------------

Mario had suspected that something was up, but when Luigi refused seconds on lasagna night, that was the last straw. He set the spatula down, eyeing his baby brother.

Luigi was practically swimming in his brother's hoodie; he'd snatched it up immediately after Mario got home from work. He pillowed his head in his arms, peering up at Mario with inquisitive eyes. Mario sighed, pushing aside their plates to sit down at the table. He wrapped a beefy arm around Luigi, hugging him to his side. He could feel Luigi shaking, and his worry spiked.

"You feeling ok?" He murmured. Luigi hummed, shrugging.

"Weegie, c'mon. You've been acting odd all week. You barely sleep, you hardly eat...you seem stressed all the time. I need you to talk to me." At his words, Luigi let out a small sob. Mario scrambled to embrace his brother.

"Oh, hey... It's ok. Whatever it is, we can work through it. You can talk to me." He assured. Luigi sobbed, burrowing deeper into Mario's hoodie. Finally, his voice came out broken and strained.

"I'm...I'm just...scared. I'm afraid that it's gonna change things. I'm afraid you're gonna..." Luigi's body shuddered, and he sniffled.

"I'm afraid you'll hate me." Mario's heart dropped. Hate him? What happened? There was a moment of silence, then Luigi took a deep breath.

"I think...Mario I...I like-I like guys. I'm...I'm gay." After the stuttered confession, Luigi broke into sobs.

"Don't hate me, please, don't hate me!" He wailed. Mario shushed him gently, rocking back and forth. He looked up at the photo of their parents on the wall.

"You know fratellino, when Mom and Dad left us, I promised that I'd take care of you. I promised that I'd never stop loving you. You're my baby brother. I'm sorry you think I'd ever hate you, because that means you don't know me as well as I thought you did." He turned Luigi's face up to look at him. Big blue eyes were glassy and filled with tears.

"I will always love you. I don't care if you like boys, or girls, or anything in between! All I care about is that you're happy. I love you, ok?" A wobbly smile peeked through the tears.

"Really? You're not mad?"

"No! No, fratellino...Non potrei mai odiarti*. Never, never..." Relief seemed to emanate from Luigi, and the younger brother deflated in his arms. Mario cooed softly; Luigi must've been worrying about this for days...that explained why he hadn't been sleeping well.

"Va bene, ti portiamo a letto**." Luigi nodded with a wet cough. Mario stood, letting his brother lean on him.

"C'mon, let's get you to bed. I'm off tomorrow, so why don't we go over to that coffee shop you like? We can talk about it more if you want."

--------------------------------------------------

Italian translation (from a translator online, forgive me if I'm wrong):

*"I could never hate you."

**"It's ok, let's get you to bed."

#luigi #mario #coming out #drabble #kinda angsty #angst with a happy ending

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tododeku-or-bust · 2 years ago

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Have you got any head canons on Patrochilles as a married couple(i don't mind any universe)? I just finished ur Patrochilles parenthood series on AO3 and LOVED every letters of it and can't wait to hear more :D Thank you so much for your Patrochilles works and hope to see u often! Have a nice weekend😄😄😄

First, thank you so much for reading it ❤️😊 I'm delighted to hear you liked it! I hope to keep your interest with my current Patrochilles works.

Ooh, that's a hard one lmao, it's so broad. I have a LOT of married Patrochilles headcanons. I can give you a couple from the different universes, i suppose:

Hades (Post Canon)- After some time together, in their home in their new glade, Patroclus remembers how Odysseus used to talk about building Penelope a bed, and he decides to try his hand at building a marital bed. It's not Odysseus' great creation, but Achilles absolutely cries about it when he gets to visit home and sees it. Then they use that bed thoroughly 👀👀 it is strong and stable

Football AU- They'll invite their old and new friends over for barbeques every now and then (and it lets the kids play) and Patroclus is a master on the grill. Achilles is wine dad/bro, as he cannot be trusted with the spatula. Philia will wholeheartedly laugh at him and his attempts at bbq.

In general: while Patroclus will never let Achilles do anything to style his hair, he trusts and loves him enough to let Achilles wash his hair and oil it, or help take down a style (this is especially intimate for Hades!Pat, as access to locs are considered very exclusive to trusted people only)

I hope you have a nice weekend too! ❤️

#anon #ask #Patrochilles #hades Patrochilles #tsoa Patrochilles #tsoa

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n0ctiluntill · 1 year ago

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PLEASE expand more ok your niigo revstar au.

tbh i never thought about this au seriously so much that even in old sketches i just gave ena a spatula and mizuki a scissors as weapons lmao. a lot of people have actually drawn niigo in revstar and i liked the idea of putting them who work side by side like a family against each other to defend their goals and motivation (and mafuyu trying to get the jacket off her shoulders with her own hands because the motivation to "go ahead and be perfect" is gone) if you have any thoughts too, I'd love to hear them!

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jayjtheunsispiciousmelodicathem · 2 years ago

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I think what's important to remember about cooking is that, like it or not, a dish exists in a certain context, that will affect how it's made or sometimes even enjoyed.

Mother cuisine, cultural exchange, availability of ingredients (which in turn is dictated by geography and how developed a country is), technology available, amount of people being cooked for, hell, even just the exact form of housing someone lives in (and the exact kitchen they're in), and not to mention the cook's and consumers' taste (which, unlike with books, games, or movies, there is actually accounting for) and abilities - it all affects how people cook

I could bring up xeno-american cuisines compared to the xeno cuisine's country of origin as a very fine example here, but I'm actually gonna bring up a very simple example of how my own cooking has changed with the change of circumstances I live in:

So I'm an autistic, Polish college student (italian studies), who lives in a dorm. The moment I moved into the dorm, the context of my cooking has changed DRASTICALLY: I have only two pans and one pot, three knives, a bunch of latex and wooden spatulae and other tools (including tongs), three bowls, a few instances of tupperware, a colander (this one will be relevant), at first no fridge but roommate secured a small one and is nice enough to share it with me, I buy ingredients as I need them in small quantities and using them as soon as possible, have to use a communal kitchen (which is sordid a lot of the time) with a gas stove (until I moved into the dorm I only used induction) that's relatively far away from my room (meaning I have to put everything I need for a dish into a bag or a box and carry it over in one or two goes).

It's inconvenient to cook for me in the dorm to say the least, but I cook anyway because I know how to, and honestly in the long run it's cheaper for me than McDonald's, and definitely way more healthy

Now, one of the dishes I cook the most often, because of how simple yet tasty it is, is spaghetti aglio e olio (living up to my major lmao).

Now, a typical recipe for SAeO is: boil pasta, fry minced garlic in olive oil (depending on recipe: also add chili flakes), save a tablespoon of pasta water and drain the pasta, mix herbs and spices into the pasta, and then toss the pasta with the garlic oil and the tablespoon of pasta water in the pan.

the first time I made SAeO it was exactly that way, and you know what it was like to me? Tedious. I hated the thought of losing any of the noodles to the dirty sink, so instead of putting the colander in the sink and pouring the contents of the pot into the colander, I began holding the colander above the pot, and fishing out the pasta with tongs (also makes it easier to use the pasta water too!), but it was still tedious to do. Not to mention the colander meant one more thing to wash before eating (communal kitchen = it's annoying when you leave your stuff there for too long), and one more thing to pack into a plastic bag when preparing for cooking and going back to the room.

So you know what I started doing instead? I simply fish the pasta out of the pot with tongs, and put it directly into the pan with the garlic oil (where I also put the herbs and spices because it brings out more of their flavours and aromas) with no draining. It achieves the same effect as saving that spoon of pastawater, while being more convenient in the context I find myself in, and in the long run in probably any other context I might find myself in (I still do that when I come home for holidays, because it's simply so much more convenient).

Now, if I have any Italian followers, I'm sorry if this method is unorthodox or otherwise inauthentic, but that's simply the adaptation I made in the context I found myself in, and the final result tastes just as good using either method!

Same goes for ingredient substitutions - if I can't get pancetta for my carbonara, I'll just use one of the many Polish wędliny (smoked meats), because that's the context I find myself in, and it will taste just as good as it would if I used pancetta.

I do not claim my versions of dishes to be authentic, of course, I only want to make it clear, that all the changes I make to the original dish stem from the context I found myself in.

There is one joke-anecdote I've read somewhere that went a bit like this: Someone makes a roast for their guests and they ask why did they cut off the ends of the roast meat before cooking. The host answers "oh, that's because how my mum did it, and that's how she taught me to do it!" So the guests asked the host's mum, and she said "oh, that's because my mum did it, and that's how she taught me to do it!" This continues a few generations back, until one of the fore-grandmas answers "that's the only way it would fit in the pan for me"

It's very possible that his ancestor's ancestors did the roast WITHOUT cutting off the ends, but because that one fore-grandma's pan happened to be smaller than her ancestors', she had to adjust her method.

And I think that sums up everything about cooking, really. You cook with what you have, what tools you have, what you know works, what you find out works et cetera, et cetera. And as long as you don't fight others on what's "authentic" and what's "fake", and instead focus on saying "oh, I tried to do it this way recently, and it was so much easier/tastier/less messy/etc" it's 100% fine.

#jamie's diatribe #long post #cooking #tips #everything exists in a context #pondering #contemplating #thinking #analysing #analyzing #because you americans decided to make spelling harder for us non-native english speakers /lh

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lilalbatross · 2 years ago

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5, 10, 15, 16, 19, 27, 29, 30 for the ao3 ask meme <33

oh boy okay here we go

5. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

definitely Anything for you, my Shoresy fic. teeny tiny fandom for a weird niche canadian hockey comedy, but the response i got was really lovely and it's somehow in my top 5 for kudos, comments, and bookmarks. that was the first thing i posted after a couple brutal months for mental health and writers block, so those comments and stuff are really special to me

and then a special mention to chapters 6 and 7 of Austin Alone because people came fucking flying out of the woodwork to scream at us within the first couple hours of posting lmao i don't think i'll ever see anything like that ever again

10. What work was the quickest to write?

oh hands down it's What the fuck is with the spatula?, which i wrote in a single 4ish-hour sitting and a lot of that time was spent rewatching the Are You The One? ep they're watching so i could get the sequence of events right lmao. look, i just have a lot of feelings about drunk idiots brute forcing their way through complex probability with a spatula, and i needed to project that onto my otp

15. What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

dragging the carcasses of so many half-written fics, but trying to actively work on Acesodyne, which is a billy x owen post-1x07 multichap canon divergence about injury and music and grief and healing and i’m trying not to let it spiral out of control and it may not ever get posted even if i do finish it but hey we’ll give it a shot.

also determined to actually finish Downpour, which literally started as just “i bet if they stood in the rain Billy’s hair would get in his face and it would be cute and Owen would kiss him about it” and somehow turned into a bit of a trauma and body worship thing??? idk don’t ask me i don’t have any answers but i do have a 2.5k partial draft that i should put some hours into

16. What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag?

lol it's "Established Relationship" from all my billy x owen oneshots where they're together at the start and i'm not giving you all the fucking backstory for how that happened, just jump in and we're off.

(...but also you and i know that the "how that happened" is usually Austin Alone if people know what details to look for lmao)

19. What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

i don’t see myself drifting away from billy x owen any time soon, so definitely gonna keep thinking about those bastards more than literally anybody else in this fandom (except you lol). i also want to do more Shoresy/Goody. i wrote the one oneshot, but i have a multichap outline that needs some massaging and i think could be interesting. and i get to slam more canadiana into fic, which i really can’t do when all my other shit takes place in texas lmao

and then i’m sure i’ll get surprised by a pairing and end up spitting out something isn’t even on my radar yet. who knows, maybe i’ll finally find a Ted Lasso pairing that i want to write about. Colin and...[insert name here idk we’ll see but if i write about anyone it’ll probably be Colin]

27. What do you listen to while writing?

*gestures vaguely at my entire spotify wrapped* no but seriously. depends on the fic but i’ll generally have a playlist, album, or even song that i loop for each fic. sitting there long after midnight had a very angsty playlist. touch the sky and bite the asphalt was Maneskin’s album Teatro d’ira hence the fic title. i’m pretty sure with a gift for burning was Let Me Drown by Orville Peck. Acesodyne’s playlist is heavier on acoustic guitar/pop-punk because it’s a lot of songs that i know how to play on guitar so i can connect a physicality to what i’m trying to write

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

gonna resist every bone in my body that wants to be self-deprecating and couch this with all the weaknesses i see etc etc. big fan of this paragraph from with a gift for burning:

So many voices he wants to hear tonight. Numbers he knows by heart, burned into his muscle memory and connected to nothing. Harkes’ line had stayed in service the longest. Nobody canceled his contract, and it rang to voicemail for months before the unpaid bills piled up and his line was cut off. Billy called, again and again on bad nights, until his mouth shaped the words in time with Harkes’ rhythm. “Yo, it’s Jake. Leave a message if you want, but you should have just texted.” The last time he called, a confused teenage girl picked up and Billy threw his phone against the wall.

I was a little drunk when i wrote it, and then when i reread it i immediately had a moment of “oh :(” and then i knew i was onto some shit and it helped me break the direction the rest of the fic was gonna go lol

30. Biggest surprise while writing this year?

I did not expect my stuff to steer so hard into angst quite as much as it does???

but also in some ways biggest surprise was just that i...can... (don’t look at me)

send me ao3 wrapped questions if you want

#asks #long post #hello pal do you want an essay i have written you an essay

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dxckgrxsonx · 2 years ago

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HOLY SHIT JASON TODD DICK PIC STORYLINE PT. 2 PLEASE ON MY HANDS AND KNEES BEGGING, SOBBING, ETC.

Eat up my love!! I’m loving this little storyline and I’m so glad you want more. Only best friends send nudes to each other lmao.

You can’t even look at him.

It feels a lot like vertigo, feels like your whole world has been turned on its side. Upended, or maybe even rear ended to leave you spinning and desperately trying to correct the uncontrollable tailspin of your life.

Jason isn’t exactly small–not anymore anyway. He’s a brick wall at the best of times and when he puts on that helmet he swells to nearly untouchable. He’s carried you home drunk, he’s let you sit on his shoulders to reach the top shelf in the supermarket.

He’s big.

But after seeing that photo on your phone, you’ve been forced to realise that Jason Todd is big everywhere.

“I can’t even fucking look at you.” Hiding your face with one hand, you use the other to bring your custom made ‘worlds worst friend’ mug to your mouth. The coffee burns your tongue and Jason pauses in flipping the pancakes on your stove.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart. It was just a photo of my dick, it’s not like I dropped my pants in front of you.” Jason replies, pointing the spatula in his hands at your face. “It’s not my fault you can’t look me in the eye.”

“I’ve seen your penis!” You exclaim, eyes darting everywhere but his face. “It’s kind of difficult to look at you when I’ve seen something like that.”

Jason rolls his eyes and goes back to making breakfast, “It’s not that big of a deal you know.” His eyes suddenly light up, a smirk lifting his mouth at the corner and your stomach immediately flips on its side. “I mean, if you want to make it even, you could always show me one of those nudes you were on about?”

Something coy rubs up your spine and for the first time in three days you look him in the eye, “Wanting some new material for those quiet nights at home, huh?”

Jason swallows, the smallest flush of pink caressing his throat. You’re quickly no longer in the mood for pancakes and coffee and that photo flashes up behind your eyes like it’s ingrained across the inside of your skull.

“Jus’ want to make it even.” He finally gets out. “And I wouldn’t say no to having a pretty picture of you.”

“What? All the selfies I send you aren’t good enough?”

Resting his hip against the counter, Jason levels you with an unimpressed glare but you see the glimmer of laughter in his eyes, “The last selfie I have of you is the one you sent me whilst in the bath.”

Recognition flares awake and you snigger, “Oh, the one where I made a beard out of bubbles?”

“Yeah, and let me tell you, it’s still funny.”

Putting your mug down on the counter next to your thigh you pick up your phone, “Tasteful or slightly slutty?” You ask. The heated look Jason sends your way answers the question without words. “Slutty it is.”

It’s not the most scandalous photo you’ve taken of yourself, but it’s definitely not the most innocent either.

The photo shows you in front of your bedroom mirror, knees slightly bent and legs parted far enough to reveal the thin scrap of red lacy underwear barely covering anything. You’re bare from the waist up and use your phone to cover your face.

It’s a fairly simple pose but there's something about it that you know will drive your best friend insane.

Jason’s phone chimes when you send the photo and he wastes no time in picking it up to look at the screen. Waiting patiently for a reaction you study him intently, reading every slight shift in his weight.

“Are those what I think they are?” He finally asks and you notice straight away how strained his voice is.

“Mm-hmm, they were part of a set.” You confirm. “Who knew they did Red Hood lingerie, huh?”

Jason glances up, his pupils so dilated you can hardly find any colour there at all, and turns so his body is facing away from you.

“You’ve got a hard on, haven’t you?” You tease, ruthless.

“Shut up.” Jason chokes, unable to put his phone down. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

Your smirk comes easy, “It’s not that big of a deal you know.”

“If you say another word, I’m throwing your pancakes in the bin.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader drabble #jason todd x you drabble #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd fic #jason todd fanfic #red hood fic #ella writes #asks #answered #anonymous #💕💕

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captainsimagines · 3 years ago

Text

dreaming in june || ten

Summary: At the request of an old friend who now happens to be the new Captain America, you move to a place that only vaguely feels peaceful, to secretly protect his best friend. There you meet Bucky Barnes, your next door neighbor, who has also lived countless lives, seen a lot of things, and lost the one he loved. You have more in common than you thought.

Pairing(s): Bucky Barnes x (F) POC Enhanced Reader

Based on the Song(s): Heat Waves by Glass Animals and iann dior ; Coney Island by Taylor Swift and The National

Series / AO3 Link / Playlist

(10/15)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY; smut; unprotected sex; oral sex; rough/emotional sex? (lmao you’ll see what I mean); strong language; discussions of cults; emotional angst; Steve Rogers, baby, why did you do what you did; mild violence; blood; whoop! DEMONS!

Word Count: 7,420

Author’s Note: That warnings list is a doozy. xxMoni

“The Immortal, the Bleeding Heart, the Forgotten, the Shield.”

“I was thinking—“

“Oh, no.”

Bucky sends Sam a glare across the kitchen counter. Sam continues making the eggs, unmoved.

“What were you thinking about, James?”

“I call you by a different flower everyday. Do you want me to call you by your birth name, or continue with my nicknames?“

Your birth name hasn’t been uttered by anyone since Ari, with the exception of Sam very rarely. Even Druig refrains from calling you it—“Princess” is his go-to. You’ve never even told Bucky your birth name, but you assume Sam told him.

“Why do you call me by different nicknames? Why not settle on one?”

Bucky shrugs. “I didn’t plan on it. You just buy, wear, or smell like a different flower everyday.”

“Weird that you notice that, Buck.”

Bucky grabs a banana from the fruit bowl and chucks it at him. Sam jumps, the sudden movement sending scrambled eggs to the floor.

“Those are yours,” Sam grunts, pointing the spatula down. Bucky rolls his eyes.

You try and fail to contain the incoming grin. “Who am I today, James?”

Something shudders behind his sternum. Something sweet and familiar.

Bucky scans you over, trying to keep his eyes focused on the important features. You’re dressed in a large, pink knit sweater that reaches your knees, with white leggings and fuzzy pink socks. Your red nails are a dark contrast against the colors, especially with the way you’re hugging one knee against your chest and steadying yourself on the stool.

He loves your hands. The hands that have wiped his brow and fed him, held his own and waved him off, flipped him off and welcomed him home. He thinks about the way your fingers curl when you use your magic, the way they seem to change in color. He swears he has seen ink, like a tattoo, crawl up your arms and to your neck. It all depended on which hand you used.

You applied an artificial blush to your cheeks and lips today. The make-up you use always seems to have some glitter infused in it. He scans your hair, your eyes, your nose, your cheeks, your lips—if Bucky thought red did it for him, pink certainly lights a switch as well.

The thoughts bombard him—those pink lips on his neck, leaving their innocent mark. Those lips connecting to the base of his neck, to his chest, where your tongue would finally peek out and brand him as yours. Lower, lower, lower, until those pink lips swallow his cock down and stain the tender skin, up and down, until his harsh thrusts smudge the perfected outline. Then he’d finish on them, watching as his spent dripped down your chin as he tugged you back up, and smashed his own lips over yours, licking and tasting himself on—

He clears his throat and shifts in his seat. He looks around the room, hoping no one watched him practically defile you with his stare alone. Peter smirks at him from the sofa, his eyebrows raising and falling, like his stupid spider-sense can scent the arousal.

Bucky quickly diverts his eyes.

“Poppy,” Bucky declares. “Ancient Greeks associated poppies with Demeter’s daughter, right? She had something to do with the seasons and agriculture. You said your mother was gifted. So you’re Persephone in this equation. Or, poppies like, for the Ancient Egyptians—they associated them with eternal life. Plus, you look preppy today. Preppy, poppy.”

Everyone stares at him.

“If my question gets a ‘yes’ answer, I’m going to tease the ever-living fuck out of you until we die,” Sam starts. He shuts off the stove and turns his whole body to Bucky. “Have you been googling these damn flowers and their symbolism?”

Bucky turns scarlet. “What else was I supposed to do on that ten hour plane trip—”

Sam erupts with laughter, Peter following.

“Poppy,” you repeat. You say it a few more times, testing it out. Bucky turns his attention back to you, where he finds you unmoved from his confession. He watches your lips softly smack together. Poppy, poppy, poppy.

“Are you fine with the nicknames? Do you want me to call you by your birth name instead?” Bucky whispers, clenching one eye shut when Sam laughs even louder.

You shrug, even if what you’re about to say is a big deal. “By calling me multiple names, it may seem like you kill me off the next day. But that’s fine because you make me into something new. Ari was the last person to call me by my birth name—and that name, sadly, is dead to me. Even on official documents I use a different spelling. So please continue to call me by what you see. I like that you take the time to see me.”

But you told Sam. Bucky wonders if Sam knows what honor he had been given.

“Well, then. Poppy.” Bucky’s smile is electrifying. “Up for a museum trip today?”

For a history buff, you hate museums. You can stand art museums—those ones you do find joy in. Some of the paintings and statues were created during your lifetime. Hell, you were alive for some of the Renaissance. When you woke up, the 1600s only brought more art with it.

But natural history museums…Something about them makes you want to crawl underneath the bed and never come out. The stuffed animals are fine, so is the evolution section, and some historical art. But the New World section…

The lights are dimmer than the rooms where they house earlier history. It’s the same way in all these sections: Egyptian history, Mesoamerican history, Native American history—all of it is stored as if its people are extinct, as if the culture has dimmed throughout the centuries. You don’t believe all that light-preservation bullshit.

Whatever you think you’re expecting isn’t at all what it was.

The Mesoamerican section is dimmed, yes, but there’s so few items that it actually tears your heart in two. The small room does its best to showcase the wonders—the pottery, the jewelry, the stone art. It’s both suffocating and amazing.

You carefully navigate through the small aisle, around glass cases and standing nameplates. Bucky, Peter, and Sam follow closely behind, but keep their distance. They too are relearning history.

Scraps of clothing, old bows, colorful blankets, baby shoes, instruments. A flute, still intact, has its own glass box. You don’t bother reading the information plaque.

You can hear it.

Closing your eyes, the first notes of whistled breath begin to take form. It starts as one long whistle, until it becomes lower, lower, higher, lower. Paired with the mellow beat of the drums. The sound carries through the tents, over the river, up into the trees.

In the late 1600s, you remember walking through an Italian marketplace. Packed, busy, bustling. The sound of a flute had caught your attention, then the beginnings of a brand new instrument. Four strings, one bow, on the shoulder of a boy no older than ten.

It was the first time you had ever heard a flute and violin pair.

And next to the flute’s case—a case containing all found jewelry.

The jade stones stand out from all the rest. Even with dirt along the thread and some of the stones cracked, it’s an exact replica for the one you still have. The bracelet you haven’t worn in so long. The bracelet that was stored in the box you brought in the bottom of your suitcase. The bracelet burning a hole in your coat pocket right now.

Pressing your hand against the glass, you swallow down the tears. It’s sitting right there. A piece of Ari. And you’re so far away.

“Excuse me, ma’am. You can’t touch the glass.”

But you don’t hear them. Your top lip greets a stray tear.

“Ma’am…Ma’am.”

“I booked a private tour for a reason. Can’t you see she’s visiting family?”

The security guard startles, clearly confused. He looks at Sam then back to you. “These things are older than some of the castles here.”

“And in a world full of aliens, Gods, and supers—How do you know she isn’t seeing her own jewelry from that long ago?” Bucky nudges Sam’s side with his elbow. But Sam doesn’t back down, his eyes flaring with threats.

“I still can’t let you touch the glass. It’s my job to say this. I’m sorry.”

Peter stands next to you, staring at the same piece of jewelry. He reaches down and grabs your hand, his grip powerful.

“For his soul to rest, I need to rebury him.”

Peter chooses his next words carefully. “Does the museum have him here?”

His bones. His remains. His corpse. Say it, Peter. Just say it.

“Druig told me they did.”

It was a blessing they hadn’t put his bones on display. A small, but glorious miracle.

“So then he’s in storage?”

You grunt, your face contorting into an expression of disgust.

“Ma’am. I can lose my job. Please, just…Just stand there without touching.”

You turn to the security guard. Sam is ready to fight, and Bucky’s holding him back. But your lips twitch into a small smile, and you nod at the guard.

Reaching into your coat pocket, you reveal the matching bracelet. Your bracelet.

“It’s part of a pair,” you say, rolling the bracelet over in your hands. The guard looks from the case to your hand, no doubt wondering if it’s an exact replica or if you stole it from one of the cases.

“That one was my husband’s. We didn’t do rings back then.”

We didn’t do rings back then.

Rings.

It clicks for Bucky quicker than it does for the others.

The bracelets are your wedding rings.

Bucky gasps, covering his mouth. Sam looks close to breaking the glass open and stealing it back. Peter simply grips your hand harder.

“I am going to get it back. I am going to get him back.”

Sam’s got a set of balls for going toe-to-toe with the Director of the Museum. He’s already contacting Margot, lawyers, and museum directors who are known for returning human remains to descendants. Bucky watches you flash Sam a grateful smile, then move on to another exhibit with Peter right next to you.

He doesn’t want to leave Sam alone, but he clearly has it handled. Clearly. Bucky’s afraid that if he interrupts, Sam might backhand him.

So he ventures into a different part of the museum. Past the dinosaurs, past the stuffed exotic animals, past it all. He enters the room labeled “Recent History” and knows exactly what he’ll find.

The snap. The fall. The blip. The fight. The fallout. The reconstruction.

It’s weird reading about it. It’s weird watching people live a whole five years and not having any memory of it. This time, however, the memory loss wasn’t intentional.

The timeline of events is printed on the wall, spanning past all four corners and wrapping back to the front door. Bucky walks through the first year.

Chaos. Governments falling. Grief.

Year two dealt with more grief, but also radical change. World hunger lessened, borders opened, laws were changed.

Years three and four was more fixing, fixing, remembrance.

The final year—the fight, the return. Steve Rogers. Natalia Romanoff. Tony Stark.

He stares at the hyper-realistic painting of Steve on the wall, leading them all into battle. The shield broken, his lip bloodied, his hair unruly. The same expression Steve wore in all those back alley fights.

Bucky blinks back the tears and grimaces.

It hits him violently. Seeing the timeline, seeing how it coincidentally ends with a painting of Steve—Tony is painted on the wall behind him—a brutal, fierce hit.

He’s been torturing himself. The timeline was basically a timeline of the years he lost, of the years Steve lived. And the second that timeline ended, Steve chose to go back to the beginning.

Bucky’s been torturing himself. Love isn’t supposed to be torture.

He just witnessed the weight of your love when you held up your matching bracelet—your fucking wedding ring—and he’s been crying over this? Over something he never fucking had?

“The timeline wasn’t over, Steve. It wasn’t over for me.”

Bucky backs away, nearly tripping over a stroller, and heads for the entrance.

Bucky stares over the expanse of the cliffside, hands fisting against his thighs. His lips wobble as he tries to think about anything else, anybody else, but his mind keeps conjuring images of Steve.

Bucky believed he had already gone through the anger phase and was basking in the mild glow of acceptance. But here he is, anger pooling in his chest and a metal arm that won’t stop whirring with the need to hit something.

The air is cold and the clouds are bringing in a thunderstorm. He wishes for a breeze of heat, the weather of New York—and it’s pissing him off. Can’t he escape that half of him that New York has in a vice?

It’s all hitting him at once.

Steve left when the world was thrown into another form of chaos.

Steve left when Bucky wanted nothing more than to finally relax.

Steve left when everything was finally good.

Steve left him with unanswered questions and a weird feeling in between each rib after telling him that everything would be okay.

And everything had been, all things considered. Bucky hasn’t put a gun in his mouth, no matter how much he’s imagined it. He’s been on dates, he’s fallen for someone new, and has made new friends. He got a goddamned cat, for crying out loud.

And Steve isn’t here to see him flourishing. All that fighting, all that angst and drama, all those empty praises Steve spit were all pointless if he wasn’t going to stick around long enough to see Bucky making the best of what he’s got.

He may be suffering with heartache and addiction, but he’s alive and that’s damn enough. His best friend left him for someone else, someone Steve knew for such little time. After growing up together, sharing each other’s dreams and breaths, saving each other’s lives for over a century, Steve still left him.

And Bucky Barnes is angry.

“Fuck!” Bucky screams, long and painful and thunderous. His scream echoes horrifically, like a ghost calling for their lost love, like a town screaming at a ship to stop before they crash land, like a man who’s finally breaking. He screams again, longer this time, until his lungs burn. He clenches his fists to his chest and screams again, unaware of your presence creeping up behind him.

He sobs with dry eyes and stares at the waves crashing down below. They’re hypnotic, enough to distract him.

After a moment, Bucky turns to you. The wind whips your hair around and nips at your cheeks, so Bucky focuses on that. You don’t look like you’re going to judge him, or even try to talk to him.

Instead, your chest heaves once, then twice, then you’re expelling a heart-wrenching scream over the same cliffside. A long scream too, one that rips through the fog and gives Bucky an inside look at five hundred years of history. But he knows you’re not screaming for it all. Just like him, you’re screaming for the love you lost. Anger, humiliation, and heartbreak are all mixed into that scream, he can tell. It matches his.

“I hate him,” Bucky says, glancing at you momentarily.

You don’t turn to him. Instead, you nod facing forward.

Then, like he knows it’s the thing you’re not verbally expressing, Bucky crumbles and sobs again. “No, I don’t.”

“They’re both gone, James. It’s up to us to move on.”

“You think I don’t want to?” Of course Bucky wants to move on, wants to think about Steve and not feel his heart crack. He feels all these things for you and it scares him—but there’s no guilt.

If he moves on, then Steve truly is gone. No matter how many times that reality slaps him in the face, moving on would seal it. But he doesn’t feel guilty about it. He thought he would. It pains him. He wants to move on. If skipping the pain was possible, he would move on in a heartbeat.

“I feel it too.” You reach over and grab at his fingers. You’re barely holding hands, but it’s the contact that’s enough. “But we owe it to them.”

“I don’t owe Steve anything.”

That declaration surprises the both of you. Abrupt declarations are always rooted in truth.

“Then we do it for ourselves instead.”

You text Sam that you and Bucky took a taxi and are heading back to the house. He messages back saying him and Peter are going to grab some dinner.

You and Bucky had sat by that cliffside for an hour, freezing and teeth clattering. But you stayed.

Bucky’s angry at halting his own life, at a time he finally got it back, for something he can’t change.

You’re angry at living for ages, experiencing all there is to know, and not noticing that a part of your soul wasn’t at rest.

Or Ari’s soul. He did say you were bonded.

So it’s your soul, too.

Once your bones hurt and Bucky’s shoulder went stiff, you finally went home. You poured yourself some tea, Bucky already sipping his.

“The last time I slept with someone, it was to spite Steve.”

You sputter around the teacup. Bucky’s got that determined flare in his eyes, the one he gave you when he attempted to reassure you about the test results, the same one he gave you when he told you to come to him if you ever wanted to put another bullet in your mouth.

You tread lightly. “When was this?”

“France. 1945.”

You nod, a small urge for him to continue.

“I saw him with Peggy and I just…snapped. I went to the first bar I could find that wasn’t bombed and picked the prettiest girl. Went back to her place and fucked her as slowly as I could. I didn’t want to leave. First time she came, I used my mouth. The second time, she came when I was inside her. Third and fourth time? Same thing. I was with her for a total of four hours. And the second I left her, I broke down. It wasn’t her fault at all. It was me.” Bucky breathes, voice shaking. “I have been punishing myself all because Steve didn’t like me back?”

You swallow through the lump in your throat. Bucky didn’t tell you that story because he wanted to gloat—he hates himself for tearing himself apart.

“You have every right to be angry with him.”

“But I’m letting it control me.”

You can’t just say “then stop it”. What good would that do? Besides, you understand him completely. For decades, centuries, you have let your love for Ari guide (not control) you down paths in life. Whether they led you to good ones, or ones that destroyed you from the inside-out.

“Do you feel guilty about liking me?”

His head snaps upright. You’d be insulted if you didn’t already know he liked you back.

He reaches across the kitchen counter, gripping your chin between his thumb and index. He holds you still as he says, lowly, “All the times I have thought about being with someone new, I have felt guilty. Like I was betraying Steve. Like I was hurting myself. But then you—”

Your blood stops circulating.

“I look at you, and I don’t feel guilty. Not one bit. Not at all. I thought I did, but that’s because I was so used to feeling that way.”

Your breath brushes against the palm of Bucky’s flesh hand. He closes his eyes and fights the shiver that races up his spine.

He steps down from the barstool, the sunset lights cascading over his shoulders. “Everytime I think about being with you…I don’t think about Steve at all.”

He places himself in front of you, his toes touching yours, his brow connecting to yours as he leans down.

“I think about kissing you, and only you. Touching you until your whimpers turn into pleasurable screams. I think about your mouth on me and around me. Your hands pulling at my hair, my hands pulling at yours. I think about being between your legs, tasting you, drinking you in while you fist the mattress. I think about having you on your back and on your stomach, against the wall and on the fucking floor. You have no fucking idea how badly I need to be inside you. To fuck you, make love to you, cherish you. My body craves you. I want you, because I want you. And that about makes me so fucking happy, and so fucking terrified.”

You choke on an inhale. Bucky’s breath mixes with yours, hot and heavy between the small distance of your trembling lips. His hands skim your waist, barely touching as they work up and down. Little fires erupt, tingling and blistering your skin.

A voice in the back of your mind mockingly mutters, You’re a rebound. And he’s yours.

The thought extinguishes the moment Bucky’s lips connect with yours. Shocks begin at your fingertips, trail up your arms, to your neck, igniting something that has lay dormant for centuries.

It’s too much—too much.

The press of your lips becomes stronger, and once Bucky’s tongue slips out to kiss your bottom lip, you become languid. Wobbly and healed and so fucking high it has you pressing your upper half to him, for an overwhelming second, before you jump to hook your legs around his waist.

Bucky anticipates this. He holds you against him by gripping your ass, hot and cold hands squeezing with abandon. He walks you to your room, his breath mingling with yours, small pants escaping when your hands go up to his hair and pull.

He kicks the door closed and falls onto the bed, careful to not crush you. But his care is quickly scoffed at—your legs pull at him with a strength he hasn’t considered.

You’re enhanced. You can take it.

“This is it, Poppy.” The nickname bristles you. “You have to tell me now. You want to do this?”

His eyes are like crystals. Beautiful crystals that sparkle from the mere sight of you. You’ve seen them shine whenever he woke from one of his hangovers, whenever you boxed his dinner, whenever you opened the damn door. Now they sparkle similarly, but with an added honesty.

You run your thumb across his swollen lips, some of your pink lipstick passed on to him.

“I’m honestly surprised we haven’t before.”

Bucky chuckles, peppering kisses down your chin to the column between your collarbones. You arch into him.

“What makes you say that?”

You do your best to shrug while laying down. “I read too many novels.”

This time, Bucky can’t help but laugh louder. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him up to kiss him deeply. Same way as you do for him, Bucky opens up without protest.

“Do you want it soft and slow? Or hard and deep?”

You haven’t been fucked in years. Most of the people you’ve been with have been the slow and sensual type. Not that that’s bad—but fucked? That was over five hundred years ago.

“Hard and deep, James. I’m not fragile.”

Bucky growls, deep and low. The sound travels from your chest to your core.

Remove my clothing. Fucking remove my leggings, James.

As if he read your mind, Bucky keeps his lips on your neck as he rips your leggings down your thighs. Down, down, until he rips them off your bare feet.

“God,” Bucky rasps. His forehead comes to rest on your heaving chest.

“What?”

“The serum.”

You pull yourself up, resting on your elbows. “Are you okay?”

Bucky growls again, his hand gripping your outer thigh. “I can scent you.”

“Make me feel insecure right now and I’ll murder you. I can have the trees pull up their roots and they’ll feast on your decaying corpse for decades.”

He lifts his face to give you an incredulous look. His mouth parts, then snaps shut.

He shakes his head, a strangled laugh held tight. “You smell fucking incredible. And that threat almost made me come in my pants.”

Your shoulders drop in relief. As if to make his previous statement law, he pulls your underwear down with the same force he used when ripping off your leggings. The fabric leaves a burn on the skin of your thighs.

Bucky wastes no time. He dips his head, settles his hips on the bed, and slants his greedy tongue directly over your clit. You yelp, hips jacking upward and nearly punching Bucky in the face. But he’s quicker, and his metal arm holds you down.

Killing you slowly, drowning you in a pleasure that keeps your chest heaving and thighs trembling.

Bucky, for the life of him, doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop. The memories of decades ago float into his mind, providing him with the muscle memory of how to do this. Because if Bucky had to bet on something right now, it’d be that past Bucky Barnes definitely found the taste of pussy delectable.

He lays his tongue flat, providing that amazing pressure you seem to love, then he’s closing his lips around that same spot. Sucking, kissing, angling his tongue to the point he has you screaming.

That’s something Bucky missed too—the sound of a woman crying out from what his mouth can do. He wants to bottle up that beautiful sound you’re making and listen to it the next time he has his hand wrapped around his cock.

If he is lucky, if the Gods grant him a wish, then Bucky won’t have to use his own hand anymore. He might be able to listen to that perfect sound while he has you on his cock instead.

He nips at you, the feeling of his teeth sending you over the edge. The scream you expel turns into a grunt instead, then a squeal as Bucky continues lapping at you.

“James—James, fuck.”

“Come again,” he orders. He holds you down by the sides of your hips, bruising you with care. His flesh finger slips inside you, and that has you writhing.

It’s not enough. Bucky knows it isn’t enough. But he fucks you with his finger, working his way up to two, until his palm smacks against your mound with a squelching rhythm that has you near sobbing.

His metal hand snakes up your waist, past your stomach, and balls your sweater up into a tight fist. He pushes it up, up, balling it against your sternum. You deemed a bra unnecessary today considering the heavyweight sweater. Your breasts bunch underneath the pulled fabric, until the force of Bucky’s push has them reaching a limit. Once they’re presented to him, he sucks a nipple into his watering mouth.

The combination of his fast-moving hand and magnificent mouth is otherworldly. Bucky graduates to three fingers, the stretch welcoming but intense.

He has really big fingers. Three together is about the size of your largest vibrator. He forces them in, past your tight squeeze, past the astounding wetness, fucking you with such precision.

“Come for me,” he breathes. “You have no fucking idea how badly I want to fuck you.”

You can tell. If this is how he fucks you with his hands—

You erupt, hands sprawling over your head to grip at the sheets. Bucky kisses you, even as you scream, until you’re kissing him back feverishly.

He laments pulling his fingers from you, but that only invites the alternative.

Bucky quickly undresses, all the while watching you. You already look fucked-out, blissful and head hazy. The only sign of continuation he gets is when you pull the sweater over your head, baring everything for him.

He tries to catch his breath as you both study each other. He knows he’s littered with scars and healed skin, slash marks and burns.

There, right where your heart is, is a puncture wound from that damned arrow. Bucky makes it his life mission to heal it with his kiss.

You knew he was sculpted. The amount of cardio this man does—fuck. Your eyes fall to below his waist. You bite your lip, taking his cock in. Definitely bigger than your sex toys.

He crawls back onto the bed, eyeing you with a gentle wariness. Like you’re going to change your mind. Second guess this—second guess him.

You pull him to you, latching your eager lips to his, and push whatever love you can into it. Laying a palm on his chest, you share your endless heartbeat.

Bucky grips you by the back of your neck and meets your eyes. “You want to know something?”

“What’s that?”

“If you were to tell me to go, I would beg on my knees to stay.”

Your breath catches. Bucky Barnes, the legendary Winter Soldier, the powerful White Wolf, begging to be yours?

Slow, excruciatingly slow, you drop your knees apart and open yourself to him.

Bucky breathes in slowly, most likely scenting you, and loses control.

Good. You want him to lose all of it.

He pushes you down until his chest meets yours, crushing you underneath his heat. He’s heavy, but it’s nothing to you. You might not have super strength, but you’re able to withstand weight.

Like a tree who houses its many inhabitants.

Bucky pushes into you with a low grunt, his teeth clenched together. Slipping in was so easy, so fucking glorious, he can’t fathom what it’ll be like to do it over and over.

You whine, moving your hips in a small circle. You’re adjusted, you’re great—if only Bucky would fucking move.

“Bucky,” you gasp, feeling him go impossibly deeper. So fucking thick and hot. “Fuck me until I beg you to stop.”

He fists your hair at the back of your head, and pulls your head down into the pillow, bearing your throat for him. With a bite, Bucky slips out until his cockhead remains, and slams back into you with a curse on his lips.

Bucky certainly fucks like he’s got a reason to. You know he feels something deep for you—he made that obvious—but you also know what else he’s sharing. His grief, his individuality, his personal control.

It’s something he was able to decide for himself without anyone else’s influence.

You’d let him fuck you stupid if he needed it.

Your legs lock around his waist, pulling him deeper with each harsh thrust. The force reaches something brilliant in your core, like Bucky’s fucking a tight coil to the point where it’s going to explode. Scratching an itch you couldn’t reach. Imprinting himself at your base.

Bucky grabs onto the headboard, and with that newfound steadying factor, he fucks that coil until your clenching around him, coming with an intensity that makes the veins in your throat expand.

God. You hope Peter and Sam are having a long dinner.

The thrusts have stopped. Coming down from the pleasure, your back falls down onto the mattress. Bucky looks down at you, his hands still braced against the headboard.

“Three times,” he gloats.

You breathe deeply, mouth dry. He grins, a wolfish one, and moves his hips slowly. You whimper, oversensitive.

“Make it easier on me,” you plead, glancing down to where Bucky’s moving inside you. The sight has you reeling, groaning in euphoria.

“How?”

The slide of his cock is so fucking filthy. So fucking flawless.

“Throw me down at the edge and do all the work yourself.”

His eyes go from regular black to some impractical, void black. “I’m already doing all the work.”

“If I wasn’t so floppy right now, I would flip you over and fuck you until you said sorry.”

Another sultry grin. “Promise?”

The Bucky Barnes of the 1940s seems to have made an appearance tonight.

“Before the others return, James. I’d rather you come inside me when they’re nowhere near.”

Come inside me.

That would turn any man feral. Bucky slips from you, missing your tight warmth immediately, and helps you to the end of the mattress. There, he pushes you down onto your stomach and shoves your thighs apart after placing a pillow beneath your hips. Your head hangs off the edge slightly, arms languid.

In this position, Bucky just about adopts the mindset of an alpha asshole. Coming inside you, gripping your hips for his enjoyment, fucking you relentless?

He’s already bitten you. He’s passed that alpha line a hell of a long time ago.

When your legs are spread as far as Bucky wants them, he covers you with his body and drives his hips forward, reaching brand new areas that already have you whimpering.

This position is one that’s going to kill him. He’s going to think about this feeling, the sight of your perfect ass, the sight of your cunt presented for him, for fucking ever.

Bucky moves his hands over yours, lacing his fingers through the tops of your fingers. He fucks you hard, fiercely, taking his cues from the squeeze of your cunt and your fingers in his.

There. There. There!

Your mouth parts in a silent scream, your saliva staining the sheets below. For the fourth time, Bucky draws an earth-shattering orgasm from the pits of your fucking soul.

He fucks you through it, the thickness of his cock bringing tears to your eyes. The delightful stretch, the perfect burn—if he doesn’t come in the next minute, you’re going to start vibrating.

“You are the best thing I have ever felt,” Bucky breathes in your ear. Goosebumps erupt down your neck. “The absolute best woman I have ever met.”

Something inside you breaks, leaking down each rib. His words hold so much meaning, so much gratitude, so much pain.

You sob as Bucky nears his end, spilling into you with a loud moan. He fucks through it, milking himself of everything he can. His spent leaks out of you, circling the girth of his cock. He continues, however, fucking it all back into you.

The primal words whisper through his head.

Mine.

When he finally finds the strength to remove himself, he lays beside you. His metal hand remains intermingled with yours. He taps his fingers, and you tap yours back.

Good. For a moment he thought you were dead.

“James.”

Bucky swallows, sweat drenched over his chest. “Poppy.”

You grin, half of your face still smooshed against the mattress. “You’re in charge of telling Sam and Peter why the fuck you’re sleeping in my room tonight.”

Bucky’s laugh rumbles through your chest, filling you with another kind of pleasure. A more innocent, dormant one.

Neither of you feel like this shouldn’t have happened.

Not once did you mourn what you have lost; not once did he mourn what he never had.

Bucky wakes up around two in the morning. He feels the weight of something across his chest, warming his metal arm and tickling his hair. He glances down, marveling at the top of your head and the sound of your gentle snoring.

He smiles up at the ceiling, biting his bottom lip to keep from cheering. It’s immature—he wants to fist bump the air like a teenager who just got laid. And that’s part of it. He just got laid for the first time in a fucking long time, and he did it with someone he trusts, and who trusts him.

So excuse him for being a little immature about this. He lays for a while longer and thinks, “I deserve this. I deserve to be happy.”

The feeling of his dry throat has him rising carefully, folding your arms into your own chest so you're hugging yourself. He looks at you, desperately craving another round, but even he can’t get it up again tonight. But the sight of you in his t-shirt and panties?

He runs a finger along your hairline, pushing your baby hairs back only for them to bounce up again.

His heart clenches, and bleeds magnificently.

The kitchen is dark when he goes to fill a glass of water. He can vaguely see the outline of Peter’s body on the couch. The little fucker took the opportunity. Which means Sam and Peter most likely know where he was tonight. He hadn’t had time to tell them anything—you both fucked a couple times after the first round.

The realization has him cringing—but also wanting to punch the air again.

He drinks his glass, studies the trees outside, and wonders how the fuck he got so lucky with friends like these.

His ear tickles, so he scratches it against his shoulder. It tickles again, but this time he can faintly hear the unmistakable voice his mind couldn’t possibly conjure. Like a fairy, small and delicate, scared and in a panic.

“We can’t get in! But you can get out! Wake her up, wake her up, wake her up!”

Bucky hits the floor when he takes the first step.

Something slithers across your exposed leg, raising the blankets and inviting in more cold. The black tendrils of shadow come from the cracks beneath the bedroom door, as if they entered through the front, through the living room, and down the long hallway. It’s silent, both dry and slimy, harmless and brutal.

One tug is all it takes to rip you out of bed and onto the hardwood floor. You yelp, immediately reaching down to pry it from your leg, but it’s intangible. Your fingers go directly through, scratching at your own skin. The tendrils pull, pull, and you’re yanked closer to the door. You dig your nails into the floor, clenching your teeth from the pain of it, and slap rapidly to make noise.

Your mouth won’t work. Something heavy wraps around your neck, choking you while at the same time breathing life. Your voice is rendered useless.

You slap and hit and rip shreds of wood from the doorframe as it yanks you through. Your ribs hurt from all the writhing, and as much as you try to prevent your chin from slamming down, each yank nearly causes your cheek to splinter the floor.

The tendrils pull you past Sam’s room, and you’re banging, banging, snatching the wood of the frame until it breaks off. With that piece of wood, you stab it into the wall and keep it there, leaving a brutal slash that continues as you do.

Sam sprints from his room, looking both ways before he sees you on the floor. You lift your arm up, reaching for him, but the shadows are too quick.

“Guys! Guys!”

Bucky snaps awake, his eyes heavy and an awful ringing in his ears. Peter awakens the same way, groggy and slow. A lamp falls, wood cracks, the wind howls.

Then Bucky sees as the front door whips open from his place on the kitchen floor, and a horrible black shadow stands there, pulling you across the floor like you’re an escaped horse.

Bucky scrambles, his eyes burning, his head throbbing. Peter moves similarly, but he’s quicker—thank you, thank you, thank you, Bucky thanks whoever.

Sam’s yelling, demanding Bucky stand, demanding Peter to use his webs.

Why can’t he move quicker? He can’t run, can’t speak—it’s like he’s dreaming and he needs to get away but he runs in slow-motion, his feet swollen, his heart pounding.

Wake up, wake up, wake up! the sweet voice screams.

When your head passes through the front door, your screaming becomes audible. The porch squeaks, then snaps as your fists slam down into it. But the shadow is too strong, relentless, and it’s laughing as you struggle.

Your body meets grass and finally, fucking finally, the trees spring into action. As if they too were rendered useless until exposed to you.

Branches slither across the ground and reach you, wrapping themselves around your waist and below your armpits. You’re tugged in the opposite direction now, back to Sam and an incapacitated Bucky and Peter.

A tug-of-war ensues, bruising your body. But you endure it, you press your lips together and endure it. The house creaks as the roots beneath it flourish to the top and crawl to you.

Your eyes meet Bucky’s. His wide, frightened ones. He and Peter clamber down the front porch steps, seemingly understanding that their powers are pointless if on the property. The shadows still encompass the house—their minds.

Sam. Sam’s human. He wasn’t deemed a threat. He has a shield, he has a gun, but there’s no possible way he could stop the darkness.

A bandage of webs around your outstretched wrist aids your magic. Peter pulls, digging his heels into the ground, and shouts as the shadows snap back against him. But he doesn’t falter—he digs his heels in further, jaw clenched, and pulls through the blinding pain.

Bucky wraps his arms around Peter’s waist, pulling in the direction of the house. His head is still heavy, but he knows where he is and what’s happening.

Bucky refuses, absolutely fucking refuses, to lose you too.

He whips his right hand back and clasps Sam’s. Sam, digging the shield into the ground with his free arm looped through, is the last line of defense. You wrap branches around Sam’s waist to help hold him upright.

Something cracks.

Something—

You shriek and thrash, your skin blistered hot from the amount of force from both sides. Your stomach stretches, pulled to its maximum. Your elbows pop. Your shoulders pop. Your knees. Your hips.

You’re being torn in half.

The trees, sensing this, begin to loosen. Through their grief, through their apologies, they loosen their grip until you’re dropped back down to earth. Instant relief overtakes you, swelling in your eyes. Bucky’s eyes meet yours once again, confused.

You fashion a wooden dagger as fast as you can, your face one massive apology to the three men trying to save your life, and slash through Peter’s web.

They catapult backward, all of them falling into a pile. Peter stands, runs, runs, runs.

The shadow leans over you, flipping you onto your back. It leans down, down, until a nasty humanoid figure finally reveals itself. Pale, chapped skin that threatens to fall from bone, bloodless thin lips, eyes as big as tennis balls and dark as night. Its sunken cheeks stretch into a malformed smile, revealing no teeth but smoke, smoke that reeks of the undead.

The shadows loom behind the demonic figure. You want the shadows, the shadows, the shadows. You’d do anything to bring the boring shadows back.

Its hands reach out, long and bony with nails longer than the bone itself. It runs a nail down your cheek, nicking your tender flesh. The cut opens, spilling into its scooped nail. It brings its nail to its mouth, and sucks.

“Dear Gods.”

Other words elude you. There’s no point in begging for your life. This was an Undead. An immortal whose soul had been bled dry, sold, or never replenished. They were mere folklore. Characters in stories made to scare children. Creatures made by witches, made by the Gods themselves, made to wreak havoc when called upon. They dragged their human prey down to the deepest trenches of Hell, where they tortured, raped, and tore them apart.

The cult. The goddamned Undead. This demon must have been unleashed by the cult in demand of your blood.

You twist your neck as far as you can, forcing yourself to look away from its monstrous face.

Peter has stopped running. Thank the Gods he stopped. Like him, Bucky and Sam are frozen.

Noise resembling that of nails on a chalkboard bursts in your ears. Your ears bleed. One more look at the demon atop of you and you realize that’s its voice.

“The Immortal…The Bleeding Heart…The Forgotten…The Shield. All in one place.”

“What do you want?” Your voice shakes. Your stomach drops as it pushes its face down to yours, slowly, teasingly.

“Four is better than one.”

“Don’t you dare touch them.”

Smoke escapes its excuse of a smile.

“You will, undoubtedly, make an excellent feast, Mother Earth. I shall call you my Persephone.”

“Get away from her!”

Whether it hears the order or not, it shows no recognition. It wraps its bony arms around you, lifts you into its dark cloak, and vanishes into the night.

TAGLIST: @cloudyfeel @howlermonkey69 @wintersgirl1917 @aquariusbarnes @fandoms-writings @shirukitsune @goldylions @real-jane @mannien @sentimental-for-maneskin @dezthegeek @avengershoney @ginger-swag-rapunzel @natbarnes1917 @cutechubbybunnyy @gabewerk

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #reader x bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #Bucky Barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x poc!reader #bucky barnes x y/n #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #dreaming in june #dreaming in june series #chapter ten #captainsimagines #by Moni #bucky barnes smut

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junghelioseok · 4 years ago

Text

clandestine. | 01

↳ forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ smut | fluff | brother’s best friend!au ◇ 10.3k [1/6]

notes: this fic was originally going to be a oneshot, but i changed my mind and decided i didn’t want to kill tumblr with a totally unnecessary 50k jk fic so 🤷🏻‍♀️ here is part one of a fic that 100% only came about because @puellaigmotum coerced me into it like 2 years ago (lmao rip 💀) and also bc i have zero self-control and am hopelessly h*rny for jungkook these days and don’t look at me i don’t wanna talk about it okay??? 🙈

warnings: jk’s massive noona kink, some ~under the table~ action, too much detail about jk’s dumb veiny arms probably, but at least he doesn’t have tattoos bc i started writing this before he got them and i don’t need to torture myself anymore than i already do!!!

⇢ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06

It’s always been easy to spot your brother in a crowd. Passengers flood off the train, jostling around you on their way to the station’s exit, but even in the swarm you can perfectly see Jimin’s golden head of hair bobbing its way toward you, a deep scowl etched across his face. “You’re late,” he says in lieu of a greeting, his honey brown eyes raking over your scuffed suitcase distastefully as he comes to a stop a few feet away.

“And you’re just as impatient as ever,” you retort, coming to a stop before him with your luggage in tow. “Think you can lord it over me since you can drive now?”

“Don’t forget that I’m your ride home,” Jimin scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I could just as easily leave you here to fend for yourself.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you tell him, raising a brow in silent challenge.

Jimin stares down at you unflinchingly, and you stare right back. The tension stretches between you, taut and heavy, until every passing second feels like a light year. Around you, the crowd slowly dissipates, but still you remain—two motionless statues locked in a wordless struggle. From somewhere overhead, a monotone voice announces the next train departure times.

Jimin’s mouth twitches. You blink, twice in quick succession.

And then your little brother breaks into a grin—one that’s so wide you fear his mouth may detach from his face entirely. An answering smile settles across your face as you watch him throw his head back, dissolving into laughter that you can’t help but echo.

“Damn it, Chim!” you say, instinctively grabbing onto his wrist when it looks like he might fall over. “Your poker face still sucks.”

“I’ve gotten better!” Jimin immediately defends. “I mean, you’ve got to admit that, right?”

“Nope.” You sigh and hold a hand over your head so you can measure your height against his ever-so-slightly taller frame. “Same old annoying kid I grew up with. Seriously, have you grown at all in the past year?”

“Whoa, too far, Noona.” Jimin takes ahold of both of your cheeks, pinching them affectionately. “You’re only a year older than me, you know. Besides, I’ve been taller than you for two years now!”

“I’m pretty sure hitting puberty at age seventeen isn’t something to be proud of,” you reply, pulling away from him with a mock grimace and giggling when he lets out an offended squeak. Playfully, you reach up to ruffle his hair, scrubbing your knuckles just a little too roughly against his skull.

“Noonaaa,” he complains, drawing out the last syllable until he runs out of air. “Jeez, you haven’t even been back for an hour yet and you’re already being mean to me. When do you go back to Seoul again?”

“Three weeks,” you reply, narrowing your eyes. “But I can and will make these three weeks hell for you. Don’t test me.”

Jimin snickers and drapes his arm over your shoulders. He picks up your suitcase with the other hand, and you thank him with another, gentler hair ruffle as the two of you start toward the exit of the train station. “College hasn’t changed you one bit.”

“And senior year hasn’t changed you,” you say, letting him guide you outside and breathing in the balmy summer evening air. Jimin’s brow furrows as he tries to remember where he’s parked, and you kindly take your suitcase back when he nods decisively and heads toward the left side of the lot. “You excited to graduate?”

He sighs, fumbling in his pocket for the keys as the two of you approach the car. “It’s going to suck. Your ceremony was boring as hell last year.”

“Wow, rude.”

Jimin looks up from where he’s unlocking the driver’s side door. “Am I wrong, though?”

You flash him a grin as he unlocks the remaining doors, heaving your suitcase into the backseat before sliding into the passenger seat beside him. “Nope. But afterward, you’ll be done with high school forever.”

“Thank god.” Your brother rakes a hand through his hair, mussing it further as he carefully starts the ignition and checks his mirrors with all the diligence of a new driver. Once satisfied, he pulls out of the parking space, meandering his way out of the lot and onto the main street.

The ride back to your childhood home is a short one, full of familiar storefronts and landmarks that dredge up all sorts of fond memories. You hadn’t expected your first year of university—away from your family and your hometown—to make you quite so emotional. But before you know it, Jimin is making the turn into your neighborhood, and you can’t stop the way your eyes begin to well up when you see your house in the distance.

As if reading your mind, Jimin glances at you as he pulls into the driveway. “Feel good to be home?”

You nod, blinking back tears. “Feels great.”

He grins. Pulling the key from the ignition, he climbs out of the car and grabs your suitcase, waving for you to head inside. Eagerly, you start toward the front door, but you barely make it halfway up the driveway when it bursts open, revealing your father standing there with open arms and an enormous grin. He’s just as tall as you remember, and looks exactly the same save a few more strands of silver lacing his hair. All of a sudden, you’re a little girl again, running up to give him a hug and giggling madly when he tries to scoop you up like he used to do so many years ago.

“Hi Dad,” you greet when he gives up and sets you back down on two feet. “Where’s Mom?”

“Cooking up a storm,” he replies, chortling. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders, he leads you into the kitchen where your mother is hunched over the stove with a spatula, delicious aromas wafting up from the array of pots and pans in front of her. “Honey, look who’s home!”

“Hi Mom,” you say, grinning when she whirls around, startled. The spatula, still dangling loosely from her hand, drips sauce onto the tiled floor, but she barely notices in her eagerness to give you a hug, throwing it down into one of the simmering pots and striding forward to wrap you up in a tight embrace.

“How was your trip?” she asks, pulling back and angling your face this way and that. “Did you sleep on the ride? Did Jimin drive safely?”

The last question draws a protesting whine from your brother, who has lugged your suitcase over the threshold and is now seated at the dining table, fiddling with a spoon. “My driving was fine, right Noona?” he says, his bottom lip jutting out into a pout.

“Yes, Chim,” you agree, laughing at the pleased expression that overtakes his face. Curiously, you walk over to the stove to inspect the food, your jaw dropping as you take in the assorted vegetables and meats. “Wow, Mom. Are you cooking for an army?”

“Jungkook is coming over for dinner,” she explains, following you over and plucking up the spatula again. “That boy has the biggest appetite I’ve ever seen—you remember, right?”

You laugh. “Of course I remember. He and Jimin were always stealing bites of my lunch at school.” Peering over at your brother, you fix him with a mock glare before walking over to the cutting board on the counter and sizing up the pile of onions and peppers sitting there. “It’ll be nice to see him again, though. How is he doing?”

To your surprise, a new voice answers your question—a voice that somehow manages to be simultaneously familiar and foreign. “Why don’t you ask me directly, Noona?” it says, and you whirl around, wide-eyed, to face the newcomer.

This can’t possibly be Jeon Jungkook, is your first thought upon seeing the young man standing in the kitchen doorway. The Jungkook you knew in high school was a scrawny kid—all gangly limbs and a nose that was too big for his face. The Jungkook you knew wore oversized white t-shirts that made him look even younger than he was, a look that was only enhanced by round wire-rimmed glasses that always gave him a look of permanent astonishment. The Jungkook you knew was nowhere near this tall, and definitely not this broad.

But this Jungkook—this Jungkook takes up nearly the entire doorframe with his bulk. Dark eyes stare at you from beneath equally dark hair, his gaze unhindered by his old glasses. A cobalt blue shirt stretches tight over his chest, and you swallow when you notice just how much the buttons are straining to contain the muscle underneath. Black jeans and simple black sneakers complete his outfit, and the entire look is so jarringly different from what you’re used to that you are left momentarily speechless, gaping like a fish out of water. Vaguely, you wonder when he got his ears pierced.

And then Jungkook—or at least, the young man claiming to be Jungkook—takes three steps forward, his entire face melting into a crinkly-eyed grin. You catch a glimpse of the adorably prominent front teeth that always made him look like a rabbit, and that’s all it takes to break the spell.

“Jungkookie!” you exclaim, darting forward to greet him. “It’s been so long!”

“Hi, Noona,” he replies, his grin widening at your approach. In an instant, he has you wrapped up in an embrace, easily lifting you off the floor in a display of strength that would’ve had a lesser woman swooning. His hands curl firmly around your waist, and you have no choice but to wrap yours around his nape, squeaking in protest when he spins you in a full circle.

“Kookie!” you gasp, wriggling helplessly in his grasp and huffing when he only cackles. “Put me down!”

Obediently, Jungkook lowers you back to the ground. His hands linger on your waist until he’s certain that both your feet are planted firmly, and it’s only then that he pulls back to get a good look at your face. “You know I’d never drop you, right?” he asks innocently.

“As if I can trust anything that comes out of your mouth,” you retort with a laugh. “I’ve seen you scam your way out of detention with those pretty doe eyes. Don’t try me, kid.”

Jungkook snorts. “Kid? I’m not that much younger than you. Plus I’m older than Jimin, y’know.”

“By a month!” your brother protests from the dining room, his blond head popping up from behind the vase of daisies serving as a centerpiece.

“Month and a half,” Jungkook stage-whispers to you, cupping a hand and bringing his mouth to your ear conspiratorially. His breath tickles your cheek, and you swat him away with a giggle that becomes a full-on laugh when Jimin lets out an offended cry and rises to his feet. Striding over, he pokes Jungkook squarely in the chest, his eyes narrowed.

“I invite you over to my house and this is the thanks I get?”

Your dad chooses that moment to interrupt from the living room. “Your house? When exactly did you start paying rent, Jimin?”

Jimin’s jaw drops. “Are you taking his side?” he asks in disbelief, glaring at Jungkook when he starts laughing. “I’m your son!”

“I’m your father,” your dad replies.

“And I’m your mother,” your mom pipes up, brandishing a spoon. “And I’m telling all of you to get your butts over to that dining table in the next ten seconds, or no dinner for any of you.”

Your dad, Jimin, and Jungkook immediately fall silent, cowed by her proclamation. Grinning, you join your mother at the counter, grabbing a handful of spoons and accepting the platter of kimchi she hands over. “Direct as always, Mom.”

She laughs and picks up a bowl of rice. “To deal with men like them? You have to be.”

Food in hand, you make your way into the dining room. The table is set, the steaming food arranged neatly in the center, and you watch as your mother takes her seat next to Jimin and leaves you to sit beside Jungkook on the opposite side. Your father beams from his spot at the head of the table, glancing at each of you in turn before turning and giving your shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

“Look at you kids, all sitting at the same table again.” He sighs, and you’re certain that he’s thinking back to the last time all of you were together—well over a year ago, at this point. “It’s a shame that your parents couldn’t join us, though, Jungkook.”

Jungkook nods. “Yeah, they told me to apologize on their behalf. They have tickets for the theatre tonight, and couldn’t get a refund on them.”

Your father laughs and waves the apology off. “I’m sure we’ll catch them next time,” he says. “Pretty hard to avoid each other when you live next door, isn’t it?”

“Definitely,” Jungkook agrees with a chuckle. Then he turns to you, the silver hoops in his ears glinting in the light from the overhead chandelier. “I’m sure they’ll drop by soon to see you, Noona. Mom wants to hear all about Seoul—I think she’s worried about sending me so far away by myself.”

“Junghyun stayed in Busan for university, didn’t he?” your mom asks.

Jungkook nods. “Yep, he still lives downtown and everything. He wanted to come over tonight, but his work wouldn’t let him take the time off.”

Your mom sighs. “That’s such a shame. Is he at least attending your graduation?”

“He’s driving in the day after tomorrow for the ceremony,” Jungkook confirms. Then he pauses, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. His gaze flickers down to the plate of sweet potatoes on the other side of the table, and before he can even open his mouth, your mother is already passing him the plate. He thanks her with an embarrassed chuckle but digs into the food nonetheless, and everyone else takes it as a sign to follow suit. You’re in the middle of scooping rice into your bowl when Jimin speaks up again.

“So what’s it like living in Seoul?” he asks, his cheeks bulging with pork belly. “You have roommates, right?”

“Suitemates,” you correct. “But yeah, I live with three other people. Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jennie are all great though, so it hasn’t been a problem.”

Jungkook pauses mid-chew to gape at you. “You live with guys?”

“My building’s co-ed,” you explain. “We all have separate bedrooms, but we share a common space and bathrooms.”

Your mother—on the lookout for any potential future grandchildren, as always—perks up. “Namjoon and Hoseok sound like nice boys. Are you friends?”

“Yes, Mom,” you sigh. “We’re friends. Just friends.” And then before she can ask about whether or not any other boys have caught your eye, you quickly turn back to your brother. “So, what’s your plan for next year? Are you and Jungkook living together?”

Jimin hums. “Yep, that’s the plan. Unless you want to live with us too, Noona.”

You laugh. “Why, so I can protect you from all the bullies like I did in elementary school?”

He flashes you a cheeky grin. “More like so I can protect you from all the weird college guys. Who’s this Hoseok guy anyway? Do I need to beat him up?”

“Please don’t beat up Hobi,” you entreaty, giggling when he pretends to crack his knuckles. “Or Joon!” you add quickly when he remains undeterred and makes to stand up from the table to defend your honor. Balling up your napkin, you throw it at him, and both of you burst into hysterics when your makeshift weapon bounces off his forehead and straight into his glass of water. The rest of dinner passes in a haze of similarly playful antics and happy chatter, and by the time the last bowl is scraped clean, it feels as if you’d never even left.

“I’ll do the dishes,” you volunteer, standing up and gathering up the empty platters. Jungkook and Jimin are quick to jump to your aid, collecting any utensils that you missed, and you offer them a grateful smile as they follow you into the kitchen.

“Let me do the washing, Noona.” Jungkook rolls up the sleeves of his cobalt blue shirt to expose a familiar silver watch glinting on his left wrist—a watch that his father handed down to him when he was sixteen, and that had been worn by his grandfather before him. You still remember the day he’d first worn it to school, proudly displaying it even though the band was too loose around his narrow wrist.

He’s grown into it now, you realize. The watch no longer flops around like it used to, and sits snugly in place instead. Your eyes trace the silver buckle on the inside of his wrist before trailing up to follow the network of thin, branching veins in his forearm, admiring the smooth flex of muscle as he grabs a sponge from the wire rack hanging above the sink and squirts some dish soap onto the surface.

“I’ll dry,” Jimin chirps, selecting a towel and brandishing it. “Noona, do you want to help me? We’ll finish faster that way.”

Nodding, you pull another towel out from the drawer and rejoin the two boys at the sink. Jungkook washes quickly and efficiently, and you determinedly avoid staring at the way water trickles along the patchwork veins on his hands as he gives you bowl after bowl to dry.

It doesn’t take long for all the dishes to be washed and dried. The three of you take the time to put them back into the proper cabinets before bidding your parents a good night, heading out onto the back porch. Falling back into old routines feels like second nature, so you plop down onto the steps without hesitation and grin when Jungkook takes a seat beside you.

“Wait, I almost forgot!” Jimin exclaims, bouncing up from where he was beginning to sit down next to Jungkook. “I bought some beer earlier and left it in the trunk. Be right back!”

You watch your brother run off, his floppy blond hair a stark contrast with the deep blue evening sky. In seconds, he’s disappeared around the corner of the house, leaving you and Jungkook alone on the porch steps.

“Chim really hasn’t changed one bit,” you remark with a laugh, turning toward your dark-haired companion.

Jungkook chuckles. “The kid loves his alcohol, that’s for sure.”

“Please.” You elbow him in the ribs. “I know you’re just as bad as he is.”

“Maybe,” he concedes with another chuckle. “But come on, Noona, you can’t tell me you don’t enjoy a drink every now and then. What about all that college stress?”

You hum, leaning back on your hands and staring up at the sky where the full moon is just beginning to rise, surrounded by a smattering of stars peeking through the velvety darkness of night. “I never said that I didn’t enjoy a drink, or five.” Jungkook laughs at your remark, and you smile before letting out a soft sigh. “I’m glad Jimin got the beer, though. Maybe I’ll finally be able to stop stressing out about my internship.”

That sobers Jungkook up immediately, his eyes widening as he peers down at you and lays a gentle hand on your back. “Are you still worried? You already got the job, didn’t you?”

You nod slowly, thinking back to the job offer that you had accepted at the end of the semester. It had been difficult finding a company in your desired field that offered internships to first-year students, but with dogged persistence and a lot of luck, you’d managed to snag a summer position. It isn’t due to start for another three weeks, however, and while you’re grateful for the chance to visit your family, part of you also wishes that you didn’t have to wait such a long time. “I just have no idea what to expect, you know? The only jobs I’ve ever had were in retail and food service, and that was all ages ago. I don’t feel ready at all.”

A strong arm settles across your shoulders, and you look up to see Jungkook gazing down at you with something indiscernible sparkling in his deep brown eyes. “You’re gonna be amazing,” he murmurs, his voice whisper-soft. “You know that, right? You always are. This won’t be any different.”

And you believe him. Every detail of his face is bathed in silvery moonlight—the gentle slope of his nose, the sharp angle of his jaw, the little scar high on his cheekbone—and you wonder how you never realized how handsome he is before now. And maybe it’s the low, soothing timbre of his voice, or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you—with unspeakable tenderness and gentle affection glimmering in his irises—but you lean in before you can even realize what you’re doing. You don’t look away, and neither does he.

Jungkook’s gaze drops, trailing down the slope of your cheeks until it lands on the curve of your mouth. He hesitates for a split second, his throat bobbing harshly as he swallows and sucks in a breath.

And then his lips are pressing against yours—soft and tentative and just a little bit chapped. Your eyes flutter shut almost on instinct, your body relaxing as he shifts and pulls you a little more firmly against him. Slowly, his arm finds its way to the curve of your waist and settles there. Your fingers curl around his nape, carding through his silky hair.

It’s only when Jungkook’s tongue darts out to run along the seam of your lips that reality comes crashing back down, your stomach plummeting down to somewhere around your toes as you wrench away from his embrace. “Kookie!” you gasp, your breathing labored. “We can’t!”

Jungkook blinks, momentarily entrancing you with the way the stars reflect in his gaze like glittering diamonds. “Why not?” he asks, reaching out for you again. “You kissed me back, didn’t you?”

Squeaking, you bat his hands away. “Jungkook, no! We can’t! You’re Jimin’s best friend, and god, this is all kinds of weird, and—“

The dark-haired young man looks like he wants to protest more, but the sound of footsteps coming back around the house sends both of you scooting back to your original positions on the porch steps. Jimin appears two seconds later, plopping down beside Jungkook cheerfully and dropping a six-pack of beer at his feet.

“What’d I miss?” he asks, seemingly oblivious to the tension lingering in the air as he pops open a bottle and hands it to you.

“Nothing,” you say immediately, accepting the proffered beer. The cool glass bottle is a welcome relief, and you hurriedly take a long sip when your mind unwillingly begins to wander back to just how warm and soft your dark-haired companion’s lips had been.

Jungkook is much slower to respond to Jimin’s question. His shoulders slump as he reaches down to grab a drink of his own, twisting the cap open viciously and taking a swig. “Yeah,” he mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nothing at all.”

Luck must be on your side, because Jimin doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss as he grabs a beer for himself and flops backward, resting his weight on his elbows as he gazes up at the night sky. “It’s nice out,” he remarks, looking utterly at ease.

You are anything but. Beside you, Jungkook is sipping pensively on his beer, and you are painfully aware of the heat radiating off his body. Jimin is still chattering away, rambling about whatever pops into his head, and you take the opportunity to sneak a glance at Jungkook. His face is cast in silvery luminescence from the moon, his mouth pulled down into a deep, contemplative frown—and you are once again forced to shake off thoughts of how nice it felt to have his mouth pressed against yours.

This is Jeon Jungkook, you tell yourself sternly. Friend, neighbor, and Jimin’s best friend in the entire universe. You kissed him, sure, but it was a mistake. A moment of weakness. And it won’t happen again.

You repeat that over and over, silently reciting it in your head like a mantra, until, at last, you finally start to believe it.

///

You’re in the middle of brewing a fresh pot of coffee after a lazy morning spent sleeping in when you spot Jungkook outside through the kitchen window. He’s standing in the yard in a sleeveless white tee, wiping at his forehead with the back of his hand as he thoughtfully regards the row of hedges that serves as the property line between your house and the Jeons’ house next door. In his other hand is a shovel, and you can’t help the way your gaze automatically traces his exposed biceps, admiring the way they flex when he finally selects a spot and begins digging.

“Is the coffee done yet, Noona?”

Jimin’s voice yanks your attention away from your gardening neighbor, your vision overtaken by a mess of fluffy blond bedhead as he sneaks into the space between you and the counter and obnoxiously cuts you off from the pot of fresh brew. “Hey!” you protest, but Jimin just gives you a cheeky wink before grabbing a mug and pouring out a generous helping of piping hot coffee. After a moment’s thought, he pours you a mug as well, handing it over with an exaggerated bow.

You roll your eyes, but accept the warm cup nonetheless. Following him into the living room, you make yourself comfortable on the couch as he flops down onto the carpeted floor and turns on the television. Idly, he begins flipping through the channels in search for something to watch, and you endure random snippets of the morning news, a cheesy soap opera, and a series of infomercials before sighing and rising to your feet again. “I’m getting some food. Want some toast, Chimchim?”

“Mmm. Sure.”

Slowly, you meander your way back into the kitchen. Your mother is standing at the counter stirring sugar into her coffee, and you smile as you walk up to join her. “Morning, Mom.”

“Good morning, sweetie,” she says, taking a careful sip of her drink. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a log,” you reply with a grin. Grabbing the loaf of bread off the counter, you pull out a few slices and shove them in the toaster. “Do you want toast? I’m making some for me and Chimchim.”

“Just one slice for me,” she says, opening up the dish cabinet and pulling out three plates. Obligingly, you hand her one of the two freshly toasted slices and drop the other onto your plate. Popping some more bread into the toaster, you’re just about to grab the jam from the fridge when there’s a knock on the door.

“I’ll get it!” Jimin yells from the living room. You hear the soft pad of his footsteps in the hallway and the low creak of the front door as it swings open—and then your brother is snorting out a laugh at whoever is on your doorstep. “Dude, why are you covered in dirt?”

You’re beginning to have a sneaking suspicion as to who your guest is, and it’s confirmed when your brother’s question is answered.

“I’m helping Mom plant some hydrangeas out back,” Jungkook’s voice explains, his tall figure stepping into view a moment later. “Can you come help me lift the bushes?”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “You could’ve just texted me.”

“Who knows if you would’ve answered?” Jungkook asks, laughing. “Knowing you, you’d just leave me on read. Besides—” and here he glances over at you, dark eyes glimmering with an emotion that you can’t quite pinpoint, “—I wouldn’t get to see two of my favorite ladies if I didn’t stop by.”

Jimin pretends to vomit at the line, but your mother laughs delightedly as Jungkook takes another step into the foyer and flashes her a winning grin. “Good morning, Jungkookie,” she greets him. “Have you eaten breakfast yet? {Name} was just making some toast, and we’ve got fresh coffee.”

Jungkook’s gaze slides over to you again, taking in the flannel pajama pants and oversized t-shirt you’re wearing. “Thanks, Mrs. Park,” he says, though his eyes never leave yours. “I ate already, but coffee sounds wonderful.”

You are beginning to feel increasingly vulnerable as Jungkook continues looking unblinkingly in your direction. Thankfully, your mom pipes up, drawing his attention away with a decisive clap of her hands. “Coffee it is, then!” she says brightly. “{Name}, why don’t you grab Jungkook a cup?”

Hurriedly, you turn toward the cabinets, trying your best to ignore Jungkook as he chats comfortably with your family. Your success is limited though, and you can feel his penetrating stare lingering on your back even as you fetch a mug and fill it up to the brim.

“Noona.” Jungkook’s voice comes from behind you, much closer than you remember him being. “Can I have some cream and sugar, please?”

Somehow, you manage to reply without stammering. “Yeah. Sure.” Dumping some of the excess coffee into the sink, you spoon in some sugar and give it a quick stir. Just as you turn toward the refrigerator for the cream, a strong arm cuts you off.

“I got it, Noona,” Jungkook murmurs, backing you up against the counter as he tucks the little white carton into your outstretched hand. His proximity has your heart skipping several beats, and you almost drop the carton entirely when he speaks again in a husky whisper, his mouth at the shell of your ear. “Just a little bit, please.”

You are acutely aware of the heat radiating off of his body, warming your back and flushing your cheeks. Quietly, you open up the carton and pour a splash of cream into his mug, the swirl of white melding with the dark liquid within. “Is—is that enough?”

Jungkook reaches around you to open up the silverware drawer, grabbing a spoon and giving the coffee a stir. “That’s perfect,” he purrs, his hot breath stirring gooseflesh on the back of your neck.

This close to him, it’s easy to forget where you are and who you’re with, but you somehow manage to regain enough of your senses to wrench away and reclaim your personal space. “G-great,” you stammer, picking up the mug and shoving it into his hands, determinedly ignoring the ripple of his arm muscles as he accepts. “Um. Chim. Did you want your toast?”

“Yes, please,” Jimin says, barely glancing up from where he’s made himself comfortable at the kitchen island, idly playing on his phone.

Your mother pokes her head around the doorframe of the adjoining laundry room, where she has clearly started a fresh load if the sound of splashing water is anything to go by. “Don’t make your sister do all of the work, Jimin. Go help her—it’s your food, isn’t it?”

Obligingly, Jimin hops off the stool and grabs his favorite jar of jam, joining you at the counter. He takes the slice of toast you offer him, slathering it messily and taking an enormous bite. “Thanks for breakfast, Noona,” he says, blowing you an exaggerated kiss. “Ready, Kook?”

Jungkook raises his mug of coffee in acknowledgement. “Ready.” Then his gaze flickers back to you, twinkling with silent mirth. “And Noona—thanks. The coffee’s delicious.”

You can’t find the words to answer. Silently, you watch him disappear out the front door with Jimin, following his dark head of hair as it bobs across the yard. His biceps flex as he gestures for Jimin to help him lift a hydrangea bush, and your eyes linger on the stretch of defined muscle, tracing the network of prominent veins running along his forearm before your brain can caution you to stop. It’s almost as if you’re on autopilot, and by the time you zone back in, your gaze has wandered too far south for your liking. Letting out an audible groan, you tear your eyes away from the mouthwatering view of his thick thighs and return to your now-cold breakfast. And you don’t think about Jeon Jungkook again, pushing the image of his broad shoulders and handsome face into the darkest recesses of your mind.

Or at least, that was the plan. Jimin comes back inside after about an hour, tracking mud through half the house before your mother reprimands him and orders him to take off his shoes. Jungkook, thankfully, chose to return to his own home as well, and you immediately banish the thought of him showering off all the sweat and grime that has no doubt accumulated on his toned body. You shove away the mental image of water slicking his golden skin and collecting in the hollows of his collarbones, and when your mind conjures up pictures of what lies south of his waist, you resist the urge to scream into the pile of freshly laundered pillowcases your mom presses into your arms.

You’re just about to head upstairs to scream into a real pillow when there’s another knock on your front door—a familiar cadence that you heard just this morning. And that’s when you realize—to your complete and utter dismay—that Jeon Jungkook isn’t done tormenting you yet. Not by a long shot.

“You again? You do realize that this isn’t your house, right?” you ask, swinging open the door and thanking whatever gods may be out there that your voice remains steady. Then you raise a brow, glancing down at his change in attire. “Wait, why are you wearing a suit?”

Jungkook gives you an infuriatingly impish grin. “Do I need a reason?” His hair is still damp from the shower, a stray lock flopping down across his forehead, and as you watch him brush it away absently, you notice that he’s holding something in his free hand.

“What’s that?” you ask curiously.

Footsteps sound from behind you, interrupting before he can answer. “Jungkookie?” your mother asks, appearing at the foot of the stairs. “I thought I heard your voice. Are you here for Jimin again?”

Jungkook flashes her a winning smile and raises the garment bag he’s holding. “No, I was actually hoping to get some advice. I’ve got my suit ready to go for graduation tomorrow, but I can’t decide which shirt looks better. My mom likes how I look in blue, but I wanted a second opinion from you and Noona.”

To your utter annoyance, your mother coos and gestures for him to come in. He’s already wearing the blue shirt—a pale periwinkle one that reminds you of a cloudless day—but your mom takes the garment bag out of his hand and unzips it to look inside. “What are your options?” she asks.

“Blue, red, and yellow,” Jungkook replies, pulling each shirt off its hanger and holding them up to his chest in turn. “What do you think, Mrs. Park?”

“The blue is lovely,” your mom says thoughtfully, straightening his collar. “But this shade of yellow looks nice too. A handsome young man like you—you really can’t go wrong with any of these.”

Jungkook grins and scratches behind his ear, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Thanks, Mrs. Park.”

The dryer chooses that moment to beep shrilly, signalling the end of its cycle, and your mother darts off to tend to it, leaving you and Jungkook alone in the living room.

“What about you, Noona?” Jungkook asks, just as you’re about to try and sneak out under the pretense of helping with the laundry. “Which shirt do you like?”

“Does it matter?” you ask. “It’s just going to be hidden underneath those horrible black trash bags they make you wear.”

He laughs. “Sure, but what about before and after? You know my mom’s going to want to take a million pictures.”

“Can’t argue there.” Resigning yourself to your fate, you put your stack of clean pillowcases down on the arm of the couch and cross your arms over your chest. “Show them to me again?”

Jungkook raises the yellow shirt, holding it up for a few seconds before swapping it out for the red. “Well?”

You pause to consider it. “Red,” you decide after some deliberation, pointing at your choice. It’s a deep crimson color—almost burgundy—and you rub the silky material between your fingertips before taking it and replacing it onto its hanger. Jungkook joins you with the yellow shirt, his arm bumping into yours as you both reach for the garment bag, and even though you flinch away from the contact, Jungkook doesn’t let you stray very far. A strong hand clamps down around your forearm, and you inhale sharply when he backs you up against the wall and cages you in with his solid body.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Jungkook looks thoroughly unfazed as he blinks a few loose strands of hair out of his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Jungkook—” you hiss, struggling to see over his shoulder if your mother has returned. “Get off me.”

“Come on, Noona,” Jungkook murmurs. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me. Ever since you got back—ever since we kissed—”

“A mistake,” you say, cutting him off with a finger to the lips and glancing around furtively to make sure no one is eavesdropping. “That was a mistake.”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow. “Was it? Because I really wanted to kiss you, and I’m pretty sure you wanted to kiss me too. You kissed back, didn’t you?”

“Y-you—“ You clear your throat and try again, cringing at how shaky your voice comes out. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But Jungkook simply laughs. “Don’t I?” He inches closer until you’re chest to chest, his gaze darkening as it flickers downward and lands on your mouth. Your heartbeat quickens, thudding erratically in your ribcage. It would be so easy to push to your tiptoes and close the distance between your lips.

“God,” you huff. “You’re so—”

His other eyebrow rises to join the first. “I’m so—?” he presses, tilting his head as he awaits your answer. The loose lock of hair flops across his forehead again, and this time you cannot stop yourself from reaching up to brush it away.

“Shut up,” you hiss as your fingers drop down to wind into the soft hair at his nape. “Just shut up.”

And then you’re kissing him—really, really kissing him—pulling him down to your level and sliding your free hand up his infuriatingly toned chest.

“See?” Jungkook’s lips curl up into a smug smirk as he pulls away slightly, his warm breath fanning across your cheeks with every word. “I knew you were into me.”

“God, do you ever stop talking?” you retort, pushing him back until you have enough room to switch your positions and maneuver him against the wall.

Jungkook lets you pin him in place, blinking down at you lazily with his mouth still stretched into that maddening little smirk. “Only if you make me, Noona.” His hands slide down your sides, coming to a stop at your hips in an ironclad grip. “Only if you kiss me like that again.”

So you do. Your fingers tighten in his hair as you crush your mouth to his, and when his lips part you slip your tongue inside. Jungkook—still smirking—relaxes and lets you take control of the kiss, but his hands continue to wander. Before you know it, he’s already snuck underneath the hem of your shirt, rubbing warm circles into the soft skin of your waist. His lips move languidly against yours, his tongue careful and gentle in its exploration of your mouth, and you sigh when he tugs you closer. You’re pressed flush against him by this point, pinning him between your body and the wall, and neither you nor he have any intent to move anytime soon.

The sudden slamming of a door jerks you back to reality. Here you are, standing in the living room where anyone could walk by and see you kissing your brother’s best friend—again. Shakily, you pull away from Jungkook with your heart in your throat, putting as much space as you possibly can between your bodies. “Fuck,” you mutter. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. We can’t do this.”

Jungkook’s chest is heaving, his lips swollen and red. “{Name}—” he tries, but you shake your head and cut him off before he can continue.

“You need to leave,” you whisper.

“But—”

“Please,” you say, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. “Please, Jungkook. Just leave.”

Jungkook swallows, hard. And then, much to your relief, he picks up his garment bag, shoving both shirts back inside. “Okay,” he rasps. “I’ll go.”

Elsewhere in the house, you can hear your mother calling for Jimin. Your father is watching TV in his study—you can hear the low hum of voices and a laugh track. Your entire family is here.

And yet, you’ve never felt more alone as you watch Jungkook stride down the hallway and disappear out the front door.

///

Returning to your high school is odd. The hallways and classrooms are familiar, but they all seem smaller than you remember. And were the ceilings always this short? You aren’t sure. What you are sure of, however, is that Jungkook and his family are currently headed your way, with beaming smiles on their faces and colorful flower bouquets in hand. Greetings and congratulations are exchanged, and it isn’t long before you are face-to-face with Jungkook himself, a tight smile on his face as he meets your eyes.

“Hi, Noona.”

“Hi,” you reply. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

Now that the graduation ceremony is over, he’s taken off his robe to reveal the red shirt underneath. The silky material drapes over his torso and clings to the toned planes of his chest, and your fingers itch to run across the defined muscle. Swallowing down the urge, you instead gesture toward his parents, who are engaged in deep conversation with your own parents while Jimin chats with Junghyun off to the side. “I guess we’re all getting dinner after this, huh?”

He nods. “Yeah, at that one place downtow—“

“Jungkook! Jimin!” A feminine voice interrupts him mid-sentence, and you watch in surprise as both your brother and Jungkook are suddenly engulfed in a massive tangle of limbs. Immediately, you recognize Jisoo and Lisa—two girls you considered casual friends from your own high school days. The third girl in the trio of friends—Chaeyoung—is noticeably absent, but you don’t get a chance to question her whereabouts. “Can you believe it? We’re graduates!” Lisa is saying excitedly, still clutching tightly onto Jungkook’s shoulders. She’s pressed flush against him, her chest molded to his, and the sudden rush of jealousy that takes root in the pit of your stomach takes you aback with its ferocity.

Calm the fuck down, you instruct your pounding heart. Stop it, right now.

“Has Tae told you about the party tomorrow night?” Jisoo asks, breaking you out of your thoughts. “You guys better be there—and that means you, too, {Name}! It’s been forever since we’ve seen you!”

You clear your throat and attempt to smile. “Yeah, it’s been way too long. It’ll be nice to finally catch up.” Unwillingly, your gaze flickers back over to Jungkook and Lisa, doing your best to maintain a neutral expression when you notice the casual way his arm drapes over her shoulders.

Your attempts are in vain. Jungkook notices your stare immediately, a massive shit-eating grin spreading across his face. One eyebrow rises in a silent taunt, and you swear his grip around her tightens. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you instead turn back to Jisoo, finally voicing the question that’s on your mind.

“So, where’s Chaeyoung? I saw her during the ceremony, but haven’t seen her around since. She didn’t leave already, did she?”

“No, she’s still here,” Jisoo answers, exchanging a look with Lisa. Curiosity piqued, you watch her gaze dart over to Jungkook for a split second before returning to you, a tiny smile gracing her face once more. “She’s with her family right now, but she’ll be at the party tomorrow.”

“I’ll congratulate her there, then,” you say, returning her smile with one of her own. Silently, you wonder at the uneasy glance the two girls had exchanged, but decide not to press it, chalking it up to some senior year drama that isn’t any of your business.

“Well, we should probably get going,” Jisoo says after another beat. “We’re off to dinner.”

“We should be on our way too,” you agree, glancing over at where your parents are still chatting, having absorbed Junghyun into their conversation at some point. Bidding the two girls goodbye, you sidle over to join them, trying your best to subtly nudge your parents toward the door.

After what feels like an eternity, your parents finally decide that they’re ready for a change in scenery. The drive to the restaurant is blessedly short, much to the relief of your grumbling stomach, and you are more than grateful for the brief reprieve from Jungkook and his knowing smirk. It doesn’t last long, however, and you mentally brace yourself when you spot the Jeons’ car in the parking lot of the restaurant. Upon entering, you are quickly ushered to your reserved table where the Jeons are already waiting, and somehow in the shuffle you end up right between Jungkook and Junghyun, the former’s face dissolving into a satisfied grin as he watches you sit down.

Then he turns to Jimin, who’s seated on his other side. “Hey, man.”

You bristle at the blatant way he’s ignoring you. But two can play at that game, so you turn to Junghyun with a winning smile, laying a hand on his shoulder for good measure. The older Jeon brother is four years your senior, but despite the age difference, you’ve always gotten along well.

“Junghyun, I haven’t seen you in ages! How have you been?”

The elder Jeon grins and leans in to give you a hug. “Good, good—work’s insane, but that’s old news. What about you? How’s school going so far?”

You can feel Jungkook’s gaze on you, hot and heavy. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle under the weight of it, and you resist the urge to shiver. Instead, you give Junghyun’s bicep a final squeeze before pulling away, steadfastly ignoring the way Jungkook lets out a disgruntled hiss from between his teeth.

“School is good,” you tell Junghyun. “I’m trying to get all my general requirements out of the way early, so my first semester wasn’t very interesting. I took some more focused classes in the second, though, which made things infinitely better.”

The elder Jeon laughs. “Guess that means you’re on the right track then, huh?”

“Guess so,” you reply, laughing right along with him.

The server stops by to take drink orders, and your parents take it upon themselves to order food for the table as well. You continue chatting amicably with Junghyun as the server returns with a tray of water, sodas, and soju; beside you, Jungkook does the same with Jimin. The only break in conversation comes when the server—a pretty girl with a chirpy voice and a nametag that reads ‘Mina’—leans over to set a glass of Coke down in front of Jungkook. He thanks her with a crooked smirk and a low purr of gratitude that has her cheeks flushing pink, and it’s all you can do not to gape at him like a fish. The flirtatious quirk of his lips, the seductive tone—it all comes far too naturally to him, and you wonder for a moment just where the old Jungkook has gone. The Jungkook you used to know stammered every time he had to talk to an unfamiliar girl, and had trouble looking even you in the eye despite having known you since grade school.

But now, he’s nowhere to be found. The young man sitting beside you remains as calm as can be, shifting his body toward Mina so that he can request a straw.

“Of course, here you go!” Mina’s gaze lingers on his hand as he accepts the proffered straw, eyes widening when his fingers brush against hers lightly.

“Fast service,” Jungkook remarks, his voice dipping into a low, indolent drawl. “I like that.”

Mina giggles and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She’s clearly about to respond to him—flirt right back, undoubtedly—but your father stands up and taps his glass with a spoon before she can open her mouth. “I want to make a toast,” he says, and you send him a silent, heartfelt thank you when Mina wisely chooses to make herself scarce. “Congratulations to Jungkook and Jimin, our two rad grads!”

An audible groan rises up from your side of the table, where Jimin has buried his face in his hands. “Oh my god, Dad.”

“What?” your father asks innocently. “I really think you’re rad, grad!”

Jimin groans again, muffled by the sleeves of his jacket. “I want the earth to swallow me whole.”

Laughter all around. More toasts are given, and the bottles of soju scattered around the table slowly dwindle down to their last dregs. Junghyun picks up the one closest to him and fills up your glass for the fourth time, drawing a protesting whine from your lips as you try to cut him off. “Wait, that’s not fair! Pour some for yourself too!”

“Relax, we can always order more,” Junghyun says with a laugh, topping off your glass before glancing around to find Mina. Much to your irritation, she’s already headed your way, bearing loaded platters of meat and vegetables and wearing a bright smile that seems to only be directed to Jungkook.

“I hope you’re all hungry!” she chirps, coming to a stop between you and the subject of her affections. You swear she shoots you a dirty look over her shoulder before turning back to the table, her cheerful facade back in place as she smiles at Jungkook. “Where did you want me to put the meat?”

“Anywhere it’ll fit,” Jungkook tells her with a suggestive smirk, keeping his voice soft enough so that only you and she can hear.

Mina cannot hide her answering smile. Likewise, you cannot hide the way your nostrils flare, throat bobbing as you swallow down the ugly feelings bubbling up in your chest. You can feel Jungkook’s gaze roving across your skin, but you refuse to look at him, stubbornly facing the front as Mina distributes food around the table. As soon as she’s departed again—her fingers brushing across the back of Jungkook’s chair in the process—you’re up and out of your seat, heart beating faster than you’d like to admit.

“Restroom,” you say shortly by way of explanation. It’s thankfully empty when you arrive, and you immediately make a beeline toward the sink to splash some cold water on your cheeks.

It’s absurd—this snaking jealousy coiling in your belly and winding up between the slats of your ribcage. Straightening up, you give your reflection in the mirror a stern look, silently willing the feelings in your chest to abate. Gradually, your heartbeat slows into a regular rhythm, your cheeks cooling, and after waiting another two minutes, you decide that it’s been long enough. Drying off your hands, you exit the restroom and wind your way back to the table, keeping your pace leisurely even when Jungkook looks up and catches your eye. His expression is unreadable, and you valiantly ignore his burning gaze as you take a seat.

“How is everything?” you ask Junghyun, picking up a spoon and piling your plate with food from the nearest platter.

Junghyun pauses mid-bite to answer. His mouth opens, but you don’t catch his answer because there is a sudden, heavy weight on your knee. A warm palm caresses the skin exposed by the hem of your dress, slow and sensual and deliberate. Your eyes widen and your lips part, but no sound escapes. The rest of the table’s occupants fade away into the background, conversations and laughter dulling into a low drone. Beside you, Junghyun is still talking, but all you can hear is blood rushing through your ears.

And on your other side, Jungkook is smirking.

The bastard.

Gentle fingertips skim along your skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Your entire body stiffens, but Jungkook refuses to relent. He’s still chatting with Jimin, chuckling at a joke you didn’t hear, and you wonder how he can remain so calm when you are anything but. Your heart takes off in a sprint, clattering wildly against your ribcage, and for a few moments you are absolutely positive that everyone at the table can hear. Any moment, one of your parents will look over and see how wide your eyes are and how warm your cheeks feel. Any moment, Jimin will look down and see his best friend’s arm snaking beneath the table and realize what’s happening.

And then Jungkook squeezes your thigh, and all thought flies out of your head, dissipating like fog in the sunlight. He’s growing increasingly bold, his fingers trailing up until he can trace the hem of your dress, teasing at the soft material. Your breath hitches in your throat, and Jungkook’s smirk widens. You can see him out of the corner of your eye, trying to hide his smugness behind his soju glass, and for a moment you’re tempted to throw his drink in his face.

But more than that—more than anything else right now—you want him to continue touching you.

He’s sliding beneath your dress now, inching down to the delicate skin of your inner thigh and tracing nonsensical patterns there. You grip the edge of the table as he trails closer and closer to the lace of your panties, knuckles turning white against the dark wood. It’s a wonder no one has noticed your flustered state yet, and you cast concerned glances at Junghyun and Jimin before Jungkook notices your inattention. Punishingly, he slides a single finger into your panties, snapping the lace against your skin and covering the sound with a cough that he buries in his elbow. He can’t hide the way you jolt in your seat though, your knee thudding against the table. Junghyun gives you a worried look, laying a hand on your shoulder as he asks if you’re okay, and you hurriedly nod. And underneath the table, Jungkook resumes his ministrations, languorous and soft and deliberately avoiding the place you need him most, as if he has all the time in the world.

There’s a growing damp spot between your legs. You can feel it seeping through the cottony material of your panties, sticking uncomfortably to your folds. Jungkook’s touch is whisper-soft, caressing along your thigh until your skin is tingling, and it’s all you can do to swallow down the whimper that’s bubbling up in your throat. He’s thoroughly enjoying this—you can tell—and you’re certain he can feel the way you tense up when he suddenly drags a single finger up your clothed slit. A low hiss escapes your parted lips, and in an instant, all eyes are on you.

“Noona?” Jimin asks curiously. “Something wrong?”

“I—” Your mind whirs, searching for an excuse. “It’s nothing. I’m fine. The, uh, sauce was just spicier than I was expecting it to be.”

You haven’t touched a single thing on your plate in minutes, but no one seems to notice your obvious lie. Conversation resumes, and you determinedly pick up your spoon again, intent on getting something more substantial in your belly than the fluttering butterflies that have taken up residence there.

“You sure you want to eat that, Noona?” Jungkook’s voice reaches your ears—a low, dulcet purr that sends electricity shooting down your spine. “You should probably drink some water to cool down.”

And before you can answer—before you even manage to reach for your water glass—he’s slipped his hand into your panties, the warm pad of his thumb pressing experimentally against your clit. The slight pressure has you gasping, your heart pounding hard enough to leap out of your chest as you drop your spoon. Your hands drop down to your lap—one gripping the edge of your chair while the other finds its way around Jungkook’s wrist, and you aren’t sure whether you’re trying to stop him or spur him on. His arm muscles flex underneath your fingertips, and that’s all the warning you get before he angles his hand, a lone finger sinking inside your drenched entrance.

“Oh, fuck.” You can’t stop the strangled curse that escapes your lips, an airy hiss from behind clenched teeth. Your grip on Jungkook’s wrist tightens, but it doesn’t seem to dissuade him at all as he begins a leisurely pace, sinking deeper into your cunt with each thrust.

Luckily, no one hears your whimper. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you bite back the sounds threatening to spill out and instead focus on maintaining as neutral an expression as you can muster. Beneath the table, Jungkook remains relentless. Even when your mother looks over and addresses him directly, he doesn’t cease his ministrations, keeping both his tone and his pace even as he responds.

“Jungkookie, you’ve barely touched your pork belly. Are you full already?”

“Stuffed,” Jungkook replies smoothly. He punctuates the word by adding a second finger, and you almost bang your knee on the table again, your eyes going wide at his audacity.

Your mother pushes the platter of meat closer to him anyway. “No need to be polite, honey. Here, eat up.”

Obligingly, Jungkook picks out a few pieces with his free hand and piles them on his plate. “Thanks, Mrs. Park,” he says as he brings some to his mouth. “It’s delicious.”

Satisfied, your mother turns her attention elsewhere. Jungkook returns his to you, and you almost groan aloud when his thumb brushes against your clit again, rubbing tight circles around the sensitive bud before he sheathes both fingers inside you once more. There’s a growing heat coiling in the pit of your stomach by this point, lighting every single one of your nerves on fire. Your body is screaming for release, and Jungkook seems more than eager to give it to you. He’s freed his wrist from your grip, leaving you to clutch helplessly at the table as he angles his fingers upward. No doubt he’s searching for the spot that will have you seeing stars, and you know he’s found it when a sudden burst of pleasure spikes through you. Your mouth falls lax, and Jungkook grins, thoroughly satisfied.

There’s something building inside you, something that has your tummy tensing and your toes curling in your shoes. Jungkook’s fingers dig deep, his palm rubbing against your clit with every thrust, and it takes every remaining ounce of your self-control to resist the urge to rock your hips into his hand. A bit more of that delicious friction, and you’ll be falling over the edge. You know it, and so does Jungkook if the smirk on his face is anything to go by.

And then a voice is pulling you back to reality, a warm hand settling on your shoulder. You flinch at the contact, your startled gaze flying up to Junghyun’s, and balk when you see him staring at you with equal parts amusement and concern.

“I—what?” you stammer. “Did… did you say something?”

Beneath the table, you feel Jungkook’s fingers retreat, leaving you empty and aching for release. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook wipe his glistening hand on his napkin, a frown that can only be described as petulant settling onto his face.

“Whoa, relax!” Junghyun drags your attention back to him, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I just wanted to say goodbye. I have to be up early for work tomorrow, so I’m driving back into the city tonight.”

“Oh!” It takes you a few seconds to process his words. “Right, yeah. Have a safe drive back. It was good to see you.”

“Ditto,” he replies, flashing you a warm grin. “But hey, are you all right? You’ve been a little weird the whole night. Was it the food?”

Gratefully, you seize upon the excuse. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine. I think maybe something isn’t sitting quite right in my stomach, but I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about it.”

He nods and leans in for a hug. “Take care of yourself, yeah?”

“You too. Bye, Junghyun.”

With the elder Jeon brother’s departure, everyone else quickly decides that it’s time to disperse as well. You adamantly refuse to look in Jungkook’s direction as your parents fight over the bill, focusing your goodbyes on Mr. and Mrs. Jeon even when he glances your way with a knowing little smirk and a soft murmur of, “Bye, Noona.”

You can’t look at him. Not when every movement reminds you just how damp your panties are, your core begging for relief. Not when he’s waggling his fingers in farewell—the gesture anything but innocent. “Bye,” you warble weakly, before fleeing to the car.

The memory of his fingers burns fresh in your mind later that night as you lie in bed, your hand stuffed down your panties and working furiously to find that sweet, sweet relief.

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