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randomshyperson · 5 months

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Teddy Pickers - Heart Shaped Series

Chapter Summary: In the rare quiet time in the lives of fugitives, you and Wanda play a game of questions. It's like that old saying: There's always a peaceful period before the storm. Or could it be that this time, the storm has already passed?

Warnings: (+18), soft and almost entirely a smut chapter, making out, dirty talking but they are actually just playful and dorky with each other, more shapeshifting stuff, hints of PTSD and trauma talk, some self-doubt from both, mainly fluff and hurt/comfort | Words: 4.845k

A/N-> So I had two chapters ready but I hated them. I had to rewrite the whole thing because I was unsure where to take this story. I'm all on my supercorp era again and I was taking this to a very angsty line and I don't want that. So I changed and gave them peace and quiet instead. Also, I can't wait to write jealous hormonal mess Wanda in the next chapters! A good reading for you all!

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-&-

You woke up to her nightmares.

Still groggy from sleep, you rubbed your eyes and forced your body to react to the figure murmuring softly beside you, her face contorted in discomfort. At some point during the night, Wanda let go of you, snatched almost the entire comforter, and then began to dream.

And apparently, it wasn't a good one. It surprised you a little that you were affected by it, but you made a mental note of Wanda's impressive ability to emit a magical aura even in her sleep. That might explain why her room was set apart from the others in the tower.

Your touch was gentle on her face, and you called her softly until you woke her up. Wanda jumped a little, opening red, frightened irises until she realized she was just having a bad dream. She barely recognized your presence, and already pressed her face into your collarbone, breathing deeply against your skin.

"Are you all right, my love?" You asked after a moment, stroking her hair as her breathing returned to normal.

Wanda sniffled, and your heart broke. Your reaction was to look for her eyes, to reassure her, but she wrapped her arms tightly around you and wouldn't let you move away.

You sighed before adding: "It was just a bad dream, my little witch."

But Wanda sniffles again, this time pressing her face into your chest so that she can speak.

"It wasn't just a dream." She mumbles upset. "I was remembering... Pietro."

A lump forms in your throat. You swallow. "Oh, Wanda... I'm so sorry."

"It's all right." She hits back immediately, without moving a muscle. She continues to hold you as if she feels you'll disappear if she lets go. "It's been a while since I thought about that day. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"You certainly shouldn't worry about how I'm going to feel about this." You retort firmly. "He's your brother. You can cry all you want. I'll be here to hold you."

The words make her shift immediately and press her face against your body where you can feel new tears wetting your pajamas. But Wanda doesn't cry for long - she falls asleep again, her limbs locked tightly around you, and even though the position gets a little uncomfortable after a while, you don't have the heart to push her away. Especially since, after a while, her nightmares return and the magical aura is strong enough for the memories of the past to shine through your eyes.

You sigh, adjusting yourself to kiss the top of her head and settling her so that she's completely asleep on your body - which changes a little, growing just enough for Wanda to have all the soft hold she needs. She smiles unconsciously, tightening her embrace before falling back into a deep sleep. With the softness of her expression, you are reassured to know that the nightmares are gone, at least for the moment.

You try to fall asleep, but your ear picks up the soft vibration of your work cell phone in your jacket pocket hanging from the chair in the bedroom. Your body tenses during every ring, until it finally relaxes when the device goes silent.

Work is calling, you know. Just as you know you can't run away forever.

Hours later when you wake again, it’s for rays of sunshine slipping the curtains and chaste kisses on your collarbone. You smile immediately.

"Morning, little witch." Your sleepy voice makes Wanda raise her eyes to you, her lips never leaving your skin. The soft scratch of her nails on your stomach makes your muscles twitch. "You're up to mischief, I see."

Your teasing makes her chuckle hoarsely, her hands climbing further up your pajama top and exposing your torso almost completely.

But instead of starting another trail of kisses, she sat up straight against your hip and waited for you to open your eyes.

"You change in your sleep." She declares as you stare at her, still awake. "Did you know that?"

You nod, and Wanda raises a curious eyebrow. She has a joke on the tip of her tongue about how the hell you knew something if you were asleep when you explain;

"I used to be monitored twenty-four hours a day when I was a child. To prevent any minor detail from slipping through the records and interfering with the research."

Wanda bites the inside of her cheek, absorbing your confession for a second. She could count on her fingers the few times you had mentioned some random detail about your life before, and it took her by surprise. Almost everything she knew came from the Avengers' archives and carried technical and military analysis. She heard very little from your mouth.

"You never talk about your past." That's what she manages to answer because it's a fact.

You offer her a small smile, your hands moving to reach her thighs on either side of your hips.

"What would you like to know?"

Wanda sighs, her hands resting on your shoulders. "I'll listen to anything you want to tell me."

Your smile is tender, almost shy. Wanda likes it when she makes you blush, especially since you have the ability to conceal these reactions from her, changing and commanding your body according to your wishes. Even though you don't do it so often because you trust her.

What a thing. One of the world's greatest criminals blindly trusting an Avenger. She could actually feel very cocky about it.

"I have an idea." You then declare, your fingers playing with the edges of her shorts. Wanda stares at you expectantly, but you almost lose your train of thought at how deliciously beautiful she now looks. The slightly tousled hair, and well, the legs around you, and eyes that beg for everything but conversation. "Let's play a game."

"What kind of game?"

"A game of questions, of course." You retort good-humoredly, adjusting yourself a little to sit up straight. Wanda lets her hands fall to your lap. "Two truths and a lie. Traumatic childhood edition."

Wanda lets out a giggle, pinching you gently for the derogatory joke. You just smile at her, almost completely distracted by the sound of her laughter and the comforting feeling that moment brings to your chest.

"I've never played that one." She says after a moment. "What are the rules?"

"It's very simple. Each person states three facts, but one of them is false. You have to find out which one. The winner is whoever gets it right the most times, although I've just realized that playing something like that with a telepath isn't very fair." Wanda slaps you in a joking manner at the insinuation that she was going to cheat, getting a chuckle from you.

"I'll start then." She then states, assuming a thoughtful expression for a moment. You bite the inside of your cheek, resisting the urge to kiss her cute face and pay attention to the game. "With respect to the theme you've chosen, I grew up in a two-room apartment in the Sokovian countryside. When I was little, I could play the piano. And... I love to cook."

You hum thoughtfully, loosening your grip so that one of your hands goes to your chin. The whole theatrical expression makes Wanda giggle, her cheeks flushing with the way her stomach feels full of butterflies.

"I say the first one's a lie."

She raises an eyebrow. "Really? Why?"

Your expression changes to one of almost conviction. "Because you grew up in Novi Grad, the Sokovian capital, and not in the countryside. And I have to say, it's very bold of you to assume that I haven't done my homework on you, Wanda Maximoff."

Wanda feels a wave of warmth hit her body and spread with your words. Or perhaps, the way your eyes shine in a way that hides meaning. She allows herself to imagine for a moment your figure in the same clothes you wore when she first met you, frantically going through files at night to learn everything you could learn about her.

It reminds her a little of herself, days after your first encounter, how even though Wanda tried to be as secretive as possible, casually asking about missions in which you faced the Avengers, or reviewing mission files on the pretext that she was studying, Natasha realized what she was doing right away.

Clearing her throat, Wanda looked down, a little embarrassed. "I did the same. With-for you, I mean."

You smiled, looking at her with an almost impressed expression. "Oh, really? I'm flattered."

"Shut up." She giggles shyly in response, but you, despite chuckling too, insist more firmly;

"No, really. I think it’s quite romantic."

Wanda frowns slightly. "What, being obsessed with each other?"

"Yes."

"You have problems." She retorts in a false seriousness that makes you smile before Wanda swallows dryly at the way your gaze is focused intensely in her direction. The tension that rises is almost too much for her to be able to say anything else. Yet, she tries with a husky voice. "You got it right. The game, I say."

You nod, smiling. Your open palms on her thighs go up inside her shorts, and Wanda holds her breath for a second. But they only serve to make a gentle lever and pull Wanda closer by her ass, and she bites her lips at the new position, very aware of the warmth on her cheeks and neck.

"My three facts are as follows, Maximoff." You begin, your dark gaze on her previously bitten lips for a moment before focusing on her eyes again. "I was a laboratory experiment all through my childhood. I really like you." Wanda smiles, scrunching her nose adorably. You get momentarily distracted, gaze falling to her lips again. She catches your eyes, a smirk cracking on her mouth when she leans in, subtly asking you to break the distance. End the game. When you manage to talk again, your voice is barely a whisper; “I’m allergic to peanuts.”

She chuckles, arms interlocking behind your head. Wanda mutters a joke, something about keeping an eye for the food, but you firm your hands on her thighs and bring her closer to press your mouths together. It’s a hot kiss - charged with all of your naughty intentions. She lets out a soft moan when your tongue slides on hers, slow and sensual. But suddenly, Wanda breaks the kiss with flushed cheeks and a curious gaze on her eyes.

“Wait!” She asks breathlessly, to which you stare equally affected but expectant. “Your file did have peanuts listed as allergy.”

Damn, you thought you could win that one. A little grin starts to form on your lips, but Wanda narrows her eyes in your direction.

“Someone really did her homework on me, I see.” You tease, leaning in to go back to kissing her, but she evades your attempt, eyes shining a little dangerously.

“If the food was not the lie, and I know for a fact that you were an experience most of your life… Then the lie-” You wanted to laugh at the hidden panic hidden behind her eyes. Honestly, this woman.

What was she even thinking? That you would let her down in some game while having her on your lap? Hours after telling her that you love her?

It should be a hint enough that you’re smiling, for Wanda to realize there’s a joke there. But somehow, she grows more insecure. Her eyes flash red for a moment before and it’s a clear warning.

You just chuckle. “It’s all about semantics, darling.” You explain because it looks like Wanda might cut your head off if you don’t clarify exactly what lie you told. “I don’t just like you. We’re not in middle school. I love you, remember?”

The tension visually leaves her shoulders, but something else happens. Her cheeks and ears grow hotter and Wanda is once more a flustered mess, feeling pretty much like a shy middle schooler because you’re talking about feelings.

You think she’s beautiful, so you tell her that too. “God, you’re beautiful.”

She giggles coyly, kissing you because that’s all she can do without making a fool of herself. Well, if you keep rubbing her thighs under her shorts like that, she’ll probably make a fool of herself anyway, considering how she gets patheticly overwhelmed whenever you touch her.

For a while, you just made out. Slowly and passionately with wandering hands and panting kisses. It’s just nice to feel each other, to hold each other. It’s also very hot to feel Wanda rubbing herself on your lap until the soft friction is not enough.

She bites your lip when that happens, her hips more impatient and frantic against your thigh. All you can do in return is firm your hands on her waist, helping her get what she wants, what she needs. And Wanda stops kissing you because all she can do is moan in return for the time being, quite aware of the wetness dripping down her shorts.

She starts whining into your mouth when she’s close, and it’s too much for you - How can Wanda expects you not to fuck her properly when she’s doing that? - Your hands flip her over in a heartbeat. She barely has time to protest for the interruption of her previous, and desperate motions, when you’re all over her. Groping your way into her clothes, tearing it apart, and taking more eager sounds from her throat.

And Wanda, she’s such a tease. Dark dilated eyes shining with mischief and begging you to just fuck her. The way she lets you strip her out of her clothes, and how she slightly opens her legs, rubbing her ankles behind your kees, inviting you to just-

“Fuck.” You pant for the image in front of you. Wanda bites her lips, one of her hands finding its way to her soft breasts, fingers teasing the hard nipple like she doesn’t mind the slightest that you could lose your sanity to such a sinful gesture.

But Wanda is getting impatient too. The hot knot on her belly is making her dizzy. You’re making her dizzy.

“Need you so bad, detka.” She meowed, her hips arching into the air, allowing you a clear view of her drenched pussy. You can see how wet she is, smell it, yet, a true confirmation only comes when you use one of your hands to press her back into the bed while your free fingers find her warm entrance. Wanda cries out when you enter her, but she’s so hot and so tight, that you have to pull out before pushing two fingers in again and again, stretching her out while she struggles to breathe. Her thigh muscles twitch when your thumb finds her clit, every drawn circle against the hardened bud rips a new throaty moan out of her.

When she’s close again, impossibly tightly against your fingertips, throbbing, you hum pleasantly, your free hand gripping her waist to take control of her uncoordinated movements. Wanda cries out when you force her into your fingers, reaching deeper now and too good for her to hold back, so the hot knot on her belly explodes without warning and she arches her back, twitching and choking on a moan before going limb on the mattress. You keep fingering her gently, prolonging her orgasm until she complains about the overstimulation with a tug on your wrist.

You pull your fingers out but not kiss her as she would wish - Instead, you lean down and her dizzy expression falters into a gasp when your mouth finds her cunt, tongue licking every drop of cum you just manage to get. Her natural reaction is to back away, she’s sensitive. But you grab her thighs, find your place between her legs, and start to eat her out like you’re starving.

“Oh God…fuck-” Her choked moaning mixing in English and Sokovian is music to your ears. Her eyes close on instic, because it’s too much and somehow not enough - Your tongue is teasing her, playing with her clit but not using the necessary pressure she needs. She just came and you barely started and Wanda is ready for more, painting for more. One of her hands finds your hair, a strong grip that works like a warning. Yet, she says or at least tries to, since it sounds a lot more like a whine than anything else: “Stop teasing.”

To be fair, she could probably ask you anything at any time, especially now. While dripping so sweetly into your tongue, clenching and begging for more. You hum accordingly, ending your tease when sucking on her clit. Wanda screams. Loud enough for other people to hear, that’s for sure, but none of you cares about that. Not now, probably not never.

She can’t hold longer after that, not when you’re doing everything to get another climax out of her, fingers finding her pussy again to help your tongue. It’s so messy and sloppy and nearly desperate. Your own underwear has been bothering you for a while now and Wanda crying out your name is definitely not helping with that.

It’s not a surprise that when she comes, the room shudders a little. Wanda’s not being careful, she’s too gone for that now. Little were the times when she didn’t, couldn’t, hold back herself, her magic. The energy flows to her veins like the heat spreading under her skin when she orgasms and it’s breathtaking and overwhelming and she’s coming so hard that she can’t hold anything back. A wave of warm magic explodes around, her red irises open like her mouth in a silent scream, and it’s beautiful. Wanda is perfect, and she’s all yours.

She only realizes she ripped the sheets when you move back to her and the bed makes a noise that forces her to notice the room. Such a mess she made. Someone will have to pay for bedroom fixing.

“Enjoying yourself, aren’t you witchy?” You tease fondly about the whole setting, the new crack on the window, the little sparks of her magic that still flow around. Wanda sighs satisfied, her hands finding your face when you’re close enough. When she kisses you, her taste is there and she can only moan at the dirty of that act, how you suck her tongue like you’ve sucked her clit a few minutes ago.

Wanda doesn’t break the kiss to move her hands lower, groping your still-dressed figure and only now realizing how that is actually torturous.

“Hmm, I’ve been so selfish, milyy (darling). You must be needing me as well.” She mutters between one kiss and another, and you’re almost so distracted by her new dominance over you that you barely notice her hands. Barely. You follow her lead, resting your back on the bed so Wanda can hover over your body. Her fingers move under your shirt, scratching the skin and giving her a nice time feeling you twitch. The way she looks at you is also a lot to handle without shaking.

Suddenly, Wanda pants, eyes diverting to your chest. “Oh, hello you two”. She doesn’t mind your shyness, shamelessly groping your boobs under your shirt. “I missed those.”

You chuckle out of breath, pulling your shirt off while Wanda just stares and plays with them. “I can’t believe you just talked to my boobs.”

She squeezes, pulling the tip until it’s hard under her touch. You bite your lips, to keep your sound under control but you can feel a new wave of warm wetness spreading towards your lower belly.

“Well, I’ve missed them. It’s been a while, since, you know, you actually had those two.” She so casually talking about it, it’s not that you mind that, but she’s also touching and squeezing them and you’re way too horny to have a conversation.

With very warm cheeks, you try to anyway; “Hm, they usually stay in the way of the job.” Wanda leans down, forcing her head between your breasts, muttering something like so soft and she’s such a dork that you have to chuckle. “It’s just extra work to find the right clothes and then changing every time I need a new face and matching body.”

Despite her clearly interest in your chest, Wanda is listening as she lets you know with a hum of knowledge. But then her mouth envelops one of them and it’s just too much for you to focus on anything else but the feeling of her tongue. You pant to the ceiling, shaky fingers gripping her hair, telling her to keep going but Wanda is such a teasing brat. There’s a small ‘pop’ sound when her mouth lets go, and a trace of saliva still connects your nipple to her lips before Wanda goes for the other one. You squirm a little under her, blushing intensely because she’s such a tease and apparently wants you to beg for it.

She takes no pity on the ache between your legs; When her mouth leaves your breast again, she has this mischievous sparkle in her eyes that makes you gulp.

“I think I’m a little obsessed with them.” She tells you, giving your tits another squeeze, a little harder this time.

You gasp. “You think?”

“Huh-huh.” She replies, nodding. “You had it on your first night together. Then never again until today. It’s because you miss me sucking them, malysh (baby)?”

You roll your eyes at the words, teasing words evidently. The little cocky smirk that almost makes you go back to being the one in charge. To be completely honest, Wanda was always the one in charge. Even when she allows you to be on top.

“You’re mistaken, Maximoff.” You retort her while giving her a gentle tug on her thighs, to bring her closer because you really need some kind of pressure between your legs. Wanda doesn’t have to be a mind reader to get the hint - Her knee finds your middle as she straddles your thigh, and she doesn't mind hiding her grin at how you let out an affected sigh at that. “I also had them when I first met you.”

She frowns a little, scrunching her nose in a thoughtful way. You are about to clarify when her knee moves away for her hand to take the spot. And well, you can’t think of saying anything, coherent at least, with Wanda finger’s filling you up so nicely. She seems to be enjoying herself as well - Watching attentively at every strangled noise that escapes you with the consistent pace inside you.

But suddenly as if remembering your previous words, she gaps: “Oh my god, you’re right!” She says, somehow her excitement brings her deeper inside of you. All you can give her as a response is a whine. “You were pretending to be one of the gala’s hosts right? The.. damn, i can’t remember his name-”

“W-wanda..” You meowls, the heat is too much. The way she just keeps pumping in and out of you, and talking about something else as if turning you into a whining mess is nothing, actually makes you throb.

Wanda just smiles, ignoring your protest to the conversation and quite satisfied with the growing wetness she can feel on her fingertips. “Oh, I remember it now. The host only had daughters, so you did your part. Also one of the few times I saw you in a dress, baby. And what a view that was.” She leans in, whispering soft praises into your ear while you struggle to breathe. It takes you over the edge quickly, and Wanda is rewarded with the sweetest whimper once the knot in your belly explodes - One of your hands grabs her wrist, to keep her there as if she ever thought of leaving. Your hips jerk a few times as you ride the last waves of your climax and Wanda watches all of it, as breathless as you, truly mesmerized by the scene.

When you can breathe again, there are green irises staring at you with adoration. “Hi.”

“Hi you.” It’s your tender reply, and when Wanda leans in to kiss your lips, she can feel your smile. One of your hands moves to her face, gently caressing her skin. Once the kiss is broken, you talk first. “I love you, Wanda.”

You sound so vulnerable, so true, that she swallows. Her gaze focused on your eyes. It’s almost like there’s more to add, at the same time, as if the confession meant even more than just caring about someone. Wanda remembers the first time you said, how you mentioned that she was the first person you ever said that to, and somehow she understands it that it meant that you trusted her very deeply. She bites her lips, withdrawing her fingers from you. She doesn’t miss the soft sigh that escapes you, but she says nothing to that. Wanda is busy taking your wetness to her mouth and sucking her fingers clean. The image is enough to bring not only a strong color to your cheeks but a dark shine to your eyes.

You are ready to break the distance again when knocks on the door break the bubble you two are in completely.

And Captain Rogers's voice from the outside of the room kind of breaks the mood entirely.

“Hello? I’m… sorry to interrupt. I just need a word. With everyone. Please, huh, join us downstairs?” You and Wanda hide your giggles - The Captain was obviously flustered to call you two, especially judging by the noises Wanda didn’t mind to restrain, probably everybody knew what you two were up to. And it was definitely Natasha’s idea that he was the one who called; the widow was having some fun with her friend's clumsiness.

Wanda cleared her throat, unwillingly taking her attention from you to the door. “We’ll be right out, Steve.”

Once the sound of his footsteps became more distant, Wanda kissed you again. She seemed determined not to move away from you.

-&-

Sergeant Barnes was in Wakanda, undergoing recovery.

When Steve mentioned the country, he looked directly at you, and that was enough for you to know that whatever the king had told him about your adventures there, the captain was on the monarch's side. Not that it mattered all that much.

Consciously or not, while Steve was updating the team, you discreetly scratched the scar you received the last time you were there. If you concentrated, you could remember exactly how painful it was to receive the Wakandian words for thief on your skin.

And seeing the heroes of Earth around you, with inside jokes and personal stories, made you feel very out of place. As if they too could see the scar, even if it was covered by an oversized sweatshirt now.

You swallowed dry and took advantage of the fact that Natasha was finally telling everyone what had kept her busy for the first few weeks on the run, to slip away towards a snack machine.

Wanda followed you with her eyes, aware of all your reactions to the conversations. She just wanted you to feel at ease with the others too, but she knew the opposite feeling well. She was once new to the presence of the Avengers, and they could be rather intimidating. Even the friendliest of them. Maybe it was a superhero thing.

You were deciding between the first and third row when Natasha caught Wanda's eye again. She wanted the witch to be paying attention to the conversation, it seemed important.

The widow took a deep breath. "I never told any of you this, because I thought it was in the past. But... I have a sister. Her name is Yelena Belova and-"

But the news and the shock had to be left for later. A bang from the other side of the common area interrupted Nat's story, and the whole team stood up.

You had just shoved a person hard enough to break the glass of the snack machine. But the attacker's exclamation of pain made you let go immediately.

The masked figure pushed you back harshly, but you laughed in amazement.

"You weren't supposed to make a scene, you idiot." Complained the woman, massaging her sore shoulder due to the impact. She barely had time to regain her balance and half the Avengers were in fighting position, one particular witch making her take a step back, hiding in your protection.

You acted quickly, gesturing to the heroes to stand down, before throwing one of your arms under the smaller one shoulder.

"Relax, everything's fine!" You declared happily. You tugged at the combat mask she was wearing, revealing the unknown woman's face, which caused her to elbow you, which you ignored. "Meet Layla El-Faouly, my business partner."

The curly-haired woman forced a smile and waved. Wanda was the last of the team to drop her attack position.

-&-

A/F/N-> If you haven't watched Moonknight, please do. Layla El-Faouly is simply incredible. I can't give away too many spoilers for those who haven't seen it, but she's also a thief and a really skilled one. It would be a waste to have an international thief reader who didn't know her.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff fics #wanda maximoff smut #heart shaped series #marvel imagines

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chimcess · 4 months

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Waterlog || pjm (1)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Olympic Swimmer!Jimin, Ex Olympic Swimmer! Reader, Swim Coach!Reader Genre: Strangers to Friends to Lovers!AU, Coach!AU, Swimming!AU, Age Gap!AU, HEAVY Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, fluff, eventual smut, I'm so soft for these two it's crazy. Word Count: 17.4k+ Synopsis: After a car accident ends her athletic career, Y/N has slowly started rebuilding her life again as a high school swim coach. That’s until she gets a request from an old friend and finds herself back in the spotlight as the new coach of Olympic swimmer, Park Jimin. Warnings: discussions of significant death (does not happen in story), talks of a bad car accident, talks of drunk driving (please drinking responsibly), more than likely wrong swimming terms and poor understanding of how the Olympics actually works (I did so much research, pls be nice to me lol), strong language, lots of mental health discussions, reader has mommy and daddy issues, Older reader, Jimin is a complete sweetie, the tamest chapter of them all A/N: Well, well, well, look who came back. I first wrote Waterlog back in 2021, and while I enjoy the premise, I hate the finished product. I wanted to go back and edit/fix what I originally had, but when I tried it became so different, I was better off rewriting the entire thing. I hope you guys like this mini-series. If you would like to read the original go to my blog archive. Thank you for reading!

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Staring at the pool, I managed to calm myself with relative ease. Jin had been right, physical therapy had made things easier. The water glistened prettily in the lights, and I waited with bated breath for my trainer to come in.

Emery was a sweet guy, pretty with a lip ring and tattoos, but with a surprising amount of shyness it was laughable. His softness was offset by his powerful muscles, and I enjoyed his never-ending sense of humor. Unlike Dr.Maddox, Emery treated me like I was a normal person. Not an Olympian who almost lost her leg in an accident, or the woman whose fiancé died. I was just Y/N, and it was a relief to be around him.

Running my fingers along the scars on my leg, I mindlessly drew patterns around them in the silence. It was not normal for Emery to take this long, but his assistant had said he was running behind due to another patient, so I was unbothered. I had planned my entire day around this, so I was in no rush.

Finally, the door swung open revealing a disheveled Emery. Breathing heavier than usual, he rolled his eyes at me in frustration before saying his pleasantries. Whoever it had been had gotten him worked up.

“Rough morning?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

With an annoyed sigh, he nodded.

“I shouldn’t say this, but I hope that woman never comes back here.”

I laughed, “We all have that someone. Don’t feel too bad.”

Shaking his head, I could tell it took restraint on his part not to rant and rave about the woman who had left. Emery and I were more friendly than most. I had been seeing him for over two years now, but we still kept a semblance of a professional relationship. Especially Emery.

“How’s the kids?” He asked, making small talk as we started getting ready for a swim.

I was the coach of a high school swim team in town, something I talked about quite a bit, and Emery always liked hearing about. He was a great water polo player but chose to go into physical therapy while he was in college. After seeing one of his friends get injured and how much physical therapy had helped him, Emery decided to change his major. Four years later, he says he could never see himself doing anything else.

“They’re doing well,” I said honestly. “We got a couple of freshmen on the team, but they’re doing a lot better than I thought they would.”

Emery hummed, offering me assistance getting into the pool. While walking had been mostly figured out, the obvious limp aside, I still had some trouble with getting in-and-out of things. Even my bathtub had to be switched out since I was unable to step over it. I still used the medical chair while in there, too.

The water was cool against my skin, and I felt instantly relieved. The dull aches and pains left as soon as I got into the water. Swimming to my usual spot, I waited patiently for Emery to join me.

“That’s great to hear,” He smiled.

Going to the edge of the pool, Emery grabbed a set of barbells and handed them to me. Taking them, the two of us went over the workout plan for the day. Pulling himself up on the pool’s edge, Emery picked up his stopwatch and told me to begin.

Getting on the interstate, I sang along to the radio as I made my way to Hoseok’s. The two of us had been friends since high school, our mutual love for swimming making it impossible to keep apart, and only growing with time. He was one of my biggest support systems after the accident. Both of us had retired years ago now, but I remembered our days as Olympians fondly. Those were the best years of my life.

A small group of our friends were getting together at his house to watch the summer Olympics this afternoon. The women’s swimming finals were happening today, and I knew two of the girls competing. Turning on my blinker, I quickly got off the interstate.

Pressing around my car’s radio screen, I went to my contacts and pressed Andy’s number. She was off today and in charge of getting everything together. Hoseok had tried to do it himself, but always seemed to forget who should do what and ended up buying everything himself. She picked up after the fourth ring.

“What’s up, sugar?” Andy greeted, her voice soft and light. Her Memphis accent was thick and brought a smile to my face. Everyone had made jokes about her being southern when we first met. “Don’t tell me you’re missing Nationals.”

I shook my head even though she could not see me.

“I’m on my way,” I replied. “What should I pick up? I completely forgot.”

Andy sighed, “You’re just as bad as Jin.”

Seokjin was Andy’s husband. The two of them had been together whenever they moved to Colorado, married before I ever met them, and became quick friends with Hoseok when they moved to the Springs. That was how I had met them. Whenever their daughter Dani was born, Andy had asked me to be her Godmother and I sobbed in her lap. They were my closest friends next to Hoseok. Jin was indeed very forgetful, though, and the jibe made me chuckle.

“Cut me some slack,” I argued. “I’ve been working out for two hours straight.”

I could hear the smile in her voice, “Just get some pizza or something. We’re picking up some wings and Hobi’s in charge of the drinks. Minho and Tilly are bringing… something. I don’t even know anymore.”

Fully laughing now, I saw a Little Ceasars up ahead and got into the correct lane. Minho and Matilda were loose cannons when it came to our parties. While sweet, and fiercely loyal, I found myself wondering why I hung out with them at times. We were night and day personality wise, but I loved them dearly. Minho would probably bring some Korean side dishes from home, and Matilda would pick up a few packs of ramen from the store. Andy was stressing over nothing again. I hoped she was getting proper rest on her days off.

“I’m at Little Caesars,” I told her, parking my car. “I’m going to get the basics. How many things of Crazy Bread should I get?”

She thought for a second before replying.

“Five?” She was definitely unsure about her answer.

It was hard to gauge just how hungry everyone would be, and Jin was a bottomless pit.

“Sounds good,” I said instead, already thinking about getting more.

“Drive safe. See you in a bit.”

“See you, Andy,” I unplugged my phone from the charger.

Pressing it to my ear, I pressed my start button and turned it off. I climbed out of my car and started walking to the store.

“Love you,” She sing-songed playfully.

“Love you, too,” I replied. Opening the door, a worker greeted me with a smile. “I’m about to order.”

Shoving my phone in my back pocket, I gave the worker an awkward smile before telling him my order. I ended up getting seven bags instead of five. Just in case. Dani really liked the stuff and Jin could smash an entire bag by himself. While I waited for the cheese pizza to come out of the oven, my phone started ringing.

“Hello?” I answered, unable to check the caller ID while the cashier shoved the crazy bread into my arms.

“I heard from a little bird that you’re thinking about competing again.”

I grinned and thanked the cashier as she handed me my other pizza.

“Hello to you, too, Frank,” I replied. “And your little birdie wouldn’t happen to be Hoseok, would it?”

Frank and Sarah Boone had become a part of my life after the accident. They ran a local support group to help those affected by drunk drivers to get connected with resources and therapy. The two had lost their son when he decided to drive home drunk from a party and used the group as their own coping mechanism. They were wonderful people and owned their own joint coffee shop and bookstore in Denver.

“Won’t say names,” He chuckled, “But it might have come from a certain part-timer. So, is it true?”

I placed the boxes in the passenger seat and rounded my car. This was not a conversation I was expecting to happen today. I had brought up the idea to Hoseok since the Olympics were coming up next year, but I was not committed to it. I was enjoying my new job coaching and did not think I was in any condition for competition. When he brought up the Paralympics I laughed. Those competitors were in better shape than I was, and I doubted I would qualify. I was disabled but my disability did not (as far as I knew) carry over into the pool.

“I was just talking shit, Frank,” Backing out of the parking space, I put in Hoseok’s address and started to drive. Switching over to my car’s phone, I put my phone down and looked at the road. “You know I’m happy with my life right now.”

He made a grunting noise that told me he did not really believe me. No one did. All of them were sure I was miserable about my career ending far before its time, and while that may be true, I felt more loss about the life I was supposed to have than winning medals. I missed Namjoon more than any medal. Frank and Sarah understood that.

“I know that,” He cleared his throat, and I could hear the congestion. Frank had come down with a nasty case of walking pneumonia two weeks ago and was still recovering. “Just got a little excited is all. It would be nice to see you putting yourself back out there.”

It would be nice to see myself back in the pool, I could admit that. I had dreams of it at times. Being a competitor was a part of who I was. From the first time my dad took me to my swim classes when I was six all the way until I claimed my eighth Olympic medal, everyone had said there was nothing I hated more than losing. I was fiery, free-spirited, and kept my eyes on the prize. It was the thing Namjoon loved about me the most. That made me frown.

“I left a champ,” I forced a laugh. “Need to save some gold for the rest of them.”

Hiding behind humor was a pastime.

Frank laughed, oblivious to the hollowness in my tone. “Heard they have a new guy taking your place.”

That made me snort, “He’s not taking my spot. Totally different competitions, my friend.”

“Winning gold like you, that’s for damn sure.”

It must be Jimin Park. The kid turned up on the scene a year after my accident. He was a very, very talented swimmer. Fast as a bullet with the best butterflies I had ever seen, Park was a force to be reckoned with in the men’s league. It was a joy to watch him swim and this year would be his first Olympics. Hoseok and I were very excited to watch him.

“If you’re talking about Park,” I chuckled. “He’s far from new. He’s been competing for a few years now. First Olympics, though.”

“He’s young, ain’t he?”

I nodded, “23, I think.”

Truthfully, I did not know how old he was. I remember the buzz around how young he was when he first broke out on the scene. He was eighteen when he took home gold all season before a family emergency took him out of the Olympics last minute. No one knew what really happened, but his team had said his brother was in an accident, tragically losing his life, and Jimin was prioritizing his family. He’s competed every year since and with the Olympics next year, I was certain Park would be there. He deserved it.

I was parked in front of the house now and from the cars outside, I was the last person to arrive. Frank and I talked for a few moments. It was cute how much he had learned about swimming so we could be buddies. Sarah was the only person who recognized my face when I first started going to the meetings and her husband was determined to get me to open after weeks of sitting in bitter silence in the back.

We hung up after I promised I would make it to the meeting next Thursday. Frank was not happy about me skipping the past two weeks, but understood I was taking some time to myself. My boys were going to compete this year, I had fought tooth and nail for that funding, and the extra hours at school were exhausting. Jeremy and Evan showed promise, but they knew how to drive me up the wall with all of their simple mistakes.

As I suspected, the party was in full swing. Matilda and Minho were laughing loudly on the sofa, Hoseok sporting a beer in the recliner next to them, and Dani practicing her gymnastics in the middle of it all. I could hear the commentators talking animatedly about the girls, who they believed would come out on top and highlights from the night before, but I never really paid them any mind.

“Pizza’s here!” Minho boomed, practically running to greet me.

I laughed, handing over the boxes, “Need help carrying the rest in.”

Matilda offered, happily taking my car keys and leaving the house. Minho had disappeared into the kitchen. Dani spared me enough attention for a smile and wave before launching into excited pleas for me to watch her new moves.

“Super cool, babe,” I smiled sweetly after her handstand. Dani was not particularly good at gymnastics. She started later than the other girls, rarely did anything she was actively afraid of, and hated her coach. Andy was already looking for a better gym, but I just thought she should start pointing her in another direction. Dani loved dancing and she would be a wonderful ballerina or figure skater if given the proper training. The Kim’s, however, seemed fine watching her deal with gymnastics and cheerleading. “You’re getting better.”

Dani beamed, “Daddy said the same thing.”

Flipping the right way around, her hair coming out of its messily tied bun and falling down past her shoulders. Brown, loose waves made her look so much younger than her eight years, her small stature only selling the illusion even more. Her skin was smooth, and she always looked as though she had been playing outside in the sun, a constant tinge of pink beneath her sandy skin. Her features favored her father, large eyes, long face, and plush, pillow-like lips, but after meeting Andy’s parents, I could see her grandmother hidden within the mischievous glint in her eyes and too small ears.

“Your dad’s a smart guy,” I joked.

She continued to babble away as I made myself more comfortable, kicking off my shoes and tossing my hat onto the small buffet table that sat above the shoe rack. Matilda came back inside, her arms filled with bags of bread, and I took two from the pile. With a thankful, thin-lipped grin, she also complimented Dani’s moves before disappearing around the corner in the direction of the kitchen.

“Dani,” Hoseok seemed to have finally grown tired of hearing the girl talk. I would imagine this was all he had been hearing since he arrived. “Do you want to color with me?”

The little girl clapped happily, her eyes bright and shining, before abandoning her mat to gather a few coloring books and her massive hoard of crayons. Hoseok looked at me then, a sly smile on his face before winking. I chuckled and shook my head. He always did that to make her shut up.

I left the living room before Dani came back. I loved her dearly, but I could admit she talked too much. It was a good thing for a kid her age to be so social but that did not mean I wanted to hear her every waking thought. Andrea and Seokjin were the only parents in our little group, and I imagined it would stay that way for a while. Even if my dreams of children were still alive, I did not have anybody I wanted to take on that responsibility with.

Minho was eating the pizza, as expected, while Matilda had already claimed her own bag of Crazy Bread. Andy and Jin were snuggled up at their dining table, his arms securing her to his chest, and she curled into him. I loved watching them together. I had grown up in a house with two people who hated one another, barely kept up a facade of civility before my mother skipped down to be with her new boyfriend in Florida leaving my dad and I behind in Pennsylvania. We made it work but things were never the same after that. It made me happy to know little Dani would feel the love radiating in her home as she grew up. I had never seen two people so enamored with one another in my life- not even Namjoon and I.

“How was therapy?” Minho asked after we exchanged pleasantries. “Hoseok said you were talking about competing next season.”

I laughed in disbelief. That man did not know how to keep his mouth shut. I said the same thing I told Frank over the phone, and he scoffed. Minho never truly laughed, if I was honest. It was always a snicker, scoff, or chuckle. He was a man of little words and even fewer outbursts of joy, and I found his versions of those things just as reserved as the rest of him. He was the most expressive when he smiled, but those were just as rare as a genuine laugh. Dani managed to squeeze more out of him than anybody else.

“Stop meddling!” Andy scolded the other man from her spot in Seokjin’s lap.

“Never,” My friend replied, amusement clear in his voice.

“Never!” Dani echoed, voice louder than Hoseok’s. She was giggling happily alongside him, and I rolled my eyes. He was her favorite. “Never!” She repeated again, pleased when Hoseok laughed. “Never!”

“That’s enough,” Jin’s voice was even and smooth.

Dani did not shout again but we could all hear her and Hoseok attempting to cover up their laughter. Andy smiled fondly. Their little friendship had warmed her heart. After Dani, Andrea had been diagnosed with cervical cancer. It had come back six times before her doctor said she needed to get a hysterectomy. She grieved the children they would never have, the large family she dreamed of stolen from her, but once Dani was old enough to walk, she had been glued to Hoseok’s hip.

Hoseok for all he spoke about never wanting children, he adored Dani. His family was small, he and his sister the only children, but they were extremely close. She lived in New York City as a fashion designer and got married last year, and I always had the feeling Hoseok felt lonely without her. Dani was a welcome break from routine and made him feel special. It was sweet but I hoped my friend would find someone to share his life with someday.

“It’s starting,” Hoseok announced.

It was a great day for the U.S. Opal Simmons was one to look out for. She was the oldest woman on the team, a shocking 24, but she could out swim a vast majority of them. Her freestyles were amazing, earning her a gold with Japan just a few points behind. I was hopeful she would be able to come out on top in her distance swim. While not the fastest in the pool, the girl knew how to pace herself. The cameras cut to the shot of one of her coaches smiling triumphantly at the performance.

He was a good friend of mine, Oswald Bunch. He had been heavily involved with the Olympics for years now, promoted to one of the lead coaches back in 2020, but I remembered when he was still competing. A few years older than me, Ozzie was known for his backstrokes and long-distance swimming, and we bonded whenever we got the chance to meet in London back in 2012.

That was my first Olympics. I was a fresh-faced 20-year-old on a mission. My team at the time was stoked to have me around and I was excited to be there. I had built up a solid reputation over the course of two years, winning seven medals my first adult-competitive season, and the high was incredible. Back then, I was always the one to beat at the breaststroke and therefore, the medleys were in my favor as well. I walked away with 4 golds that year, and again in 2016. The accident happened a year later, but I left the competitive world with 8 gold Olympic medals and 19 world champion gold medals. Katie Ledecky held the record now, but for a time, I was the most decorated female swimmer in history. I was excited when I was finally passed up, happy for the younger woman.

Ozzie was the man, but sadly never got out of Michael Phelp’s shadow. It was not his fault. That man was insane in the water and would become the most decorated Olympian ever. Bunch was a great swimmer, but I did not know a single person who could compare to Phelps. Hoseok, maybe, but he only had 12 gold medals. Phelps had 23.

“Simmons looks great out there,” Hoseok praised, a large smile on his face.

“Her butterflies could use a little work,” I murmured back, already seeing how I could fix it with some extra exercises. “It’s slowing down her freestyle. What else is she scheduled for?”

“I think she’s doing the 200-meter freestyles and the medley relay,” He replied, taking a sip of his beer. “Bunch is banking on her pacing.”

“She won’t win those,” I was positive. “She’s just going to get tired. Breaststrokes are obviously not her thing.”

He laughed, “You’re the breaststroke queen, Y/N. No one's as good as yours.”

I shrugged, “Ledecky is a great swimmer.”

“Never said she wasn’t,” He sipped. “Her freestyles are killer. Girls could never beat you in breaststroke or a medley. You’re untouchable there.”

It made me smile despite myself. Hoseok was right, those were my competitions. Even if Katie had surpassed my record for most gold medals ever, I still had more Olympic medals than she did, and they were in completely different events. I could have kept my title had the accident never happened. I would have. Even if we were friendly, Ledecky would have been my competition, and I would have fought hard to keep the record.

“What’s Jimin doing this year?” Matilda asked as the women’s scores were posted. Opal would be a strong contender. “Anyone know?”

I nodded, “I haven’t watched every competition, but he’s sticking to what he does best. Didn’t he swim the 200 yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Hoseok replied. “He’s skipping out today and doing his individual tomorrow. Swimming back-to-back after that. Kid’s a fucking animal in the water.”

I couldn't agree more. As I stared at Opal’s smiling face, her pale blonde hair and bright blue eyes, I wished I had been able to watch Jimin instead. She was cold and impassive even with a large, perfectly white grin that took up most of her face. In fact, I found her quite boring outside of the water. No flair or features that set her apart. Just a tall, well-built blonde with a nice smile. Ozzie would have to work hard to make her memorable.

“Simmons did well,” I yawned. “It’s getting late, though, and I have work in the morning.”

The goodbyes were quick, and Dani made me promise to take her roller skating soon. There was a girl at school making fun of her and she wanted her “super cool” and “famous” aunt to tell them off. We all laughed, and I told her we could go this weekend after gymnastics practice.

My drive home was uneventful. It was already dark out, something that bothered me more than I would ever admit out loud, and I never turned on the radio. I preferred to drive in absolute silence, eyes and ears glued to the road. I had only started talking on the phone recently.

I was much worse after the accident. I refused to get inside of a car for weeks and if I did, I was a mess. No one was allowed to be a distracted driver either. No radio, no phone, no conversations. Nothing. Jin had been the default chauffeur during that time and put up with my anxiety better than the others.

It was close to a year before I tried to sit in the front seat again. Another five before I got behind the wheel. For hours I would sit in the garage with my hands on the steering wheel staring off into the distance. I was still in a wheelchair for most of my daily activities and a very obvious limp made me too self-conscious to be seen. Isolating was easy. Keeping the others away was more difficult.

My drives started with me just backing out of the driveway. I went around the block a few weeks later, hands shaking and Andy trying her best to soothe me in the passenger seat. I did not drive past the Whole Foods two minutes away from my house until after the second year. Things were easier after I ditched the wheelchair and got more open to the idea of therapy.

Moving out of Denver was the best decision I ever made, the Springs were easier to drive in and the traffic was not as awful. Andrea and Jin bought in Black Forest once I was settled in Briargate, so loneliness was never an option.

Matilda almost moved in after the housewarming party Andy threw for me. She said it was far too big for one person and the neighborhood was to die for. I laughed her off at the time not really wanting to admit how nice it sounded.

Nestled in Fairfax, my house was a beautiful piece of architecture. The striking brick and wood front exterior provided a warm welcome, with teal trimmings bringing a fresh feeling to the otherwise plain color scheme. With five bedrooms and four bathrooms, I dreamed of the day I was able to fill them all. A dream that I hoped would come before I hit 35.

Pulling up to the house, I waved to Chika next door. The old woman raised her hand, still nursing a large mug of what I assumed to be tea and smiled. They were lovely people and we often helped one another out whenever we could. Chika liked to bring over food if she cooked and I paid my landscapers to keep with their lawn.

��Late night?” Chika called out from her front porch.

“Went to a friend’s house,” I replied.

“Good,” She meant it. “Glad to see you getting out of the house.”

I smiled but was not sure how well she could see my face in the dark.

“Yeah. Night, Chika.”

“Night, Y/N.”

I showered quickly and sipped on a cup of chamomile tea before heading off to bed. After taking my night medications, one to force myself to sleep while the other blocked the never-ending nightmares, I climbed into bed. I was able to play a single game of solitaire before they both kicked in. I fell asleep with the sound of gentle rain humming in the background.

“Let’s go, guys!” I yelled, blowing my whistle.

The twelve boys waited, their small talk coming to an abrupt end. We had just finished warming up and I allowed all of them a short water break. I was a huge advocate for rest periods. No one needed to pull a muscle or fatigue early due to over working. I had a 2800-yard routine prepared, 800 of those done during our warm-ups, and the rest divided between our main set and cooldowns.

Jordan, our captain, was smiling happily. He was such an excited kid, and his positivity was contagious. While some of the boys were disappointed when I first chose him to replace our old captain after his graduation, I was sure his spirit would do everyone some good. It did not take long for the others to come around and he was beloved.

“Alright, so we have a 1600 main set. In between each of our reps, we will be doing a switch out of easy breast and backstrokes. Clear?”

“Crystal!” They all replied in unison.

“Alright. That's what I like to hear,” Flipping through my clipboard was more for show than anything. I used to rely on it heavily when I first started teaching since brain damage messed with my short-term memory, but I had been doing this long enough to know what was happening. Now it was just a way for me to write notes about their performances. “We’re starting with a 4x100 with 15-second rest; the first 25 butterfly. 3x100 with 10-second rest; again, first 25 butterfly. Following?”

No questions were asked, and a few guys voiced they were good for me to keep going.

“Good. Then we have a 2x100 with 5-second rest. First 25?”

“Butterfly,” Jordan replied.

“Thank you, Abbot. Okay, and we’re finishing up with 8x50 freestyle. Fast and easy.”

All twelve of them began to prepare to take their mark. One by one they stood on their blocks and waited for me to make the call. I admired them all for a moment. You could see the difference in each one of them. Those who were confident stood tall, their shoulders squared, and head held high. Newcomers were still figuring out their place on the team but were eager to prove themselves. Two of them would be leaving us this year, Gabriel and Marcus, and neither one of them were continuing to swim after graduation. It was a sad thought, but I was happy with how they carried themselves. They had both come a long way.

“Take your mark,” My voice echoed. Each boy got into their starting position as I watched them like a hawk. One of the freshmen, Phineas, needed major work on his form. I would talk to Jordan about it. Grabbing hold of my stopwatch, I took a deep breath. “Go!”

Marcus was the first in, like always, and I ignored him. I knew he was fully capable of taking care of himself. Phineas was the weakest link in my chain right now. He was struggling, his arms growing tired and his speed nonexistent. The other freshmen, Tobias, or as the guys called him, Twig, was not much better. He had more strength, but I chopped that up to his size. I would need to really start working some more beginner drills to get them in shape. Jordan and Gabriel would be more than happy to give up a Saturday or two to help out.

Marcus was the first one finished and I marked his time. Still a tenth of a second faster than Jordan. After Jordan came Gabriel and then Joseph and Anthony. I was disappointed in Jett’s time, but I would invite him to the weekend practices with the others. He needed some foot and hip exercises. Twig came in before Phineas, but every other boy was already out of the water by the time they made it back. Phineas was visibly upset, and I made a note to pull him to the side after practice to cheer him up.

Practices typically lasted two hours and the boys swam hard. Phineas did, in fact, perk up after I told him I was noticing tons of improvements in his performance. Twig just seemed happy he was not the worst guy in the water. After talking it out with Jordan, we decided on a good weekend time for extra practices, and I stayed behind to print off a poster and signup sheets for the rest of the boys. I had a feeling almost everyone except Marcus would show. He had a part-time job now and his weekends were full.

Sitting in my office, I poured over my observations and timecards. With a team this large I should have an extra set of hands to help with timing. I sent an email to the principal asking about helpers and got back to the nitty gritty.

All of them could work on something. Phineas might have needed the most work, Twig not far behind him, but my most seasoned swimmers had room for improvement. Jett was still struggling with maximizing propulsion, Anthony and Milo needed to get better water balance, and Gabriel’s pull could be better. Even my best swimmers, Jordan and Marcus, could use a bit of refinement in technique. It was nitpicking but they were too talented to give up on their potential.

It was close to nine when my phone began to ring. I knew it could not be any of my usual calls. Andy was working nights this week and Jin was fast asleep at home with Dani. Minho was in bed by eight, Matilda would never bother me this late, and Hoseok hated phone calls. Checking the caller ID, I was shocked to see Ozzie’s name.

“Hello?” I answered tentatively, afraid he might have called me by accident.

“Otter,” Ozzie greeted me happily. He seemed so delighted that I answered, I smiled even though I hated the nickname. “How’s life going?”

I chuckled, “Rockin’ and rollin’. Saw your girl last night. Looks great, Oz.”

“Appreciate it,” He was so dismissive of it I became interested. This was not a catch-up phone call or else he might have hooked onto the bait. My stomach twisted in anticipation. If it was not for pleasantries, then it was for work and that was something to be excited about. “Still teaching high school?”

“Mhm,” I fiddled with my pencil, papers forgotten. “My boys team is strong. I only have three girls that signed up so we’re just training during P.E. and hoping some more join.”

We chatted a bit more about the team. The longer it went on the more knots I had. Oswald was fishing for something, and I wanted to figure out what. After telling him about Phineas, I asked what the random call was about.

“Always cutting to the chase,” He joked.

I did not laugh.

“Alright, you caught me,” Ozzie sighed. “Look, the Olympic team is looking for another assistant coach and your name came up a few times.”

My mouth went dry. I had heard about Tiara Marsh leaving to focus on her family. She had a baby and stepped down a few months after coming back from maternity leave. I respected the decision and messaged her my congratulations. Ozzie had taken the lead coach position three years ago with Todd Packer as his partner. The other assistant, Drew Jones, was a sweet girl from what I heard and working with her would be a dream.

Still, it was an impossible task. Trying to imagine myself on the sidelines, coaching the next big names in sporting history with a massive squad behind me made my stomach queasy. I doubt any of them respected me. My leg was ruined, my career burned out just as quickly as it started, and I never had the chance to reach my peak. Now I am a 30-year-old washed up recluse. Just thinking about the media frenzy made my breathing get a little heavier.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Oz,” I murmured.

“I told them you wouldn’t go for it,” He replied, unsurprised. “They’re going to approach Storm Kline instead.”

“Oh,” Now I was confused. “Why’d you bring it up then?”

“Because I got to thinking,” I braced myself. Ozzie was known for his big, bright, dumb, impulsive ideas. “I knew the Olympics would be asking too much of you. Cameras and interviews are the last thing you want after the fucking circus you went through last time.”

That was an understatement. Circus did not even begin to describe the absolute hell the media put me through after the accident. So many speculations and insensitive remarks managed to ruin any peace I could have gotten during that time.

While I was in a coma, no one knowing if I would ever wake up again, the news thought it wise to harass my friends and family. My old coach, Victor Stanley, was assaulted whenever he left the hospital. When news got out that Namjoon was pulled off life support, his mother and father were so sick and tired of people parked outside their house they packed up and moved away before I even woke up. I wanted nothing to do with the media after that.

“It’s a little different but I think you’d be a great fit for the job,” Ozzie continued. “One of my boys, Jimin Park, is in need of a personal coach. His mom is sick and he’s wanting to stay in Michigan for as long as he can before coming out to the Springs to start training for Paris.

“I almost called Jung, but I don’t think the two of them would get along well enough for this to work. You’re the only person I know I can trust with him, and from what I’m hearing, you’re one hell of a coach already.”

This was somehow even more nerve wracking than the assistant position. I had never trained one-on-one before, at least, not long term. I was sure I could do it, but a high schooler was very different from an Olympic athlete relying on me to keep him in shape for the season.

“What happened to Hamilton?” I asked, still unable to wrap my head around the situation. “I thought he was Park’s personal trainer.”

“He was but the two fell out when Jimin decided to stay in Michigan. You know how Matt is.”

That I did. Matthew Hamilton was a massive asshole, and that was putting it lightly. He was one of the best trainers around and got results which was why he still had a job despite his rotten attitude. I had the misfortune of running into him quite a few times over the years and my distaste only grew with each passing. I could imagine that conversation not going over particularly well.

“But what about my team?” I asked, staring at my desk. All of my plans and strategies were mapped out and I was ready to put them to use. My boys were counting on me and leaving them felt wrong. “I don’t want to leave them high and dry, Oz.”

“Ask Hoseok to cover for you,” I rolled my eyes at his blase attitude.

“This is my team.”

“And this is Jimin Park.”

I hated that I understood where he was coming from. Most of my boys would never go off to swim professionally and their skill set was not on par with anyone out right now. They were not committed to the strict regime that would take and I did not get paid well enough to justify the extra hours. Jimin, however, would pay me extremely well and I would get that experience under my belt. I might even learn a few new things to add to my own drills.

“Give me a few days to think about it,” I finally conceded. “And set up a phone call, or meeting, or something with the kid. Need to make sure we’re on the same page before we waste one another’s time.”

Ozzie laughed, “I think you’ll get along just fine, but sure. I think he’d appreciate the gesture.”

Nothing of much importance was said after that. We hung up with promises of talking soon and then I was alone once more. My office was still just as messy and swamped with paperwork as it had been before, but it all looked different. It felt like I was already gone, and a deep homesickness settled in my chest. I stared at the papers in front of me and sighed before shooting a text to Hoseok.

As I expected, everyone had told me to jump at the opportunity. Hoseok even said if I didn’t, I would be the biggest idiot he had ever met. Matilda asked if she could come (I told her no), and Dani just seemed bummed that we could not hang out anymore. Andy and Jin were the most supportive of the situation while Minho the most cautious. He was worried about the media catching wind of something and causing a frenzy. After Matila pointed out how old news I was, I felt a little less afraid of that possibility even if it was a hit to my ego.

Ozzie seemed pumped when I told him I was open to the idea if Jimin and I seemed to mesh well. I was firm in my decision to talk to him before making any concrete plans, and from what Ozzie told me, my future student was extremely receptive to the idea. I also learned that Opal was jealous of her fellow Olympian, but I tried not to let that puff up my chest.

That was why I was sitting in my home office, hair nicely styled and a light layer of makeup on waiting for Jimin to join our Zoom call. I wore blue since Ozzie said it was his favorite color, but the material was slowly driving me insane. While the color was nice, deep blue and sparkled whenever the light hit it, it was scratchy and irritated the skin around my chest and shoulders. I almost got up to change but a small icon with the letters ‘JP’ in the center popped up before I could.

“Hello?” A soft voice called out.

“Hey,” I replied with an awkward wave. “Can you see me?”

“Yeah, can you see me?”

I shook my head, “Just your icon.”

Cursing under his breath, Jimin apologized for the tech issues. I adored how nice he was to listen to. It was unique, gentle and raspy, but also feminine in its softness. There was no bass or hardness, every sound and syllable light and airy with self-depreciating laughter after every insult he threw at himself. Apparently, Jimin was not great with technology and always had a difficult time with cyber meetings.

“This is fine with me,” I tried to reassure him. “I don’t need to see your face to talk.”

“No,” He agreed, “But it’s a little awkward for you to have your camera on and mine’s off.”

I could hear him clicking around. “I’ll turn mine off, too, if that helps.”

He shut that down immediately and continued clicking and typing. After a few more minutes, he found his problem. Then the icon was gone and there he was.

His face was round, his cheeks plump, and chin soft. The first thing I noticed about him was his lips. They were rounded and plump like a baby duck with a soft, heart shaped cupid’s bow that led up a small, button nose. Everything about his face was soft except his eyes which were almond shaped and flicked outwards like a cat’s. His hair was pitch black and parted down the middle, framing his face and making his pale skin look like snow. When he caught a glimpse of himself in the camera a large smile took over his face and I felt the wind get knocked out of me.

“Can you see me?” He asked.

I nodded, “Yeah, I think we’re in the clear.”

Neither one of us knew what to say for a moment. He swirled around in his chair in search of his water bottle. He stood up, excusing himself for a moment. He was also wearing a blue shirt, a pair of black pants, and seemed just as nervous as I did. He left the room while I sat and thought about him.

There was one word to describe Jimin: pretty. His soft lines and tiny waist made him look so much smaller than I had imagined him. All of the years seeing him on the tv did nothing to compare to watching him walk around a little room in his home. Without a cap and goggles, Jimin was angelic, and I felt uneasy. How was I supposed to work with someone I found this attractive?

“Sorry,” He was back now, a large Yeti cup in hand. “I should’ve made sure I had this already.”

“No worries. I’m not in any rush.”

He sat back down, and I finally noticed the large oval necklace he was wearing. I did not know what it could mean to him, but I had seen him with it a few times at events. It was simple and silver, no gem in the center of the pendant, and sat directly over his heart. He took a sip from his cup, snapping me back to action.

“How’s your mother doing?” I asked. “Ozzie told me she wasn’t well.”

His expression saddened me, and I hated that I brought it up. I knew how much I did not enjoy talking about Namjoon’s death, and while his mother was still alive, she was not well. Unfortunately, I could not take the question back.

“I’m not sure how much you know,” He started, leaning back in the leather computer chair. “She has melanoma and isn’t doing chemotherapy anymore. I’m staying in Michigan so I can spend as much time with her as possible.”

My heart ached for him and his family. Cancer had a reputation for ripping families apart and I could only imagine how this was affecting the young swimmer. My own grief was long and drawn out, guilt and shame hanging over my head for years before I was finally able to let it go, but the death itself was swift. Joon was dead and buried before I woke up from the coma, but I could recall every detail of that hospital room when Victor told me what happened. I hated to think about watching the life slip from him, knowing he would die, and knowing there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

“I understand. I’m really sorry to hear that.”

I knew it was inadequate, but I did not know this man well enough to say my thoughts out loud. Maybe later, after a few weeks of training together, I could get the courage to let him know I would be there if he needed someone to talk to. I knew all about navigating grief and I would happily help him stay motivated through this horrible, tragic time. Jimin stayed quiet so I took it upon myself to get the ball rolling again.

“I know you’re going through a difficult time right now, and I just want you to know that I get it and I see you. If we work together, I will make sure your mental health comes first. Whatever you need, whatever your family needs, will always come before getting in the pool.

“You were working with Hamilton before this, and whatever happened between you two- I don’t know, that’s none of my business, but I can promise you I will try my best to make sure our professional relationship doesn’t reach that point. Just tell me what’s up and I’ll make it work.”

Jimin smiled a small, sad smile that paled in comparison to that blinding show of teeth earlier. My eyes could not help their roaming and I felt guilty. There was a chance we would be working together, and I could not feel this way about him if that time came. I could only hope that if we did decide to move forward with this arrangement, any affections I could have for him would get buried. I would have to talk to Hoseok about this.

“I have to take her to appointments once a week,” He replied, voice small and eyes staring at something off camera. “She’s not getting her chemo anymore but still goes to see her doctor often to manage symptoms as best she can. She also has a dance class every Sunday morning and I will be going with her.”

I nodded, “I can live with that. As long as you’re still putting in work you can take your mom anywhere.”

He took a deep breath and finally looked at the camera again. The vulnerability I found there took me off guard. Jimin must be someone who wears their emotions on their sleeve, and I would have to learn to nurture that. Namjoon always told me I needed to work on being more sensitive to others, a skill I had yet to master.

“Matt didn’t like how much time I spent out of the pool. I understand where he’s coming from but I’m hoping we can come up with a training schedule that works well for the both of us. I feel bad enough pulling you away from your life, and I don’t want my personal shit to bleed into what you’re going through.”

It was a kind gesture, one I appreciated, but he needed to get over it. I told him in so many words that I was happy to help him.

“Trust me,” I said. “If I didn’t want to do this then we wouldn’t be talking.”

Jimin seemed to like my bluntness and I was fond of his over-analytical anxiety. The way he fidgeted reminded me of Namjoon, his forward and direct confrontation of his emotions and needs so strikingly similar it made it nearly impossible for me to dislike him. I don’t think a person alive could dislike this man.

“I can be in Ann Arbor next week,” Jimin had gone on another rant about inconveniencing me and I shut it down. “Everything here is already squared away. We can discuss it more later, how does that sound?”

He smiled wearily, his nerves causing him to squirm in his seat.

“I’m really looking forward to working with you, Y/N.”

I hoped my expression looked as sincere as I felt, “I’ll take care of you, kiddo.”

Pulling a face, Jimin laughed heartily. Triumphant, I smiled brazenly, his laughter contagious. I made a note to pull out a few age jokes now and then if it meant making him smile like that.

“I’m an adult man, I’ll have you know,” He was still laughing.

“Could’ve fooled me,” I teased.

“We’re going to get along just fine,” He seemed more confident than ever, and it warmed my heart. “Let me know when you’re expected to get here. Do you have my number?”

We exchanged our contact details. After days of talking over email, I finally found a smiley face emoji in my notifications, a Michigan area code attached. Saving his number, I replied with the old woman emoji earning myself another laugh.

“Talk to you later, Park.”

“See you, coach.”

I left the meeting, my chest much lighter after talking to him. He was a sweet man and not half bad to look at. I was a few years older but not disgustingly so, and he was more than available from the sound of things. Realizing the direction my thoughts were going in, I stood up from the chair to start writing out some drills and scheduling prototypes. Before I could get out of the door, however, my phone vibrated in my hand.

Jimin: 👶

I did not respond until I had my flight booked.

Me: I’m flying in on Tuesday. Know a good place to stay?

He replied a few minutes later.

Jimin: Do you need a lot of space?

Me: Not really

Jimin: One of my neighbors has their mother-in-law suite for rent. I could probably cut you a good deal with them.

I smiled. He really was a sweetheart.

Me: Thank you. And no deals. I can pay for myself.

Jimin: My mother would be very upset if I didn’t at least try.

Jimin: I was raised to respect the elderly.

I laughed out loud, thoroughly amused. I had a feeling he was testing the waters after I poked fun at him earlier. Jimin was probably used to the stick stuck up Hamilton’s ass. He was in for a treat. At the pool I was cool and collected but I could cut up with the best of them.

Me: Sorry, couldn’t hear you over the sound of my hip breaking

I was practically giddy with excitement waiting for his response. It had been such a long time since someone joked around with me like this. Hoseok tried but he was awful at taking a joke, so I stopped poking the bear. It was refreshing and all too familiar.

Jimin: I’ll get you one of those life alerts just in case.

Was he flirting with me? Did I care? Shrugging, I went along with it. I would remain strictly professional while we worked together, but if things developed after that I would let them. Happily. I barely knew this guy, but I remember this feeling. It was the first time since Joon’s death that it showed itself to me and I wanted to hold onto it.

First work then play, I told myself.

Who knows? This little bit of infatuation could fade just as quickly as it came, and I would leave Ann Arbor with a new friend instead. Might even be able to score a steady job with the kid if things worked out. My life in Colorado would remain untouched, my friends happily accepting a new kid in the group when he came to visit, and my house just as bare and empty as it always had been. The years continuing to pass me by.

I tried not to think about why that thought made me want to cry.

“I told you I’m fine,” I sighed into the phone, waiting at the baggage claim for my things. “You’re in rare form today.”

Andrea laughed, the sound slightly hysterical and I winced. That was the wrong thing to say, but she was driving me insane. I had traveled around the world multiple times, and she was acting like Michigan was going to kill me.

“Well excuse me for worrying,” Andy bit back, her tone clipped and harsh.

“I’m sorry,” I heaved one of my bags off the conveyor belt. “I know you’re just looking out for me, but I promise you I’m fine Andrea. You’ll be my first phone call if that changes.”

The other bag finally popped up and I quickly snatched it. Slinging the large duffle bag over my shoulder, I adjusted it until it rested comfortably on my shoulders. Lifting the handlebar off my large suitcase, I drug it behind me while I followed the signs for the exit. Jimin said he arranged for someone to pick me up but did not specify who. He was busy with a few interviews this morning and could not get me himself. He had been very disappointed about it.

“I know I’m nagging,” Andy groaned. “Scratch that. I’m acting like a total helicopter parent.”

I laughed, “Your husband had been even worse. The man tried to book me a charter flight because he was worried about my leg in an airport. What the fuck does that even mean?”

Everyone had been super happy for me, especially my team. Those boys almost cried when I told them who I was helping out and Jordan begged me to bring him back something autographed. None of them seemed as familiar with my own background but I was fine with that. All of them took to Hoseok rather well, except for Marcus who made me swear to come back before school let out. I did not tell them I was planning to make monthly trips to give Jimin some space with his mom. I was sure that surprise would go over very, very well.

Despite his indifference when I was first talking about the job, Seokjin became an overprotective dad as soon as I made him aware my flights were booked. He was quick to cancel them and put in a few calls of his own. Jin was an operations manager for Delta airlines and knew plenty of pilots. He was able to get me a plane to land in Willow Run out in Ypsilanti, but I quickly intervened and told him a normal flight was perfect. I rebooked my tickets and flew into Detroit Metro at 10 am.

Andy snorted, “He means well.”

It was snowing in Michigan, and I was finally hit with the realization that I would be seeing far more of it here than I ever did back in Colorado. It was only mid-September, so it was still light and melted away quickly. I would have to ask Jimin if it stayed this calm into December, but I had a feeling things would pick up by late November.

It was a very cold morning in Detroit, and I was excited to get into a heated car. Getting off the phone with Andy, I quickly sent Jimin a quick text message letting him know I was outside and looking for my ride. A loud honk made my jump, almost dropping my phone in the process.

Pulled up at the curb was a navy-blue Volkswagen Beetle. I could tell from its body that it was an older model, and it was a convertible. Sitting behind the wheel was a little old lady, a pair of gardening gloves on her hands and a pair of large, hexagon sunglasses taking up most of her face. Her face was familiar, and it hit me. Sitting behind that wheel was Jimin’s mother.

She smiled at me and waved, beckoning me closer to the little car. I forced myself to smile back. My nerves made it feel damn near impossible, but I managed. Opening the door, I did not know where to put my things. The backseat was so small.

“There’s a lever on that side that’ll push it up. You should be able to get everything to fit if you try hard enough.”

Fumbling around, I finally found the little handle and pulled up. The seat lurched forward, folding in on itself, and I clumsily shoved my suitcase into the backseat. It smelled like stale cigarettes and fake pine, but when you had a car this old it usually had history. I was excited to pick up my new car from the dealership. My Porsche already had a difficult time driving around Colorado and I did not think it would survive the heavy winters in Michigan, so I decided to leave it home and get an Altima. I had the money and could easily get rid of it. Tilly had been talking about needing an upgrade.

Finally managing to get both bags into the backseat, I put the seat back and got into the car. Closing the door, I sighed in content. The heaters were at full blast and pointed directly at my cold face. Buckling my seatbelt, I leaned back and tried to relax after the long day of flying. Jimin’s mother pulled off the curb.

“It’s cold out there,” She laughed, her voice just as sickeningly sweet as her son’s. “Glad you were able to make it okay.”

I nodded, “I’m surprised to see it snowing so early. We don’t usually get anything until closer to Thanksgiving.”

“Colorado, right?” I could hear a faint accent and I remembered that Jimin was first-generation Korean American. Both of his parents moved to the states before he and his brother were born. Media outlets loved talking about it, but I was not sure how much he enjoyed discussing his personal life. While he came off as a sweet and mild-mannered man, he kept his personal life private. “I’ve heard it’s very pretty.”

“It is. Too expensive, but very, very pretty.”

Then she was fiddling around with the radio, and I finally cracked a genuine smile. I was not sure how much work had been done on her car, but I was positive the sound system had been completely redone. A brand-new radio, complete with a touch screen and Bluetooth, lit up at the touch of her fingers. A man’s voice serenaded us through the updated speakers, and I was in awe at how beautiful it sounded. I assumed he was speaking Korean and Jimin’s mother sang along fluently.

“What’s your name again?” She asked once the song was over. Another, more upbeat song started, and she increased the volume. “Jimin told me but I’m horrible with that sort of thing. I’m Na-Yeon, but Audrey works if it’s easier for you.”

I pulled a face, “Audrey?”

“It’s my American name. It’s easier for people to pronounce and more convenient. All of us have one. Jimin’s is Christian.”

It was odd to think about. A name that was mine but not mine. Christian did not suit Jimin, but I could imagine growing up with a name that other people made fun of would be difficult. Maybe even impossible. Still, I did not feel comfortable calling the woman Audrey. She did not seem to particularly care for the name and I did not want to alienate myself from their circle for convenience's sake.

Namjoon’s mother had been similar to Na-Yeon, always afraid her culture and customs would make me uncomfortable or burdened, but I managed to calm her fears and reassure her after years of showing up to Chuseok with a smile on my face and food in my hands.

“I like Na-Yeon,” I finally replied, voice small. “It’s nice. I’m Y/N.”

“I like Y/N,” She echoed back to me, making me grin. “It’s nice.”

It was a long drive filled with K-pop, ballads, and sporadic conversation. Na-Yeon was very funny. She sang along to every song, dancing as she went, and calling on me to sing alone. Of course, I could not speak Korean very well and hummed the melodies instead, but it appeased her. When she did speak to me it was to ask me questions about myself.

“You’re that swimmer, aren’t you?” She asked, sparing me a look once we stopped at a redlight. “The one everyone’s trying to beat.”

I shook my head, “At one time, sure, but not anymore. I’m retired.”

Squinting her eyes at me, Na-Yeon pursed her lips.

“We used to watch you. Haru called you a mermaid.”

That was not too much of a shock. Jimin was swimming at that time. While I am a few years older than him, he would have been in middle school when I went to my first Olympics. He had told me he joined the swim team the year before. He said that watching Michael Phelps win 6 gold medals changed his life forever, and I could not help but agree with him. I had a huge amount of respect for my fellow Olympian and wished him well in his retirement. What shocked me the most was the mention of Jimin’s little brother. The dead brother.

“That’s sweet,” I did not know what to say. “I felt like a mermaid back then. I’m not that good anymore but I still like to swim sometimes.”

“You were in an accident,” It was not a question. “We saw it all over the news. Couldn’t believe all of those people harassing your family like that. So sorry for your loss.”

It was strange to talk about it again. I appreciated her keeping it vague. I had gone through a tremendous amount of change and growth since then, but it was nice to hear someone else validate how crazy the media frenzy was. I would not wish it upon anyone, and I was happy her family was allowed to grieve in peace. Neither Namjoon’s nor my own were allowed that luxury.

“Thank you,” I replied. “I’m sorry about Haru. I can’t imagine what your family went through.”

She smiled sadly, “I think you can.”

We did not talk much after that. The music still played, Na-Yeon still sang, and I still hummed, but we did not ask any more questions. Neither one of us wanted to bring up those hurt feelings. It was not until we turned down a long, empty road that I realized I had yet to ask her about her cancer.

“Are you feeling okay?” I asked.

“As good as I can,” She breathed. “My boys are both worriers so don’t take anything they say to heart. Bunch of hypochondriacs.”

And even though I laughed along with her, I knew that she was lying. They were not overreacting. She was sick, refusing treatments, and letting herself die. Anyone would be worried about her. Na-Yeon must dislike being taken care of. Well, I thought she would need to get used to it. I loved spoiling others.

“Eloise and the kids must be here,” She muttered to herself, pulling to a short driveway.

I did not know who Eloise was, but I would soon find that out. There were two cars parked out front. One was a simple, black Tahoe with a brightly colored steering wheel cover. The other was another vintage model. Painted a pretty light, muted green the truck was in pristine condition. It was an old Ford, the branding written across the tailgate, and a spare tire was bolted to the side. I asked Na-Yeon about it and she smiled happily.

“It’s Jimin’s,” I felt my heart rate increase. “He must’ve gotten back. Pretty thing, huh?”

I nodded, not really paying attention to the truck anymore. I was about to meet Jimin for the first time and my nerves were taking over. I knew how much his looks affected me over video chat and I was afraid I would not be able to control my facial expressions in person. I was resolute not to act on whatever attraction I may have felt toward him. My professionalism would not allow it. It did not mean, however, that I wanted to discuss it with Jimin at any point. It would make him uncomfortable and affect our working environment.

“Keep your bags in the car,” Na-Yeon told me. “Jimin’s going to take you over to meet the Andersons this afternoon.”

Walking up to the house, I was first struck by two things. The main one being the impressive teal it was painted and the other the loud talking and laughter coming from inside. It was odd. Thinking about my own parents I knew we had never been so happy. Mom had left when I was so young that I could hardly remember her, but I could recall the screaming and shouting. Dad was quiet after she left, spent most of his time locked away in the garage watching sports channels and leaving me to my own devices.

When I started swimming it helped for a time, but when I was old enough to leave, we spoke two or three times a year. After he met Danielle, his new wife, he stopped reaching out altogether. The accident had spooked him enough to warrant holiday and birthday calls for a time, but when he had another baby those slowly faded away. My half-sister and I had never met, Danielle did not like acknowledging that my dad had a child with another woman, and it seemed as though my dad was fine with how things turned out. I dealt with it.

The laughing echoed through the house, and I could hear loud foot-steps pitter pattering on the tile floors. The house smelled heavily of kimchi and lemons making my heart ache. Joon and I used to keep the windows open for days after his mother came over to make kimchi with him. We would squat on the floor for hours, laughing and talking. I missed those days more than I realized and I smiled involuntarily. For the first time in years, it felt like coming home.

“Sorry about the smell,” Na-Yeon whispered to me.

I shook my head and took my shoes off. “I love kimchi.”

She smiled brightly, her shoulders immediately relaxing. I was glad I had spent so much time with Namjoon and his family. Na-Yeon was someone who wanted to make others feel more comfortable even if it put her own peace at risk, but I would never ask her to change her routine for me. I loved learning about other people and her little house brought me more happiness than I thought possible.

“Sounds like we have company!”

A short, stocky man came into the living room. He was wearing a white polo shirt and khaki shorts; his hair was very short with silver streaks starting to take over the once very black strands. Catching sight of me he smiled.

“You must be Y/N,” The man said. “I’m James.”

His accent was much thicker than Na-Yeon’s and he introduced himself in his English name. He seemed much happier about it than his wife did, and I decided to go along with it. If he wanted me to call him James, then I would.

“Nice to meet you,” I replied, giving him a small bow.

His smile got even bigger somehow, and he returned the gesture. Na-Yeon chuckled beside me and started to speak to her husband in Korean. I picked up a few words and deduced that he was supposed to make sure I was going to get a nice lunch, and she wanted to know if he had taken care of it. He nodded and told her he had.

“Hungry?” James asked, Na-Yeon already disappearing into the house.

“Yes,” I quickly followed behind him.

“I made jjigae,” He frowned. “I can’t say it in English. Sorry.”

The house was small and warmly lit. Cream tile flooring, exposed wood beams, and white walls. Whatever loud conversation they had been having before I got here had died down, but the footsteps did not. I could hear children giggling somewhere in the little home and my curiosity peaked. I did not think they were Na-Yeon and James’s.

“I want to say it’s soup,” I kept my voice down not wanting to make him feel awkward. “Or stew, but I don’t think it matters that much.”

“What’s the difference?” James asked, just as amused as his wife at my vague knowledge of Korean words. “Soup and stew the same, no?”

I shrugged, “I have no clue. I’m a miserable cook.”

That made James laugh. We passed all of the rooms in the house, the kitchen, living room, and dining room all in the back of the house. As we passed the second room to the left, James said it had been Haru’s photography studio before he passed away, but they ended up converting it once Eloise gave birth. He did not say it out loud, but I had gathered the kids running around had been their youngest son’s. I did not know how old Haru had been when he died, but it was far too young to be having children. I was 31 and still felt ill equipped for the job.

It was a small kitchen with very simple and plain colors. The countertops were obviously laminate, but someone had taken the time to stick on a marble patterning to make it look nicer. Black appliances clashed with the chestnut cabinets. The tiles were no longer cream but hideous black and white checker printed that clashed heavily against the olive-green backsplash. While the rest of the house seemed to go through renovations at some point, I had a feeling the kitchen remained largely untouched.

Sitting at a small table on the other side of the room were Na-Yeon, Jimin, and a young woman. She was a cute girl, long brown hair and blue eyes, a large number of freckles across her cheeks. Her outfit was very modest, a pair of flowy cream pants and an equally flowy olive shirt. Her hair was tied back with a ribbon that matched her pants, and taking a closer look at her, she wore no makeup. A classic girl next door.

“Come sit,” Na-Yeon waved me over, her voice showing no room for argument. “Hyun-Soo is in charge of lunch.”

I was only briefly confused, the name completely unfamiliar, but by the time I sat down I was sure she was talking about James. It made sense for her to call him by his Korean name, and since I had shown no qualms about using their proper names, she saw no need to bring them up herself.

“Nice to finally meet you,” Jimin’s sweet voice reached me, and I smiled at the sound. “I hope getting here wasn’t too bad.”

He reached out to me, and I happily took his hand in my own. The skin was soft, perfectly smooth, and warm. It was over far too quickly but my displeasure was easily hidden. Andrea always complained about my poker face and how difficult it was to get past it. She said it was too good and thus refused to ever play poker with me again.

“It was nice,” I meant it. Na-Yeon was wonderful company.

“Hope the concert was nice.”

That made me and Eloise laugh. Na-Yeon smacked Jimin’s arm playfully, unable to keep the smile off her face, and the two began to bicker. Having them in the same room highlighted the differences I hadn't noticed before. Jimin’s nose was closer to his father’s, his eyes, too, and both of them had a slight lisp. Na-Yeon’s teeth were perfectly white and straight while one of Jimin’s front teeth was slightly chipped. Jimin had a dimple; his mother had none. Their English soon turned to digs in Korean and I could no longer follow. A few words here and there but nothing substantial. James joined them.

“Hi,” Eloise shyly greeted me, obviously used to being left out of conversations.

“Hey,” I replied lamely. “Eloise?”

She nodded, “Cam and Harper are playing but you’ll meet them in a bit.”

I nodded along and cemented the names into memory. It would look bad if I forgot them and kids had an ability to remember the worst things about a person. I did not want them to dislike me this quickly. Their giggles and feet were still going, and I suspected they had their own rooms on top of the little playroom in the hall.

“What do you do for work?” I asked Eloise, hoping my attempts at small talk were going over well. The other three were still chatting and I stopped paying attention long enough to be completely lost. Their dialect was different from Namjoon’s family, and I gave up entirely once they switched in and out of it with ease.

“I’m taking over Audrey’s restaurant,” Eloise, it seemed, preferred to use their American names. I wondered if she called Jimin ‘Christian.’ I really did not like the name for him. Not at all. “We used to be co-owners but she’s preparing for…” Eloise’s eyebrows scrunched together as she struggled to come up with a way to voice her thoughts, “her next steps. You know what I mean?”

I nodded. It was so easy to forget why I was really here when Na-Yeon was so full of life. She laughed and joked easily, sang off-key in the car without a care in the world, and called the shots at home. I had hardly noticed any sickness, but I knew better. I already figured out she hated being cared for and our trip in the car could have taken a lot of her. More than I realized.

Wanting to change the subject, I asked about the kids. Eloise was more than happy to talk about her little ones. Cameron and Harper were twins, names that she had originally been very against but when she lost Tony (Haru preferred his American name, Anthony, and all of his closest friends called him Tony), her opinions changed. Harper was the bigger, older baby, while her brother needed to stay in the NICU for a few days after birth due to his weight. They were joined at the hip and rarely seen without the other, something Eloise was happy about given she was usually too busy to spend as much time with them as she would have liked.

“How old are they?” I asked.

“Almost 4.”

Jimin was 19 then. I shuddered to think about how old Haru was, or Eloise for that matter when they became parents. When I was their age, I had been at the top of my game, though not what I would call my prime. If I had gotten pregnant my career would not have been over, but meeting Joon never would have happened. That was a travesty regardless of how things turned out. Trying to picture a life without him touching it made me physically ill and so I pushed any of those thoughts away.

Cam and Harper came out of their room when dinner was ready. They were both very cute, loud, and dressed identically. Harper’s hair was braided down her back while Cam’s was in a bowl cut, and I laughed every time the little girl made a big show about her sparkly red shoes.

James made a very spicy fish stew. It was delicious, so salty and hot, but I needed multiple glasses of water as I ate. He used red snapper adding a sweet, nutty flavor to the otherwise savory dish and I loved the zucchini. Like many Korean meals there was an array of side dishes surrounding the large pot of stew. Tonight was braised potatoes, steamed eggplant, a radish salad, and, of course, kimchi. A small bowl of rice was given to all of us to eat the stew with and the rice cooker was filled if any of us wanted more.

The Parks were a lovely family. Jimin was quiet and did not talk to me much but his mother more than made up for his silence. After getting all of the details about my coaching job she moved on to my life back in Colorado. We talked about my friends and what they were like, my house, and even my neighbors. Na-Yeon seemed particularly interested in Hoseok since Jimin had been such a fan of his growing up.

“You need to get her over to Calvin and Violet’s,” James told his son, scraping up the last bit of the soup out of his bowl. “They’re expecting her soon.”

Jimin looked at me, eyebrow raised, “Are you ready?”

I nodded, “We can leave whenever you’re done.”

He smiled and went back to eating his meal. Eloise left before I did, Cam was tired and Harper was bored without her playmate, so she decided it was time they went home. Cam liked an afternoon nap still, but his sister could run all day if you let her. Harper gave me a big bear hug before she left, something Na-Yeon said she did to everyone, and held her brother’s hand on their way out.

Na-Yeon eventually got up from the table, James followed after her, leaving Jimin and I alone. I did not know what to say, if he wanted me to say anything at all. He had hardly spoken to me since I arrived, and it left me feeling out of place. I was here for him, and he wanted nothing to do with me. He kept eating, the spice unfazed him, and getting bowl after bowl of rice.

Watching him walk around I was struck by how short he was. Most male swimmers were huge, well over 6 feet, and broadly built. Not Jimin. He could not be any taller than 5’9” with a thin, tiny waist. I could see defined muscles hidden underneath his white t-shirt, but nothing spectacular. Even his body was soft and elegant, moving gracefully and quietly, and absolutely none of it would give away that he was a world-class athlete. As if he could feel my eyes following him, Jimin’s eyes snapped to meet my own.

“Sorry,” He pulled his spoon from his mouth. “I’m sure you’d like to leave and here I am gorging myself.”

I stopped him before he could stand, “No, no. I’m fine. I was just thinking about your workout routine.”

The lie felt heavy on my tongue, but I could hear how natural it sounded. He sat back down and took another bite of his food. His workout regime was standard for most swimmers. Pull-ups, bench, squat, lunge, power cleans, power cleans to overhead press. After that he was in the pool for a few hours before going about his day. He usually added in another swim at the end of the day, but he had recently given it up to have dinner with his family.

“What are you doing for your core?” I asked.

“I stick to pull ups, crunches, thrusts, and back extensions.”

I nodded, frowning, gears in my head turning. I have always believed the core was the most important part of swimming. Arms as well, but I have seen many overwork those muscles and lose from weak turns. Hoseok used to joke about my performance and how I only won because of my turns. I would make sure he would be able to see a little bit of me in Jimin’s swimming. There was a reason I won gold.

“You don’t look very impressed.”

I chuckled, “Just thinking. You need more variety than that.”

“Gym snob, are we?” His mouth stretched into a playful smirk, and I could not help but smile back. “You must be an animal in there.”

“I don’t work out like I used to,” I admitted, averting my eyes. “Most of my exercises are yoga and running now. I swim twice a week.”

I was hoping to get back in the pool more often, but I was not sure I was ready for the disappointment that would follow. My sessions with Emery were simple, exercise-focused, and had little to no expectations behind them. They were there to help me gain strength and confidence in myself. Saturdays were spent with Hoseok doing laps around the pool and shooting the shit. It was just enough to get your heart pumping but never went past that.

Failing was daunting. I could not remember a time before swimming consumed my life. My dad always said I was afraid of the water; it was the biggest reason he placed me in lessons. He did not have the time (nor patience) to teach me himself, and after I saw younger children getting into the pool I was determined to act like a “big girl.” I was only three at the time, so the memory was lost to time, but I went every week after that. It gave my dad a break and I had friends for the first time. I learned later that mom had left for a few months and dad was drinking again, but at the time all I knew was that I liked swimming, and I was good at it.

It was frightening to believe that all of the time, energy, and hard work went to waste. 30 seconds. That was all it took to destroy my life. 30 seconds and all of my joy, love, and happiness was gone. My career, my health, and my Joon. I hated the man who hit us. Hated the way his family cried for me. For him. For Joon. Squeeze my hands into fists, I was glad they were hidden underneath the table. Getting in the water and realizing it was truly over would only make that hatred worsen, and my therapist told me I needed to let go of my anger.

“Violet and Calvin are excited to meet you,” I did not know if Jimin could see something in his face, perhaps my eyes, but he changed the subject. The look on his face made me feel exposed. “We should get going.”

No one was around when I left so I did not get to say goodbye, but Jimin yelled that we were leaving. We did not get a response and I wondered if his mother had actually gone to do laundry or take a nap. She looked tired when she left the table. Jimin told me to get into the truck and laughed when I said I could grab my own bags.

“Your hip might give out, granny.”

Off guard, a strange, loud noise came out of my mouth. He had yet to start up our playful banter and my heart soared. Jimin was a very cheeky man, his tongue sharp, and with a quick snapback time, he was difficult to take down. Our text exchanges were always brief and about work, but he managed to squeeze in at least one teasing comment about my age. He said calling him ‘kiddo’ is what started the whole thing.

“Just get in the truck,” He sighed melodramatically, rolling his eyes.

Huffing, I went across the lawn and got into the unlocked truck on the curb. The interior was just as refurbished as the exterior. The bench was covered in a dark green vinyl, and I could tell the rubber carpet mats were new. It smelled much better in Jimin’s truck. Less like cigarettes and more like the cologne he wore. It was floral, powdery, but with a subtle spice that made it bitter-sweet. It had a nice scent. It suited a man like Jimin whose own spice was buried underneath his pretty visage.

Watching him jog across the yard, I suppressed a sigh. It was easier to ignore how pretty he was when we were around other people. Now it felt impossible. His clothes stuck to him like a second skin, the black leather pants (which I had only just noticed were leather) making his thighs bulge and accentuating his backside. He was gorgeous and I felt sorry that I would have to keep it to myself. Jimin deserved to be told things like that, but it was not my place to do so. Not as a coach, trainer, or otherwise.

He tossed my things into the cab of the truck as if they weighed nothing. Arms lifted; his shirt rose revealing a delicious patch of skin. Watching him in the rearview mirror, I swallowed audibly. A thin, almost nonexistent patch of hair touched his belly button. Forcing myself to look away, I took a few deep breaths.

This trip was going to be long. Very, very long.

The drive down the road was quiet. Jimin’s radio was out, and he needed to replace it, so music was not an option, and he did not seem to want to fill the space between us. Neither did I. My growing bashfulness around him was distracting and strange. I had always been surrounded by attractive men, all of my friends back home were very good looking, but none affected me in the same way Jimin had. Perhaps it was due to my relationship with Namjoon that made all of the other men pale in comparison, but I could never know for sure. Either way, it was incredibly frustrating.

We drove for less than ten minutes. Calvin and Violet were the elderly couple renting out the small house in their backyard. Jimin had spoken to them for me, and they were all too willing to help me out. Violet nearly cried when I told her I was going to pay all of my rent up front, and actually did when I told her that I would help her fix up some things around the house while I was in town. The Andersons seemed like lovely people, and I was happy to know them.

Pulling up to the house I smiled. It was exactly how I imagined it would be. The Anderson house was a simple, All-American home with a front porch. The window trimming was black, house white, and a beautiful garden wrapped around the front at either side. The roof and front door were the same color green as Jimin’s truck, and it helped the otherwise unnoteworthy home feel more inviting. Sitting on the porch swing was Violet, her silver hair braided down her shoulder.

“Before we get out,” Jimin mumbled, waving at Violet through my window. The old woman waved back, a large smile on her face making her look twenty years younger. “The Andersons are great people, but Calvin’s starting to forget stuff. Violet won’t admit it but it’s getting hard on her to deal with him. He can become very angry so keep an ear out. Last time he had an episode, Violet called my dad crying. She’s not handling it well.”

I frowned, my heart hurting, “Sure thing. I’ll let you know if anything happens.”

“Thanks.”

He was out of the car a few seconds later, voice so sweet and bubbly you would have never guessed what we had been talking about. Staring after him, my eyes squinted. I would have to keep my eye on him. Jimin was a great actor.

Getting out of the truck, I took out my bags and slung my duffle on my back. Jimin was quick to take my suitcase away once he caught me in the corner of his eye. Violet seemed positively giddy about it and made a few inappropriate comments about Jimin needing to settle down.

“I’m just saying,” She laughed when Jimin scoffed, face flushing the prettiest shade of pink. “You’re going to make a young woman very happy. Might as well get started.”

It was strange to think about my trainee seeing someone. He had made it very clear in his interviews over the years that his dating life was on hold until he was finished swimming. He did not want the added distraction and his family life was far too chaotic for him to focus on someone. This did not seem to deter Violet and her comments about his love life, or lack thereof, continued until we got inside of the house.

“Well,” Violet acknowledged me for the first time since I arrived, “This is the main house. It’s not much but it’ll work. Christian, take her stuff out back.”

I cringed. It really did not suit Jimin at all, but he seemed completely unfazed. Violet used his names interchangeably, sometimes calling him Jimin and other times Christian, but his English name rolled off her tongue more often than not. I wondered why she even bothered calling him Jimin at all. He did not seem to care either way.

Looking around the little house, I was pleasantly surprised by how clean it all was. The floors were carpeted and the walls a bright white, family photos hung up alongside landscape paintings. During my two-hour phone call with Violet, the woman talked my ear off, she bragged about Calvin’s art. I had to admit they were all very beautiful and I wanted to know where he had found all of the slices of heaven he captured. I hoped the places themselves were more colorful than he depicted. The muted washes of color made them blend in with the rest of the boring house even with how nice they were.

The furniture was just as boring as the house itself. All of it was cream or beige, nothing of importance really stuck out to me, and I was disappointed. All I could figure out about the couple was one was an artist and they had children and grandchildren they loved displaying. Even the smell of the house lacked character. No air freshener, no food, and no perfumes. Nothing to give away that people actually lived here. The Anderson home was a foil to the Park’s in every way.

“Come on out back,” Violet was already across the house, standing in front of a door beside the kitchen. “This is the utility room. You can do your laundry here.”

Following behind her, I felt even more depressed looking at her kitchen. It was nice, new appliances and a pretty coffee station on the corner closest to the utility room door, but it was bland. All white cabinets, white marble countertops, and stainless steel everything. Even the curtains hanging around the windows above the sink were dreadfully plain.

The utility room, like everything else, was plain. The washer and dryer were white, the floor concrete, and the shelving barebones. The detergent was the most colorful thing I saw since arriving. Somehow even this room smelled like absolutely nothing. Directly across from the door we entered was the backdoor and Violet told me where they would hide a key for me to be able to get inside.

“Ready to see it?” She asked, smiling politely.

I nodded, “Thanks again for renting it out to me.”

She chuckled, “No thanks needed. You were paying, that was enough for me to say yes.”

The back porch was tiny, just barely big enough for the both of us to stand on. There was a small vegetable garden along the side of the house, but it was empty. Noticing my wandering eyes, Violet told me all about the turnips and gourds she had been planting this season. She had watermelon and tomatoes in the summer, but they were long gone. The rest of the yard was taken up by my home for the next few months.

It was small, but that was to be expected. What disappointed me, though I should have not been very surprised, was how white it was. The windows were a dark gray, a small porch was set up with enough room for one of those hanging egg chairs, and two built-in planters. They were empty and Violet told me I was welcome to give gardening a chance if I was interested. She was planning on growing some flowers eventually, but she was not sure what she wanted.

The front door was open, Jimin already inside, and Violet and I went in. There was a small entryway, two doors leading to rooms I would explore later, and a small shoe rack. I took mine off and put them up. Violet watched me and took hers off as well.

“Audrey told me I should put one in here,” I was learning that Violet enjoyed meaningless small talk. “Glad I did. Don’t think Christian took his shoes off, though.”

I shrugged, “No biggie. I was going to clean up around here anyway.”

The house opened up to my right and I was happy with the space. I had a fully functional kitchen and enough space for my coffee cabinet along the wall. The living room would be able to fit a small loveseat, television, and coffee table. It was white and plain, but I was very happy with the floors. Whoever picked out the dark vinyl flooring must have had me in mind. I would go crazy if this place was as sterile as the Andersons’.

“I put your stuff in your room.”

Turning I grinned at Jimin. It was sweet of him to help me out. I was going to pick up my car tomorrow morning and he had volunteered to drive me. We would be starting our training next week so I could have some time to settle in. All of my furniture was arriving either tomorrow or the day after and my hands would be full. I was counting on Jimin and his friends to help me unpack. His manager was going to make himself known as well, but would not be staying for long. Apparently, according to Jimin, Sejin was not one to get his hands dirty.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll let you get settled in,” Violet was already scratching to leave, and I wondered why. She had been very hospitable over the phone. “You’re welcome to join us for dinner. Calvin is going to bring the air mattress out here tonight, so you have someplace to sleep.”

With a kiss on Jimin’s cheek, Violet slipped on her flats and left. Alone with Jimin again, I found it hard to speak. We were much better over text. Looking just as lost as I was, Jimin scratched the back of his neck and looked down.

“My, uh, my mom offered you her couch if you want it,” He stuttered, his face turning red. “Or, uh, um, you can take the spare room at my place,” He let out a huge gust of wind. “It’s a bit of a drive but I do have the space.”

Flustered, I quickly declined, “Thanks but I’ll be fine here.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jimin shook his head, the redness spreading down his neck. “For sure. Totally.”

The air was awkward now and I could not figure out how to fix it. Jimin was the one always breaking the ice between us, and now that he was acting like this I was stranded at sea. Even when he warned me he was more reserved in person I had not expected this. He was so quiet and skittish. How was I supposed to work with him if I could not get the courage to speak?

“Thanks for the offer,” I cleared my throat. “Are you staying for dinner?”

He shook his head, “I promised Jungkook we’d go out tonight. Any other time I’d say yes.”

I asked my disappointment. The thought of spending time with Violet and Calvin alone made me deeply uncomfortable. Their house felt like a hospital room and her weird behavior was unsettling. I could only hope Calvin was nicer but from what Jimin said he was a ticking time bomb. It would be nice to have someone act as a buffer.

“Why was she acting so strangely?” I asked, hoping Jimin had picked up on it as well. “It was like a totally different person.”

He frowned, “I think she’s just on edge since Calvin went to the doctor’s today. Their daughter took him, and she hasn’t heard anything. She’s a sweet woman, don’t worry.”

Now I felt like an asshole.

“That’s understandable,” I murmured. “Do you think she’ll be upset if I order food for all of us? If she’s stressed out, I don’t want her feeling like she has to cook for me.”

Jimin smiled, “She would appreciate it. I’ll go talk to her, how does that sound?”

I nodded, grateful. “That would be nice. The house gives me the creeps.”

That made him laugh, “What? Why?”

I shrugged, giggling with him.

“Feels like a funeral home or something. I hate the minimalist aesthetic.”

Jimin bit his lip, “You’d probably hate my place, too, then.”

I chuckled. It was easy to imagine Jimin inside of a huge modern house, dark wood and barely anything in it. He was a single man, busy, and spent so much time at his parent’s house it did not matter what he had inside of his own place. Not wanting to make him self conscious, I bit my tongue.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

He cocked his head to the side, and I laughed.

“Fine,” I conceded. “I would probably dislike it, but I don’t think it looks like a white padded cell.”

I may have been exaggerating a bit, but it was not that far off from how the Anderson home looked to me. I hoped by asking me to help fix up a few things, Violet meant giving the house a much-needed makeover. If I was lucky, I might be able to convince her to get a few throw pillows to break up the monotony.

“Jeez,” Jimin laughed. “Harsh critic.”

“Well, is it?” I joked, glad to have found our footing again.

“No,” He shook his head in thought. “It’s mostly gray and black, but still just as empty. Probably emptier, honestly. I don’t have as many pictures as Violet does.”

Smirking, he snapped his fingers, “My trophy room is pretty colorful. I have a lot of pictures and shit in there.”

That made me smile. I was not bringing any of my memorabilia here, but it was nice to hear him sound so proud of himself. I kept most of my competition stuff in my basement, a large China cabinet displaying all of my awards. My favorite had to be the small, cheaply made trophy sat at the very top. It was beside my Olympic medals, worn and dull beside the beautiful necklaces, but I loved it all the same.

It was the first trophy I ever won. I was seven and my dad convinced me to sign up for a swimming competition my swim class was hosting. He promised to come. I practiced a lot preparing for it and made use of the new above ground pool my dad had bought. I won the race. My own joy and happiness made me forget that he never showed up until it was time to go home. I had to wait with my coach for two hours, and by the end of it she felt so bad for me she took me out for ice cream. Dad never apologized, I don’t even think he acknowledged that I won at all, and I never tried to bring it up again. Still, I loved that stupid thing. It was the reason I wanted to compete. That little pocket of happiness between winning and realizing that no one cared was precious to me and I held onto it.

“I need to get going,” Jimin sighed, reaching into his back pocket and snapping me out of my thoughts. “Jungkook’s blowing up my phone. Just got broken up with and needs a drinking buddy.”

I sucked in air through my teeth, “Well, your services are needed. Don’t let me hold you up.”

Jimin smiled at me, “See you tomorrow, yeah?”

I nodded, “See you.”

He lingered in the entryway for a moment more before shaking out of whatever trance he had been in. Slipping his converse back on, Jimin waved at me before walking outside. His face was buried in his phone, so he never saw me wave back. He shut the door, the sound echoing in the empty house, and I was once again left alone.

Violet came out a few minutes later to discuss take out until we finally landed on pizza. She never said thank you, but her offer to give the tip since I was paying was more than enough. Then later when a few of my boxes came in early she happily carried them to me. She even helped me put everything away. When Calvin came home, she led me back inside and said with so much affection it made my heart melt.

"Calvin, this is Y/N. Sweetest woman I ever did meet. Bought us dinner."

Calvin reminded me of Namjoon in a way. His soft eyes and gentle voice. He took my hand when I introduced myself, his hands cold and soft. Wrinkles and sunspots went up the length of his arms.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," He said.

"Likewise," I replied.

We ate in silence, the three of us watching Jeopardy on the sofa. Even though I had been nervous about eating inside, Calvin's presence warmed the place up. Once a prison now felt like a poorly decorated home. A home filled with love.

As I watched them together, Calvin reaching out for Violet's hand and her giving it to him without question, I felt myself getting choked up. There had been a time I had that. Joon would be on the floor, book in his lap, while my hands were in his hair as I studied my training tapes.

I left early that night. I blew up the mattress, the house quiet, before sending out a few texts to my friends to let them know I was getting on alright. After that, I put on nature sounds to help me drift off to sleep. I had not felt this lonely in a very long time.

Taglist: @ownthesunshine @screamertannie @lovelytaes-blog @pernesianparapio

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gartenofbanny · 3 months

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I'm gonna be straight up, Vaggie is severely underdeveloped as a main character in Hazbin Hotel. One of the major aspects of her character that didn't even get explored was her change of heart towards demons.

As said by Adam, Vaggie was one of his best Exorcists, and since Adam doesn't really mention any other of his Exorcists aside from Lute, it's possible that she was nearly as bloodthirsty and skilled as Lute, but not equally.

However, three years before the events of Hazbin Hotel, Vaggie showed mercy to a Demon child. Lute caught her, crippled her, and left her for dead in Hell. I'll get to that part in an entirely different blog, but what I'm trying to say is that it's just never explored.

Why did Vaggie spare the Demon Child despite being one of Adam's best Exorcists? What caused the sudden change of heart towards demons? Had it been an adult Demon, would she kill it? There are so many questions that could have been answered and given Vaggie more depth if the writers focused on developing their main cast instead of cramming in as many characters and plotlines as they could within 8 episodes.

And I'm not gonna lie..Vaggie really needs more development because she honestly feels like the Millie of Hazbin Hotel. She's more defined by her relationship with Charlie, and the Exorcist aspect of her isn't explored all that much in the series.

As of now, I don't have any rewrite ideas or even ideas as to how Vaggie even made this significant 180. Anyway, that's all for today.

#vivziepop critical #vivziepop #vivziepop criticism #vivienne medrano #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel critique #hazbin hotel vaggie #vaggie

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ficnation · 3 months

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Chapter 9: Intentions

Series: “Eat Your Heart Out ”Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 4,7k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings, canon divergence A/n: I know we're still not out of Su-zukana, but we're getting there. I probably won't follow everything that happens in the show. I will skip through some parts. Also I'm not super satisfied with the last scene no matter how many times I rewrite it, so I'm leaving it like this. (unedited)

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Hannibal and Will’s eyes lock in a silent duel, the latter’s gaze unforgiving, tinged with feigned ignorance. Will Graham wishes he could stop caring about what happened and what is yet to happen, but he can only pretend.

He studies the psychiatrist from head to toe, silently pleading for a sign from the universe that would reveal what sick ideas were brewing in his mind.

“You were able to reconstruct this killer’s fantasies,” Hannibal’s voice is almost a melody. “One dead creature giving birth to another. The bird, his victim’s new beating heart. Her soul given wings.”

Will’s gaze shifts away from the man before him, his mind conjuring the brutal image of Sarah Craber’s lifeless body, her eyes forever staring into the void. The way the psychiatrist describes it aligns with your words, and Will finds himself reluctantly agreeing. It’s a brutal kind of poetry, one that leaves an indelible mark on the soul.

“Rebirths can only ever be symbolic,” Will states, seemingly uninterested.

“You’ve been reborn.”

That piques his interest; he looks at Hannibal with raised brows. “Wasn’t that the goal of my therapy?”

A pregnant pause hangs between them as the other man carefully selects his words. Will finds it disappointing when the topic of conversation is swiftly shifted.

“How does it feel consulting again with Jack Crawford and the FBI? Last time, it nearly destroyed you.”

Will blinks rapidly and licks his lips in annoyance, a subtle sign of his inner turmoil. He knows he can’t allow his emotions to overpower him. Certainly not now.

“Last time, you nearly destroyed me,” he states the obvious. Hannibal’s gaze shifts to his hands lying in his lap, a subtle indication of his own contemplation.

“After everything that has happened, Will, you still believe—” his words trail off into silence as Will cuts him off swiftly, his voice almost amused.

“Stop right there.”

Hannibal blinks slowly, meeting the other man’s gaze head-on. Will notices he almost looks ashamed, but he’s not entirely convinced that the killer in front of him is capable of feeling anything, let alone shame.

“You may have to pretend, but I don’t,” Will asserts, his tone firm and unwavering.

Hannibal’s gaze softens, a glimmer of understanding flickering in his eyes. “No, you don’t,” he agrees, his voice carrying a weight of sincerity. “Not with me.”

There’s a subtle shift in the atmosphere, a moment of unspoken connection between them, despite the chasm of their differences.

“I don’t expect you to admit anything. You can’t. But I prefer sins of omission to outright lies, Dr. Lecter. Don’t lie to me.” Each word is enunciated with deliberate care, emphasizing the gravity of the statement.

As their eyes meet, the sunlight streams through the window, casting a golden hue that dances across their faces. The gentle rays illuminate the room, creating a warm and serene atmosphere despite the tension between them. The dim sunlight seems to linger, as if highlighting the intensity of their quiet exchange and emphasizing the gravity of the moment.

“Will you return the courtesy?” the psychiatrist’s question hangs in the air, awaiting a response.

Will remains silent, knowing that Hannibal will interpret his lack of response as agreement.

“Why have you resumed your therapy?” his voice is steady, probing for the truth.

“Can’t just talk to any psychiatrist about what’s kicking round my head.” Will replies, his tone casual yet guarded. Hannibal scrutinizes him closely, searching for any telltale signs of deception or sincerity.

“Does she know?”

“About me being back in therapy with you? Yes.”

“You know that’s not what I meant, Will. Does she know?”

Will sits in silence for an excruciatingly long moment, contemplating which pieces of truth he should divulge and which he should leave behind.

The room grows unbearably hot and airless, and his breath comes quick and heavy. He can feel his heart hammering against his chest, demanding to be let out. He’s struggling with a familiar feeling, the kind that threatens to overwhelm—to swallow him whole. And he’s powerless against it.

Finally, he finds the words, but they’re hardly a relief to the growing burden in his chest. “Yes.”

“What did you tell her, Will?” Hannibal’s voice carries more curiosity than anger. Will isn’t sure if he expected something more profound or revealing from his response.

“Everything.”

Hannibal’s eyebrows raise slightly in surprise, but his expression remains unreadable.

Will feels an intense urge to elaborate, to fill in the missing pieces, to explain the whole picture. But he bites his tongue, choosing to stay silent instead, to keep his secrets. Hannibal remains still for a moment, taking in the information, assessing Will and his answer.

After a while, he speaks, “Does she know why?”

“Hannibal, I don’t even know why you did what you did.”

“Perhaps you never will,” Hannibal replies cryptically, his tone tinged with a hint of amusement. His eyes narrow, piercing Will like a knife. “And yet, you came to me in spite of that.”

“You wanted her to come back. Why?” Will asks. He’s not going to give up that easily.

“Because she’s brilliant, Will. She understands people in ways no one ever has. She’s perceptive and intuitive, and she’s not afraid to stare into the abyss. I’ve been searching for such an individual for a very long time.”

“I reckon asking you to leave her alone would be futile,” Will suggests with a resigned tone.

“Indeed,” Hannibal acknowledges with a faint smile. “But I promise to handle the situation delicately.”

“Handle it delicately?” Will asks, unable to keep the surprise and amusement from his voice. He’s never expected such words from Dr. Lecter, not when it comes to you. “Can you promise me she’ll be safe?”

Hannibal hesitates for a moment, clearly weighing his answer before speaking. “I can promise you that I have no intention of harming her,” he replies, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “However, I am also aware that my intentions may not always be the most relevant factor when it comes to such matters.”

Will finds himself contemplating the psychiatrist’s words, feeling an intense frustration at the answer, despite knowing that Hannibal will never offer more. He wants to ask further questions, to keep digging for answers, but the words won’t form. He’s been given an answer. For better or worse, that will have to be enough.

He speaks, his voice barely registering above a whisper, “Thank you.”

“Do you fantasize about killing me, Will?”

“Yes.” Now, more than ever.

Hannibal raises an eyebrow, his eyes studying the other man carefully. The question hangs in the air for a silent moment, the two men locked in a tense staring contest. Will breaks his gaze, his eyes dropping to his lap. There’s an uncomfortably long pause, one that leaves him feeling more exposed than he ever has.

The psychiatrist speaks again, his voice carefully measured but still carrying a hint of curiosity, “Tell me. How would you do it?”

Will feels an intense surge of anxiety, the idea of sharing his murderous fantasies almost too much to bear. His heart beats rapidly, his breaths come short and shallow, and his palms are damp with sweat. He hesitates, taking a deep breath in an failed attempt to settle his nerves.

Finally, he answers, his voice trembling slightly as he speaks, “With my hands.”

“Then we haven’t moved past apologies and forgiveness, have we?” Hannibal studies his face quietly for a moment, his eyes scanning Will’s features, searching for any hint of deceit.

“We’ve moved past a lot of things. I discovered a truth about myself when I tried to have you killed,” Will says slowly, a hint of reluctance in his voice.

Hannibal’s gaze remains unwavering, a steady, almost calming presence. He’s unfazed by Will’s blunt statement, his face uncommonly relaxed as he listens.

“That doing bad things to bad people makes you feel good?”

Will blinks and nods, a tinge of surprise in his eyes. No one has spoken this truth before, not even himself. But the words seem to provide a sense of closure. There is no judgment, no criticism; merely a statement of fact, a mutual understanding.

“Yes.”

“I need to know if you’re going to try to kill me again, Will.”

“I don’t want to kill you anymore, Dr. Lecter.” The man swallows and shakes his head. “Not now that I finally find you interesting.”

There’s an intense silence between them, Hannibal’s face betraying no sign of shock or surprise at the confession. The man merely listens calmly, processing Will’s words as he studies the man’s every feature.

“Your honesty is both refreshing and concerning,” the psychiatrist says with surprising ease.

“Thank my wife. She makes an honest man out of me.”

As you lie asleep in your bed, the quiet of the night envelops you, broken only by the gentle hum of the old bedside lamp and the crackling of the fireplace. You’re lost in a dreamless slumber, your mind temporarily free from the weight of the day’s responsibilities. It’s probably the best sleep you’ve had in a while. Sadly, it doesn’t last long.

The shrill ring of your phone shatters the stillness, jolting you awake with a start. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, you fumble for your phone on the bedside table, heart pounding with a mixture of confusion and apprehension.

With a groan, you swipe to answer the call, your voice husky with sleep as you mutter a tired, “Hello?”

On the other end, Jack’s voice crackles through the line, urgent and insistent. “Agent Avant, we need you at the crime scene immediately. There’s been a development in the case.”

The words cut through the fog of drowsiness, instantly sharpening your focus. You sit up in bed, running a hand through your tousled hair as you process Jack’s message. “What kind of development?”

“I can’t discuss it over the phone. I’ll send you the adress. Get here as soon as you can.”

“Understood,” you reply, your tone firm and decisive. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

With a sense of urgency, you throw off your covers and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You reach for your clothes, hastily dressing in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, your mind already racing with possibilities. You grab your badge and gun, slipping them into their accustomed places on your belt, and make your way to the door.

As you step out into the cool night air, you feel a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. Though weary from the abrupt interruption to your rest, you know that duty calls, and you’re ready to answer it with unwavering resolve, just like in the good old days.

With each step towards your car, you embrace the night’s unexpected summons, steeling yourself for the challenges that lie ahead. In the world of law enforcement, there’s no such thing as ordinary hours—only the relentless pursuit of justice, no matter the hour or the cost. Oh, how you hate it.

You slide into the driver’s seat of your car, the engine rumbling to life beneath you as you buckle up and prepare to head to the address Jack has sent you. You’re glad to have your own car back; depending on Will wouldn’t do you any good in situations like this.

Before pulling away, you instinctively reach for your phone, hoping for a message from your husband to ease your mind.

As the soft glow of the screen illuminates your face, you quickly navigate to your messages, heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and dread. But as you scan through the notifications, disappointment washes over you—there are no new messages from Will, and he isn’t home either.

A knot forms in the pit of your stomach, a nagging sense of worry gnawing at your thoughts. You remind yourself that Will was never one to provide constant updates on his whereabouts. He’s always been independent, often immersed in his work with little regard for the passage of time. Yet the silence from him tonight feels different somehow, unsettling in its absence.

Pushing aside your concerns for the moment, you tuck your phone back into your pocket and focus on the road ahead. There will be time to address your worries later, but for now, duty calls, and you must answer—no matter the personal cost. With a determined set to your jaw, you shift into gear and press on into the night. Having agreed to return to work for Crawford, you’re determined to give it your all.

“We found Sarah Craber’s grave and fifteen others,” Jack Crawford informs you the moment you step out of the vehicle.

“Fifteen?” you repeat, unable to hide the stunned note in your voice. You knew the killer had murdered others before Sarah Craber, but the discovery of fifteen additional victims is shocking on a whole different level. “How long has he been active?”

Jack’s face is grim, his expression somber as he speaks. “The earliest victim was buried eight years ago. The most recent grave is only two weeks old.”

You dare to focus your eyes on the crime scene behind your boss’ back. The sight in front of you takes your breath away—not in a good way.

The dim light of the night provides only limited visibility, casting the landscape in shadows and silhouettes. Yet, the shapes around you paint a clear picture, a horrifying image of a killer’s work.

You can see the dug-out graves, dotted here and there—the final resting places of his victims. You can see the rows of police tape, marking off a boundary that no one is allowed to cross. You can see the solemn faces of the technicians, the detectives, the forensics, and other members of the investigative team.

“Fucking hell, Crawford.”

There’s a beat of silent hesitation before he continues, “And I’m afraid it gets even worse—”

You look at him with wide eyes, annoyance bubbling up beneath the surface of your skin. “You said I didn’t have to look at the bodies. You said that to me, Jack.”

“I said you didn’t have to get close to the bodies,” he corrects you with a hint of irritation. “But you’ll have to see them, at least from a distance. We have to assess the situation, and you’re our best profiler. It’s your job.”

“I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Didn’t you? You came back to the agency. This is what we do. You know that.”

“Yes, I came back. But you said I wouldn’t have to see the bodies.”

Jack sighs, a hint of impatience in his voice. “I thought I could shield you from that side of it, but it’s not worth risking your expertise when you can make a valuable contribution here.”

You feel your blood boil as you duck under the police tape and head toward the graves. “Let’s just get this fucking done,” you mutter through gritted teeth, your frustration evident in every word.

As you make your way toward the nearest body, the reality of the situation begins to sink in. It’s one thing to know that a serial killer has been active in this community for years, but it’s a completely different thing to actually see the proof of his crimes. The graves offer no comforting illusion—they’re real, and they represent the brutal truth and senselessness of the killer’s actions.

As you gaze upon the rows of bodies, or rather what was left of them, a realization dawns upon you with striking clarity.

“They’re all women?” you remark, the observation coming swiftly and without hesitation as your eyes sweep over the somber landscape.

Each marker bears testament to the lives lost, their identities hidden by the earth until this moment. There’s a solemnity in the uniformity of the graves, a shared narrative of female lives cut short, each one a story untold and a voice silenced.

In that moment, amidst the hushed whispers of the wind and the solemn rustle of leaves, you can’t help but feel a pang of sorrow for the women who now rest beneath the earth, their stories lost to time but not forgotten.

“Alright, he got comfortable.”

“Too comfortable?” Jack questions, eyebrow raised, ready to find out if you’re close to catching the serial killer.

You nod in agreement. “Way too comfortable.”

When a predator becomes comfortable, it means they believe they’re in control. And when they’re think they’re in control, they’re more likely to make mistakes.

The killer’s overconfidence in his ability to evade detection is evident. He’s been operating for years, right under your noses, taking the lives of innocent women and burying them in shallow graves that are easy to uncover once people start paying attention. You realize that this killer has been playing a dangerous game long enough to develop a deep sense of hubris; he truly believes he’s invincible. Arrogance seeps from every part of his crimes.

“So, it’s not Peter Bernardone?”

You crouch nearby one of the dug-out holes and observe as a forensic inspects the decomposing body. “Tell me, Jack, does Peter Bernardone ooze arrogance?”

Jack ignores your snarky remark as he considers your question for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “I wouldn’t say so,” he decides. “Quite the opposite.”

“You really had to think about that one, huh?” You snort and shake your head in disbelief. “That man is a sheep, Jack. And this was done by a big bad wolf.”

Jack allows himself to crack a small smile at your analogy. “You’re right, this doesn’t fit Peter Bernardone; the arrogance doesn’t match the man. But there are a few others I have my eye on.”

“No, I don’t think he’s one of them.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “I’m interested to know who you think it is then.”

“How the hell would I know?” you retort, shrugging your shoulders in frustration.

“Your job is to figure that out,” Jack scolds you, growing tired of your complaints and excuses. “So what are you going to do now, Agent Avant?”

“I—” you start, then stand back up with a sigh. “I will find a bottle of good booze to lull me to sleep today.”

Jack’s face softens at the joke, the slightest hint of a smile gracing his lips. “That sounds like a plan. I don’t suppose you’re going to share?”

“You’re welcome anytime, boss.”

Jack nods, then gestures for you to continue examining the bodies. “Go on. We’re not done here yet.”

“Thought sharing the booze meant we’re ditching,” you mumble in resignation.

“Not until we’re finished here.” Jack indicates the bodies in front of you. “This is hardly the kind of case where you can get drunk and call it a day, Agent Avant. We still have work to do.”

“Alrighty.”

When you return home, the cold seems to have intensified. You lock the car, clutching a bottle of cheap wine under your arm. Sure, you could have splurged on something better, but right now, good taste isn’t your priority. You are aiming for a one-way ticket to Drunkville, with fingers crossed that the morning hangover won’t be too punishing.

The cold air nips at your cheeks, the bottle of wine under your arm a tangible reminder of the purpose of your excursion. You seek a distraction, anything to divert your mind from the day’s grim events. Yet, even as you hum a lighthearted tune, your thoughts stubbornly gravitate back to the graves and the haunting visages of the deceased women interred in the damp soil.

A complex array of emotions churns within you—grief, anger, irritation... perhaps even a touch of admiration? It was an unsettling sensation, one that you had experienced all too often before.

You dare to look ahead, your eyes tracing the outline of the forest behind the house, barely visible in the darkness of the night. It’s a mistake.

As soon as your gaze settles on the trees, you hear a faint scream emanating from that direction. You try to convince yourself it’s just your imagination playing tricks on you, but you can’t shake the feeling of unease that settles over you.

The scream gives you pause, causing you to hesitate on the icy pavement. You entertain the fleeting thought that it might be your tired mind, but then it comes again—a desperate cry for help echoing from somewhere near the woods behind the house. The sound sends a chill down your spine, a stark reminder of your solitude in this desolate place.

Despite knowing better, your legs carry you forward through the clearing behind the house, drawing you closer and closer to the trees where the sound originated. The urgency in the scream compels you to move, your heart pounding in your chest as you approach the edge of the forest.

Your footsteps are unsteady on the icy ground as you pause just outside the woods, letting your eyes adjust to the darkness. The dense trees obscure your vision, and the faint light barely penetrates the forest, leaving your visibility limited to mere feet around you. You press on, determined to uncover the source of the distressing sound.

The screaming fades into silence, leaving only the sound of your own unsteady breathing echoing in the stillness of the night. You slip further into the woods, each step cautious and deliberate, the snow crunching under your boots. Despite the chill in the air, your clothes provide little warmth against the biting cold, and the shelter of the trees does little to shield you from the relentless wind.

The wind carries the cold air deep into your lungs, making your breath come out in cloudy puffs. Your coat offers little protection, and you feel the wind whistling through it, chilling your body to the core.

You take a few more steps, the trees growing thicker around you with each passing moment.

You pause, listening intently, trying to discern the direction from which the cries for help emanated. But in the silence of the night, your own heavy breathing is the only sound that reaches your ears.

The shrill of a scream shatters the stillness of the air, bursting through right behind your back, no more than a few feet away. It’s so loud that you instinctively cover your ears, feeling the jolt reverberate through your entire body.

In the chaos, the bottle of wine slips from your grasp, crashing to the ground and shattering upon impact with a nearby rock. Red wine splashes onto your boots and calves, staining the pristine snow with dark splotches.

You gape at the scene with wide eyes, heart racing in your chest as adrenaline floods your system. Your whirl around in an instant, your eyes scanning the area for any sign of the origin of the scream.

But the woods remain still, enveloped in an eerie silence, with only the moonlight filtering through the trees, casting shifting shadows that seem to dance around you. A shiver runs down your spine as you become acutely aware of just how isolated you are in this dark forest, surrounded by unknown dangers.

Your legs carry you as fast as they can, propelling you back the way you came, away from the ominousness of the forest. Panic surges through you, urging you to flee, to escape the darkness closing in around you.

Every step feels like an eternity as you race through the woods, your heart pounding in your chest, the echo of the scream still ringing in your ears. All you can think about is getting away, getting back to safety, away from whatever lurks in the shadows. Your senses are on high alert, every rustle of leaves and crack of twigs makes you jump.

The darkness seems to press in on you from all sides, suffocating and oppressive. Adrenaline courses through your veins, fueling your desperate flight through the underbrush.

You can’t see what’s behind you, but you can feel its presence, a looming specter haunting your every step. Terror grips you in its icy grasp, driving you onward, even as your legs threaten to give out beneath you. You push through the pain, pushing yourself to the brink of exhaustion in your frantic bid for escape.

You look behind you, but all you can see is darkness. You’re just about to reach the clearing when you collide with someone with so much force that it takes both of you down.

Your breath rushes out in a startled gasp as you scramble to disentangle yourself from the other person, heart hammering in your chest. With adrenaline coursing through your veins, you push yourself away from them, scrambling backward on all fours until you’re a safe distance away. Panic surges within you, making your movements frantic as you try to orient yourself in the darkness. The shadows obscure the details, making it difficult to see who or what has you so rattled.

The person mutters your name in panic. It’s Will.

The instant you hear the familiar voice, you know that you’re safe—that whatever was chasing you is gone. You let out a shaky sigh and release the tension in your muscles, suddenly realizing how close you were to losing control of the situation.

But his sudden appearance leaves you confused, and you can’t help but ask, “What are you doing out here?”

“I heard your scream. Are you alright?” He stumbles in your direction in panic, hands outstretched to grab your arms.

The confusion only grows as you listen to his question, certain that you never made a sound. You didn’t scream, yet he’s insistent that he heard it. And even though you know your voice would be distinctive in the silence of the woods, he still seems to be under the impression that you were the one who called out for him.

“I didn’t scream,” you insist, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggle to make sense of the situation. “I heard it too, but it wasn’t me.”

You don’t know what to make of it, and the uncertainty makes your nerves flare. You start backing away from his touch, keeping an eye on him as you try to make sense of what’s happening.

“I don’t understand,” you murmur, your voice trembling slightly with a mixture of fear and confusion. “I didn’t scream. It wasn’t me.”

“What do you mean you didn’t scream?” He seems taken aback by your response, his gaze darting around as he tries to process what you’re saying. “I ran here as fast as I could after I heard you. Are you trying to tell me I imagined it?”

You can feel the tension in his voice, the confusion mirrored in his expression. There’s a palpable sense of urgency in his demeanor, as if he’s desperately trying to make sense of the situation.

You shake your head vigorously, repeating like a mantra, “It wasn’t me.”

“Then who was it?” He glances around the woods again, searching for clues in the darkness. “Who else could be out here?”

“Let’s go home,” you say, ignoring his question and rising to your feet with the help of his steady arms.

Your legs still feel shaky after the run through the woods, and you lean on his arms for support as you try to regain your bearings. The cold air nips at your cheeks, making it hard to breathe, and the sudden burst of adrenaline has left you feeling exhausted. You let him guide you toward the house, not wanting to spend another moment in the dark woods.

“Don’t ever let me near those woods again,” you mutter, the words tumbling out without thought. Your voice trembles with a mix of fear and frustration, the events of the past few hours weighing heavily on your mind.

As you take the final few steps toward the house, you’re grateful to be out of the forest, but a lingering unease gnaws at you. Something about the whole evening feels off, and the fact that Will is here only adds to your discomfort.

As his arms envelop you, you feel a creeping unease settle over you, intensifying with each passing moment. His embrace should be reassuring, but instead, it triggers a disturbing sense of déjà vu. In this moment, you find yourself unable to be reassured by anyone or anything.

His eyes seem to darken, and before your startled gaze, antlers begin to emerge from his head, a surreal and terrifying transformation unfolding before your eyes.

The longer he holds you, the more your anxiety mounts, until you can no longer bear it, pulling away sharply, desperate to escape the unsettling sensations gripping you. Blinking in disbelief, you look back at him, finding no trace of the eerie transformation you just witnessed.

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lincolndjarin · 6 months

Text

Oh Honey. ✩ Chapter 4

chapter four : painting the roses red

series masterlist ao3 kofi main masterlist

a/n : omfg im so sorry for how long this took to get out, with finishing another a fic and the holidays ive been swamped and this chapter was a bit of a monster (haha) so it took a lot of writing and rewriting but i'm relatively pleased with how it turned out. i hope y'all enjoy the penultimate chapter of oh honey!!

pairing : monster!joel miller x mortician!reader

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

word count : 11.7k

summary : feeling are hard, especially when your boyfriend is a blood thirsty monster and you’re supernaturally attracted to him.

warnings, etc. : dead dove do not eat, angst, graphic violence, language, smut, joel and reader are both not in good headspaces, dubcon (reader & joel are compelled to be together, all sexual acts are consensual but there is a uncontrolled attraction between the two characters), fingering in every sense of the word, joel is real beastly in this, spit kink (so much spit guys), oral m&f receiving, monster sex, vaginal&anal penetration, double penetration, body horror, rough sex, tit fucking, thigh fucking, cock warming, cum eating, size kink, period sex, blood drinking, gore, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, you know how joel has a big dick in every fic? what if he was literally 8 feet tall and an actual monster? that's how big his dick is in this, somnophilia, spit as lube, i'm making a lot of stuff up regarding vaginal&anal elasticity, biting, marking, death, readers hair is long enough to pull, i'm probably missing tags cause this chapter is a lot but tldr - joel is a monster with a monster cock and he's putting it in all sorts of places. this is a monster fucker fic - proceed accordingly

“Joel…” You give him a wary look as he bares his teeth at you, a low rumble starting in his throat as your instincts kick in. “Joel!” You yell like you would if you were scolding a dog and he freezes in place.

Your head is fuzzy and you can only hope that his is as well. That supernatural attraction you have for him suddenly feels as if it’s increased tenfold.

He doesn’t just smell good anymore. He has an aura now, the air around him is heavy, like you’re breathing in water. The scent of it is thick with lavender and peppermint, it’s a fresh and earthy smell that makes you want to inhale deeper.

You want to touch him, taste him. His skin looks so smooth like this, pulled taut and tight, you have to fight the urge to run your fingers across it just to see if it’s as silky as it looks. You want to grab him by the antlers and hold him in place so you can just breathe in the floral smell of his breath.

He hovers above you, unmoving as if waiting for a command. His large glassy eyes give you a curious look and you take the opportunity to sit up a bit straighter.

He’s scratching the hardwood.

It’s the silliest detail to focus on but Joel clearly loves his home, he takes such good care of it and the last thing you want is for him to accidentally destroy it in this state. So you do the only thing you can think to do on such short notice.

“Let’s go to bed Joel. I’m tired.” You get to your feet extremely slowly, he backs up enough to let you stand. Practically purring when you hold your hand out, he reaches his out to meet yours. Your entire hand fits in his palm so you just take one of his fingers, wrapping your hand around it as you lead him down the hall. When you open his bedroom door he rushes in excitedly, curling up on the mattress in the middle of the room.

You reach up, turning the overhead light on but he immediately flinches, snarling as you quickly turn it off.

“I’ll- umm, go get a lamp.” You turn to leave but a large hand grips your waist. You put your hands over it, carefully peeling his fingers off of you. “I’m just going to the living room… I’ll be right back.” He huffs. You feel his exhale on your back as you hurry out into the hall. Your stomach churns instantly.

It’s hard to be away from him under normal circumstances but just being in a different room now makes you want to hurl.

You move swiftly. Unplugging the first lamp you find.

You should run.

The smart thing to do right now would be to grab his keys off the counter, get in the truck, and call Tommy.

But is that what you really want?

You’re trying to think of any reasons you have to not be with Joel but your mind is so cloudy, you can’t recall a single thing.

So you take the lamp back to his room. Plugging it in, dimly illuminating the room before shutting the door.

Your body isn’t sure what to do.

You’re afraid. More afraid than you’ve ever been. But also disturbingly aroused. He sits on the bed. If he had a tail you’re certain it'd be wagging. He looks so excited. How much of him is still Joel? Certainly not all of it, it seems like him but… beastly? He doesn’t seem to understand boundaries or human etiquette in general.

But his eyes are Joel’s.

It’s all of Joel’s personality traits with absolutely zero inhibitions.

Once the lamp is plugged in and on he makes his way to the edge of the bed before reaching forward, one talon hooks onto your shirt collar. He tears through it, dragging you forward as you stumble into his lap.

“You’re sleepy?” He grumbles. You nod frantically and he tosses you down onto the mattress. You land with a soft thud. You can add ‘not aware of his own strength’ onto the list of things you know about Joel in this form.

He’s got a single pillow and a thin sheet. You lay your head on the pillow but have no time to grab the blanket as he lays down beside you, his entire body curled around you.

Your face is pressed into his chest and you get a chance to inhale his sweet scent.

It goes straight to your core.

It feels like you must be gushing at this point.

You decide to turn around. It doesn’t cross your mind to not turn your back on him until it’s too late. He grabs you, pulling you flush against him. His talons scrape across your clothes. Every slice has you wincing, you’re waiting to see blood but he’s careful.

He never so much as nicks you.

You remain unmoving through the process only watching until he begins to peel your clothes off of you until you’re in your underwear which he immediately makes quick work of.

Okay.

You're naked in bed with your monster boyfriend, what could go wrong?

“Pretty.” He speaks in a low bellowing tone.

“Thank you, Joel.” You whisper back. “You’re pretty too.” He only exhales sharply in response. You go ridgid immediately when he slowly traces a claw up and down your stomach. When his hand begins dipping lower you instinctively recoil, thin scratch lines follow his movements, but he’s careful to not ever break the skin. “Not there-” He holds a hand in front of your face, letting you watch as he retracts it back into the skin, his maw nuzzling into the back of your neck as he does. You take his hand in both of yours, inspecting his fingers, seemingly no longer sharp but you’re still apprehensive. You hold him close to your face in an attempt to keep him away from your most sensitive bits, not wanting to take the risk of having your insides torn to shreds. He bumps an uncoordinated finger against your chin instead, poking at you until you apprehensively open your mouth a bit. Immediately he takes the opportunity to push a thick, gangly finger past your lips.

You inhale sharply but you can’t help yourself as you run your tongue along the digit, his skin tastes like sugar cookies and before you’re even aware of what’s happening you’re completely lost in the taste.

His fingers have practically tripled in size and as he tries to push another finger into your mouth your jaw aches at the stretch.

“Ole-” Is all you can mumble out as he scrunches up tighter around you, your throat constricting around him as he probes deeper. Could he break your jaw like this? He definitely could, you’ve seen first hand what kind of violence he’s capable of yet for some reason you don’t push him away, he’s being careful eith you.

Slow and methodical as he rests his head atop of yours he moves his fingers in and out of your mouth. It’s sort of like a blowjob. If you were blowing two boney dicks. It’s only a matter of seconds before you’re salivating wildly at the taste, your chin slick with drool as he watches each motion intently, slowing when your eyes begin to water.

“So, so pretty.” He withdrawals his fingers, sucking them into his own mouth before languidly letting his tongue drop out of his maw, licking up the spit from your chin. You’re gasping faintly, his tongue is hot silk on your lips as he slides the appendage into you. The sound is obscene as he runs his tongue along the inside of your cheeks and across your teeth, tasting every single inch of you that he can reach, and he reaches pretty far. You gag when he pushes in deeper, his jaw practically wrapped around yours as delves deeper. Finally you retch when his tongue slides into your throat and he withdrawals, licking any remnants of your saliva from your lips before staring at you with a satisfied look.

“Sleep?” Even when he whispers it feels like he’s shaking the very foundation of the house.

“Yes Joel, we should sleep.” Your voice is already raspy from the brief interaction. He picks the blanket up between two talons, pulling it up over you before wrapping himself around you entirely, caging you against his chest and between his arms.

You should be afraid, you should be absolutely appalled by everything that’s just happened but you’re tired. You’re so, so, tired and Joel is warm. And he’s safe, no one and nothing can hurt you here with him.

You haven’t slept well in ages.

And he smells so nice.

When his breathing slows and the large expanse of his chest heaves you shut your eyes, unable to find the energy to do anything else.

You wake with a start when Joel bumps his face against yours, when you open your eyes he’s staring at you rather nervously, a slight anxiety behind the darkness of his eyes.

“Are you hungry?” He mumbles, knocking a few items towards you on the bed. You stare at the bottle of water and poorly constructed sandwich, the bread squished and torn. You can’t help but smile at the gesture.

“Thank you.” You sip at the water before eating the messy sandwich, it isn’t terrible, and he clearly made an effort. You stifle a laugh at the thought of him in this state maneuvering around the kitchen. He sits patiently beside you, occasionally scratching at his antlers until you’re finished. Once you’re taken care of in that regard he makes a hushed whining noise that has your head turning in an instant. “Are you okay?” It almost sounds like he’s in pain as you scoot towards him, keeping the blanket held up against your chest to maintain some sense of your modesty. He nods, almost looking bashful as the parts of his face that are still intact blush red.

“Can you sit with me?” He motions towards his lap as you nod, moving to sit between his legs with your back to his chest. His hands go to touch you but he stops himself hovering above you until you nod.

“It’s okay, you can touch.” You’re less nervous now that you’ve had him in your mouth, certain he isn’t going to tear into you. And with that his hands pull down the blanket. He tosses it aside as he pushes your legs up onto his, spreading you wide open as he rests his head on your shoulder, inhaling deeply. He makes sure you can watch him retract his claws before he tilts his head forward before letting a thick line of saliva fall down his tongue onto your breasts, watching with heavy breaths as it falls down your body until it crests above your mound. With a sharp inhale you can feel him drip along your seam. Once it’s where he wants it he happily glides his fingers across your core, rubbing his spit in, before you’re even a little ready for it he your entrance, pushing a finger into you as the air is punched out of your stomach by the suddenness. He leans forward to get a better view as your pussy sucks him in.

You’re dizzy. Drunk purely off of his touch as you lean back to rest against him as he pushes further till you’ve taken his entire finger. Delicately, like you might break, he fucks you with the digit, it isn’t until he begins moving in and out that you see the mixture of slick that pouts out of you like a fountain. Some of it’s his spit but the rest is an intricate design of reds, pinks, and whites. You hadn’t even remembered you were on your period, everything has been such a whirlwind.

He doesn’t seem to mind getting his hands dirty. If anything the sight of blood seems to egg him on as he speeds up, opting to curl his finger every so often to press the spongy nerves there that make your ankles dig into the mattress and your back arch off of him. Your stomach tightens with every press of the tip of his finger against your insides.

“Joel- oh my god, Joel please.” You ramble a messy chant of his name as his other hand glides down your torso. He barely even has to ghost his fingers over your clit to make you lurch forward, seeing stars as he holds you tight. Your walls tighten around him as you come with a choked up cry.

The second you come you don’t even have a second to breathe before he’s lifting you up by your hips, squeezing to maneuver you so you’re flat on your back and held up by your ankles

“Joel!” You yelp in surprise but you're silent the second he reaches up to put his finger into your mouth, your tongue melting against his skin, reveling in the taste of the mixture. The sharp tang of your own fluids is present but they’re overpowered by the traces of his saliva. Your eyes shut as your hands grab his wrist, sucking him clean in the process. It’s warm, like how scotch would go down but it tastes like maple syrup and you just can’t stop.

You want more. More Joel, as much as he’ll give you. You grip his finger with your lips as he removes it with a faint pop, settling down by your legs. His crooked spine curls up even when he lays on his stomach like this. In any other instance you’d feel self conscious of the way he examines your most intimate areas in the lamp light but you’re too blissed out to care. You start to prop yourself up to look down at him but just as you do he starts touching you again. You collapse down onto the mattress with a filthy moan as he pushes his finger back into you, with much more ease this time around. As his pointer finger twitches and wiggles around within you you feel his middle finger drifting lower. You’re so slick between your legs because of everything that he doesn’t need any sort of lubricant to press into your other hole. You’re thankful for how slow he goes. Alternating between soft nudges against your g-spot to deeper presses into your ass as he tries to fill you as much as possible.

The sound of flesh slapping together fills the room as he begins moving rapidly, in and out, and in and out, and in and out. Until you can’t think straight. You don’t make a sound, only able to open your mouth in a silent scream accompanied by gasps.

You aren’t entirely sure what his intentions were with how long he fucks you on his hand until he finally pulls it away, his breath hot as he salivates at the sight of your twitching, puffy holes.

He was warming you up to take his tongue.

Once his mouth latches onto you he can’t control himself. Immediately he delves into the soaking wet heat between your thighs, poking and prodding every nerve and sensitive spot within you. You watch with morbid fascination as he unhinges his jaw enough to fully envelop your pussy. His teeth graze the plush skin of your mound as he pushes further into you, the tip of his tongue pokes at your cervix but he just keeps pushing.

“Ah-” You gasp, hands darting downwards to grab at his curls, holding tight as he flattens the base of his tongue against your clit. In one fluid moment he pulls himself out of you, sliding down, prodding at your asshole. It’s a foreign sensation as he licks up and down, from your puckered hole back up to your clit. It leaves you buzzing and craving more. He teases between your clit and hole, slurping and humming, as if he were eating a delicious meal.

You don’t do anything but stare at the ceiling trying to stay conscious as he pulls orgasm after orgasm from your weeping cunt. When your legs begin to shake and go limp on either side of his head he grunts in discontent, simply picking up each of your ankles and setting them on his antlers as if they were stirrups. He seems to prefer you in that position and you do too, you don’t have to worry about anything other than remembering how to inhale and exhale, and he has all the access he could possibly want to the home he finds between your legs.

Funnily enough he’s more human than ever when his face is pressed into your folds. He certainly talks more, constantly mumbling into your tender flesh.

“S’ so sweet.” It isn’t the first time he’s said that, you can’t help but wonder what you taste like to him. His mouth is a bloody mess as his lips wrap around your hole as best they can, trying to pull more blood from you. When he briefly pulls away he exhales, satisfied, before returning to his work. “So- so fuckin’ sweet.” He growls, the vibrations pulling an almost painful orgasm out of you. “Fuckin’ made for me.”

He’s relentless and endless.

When he knows you can’t take anymore he gives you small breaks. Nipping at your thighs and chest to satisfy himself instead. He doesn’t break the skin, just scraping his teeth against you while trailing the faint sting with his tongue. You come to your senses briefly as he’s dragging his teeth over your pebbled nipple. There’s no more shame or hesitation, you can’t control yourself as you grab him by the antlers, bringing up to your face as you hungrily open your mouth. He obliges immediately, spitting onto your waiting tongue before going back to his work.

It doesn’t take much after that for you to be completely gone. Melting into his eager maw, letting him have you entirely.

Are you still conscious? If your eyes are open they aren’t seeing anything. You’re pretty sure you’re asleep. If you are, it isn't slowing him down in the slightest but you can’t complain, you couldn’t form a sentence if you tried.

You just let yourself sleep.

And you don’t dream.

His head is using your stomach as a pillow as he snores softly. There’s a bottle of water thrown down beside you that you gratefully take, drinking the entirety down in one go.

The sound of your drinking makes him stir.

When he wakes he crawls upwards, he presses something sort of like a kiss to your lips before adjusting you both.

He lifts you into his lap, cradling you between his thighs as he rubs you down against the tent in his pants. As far as you can tell he hasn’t sought any relief of his own these last couple days but it certainly feels like that’s what’s about to happen. You can feel his monstrous cock against your legs, you hadn’t even considered until just now that it would have gotten bigger along with the rest of him, too distracted by everything else, but you’re suddenly aware of how just massive the thing pressed against you is, a small tree trunk nestled between your thighs as his fingers pull your ankles apart to further rub himself into you.

One large hand holds you in place as the other tears at the pants you still can’t believe survived his transformation, they don’t survive the small razors of his talons though as he slices through the flimsy fabric and your mouth falls open in disbelief.

He slaps his length down onto your stomach, pulling you down so you’re essentially sitting with it between your legs. His breath is hot and heavy against your face.

It’s as if he’s sizing himself up, trying to figure out just how far into your stomach he’d go. Your fear is apparent as you stare down at the sheer size of him.

A tree trunk was definitely an exaggeration.

It’s closer to a baseball bat.

To accomplish his size his foreskin has pulled back a bit, now giving you a perfect view of his leaking tip, angry and red.

You gulp, almost comically.

How the fuck are you supposed to fit something the size of your forearm into your vagina? The simple answer is you aren’t, at least not now. He lays you back down on the bed, your heart rate picks up at the thought of him trying to squeeze himself into you but thankfully he moves upwards instead.

He sets his dick down onto your sternum. His massive hands come down to push your chest up, trying to wrap your tits around his length roughly as you gasp.

“Joel- Joel let me do it, hon.” You gently lift your own hands to remove his, carefully avoiding his extended claws as you do so. He grunts but relents, placing his hands on either side of your head as he lets a thick line of spit fall off of his tongue onto your tits. Without missing a beat he begins to rock himself between them.

Slow and steady at first but quickly he picks up his pace, grunting and clawing at the mattress around you as he tilts his head back. You can’t help yourself as you open your mouth, letting his cock head slide in and out of your mouth. It’s the closest you’re gonna get to blowing him when he’s this size.

If you thought he’d tasted good before you’d been sorely mistaken. He tastes comfortable and familiar now, like hot chocolate and marshmallows.

Sweet and sticky as he leaks onto your tongue.

He doesn’t last very long at the speed he’s going, needy and desperate to paint your face.

With a few more quick thrusts he falls forward, his body arching over yours as he comes with a snarl, tearing into the mattress, as your face is coated in his cum, more than you’ve ever seen before. Enough to completely cover the bottom half of your face as your mouth falls open. You’re ravenous in your efforts to lick it up. When he calms down a bit he leans back to help you, scooping up his spend with his fingers and pressing it onto your tongue. With greedy little sounds you swallow every last bit.

“You’re okay?” He mumbles as you sit up.

“I’m good.” You smile, when was the last time you thought clearly? Your head is spinning, everything about him is too good to be true. It’s as if you never feared him at all.

He gives you a few minutes to recover before he’s raring to go again. You watch as his cock slaps up against his stomach as he stares at you.

“Already?” You give him a skeptical look as he nods. He picks you up once more, spreading your legs apart as he settles himself between them.

Grabbing you by your hips he begins to move you up and down. The only effort you have to make is squeezing your thighs around him, he does the rest for you, stroking you up and down his length as if you were his own personal fleshlight. Your tits bounce with each slam downward, you cunt aching from the friction. Eventually he spits again, watching as the string falls down to his cock, effectively coating him and making it easy to move you quicker. When he leans down, licking the pulse points on your neck you wrap your fingers around his antlers in an attempt to steady yourself.

He’s not touching you enough.

He ghosts over your clit with every thrust but it just isn’t enough contact as you whine. After a few more agonizing seconds you feel a sharp pinch as he finishes across your chest. When he pulls away his front teeth are slick with blood. Your hand flies to your neck and you quickly find the source of your brief pain. He looks ashamed as you shake your head.

“It’s okay, you just got excited.” You whisper, he doesn’t shy away as you pull yourself up to wrap your arms around his neck. “It’s okay.” He hums softly and you feel him continuing to lap at the wound.

He doesn’t give you a break this time around.

Holding his hand in his lap as you ride his fingers, keeping your arms around his neck as you use him as leverage to help you lift up and off of him only to slam back down. You struggle to catch your breath as you chase that satisfaction you aren’t sure you’re ever going to reach. Will it ever be enough? Or will you always feel this painful hunger for him?

You don’t get a chance to linger on your worries as he grinds his palm upwards into your clit, pulling an orgasm from your exhausted body. You’re so full, almost too full as you lay limply against him. Two monstrous fingers pressed into your weary cunt and one in your ass as you let out a sob of pleasure.

“Joel- Joel I can’t do it anymore, I-I’m too tired.” You sniffle in his lap as he runs a hand through your hair.

“Can I- can I put it in while you sleep?” He mumbles. In any other circumstance you’d be furious at that kind of question but the idea’s too appealing. He’s too appealing. You nod and that’s all he needs. He lays back on the shredded mattress as you straddle his lap. His cock stands stiff in front of you as you trace a finger through the coarse hair at the base, lightly scraping your fingernails across the prominent vein running along the underside of his shaft before finally sitting up, trying to line him up at your entrance before taking a deep breath.

“Jesus- fuck Joel.” You’re unable to form any sort of coherent sentence as you lower yourself down onto him. You’re thankful for whatever mysterious force makes you crave him so dearly because you’re certain that without it you’d be in immense pain, the ruddy head of his cock feels like a fucking grapefruit being squeezed into your vagina. It’s a slow, arduous process. He makes no effort to rush you, remaining quiet outside of his whimpers as you struggle to push him in deeper. It becomes clear at one point that he isn’t going to fit any deeper unless he wants to poke your lungs. You’re slick with sweat, panting as you look at him for approval. His eyes stare in awe at you, a finger tracing the vague bulge in your stomach where he rests inside of you.

You’re so weary you just fall forward onto him. Laying your head on his chest, his cock pulsing within your walls, straining to adjust to him as both moan in unison. You want to stay awake, you want to ride him and watch his face as you take more and more of him but you’re so fucking tired you can’t even keep your eyes open. Trying to get just a bit of rest.

He doesn’t seem to care what part of you he’s fucking as long as he gets to stick himself somewhere. At one point he tries to put it in your belly button and you have to swat him away.

You don’t get much sleep, he doesn’t seem to need much of it so you don’t get any either.

“Wake up.” You feel his maw rifling through your hair, his teeth softly scrape against the back of your neck. “Please.”

You hum, half asleep, and reaching around in the darkness to gently push his face away as he huffs with indignation.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You massage the tense flesh of his jaw as he tilts himself down, nudging his nose against your face.

“Missed you.”

“Oh, honey, I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.” You murmur, a pang of sympathy fills your chest. “I’m just tired.”

You’re always tired.

You weren’t sleeping well before your monster boyfriend was spending every waking moment fucking you senseless and you definitely aren’t now.

He whines, high pitched from the back of his throat.

“You feel a lot of big emotions when you’re like this, don’t you hon.” Your voice is soft and raspy as you reach for him.

“Got bored without ya.” He grumbles, leaning into your touch as you struggle to find his eyes in the darkness.

You want to enjoy his praises more but you still aren’t l sure if it’s him at this, how conscious is the Joel you know in there?

“Joel?”

“Hmm?” His tongue pokes at your jaw as he hums.

“How much of this is really you? Do you remember our dates? Our fights?”

“S’all me. M’just bigger.”

“Mhmm. Is it a little fuzzy for you? Being near me?”

“S’warm.” It is. He’s like a goddamn furnace but you don’t care if you get burnt as long as you stay warm.

“Yeah?”

“And fuzzy, I s’pose.” He inhales deeply, snout buried in your hair. “I like bein’ near you.”

“I like being near you too Joel.” You’re almost certain you don’t. A nagging feeling in the back of your mind tells you that something is horribly wrong here. Any of those thoughts vanish though as you realize he’s still nestled deep within you, something that you’ve been waking up to more and more often. Your cunt flutters around him as you cautiously slide him out of you. A flood of relief washing over your sore muscles as you do so but the reprieve is short.

He twists you around so you’re on your hands and knees, briefly thrusting haphazardly between your thighs before grunting in frustration, slapping himself down on your back. After a brief pause you feel the familiar sensation of his saliva on your lower back, his cock sliding through the mess as he plays with the meat of your ass. Eventually he moves, you’re a little worried he might try and fuck your ass like this but thankfully he seems more than content just rocking his hips against the swell of your cheeks, watching your holes twitch eagerly until he can’t help himself, sliding back into your still puffy cunt.

“Christ Joel!” You squeal as he presses up into your cervix in one hasty motion.

You can practically feel him in your throat as he snarls, once again taking complete control over your body as he holds your hips, pulling you back onto his length. He’s so thick, splitting you open, pressing into every soft spot within you until you’re seeing spots in your vision. He’s hell bent on trying to squeeze himself into you entirely despite the fact that it simply isn’t going to happen.

How long have you been here?

As your mind wanders he seemingly senses your mood shift as a large hand begins rubbing soft circles into your clit until you forget any of your concerns.

It’s easy to lose your train of thought when you’re coming your brains out.

“Joel, Joel, Joel.” You gasp out as his grip on your hips tenses.

“Fuck- I fuckin’- bunny-” He unravels, face buried in your hair as he rambles.

He isn’t far behind you, when you come he pulls out quickly. His cum coats your spine, a few flecks settling in your hair as you collapse, already tired again, now with a satisfied Joel laying on top of you.

“Love you so fuckin’ much.” He mumbles, barely audible.

You pretend not to hear it.

It’s a never ending cycle.

Wake up, fuck, drink water if it’s there, sleep, repeat.

You don’t say anything but Joel as he wrenches the word from your throat over, and over, and over again.

Until you wake up with his head between your legs, the moment you smiled down at him he pulled off of you with a grunt.

He stumbles back and away from you, groaning in pain, your instinct is to immediately go to him but he holds his hands up in front of himself to stop you.

“Joel?”

Your hands fly to your ears, your palms trying to block out the sound of his wailing. It’s somehow worse, watching it in reverse. The way his bones break so suddenly, his skin ripples and does its best to adjust but it looks like agony as it tries to push itself back into its proper shape despite the fact that there’s simply too much blood in his body. He’s leaking out the excess. Eyes, ears, nose and mouth, the blood just has nowhere else to go. You want to help him, to hold him but you can’t seem to move, you’re a captivated audience to the macabre display.

His mouth is the worst of it. His jaw retreats back into its proper place before the skin has time to mend and the teeth have time to retract, making a gruesome mess of the bottom half of his face as his mouth does it’s best to hold too many teeth that are too big and too sharp as the push his tongue back into his throat while butchering his lips, reducing them to bloody shreds.

Finally your brain manages to move your limbs as you rush forward, taking his face in your hands, trying to calm him down as he roars, pained and frightened. You press your forehead to his, whispering to him.

“Hey- hey you’re okay. You’re okay.” His antlers begin to retreat back into his skull with a wet crunching. Each inch further has him wincing and crying out as you rub the tender skin of his cheeks as the holes in the flesh splice back together.

Until it’s finally over and everything is quiet.

Then it happens.

It’s like waking up.

Like you’ve been trapped in a dense, dense, fog. A salt and peppered, vanilla flavored, pine scented fog, and when the mist clears you see the truth that was hiding from you these past few days.

And you see the monster.

It doesn’t matter that he stayed here with you and didn’t hurt anyone during this cycle. It doesn’t matter that you’re ‘destined’ to be with him. And it doesn’t matter that he loves you.

You’re looking at a monster.

And that fact has nothing to do with the creature he turned into. He killed people, good people, innocent people. How the hell are you supposed to love him like this?

You don’t love him.

You can’t. He’s sick, he’s a murderer.

And you haven’t even addressed Darlene in the slightest.

He’s a monster, and a killer.

And currently he’s sat across from you with a rather stunned look on his face, holding the blanket up over his waist, blood still slick on his skin.

You do the only logical thing that comes to mind and you stand, walking out of the room, grateful that he doesn’t try to stop you. You search his laundry room for clothes, eventually finding a stretched out Fleetwood Mac shirt in the dryer and some basketball shorts that fit you well enough.

You’re trying to recall the events of the last few days but it’s all so blurry it makes your head hurt as you walk back into the kitchen, desperate to just get out of here.

Your phone is on the counter, dead, you don’t have a way out of here so with a sigh you unravel your charger, plugging it in on the counter. You listen for any signs of Joel but you hear nothing, a part of you wants to go check on him but you can’t bring yourself to face him.

He’s a murderer.

Why can’t you seem to remember that?

Your stomach growls as your phone buzzes to life, your hunger taking priority as you start looking through his cupboards until you find a cereal box, not bothering to find a bowl you simply reach in. The generic sugary flavor coats your tongue as you try to remember the last time you ate anything. You certainly ate at some point, you’re pretty sure Joel didn’t eat, he’s probably hungry. You shove one last handful of cereal into your mouth before setting the box aside for him. As your phone slowly powers on you’re met with an ambush of notifications, you quickly grab the device, silencing it as you watch your screen fill with messages. The majority are from Maria but you have a few from an unknown number, you scroll through those ones first.

[ hey are you good? Marias worried sick about you ]

[ this is tommy btw ]

[ i’m sorry ]

He certainly knows what happened. Does he think you’re dead? His last message is from two days ago, Maria sent you about a dozen messages a day, some are still coming in.

[ Are you okay? ]

[ Please text me back. ]

[ I’m gonna send Tommy over. ]

[ I wanted to tell you. I’m sorry. ]

Lot’s of apologies, you aren’t sure you forgive them. You text Maria back regardless.

[ can you send tommy to pick me up? ]

You don’t bother telling her where you are, you know she knows. She’s typing for quite some time based on the little bubble you stare at until you finally get a one word response.

[ Okay. ]

You don’t bother collecting your things, a mess of restraints and tools still scattered around the room, when the truck pulls up outside you grab your phone, for the first time since you left him in his room you hear noise from the end of the hall. As the door creaks open you rush to the door, not even bothering with your boots as you run out barefoot across the grass to the truck.

“Christ, you look like shit.” He jogs across the front of the hood to open your door, taking your hand as he helps you up and into the truck.

“Thanks, Tommy.” You grumble to yourself, you haven’t actually looked in a mirror in about a week and considering everything you probably do look a little unpleasant. He makes his way back around the truck, immediately defending himself as he gets back into the driver's seat.

“I’m just sayin’, could be worse. Maria and I were worried he might have-” Both your heads tilt up as you see Joel on the porch, holding up the stretched elastic of his barely held together pajama bottoms with one hand, a profound sadness in his eyes as he meets your gaze.

“I’d like to go home now.” You murmur, thankfully Tommy makes no effort to talk to his brother, simply putting the truck in reverse and pulling out of the driveway.

It’s painfully quiet.

He doesn’t turn on the radio as the two of you drive in the silence. A silence that remains until you’re pulling into the driveway that leads up to your camper. You’re tired, confused and not in the mood for conversation as you mumble a ‘thank you’ and open the door, before you can even get the door halfway open he reaches across you, pulling it shut.

“Wait.”

“Tommy-”

“I’m not gonna make excuses.” He gives you a look that can only be described as pure desperation so you take your hand off the handle.

“Fine.”

“I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

You aren’t sure.

“I know how Joel is when he’s like that, he’s got no self control.”

“I’m okay, Tommy.” Are you?

“You can always call me, or Maria, if ya ever need anything.” He says it in earnest as you nod. “And don’t worry about… everything, Maria always recovers within a few hours.” He gestures with his hands and you nod once more. There’s a brief moment of silence until you open the door again, this time without any resistance. “If we don’t hear from you Maria’s gonna come knockin’ on your door.” He tries to lift the mood as he laughs halfheartedly, you muster up a smile as you turn towards him.

“Thanks, Tommy.” You whisper before closing the truck door, not looking back as you twist the door knob.

You take a long shower.

Standing under the scalding water until it runs cold. Tommy was right, you do look like shit. Your skin is bruised in several places, especially your waist, despite the lack of pain. There are dark bags under your eyes as you run your fingers across the skin, and your hair is an entirely separate problem, tangled with dried spit and other fluids in certain parts. It takes ages to comb through it all with your fingers, you’re hopelessly trying to wash yourself clean of his scent. No matter how hard you try you can’t seem to be rid of the scent of pine that lingers on your skin.

Eventually your fingers dip lower. You’re not sure what you’ll find but you’re genuinely surprised to find everything to be normal, you’re a little sore and tender in some spots but other than that you’re completely fine, once again Tommy was right. You step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around yourself before darting out into the kitchen, not bothering to change as you dial the name of the takeout place. You order a pizza, feeling absolutely famished as you search around for some clothes. You put a pair of thin pajama pants on, careful to not put too much pressure on your sore bits before grabbing Joel's shirt, pushing down the twinge of shame as you stare at the Fleetwood Mac logo in your mirror.

You can’t help it.

It isn’t your fault he’s so easy to want.

What had you been doing before you got distracted by Joel for…

You check your phone,

Six days.

Jesus.

You shake the feeling of horror off. You were trying to find justice for your aunt. You’ve got a bit until the pizza’s delivered so you sit at your table, plugging her laptop in and opening a random folder, desperate to think about something other than those five days.

Focus on Darlene.

Do right by her.

Sleeping with the guy that killed her probably wasn’t the best way to do that but you shake the thought off.

There’s more video files than you even know what to do with, as you flip through them you realize she was basically doing video diaries on a daily basis.

“Fuck.” You grumble to yourself. It’ll take literal months to get through everything. After a few more minutes of trying to sort things out you find a video that is specifically named, standing out in a crowd of default files. When you scroll further you find a few more, you sort them into a separate folder until you have five files in total.

Benni.mp4

Benita&Darlene.mp4

Eulogy.mp4

TrailCam18.mp4

JMiller.mp4

You stare at the list blankly before turning your gaze to the treeline outside. The sun is setting, Joel never came for you. You set the laptop on your bed, with trembling fingers you close the curtains around the camper before pouring yourself a glass of water. You take small sips, hoping the nerves that have plagued you all day might subside but you know they won’t.

The pizza gets delivered. You eat slowly, putting off your task until you can’t any longer.

Finally, when you can’t put it off anymore you go to your bed, sitting with your back to the wall as you open the first file. You’re mentally trying to recall how old Darlene was when she passed, the video is from nearly twelve years ago and you had thought she was significantly older, but the face you’re met with is startlingly similar to your own. There are a few glaring differences but she is no doubt related to you. Chewing your lip you press play.

Benni.mp4

The camera shakes as your aunt takes a few steps back, an unseen spectator holds the camera, Darlene pushes up her boxy thick rimmed glasses as she laughs.

“This, ladies and gentleman, is the new headquarters of the Mothman Maidens!” She takes a step to the side revealing the camper, brand new, with the for sale sign still on the window.

“When did we agree on that name?” The voice behind the camera speaks.

“You don’t like it?”

“Eh.” The camera shifts as the voice shrugs.

“Always so negative, bunny.”

“That’s even worse, I hate that.”

“But you’re my bunny!”

“Your Benni. You know I hate that bunny shit.”

“Same difference.”

“Oh stop, hold this, let me do it.” She passes the camera to Darlene and now you’re watching a woman with bright red dyed hair and warm brown skin take her place. “Why are we doing this again?” The camera shakes as Darlene continues to laugh.

“Because someday when we’re famous it’ll be good for us to have videos of our humble beginnings.”

“Clearly extremely humble.” She nods sarcastically before gesturing behind her. “I’m Benita Rivera and I’m joined by the incomparable Darlene Wilson in our newly purchased first home.”

“Monster hunting headquarters.” Benita ignores her entirely, grinning from ear to ear as she begins walking backwards towards the camper.

“My lovely lady here has insisted we move to the middle of nowhere so she can finally prove once and for all that she’s absolutely fucking bonkers.”

“Ha ha.” Darlene mumbles, lighthearted and sarcastic.

“Let me show you the rest, it’s way bigger on the inside.” With an exaggerated raise of her eyebrows she swings the door open, reaching for Darlene’s hand as she pulls her up into the camper, the familiar steps that you’re used to aren’t yet built. The camper looks extremely different. The interior is painted bright colors, the furniture is mostly metal and vinyl as they walk through the space, boxes scattered about the home until Darlene sets the camera on the counter to show off the two of them. Laughing as they dance around the kitchen.

And then the video cuts.

Benita&Darlene.mp4

The camera is being held by neither one of them now, an outside force films your aunt and Benita standing at what appears to be an informal wedding ceremony. Darlene dressed in navy blue dress pants with a clean white shirt standing across from Benita in a knee length eggshell sundress. Both of them grinning from ear to ear. You don’t recognize the man behind them who’s speaking, telling a story about the first time he met Darlene.

“I now pronounce you wife and wife.” With a small chuckle he takes a step back, Darlene and Benita holding each other close as they kiss each other, people off camera cheering as they walk back down the aisle with each other.

There’s a cut to the first dance.

The two of them spinning around the small room, arm in arm. Adoration in each of their eyes as they laugh, Darlene pulling her close for another kiss.

The rest of the video is spliced together clips of the wedding.

The rest of the guests dancing, a toast where Benita calls her “my darling Darlene.” The cutting of the cake, and many, many kisses between the happy couple.

And the video ends.

Eulogy.mp4

The vibes have changed significantly, the camera now appears to be set up on a tripod, Darlene sits alone at the table in the camper. Her eyes are rimmed with red and her hair is falling out of a chaotic mess of an updo. Some time has to have passed based on the grays that now decorate her scalp.

You have to check several times to make sure the video is playing, the screen seemingly frozen until she finally blinks.

“They wouldn’t let me attend the service.” She whispers, a hint of malice lingers on every word. “Said I’d just cause a scene.” Her jaw twitches as her expression of sorrow turns to rage. “I’m her wife. How could they not let me see her? They said it’d only upset me further, I know what that actually means, it means that that thing really did a number on her. They don’t want me connecting the dots.” She sniffles.

She takes a deep breath.

“Benita Isabella Wilson.” Her voice is already trembling. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I moved us here, and that you were involved in any of this. I don’t want to do this without you, yet here I am. Lost in the woods without my compass. I just don’t understand how this is fair. You were kind, you were good.” You watch as she gets more and more upset. “You didn’t even believe in any of this bullshit, you just wanted to be a part of my life. It should’ve been me, not you.”

She takes a deep breath, looking directly into the camera lens.

“I’ll find the thing that took you.”

The video ends.

TrailCam18.mp4

The footage is grainy and extremely dark. Poor quality night vision of the woods, you don’t recognize the area but how could you, it all looks the same when you’re out there. Nothing happens for quite some time, just motionless green until in the corner you see a flash of movement followed by a disheveled man running into view, taking center stage as he trips over a tree root. He lands face first in the dirt, he can’t be much older than you as he rolls over to sit up and stare at something that hasn’t yet come into view, shaking and screaming.

The trail camera doesn’t have audio and you’re forced to watch the slaughter in harrowing silence.

You know what’s coming but it makes your stomach churn regardless.

Joel.

In all his glory.

He has the appearance of a beast but even with the terrible camera quality you can see clear as day that it’s him.

Emerging from the trees, shoulder hunched forward as you watch the muscles of his neck twitch, knowing the tell tale sign of his snarl. His victim unfortunately can’t seem to find his footing, of course it wouldn’t matter if he did, he’d never outrun Joel.

Turns out knowing he’s killed and actually seeing it are very different things. You feel sick as he grabs the struggling man by the back of the neck, slamming him into a nearby tree until the spastic movement of his legs and arms stops completely.

You feel sick.

Your lip trembles as you watch him feast. Tearing into the split open flesh as you look away from the sheer brutality of it.

Thankfully the video cuts to Darlene sitting in the dark of the camper, the only light source appears to be coming from the laptop screen in front of her.

“I fucking knew it.” She lets out a harrowing squeal of laughter. “Joel fucking Miller.”

There’s a manic look in her eyes as she swallows.

“Joel Miller.” She repeats, sadder, this time.

The video ends.

JMiller.mp4

The video opens with a somehow worse looking Darlene setting up the camera seemingly above the fridge. She doesn’t bother brushing the tangles that fall in front of her face away, her hair now streaked with gray. She looks up at the camera, opening her mouth to speak but a knock at the door has her turning, immediately swinging it open to welcome Joel into her home. They exchange pleasantries like old friends as she pours him a mug of coffee and he sets down his toolbox. They talk for a few minutes before Darlene goes quiet, it’s barely noticeable but you catch the brief silence before she speaks once more.

“Where were you this past week?” She sips her coffee. “It’s not like you to not answer the phone.” He shrugs, leaning back against the counter.

“Contractor job out of state.” He responds with his usual seamless excuse as she nods.

“Really? I drove past your place and your work truck was still there.” With another sip of her coffee the energy in the video changes drastically. A tension bubbling up between the two of them.

“Tommy drove.” His answer is short and clipped as he sets his mug down behind him.

“I went to visit Maria and Tommy was there. With your little one.” The conversation has a blatant hostility to it now as they stare at each other, a pause before Joel speaks again.

“I meant to say I took Tommy’s truck.”

“Tommy’s truck was parked outside of the house.”

Silence.

Joel’s foot taps nervously on the tile as she stares at him, waiting for an answer.

“Where were you Joel?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Why not just say that instead of lying?”

“Why am I suddenly bein’ interrogated?”

“What was so important that you had to be gone for a week and leave your young child behind?” If her goal was to make him snap it works.

“I will not have my ability to parent her questioned.” It almost sounds like a snarl, looks like it too with how he straightens up. He realizes his mistake quickly though, pinching the bridge of his nose as Darlene doesn’t so much as flinch. “What’s this about?” His voice has softened significantly.

Her expression is conflicted

“I know what you did.” Is all she whispers as she turns to stare at him, the vibes going from upsetting to downright unbearable as you watch with bated breath.

“Darlene…” For a fleeting moment you think he might actually confess. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.

“Get out.”

“Please, I’m worried about you. You clearly aren’t in a good state of mind-”

“I want you to get out.”

The footage cuts to black.

You shut the laptop the second the video ends. The date had been a two weeks before Darlene died.

Joel killed Benita.

He probably killed Darlene.

You don’t want to move. You don’t want to do anything but you stand regardless, crawling into bed, clutching your phone in your hands.

You’ve got a few missed calls from Joel but no texts. You’re too tired and too upset to deal with him right now, you’ll take care of it in the morning. You know what you want and you’re going to get it.

No more lying and dancing around things.

You want answers and you aren’t taking no for an answer.

Your head hurts. All the time. Time moves too slowly and too quickly and you can’t ever really seem to find your footing after seeing the videos.

[ are you working? ]

[ everything okay? i can be there in ten ]

You don’t want to be alone with him. You’re worried you won’t be able to control yourself.

[ can we meet somewhere? ]

[ of course ] [ whatever you want to do ] [ i can pick you up after work ]

[ i’ll meet you there. see you at six. ]

You send him to the place and turn your phone off, your nausea lets up a bit, as if your body knows you’ll see him soon. The smell of him that wafts off of his shirt helps a bit but you’re still aching for him despite how badly you wish you weren’t. You roll back over in bed, still exhausted as you set an alarm for later tonight.

That’s how you end up in an empty Applebees.

Just you and two waitresses who you watch play on their phones as you sit in the dimly lit booth. Your leg bounces up and down wildly as your eyes dart to the door.

Joel fucking Miller. You ignore the way your heart skips a beat at the sight of him in jeans and his green jacket. His eyes light up when he sees you but immediately shift to shame when he sees your expression. Brushing past the waitress he quickly rushes over to you, sitting across from you in the booth.

He starts to speak but you silence him with a glare.

“Here’s how this is gonna work. I’m going to ask you some questions and you’re going to tell me the truth. You aren’t going to make shit up, or tell me I’m crazy, you’re just going to answer.” You look up at him expectantly, his expression is riddled with guilt as he nods.

“Okay-” He begins to start but you stop him once more.

“If you lie to me even once I swear to god I will leave and I will call the police. Are we understood?”

“Police aren’t gonna do anything…” He starts mumbling but the look on your face shuts him up. “I understand.”

“I want the truth. The whole truth, with no tricks or left out information, you’re going to tell me everything.” Your leg continues to bounce as one of the waitresses sets two waters down on the table, when she asks if she can get you something else to drink you both say no in unison. Watching as she scurries away.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. No more lies.” He reaches across the table, trying to hold your hand but you quickly pull away. The smell of him is strong enough as is, you don’t need to feel his skin on yours, it’ll make you too vulnerable.

“What are you?” Might as well start off with your most pressing questions. He chews his lip, as if he’s trying to figure out how to phrase it.

“I’ve looked for answers, never found a proper name for it, Tommy seems to think we’re something adjacent to a wendigo.” You’re floored by the blatant honesty, a part of you assumed he was going to make things up again but it’s nice to know he isn’t hiding it anymore. Like a weight has been lifted off of you.

“How long have you, you know, been like that.”

“My whole life. Hard to predict when I’d lash out, it wasn't until you started your cycle that I would have found a strict schedule.”

“Did you know who I was?”

“No. I just knew you were out there, that’s how it is for the males, it’s easier for the women.” Women? You hadn’t considered there were others outside of the Miller brothers.

“Is it just you and Tommy?”

“It’s genetic. My grandfather passed it to my mother, who passed it to Tommy and I.” He’s never spoken about his mother before but the way he scowls when he mentions her makes you want to avoid the subject.

“So Sarah…?”

“It’s always been easier for her, she’s got the temper for it.”

“When does she… transform?”

“Whenever she wants, she’s not linked to anyone else the way we are, if she ever really lost her temper she might pop but she’s more mellow than the rest of us. Better than my mother ever was.”

“Do you have control over it? Could you transform right now if you wanted to?”

“Probably, I’ve never tried to do it on purpose, it doesn’t exactly feel great.” The sound of his bones popping in and out of place rings in your ears as you shudder.

“So Sarah doesn’t ever do it?”

“She did when she was younger. Usually when I did she would too, just so she could stay with me. Once she became a teenager she stopped, I can’t remember the last time she changed.” He takes a sip of his water, clearly gauging your reaction to the onslaught of information he’s giving you.

“Do you all eat the same thing?” He sits up a little straighter when you ask.

“No. Sarah never hurt anyone, ever. I made sure of it. Tommy doesn’t hurt anyone either.”

But Joel does.

“How am I supposed to forgive you, Joel?” The cold professional tone you’ve been managing to hold up is slipping as you lean closer to him and whisper.

“Please-” He reaches for you again and you continue to move away.

“You killed Darlene.” You’re losing your composure quickly.

“I didn’t.”

“You killed her wife.”

“It was an accident.” He sounds like he’s in pain. Like the mere reminder of his actions is hurting him but you can’t stop.

“How many accidents have you had?”

With that he goes silent and you can’t help but assume the worst.

“It was less before you moved here.” He mumbles, the statement makes bile rise in your throat.

“So it’s my fault?” Your voice pitches up causing the waitress who’s headed in your direction to make a sharp turn in the other direction.

“That’s not what I’m saying.” He whispers, clearly trying to calm you down but it isn’t working in the slightest.

“It sure sounds like it is.”

“It used to be only one or two every cycle-”

“Only?” Your eyes are wide at the ruthlessness of the statement. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? That you only killed one or two people? Those people had families, they had lives.”

“You think that doesn’t bother me?” He’s starting to lose his nerve as well the silverware clinking as he slams his hand down on the table.

“Clearly it doesn’t since it was only one or two.” His anger doesn’t scare you anymore. You’ve seen him at his worst, nothing scares you anymore.

“Stop putting words in my mouth.” He begs, voice getting softer as you watch the waitresses staring at you from across the restaurant.

“I’m only repeating what you just said.” You hiss, trying to make your conversation look less confrontational. “What about Tommy? He only eats animals. Why can’t you just do that?.”

“I’m not Tommy.”

“Have you tried?”

“I can’t try anything, I’m not in control.”

“You listened to me, what if I told you to only eat animals?”

“You don’t want to see me eat.” Sure, it’s upsetting but you could learn to live with it. The image of the man he smashed against the tree flashes through your mind and you move on.

“What did you mean when you said you didn’t kill Darlene?”

“I- I couldn’t do it, couldn’t bring myself to hurt her. Tommy did it for me.” In a disturbing sort of way you almost find peace in that fact.

“I thought Tommy didn’t hurt people?” As your conversation quiets the two girls thankfully turn back to their phones.

“Only a few over the course of his life, mostly when he was younger or if a hiker was unfortunate enough to stumble across him when he was already feeding.”

You open your mouth to ask more questions only to realize you don’t have any more. At least not any you can think of in this state.

You thought this would take longer but he’s been open and honest and you don’t know where to go from here. You have your answers. Even if you don’t like them, now you’re in a weird state of limbo.

You stand up, unable to stand how stuffy it is in here, thick with his scent as you walk towards the door. He hurries after you, throwing a tip down on the table despite the two of you never ordering.

It’s cold but easier to breathe outside, he can’t fill the entire world with his smell and the breeze helps you think clearer as you stare at him hopelessly.

“So what do we do?” You finally ask, unable to avoid the inevitable.

“I’ll do whatever you decide, whatever you want.”

That’s the problem. You don’t know what you want, nothing makes sense and you hate him for what he’s done but as much as it bothers you you don’t want to lose him.

“I could leave, move back to the city.” You offer up, unsure of any other possible options.

“If your goal is to keep people from dying, that's the last thing you want to do.” There’s a beat as you glare at him, waiting for some sort of elaboration. “I’ll find you. Even if I don’t want to, the minute I lose control I will come after you and I seriously doubt that you want me running around a heavily populated area like that.”

Great.

“So I’ll stay and we’ll break up.”

“You really believe you’ll be able to stay away if I’m just down the street? You think I’ll be able to control myself when the time comes again? Now that I know your- your taste? I won’t stay away.”

“Fine, fine…” Your mind is desperately racing for some sort of conclusion to this nightmare. “Maybe we should invest in some sort of tranquilizer? We could keep you docile when you’re-”

“Tommy and I have already tried that, doesn’t matter. He shot me up with five doses of bear tranquilizer and I didn’t so much as yawn.”

“So I can’t move away, I can’t break up with you, and we can’t calm you down in the slightest. This is perfect Joel, what the fuck am I supposed to do? Let you keep killing people and pretend I don’t see the massacred state of every body that comes across my table?” A few stray tears start falling as you hastily wipe them away with your sleeve.

“You could kill me.” He mumbles as you scoff.

“Be serious.” You shoot him a glare but his expression doesn’t change.

“I am.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“Why not? No one else gets hurt, and you’re free to go.” He can’t seriously be suggesting this.

“What about Ellie?”

“I’ll talk to Tommy, he can take her.”

“Don’t.” You stand up straighter. trying to look stern as you scowl at him, unfortunately it ends up feeling more like a pout.

“What?” He looks tired too. Does being away from you cause him the same distress that you feel?

“Don’t talk about this like I’d ever seriously consider such a thing.”

“There aren’t any other options. You don’t want to be with me, what else are we supposed to do?”

“What about this last week? When I stayed with you you didn’t hurt anybody.” He fed on you, that much is clear now.

“You really want to do that every month for the rest of our lives? That lust filled state for five days straight with no end in sight? You barely survived one week of it.” He’s got a point but what are your other options?

“I was fine.”

“You barely ate, you were dehydrated.” He steps towards you but you don’t flinch this time.

“What if we just lock you up? With iron chains or something.” Your voice is dripping with despair now, there’s barely any fire left behind your words.

“If I don’t eat something I die.”

“There has to be another option.”

“You don’t want us to be together and we can’t be apart. I just don’t see any other ways for this to work.” He sighs, rubbing his temples as he stares at the pavement.

“I never said I didn’t want to be together.” You whisper and he immediately looks back up at you.

“Do you?”

You do.

“I don’t know.” You’re on the verge of tears again as you stare at him. Joel. Your Joel. Made for you and waiting for your decision Joel. Joel who was honest with you, so you should be honest with him. “Everything hurts without you and it hurts with you and I want to forgive you. I really believe that someday I could but not if you keep killing.”

He stares at you, never looking away, pity in his eyes.

“I love you.” He murmurs. It’s the last thing you need to hear right now.

“Don’t say that.”

“I do. And I know that that means less because I am genetically predisposed to unconditionally loving someone, and I’m sorry that it’s you.”

“Stop it. We barely even know each other. We’ve been dating for a few months.” You’re going to lose it completely if he doesn’t stop, your mind feels so fragile, if he isn’t careful you’ll shatter completely.

“I know that. And I love you.”

“Don’t do this.” You’re begging now but he refuses to let up.

“I’m sorry that you have to be loved by me.”

“Joel. Stop it.”

“And we both know why you won’t kill me.”

“I don’t need a reason to not want someone dead.” You wipe the endless stream of tears that now flow.

“Just say it, it’s easier to just say it.” He looks so soft right now. So harmless as he speaks with that low drawl.

“It’s not true.” You whisper, willing it not to be.

“You love me.” He says it like it’s some universal truth, it makes you want to slap him.

“I don’t, I’ve only known you a few months, and you’re a terrible boyfriend.”

“I could be a good boyfriend. If you let me. Let me try, let me earn your forgiveness, please.” He looks as upset as you feel now. His eyes, big and sad.

“You killed people. You’re going to keep killing people.” If you don’t remind yourself of that you’ll forget. Being near him will make you forget.

“Do you think that’s the life that I wanted for myself?” His voice cracks and when you don't respond he just keeps going. “I didn’t want someone to be forced to want me, I didn’t want to turn into a fucking monster once a month, and I never wanted anyone to get hurt!”

You both stare at each other for a beat of silence before you burst into sobs. It’s too much. Every single thing right now is just too much. What are you supposed to do now as you stare at him? A man who loves you, willing to do anything he can to make you happy, even if it means dying.

“Joel.” Your lip quivers as you stare at him, a suffocating despair clouding over both of you as he steps forward, his gaze softening as he pulls you into his arms.

“We’ll figure it out, bunny. I promise, we’ll be okay.”

It certainly doesn’t feel that way.

He takes your face in his hands, staring at you with an intensity you’ve grown accustomed to.

“Let me make this right. Please, bunny, just let me fix this for you.” He whispers, kissing your forehead.

You’re so tired.

You just don’t want anyone else to get hurt, Joel included.

You’re tired of being afraid. You’re tired of being confused. You’re tired of feeling like you’re crazy.

You've been tired since you moved here.

So you nod.

“Let me love you.” He mumbles as he wraps his arms around you again, both of you reflexively inhaling the scent of the other.

“Okay.”

want to know what monster joel looks like? you can find out here because there is now wonderful art of him -> monster!joel art

want updates on chapters? follow @lincolndjarinnotifs !!

#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 #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal

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cordeliawhohung · 5 months

Note

hey! i love all ur fics sm (esp the bodyguard gaz ones omg i ate those up like candy 😩)

u don’t have to write this if u don’t want, but tf141 (and lv, if u write for them) and body worship?(separately, not poly) like fem reader’s had a tough day or wtv, n she’s feeling insecure so they js like show her how beautiful she rlly is

could be sfw or nsfw it’s ur choice

if that’s too many characters then feel free to leave some out!

have a good day/night ‼️

babygirl gaz my beloved <3 i need to write more on that. that unofficial series is a train wreck honestly but i love them so much. and oo i do love some good body worship. i don't really write for our sweet cowboys because i'm not all too comfortable with characterizing them yet, but i'll give you some hc's of our 141 boys!

Simon

he is honestly really surprised when he first learns that you're insecure about yourself. you're the most beautiful thing in the world to him, and really he's dumbfounded you don't see yourself that way.

i feel like he's one to stand behind you in the mirror with his hands on your hips and whisper sweet affirmations to you. how he loves the curve of your nose, how your teeth peek through your lips when you smile, how your eyes always shine when you look at something you love.

he whispers this all while you're looking in the mirror because he has to make you see what he sees. he's spent his fair share of time looking at his reflection, the scars on his face, his crooked nose, and hating every moment of it. he refuses to let you do the same, and so he plans to rewrite all of those emotions.

or he can just fuck you like he does in this drabble i wrote a while ago lmao.

Kyle

he always calls you pet names that are along the lines of "pretty girl" "my girl" things like that, so when you mention something about disliking your appearance, his brain literally restarts. his pretty girl? feeling insecure about herself? that simply won't do.

i feel like his immediate reaction would be to just kiss the pain away. sort of like how parents will kiss their child's injury if they scrape their knee or bruise themself, he does that but like all over.

he's kissing your nose, your forehead, your lips (of course) but more than that. he's trailing kisses down your arms, along your stomach, your legs, all the parts of you that only the sun had ever kissed before.

and of course he's whispering praises to you the entire time. doesn't even have to be in a sexual way either. you're the love of his life, and it saddens him that you feel down about yourself. so he'll just kiss away the bad thoughts until there's nothing left but his love.

Johnny

when he hears you say something degrading about yourself, Johnny is a little too enthusiastic and excited about correcting you. you're the most beautiful thing he's ever laid eyes on, and he's going to make sure you see yourself that way too.

he's definitely the most handsy out of all of the boys. he's rubbing his hands up your arms, over your stomach, tracing your spine with his fingers. but then it escalates. he's groping your tits, pawing at your thighs and ass.

really, you can't blame the man when he eventually ends up between your thighs. you're just too pretty to resist, after all. look at what you do to him! bewitching him with your beauty, turning him into a pussy drunk man that can't get enough of you.

also, this might be his way of pavloving you. conditioning you into loving yourself as he draws orgasm after orgasm out of you. no, you'll stop shying away and disagreeing when people call you pretty or compliment you, you'll just get insanely horny lmao

Price

i actually just wrote a little thing about him and body image issues last night! and really, i think he would totally do this.

the whole getting on his knees in front of you as if you were royalty, holding your hands in his, just looking up at you with so much love and adoration. he'll caress you softly while he speaks because honestly he can't get enough of you.

he'd meet your insecurities with mostly rational ideas. how your body is normal, your appearance is perfect, you're beautiful inside and out type thing. i feel like out of all the boys he might have the hardest time appealing to you emotionally with that stuff.

doesn't mean he won't try, though! he'll constantly affirm you, treat you like royalty and all that good stuff. he'll cook you a nice meal, and maybe the two of you will cuddle on the couch. really, he'll just try and fill you with so much love until you forget about what had upset you in the first place.

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #f!reader #fem!reader

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nihilnovisubsole · 3 months

Text

something i've been thinking about as GDC comes around again: it's amazing to sit in the same room with Real Industry People and hear the truth of why certain story decisions happened the way they did. studio games are odd group projects that take a really long time to make, and there are many irons in the fire and many interests at play. sometimes the stars align and a team gets a laser vision, creative freedom, and the budget they need, and they ship the thing they meant to ship.

but not always. if a character you love got killed off, it's entirely possible that their original writer left or they couldn't bring the voice actor back. or leadership wanted to close down old story arcs and tie up loose ends, or someone felt new characters would bring in a new audience. if a series seemed to drop a plot thread in a sequel, it's possible that the narrative team wanted to include it and it got cut for scope. or shareholders wanted to appeal to a different part of the playerbase. or the team had internal creative conflict, or any number of reasons as simple as "it got lost in the shuffle because we did so many rewrites". [important disclosure: i'm not vagueposting about specific games here. i'm just rattling possibilities off. resemblance, unintentional, etc.]

and of course that's not a phenomenon unique to video games. tv shows make snap decisions when they get canceled before the planned end of the story or a cast member wants to leave. movies' plots can change when a new director comes on board, or they bring in a script doctor, or an actor's problems interfere with the shoot. even louisa may alcott changed little women's ending over concerns that if jo remained unmarried, the book wouldn't sell. i'm not sure whether it was her publisher or she worried about it herself, but the point is, something got altered, and it can happen anywhere.

as a fan, i found these developers' stories both comforting and vindicating. for a long time, i've felt like someone riding two horses at once: the fanfic-and-OC girl playing on other writers' playgrounds, and now also the staff writer who sees how the sausage gets made. i've been affected - probably overmuch - by a character's sad end, only to learn that some third party or outside motive influenced it. i've met writers who also didn't like where a plot was going, but didn't have enough seniority on the team to protest it. i've heard stories along the lines of, "we were trying to make lemonade, man," and what shocked me more than the revelation is the peace i gained from it. it's a miracle the games shipped at all. the things that got made, got made. between professionals, it's neither heretical nor some wild flight of irrationality to ask, "what if things had gone a different way?"

and, i mean, it would be both cynical and incorrect to wave it all off and say that no storytelling motives are ever wholesome. some characters die because it's the logical conclusion to their arc. some universes with complicated worldbuilding benefit from narrowing their focus and shaving off a few subplots. i'm just saying many things are possible. when you only sit on the fan side, it's easy to feel like Canon™ looms above you, inviolable, when you're really in conversation with it. there's a lot of power in saying "i respect the team's accomplishments, but i would've made different choices." you'd be surprised how often the team agrees with you.

#writing #workjob

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personasintro · 2 years

Text

One Time Thing | 01

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; what are you going to do when your best friend asks you to have sex with her boyfriend?

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jimin x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: best friend's boyfriend au, angst, fluff, smut

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language, oral sex (f.), protected sex, breast play

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7k+

𝐚/𝐧: I've decided to rewrite and repost this entire series. It's one of my first series on this blog, have been put on-hold for the longest time ever. It still is... not gonna lie, rewriting this story brought me mixed feelings about this. I'm not sure if it's worth posting and writing – so please if you like this story let me know! The future of this story depends on you (literally) because I've been thinking about deleting it. I'm just not sure if ppl will like it, so if you do please let me know. Don't ask me how I came up with this story idea lmao I don't even know but I always come out with the weirdest ideas ever.

𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ⇢ (links to be added)

“What?!”

The scream rips out of your throat, loud enough to make your best friend cringe at the loudness of your tone. But you don't care. You don't seem to focus enough to care. No other words leaving your mouth while you stare completely shocked at her. You just can't seem to believe what she just said. Your rapidly beating heart says it all.

No, you must've heard her wrong. She definitely didn't say it and you misunderstood her. That's right. But then she speaks again, repeating her once said words that make you stop breathing.

“I want you to sleep with my boyfriend.” she says like it's nothing. She makes it sound as if she’s asking you to water her plants or some other dumb request.

“What the fuck?!” Horrified by her words, you scream again. “Oh my god. I know what’s happening.” you say with a hand over your chest, where you can feel every beat your heart makes.

“You know?” she asks, genuinely surprised with her eyebrows raised.

You nod. “You’re pranking me, aren’t you? It’s because I gave you vodka instead of water you asked for that one time. You’re pranking me back.” you laugh as you shake your head.

She looks at you dumbfounded looking at your crazy state. You're laughing like a maniac, wiping your non-existed tears as she only stares.

“Woah, you almost got me!”

“I’m not pranking you, Y/N. I’m serious.” she says with an absolutely serious face expression.

Your smile drops as you check her face. There's a beat of silence. You've never been more confused than you're now. Nevertheless, you still wait for her abrupt laugh, telling I got you or anything that could prove her prank worked. But she doesn’t. In fact, she doesn't do anything as her features twist into a slight worry. She isn’t the type to prank anyone anyway. Staring right back at her, you find nothing but seriousness and that's when you know.

She’s telling the truth. This is no prank.

“W-wait... are you serious?”

“Hundred percent yes. Let me explain this to you. I know it sounds crazy.”

“You think? This is the craziest shit you’ve ever said and you said a ton of it.” you deadpan, ignoring her silent laugh.

“I know this sounds really crazy and you’re probably thinking what the fuck did I just tell you...” she trails off but then suddenly laughs once she has a perfect view of your wide eyes and open mouth. What the hell is she on? Has she been doing drugs?

“I-I don’t get it.”

“Well, the thing is.. me and Jimin haven’t been really sexually active.” she starts explaining, your head shaking in a shock.

“I still don’t get it.” you interrupt her, causing her to roll her eyes while silently telling you to shut up with her expression.

“If you would just shut up and listen to me.”

“Okay I’m really curious how you’ll explain this.” you remark.

“We haven’t had sex for like months. Since I’m on birth control, I don’t know why but I don’t really want to have sex. The thing is I get horny but not to the point I want to act on it. I already tried to consult with my gynecologist but she just told me it’s completely normal for me to feel this way and that it has something to do with hormones or whatever,” she explains, not forgetting to roll her eyes as she sighs before continuing.

“She told me it’ll stop eventually. I already tried different birth controls. Jimin suggested I should stop using it but I don’t want to get knocked up. I feel much safer with birth control. But lately... we’ve been having these arguments about it. I kind of lashed out at him telling him he can fuck whoever he wants and I wouldn’t care. I’d just get so annoyed everytime he wanted to have sex. And I feel so bad because it’s not Jimin’s fault. I should be able to please him but blowjobs don't cut it this time. It’s just not enough.”

You blink, trying to let her words sink in. Once you get yourself together, at least enough to process her words, you lick your lips.

“But sex isn’t everything. You love each other so much and your relationship shouldn’t be based on sex.” you say truthfully while looking at her saddened face.

Now that the shock is fading away, you realize she's absolutely serious and this goes much deeper than you thought. All of this makes her frustrated.

“I know. Jimin is the kindest person I know. He told me that it’s okay and we don’t have to have sex but I know how much sexually frustrated he is. I feel like I’m such a bad girlfriend. After our argument we had this long conversation about it and then I was kind of thinking about you,” she says, her eyes nervously flicking to yours as you blink at her with a terrified look. “ You haven’t gotten laid in a long time always complaining how you’re not interested in having sex with a complete stranger. And I know you mentioned Jimin’s hot in the past so..”

“So what? You want me to have sex with him just because I said he’s hot? I said that about tons of men already.” And she doesn't see you having sex with all of them.

“Yeah but he thinks you’re hot as well.”

“What?”

What did she say? She has shocked you already too much today. You swear you're about to have a heart attack.

“He told me before we got into a relationship.”

That’s right. Mina and Jimin started as friends with benefits. They still slept with other people but after some time they became exclusive. After that they started dating and here they are. In a relationship completely in love.

“The thing is I know that you’re one of the kindest people I know. You always had my back and helped me with everything and I’m so grateful for you! And I know that you’ll not catch any feelings for Jimin.”

“I’m not that sexually frustrated that I need to have sex with your boyfriend. That’s ridiculous.” you say, sounding almost offended. “I barely know him.”

It's true. There are a few occasions where you and him see each other. Most of them happen at Mina's place and he happened to come there while you were there as well. It's not like you and him haven't talked. You do talk – casually but that's it. Nothing more. Plus, you're already busy with school and the only person you get to hang out in your free time is Mina. And Mina only. Well, there's Yoongi too – your other very close friend.

You could probably count on your fingers how many conversations you've had with Jimin. Not many, that's for sure. Most of the stuff you know about him is from Mina anyway. It's not like Jimin shares his personal life with you.

“That’s why it wouldn’t be so weird.” she says and you look at her completely dumbfounded by her words. Is she high? “I know it doesn’t make any sense right now.”

“I’m still shocked this isn't a prank.” you admit while you play with your nails. “Won’t you be jealous knowing me and Jimin are having sex?” The sudden thought crosses your mind. Not that you're seriously considering this stupid plan of hers!

“It’s just a one time thing. And no. I already told you how desperate I am. I need your help but I know how weird of me it is to ask you of this. You don’t have to do it. I’ll completely understand you. But you’re the only person I trust with Jimin.”

“B-but what about him? Isn’t this weird for him too?”

“Actually he had a pretty much similar reaction to yours when I first proposed this. He was hesitating about this but then he agreed to it.”

“I-I don’t know what to say to be honest.”

“Here, drink this.” she says, giving you your cup of tea she made for you. “I know you probably need something stronger than tea.” She tries to joke.

“Damn right. I could use a bottle of vodka right now.” you mumble before you take a few sips of your tea which by the way – doesn't calm your nerves. Not even one bit.

It feels like your head is about to blow up. Never in a million years you've imagined Mina would come for help about something like this. You do appreciate that she shares such a personal matter with you. But you're still not quite sure why she wants you to help. Sure, she explained herself and you're not dumb to not notice how much this truly frustrates you. But still. This has to be the dumbest ask of help you've ever experienced.

Averting your gaze elsewhere, your mind goes spiral and your thoughts wander to the mentioned man.

Jimin is handsome. There’s no secret in that.

You remember the first time you saw him. It was at a party and your mouth dropped once you were met at his sharp jaw, black hair and thick lips. All of these features make him mesmerizing and unique. After the party, you saw him in your art class but you've never talked to each other during it. He remained this mysterious guy everyone was looking and drooling at. Only if you would've known him a little bit more, you could've said you had a tiny crush on him. But can you say you had it? You didn't even know his full name back then.

And then Mina met him.

Somehow they bumped into each other and soon enough, they started to have this weird friends-with-benefits relationship. You've never drooled at him anymore. It didn't feel appropriate. Not when your best friend was having sex with him at any opportunity. It felt weird to think about him that way. Of course, he never stopped being a hot piece of man – you're not blind. You've blocked every nearly inappropriate thought of him.

Mina's voice cuts off your thoughts of her boyfriend.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this. Not at all. I’m okay with whatever answer you’ll give me. I just had to try this with you because I’m so desperate. It’s been months since we had sex.” Her eyes turn glossy, sounding just as desperate as she says she is.

Knowing your best friend you're aware that this is something deep. This really must’ve bothered her when she came with this to you. She wouldn’t ask this of anyone else. Not when she’s completely in love with Jimin.

Have you ever imagined having sex with Jimin? Yes.

But do you still want it when he’s your best friend’s boyfriend? Not so sure anymore.

That sounds completely fucked up. Even if she seems to be okay with it.

Even when you don't want to admit it – Mina was right. You haven’t had sex for couple of months as well. You just didn’t want to hook up with someone you don't know, even if there were many opportunities for you to do so. You've always been picky about your taste and sex partners.

The last time you had sex was with your ex and that’s it. You've never had sex with someone who you weren’t dating with. It just wasn’t your thing. Still isn't.

What should you do? The decision is up to you. You could simply tell her no and then you would never have to talk about this again. But the desperation filling her face and the lack of sex in your life beg to differ. There's seriously something wrong with you because you catch yourself considering this. As if it already wasn't enough, Jimin's plump lips make their way into your brain. Argh! There's undeniable guilt pinching deep inside your chest because you're thinking about his lips when he's Mina's boyfriend. You can't help it.

Just the thought of seeing Jimin naked and feeling his skin against yours makes your skin hot already. Mina has opened the closed door now. Under different circumstances, you would've never dared to think of Jimin like this. Not anymore.

The lack of excitement and lust in your busy life is the cause of this. You suddenly start to imagine how this one time thing can be beneficial to all three of you.

Much to your surprise, you shock yourself and Mina when you mutter; “Okay, I’ll do it.”

Mina throws herself at you, clutching you to her body while you stay frozen, not being able to react in any way. You've no idea how this is going to go.

You are hoping you won’t regret your decision. This sounds already fucked up.

It takes only two days for Mina to set up a meeting with Jimin. You hate how businessy that sounds. Mina's idea consists of you and Jimin meeting somewhere alone, right before you jump straight to it. You're not sure if there's a point of getting to know each other a little bit better. However, she does have a point in making you two talk and make sure this is what you both want. You're not opposed to that. You definitely want to hear Jimin's opinion about this. Plus, Mina has never failed to remind you that you can back out whenever you want.

Even though you've tried to calm down your nerves and tried to tell yourself that this doesn't have to be any more awkward and weird than it already is – you just can't seem to shake off the nervosity flowing through your body. You're supposed to meet your best friend's boyfriend, talking about potentially hooking up together.

Mina gave Jimin your number which resulted in him texting you first. You don't think you could've made the first step. Not that it's required of you. It's them, well Mina, who came to you for help. As much as you'll get something out of this, potentially, they're the first ones who need help. It's not like you need one. All of this could be beneficial to you too.

Besides, you'll see how you and Jimin will get along and how the entire conversation will go.

You've agreed to meet at a local coffee shop, trying to keep it as casual as possible.

You wouldn't lie if you said you haven't considered backing out before even meeting Jimin. You're still not sure if you can face him and act all casual about this. In the end, you decide to keep your cool and at least try to see where all of this is going. Plus, you would feel bad for standing up Jimin. Or anyone who would be in his place.

Still, you nervously swallow as soon as you find Jimin sitting at a table, waiting for you. His phone is in his hand as he browses through it for a moment, just before he puts it back on the table and looks up. Your eyes lock shortly after and you realize there's no backing out now. You have to get there and meet him.

Maybe Jimin can sense your nervous state, or sees the way you hesitate but then he sends you a wide smile, waving you over. Gosh, you feel so weird. Not trying to block the entrance, you walk up to the table where he sits before you plop on the opposite side of him.

Seeing him this closer causes a lump to create in your throat. You're aware of his eyes on you as you pull out your phone out of the pocket of your jeans, trying to busy yourself before you have to truly face him. But all of this takes seconds and you're forced to lift your eyes up.

Brown hair parted in the middle, his eyes crinkle at the ends as he speaks softly; “Hi.”

It's been a while since you've heard him. Damn, you haven't seen him for weeks. That's if you don't count the art class you share. But even there, you barely paid any attention to each other.

“Hey,” you gulp, swallowing down the nervosity.

Before you can say anything more, the waitress comes to your table to take your orders. You order the first thing that crosses your mind which is a cherry tea. Jimin orders the exact same order looking slightly nervous. He doesn’t even look at the menu automatically saying 'same as her’.

“So,” he starts, chuckling and for the first time, you notice he's nervous too. “I don’t even know how to start. This is so weird.” he admits.

That makes you crack a grin.

“Tell me something about it. I thought I would run away as soon as I came here.” you laugh at yourself. Jimin joins your laughter, his top teeth sinking into his bottom juicy lip. God dammit.

“I’m going to be honest with you. I already know what my answer is and I’m not gonna change it. But if you feel like you want to back out you always can. I don’t want you to think this is something you have to do. Not for me or Mina. That’s our shit we pulled you into.” he says almost the exact same words as Mina. They both wanted you to know you don’t have to do this. And you know. God, you know - but you still want to do it.

“I know,” you smile at his caring gaze he is giving you. “But is this really something you want to do?” you ask just to be sure.

He smiles a little bit at your question. “I’m not going to lie. When Mina came to me with this idea I freaked out. But then it sounded kinda… good in some weirdest way possible. I love Mina but this is something we both agreed on.”

“Yeah, but like... I’m her best friend. Isn’t that weird?”

“It is. But I don’t really know you that much, no offense. I know you’re her best friend. She never shuts up about you but at the same time I don’t know you. No offense.” he says again, checking your reaction as if he's waiting for you to get offended.

“None taken.” you chuckle when he protectively puts his hands in front of him.

“So do you want to do this?” he asks, tone dropping lower as he stares into your eyes.

You bite your lip and without thinking you nod.

“Words. I need words Y/N.” Your name from his lips already sounds addicting.

“I do. I want this.” you speak softly, giving him the exact answer he wanted. He smirks a little bit, his sweet behavior changing to a cocky one for a bit.

You shake yourself out of the daze before it can erupt as you find your voice again.

“This is just a one time thing, right?”

“Of course.” he immediately agrees.

What kind of mess did you get yourself into?

It’s the D-day.

That sounds awful.

It’s time for you to have sex with Jimin. That sounds even more awful. You feel completely nauseous and nervous. But not in the way that makes you want to turn around. It probably sounds ridiculous and considering the situation and relationship between all three of you – you trust Jimin. You might not know him well enough, but he's familiar. He's no stranger. And from Mina's words back from the days they only hooked up, there is something to be excited for.

Which reminds you that Mina is working her shift, aware of you and Jimin hooking up today. You still can't believe she's fine with all of this and after numerous questions of whether she's sure of this or not, she has finally managed to convince you that yes, she is more than fine.

Since they relationship has started with sex, there's a chance that it's not important to their relationship that much anymore. You're not sure how they'll solve this in the future. Will Jimin fuck other girls?

Before you can burden your already ready-to-burst brain, you knock on Jimin's front door. Your jeans work as the best surface for you to wipe your sweaty hands against.

Why the hell are you constantly so nervous? Is it because you're about to have a sex for the first time in a while? Or is it because it's with Jimin out of all people? You're not sure.

The door opens and reveals Jimin.

He's wearing jeans with a black belt, with a matching black shirt tucked into them. He runs his fingers through his dark hair, exposing his forehead and brows to you as he shoots you a polite smile. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you almost stutter, but still give yourself a mental high-five for not stuttering.

Jimin eyes stay on your for a moment. He can probably see your nervous state. Hell, you aren’t even hiding it. You can’t but you wish you could.

“Please come in.” he says politely instead, moving to the side as he gives you a space for you to come in.

The moment you step inside, Jimin closing the door softly behind you, you note the scent of wood and something sweet. You can't put a finger on what it is, but it smells really nice.

Understandably, you've never been to his place. There wasn't any need to – let alone the opportunity. As you take off your shoes and let Jimin guide you deeper into his place, you silently take it in. You will give him points for a good taste in furniture and decoration. You're not sure what you've expected – not that you thought about what his place looks like – it still takes you by surprise. It's quite surprising seeing his home so beautiful. It's definitely modern with a personal touch of Jimin. Most men's homes are usually a big mess.

“Do you live alone?” you ask behind him, slowly following him.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t you feel alone here all by yourself?” you ask curiously once you stop in the living room. Jimin motions for you to sit on the white couch and you obey, seating yourself on the soft mattress.

“Mina is here most of the time, so no.” he answers.

Your movements stop for a moment at the mention of your best friend.

“Oh, sorry. I should not mention her right now.” he awkwardly scratches the back of his head as he gives you an apologetic look. He sits on the other end of the couch, looking more comfortable with his arm stretched over the headrest.

“Why not? She’s your girlfriend after all.” you say, shrugging your shoulders. You assure him that it's okay and there's no need for him to act like Mina is not existing. However, it is weird no matter what. The last thing you want to be reminded of before having sex is Mina. You already feel so fucking weird about this and him talking about your best friend doesn’t really help.

“She is but due to our circumstances it’s not fair to you,” he says, “Do you want anything to drink? Water, coffee? Maybe some alcohol?”

He wants you to feel as comfortable as you can. If giving you some alcohol would help, then so be it. You kindly shake your head though. “Nah, I’m good.”

He nods as awkward silence surrounds you. You both look at each other and suddenly start to laugh. “This is so awkward. Are we supposed to jump right into it?” you ask laughing at how ridiculous this situation is.

“I mean.. we could. I don’t mind.” he surprises you with his words. Especially how simply they fall out of his lips.

Staring at each other, something stirs deeply inside your stomach and you recognize the little excitement. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you smile. “I suppose we could.”

He offers you his hand which you gladly take. His hands clasps around yours without interweaving your fingers. He leads you into his bedroom which is even more beautiful than the living room. He has a massive bed at the end of his room. Two night tables on each side. Big closet with mirror opposite of it. You can see some art decorating his walls but it still looks minimal.

“A-are we.. you know.. in here?” Great, you've stuttered.

“You know. You can say it straight away you don’t have to sugarcoat it.” he chuckles a little bit while closing the door behind you.

“Fine. Are we gonna fuck here?” you ask straight away and look his way.

He has a little smirk on his plump lips which he licks.

“That’s how I like it,” he mumbles more to himself. “We could move to the living room or any place you’d like.” he suggests while your cheeks burn. Did he just implied you could fuck perhaps in the kitchen if you wanted to? He absolutely did.

“No, this is fine.” you say after a while. You are more fine with this actually. You just feel weird thinking this is where he and Mina sleep together.

“I know what you’re thinking. Me and Mina haven’t had sex for so long. But you already know that.”

How is he able to read you so well when he barely knows you? “That’s why I’m here.” you say quietly walking to his bed. You touch his silky sheets which must’ve cost fortune.

“Do you want to back out?” he asks suddenly. You turn around finding him staring at you with his dark eyes. His stare changes. He isn’t looking at you innocently and friendly like a few minutes ago. You can see one thing you were sure of. Lust.

You bite your lower lip shaking your head.

“Words, Y/N.” he speaks sternly. You immediately remember the day when you met at the coffee shop. He wants you to say it out loud.

“Fuck me, Jimin.” you speak loud enough for him to quickly walk up to you.

Grabbing your face he presses your lips together. Other than being in complete awe that Park Jimin is kissing you now, you hold yourself back from moaning when his delicious soft lips taste way better than you've ever imagined. Mina is damn lucky. Your lips melt together so fast and you can’t breathe. The build up frustration of the lack of sex – on both parts – seem to get the best of you. Once Jimin pulls away to catch his breath, you both breathe heavily as he doesn't move away, pressing his forehead to yours instead. Your breath catches in your throat from the close proximity. You can smell his aftershave and fragrance that practically oozes from him. Not just that but the raunchy sex appeal as well. His lips taste like a cherry lip balm and there are traces of mouthwash on his tongue.

You wonder if this isn’t weird for Jimin. Kissing you while his girlfriend is away and she knows about this. This is so fucking weird but you can’t help yourself and kiss him again despite the lack of your oxygen. You don't know what gets to you. It's probably desperation. You don't want to talk about who he truly is. You don't want to think about Mina. You're doing this to enjoy this. You will treat him as he's just a normal guy, with no attachments to you or anyone you know.

Pushing him against his chest, he lets you push him down onto the mattress. He smirks at the dominance. You're trying to stay unaffected as you climb onto his lap. He lets you, hands hovering over your hips before he holds you there. The moment you sit down, your mouth opens once you can tell his cock is hardening. The bulge in his jeans is not that hard to notice now.

It's not like you're not wet. Fuck, you're dripping wet – you can already tell the discomfort between your legs. What you find ridiculous though, is the fact that you're not sure you've ever been this aroused and wet for your ex boyfriend.

He's barely touching you and your whole body is on fire, desperate to tear his clothes off to see what he's hiding beneath them. Jimin stares up at you, the little smirk still playing on his lips as he squeezes your hips. You start kissing his jaw and neck, inhaling secretly his scent again while you're careful not to leave any marks. A visible proof of what you're about to do – what you're already doing – is not something Mina should see. Even if she knows. You would feel like a complete idiot if she had to see Jimin and find any marks on her boyfriend.

Going back to his face and lps, you connect them again in a heated kiss even though you don’t want to kiss too much. Well, not that you don't want to but you're not sure if it seems right. After all – kissing is too intimate but you can’t help it. His lips are so addicting you always have to dive for another taste.

Your body screams for more, so you slowly grind yourself against his bulge. Throwing your head back at the sudden friction and slight relief it brings, you can't believe you're fucking doing this. Jimin is not unaffected either, he grunts as he squeezes your hips tighter, all while he helps you grind against him. He puts more pressure, leaving both of you gasping.

“Fucking hell.” he moans loudly, embarrassed how quickly out of control he is.

But you're too oblivious to his inner embarrassment, having no idea what he's been through despite Mina letting you the main problem. The truth is, his hand doesn't do its job anymore. Jerking off in the mornings or in the shower is not thrilling anymore. Not when he has a beautiful girlfriend, whom he has wanted to touch everytime she just laid beside him only in her underwear. He knows the lack of sex has made his hormones go crazy. That's understandable. It's not like he sees her as a sexual object, not at all. He was completely fine with the occasional blowjobs or handjobs (when she didn't want to mess up her make-up). But the truth is, sex might not be the most important part or thing in their relationship, it's still a key to a healthy relationship in some way.

And he did touch her. Sometimes. But it was more of him waiting for her to lash out at him. He is walking on eggshells when it comes to her. That eventually made both of them frustrated in their own ways.

He wanted to fuck his girlfriend so many times, but she was never in the mood.

But here you are. Grinding on his cock, looking like a perfect mixture of angel and devil at the same time. All of a sudden, he halts your movements and is met with your confused eyes.

“Okay you had your fun.” he chuckles deeply, biting harshly on his lower lip when he feels his hard cock poking you at your clothed entrance. You look just as fucked out, but you still find yourself to ask.

“Do you want to stop?”

“Fuck no,” he replies immediately. You are ready to laugh at that, but the only sound leaving your lips is yelping when he turns you over. He smirks when he sees your surprised stare by the sudden movement and how easily he has managed to flip you over. “My turn.” he rasps, diving his head to your neck.

Jimin mimics your movements from earlier. You suddenly feel him sucking your skin, too fucked out to tell him to stop. You don’t mind it. You find it so hot. You find him so hot.

“Is it okay for me to undress you?” he asks with a soft tone and gaze.

“Go ahead.” you nod at him.

You see his sweet smile before his fingers work on your button and zipper. You help him undress your jeans leaving you in your shirt and white underwear. You see him biting his lower lip again before he continues to take off your shirt. You are left in your underwear in seconds. The white bralette is complimenting your breasts and Jimin feels like salivating at the pure sight. Fuck, he needs to get himself together.

Jimin is unaware that you've picked your best underwear set you have in your closet. As much as he's not aware how guilty you feel for trying for him. You wanted to look good for him. It’s not like you want to seduce him. You just wanted to look your best. You still don’t understand what Jimin sees in you, or more accurately, why he had agreed to do this with you.

It seems like he wants to say something but he stops himself before pulling your panties down to your ankles. He tosses them on the floor not caring where they’re going to end. His gaze is locked up at your spread legs. Insecurity is already crawling through your whole body. You are about to clasp your legs when he stops you. Giving you a small smile seconds before he opens his mouth.

“Can I go down on you?” he asks suddenly. You lift your head and look at him surprisingly.

He wants to eat you out? Well damn, you're shocked again. You thought you’ll just have sex and that’s it. No foreplay. Not that you're complaining.

“Yes.” The answer comes immediately. And then you feel hot breath where you most need him.

He licks your pussy, having a taste of you. You moan loudly, throwing your head back in pleasure. You arch your back wanting nothing more than to touch him. But you know better and grab silky sheets instead.

“Oh my god!” you moan when you feel his tongue at your hole before he presses further. “Fuck Jimin!” You feel yourself clenching around his tongue.

He fucks you with his tongue, his two fingers pressing against your clit. He has experience, that's for sure. All this time you've craved someone else's touch and now you're getting it. You're way more sensitive which makes your orgasm approach faster than ever. You don't want it to end. Grabbing Jimin's hair and pulling onto them gently, still careful not to hurt him, you give him a silent plea of stopping. But he still keeps going, feeling you getting close.

“Stop, Jimin.” you moan and he immediately pulls away.

Mouth drenched in your wetness, his worried eyes are on you just as you breathe heavily, ignoring the feeling of disappointment your body feels. Your walls clench around nothing.

“Just fuck me. I can’t wait any longer.” you breathe, trying to calm down yourself. He immediately relaxes, something you notice just as he sits back on his knees.

“So greedy.” Chuckling he undresses himself.

You're watching his every movement while he watches your lustful gaze. He feel his chock twitching at your already fuck out state. You watch him pull his boxers off revealing his cock. You don’t know what you were expecting but damn is he thick. Knowing it's been a while since you've had sex, you wonder if he's going to fit.

“You mentioned you’re clean, right?” he asks, suddenly stroking his cock casually. You remember your conversation you had in the coffee shop. You both got tested and you’re both clean.

“Are you ready?” he asks for the last time.

You're about to nod, noticing the way he lifts up his brow as if he knew what you're about to do. Clearing your throat, you remember he wants to hear you.

“Yes.”

He chuckles at this knowing exactly what was going on inside your head.

He leans over you as he opens a drawer of his night stand. He pulls out a condom already ripping off the package. He gets back into his previous spot – he moves between your spread legs and puts the head of his cock at your entrance. “God, you’re so wet.” he says, almost fascinated.

You cringe at yourself when you find yourself almost saying just for you. He gathers some of the wetness onto his cock. He is about to tease you but god, you make it so hard for him. Spreaded in front of him like this completely naked. He says to himself little fuck it and slowly enters you. You want to squeeze your eyes shut but you don’t. You look at him through your hooded eyes. His eyes are closed and pleasure written all over his face.

“How are you this tight?” he grunts when he fills you to the brim. God, he's so thick. The words make you clench around him automatically. “You good? Can I move?” he almost begs but still stops to make sure you’re okay with this.

“Yeah, move. Please.” you whimper - the feeling of pain and pleasure becoming too much for you. You need him to move.

“As you wish, princess.” he suddenly says completely surprising you with the pet name. He probably got lost in the pleasure, you guess. And he does as he says.

He starts slowly but it feels like he can’t keep going slow as he fastens up his pace. His left hand grabs your hips so you wouldn’t move too much. His other hand takes one of your breasts, squeezing gently as his thumb brushes over your nipple.

“Have you been fucked like this?” He grunts, keeping his rapid pace. Moans escaping your lips. “I asked you something.” he growls pinching your nipple causing you to arch your back moaning loudly.

“No. No one fucked me like this.” You answer between moans grabbing his hand that's on your breast. You stare at the veiny hand, enough to make your eyes roll back. What a fucking sight.

“I’ll fuck you properly. Don’t worry.” he smirks and starts to go even rougher and faster. You don’t think that was even possible.

“Fuck.” you moan, aware of the loudness and momentarily, you think of his neighbors hearing you. All of it is gone when Jimin speaks through clenched teeth.

“Moan my name.” he gasps.

You hesitate, not sure what to do. But his hand leaves your hip and instead comes around your neck. Your eyes widen, walls tightening when he squeezes slightly. Not too much – you barely feel it.

“I said, moan my name Y/N.” he growls like some beast having you moan his name again and again. You feel your orgasm approaching still not wanting to cum. It’s too soon for you. You could go for hours like this. As much as embarrassing it is to admit.

“Cum for me, princess. Cum around my cock.” he keeps grunting from above you and the blissful sound of his moans makes you squeeze him tight. The knot suddenly rips and you're cumming around him, your entire body feeling light.

You feel him twitch inside you, giving you a few firm thrusts before his moves become sloppy. Big fuck leaving his lips as he spills inside the condom. Once he's done, every drop of his cum inside the condom, he lays beside you while you both breathe heavily. You close your eyes for a bit trying to catch a breath.

Moments later, you feel the mattress dip as he moves. Opening your eyes, you see him standing up. He throws the condom into the bin that sits in the corner of his room. Sitting up, now that the moment is over you feel the weird feeling coming back.

You've never been in this situation before. What are you supposed to do? You should probably get the hell out of here. Jimin's eyes are on you, watching you and your naked figure as you quickly get to the edge of his bed, grabbing your shirt.

“I, uh, I should probably go.” you mutter awkwardly, quickly putting on your shirt followed by your panties. You don't bother to put the bra on, silently showing how quickly you want to get out of here.

“You can take a shower if you want.” he offers while putting his boxers back on.

You look at him stopping all your movements debating what to do. “Look, I don’t want to make this weird. Go take a shower, I’ll wait and then you can go home, okay? You don’t have to feel like escaping.” he says softly, but his eyes are nothing but serious.

As much as you want to leave, you kind of don’t. But the sound of shower and the thought of wiping the sweat and smell of sex sounds good. The whole bedroom reeks of sex.

“Okay.” you reply, picking up jeans from the floor.

“The first door on the right.” he tells you and with soft thank you you scurry into the bathroom.

His bathroom has a nice shower but also a bathtub on the opposite side. You quickly clean yourself thinking of how good Jimin’s touch felt. It’s too good and it’s all you can think about. You slowly shake your head thinking it’s from the adrenaline you feel right now. When you dress your clothes back on you slowly walk into the kitchen where Jimin is standing.

He turns around when he hears your footsteps. “Are you okay?” he asks you once his eyes find yours.

You nod despite feeling a big ache between your legs. He really fucked you roughly. “Do you want something to drink or eat?”

His behavior makes you a little bit surprised. He acts like nothing happened while you’re freaking out inside. “No, thanks. I should probably go.” you say awkwardly.

He escorts you to the front door where you quickly put your shoes and jacket on. When you are about to leave, his soft voice calling your name stops you. “Thank you.”

“For what? That’s what we all agreed on.” you laugh nervously. He simply nods, opening the door for you.

“I’ll see you.” he says with a little smile.

“Bye, Jimin.” you smile and quickly turn around to hide your red face.

When you hear the soft thud of a closed door, you exhale heavily.

Holy shit, you just slept with your best friend’s boyfriend. And it was fucking great.

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