#( where she can look at it and think of him every time )

[wingedfuncomputer]

The outskirts of Town

Remmick x fem!reader

Summary: Living far from town with a father who treats you more like a maid instead of a daughter proves itself exhausting. Secluded like a bird in a cage, a boring cycle life becomes until a random man shows up one night striking up an innocent deal. In name of your chicken coop you accept letting him in. Though as time passes & whispers of violence roughing a sweet couple up around town has you rethinking this weird relationship you have created with the Irish stranger who seemed to come out of thin air.

Warnings: naive!reader, apart from that none really just your father lowkey being rude to Remmick cause he’s Irish 💔.

Authors note: This is just a slice of what I’ve been writing for Remmick. My actual word count for the story is 8.5k as of now, close to finishing but I wanted to see if it’s something you Remmick lovers would want to see (I know it’s pretty lengthy). My story is aimed at not just the romance but scare factor? If that’s what you can call it. no full fledged smut or healthy romance here just trying to ground myself in realistic outcomes. I don’t think that man could love normally lmao. Let me know what you think!

Word count: 1.4K Fic playlist

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From a far his eyes locked on her. Right as the sun set she was tending the little chickens, ushering them into the coop. Softly, she tried her hardest to close the door as if not wanting to scare them. A regular passer by wouldn't glance an eye she was a normal little thing, but not to him, not to Remmick.

It was primal how he always found himself being dragged back to her every time the sun decided to hide behind the horizon. Her sweat, her skin, her pulsing blood enticed him as if he'd known her before. She was too sweet to ravish like all those ol' people he had left a mess of before. He let himself get enveloped in the idea that his human mind,what little of it remained had.Affection. With that utterly disgusting revelation he decided to knock on her door to put an end to the feeling once and for all. Heavy, knuckles contacted the chipping paint of the wood.

You had been sweeping the floor when you heard a noise coming from the front door. A little startled your active swipe back and forth stopped confused by who would be visiting your father so late at night. Most people weren't out after sun down. "The floors ain't gon' sweep themselves keep at it girl". His gruffy voice made you grip the wooden stick tighter negating the fact it caused splinters to get stuck to your skin. It was old, long due to be  thrown away but your voice was nonexistent in this house. With a small creak a hesitant humble from a very male voice spoke, "good afternoon... sir".  You whipped your head around intrigued but found your father's body blocking the man who stood at the door. "State your business". He had never learnt kindness, it was a foreign thing to him. "I'm just a lowly traveler going on by, was wonderin' if you could offer some hospitality". A huff emitted from your father as the man continued. "My wife she's no longer with us.. I must find myself across the state but the sun is beating and unforgiving".  Your heart  ached for him, he sounded defeated. Your father surely would say mean ol' things to him n’ get violent. But suprisingly he laughed barking your name then proceeded orders at you, "fetch this man a cup of water". Only for a split second when he turned were you able to capture a glimpse, the man already looking directly at you. His features resembled my father's, except for his frame he looked thinner his face covered in what seemed to be a mix of dirt and sweat. You nod and quickly keep your eyes down. Whilst you grab a tin cup and fill it with water by the sink you hear the small hushing of their conversation asking where he was headed to and why. Your steps are weary making sure you don't spill the water.

"The Catholics did a number on my people kindness is hard to come by. Could you let me in don't want to bother the young lady much?" His first comment is what makes your father's demeanor change, you see it from a few feet away as his back tenses. He ignores the man's request to come inside, "Where you from boy?". Once only a few inches away you decide to lay down the cup by a piece of furniture near by. Eyes creeping behind your father's shoulders it was obvious to see the man was not a boy. He had good amount of muscle on his arms and lines on his face. There's a glint of a smirk in the strangers lips as he glances at you no lack of confidence, "Ireland". That's when your heart drops, with poison your father spits "get your filthy Irish ass off my f*cking property".

"I don't mean no disrespect, I'd still appreciate that water" he takes a step forward which makes your father push him you yelp afraid they'd have a full brawl and the innocent man would end up in his grave. "You won't get nothin' here ! Leave my property". Your hands go up to your father’s arms as you can see his anger exalt, his fist itching to make contact with the Irish man's face. "Father please..." his face full of anger is concentrated on you before shoving your hand away and instead drags you inside from your arm instead. "It's best if you learn to keep away from men like that ." He speaks as if the man wasn't there, you can't help but take a look once behind you once more offering a look of "I'm sorry" before the front door is slammed shut by your father.

That whole night you couldn't bring yourself to sleep tossing and turning, imagining what that poor man was going through. You didn't hear about him the following day or day after that until you found yourself reluctantly putting yet another dead bird into a sack. They were being  ripped to shreds, you made sure the coop was secured each night so what could be killing them? It was sundown, the night air hitting your skin in a way that made your hairs stick up. "coyote... or fox" your body jolts hearing someone break the silent spell in the air. Immediately letting the bag fall and taking steps back as you twist to see who the voice belonged to. "Apologies I didn't mean to scare ya". It was hard to see in the darkness but the moonlight along with your small lamp on the ground allowed you to see enough to say, "your the man from a few days ago". He was standing behind the fence that surrounded your chicken coop. "Guilty as charged" you couldn't help but laugh along with him. "I'm Remmick" he extends his hand towards you which you can only just stare at. It would've been appropriate to say your name and envelope his hand but you don't. Remmick you repeat in your head liking the ring it had to it. "My Irish hands too dirty" he murmurs to himself  which makes you start to ramble in apologies insuring his heritage had nothing to do with your lack of a response. " f’course not It's just that, no offense sir your a- your a...." Your stuttering makes heat flood your cheeks in embarrassment . "A stranger?" He says it so casually no anger laced in between his words just light heartedness. You both stare at each other in an awkward pause before you find the courage to nod. Guilt weighs in your soul after reflecting "I'm truly ashamed about what happened last time, my father...-that is no way to be treated". He just smiles, a little huff of air being exhaled as he leaned into the fence, "it happens more than you know darlin' nothin' personal". His deep voice grumbles nicely when he calls you by that little pet name making your stomach flutter. It must've been as clear as the night sky you weren't allowed around men often, let alone other people.

Remmick seems intrigued by you growing quiet tilting his head to the side as he quirks , "the way across the state ain't an easy one.. stayin’ around these parts is easier. would help if I had a place to rest... ". You would offer him your home in a heartbeat but you knew how your pops wasn't fond of him, let alone yourself. He could barely tolerate you so how would tolerate this stranger . His eyes are trained on your every twitch, your chest constricting and trembling hands playing with the loose fabric of your skirt. It was quite nice really it felt like you were a lil' rabbit troubled by your surroundings. Yet You were unaware that the greatest danger wasn't your father, no not your  father it was the devil himself looming over you in this instant.

He smacks his lips making you look back at him once more. His pointer finger is near his mouth faking thought, "well I might just got a deal that could work for both 'f us". Your eyebrows furrow in confusion but you still hear the poor man out. "I can help ya with the lil' chicken problem... in exchange I get a piece of shelter". His eyes nudge at the forgotten sack beneath you then trail up your frame to your face. Your teeth grind in contemplation. If he helped manage the death of these chickens father would probably lay off my back, let me go in town for food trips or what not for the farm.

"So what da ya, say? You gon' let me in?"

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[leclerc-hs]

Chalres x Reader(Brothers best friend)

Reader is Charles younger brothers best friend she has always had a crush on Charles but Charles never seemed interested one day there's like a pool party she wears a very revealing sexy bikini and Charles takes notice of her

All the smut please ✨️

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader word count: <900 warnings: smut smut smut, language, 18+ author's note: sorry its kinda short!!! just kinda dove straight into the smut LOL, maybe one day I'll make another version of charles x brother's best friend but this is all I had time to do for now!! xoxo ◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

You had always been Arthur’s best friend. His sidekick, his shadow. The girl who spent endless summers barefoot at the karting tracks, grease smudged across your skin, weaving yourself into every corner of his life.

You were a constant. A staple.

Another Leclerc, almost. A little sister.

And Charles had never thought twice about it. You were harmless. Safe. Comfortable.

Until now.

Until this party, where you were dripping wet from the pool, the tiniest soft red fucking bikini clinging to your body, laughing loudly at something Arthur said.

It was hardly a swimsuit. Two ragged slivers of soft red fabric, stitched together and tied at your hips in shoulders, would be a better way to describe it. 

Scraps. That’s all it was. Every knot, every flimsy tie, looked like it was one tug away from coming undone.

Indecent, barely there. Exposed.

And so goddamn beautiful it knocked the air from his lungs.

Charles nearly dropped his drink, fingers spasming around the bottle in his hands, as heat pumped in his chest.

He tried. Tried to ignore it as long as he could all day.

But the second you wandered inside alone. Wet, shivering, in nothing but those flimsy scraps of fabric. He snapped.

He followed you inside before he could think better of it, the door clicking shut behind him sharply.

You turned, surprised, smiling like you didn’t even know what you were doing to him.

And he fucking lost it.

One moment he was standing across the room, the next he was in front of you, hands grabbing your face, mouth crashing onto yours like he needed you to breathe. A kiss that tasted like anger and hunger.

You gasp, stunned, but melted into him almost instantly. Fingers slipping into his wet hair like you’d dreamed of this a million times. You have.

Charles pulls back slightly, panting. “This,” he gasps. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

You stare up at him, body trembling. “You don’t even know,” you whisper. “How long I’ve wanted this.”

He groaned. Audibly groaned like it hurt him.

“I never,” he chokes, kissing you again, harder. “Never thought of you like this.”

“But you’re still kissing me,” you whisper.

And you whimper into his mouth, hips rocking into him like fucking instinct.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. Always were.” He mutters, eyes dragging down your body like he hated himself for even looking. But he couldn’t stop. “I just…can’t fucking stop.” He crashes his mouth back over yours.

Charles didn’t ease into you at all. No. He shoved deep inside of you with a brutal, desperate thrust that knocked the air from you.

You cried out, clutching his back, nails digging into his skin.

“Fuck,” he rasps, forehead pressed to yours. “You’re gonna kill me.”

He stayed buried for a second, grinding slowly, making you feel every fucking throbbing inch of him.

“You have no idea,” he groans. “How fucking long I fought this.”

You whimper, clenching around him.

“Used to look at you,” he pulls himself out of you, before slamming back into you, hard. “And tell myself you were safe. You were just Arthur’s best friend.”

And he thrusts deeper, harder, making you moan out loud.

“Harmless.” He laughs at himself. Like he’s angry he didn’t see it earlier.

You sobbed his name. Over fucking whelmed by the pace of his hips. The feel of his cock stretching you.

“Now all I can think about is bending you over every fucking surface possible.” His hips snap harder, making you sob out.

“Can’t sleep without seeing you spread open for me,” His voice is filthy in your ear. 

Your walls clench around him, body shaking from how hard he was fucking into you. Like he wanted to punish you for it.

“Fuckin ruined me,” he hisses against your skin. Fisting your hair and yanking your head to look at him. “You’re mine now, you get that?”

You nod fast. Frantic. Tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

“Say it,” He orders. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“Yours,” your voice breaks, a moan slipping through.

He lets out a filthy groan, fucking you harder, slamming into you until you couldn’t see straight.

“Supposed to be my sister,” He mutters, delirious from the squeeze of your cunt on his cock. “Now all I wanna do is put a baby in you. Fill you up so fuckin full of me.”

And your orgasm crashes into you violently. Ripping through you as you clench around him. Gripping him harshly.

He curses violently, coming with a low groan, grinding into you harshly as he spills into you, filling you full, hips thrusting like he couldn’t stop.

“This doesn’t end here, y’get that?” He rasps. “Think one times enough?” His mouth frags over your jaw, biting into your skin.

“I’m gonna fucking ruin you,” Still grinding into your soaking cunt. “Gonna fuck you so many times you’ll never want another guy again.”

You moan, body trembling. 

“Gonna make you come over and over, until you’re crying for me.” His thrusts don’t stop. “Gonna take you home. Fuck you all over the place if that’s what it takes.”

Then he grabs your hips, slamming into you again. Starting all over again.

[sinofwriting]

Engineer in Law - Max Verstappen

Words: 1,758 Summary: Max and GP are far more close than most race engineers and drivers, which might have to do with the fact that Max is dating his daughter. Note(s): Takes place in 2021. Reader is GP’s daughter. Reader is 21, Max is 23. I don’t know what GP’s wife’s name is IRL but in this fic her name is Sarah. Also, reader is only given one physical descriptor which is that she has GP’s eyes, apologies if (like me) you don’t know have that eye color, but we can imagine and/or wish! This might end up getting a part two.

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“You're happy.”

It’s not something GP normally comments on, Max’s moods. Not unless it’s to make a sarcastic comment about how thrilled he looks to be going to a press event or something of the sort, but Max is beaming like he just won a race. It’s an odd look on the young driver, an unusual one, sadly.

“I asked the girl I was seeing to be my girlfriend, she said yes.” Max’s voice is quiet and GP leans in, his eyebrows going up at the news, at the soft but excited tone the words hold.

He smiles at the younger, reaching forward and clasping him on the shoulder. “That’s fantastic, mate. Want to tell me about her?” It’s a rather stupid question because if Max didn’t want to talk about her, he wouldn’t have said anything. And GP is rather happy to sit here and listen to Max talk about this new girl in his life.

“She’s amazing, GP. I mean really smart, funny, and she never backs down. She always has a response to anything I say. And even if I’m in a bad mood, she doesn’t let me just sulk. She knows exactly how to get a response from me and she knows it. She’ll get this little smirk on her face after I snap back at her and she’s great.”

GP has to stop himself from clearing his throat at how head over heels in love Max looks. It was oddly like looking in a mirror when GP was just four years younger than him and seeing his wife holding their newborn daughter.

“I hope you're not snapping at her too much.” His dad mode is in full force, nearly shuddering as he thinks of his twenty-one year old daughter getting snapped at often by a boyfriend. He further shudders at the reminder she currently has a boyfriend.

“Not like that.” Max reassures. “It’s kind of like us in the simulator.”

GP lets out a laugh.

It wasn’t often he joined Max in the simulator but every time they did, other people would gather around to hear the pair mock argue with each other.

“Well I’m happy to hear she’s keeping you on your toes.”

—

Max is practically vibrating in his seat as he waits for GP to sit down.

“She planned a date.”

GP stills from where he was about to reach for his water.

“Like a whole date. From everything, the food, the drinks, what we watched and it was all stuff I liked and fit in my training plan.”

He watches the younger closely, hearing something off in his voice.

“I thought I missed something. Like an anniversary or something, even though we’ve only been together five months.”

GP eyes shut for a second, rage threatening to overtake him. Max was never treated kindly enough and Max had never really talked about his few previous relationships before and he can’t help but wonder if this is why. Because Max never felt truly happy in them. Always something just wrong, always on the edge.

“She just wanted to do something nice for me. Said it wasn’t fair, I had been planning most of our dates.” Max looks confused, but there’s a slight flush to his cheeks.

“Y’know, my wife and I trade off.”

Max tilts his head a little.

“I mean, we only do a date about once a month, but we trade off. I did the last one, so tomorrow, she’s planning our date. We used to do the same with vacations, but the whole thing stresses her out a little too much, so I plan them and get the travel plans sorted while she handles looking at things to do and places to go while we are there. It's a partnership, Max. It should be an equal give and take. And that doesn’t mean that it has to be you guys both are giving and taking the same thing equally, you just need to find the balance that works for you. Like you take out the trash, she does the dusting.”

“She has a dust allergy. And we aren’t living together yet.”

GP smiles, coughing to hide his laugh. “Yet, I see. And if she has a dust allergy she needs certain pillowcases and sheets, I’ll send you the ones I bought for my daughter last Christmas.”

“Thank you, GP.”

“I’m always here for you, Max.”

—

“You were out again.”

“Good morning to you as well, dad.” His daughter says, eyebrows raised even as she steps closer to press a quick kiss to his cheek before going to the fridge.

He glances at the clock, slightly miffed to see it is just after eleven am. “Closer to the afternoon.” He comments.

She signs, leaning against the counter, a Red Bull in hand, and he watches as her fingers play with the tab but not open it. It’s a habit he’s never seen from her before. “Dad,” He looks at her face at the sound. “Is me having a boyfriend bothering you that much?”

He softens a little. “No, well, yes. It’s just I don’t know anything about him. All I know is you have a boyfriend and that’s it. I don’t know his name, how old he is, what he does for a living, if he treats you well. And you're spending an awful lot of nights as his and I’ve never met him.”

Her fingers still against the can’s tab. “Is that something you want?”

“Well I’d prefer to meet him before you fully move in with him.” He gives her a look. “But yes, I would. He makes you happy.” It was a hard pill to swallow, the reason for his daughter seeming to be so happy being a boy, but that was the reason.

“Alright, I’ll text him and maybe tomorrow we could do lunch?” She offers.

“I’d like that.”

—

“I’ve been listening to Max talk about our daughter for months.”

Sarah’s lips thin as she struggles not to laugh, running a soothing hand over her husband’s back. “You said it was sweet how he talked about her.”

“Well, I didn’t know he was talking about our daughter then did I?”

His head somehow manages to drop further into his hands. “He talked for thirty minutes straight about her eyes. Her eyes, Sarah. She has MY eyes.”

Sarah can’t help the laugh that spills from her lips. “Well at least it was just her eyes you heard about.”

GP’s face screws up at that remembering the hickey he had seen high on Max’s neck last week and apparently he had some interesting scratch and bite marks as well. Those thankfully he had not seen. “Please, love, put me out of my misery.”

His hands fall into his lap and he presses his face against his wife’s neck, smelling the slightly faded scent of her perfume and her lotion.

“Oh hush.” She says, lightly swatting his shoulder. “It could be much worse. You like Max, you know Max. He’d never hurt our baby.”

GP softens, pressing a kiss to her neck before sitting straight, his back thanking him for it. “No, he wouldn’t. I just,” He sighs. “This is serious for Max and it’s obviously serious for her. She’s never invited a boy around the house that she’s been seeing. When she said lunch, I thought she had booked our usual table.”

“I know. You were all ready to go, wallet and keys in hand.”

“She let me think that as well you know.”

Sarah hums, “I wonder who she got that from.”

He smiles at her. “No clue, love.”

Her eyes give a slight roll and then she’s leaning forward. Brushing their lips together. “Max is good for her and it’s obvious that she is good for Max as well with what you’ve told me. And just think you always joked that Max was like a son. Now it’s just more official.”

“Oh my god, they’re going to get married.”

Sarah laughs at the horror and awe in her husband's voice. “I’d say don’t get ahead of yourself, but you saw exactly what I did at lunch.”

—

“Max, if you talk about my eyes one more time, I’m going to report you to HR.”

Max snickers at the older’s expression. “But, I’m not talking about your eyes.”

“She has my eyes.” GP cuts him off immediately, already knowing his defense. “We have the same exact eyes.” He holds up a finger, silencing Max. “And don’t even think of starting to list the difference between them.”

He kicks a little at the ground, faking a sigh. “Fine. Can we at least talk about you talking in the braking?”

GP sighs, but nods. “Yes, we can talk about it.”

They both fail to notice the Sky Sports camera that had been filming the conversation until much later, when Max is sitting in his driver’s room, chuckling at the broadcast that had just ended and the tweets on his phone.

“Listen to this one, Sky Sports seriously reporting that a female employee is threatening to go to HR because of Max’s comments while playing the video of audio of GP, his MALE race engineer, is seemingly joking about going to HR, is sending me. How is this a serious news source?”

GP snorts, looking at his texts with his daughter. “She just sent me this one, ‘Sky is doing nothing but proving their British bias and stupidity. How much do you think they suck Lewis’ dick for every year now?’ Honestly, they have a point.”

“More than a point.” Max says, tossing his phone to the side. “It’s one thing to say I’m a shit driver that shouldn’t be anywhere near Hamilton, but this? This is ridiculous even for them. They have the footage and audio, aired both, and are saying that it’s a female employee. Vicky is having the time of her life right now, and so are my lawyers.”

“Your lawyers?”

Max shrugs. “They’ll be working with Red Bull’s as well, but this is more than that.”

“It is.” GP agrees. “Sarah was with her when it aired. She was livid.”

“I could tell.” The driver chuckles. “My texts are filled with it. She wants to come to the next race, well, two.”

“Team home race. That’s a statement.”

His cheeks are a little pink. “She wanted to wait for Zandvoort to officially come as my girlfriend, but she wants to be with me for these next two now.”

“It will be nice to see her at both.”

[filmnings]

oh my god i know it has been literal ages since this came out and i said i was gonna read it, but i finally am today!!! i’m literally so excited el you have absolutely no clue!! ^^ of course i had to show out for my fellow evil, off-putting, and weird girls!!! (っ˘з(˘⌣˘ )♡♡

as usual, my live commentary and review hehe!!~~ (and prepare yourself for quite literally the longest review i think ive ever made lmao)

You’re not sure what life in your small town was like before you were born. You can imagine it’s not too different from what it is now though. — small town girlies stand up!!! but omg i didn’t look at the tags so i’m only going based off what i read in the teaser ages ago but i’m already loving the setting hehe!! freaky shit always goes down in a small town

And too many churches to keep track of if the abandoned ones were included in the count. — there literally always are churches fucking everywhere omg… like just thinking about my own town there’s literally one on every corner, abandoned or not. christianity is quite literally hovering over you at every step of the way here

You like to think your parents were happy before you too. — oop… she’s already sounding like me… completely felt this

The day you were born, your father knew there was something greatly wrong with you. He claimed that on the day you ripped your mother open, screaming and crying, that God spoke to him for the first time. He called it divine intervention. Believing the birth of your soul was a red-herring of all that was set to come but God would show him the light, the truth: that you were nothing short of evil and needed saving. — this paragraph omg… i love it so much. already it sets the dynamic that mc is gonna have not only with her parents but with others AND it sets the tone of the beginning of the fic. her father literally saying that the birth of her soul was a “red-herring” is absolutely insane and darksided to say about your own child. like what???

man i already feel for her😭 like i’m only what? like five paragraphs in and BOOM her dad thinks she’s the antichrist and needs the light of god to save and guide her.. this poor girl😭😭 i can only imagine what her life was like

That year on the farm there was nothing but death. — the crops and animals on the farm felt her aura from her mom’s womb

parents so stupid that it never crossed their minds that there was most likely a plight

Before you were even conscious of the situation everything was already deemed your fault. — classic parenting

And somewhere along the way, he managed to start preaching himself. Nearly every christian in your town moved churches to follow where he went. Like sheep to a shepherd. — oh god. please do NOT let this man preach… he’s gonna turn it into a cult day one (future kipo here again, i’m editing this bottom to top lmao: but wait omg were you inspired by maxxxine while writing this?? because this is reminding me so much of her and her father (and their whole relationship in general)! if not, you should definitely check the movie out, i think you’d really like it!!!)

AYEEE WAKE UP IN DAY ONEEE☝️ … sorry about that it’s 2am… i gotta lock in and be more serious

If only they knew what you did, what he was truly like behind the closed doors of your home. How his devotion was turning to violence. Day by day, becoming uglier. — classic parenting again

can i just take a moment to say how i absolutely love and adore your writing el?? like seriously, it’s so beautiful. every word you string together to create the most perfect sentence that eventually leads to the most stunning tapestry is astonishing. you’re able to set the tone so easily and the way you establish your characters and the personalities with just a few words is mind boggling. like we haven’t even technically met mc thus far, and already you can get a sense of who she is just by word of mouth from others. you can tell how her home life might’ve shaped her simply by her telling us what happened around her—her birth, the decline in everything, the abuse of religion and violence. it’s truly wonderful, i need to get on your level!!! like seriously i need you to teach some classes or something for the rest of us over here with our jaws tumbling down the stairs

like even the word choices… her birth being described as the day she “ripped her mother open” … like omg i’ll stop glazing now but i need you to publish a book like yesterday!!!

While your father busied himself with his new found family, often away from home on the farm, the crops and animals began to thrive again. Slowly but surely, growing and regaining health. He would say it’s God’s doing, a small taste of His salvation. — did he ever consider that maybe he is the problem??? like sir.. if everything is thriving while you’re gone and decaying when you’re here, that’s not because of your daughter, that’s because of YOU!!! classic toxic parent wanting to blame their own actions on their child

speaking of, and i know i haven’t even really gotten to the story yet lmao please stick with me😭😭 but i’m really loving the way you allude the death and decay and the abuse of religion to how toxic parents are in real life. like how the praying to god and preaching clearly biased and wrong teachings can be synonymous with how a toxic parent will act like everyone but themselves are the problem, and then spew that same rhetoric to others outside of the household. then have the nerve to portray how they’re perfect, how their family is perfect. how when the dad leaves the farm thrives, but when he’s here it decays. it’s like how when a toxic parent leaves everything is finally still and peaceful and quiet, but when they return, so does all of that chaos and negative energy.

now i could just be reading into things a little too much, and it possibly could just be taken at face value lmao, but it’s still a neat little detail to think about!! and i love that hehe

They wanted someone else to be their baby. Something that felt more like a blessing than you. — damn this just hit like a fucking train and a loaded truck immediately after

Your father constantly spitting in your mother’s face that you were the rot to the fruit of her womb. — god this sentence… so beautiful but so heartbreaking…

Perhaps just born resilient. — she’s just a kid💔💔

How you were mean, rough, and sinister with your actions towards others. Picking on the kids you were simply interested in because of how different from you they were. Drawing pictures of gutted cattle or dead, half developed baby chicks still in their shell and giving them as gifts to the teachers. Sharing to classmates the cruelty of farm life and why it was pretty with a smile.  — cruelty is learned!!☝️

Sometimes you had a glimpse of it again when your father would punish you. But even that you grew sick of. The mess, the stench of it all. Sticky and red, worse in the heat of summer. He drilled the sick moto for his actions into your head, “I know no punishment, only mercy.” — this poor girl… all she knows is violence and destruction

A way to learn how to be human. — stop this is breaking my heart omfg..

kill the father. i am so serious. kill him now.

“god told me—” SHUT THE FUCK UPP‼️‼️‼️

Maybe all your father really was is the executioner. — woah… oh my god…

the whole sacrificial tree scene with the bible verse.. this man is truly insane to think he is the hand of god.. like who bathes their daughter in sacrificial lamb blood because she had hopes and dreams of living a regular, normal human life?? because she dreamed of the world outside of the farm and the negativity that surrounded it, especially when her father was there??? like goddd i just want strangle him. and then her mother… like i know she’s a victim in this too, but at some point you have to grow a fucking backbone and protect your child—your ONLY child. she’s a coward and he’s fucking insane

AND THEN THE WHOLE “i know no punishment, only mercy.” LINE HE FUCKING INSTILLS INTO HER??? like no wonder she feels and thinks that she’s some freak of nature, some rotting limb… free her… no like seriously girl get behind me and i’ll take care of it all

He hits like a bitch, you think. — hell fucking yeah he does!!! HIT THAT BITCH BACK!!!!!

You can feel him wipe his bloodied hand on the side of your shirt. — oh fuck you.. take the nearest rock and bash his head in

At the end of the line is a man more beautiful than the ones you’ve seen in the movies. You feel stuck in time, left with parted lips, staring at the man before you. And far too intently for your character. He stands tall, sharp, pale, and elegant. — SUNGHOONNNNNNN

You don’t even realize the small smile that takes your lips. You step closer to him and he steps back, now looking at you with wide eyes of small fear. You extend your hand to him, it’s coated in drying blood. He gulps and the sight, his adam’s apple bobbing in such a biteable neck stirs something in you. This will be far more fun than you intended. — she is literally just like me

Your mother eyes you suspiciously as you corner the handsome man, but she says nothing. Sometimes she fears you too. — god forbid a girl is socially underdeveloped and wants to have a little fun!!!

this is reminding me of the time my mom and sister were talking about how much of a loner i am right in front of me (i know, embarrassing😭) and my mom legit goes “well you’re socially undeveloped and don’t have any friends, how else do you expect to spend your time? (the topic was me being a homebody and always in my room reading)” i was like oh! … like damn… well who’s fault is that??? not mine!! 😭😭

His politeness must be stronger than his frighteness, because he takes his hand in yours and shakes it gently. His hand is large in yours, nearly covering it entirely. You squeeze it hard, your eyes never leaving his, trapping him in the scene. — and so their love story begins hehehehe but no seriously i love that this is kinda like him “crossing the line” so to speak. like despite everything he still took her hand, bloody and all, and shakes it gently. i can tell that he’s already gonna be that change and stable pole that she really needs right now

#StartMakingMenUncomfortable2025 🔥🔥🔥🔥

And you know he’s nervous under your intense gaze because your hand feels like a lamb is still bleeding above you. — stop i love this comparison omg you’re actually a genius for this

Although you’re wearing the lamb, having Sunghoon’s hand in yours made you feel like a wolf. — THIS LINEEEEE 🔥🔥🔥

WAIT OMG WE’RE GETTING HIS POV TOO??? omg let’s fucking go i love dual pov

As the farm owner is about to give details on the horses’ maintenance, a girl saunters in. And the anxious feelings become of Sunghoon all over again. — stop i love that we get his pov for this moment

His expression is blank, blinking slowly at the strange girl then down to his hand that’s stained red too. — mark of the red-herred soul 🌀🌀‼️

Above the fireplace hangs a painting depicting Jesus healing a blind man. — i feel like this may be relevant later… maybe i’m “the curtains are blue to represent sadness”-ing everything too much, but i got my analytical reader goggles on (future kipo: omg i literally forgot about this.. i could really deep it and say that this is the two of them, her as jesus and sunghoon as the blind man. she “heals” him and shows him that human desire isn’t sinful, that love in general—no matter the form—is sinful, but natural. and that he shouldn’t feel shame and guilt because he feels the way regular humans do for others!!!! and vice versa!! it could also be him as jesus and her as the blind man, him “healing” her and showing her that she IS good, no matter what her parents tried to beat into her for simply living. he shows her that she is capable of love and joy and everything else that equates to happiness—and he shows her that he isn’t afraid to express that to her. to show that he does truly love her for all she is!!! and to “show” her that it’s okay for her to show it to him to herself, that it isn’t something she needs to repress or hide behind anger or any other violent act!!)

i love the fact that she’s just toying with him😭😭 he’s utterly terrified of her and she’s all like “hehe you’re so cute and shy”

“You have a constellation on your face. So many moles… Do you have a girlfriend?” — straight to the point😭 but stop her saying he has a constellation on his face is so freaking cute

“At your age you still follow the rules?” Your hand slides lower and back up his thigh, it’s a slow and teasing motion. There’s enjoyment in how scared he’s becoming. — we are so up i’m at the edge of my seat leaning in towards the stage

“Then why are you getting hard, Sunghoon? Do you like the way I’m touching you? I bet you’ve thought about doing this before too.” — oop!

He makes another noise, a whimper. — i love it when pretty men whimper >>>

There’s too much he can’t admit in this moment. Starting with how he enjoys the sound of your voice, the slight accent and dialect difference he picks up. How the way his name leaves your lips makes him want to crumble like a burning church. And how he silently likes the fact he can’t control the way his body is reacting to your hands on him. It’s all wrong, wrong, wrong. And he is weak. — OH WE ARE SO FUCKING UPPP

A single tear runs down his face and you find satisfaction in it. — I LOVE WHEN PRETTY MEN CRYYYYY >>>>>>

this must be what it feels like to do 47 lines of coke IM ON TOP OF THE WORLDDDD

His eyes shoot open when he feels your hand is gone. He looks at you desperately with wet eyes, a small pout to his lips. You make him feel sick for wanting to ask why you stopped, or if he did something bad for you to take away his short-lived pleasure. You smirk at his expression, so pitifully beautiful with want. — INJECT ITTTTTT‼️‼️‼️

i think this is the greatest scene i’ve ever read in my entire life. like i NEEDDDDD this. like i need someone so desperate with want for me to give them a handjob and help them out that they’re whimpering and tearful… ugh life is so unfair

love her curious and violent nature she’s so me

You wrap your free arm over his shoulders, a hand sneaking up into his hair to tug aggressively on the thick dark locks. You’re pulling his head back, forcing him to look at you. “Don’t be a whore. I’m helping you. I didn’t say fuck my hand.” — yeah

sorry I’M a whore for degradation and roughness

You don’t like how close he is to you. You only like doing so to tease him, but when he does it, it makes you feel a fiery anger in your chest and belly. Uncomfortable. Smothering. — SHES SOOO ME. at this point i’m gonna have to start a counter on how many times i’ll say this

You stare down at your hand that was earlier covered in the blood of a lamb and now the cum of a virgin. — one could say it’s one and the same ☝️

It looks like fucking snot, you realize with repulse. — HELPDNSJDNDNDN I LITERALLY JUST BURST OUT LAUGHING😭😭😭😭

“Hate him all ya want,” your mothers words slur, she speaks slowly and tired-like, “but he was a good man. He used to love me… And then you came along.” — smile quickly fades…

He fell right into sin’s lustful trap and it made him feel so- — so GOOD, take a leap and join the dark side

He doesn’t sleep much that night because he can’t find it in himself to stop humping into his mattress in hopes to chase and achieve the feeling you gave him earlier. His hips rock his aching hard cock into the bed, anguished yet titillated. “Please, forgive me. Forgive me. I’m so sorry.” He continues to cry, drowning in his pillow, knowing he will do it again. — smile grows…

omg i forgot that it was legit his first day at the farm.. LMAOOOO what a wild first shift😭😭

“I want you.” — hell yeah

There’s that feeling again. The lit match that falls from your throat to the gasoline of your stomach that erupts in flames. Fire to your abdomen and loins; it’s an angry feeling, sparked by his honest admit of want, and for you specifically. You watch him with narrowed eyes while mumbling, “you revolt me.” — also, she’s so me once again. it’s her mistaking the same desire for anger that’s killing me😭😭 i felt that so deeply.

He breathes out a ‘no’ while you lick a strip over the material. “Why not? I showed you how.” — i just know he’s going absolutely insane

“You will never be free from it. The sin I let you taste will forever linger on the tip of your tongue, begging and licking to taste more in crave. No holy blessed water can possibly cleanse you even if you drown in it.” — woah… i’m gonna start singing your praises again el oh my god

“Not even a god could make you pure again,” you give him a small smile and pat his naked thigh before pulling down his underwear. — HEATTTT all this while she’s about to suck his cock too like yesss send them into religious psychosis before giving them immense pleasure!!!

You slurp and suck him up, purposely loud and sloppy. A hand jerking off the base that doesn’t quite fit in your mouth. He cries quietly with his mouth open, meek and desperate sounds escape that he can’t withhold. “Please…” He’s whimpering, begging for something that he doesn’t know the context of. — i hope they walk in and have their worlds changed

His cock twitches at the thought of being caught with his dick down the throat of the farmer’s daughter. A blazing adrenaline rushes through him. — EXHIBITIONIST🫵‼️‼️

“You dumbass! The horses are already fed, let’s just go for a water break.” The door slams back on itself to a close. Their footsteps can be heard walking away. — damn :(

Sunghoon, lost in his own world, fails to realize that his best friend—Jake—battles something similar internally. — oh????

You’re never as alone as you think you are if you take a better look around. Everyone is riddled with their own self disgust, guilt, or shame. How else would the churches be so full? — woah… this paragraph…

While he’s watering plants and checking the sprinklings through the fields, an older man approaches him. It’s a familiar face that he’s seen around a few times over the past month. The man waves with a smile and Sunghoon does the same. — can someone run him over already

“I’ve worked here, hm, well I’ll be damned! Nearly 15 years! And I’ve never once seen that farm girl talk to anyone. Much less spend time.” the man chuckles. — oh my bad😭😭 i thought this was the father😭😭😭

He wheezes a little before continuing, “But now she follows and watches you like she’s worshipin’. If only she did the same with her daddy. Although with a face like yours, I can’t blame the girl.” — fuck that damn daddy i can’t to see his ass burn🔥🔥🔥 but he’s so right sunghoon is stunning id worship him too

“She has a dad?” — HDISBSJDJS IM SORRY THIS IS TAKING ME OUTBSDJDJDND like of course??? 😭😭 did he think she materialized from her mother like clay or something

With outstretched arms, the bundle of flowers shake in his trembling hands. — AWEEEE he’s so fucking cute and awkward

“I-I’ve never had a girlfriend before so I wasn’t sure what to do.. This is what boyfriends do, right?” — oh baby…. oh my godd😭😭😭😭😭 i feel for him i really do…

You look from the neatly wrapped white roses and tulips and back to Sunghoon. — i love the language of flowers hehehe!!! purity and innocence and hope and appreciation eeeee!!!!!!!! he’s so cute.. and he GIVES it to HER!!!!!!! i’m connecting dots

A part of you wants to sneer, but you spin on your heels to hide the warmth that floods your face in substitution. — EEEEEEEEE!!!!!

You don’t know how you’re remaining pacific by his side. The rampaging of your heart strings tug like a screaming instrument just from being next to him. How he can keep walking tall, stare at you when he thinks you aren’t looking, or even smile at you is beyond what you know is capable of humans. Men like him only existed in books and movies. You wonder if he’s perhaps playing a game like you. — her equating everytime to anger or violence when it’s in fact endearment and love :((( my poor baby :(((((

So you decide on punishing him for making you feel this way. — she’s so me

Taking his innocence was never going to heal you, or even make him like yourself. In fact, it’s making you sicker. — :(((

Somehow, you ended up punishing yourself. You always had a knack for that, historically, but this time felt different. — again, she’s so fucking me

He feels on edge, wrapping his arms around his shivering body and soaked clothes. — he’s about to get warm alright

A glass vase filled with the flowers he gave you earlier in the week. His heart aches at the sight of the still healthy white roses and tulips, and a smile graces his lips. You liar! You kept them! Is what runs through his thoughts. — EEEEEEE OH MY GOD stop i’m obsessed with them

To him, this moment means more than anything; he’s starting to see you’re more tender than you realize. It brings him a sense of surety in knowing that he can break you like you to do him. — to be loved is to be known ❤️

But there was Saint Michael, the stuffed angel bear; he may not have defended you in battle but he hugged you back, and that was enough to cherish him like a deity. — literally me with my stuffed white bear that has a winter hat an scarf on

“...Have I ruined you?” You wonder aloud, looking back to the ceiling. “No,” he answers quickly, shaking his head against your shoulder. — WHAT IF I FUCKING SOBBBBB

“I think I just want you all the time now. I can’t help it, m’sorry.” He sounds ashamed in his soft mumbles. — i’m gonna rip my hair out

“I’ll only keep stripping all that purity from you. Once it’s mine it’ll remain mine, you know that right?” You look back at him before brushing some of his drying hair from his eyes. He tries to lean up into the touch but your hand is taken back. “And I will pretend it’s healing all that’s missing from me. Do you really want to be mine, Sunghoon?” Your words are so gentle yet laced with threat. — 1. she’s SOOO fucking me, like on a molecular level. it’s insane. 2. AHHHHEHEHEHEHDHSHHHHHAAHHH

“Yes,” he exhales, “I want to be yours. Let me be yours please.” It’s hushed, a secret prayer with hope. His hips push further into the skin of your leg, where the hip meets the thigh. He wouldn’t mind going to Hell if it meant more time with you. — OH MY GODDDD EVERYONE FUCKING STAY CALM

this is reminding me of the sweet venom lyrics😭😭 i would give up heaven if i had toooooo, just to get another taaaasssttteeeeeee of your sweee-heee-heeeettttt venom-nom-nom~~~~ (future kipo here: why do i always start randomly singing in the middle of my reviews??? 😭)

“You beg like a needy barn animal in heat.” You use a hand to cup his face, he sighs into the hold as he eyes flutter to a close. You push your leg in between his, terribly close to his exposed and vibrating body. “So hump me like one.” — oh my god. what a great day to be bisexual…

no but seriously i see why he goes fucking insane around her like i would too especially after that like omg??? say less

“Do it. Like it’s mating season and you want to claim me before anyone else.” — #YEAH.

He wants more and more of you. — i fucking love how they both want to devour and rapture each other but in vastly different ways… like i desperately need what they have IMMEDIATELY.

“You’re pathetic and disgusting. You’re practically fucking me through our clothes,” you murmur while you try to push his hands down off you, but his grip won’t let up. Instead his nails dig further into you, a barely sounding broken noise escapes you from the pain. This makes his body collapse further into you, his head dropping between your shoulder and neck. His movements are sloppy and rushed. — need.

“N-no, I’m still good. You make me feel good, I am so good,” he whines, tears beginning to fall from his eyes to your shoulder. — NEEDDDDD.

OH MY GODDDDD.

His heart hammers against your chest; he wants to mold into you, to become a singular rot. — like is this seriously too much to ask for

It’s almost like God’s wrath is screaming to be seen, to shout that He is watching. — tell him to get in line so am i

“You’re right. You are good for me,” you coo softly, cupping his face and using your thumbs to wipe away the tears. Your hips circle and swivel slowly on him until his quivering cock finishes cumming. — i love how he cries every single time like ughhhh i need that

You think it would kill you to admit how much you actually always wished to be wanted, needed, or loved. A bigger part of you didn’t think you were worthy of it, let alone capable. The world had such a way of saying otherwise. Until it brought Sunghoon to you; the boy who showed you feelings and experiences you never thought possible. — i felt this in unexplainable ways omg… but the fact that she thought she was so unworthy of it all because it’s literally all she known, thinking that even the world was against her until BOOM… it places sunghoon gently into her hands to show her otherwise… like stop guys what if i cried haha no like actually. what if i cried. and not only does he show her that love doesn’t have to be violent or angry, he shows her that it doesn’t have to be completely conventional either, or traditional. yet, it’s love anyways!! like this story man my god.. el you are such a fucking mastermind and i love you!!!!!

“I think you reminded me of a lamb.” — blue curtaining again, but let’s talk about it!!! the lamb has always been symbolized to be that of pure innocence, which is how sunghoon is portrayed from the very jump. because of that, they are also the number one animal used in sacrifices for various things. at the beginning of the story, her father uses a sacrificial lamb and it’s blood to “cleanse” her of whatever darkness that he thinks harbors in her. it’s the first time we’ve truly seen her voice her emotions and empathy—the first time we see her not mold herself to whatever image her father superimposed onto her, when looking up into the lambs eyes.

immediately after she meets sunghoon, still covered in the lamb’s blood, and something about him draws her in, his eyes. now, since that interaction, she’s been trying to strip the purity from him and keep it all for herself. sound familiar? she’s once again doing the one thing that’s been ingrained in her from the very beginning—following her father’s orders and “teachings.” everytime it happens, sunghoon cries and she compares it to holy water and metaphorically tries to “bathe” in it, hence why she keeps doing what she does to him again and again.

but!!!!!!! but, sunghoon is different, he’s no ordinary lamb!!!! despite what she thinks. she says herself, “Pretty, white, and docile. You were so nervous when I first saw you—sometimes you still are. … When you shook my hand I knew I could do anything to you because you’d let me.” yet time after time in each of their interactions he challenges this theory, this notion of hers. they start off slow and as their relationship grows, so does the challenges. leaning his head against her on the couch, holding her head in place, until finally pinning her below him. she challenges him, he challenges her. and it’s perfect because it’s just the balance that they both desperately crave, it’s exactly why they can’t stay away from each other no matter what. why they both start to bloom when around each other. it’s truly lovely and beautiful!!!!

the lamb is majority seen as purity and innocence, hope, and renewal. but, there another thing it’s symbolized with that people always seem to forget—redemption. and redemption being a large theme in this story in a way, it just makes it hit soooo much harder omg!!! and also, depending on which type of lamb you encounter, not all are the poster for friendliness and being docile. take bottle lambs or hand-reared ram lambs, they’re the most aggressive out of the bunch with no fear of being aggressive towards humans nor their shepherds. being a lamb is not completely as it seems!!

sorry i got like really into the symbolism lmao😭😭 let’s just say i’m passionate!! 🤓☝️ (and i could also very possibly be wrong LMAOXNDNDN)

“You think I’m pretty?” He smiles wide, scooting closer to you. You scoff with an eye roll, leaning further away from him. “Oh shut up, you’ve seen a mirror.” — HELPFNDNDN i’m gonna start saying this

going back briefly to my blue curtaining, but like this scene is the perfect example of it!! like look at how they literally bloom in each other’s presence!!!!! she legit even laughs for the first time in the whole entire story!!! she’s been in a way using him to try and purify herself, take that innocence that he has and superimpose it into herself while he’s been taking her “rot” away in the form of desire. it’s like yin and yang, they’re creating the perfect balance with each other!!!! they’re like the flower and the bee, both vastly different but one cannot exist without the other and without both of their input honey couldn’t exist.

He looks at you like you’re the reason the sun rises and falls. — stop omg i literally cannot handle this

It kind of hurts you to see him like this because it reminds you of your initial rotten intentions and how they’re dissipating the more you’re with him. — !!!!!!

The more you learn about him, the more you understand his naivety and how despite what you’ve done, he won’t change. There’s something lovely about it. — i love this so much

“They just left without me,” he breathes out. “I’m used to them leaving me out, but t-this is.. How am I going to get home?” He looks back to you with sad eyes, not the light they had earlier. He’s not shocked by their actions, but he is disappointed. A hand runs through his hair in his stress. — oh noooo!! i guess you’ll just have to stay!!!!

“Should I kill them?” Your question is brazen, body and voice eerily still in your seriousness. — she’s so me, the amount of times i say this (especially to the wrong crowd of people)…😭😭

Once safely out of the front door, you take his hand in yours and start running for the lodge. The tall boy is behind you, so you don’t get to see the bright smile on his lips or in his eyes as you run through the light run towards the lodge. — AND BOOM HE’S FULLY OVER THE LINE!!!!! i love little callbacks like this stop IM SO FUCKING HAPPY!!!!!!!

back to blue curtaining but can we also talk about the contrast in the two scenes where she initiates non-sexual touch??? like in the first scene they’re both stagnant, standing. he’s extremely nervous and she doesn’t have the purest of intentions, neither of them really WANT to be touching the other. now this scene, they’re both radiating with happiness and running. all smiles and freedom, running through the break of sunlight through the storm. like UGHHHHH!!!/!/!/!/!!!!:&,&!!! i love this fic so so much you actually don’t understand

“I don’t like it when you disappear on me,” he breathes out shakily, honestly. “Nobody else sees me like you do,” he squeezes your hand tighter in his, feeling you begin to pull away. “Come with me into the city tomorrow. We can- I’m not sure yet, but I’m sure I want more time with you.” — AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

“I felt less lonely before I met you,” you confess, eyes unblinking as you stare up at him for a long pause. “I’ll meet you here in the morning.” — AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What feels suffocating at first turns into a warmth you’ve become all too familiar with, and it was never anger. The indignation you always wear is just a hand me down from your parents; it doesn’t fit you right even though it’s comfortable. — WHAT DID I SAY? WHAT DID I FUCKING SAYYYYYYYY!!!!! besides she’s so me because she truly is omg

With a shaky exhale, you wrap your arms around him too. The hug surrounds you like a blanket of unknown comfort. Your ear pressed to his chest listens to the sound of his racing heart. You can feel the pound throughout his entire body too. Every emotion held within is trying and fighting to be seen. It’s still so cold from the rain but he feels contrast, only warm. His lips press a kiss to the top of your head, making your body burn even more and your hold all the tighter. — EEEEEEEE

i literally have to refrain from running and leaping around my house like this is so SERIOUS for me it not even funny😭😭

“That sounds nice,” he smiles, “our first real date! I think there’s a cafe near that book store too. Do you like coffee?” — oh god😭😭 he’s so cute

Your cheeks burn as you stare at him in bewilderment, “you think we’re going on a date?!” “Of course we are,” he laughs like it’s obvious and wraps an arm around your shoulder, looking out of the window. — this is hilarious😭😭 i love that it’s basically unspoken that they’re together even if it shocks her!! soon he’s gonna be sliding a ring on her finger and calling her his wife and she’s gonna be like ???? well, yes!

“Hm. I can see that too,” he hums as he pulls you closer into his side. — also!!! she doesn’t fight against herself anymore and pulls away!!!!!!! eeeeeeee!!!~~~~

“...but I like you as you are,” he mumbles loud enough for you to hear, watching you shift in your seat. He doesn’t think you’re not a good person, and it hurts that you see yourself as such. — sobs

But you, you’re frozen staring at the messy man who talks of your greatest hate. Your hands tremble on the table. — he just HADDDD to ruin this beautiful moment… DIE OF ALCOHOL POISONING‼️‼️

i love a good plot device hehe!! gives sunghoon insight into why she hasn’t really talked about herself outside of the things and hobbies she actively enjoys!! now they’ll have to talk about what that crazy ass man meant, and she’ll have to tell him why her and her parents think she’s the antichrist, and boom they grow closer and he shows her that she’s in fact not the antichrist and boom love story!!!! i can see it in my mind’s eye, the mind of a mastermind!!!

Your father being a reverend who’s not in the picture gave him much to wonder about, but now isn’t the time. He just wanted to get you somewhere away from this memory. — !!!!! he’s actually the sweetest ever

“I’ve got good muscles, remember? Good for farm work,” he’s patient and calm with you while his eyes watch the man from outside the glass cafe windows. “Come on, baby.” — I JUST STARTED SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS

He’s never seen that look on your face before—the one you had when the man was loud in your face. He didn’t like it, and he’s sure you hated it. You looked intimidated, or afraid. — sighs… i fucking hate angry men and reminders of them

“Neither,” you confirm. There’s a pause for thought and Sunghoon waits for you to further explain. “My relationship with both is too similar. They’ve both known me my whole life, right? Seen all of my wrong doings and in return shown wrath through unnecessary punishments called forgiveness. In what good world is tolerance violent?” — this just hit extremely close to home… like.. hole through my house rn actually and i’m singed by it…

“Sometimes, after my mother set the table for dinner, he would knock my plate to the floor. Tell me to eat off the ground like the animal I was or starve.” Sunghoon frowns at this, coming to a slow stop when he sees the bus shelter bench. “Sometimes I had days and nights locked in the barns, but he switched it up to the basement when I was too close with the animals.” You laugh a little, but he senses the pain behind it. “I watched him kill the animals, too, only to smother me in their blood. Beatings were rare, but I think only because he despised the thought of even touching me.” — :((( i want that man fucking dead.

If He was really in everything, all around, why did He always turn a blind eye? Why does He pretend to not know you? It only made it harder to believe in—something that would bring you here, torture you then watch you suffer for not living how it pleases. God wants to be believed in, but so do you. Only you would never beg for compassion. — this omg… this is why i never could be religious like the rest of my family no matter how hard i tried to bend and break and mold myself for it. this is what was always in the back of my head. like i envy the people who can follow faith blindly, call it devotion and claim to see the light of god, but i just can’t. and i won’t.

You laugh nervously, trying to tug your hands away from his grip that doesn’t let up. — !!!! also again she’s so me, i do the exact same thing when someone is trying to comfort me and suddenly i’m extremely uncomfortable😭😭

Whether you are his lover or executioner, he would accept you as you are every time with open arms, receiving hands. Even more readily, now. — this. this is the purest of love omg.

You both sit criss cross at the wooden dock by the lake, simply enjoying the scenery and all it has to offer. — EEEEEEE SHE TOOK HIM TO THE LAKEEEEE

“Do it. Don’t think of it as hurting me, but still do it deep enough to leave a scar.” — why am i getting emotional

THE MATCHING SCARS ACTUALLY STOP OMG.

He continues, “I never thought of you as a bad person,” he pauses as you drop the red stained knife, unsure if he should continue at first but does regardless. “And, uhm, I’ve thought a lot about this summer. What I've learned from you. Purity is constructive—like something made to bring shame.” You don’t move, watching him. “I don’t have to be clean to be good…and your hands never made me dirty. Because they never were either.” — i am actually sobbing rn.

At first, you had one goal; one similar to murder. The sparkle he had in his eyes, you wanted to eat—to make them empty—and see the world ugly and godless like you. Yet somehow, somewhere along the way, his eyes shone even brighter. You only wanted to take and take of the innocent boy, but in this moment you realize, maybe I just wanted to give him some of me. — !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! this is also such a beautiful paragraph omg

He’s seen you smile before with insidious malice, but this time, for the first time, you are really smiling. It’s a raw expression of surfacing emotions, and he returns the emotion like the sun. He thought of you beautiful before but with your brightness finally peering through your clouds, he believes you to be heaven sent. — OH MY GODDDDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!

His hand squeezes yours tighter, a grip so loving, as you bind in one. Neither of your eyes or smiles leave each other until the bleeding stops. — bury me with this paragraph please. put it on my tombstone.

So you said yes without your words: took his scarred hand in yours and nodded. — AAAAAAAAAA

“Oh wow! You’re really handsome,” the girl at the ticket booth gawks at Sunghoon. She straightens her posture and fixes her hair from her face, “one ticke-?” — GIRL MOVE.

Catching this, you step forward and snatch Sunghoon’s wallet from his hands, “he already knows that. Do your job or I’ll feed you to pigs.” You slap the cash amount for what you need down onto the table top with a straight face and mean eyes. — hell yeah assert dominance 🔥🔥🔥

“It’s yours, you should pick it,” you blush, elbowing his side with a shy smile while your eyes keep looking up to the stuffed white lamb with a lace ribbon around its neck and a cushion gold bell adoring the throat. — THIS IS SO CUTEEE

Confused and wide eyed, you watch him lean into your face. You gasp when his lips meet yours before returning the notion. With eyes closed, you melt into his kiss. It’s sweet as all the things you’ve experienced today because of him. — OH MY GODDDDD LETS FUCKING GOOO

So, for the first time, he takes you back to his apartment. — oh my god WAIT!! IM NOT READY OMG OMG OMG

“Ah, you got yourself a nice little angel, huh?” Jake leans over the kitchen island, watching you both. His smile falters. “I’ll have one of my own some day.” For some reason, you think of him as a secret pervert. — ATTIC ANGEL REFERENCE!!! ATTIC ANGEL REFERENCE!!!!!!!! could you imagine if like these two universes were connected and that’s actually jake from attic angel before it all happened😭

“Are you tired?” he asks, and you lie by nodding your head. So you both get ready for bed. He gives you a shirt to borrow for bed that change into in his bathroom while he changes into sweats and a t-shirt in his room. — omg she’s gonna spend the night

pause because now i’m thinking of the possibility of the universes being connected😭 like at the beginning, “Sunghoon, lost in his own world, fails to realize that his best friend—Jake—battles something similar internally.” i know they’re just most likely little references but it’s fun to think about!!!

His nails digging further into your flesh to keep you impossibly close make your lips gasp, or maybe it’s the lack of air, or just both. And instinctively his tongue is licking its way past your lips and into your mouth. He kisses you like he’s starved for it. His wet tongue drags over yours, and your teeth, then as far as it can inside of you. He whimpers, pressing his already hard cock to you as he licks and kisses you open. — inject it.

You know you’re not religious yet every time Sunghoon touches you there’s a divinity to it and it makes your hands want to join in prayer to thank the universe for sending someone like him to you. Because his hands roam your body as if they have in every world; as if there is not one timeline where you have not been made for him. Like you were carved from his rib every time.  — THIS FUCKING PARAGRAPH OH MY GOD. pure beauty i love it so much. add this to my tombstone and bury me with it too.

Rattled with concealed embarrassment you remove his shirt and toss it somewhere to the floor, and he does the same. — oh my god oh my god it’s happening

Foreheads now pressed together with lips ghosting over the others, you tell him, “I hate you.” — AAAAAAA OH MY FUCKING GODDDDD!!!! YHE LOVE CONFESSION

oh my god i feel like a werewolf howling at the fucking moon right now

“You gotta move, Hoon. Feels like you’re splitting me open.” — the nickname. what if we all died right now.

“I hate you. I fucking hate you,” you whisper harshly, looking up at him with tear filled eyes. It all burns while feeling like heaven. — EEEEEEEE

“I love you too,” he whispers back. — I JUST SCREAMED SO FUCKING LOUD AND THREW MY PHONE. OH MY FUCKING GOD. OH MY FUCKINFGH GOD. stop because i gotta take a lap around my house what the fuck. OH MY GODDDD.

OH MY FUCKING GOD. PLEASEE. OH MY GOD.

“I know, baby.” he mumbles before capturing your wobbling lips into a searing kiss. — AAAAAAHHHEEDHAHAHAHAHABAAAJAKXLLKKKKKKKKAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

“No, no.” he takes your chin with his thumb and finger, forcing you to look back at him. His thrusts never letting up during his care. “Look at me. You’re so good to me.” He reminds you over and over. “We’re so good together. I’m yours. you’re mine.” — i crave this.

i would also like to point out that this is the only time he isn’t crying 🤓☝️☝️ and that’s because she is!!! AAAAA I FUCKING LOVE THIS STORY SO MUCH. WHAT THE FUCK.

“I’m good,” you sob through your whimpers, “I’m yours.” — sniffing this entire scene like 67 lines of cocaine.

Perhaps there was a thing such as divine intervention and if God’s timing was alway right, he knew how to be evil with it too. Because the next day, when Sunghoon takes you home, he’s met with your maker. — FUCKKK.

Your mother, aware of the frequent trips you’ve been making and how close you’ve grown to the summer farmhand boy, is quick to make a call to your father the night you don’t return home. It wasn’t necessarily because she cared for your well being. You’re more than capable of handling yourself. But it was an excuse to try and get him to come back. Only it doesn’t go how she wanted. — FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU.

When the reverend walks out of the house with his infamous weapon of sacrificial forgiveness, you know what to do. Your body moves on its own, leaving Sunghoon to reach out for you that walks towards the woods. He goes to follow you and the desolate man that stalks behind, but your mother stops him. She’s hysterical as she drags him towards your house saying, “it’s going to be okay.” But she’s crying. — NOOOOO. I WANT THEM BOTH TO DIE.

You glance up to the empty tree branch then the rope in his hands. Where is the lamb? You think briefly before it hits you. “You’re crazy,” you whisper, “I will not be your martyr… not now what I’m finally-” — I JUST GASPED SO LOUD WHAT THE FUCK. i’m so scared

And then there’s a loud noise. A booming bang, followed by unsteady feet falling back and the ground rumbling with a thud. — AAAAAA OH MY FUCKING GOD.

i am literally on the edge of my seat screaming every five seconds. each paragraph is hell to read because i’m so terrified of what’s going to happen next.

You turn your head and Sunghoon stands there with the shotgun in hand, open mouthed and wide eyed. — OH MY GOD. CHEKHOV’S GUN BITCH BOOM‼️‼️‼️‼️ omg i can’t believe i didn’t put it together sooner i feel like an idiot.. them talking about the shotgun in the house and all the times she asked if he would kill for her. I AM SO FUCKING UPPPPPP!!!!! THE FUCKING FORESHADOWING OH MY GOD

“H-he was going to- he was about to hurt you. I had to-!” he stutters, his eyes already crying and hands shaking, still feeling the weight and recoil of the gun. — my fucking baby… he didn’t hesitate either, didn’t even think just acted

“Divine intervention, huh? Say it with me now. I know no punishment, only mercy.” Your voice is quiet, calm, and mocking of his tone. With the barrel to his forehead, you watch him writhe in pain and cough up a little blood. — HELL FUCKING YEAHHHH🔥🔥🔥 this reminds me of the scene in maxxxine omg.. “I WILL NOT ACCEPT A LIFE I DO NOT DESERVE!!!!”

“If you say it, I’ll let you live. But if you show your face to me or Sunghoon again, I’ll shoot you right between the eyes.” Your foot presses down harder. — KILL THAT BITCH ANYWAY‼️‼️‼️

NOOOOO I WANT HIM DEADDDD. trust he will never know peace if she let him survive because i have inserted myself into the universe. and i’m on the fucking prowl. and that fucking mother, don’t think you’re safe either. you want this wretched fool so bad? you can join him in the grave where you both belong.

“I was selfish when I approached you. I wanted to take all that goodness out of you and keep it for myself. I thought I wanted to hurt you, but after sharing all this time with you, I realized I was wrong. It’s weird to say it out loud,” you laugh small, awkward, “but I really am sorry. I love you more than even I know.” — AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA OMG

“Harvest all of my purity, farmer’s daughter.” — TATTOO THIS ALONG MY FUCKING RIBCAGE.

For the first time, you really laugh. It’s bright and loud like the big smile he’s seeing for the first time on his favorite face. It’s morning sunlight that whispers through trees to kiss the forest floor. Birds that sing songs of hope to awake life into a new day. Nostalgic, expansive days of childhood where the concept of time doesn’t exist. To him, you look like the epitome of summer; he doesn’t want this season to end. — this whole thing is so fucking beautiful

just saw the divider for the end of the fic. NOOOOOOO.

You were never the lamb. Or the wolf. Not an animal at all. Nothing like the ones you grew up with. You were just a girl, scared and alone. But not anymore. Because it’s your last day on this farm, and tomorrow is the first with only Sunghoon. — LETS FUCKING GOOOOOO‼️‼️‼️

You take his scarred hand in yours and you laugh like he did, pure and true, “I do.” — what a beautiful fucking ending oh my god. #unlearnshame INDEEDDDDDD!!!!

where do i even begin with this fic that i haven’t already gushed about for who knows how long? el, this was absolutely beautiful. completely stunning and astonishing in ways that i can’t even begin to TRY and explain. i don’t think i’ve ever been this emotional invested—this invested in general—in a fic EVER. but it was so easy to slip into the world you created that it felt like breathing. their whims were mine and time flew by as did the words.

i fucking loved this so much, and i hold it tightly and dearly to my chest. i wasn’t kidding when i said that the mc was so me, because she was. it was scary and like looking in some distorted mirror. for that, i really want to thank you. thank you in general for writing this. it may seem a little silly since it’s just fanfic, but you truly don’t know how much this story of yours means to me. if i could somehow forget it all and have the opportunity to read it again, i wouldn’t even hesitate. sorry yvie, you’ve been pushed down to number two!!😭

and the writing and symbolism… oh my god. i’ve already talked about it and glazed you enough, so i’ll try to keep it simple this time. but, this truly gorgeous, and i adore your writing style. every word chosen, every sentence it made, every paragraph it created seemed perfectly crafted. you can physically feel the anger she was harboring inside of her simply from the words you chose to use, and that is so powerful. i’m definitely gonna take a page out of your playbook for sure!!!

immediately this is going into my favorites!! like you don’t understand how desperately i need this to be a published work so i can have it decorate my shelves and collect every single cover and version of it there is. like it’s truly up there will all of my all time favorite books ever, i fucking LOVED this. and it pains me so deeply that it took me so long to witness greatness.. trust the next work you drop i will be front row and center with my nose pressed to the stage ready for the show!! like if you weren’t thinking of being an author and publishing a book one day, PLEASE reconsider!!! the people (me) will be so lost and worse without your works, and i really sincerely mean that!!!!

this was fucking amazing, someone give you all of the awards ever. like i’m not even joking. this review took two whole minutes to paste from my notes😭

harvest of purity — sunghoon [ 박성훈 ]

pairing ⦂ sunghoon ⨯ fem. reader

synopsis ⦂ au in which an innocent, shy, and faithful sunghoon takes a summer job as a farmhand. he’s never indulged on his desires until the farmer’s daughter shows him a taste of sin. although riddled with guilt, he cannot deny or escape the new rousing feelings that impurify him. especially when she's set on ruining him every chance she gets.

genre ⦂ smut, slow burn romance, strangers to lovers word count ⦂ 29k tags ⦂ fluff and angst, repressed desires, innocence loss, guilt and shame, exploring relationships, falling in love, southern gothic vibes, summer au, clingy down bad sunghoon, ‘mean’ morally gray reader, both are weirdo loser freaks content advisory ⦂ mdni ! dark-ish content ⚠︎ sexually explicit content in four scenes: handjob, oral (m. rec.), dry humping, thigh fucking, unprotected sex, virginity loss, corruption!kink, degradation!kink, praise!kink, switch!hoon, he whines whimpers and cries; religious themes, concepts, corruption, and criticism; manipulation, animal death, blood, intense scenes, abusive parenting, gun mention and use

note ⦂ poured my heart out. i hope you love it as much as i do. dedicated to my other evil, off-putting, and/or weird girls┊reblogs and feedback encouraged ⇀ playlist ⸝⸝ masterlist 🌾

　You’re not sure what life in your small town was like before you were born. You can imagine it’s not too different from what it is now though. The thing about old country towns is they never seem to change. Open fields and miles of farmland. Two gas stations, one grocery store, a few family owned vegetable stands or in-home produce product shops. Only one notable neighborhood where the majority of the townspeople lived if not hidden somewhere else in the countryside. And too many churches to keep track of if the abandoned ones were included in the count. 

You like to think your parents were happy before you too. Hopeful and optimistic when offered to take over your uncle’s farm. Excited for the next step in their relationship after their marriage. They were the ideal family dream coming to life: high school lovers, engaged after graduation, married, a career handed to them through family with a large property of land and lovely farmhouse. All that was left was to grow that family. To have children to not only help tend the fields and animals but run around barefoot, all smiles, and wide eyed. 

You were positive that it was something they wanted. 

But life couldn’t have been that easy for them; it would’ve been too gratuitous of a blessing.

The day you were born, your father knew there was something greatly wrong with you. He claimed that on the day you ripped your mother open, screaming and crying, that God spoke to him for the first time. He called it divine intervention. Believing the birth of your soul was a red-herring of all that was set to come but God would show him the light, the truth: that you were nothing short of evil and needed saving. 

That year on the farm there was nothing but death. It only furthered your father’s harsh thinking of you. The crops and produce either died or rotted before it had the chance to grow or ripe. The animals were dropping dead from unknown illnesses. Every female livestock that gave birth passed in doing so. Barely any profits were made that year. Taxes were rising and so were the prices of nearly everything. It was a huge toll for your family, especially when raising their first child. Before you were even conscious of the situation everything was already deemed your fault. 

Through the harrowing struggle, your father’s optimism turned to resentment. He claimed that bringing you to the farm was not like bringing a daughter home, but a corrosive parasite. He believed that you were the reason for the life being sucked away from their perfect farm life. So, he turned to the only thing that he could trust to save the family from your curse: God. Begging and pleading through prayers every morning and night to the sky for a better season. 

He studied religion here and there before taking over his brother-in-law's farm but with the farm failing for the first time, he took a change of career paths. He was already well known among the locals, close with the church goers in the community. And somewhere along the way, he managed to start preaching himself. Nearly every christian in your town moved churches to follow where he went. Like sheep to a shepherd. 

If only they knew what you did, what he was truly like behind the closed doors of your home. How his devotion was turning to violence. Day by day, becoming uglier. 

While your father busied himself with his new found family, often away from home on the farm, the crops and animals began to thrive again. Slowly but surely, growing and regaining health. He would say it’s God’s doing, a small taste of His salvation. 

Your early years were mostly troubled by the relationship of your parents. Too young to fully understand their disputes, drawing at the kitchen table with their yelling sounding the house. It was always about you, that much you knew. Because you watch and you listen. Quick to learn that they tried for another child but never had any success. They wanted someone else to be their baby. Something that felt more like a blessing than you. Your father constantly spitting in your mother’s face that you were the rot to the fruit of her womb. And then he would always end up leaving by slamming the door and your mother would always join you at the table with tears and a bottle of wine. You always just watched, listening in silence. Perhaps just born resilient.

Growing up was different for you compared to most of the kids in your town. You never had the opportunity to make many friends being homeschooled. The only time that was spent around others your age was kindergarten. Kindergarten was short lived because of your behavior; the teachers at school were concerned about you. How you were mean, rough, and sinister with your actions towards others. Picking on the kids you were simply interested in because of how different from you they were. Drawing pictures of gutted cattle or dead, half developed baby chicks still in their shell and giving them as gifts to the teachers. Sharing to classmates the cruelty of farm life and why it was pretty with a smile. 

Your father loved to find out about this, you could see it in his eyes. The way they were wicked and screamed I told you so to your mother. You didn’t understand why it was bad or caused trouble. You were only having fun for the first time. The way the kids ran away crying or the teachers wore faces of shocked horror, it made your insides light up in joy. A new feeling—a sense of excitement. You didn’t know it was sick. And of course, it was taken from you. You were removed from school and your mother became your teacher. Your classmates became stuffed animals and the real ones in the barns. It was hard for you to find that joy you briefly felt with others. 

Sometimes you had a glimpse of it again when your father would punish you. But even that you grew sick of. The mess, the stench of it all. Sticky and red, worse in the heat of summer. He drilled the sick moto for his actions into your head, “I know no punishment, only mercy.”

Father took you both to church more often after that. He had a false image to uphold afterall, one of a happy, God loving family. In his ego he had to prove that his preaching and prayers could fix you, save you. But that was only admitted at home, loud and scary to your mother. Your poor mother, weak and defensive of you, eventually waved her white flag. You wished she kept fighting for you and that she wouldn’t begin to see you the way your father did. 

Childhood and adolescence was a string of questions about yourself. Never quite finding out what made you so bad to be seen as devilish when all you thought of yourself was curious. Perhaps just unlucky to be correlated with negative happenings on and off the farm, always gone without a chance of understanding. Despite it all, you knew well enough the way your parents talked and looked at you was without unconditional love. 

On your 17th birthday, the family dynamic made the biggest shift to be experienced. 

At this age, you had such a strong sense of independence and with the lack of parental guidance and monitoring, you would leave town when you could. Ride your bike down the long road to the bus stop at the center of town and take the bus into the city over. Your mother was generous with allowance and you saved your money well, only spending it on books or trips to the movie theater. A form of escape that allowed you to learn more about the world and all the things your parents tried to keep hidden from you. A way to learn how to be human. 

So when your father was tearing your room apart in search of the same gift he re-gifts you every year, he found some things that made his stomach churn. Every year for your birthday he rewrapped the same, first ever, bible he’d given you. Funny enough that he gave you anything at all considering he never even referred to it as your day, only his day of revelation. And to his disgust, on his sacred day, he found books and journals of explicitly detailed copulation and debauchery. 

He almost fainted. Stumbling over his own feet, hands shaking as he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the words on the pages. That was the only time you smiled on that day. Just for a second. And then a glimpse of hell broke loose. 

In a rage, he destroyed everything. Your mother stood next to you in tears, telling him to stop and stop. Her hands covered her face but she saw everything through her fingers. You only watched in silence, hands balled in fists by your side. A silent hatred and anger coursed in you. He called you names that no man of God should, especially to his own daughter. 

“You’re a disgraceful deviant of Satan! I should’ve known. My own day of revelation is a curse!” You watched him rip pages apart, his voice booming through the house. “Years spent praying for you and this is how you turn out?! Succumbing to nothing but a dreaming whore?!”

A part of you liked his mean words. It was so rare for him to use such colorful language. 

You knew what would come next. He was going to have you ‘cleansed’. Something he always did when he discovered something new and sacrilegious of you. 

But it didn’t come. Because there was no dying, old sheep on the farm at the time. He did make a promise to not forget though. A promise to have you washed in sacrificial, blessed blood on a day you least expected. 

Your father left after that, leaving you and your mother behind. He moved to the city to continue his preaching at a larger church. He became known as the closest reverend to God for miles and miles. Lost in his ways, he only made visits when he needed to sort things out for the business of the farm.

You were content with his departure, yet couldn’t quite understand why your mother missed him. As far as you’ve seen, he was never kind towards either of you. 

　But now, it’s several years later. And although you’re free of your father’s heavy presence and homilies, he still makes his trips to the farm. You can feel the air change whenever he does, as if you’ve gained a sixth sense for his coming. Naturally intuitive to things having spent your childhood walking on eggshells in your own home. 

And today, the air feels particularly chill for summer. The breeze sweeps in through your open window. The forecast called for nothing but sunshine all week, yet there’s an angry, dark cloud hanging over your farm. A foreboding feeling shivers through you, and you know he’s going to fulfill his promise today. You sigh and slide out of bed. “Let’s get this over with.”

You spend the morning doing your usual routine. Brushing teeth, washing your face, then dressing in farm work attire. Your breakfast consists of tea and your mothers homemade strawberry scone. Next is tending to the animals. Your mother usually takes care of the crops and gardening. It’s a quiet and early morning, as most are. The both of you keep to yourselves, just doing what needs to be done day by day. 

The sound of a car is heard coming down to the long dirt road and you know who it is by the sound. It’s a fancier vehicle than the one he left this property with years ago. A meaner part of you likes to think his greedy hands got into that mega church’s donations but you’re too self aware of the successful farm your family owns. 

Your father parks in front of the house and your mother is quick to rush over to him, presumably with many questions: How have you been? Are you hungry? Thirsty? What brings you here so early in the month? 

You roll your eyes at her desperation to cling onto the relationship that clearly ended when you were a child. 

You place a hand on your hip, leaning your weight to the side that isn’t carrying the heavy bucket of chicken feed. Walking away from the coops and back towards the shed by the house, you make eye contact with your father despite only taking a glance. 

He watches you with narrow eyes from the lowered window of the car he’s still sitting in, very much not listening to a word your mother is saying. 

He calls your name before you can open the shed. Spinning on the heels of your boots, you turn around with raised brows of questioning. 

He mouths the words sacrificial tree as he exits the car. Your mother sees this. She wears pained disappointment as she scurries away. Presumably to the barn where the sheeps and lambs are kept. She might as well be a sheep too, you think. 

The bucket slips from your fingers and drops to the patchy dirt grass by your feet with a thud, spilling over in a mess that will be cleaned later. 

You don’t bother giving him a nod of understanding. You just turn around and begin your walk to the tree line where the man made path is. Knowing it would take some time for his preparations, you walk to the lake that’s hidden behind the farmland. 

It’s a brief walk through your familiar woods. Once at the short wooden dock, you sit down at the end, taking in the gloomy summer scenery. A light fog hugs over the water. You bring your knees to your chest, in your sitting position, and hug yourself the same way. 

This is your favorite place out of all the land your family owns. It’s serene, mostly. Always quiet. You’re the only one who comes here. And it’s nice to swim with when the weather warrants it. There’s a feeling here that’s hard to feel anywhere else you find yourself. Sometimes you imagine what it would be like with someone else, but you doubt it would be as nice. Trouble has a way of following you, it seems. You frown at the thought. 

It’s silent like this for a few minutes, just you trying to find a sense of calmness before the impending chastisement. Then you hear some rustling of leaves, heavy footsteps following. You don’t turn around yet, you only wait for the call of your name. Your time of tranquility is too brief. You sigh before giving yourself a squeezing hug. 

“It’s time,” the reverend calls out loudly, “quickly now, we have new farmhands arriving soon.” The sound of his feet walking away is when you stand. You wave a goodbye to the foggy lake before parting ways. Your feet move unconsciously, taking to where your body knows to go. 

Leaves crinkle underneath your boots and twigs snap. The trees’ branches sway in the gentle morning breezes that pass. 

In the mix of the small forest, man made crosses of sticks or plywood are spaciously scattered. Like a graveyard to all your bad doings. Most small but one large. Old rotted wood that stands crooked and begging to fall over right next to the largest, strongest tree. Your eyes, that are trained to ground, move upwards the cross and then to the tree. Your father stands there with a large knife in hand. Your mother waits cautiously not too far away. Her demeanor is frightful as if this is the first time. Coward.

An old sheep hangs by its hind legs from a sturdy tree branch. Unmoving and defenseless. Big beady, dumb eyes look in all directions but you. You think it must feel the same guilt as yourself, sorry that its life purpose is to embarrass you, make you hate what you are. 

“God told me to make a sacrifice to prove my faith. He guides my hand in washing your soul clean of sin. So here I am with our blessed, dying lamb.” He’s said this every time. His voice is always miserably rehearsed and preacher-esque. 

You thought long ago that this was their, the lambs, only use on the farm. It’s a shame. All that devotion has made him so ugly and violent. 

You make small steps closer to the lamb. It’s whining in bleat baas and mehs. Does it know what’s happening? Is it scared? You like the lambs, sheeps. Pure white, soft, and docile. They never fight back. They just take it. I doubt they need restraints. You could hold them above me just the same and they’d never resist. 

“Move faster, for the love of God. Yeah, stand right there underneath like you know how to.” He instructs you, annoyed. His patience running thin as the distant sounds of a truck makes way down the dirt road to the farm property. 

“Okay…” You don’t fight him, with arms crossed behind your back and a hand squeezing around your own wrist, you move closer. Maybe you’re a lamb too. 

Maybe all your father really was is the executioner. 

He raises the knife as he begins to speak, it slides over its cotton, white throat but does not cut, “Revelation 7:13-17 Then he told me, ‘These are those who come from the great tribulation, and they’ve washed their robes, scrubbed them clean in the blood of the Lamb. That’s why they’re standing before God’s Throne. They serve him day and night in his Temple. The One on the Throne will pitch his tent there for them: no more hunger, no more thirst, no more scorching heat. The Lamb on the Throne will shepherd them, will lead them to spring waters of Life. And God will wipe every last tear from their eyes.’” He slits its throat in a quick, harsh movement. The blood spills just as fast, squirting spurts of red before it comes pouring down onto you. “Face up,” you obey even though it brings you rage, “it ought to cleanse those unholy thoughts I know that are still in there.” 

Head raised to the sky with eyes and mouth squeezed shut, you let it consume you. Warm, thick and wet washes down from your head onto your clothes then down to your feet. The smell of animal, metallic iron covers you. It’s sticking to your hair, eyebrows and lashes. You can already feel your clothes clinging to your skin in the dirtiest ways. 

You stand there, drenching in the its blood. Your father speaks again, firm and slow, “Say it with me now, ‘I know no punishment, only mercy.’” All you feel is the animal’s rain of life flooding you.

You open your mouth to speak but are quick to spit and cough out the blood that manages to get into your mouth. Smack. 

“I don’t have time for this,” his voice sounds like an echo, your head is ringing from the harsh swing of his hand. The skin of your cheek stings. He hits like a bitch, you think. “Say it with me now, dammit!” You can feel him wipe his bloodied hand on the side of your shirt. 

You step back from under the red shower. “I know no punishment, only mercy.” Your words align with his in the perfect paced harmony you’re trained to do so. Enunciated, slow and strong, through gritted teeth.

There’s a beat of silence before the sound of your parents footsteps walking away. 

Standing there in red, yet to open your eyes, you breathe out a shaky sigh of defeat. It sounds more like a growl. With the mostly clean hands you kept safely behind you, you bring them up to wipe the blood from your face. You don’t dare to look at the dead animal in front of you. Being covered in it is enough alone to make you feel sick. 

You think of going back to the lake, jumping in and letting the blood wash off you there, but knowing you’d either walk back with further drenched clothes or naked didn’t seem like options you wanted to deal with either. So you just head back to the house. It’s a slower walk than need be, but you just felt like avoiding the eyes of the newcomers, hoping they’d be off in the fields or in a barn by the time you walk through. You feel numb. 

You’re wrong though, by the time you’re passing the barns and coops, the group of new farmhands are already lined up outside the horses’ stable. Your mother is talking to them, although not all are paying attention. Only a few pairs of wide eyes follow you. Catching the sight of you must really shock them but you can’t blame them. Something about this makes you excited. You stop in your tracks and look around to see if your father’s car is gone. It is. The realization feels like a wave of relief and it suddenly feels brighter outside already. 

You take a glance down to your disheveled appearance. Shirt, pants, and boots painted like the barns. You look back to the group, brushing the soiled hair back from your face. Some pieces stay stuck, in the early stages of drying against your skin.

It’s safe to have a little fun. 

You begin a slow walk over to the group. You take a headcount and there’s five of them. Two younger men, closer to your age. The other three look a bit older, not by much but definitely older. Your mother is yet to turn around from whatever rundown she’s giving them. Too dense to even recognize that now none of them were paying any attention to her. 

You creep up beside her and open with, “Hello,” your voice is louder than even you’ve heard it be in a long time. It’s nice to be heard, noticed. You usually avoided the farmhands, but this summer was going to be different. You decided this on the walk over. 

Being cooped up on the farm for so long made you different, it’s obvious to anybody. Not properly socialized in your developmental years caused you to be an anomaly to the ones who did come across you. Enigmatic from far away and up close. Now isn’t the greatest example though, the situation is too clear as to why. 

Your mother turns to you, gasping and jumping back slightly in the shock of your gross state and sudden introduction. “My goodness, girl, whatta ya doin’ here like this?” Her voice is hushed, clearly unsettled with the situation. 

They all just stare at you, open mouthed and bewildered. You take the time to get a good look at each of them up close. Your eyes follow their faces individually down the line. And then they stop. 

At the end of the line is a man more beautiful than the ones you’ve seen in the movies. You feel stuck in time, left with parted lips, staring at the man before you. And far too intently for your character. He stands tall, sharp, pale, and elegant. What is a boy like this doing here? He averts his eyes from you, clearly uncomfortable by what’s before him. He looks uneasy, shifting his weight foot to foot with his hands behind his back. His pretty eyes glance around from you to your mother to the other men and the ground. He simply doesn’t know what to do with himself. You find it dangerously darling of him. 

You don’t even realize the small smile that takes your lips. You step closer to him and he steps back, now looking at you with wide eyes of small fear. You extend your hand to him, it’s coated in drying blood. He gulps and the sight, his adam’s apple bobbing in such a biteable neck stirs something in you. This will be far more fun than you intended. 

You say your name softly for introduction and step a little closer, “Nice to meet you," you feign cuteness as much as you can, looking up at him through your blood clumped lashes. It’s clear to everyone there is something off; there’s little to no real emotion behind your voice and face. 

Your mother eyes you suspiciously as you corner the handsome man, but she says nothing. Sometimes she fears you too. 

He looks from your eyes to your hand, having an internal battle with himself on what to do, “Ah, I am Sunghoon... Nice to meet you too.” His politeness must be stronger than his frighteness, because he takes his hand in yours and shakes it gently. His hand is large in yours, nearly covering it entirely. You squeeze it hard, your eyes never leaving his, trapping him in the scene. 

He wants to look away, to hide somewhere. The way his skin crawls tells him he’s a prey already in the mouth of a predator. And you know he’s nervous under your intense gaze because your hand feels like a lamb is still bleeding above you. His palms are sweating, and it’s nowhere near hot enough for that yet. Your smile grows to a smirk. 

Although you’re wearing the lamb, having Sunghoon’s hand in yours made you feel like a wolf. 

　Sunghoon’s first day of his summer job starts off duller than he imagined. The sun isn’t out this morning and it only intensifies his anxiousness, as if the grey skies reflect his inner emotions. He’s already new to the area, away from home and staying in an apartment not far from his college in the city. A private, christian school that he studied hard to get into with his friend. He wishes his best friend and roommate, Jake, was joining him in this job, but Jake already had plans to teach at a summer soccer camp for kids through their school. 

He found this opportunity through the college church they attend together. A reverend from another church in the city came to visit one Sunday, handing out flyers to the young men in hopes of finding farm help. The pay is good and the bus fairs to the small town over where the farm’s located is covered. He’s never done work like it before, nevertheless was he going to let a simple offer pass him up. 

Things are going smoothly to start, being told how to care for, clean, and feed the animals to crop preservation. Everyone would have their own specific roles on the farm. Sunghoon was assigned the easier of the tasks, either feeding animals or watering and fertilizing the vegetables and fruits crops. He learns there are already regular farm workers that would come throughout the week to collect produce, material, and use the machinery for the more laborious work. And if she wasn't around when needed then they could ask any of the regular employees for assistance or find her at the house. 

As the farm owner is about to give details on the horses’ maintenance, a girl saunters in. And the anxious feelings become of Sunghoon all over again. His eyes are wide, taking in her appearance. The smell of the farm dissipates and putrid copper takes over. The worst part is how calm she appears, and the fact that she’s unbothered with all that she wears. 

He thinks his brain short circuits, everything seeming muffled and unreal. He doesn’t even realize he introduced himself or touched her. It all was too quick and unfamiliar for him to grasp. 

He watches as she walks away, back to the house that sits slightly over the hills and valleys of the property. His expression is blank, blinking slowly at the strange girl then down to his hand that’s stained red too. 

“Don’t pay her no mind,” the woman speaks up, she sounds as if she’s warning them. “Just get yer work done and when everyone’s finished y’all can head back home. I won’t ask too much of ya in yer first month here, alright? That might be a different story later.” She tries to end the statements in humor with her forced laugh. 

Sunghoon nods but his eyes don’t leave his dirty hand. The other men nod along too and give their ‘yes, ma’ams’ in return. 

The woman continues walking them around the farm, listing rules and guidelines they must follow, along with advice and tips for the work they’ll be doing. 

The day flows as easy as it can for Sunghoon. He doesn’t talk much with the other farmhands. He also doesn’t know them well enough to be comfortable in their conversations, so he just exists in awkward silence, sometimes reacting. While they can joke around and find fun in the work, his mind keeps wandering off to the girl from earlier, to you. How your empty eyes held onto his and small hand even tighter. He thinks the palm of his hand still burns from the interaction. 

Around the afternoon time, Sunghoon and the guys are sitting around a picnic table near the house. The sun is beating down on them all now while they chug down water and eat their lunch. The owner was kind enough to provide their refreshments and meals. They were all thankful. 

She adds that there’s a small lodge up the dirt road. It’s a little old but homey and has space with two spare bedrooms if they need to wash up or rest at any time. It was originally built for the farm workers that worked late and needed a place to stay if need be. 

Once done, the boys stand up and talk about what they have left to do. The next bus back to the city isn’t running for another two hours so they speak of taking some leisure time and exploring the farm property. Meanwhile Sunghoon is still sitting, watching them huddled in conversation. He wipes some sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand as they begin walking towards the fields.

Sunghoon, taking what the farm owner had mentioned previously, decides that he’d like to stay inside to get away from the beating sun for a while. So he gathers his trash to throw away in the bin by the road near the house’s mailbox and begins his walk to the lodge. 

Once inside he takes in the rustic, outdated furniture. It’s a little dusty and the floorboards creak beneath his feet but he finds it somewhat comforting. The living space has two couches by an old stone fireplace, a center table with board games and cards, a kitchenette, and a large dining table with enough space to seat six people. 

The decor is very farmers-life-esque. From a cow print rug in the small kitchen area to the antlers mounted on the wall near the dining table. There’s scenic southern paintings hung up along with antique crosses and prints of bible verses, all adoring the faded and peeling floral wallpaper. Above the fireplace hangs a painting depicting Jesus healing a blind man. 

He walks down the only short hall in the lodge to find the two spare bedrooms the woman had mentioned along with a bathroom. He takes this time to wash his hands thoroughly and splash some cold water on his face. With his hands resting on the sink, he stares at himself in the mirror. The cold drops of water slip down his face, jaw, and back into the sink. 

In his mind he’s questioning whether or not he’s sure of this job. It’s all too different from what he knows and he can’t help but feel out of place here. With a sigh, he drops his head and watches the water slip down the sink. 

He jumps slightly at the sudden sound of the front door opening and closing, not expecting the others to join him here quite yet. No noise follows the action for a moment, not even footsteps. Then there’s the sound of a click, like the door is being locked. He straightens his posture and peaks out the bathroom door, listening for their voices or any sound other than silence. It offers nothing to him so he begins to feel tense. 

“Hello?” Sunghoon calls out skittishly, but there’s no response. His heart rate picks up a little and he starts to think the boys are trying to pull some sort of childish prank on him. He leaves the room and makes slow steps down the hallway to the main area of the lodging house. 

As he rounds the corner he doesn’t find any of the boys there though, he just sees you. His heart jumps at the realization. Sitting on the couch, in overall shorts and nothing else. Bare legs crossed and hands against the couch by your sides as you watch him peer around the corner with apprehension. You’re  just sitting there, leaning forward and waiting for him to come find you. 

Cowardly, Sunghoon makes a half turn. He presses his back against the wall of the hallway as if he could hide away or disappear into it. He even closes his eyes, thinking of a quick prayer to save him from this circumstance. 

“Are you pretending to be shy or are you really this cute?” Your voice is teasing, and he can hear the wicked smile in it without seeing. 

Feeling caught, he just sighs and slowly makes his way to the living area. He tries not to look at you, thinking you are too revealing. So he looks everywhere else and then to large windows that give view to the farm; none of the guys are in sight. Most likely somewhere goofing off. All he can see is the fields and farm buildings standing large in the distance. 

He doesn’t move and speaks softly, “I should probably go find the others-”

You speak before he can finish his attempt of an excuse, “Come sit with me.” You pat the space on the couch next to yourself. Your voice sounds welcoming but he knows there’s an undertone of mischief. 

He makes a quick glance to you and sucks in a breath at the view of your body that’s exposed from your overalls. The glimpse of the curve of your breast disappearing under the denim already makes him feel like he’s seen too much of you. And he has. He’s never seen such bare skin on a girl and he’s never been alone in a room with one either. 

“Come sit with me, now.” You’re more stern this time, demanding in a gentle way. Your hand makes small movements, soothing over the material of the couch like you’re warming the space for him. 

He visibly swallows as he makes his hesitant steps over to you. His heart is racing and with every beat there is a question of his strength. He sits down on the same sofa but not directly next to you like you want. You smirk nonetheless and turn to face him, sitting with your legs criss-cross now. 

With your elbows to your knees you hold your head in your hands, watching the side of his face. You’re again realizing how sculpted his features are. Dark thick hair on his head, eyebrows and lashes too. An array of moles sprinkle his pale face. A sharp nose that sits above pink, full lips. You wonder if he knows of his own beauty. It’s fascinating to see such a person like him in front of you. 

He’s sitting with perfect posture, not relaxing into the couch. Alert like a deer that’s waiting for too sudden of movement to pounce away. His eyes just watch the table, reading through the names of the board games that lay there as a way of distracting himself. He’s awkward. 

“Uhm… d-does your family own this farm?” he tries for small talk to break the silence. His bottom lip finds itself between his teeth as he makes one quick look over to you. Luckily your overalls sit high up or he’d have a full view of your chest. He can’t help but think of the fact and it makes him shift uncomfortably. 

“Do I make you nervous?” you question, seriously so. Brows pulled tight in a furrow with a straight face. You lean in even closer to him, watching for every change on his face. 

“Yes,” his response is honestly quick and ends with a tight lip, like he’s holding his breath. He is yet to comprehend what is happening, still in a whirlwind of thoughts of what could—will—happen. 

“Why?” Your head tilts slightly to the side, it makes him think of his roommate briefly. And man does he wish he were here to ease the tension. 

He doesn’t want to admit that he’s never been in such close proximity with a girl alone before, so he just clears his throat and remains quiet after doing so. 

Curiously, you bring a hand up with a pointed finger and brush the tip of it over the mole on the side of his nose. He jolts back at the sudden touch, his cheeks flushing a warm pink. His eyes now watch you with gentle confusion. He touches the same spot you did with a trembling hand. 

“You have a constellation on your face. So many moles… Do you have a girlfriend?” 

His face burns a little more, both from the observation and the question. He shakes his head, sitting himself further into the couch and further away from you. He can’t quite understand the situation. Are you messing with him? You seem too serious for such. Maybe you’re just weird like he initially thought. Either way he can feel his faith slipping; he is cupping holy water in hands during an earthquake. 

“Did I do somethin’ wrong? Am I not pretty?” You pout to be playful with him, acting as if his actions are offending you. He takes it literally though. 

“No!” his hands rest on his knees and he holds them hard, trying to find stability despite sitting down. “Y-you are… pretty,” his words grow quieter, like he’s sharing a secret. “I just don’t know you or why you want to talk to me.” 

“Hm.” You lean your head back against the couch. With your eyes still on his face, you speak just as quietly, “I’m still trying to figure that out too.” After some beats of muted air you speak up again, but with more presence, “You came to work here. Why?” 

“A man was handing out flyer ads at the church. I wanted a summer job.” 

Is he always this direct and boring? And church, of fucking course. You roll your eyes, pushing yourself off the back cushion and even closer to the man. Your knees touch the side of his body and his thigh. He looks like he’s trying to control his breathing, to feign lack of disturbance, but his face says everything you need to know. 

You place a hand on his thigh and his whole body stiffens at the action. Your smirk to yourself. It’s only resting there on the top of his jeans. “You act like a girl has never touched you before.” You give him a soft squeeze and he sucks in a sharp breath. “Well? Has a girl ever touched you?” 

He shakes his head quickly, “No,” he breaks, feeling overwhelmed and wrong, “and I don’t think you should be. It’s against the churches values-”

“At your age you still follow the rules?” Your hand slides lower and back up his thigh, it’s a slow and teasing motion. There’s enjoyment in how scared he’s becoming. 

Sunghoon knows that this is only going to lead him down a path he swore to God not to take. And if his parents were to know that in his first year away from home in the summer since college was locked in a lodge with a promiscuous girl he’d have it handed to him. The thought of their wrath makes him shiver all the more. 

“I just don’t want to sin.” His eyes close and he bites down onto his lip again. He no longer cares if a stranger sees him as a loser or prude. His virtue is being tested in real time, and he’s feared facing this battle many times in the night because even in his dreams he loses. 

“I’m only touching you. How is it a sin?” The tone of your voice changes, it’s soft like the hand that moves closer to in between his thighs. Your fingertips press into his clothed skin here and there, curiously feeling him up. You just try to get a reaction out of him. There’s a warm feeling in your stomach that you don’t recognize; it’s faintly familiar. 

“Your hand isn’t supposed to be… there.” He makes a strained sound, something like a low whine, as your hand ghosts over his cock. 

You look down to your movements for the first time and realize he’s sporting a half chub. You snicker quietly, cupping him in your palm. “Then why are you getting hard, Sunghoon? Do you like the way I’m touching you? I bet you’ve thought about doing this before too.” 

He makes another noise, a whimper. He can’t bring himself to open his eyes and accept what’s happening. He also can’t find it in himself to stop you, or get up and leave. This wasn’t just a struggle with evil’s temptation but his own biological nature. Something yet to be explored, something that’s been scratching at his ribcage for years to be fed. 

There’s too much he can’t admit in this moment. Starting with how he enjoys the sound of your voice, the slight accent and dialect difference he picks up. How the way his name leaves your lips makes him want to crumble like a burning church. And how he silently likes the fact he can’t control the way his body is reacting to your hands on him. 

It’s all wrong, wrong, wrong. And he is weak.

“Answer me, Sunghoon.” Your hand presses down on him, feeling the growing hardness under your palm. You give him a small squeeze, massaging over the bulge. To your surprise he feels big. Your eyebrows quirk at this and then you look back to his face. A single tear runs down his face and you find satisfaction in it. “Lying is a sin too,” you remind him. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his hands fist the couch cushions at his sides. He grips the material so tight that his knuckles turn pink through the pale of his skin. His chest rises and falls through slow and deep breaths. 

“You shouldn’t feel sorry for something that makes you feel good.” You palm over him a few more times, drawing out little moans and whimpers from him. He’s struggling to sit still. You can even feel him try not to push his hips back up into you; if only he would admit that he wants it. He’s practically pulsing beneath you, like there’s never been such a rush of blood to his cock in his life. You sigh dramatically and pull your hand away from him, sitting back to give him space. “That’s too bad. A good dog will always be loyal, huh?”

His eyes shoot open when he feels your hand is gone. He looks at you desperately with wet eyes, a small pout to his lips. You make him feel sick for wanting to ask why you stopped, or if he did something bad for you to take away his short-lived pleasure. 

You smirk at his expression, so pitifully beautiful with want. “Have you ever touched yourself?” you ask, placing your hand over his that hasn’t let go of the couch. It takes you back when he flips his hand around to hold onto yours, clingy and wretched. His thumb brushes over your knuckles. Repulsed, you react quickly and take your hand away from him at his impulsive intimacy. It makes him frown with a meek whimper. 

He shakes his head slowly, looking down to his lap. “I can’t.” He knows he’s not allowed to. His father was adamant through his puberty that he mustn’t succumb to his body’s natural taste for sin. He was told that sometimes the devil had a funny way of sneaking into a man’s mind. That Satan would haunt boys in their sleep to wake them up with guilt of uncontrollable lust to be like him. 

“But you like when I do it, right?” You rest your head on his shoulder and look up at him. His eyes look from your face to the thin opening of your overalls where your chest can be seen from the angle. He bites down hard and nods slowly. You coo, moving your hand back to his still hard, clothed cock. “I can make it go away if you want. You want that?” 

He’s battling all the repressed things he’s been too afraid to explore; fearful of the swing of his parents belt he felt once long ago after being caught in a misunderstanding. In spite of it, he nods again. “It hurts.. Please, help me.” His voice is so quiet. Even he doesn’t want to hear his own pathetic begging. 

Your fingers find the zipper of his jeans then you tug it down slowly as you stare at him. “You have to pull them down for me, okay? I can’t help you with just this.”

Sunghoon freezes for a second knowing he has control over being the one to take out his own cock. Yet apprehension leaves in a breath. Then he’s pulling the clothing down to his knees with frantic haste. You didn’t expect him to take everything off so fast but there’s a sense of pride in how eager you’ve made him become in such a short time. 

You weren’t sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t this. His cock is as beautiful as him. Pale and raging pink, crying at the tip much like his eyes. He’s also big, bigger than you knew dicks could be. You thought they’d be ugly, gross and worm-like. But his is clean and pretty. It’s your first time seeing one in person; you wouldn’t let him know that. 

You take him bare in your hands, feeling him like a foreign object. More curious of his body than in his pleasure in the moment. His body tenses then relaxes against the couch. A shaky, breathy moan leaves his lips. His eyes flutter at the contact of skin. 

You squeeze him, making his moan weakly again. It’s heavy in your hand. Truly just a stick of warm flesh. A part of you wants to squeeze him as hard as you can just to see if it can break, but you withhold on hurting him for now. Not wanting to scare him too much in hopes of exploring him further through the summer. 

Your hand wraps around the length as much as it can, pads of fingertips brushing over every vein and curve as you slowly move your hand up and down. When your thumb circles around his tip and flicks the leaking hole, his body lurches forward with a loud cry of a moan from him. You wonder if he’ll cum in the next few seconds of simply touching him. 

“I think you’re a slut for a little pleasure, Sunghoon.” You use your palm to gather his precum, circling over the tip to smear the thick cream around. Then you drag it back down himself, wetting his cock in his own prerelease. It slides easier now, your hand. You move faster, jerking him off in lazy, inexperienced motions. Not that he would know anyways. “You gave into lust so easily, didn’t you? Must’ve wanted this for so long. Your body’s nasty, eager for it.”

In his ears, you make the nasty words sound delicious. And he wants to devour more and more, like the starved man he is. His hips snap up into your hard, sudden and rough. You wrap your free arm over his shoulders, a hand sneaking up into his hair to tug aggressively on the thick dark locks. You’re pulling his head back, forcing him to look at you. “Don’t be a whore. I’m helping you. I didn’t say fuck my hand.” 

“Ahsh- I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” he whines, tears burning his eyes, “it, it f-feels good. I feel so good.” His head falls to lean against yours, face burying into your hair. His head makes little shakes as he begins to cry, telling himself no, no. 

“Shut up...” You don’t like how close he is to you. You only like doing so to tease him, but when he does it, it makes you feel a fiery anger in your chest and belly. Uncomfortable. Smothering.

Your hand works in sloppy motions. Pumping his pulsing cock to reach his orgasm. At the tip your wrist makes flicks with your thumb, working him up further and further. 

He stutters out incoherent apologies into your hair throughout his sobs of wanton, whimpering moans. Everything about his body is sensitive to the new sensations. He can’t help but move his hips up into your hand, humping the small fist that’s fucking down onto him. 

Confused by the warm, tight feeling flexing of his abdomen he whines against you, “I can’t- I can’t take it. My body feels weird now. Mmph, ‘m sorry. I don’t know what’s h-happening.” His body feels volcanic, ready to burst. 

You continue your movements, jerking his reflexing length until he’s cumming into your hand. It’s a heavy load of thick, creamy mess. His voice is too close to your ear as he moans a drawn out needy sound. Your face remains plain while you pump him until he’s milked dry. His body flinches and curls into yours through the aftershocks, clearly overstimulated and over-sensitive. His arms snake around your waist to pull you against him.  

You stare down at your hand that was earlier covered in the blood of a lamb and now the cum of a virgin. It looks like fucking snot, you realize with repulse. Without thinking you bring your hand up and lick the strange release. Your face scowls at the unknown taste so you just wipe the rest on your overalls. “You are disgusting,” you mutter. 

Sunghoon remains silent aside from his sniffles, eyes peeking through his bangs to watch what you’re doing. He still hasn’t stopped clinging to your side, as if you could save him from his first lustful sin. 

You push yourself up and off the couch, his body slightly falls to the side where he was leaning on you but he catches himself. He watches you with sad, scared eyes. You stare blankly in return then look out the window to see the group of men walking around the picnic table they ate at earlier. 

“Farmhands will be leaving soon. Clean yourself up in the bathroom.” You don’t spare him another look, you just walk to the front door, unlock it, and leave. You ignore the way he looked like a sad abandoned puppy. Something about it angered you in the same way he was being clingy. 

You walk back to your house with a slight skip to your steps. As you step through your front door, you’re about to head upstairs to your room but stop in your tracks because your mother speaks.

“Hate him all ya want,” your mothers words slur, she speaks slowly and tired-like, “but he was a good man. He used to love me… And then you came along.” You turn to the living room on your left where your mother lays on the couch, wine glass in hand and eyes heavy lidded. “I know what yer capable of. I’ve seen the things ya do on this farm, in this home.. When ya think no one is watching.. He just might be right about you.” You glare at her now. “There is something evil in ya, child. Leave that boy outta yer wickedness.” 

Her wine glass falls to the floor from her fingers and she groans, turning to her side. You stare at her for a moment before walking up to your room. 

Meanwhile Sunghoon spends his next 20 minutes in a spiral of guilt and shame. He cleans himself up in the restroom like you told him to. Then waits, watching outside the window for when the boys are gathered around the truck they drove in from the bus stop to leave in. It was hard for him to get the tears to end. He fell right into sin’s lustful trap and it made him feel so- No, it only made him feel hurt. Stupid. Bad. 

On his bus ride back into the city he prays. Sitting in back, alone with his indignity, and head bowed low so no one could see his red rimmed, glossy eyes. Time goes by so fast that he nearly misses his stop to get off. 

He ignores his roommate when he’s home. Jake, excited and curious of Sunghoon’s first day, is left cold. Sunghoon showers for longer than usual. He scrubs so harshly at his skin he turns red; unable to feel clean no matter how much he washes. He doesn’t eat dinner because he feels he doesn’t deserve to. He gets into bed earlier than most days too. He tries to sleep but the day haunts him, keeping him awake. 

He’s up all night in tears, face in his pillow with the blanket thrown over his head, trying to hide from He who watches. The begs of forgiveness seem endless. 

“Dear God,” he whimpers, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” He doesn’t sleep much that night because he can’t find it in himself to stop humping into his mattress in hopes to chase and achieve the feeling you gave him earlier. His hips rock his aching hard cock into the bed, anguished yet titillated. “Please, forgive me. Forgive me. I’m so sorry.” He continues to cry, drowning in his pillow, knowing he will do it again. 

　The next day on the farm is an early morning for everyone. Sunghoon sits quietly in the truck with the other summer volunteer farmharms. They talk amongst each other about the day’s schedule of duties and tasks. He struggles to keep his eyes open, head leaning against the window despite its bumps from the uneven dirt road. He thought about calling it quits on the whole job after yesterday, but couldn’t bring himself to. It’s for selfish reasons too. The ones that deepen his guilt. 

The arrival to the farm is quicker than anticipated. Sunghoon forces himself to be more alert and awake, starting to pick up on the conversations between the others as he exits the parked truck. 

“Do you think it’s still hanging there?” One says. “The lamb of slaughter?” Another dumbly asks with a snort. “Well yeah, dipshit. You guys think that girl did it? She was weird as hell.” A third voice chimes in, “Being covered in blood and then leaving a dead animal hanging from a tree is creepy as fuck. The lady was right, stay the hell away from her.” He laughs. The others walk away in continuous chatter, leaving Sunghoon by the truck. 

Sunghoon is confused by this conversation and deeply disturbed. He doesn’t follow or press them with questions though. But it will give him much to think about for the day. He’s so exhausted from the lack of sleep, he wonders if he even heard them all correctly at all. Yeah, your whole introduction was strange but killing an animal and acting like nothing happened and then toying with him on the same day? Was all that really something a girl like you would do? He can’t say for sure because he doesn’t know you. 

He goes about his morning tasks lazily. His mind is too busy with the thoughts of you. He thinks of when or if he’ll see you today. You haven’t shown around the farm all day. It’s only an hour before noon, he tries to rationalize with himself. He still ponders throughout his work. What time will you come? Will you mysteriously show up like yesterday? Will you touch him again? Will you let him feel good? Is he forgivable or going to burn in hell for wanting more?

He shakes his head to rid it of the thoughts. Perhaps he’s too hopeful. After lunch time he goes back to the farmers lodge to take a nap. At least that’s the realistic excuse he used. He struggles to even fall asleep because he’s so anxious about listening for any sound of you possibly coming back here. 

His eyes, sullen and tired, just can’t stay open after half an hour of waiting. So eventually he does fall asleep. You never show up. When he wakes up from his long needed nap he somehow feels worse knowing you didn’t visit than he did committing his first sin. 

The following day of work is a repeat. He doesn’t see you at all yet you occupy all of his thoughts. He thinks badly of himself for many reasons. 

　On the fourth day, you finally decide it’s time to check up on the poor boy. You watched Sunghoon mope around the farm for two days and it was cute at first but you’re getting bored again. You did like how his eyes were always searching around, hopeful that every sound he heard from behind or around corners was you. Knowing you had such an effect on him made you wonder how much more you could do to him. 

From the window of your room, you watch when they all arrive. Your mother greets them like she does in the mornings and gives them all tasks that need to be completed for the day. It’s Thursday which means she’ll be out for a few hours to go into town and sort out business for products: cow and goat milk processing for cheeses and soaps. At least you assume considering you overheard her phone call about such the day prior. 

You spend the morning around the house, reading and snacking on fruits, waiting for your mother to leave so you can proceed with your plan. There was some effort into your appearance today. You wear a spaghetti strapped white babydoll dress, lined at the bottom with sewn embroideries. It’s simple and flows nicely above your knees when you walk. You hate it because it alludes to soft purity but at least it feels good to dress light in the summer heat. And it might make you all the more approachable to feeble Sunghoon. 

After about an hour, your mother finally leaves. You give it about 10 minutes before you’re shoving on your boots and leaving the house. Some of the blood from earlier in the week still stains the brown leather; you did clean them off but clearly not to the best extent. You’re okay with that though, it seems prettier this way to you. 

Looking and walking around the property, you see the scattered farmhands busy with different things. The sun isn’t kind today, it’s piercing in brightness and temperature. The sweat begins to seep from your pores in a matter of minutes, making you feel sticky. You run a hand through your tangled hair, fingers getting caught in unbrushed knots that you yank through anyways. You don’t see Sunghoon anywhere that’s directly under the sun. You continue to search around the farm, gaining a few cautious looks from the other workers. As you walk past their gazes you wear a wry smile with a tilt to your head. They look away quickly after being caught staring. 

Some wandering in and out of the different barns and coops are done. He wasn’t in any of them though.  You greet the animals you pass by and give pats to some of the cows. “Have you guys seen him nearby? I’m not a fan of hide and seek.” You mumble to one of the goats, scratching lightly beneath its chin while it chews away at grains and hay. It maas in return. You pull your hand back out from the stable then leave to continue the manhunt. 

It’s when you’re walking by the horses’ stables that you see they’ve already been cared for, telling you that someone was here already. You glance to the smaller shed nearby, having a suspicious inkling that it's where Sunghoon is. You walk to the shed and see yourself inside. And he is. He has his back turned to you, standing at a work bench table and cleaning something off. 

You walk up behind him, the sound of your footsteps being dulled by the scattered hay on the wooden floors; he doesn’t notice that you entered the space, clearly lost in his own thoughts. You tap his shoulder which makes him spin around in surprise, dropping the brushes he was cleaning. 

Sunghoon’s eyes are wide at the sight of you standing so close to him. You can tell he’s lost sleep by the dark circles around his eyes and how his complexion is impossibly paler. His mouth is stuttering to find words, opening and closing. 

You step closer to him and he steps back, his backside now pressing against the table. It wobbles on the uneven wooden stilts that hold it up. Reflexively, his hands reach back to hold onto the table, but he’s using it for his own stability. You simply stand there in between his legs, staring up at his face and taking in all the details that differ from the last time you saw him. He swallows, quietly watching your face in return. 

“I haven’t seen you around.” Sunghoon speaks first, his voice a soft surrender. You feel his breath on your face. 

“I know. I saw you though. You missed me.” You state bluntly, taking note of the little fangs he has for teeth. He probably bites good, you think, licking the back of your own teeth. 

“If you saw me then why didn’t you…” he trails off into a quiet again, closing his eyes for a moment with a sigh. “I wouldn’t call it that.” His eyes open again as he feels your hands on his chest, sliding up his white tank and underneath the sleeves of his denim jacket to his shoulders. He bites down, suddenly stiff. 

Ignoring his response you continue, “How can you wear this when it’s so warm out?” Your hands slide over his shoulders and down his toned arms, the jacket slips down to reveal the toned limbs. Your eyebrows raise at the sight yet your face remains relatively blank. “You’ve got muscle. Good for farm work.” Small hands continue to run over the smooth milk-like skin, learning every curve of his lean built physique. It’s not sexual, just exploratory. 

Sunghoon sucks in a breath, watching you inspect him. He begins to feel flustered, relishing in the contact of skin on his. You notice his tense body and ask him if it’s okay, to which replies a raspy stutter, “Y-yeah.” Your hands slide down his arms and back up to his shoulders. Then down his chest and body to stop at the waistline of his jeans. He has a nice body; he must be athletic. You don’t care to ask in what ways. Your fingers dip into his jeans just slightly to pull him in closer to you, he gasps, his growing cock pressing against your stomach. 

“Sunghoon,” You ridicule him, tsking under your breath at the pressure you feel of his arousal. “Already?” You look up at him but he can’t meet your eyes, feeling embarrassed. You play with the waistline, your fingertips running back and forth between the denim and his skin. “Is this sinning?” It’s a soft question yet mocking. He only shakes his head, nervously gnawing at his bottom lip. “Do you want to?” He whimpers, slowly nodding his head. You take your hands off him, crossing your arms. “You have to tell me. Look at me and tell me.” 

He looks back at you dispirited. He knows that you know what he wants. And here you are making him admit it outloud, both to you and God. “Please.” He begs quietly, hoping it only reaches your ears and not the sky’s. “I want you.” 

There’s that feeling again. The lit match that falls from your throat to the gasoline of your stomach that erupts in flames. Fire to your abdomen and loins; it’s an angry feeling, sparked by his honest admit of want, and for you specifically. You watch him with narrowed eyes while mumbling, “you revolt me.” 

He doesn’t reply to your venomous insult. It stings to hear the degrading words in both his heart and pants; he thinks himself disgraceful too. 

You drop to your knees, hands finding place back on his jeans to undo his zipper. He stares down at you in bated breath, hands still gripping tight on the table behind him. His are pulled down slowly, purposely so. You watch him writher, body and face. “Did you do it again?” you question, looking up at him from below. He would never avow to how the sight of you on your knees alone makes him ache all the more. 

He wants to tear his eyes away from you but he can’t. The image of you in your white dress on the ground before him needs to be burned into his memory. He stutters a mumble of words but you don’t catch anything, if he even said a coherent response at all. You ask again, pinching his thigh. He tries to hum over the strained noise in the back of his throat, “Yes.. I mean no! B-but I didn’t touch myself.”

You try not to giggle, biting the inside of your cheek. Knowing he wanted to feel that way again but couldn’t on his own gave you a funny sense of power over him. One of your hands traces the outline of his hard cock through his boxer briefs. “You make a mess?” He shivers at the feeling of your breath on his suffocating length. He breathes out a ‘no’ while you lick a strip over the material. “Why not? I showed you how.”

He moans softly, trying not to let his hips chase after the feeling that he’s been after for days. “You know I can’t,” he exhales. You roll your eyes, mouthing and licking at him languidly. Your hands are still half tugging at the material that keeps him hidden. A faint pool of precum quickly stains his boxers. 

“Sunghoon,” you look up at him with your chin resting on the bulge. He swallows hard, acknowledging you with a hum. “You will never be free from it. The sin I let you taste will forever linger on the tip of your tongue, begging and licking to taste more in crave. No holy blessed water can possibly cleanse you even if you drown in it.” 

His bottom lip pouts out with a little droning whine. He should defend himself, say that his faith is stronger than he is and that his soul is saveable by mercy. But a part of him also feels that doesn’t want to be. His eyes begin to well with tears. 

“Not even a god could make you pure again,” you give him a small smile and pat his naked thigh before pulling down his underwear. His cock now free slaps his stomach to which he breathes out heavily. You grab him with both hands, giving him one last look before taking the leaking head into your mouth. Hands working on him steadily. 

“T-that’s dirty!” he leans forward with a low sounding moan, his hands on your head and in your hair. Your eyes go wide at this. “Why would you put that in your mouth?!” he gasps, the warm wetness around his tip making him dizzy. “This is so vulgar, oh God, forgive me.” he cries, not pulling your mouth off of him but holding you there. 

You circle your tongue around the tip and over his leaking slit, licking the beads of precum that leak out. It makes your grimace before you lean back, a wet pop as your mouth leaves. “Enough of your penitence, and take your hands off me.” It sounds like a warning to which he complies without question, only a hushed apology. He’s the one who wants to be touched anyways, not you. 

You take him into your mouth again, your lips wrap around him in a painful stretch to accommodate his size. He sits heavy on your tongue that lays flat underneath, doing what you can with it. Your hands at the base work around him, jerking and squeezing him like you did before. You weren’t really sure what you were doing, mainly just mocking the actions you read about in books. It seems to be working for Sunghoon regardless because he can barely hold himself together. Whining and whimpering through fat tears, whole body shuddering from the overwhelming wet heat of your mouth. 

His jaw goes slack, mouth hung open only to elicit a breathless moan. His head rolls back on his neck and his eyes flutter to a close. The feeling of your mouth wrapping around him is hot heaven. His body trembles with the new, sweeping sensation. Stomach already tight with contracting muscles. He thinks he could pass out. 

Watching his face, him, discover and feel pleasurable sin is slightly euphoric to you. You’ve seen it in movies and read of it in books, but it was something you never quite fully explored yourself. There’s been a few instances that you did touch yourself; it always felt empty or like something was always missing. There’s little to no excitement when doing it alone in shameful hiding. Witnessing, causing such debauchery is different somehow. Safer in ways you didn’t dwell in thought on. You do wish he would stop crying about it, you find it pathetic of him in a provoked way. 

Involuntarily, he thrusts himself down your throat with a guttural groan. You gag and cough around him, tears sting your eyes that make you squeeze them shut—refusing to let a single one dare to escape. Now it felt like a challenge. One to which you wouldn’t back down in fear of looking weak. 

Your hands hold his thighs roughly, bruisingly so if you had the strength. You move his body in a small back and forth motion, encouraging him to continue his movements. You’re looking up at him with glazed over eyes and a slight nod. He chokes a sob at the sight, you on your knees not to pray but to devour him.

“Ah, I- I’m sorry. Your mouth is so wet, so warm.” He starts off with shallow thrusts, dragging his cock along your wet muscle. His hips stutter while his world seems to be crashing down. “This is so dirty. You look so dirty. And—ngh—it’s.. it’s so good. It’s so good,” he babbles, pushing himself as far down into your mouth as he can. His tip kisses the back of your throat making you gag around him. Your nails digging into the flesh of his strong legs. He can’t stop moaning and whimpering, becoming a slave to pleasure. 

He watches your face. Hollowed cheeks sucking and swallowing around him, the tightness of your throat around him hugging and contracting through chokes that reverberate your body to his cock. The spit that leaks from your lips and all over him is obscene, such a sinful mess. He so badly wants to grab your head and force himself down further, but his nails dig into the wood of the table instead. 

“Hm, I can’t—” he moans your name, thrusting rougher now. His whole body crumbling in on itself, chasing the feeling of release. 

Then there’s the sound of footsteps and a few voices that follow. Sunghoon sucks in a deep breath, taking a fist to his mouth to bite down onto. He looks at you in fear because of the proximity of the other farmhands right outside. This only makes you smirk around him, a glint of evil in your eyes. He shakes his head hurriedly, stopping his movements—as if that would make you both disappear. 

You push yourself off his cock, licking over your cracked and saliva covered lips. You bring a finger to your lips and shush him. “Be quiet or they’ll find out what a nasty whore you are. Unless you want that.” Your voice is quiet and raspy from the abuse of him fucking himself down your throat. You stare into his eyes intently before taking him back in. He glances from you to the door of the shed, his body shaking. 

You slurp and suck him up, purposely loud and sloppy. A hand jerking off the base that doesn’t quite fit in your mouth. He cries quietly with his mouth open, meek and desperate sounds escape that he can’t withhold. “Please…” He’s whimpering, begging for something that he doesn’t know the context of. 

“Do you think the extra feed is in this one?” A voice questions, the door being opened just a crack. 

Sunghoon quickly tries to bend down for his jeans but you slap his hand away, pushing him back into the table. You grip his thighs and force yourself to take all of him down. You gag around him, eyes never leaving his panicky and fucked out face. His face silently begs for you that enough is enough but you don’t stop, because a part of you knows he doesn’t want you to either. 

“It doesn’t hurt to check, does it?” The other replies with a light chuckle. “Could take a break for some shade too while we’re at it.” The door opens slowly with an agonizing creak, sunlight barely pouring. 

Each passing second feels like an eternity to him. The door is still only cracked, not enough for them to see inside but it’s cutting it close. His cock twitches at the thought of being caught with his dick down the throat of the farmer’s daughter. A blazing adrenaline rushes through him. 

Sunghoon can’t bear it any longer. His hands find purchase on the back of your head, pushing himself completely into your mouth. His hips stutter with a whimper on his lips as the hot cum pours down your throat. “Ah, sh- ngh!” You smack at his legs for him to release the hold, choking for air to breathe. You instinctively swallow around him, consuming his load of sin.  

“You dumbass! The horses are already fed, let’s just go for a water break.” The door slams back on itself to a close. Their footsteps can be heard walking away. 

Sunghoon breathes heavily, letting go of you. His body instantly relaxing back with his elbows on the table to support him. Meanwhile you fall onto your ass, a hand around your throat while you gasp for air through rough coughs. “What the fuck did I say about putting your hands on me?” You rasp before coughing again. The taste of him sits on the back of your tongue no matter how much you swallow. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “we shouldn’t get caught.” He pulls his pants and boxers back up then extends a hand to you, an offering to help you stand back up. 

You scoff, ignoring his hand and stand up on your own. You brush the dirt and stray strands of hay from your knees. “Whatever. We both got what we wanted.” You start to turn for the door to leave the shed with the thought of brushing your teeth in mind. 

Sunghoon, confused as to what you could’ve gotten out of helping him, just reaches for your hand. He grabs you and pulls you back to look at him. His eyes are sad, maybe even a little afraid by your haste to leave. “Y-you’re just going to leave me again?” He sounds broken by the fact. 

“What?” You can’t help but breathe a laugh, “Did you expect me to do more?” You ask with raised brows. 

“No! No, not like that.. But..” He swallows his pride, “I- I don’t know. Just don’t leave yet. Please.” 

You blink at him, scanning his features like a robot in calculation. The pleading of his expression and his words aggravate you. A fiery burning to your insides and the skin that he touches, that he reached for. You look down to his tight grip on your hand before yanking it away. You don’t say anything more, and neither does he. He wipes his eyes from whatever salty wetness is still there. 

A moment of silence solidifies your decision. You beckon him to follow you out and he does. 

For the rest of his work day you remain. You try not to think about why. But subconsciously you know it’s because for the first time someone willingly wants to be by your side. At first you imagine it’s because of what you’ve done for him—gave him what any man desires: pleasure. A man falling into temptation is far too easy. 

Though he doesn’t ask for more and he doesn’t bring it up. Almost like it never happened. 

It seems like he really just wants to be around you. There’s little said between each other. It’s just idle farm work with company. And it’s more peaceful than you expected it to be. He didn’t touch you, question you, or do much at all to bother you in general. 

Sometimes he stares at you, but you do the same to him. He even gives a sheepish smile when he catches you; it doesn’t get returned. That doesn’t bother him though. He thinks you look beautiful on the farm in your dress with dirt covered hands and hair messy from the wind. He hopes to tell you that one day but for now he stays shy, still weary and afraid. 

The sun shines relentlessly unless a cloud mercifully passes by. The breeze is rare yet kind. The animals make their sounds to sing a collective song. The trees and crops sway like waving hands of hellos and goodbyes, depending on where you’re headed to or from. It’s not so bad. 

　Two weeks go by. Time flies by for both you and Sunghoon. He comes to work during the week, and he spends his weekends missing you. He doesn’t know what you two are to each other, and he’s too scared to ask. There’s definitely been changes to the dynamic, however. Subtly so. You still don’t smile, or let him touch you. You roll your eyes and insult him if he’s too emotional. But you’re there. 

Certainly not everyday, but most, you spend his work days with him. It’s easier to be around one another. There can be small talk, usually about the farm or the weather. Still much to be learned about on a personal level, but he’s fine with the pace of the relationship (outside of the unholy acts that are committed). Sometimes you even end up helping him. Or at least he thinks of it that way. In reality you don’t like how he does things and take over to do it yourself. 

You still tease him in your cruel ways. Always ending with him in a mess because he’s easily worked up by your handsy curiosity. He caves into you every time because he can’t fight the divinity that you show him. 

There are other times where you confuse him. You suggest a water break knowing he’d gone hours without hydration under the summer heat. You insist on having him take a break under a roof away from the sun when his skin gets too sweaty or red. Which is followed by a reminder that sunscreen is important if he wishes to keep his milky complexion. It’s critical statements that you provide him, but he can’t help to think it’s a weird way of showing you care. 

Sure, it could be seen as you selfishly saying these things because it’s what you want for yourself, but in the back of his mind he’s very aware of how you watch and cater to him. It makes his heart jump every time and butterflies swarm his stomach. He can’t help it. The little things, the small acts of kindness—that you might not even intend—make him delusionally overthink. 

On the third weekend since starting his summer job, Jake can’t help all the questions he’s been building up and dying to ask. Jake doesn’t understand what Sunghoon has been going through, especially when his moods change so drastically. At first, Sunghoon was self isolating and pouty, clearly in his own head and sulking. But then he would come home from work beaming with an afterglow to his aura. And then on the weekends he was back to his reclusive, depressed state. 

Sick of being left out of Sunghoon’s inner turmoil, Jake finally pesters his friend. 

“When are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Jake stands in the doorway of Sunghoon’s room, staring at his friend who’s laying face down in his bed. 

“I don’t know…” Sunghoon’s words are muffled in his pillow. 

Jake walks in with a sigh and sits at the end of the bed. He playfully slaps Sunghoon’s leg. “Dude, just tell me. You’re obviously going through something. You know I can keep a secret. I won’t judge.” 

Sunghoon rolls over on his back, his hands clasped together over his stomach as he stares up to the ceiling. He confides in Jake, telling his story from the beginning of when he first met you. He stutters over his words when he admits to the sinful acts he partook in with you. He tells Jake of his guilty conscience and how he enjoyed indulging in the feelings. Then he tells Jake about how he simply likes your company even without the sexual circumstances involved. How he’s mystified by your complex personality and only wishes to know you more. However, he does leave out the viciousness of your nature, since a part of him doesn’t quite believe in it. 

“It seems like you’re starting to develop a crush.” Jake laughs lightly, “And if it’s about religion, don’t overthink it too much. Nobody dies completely pure.” He reassures him. “You should show her more of you. That you like her too.” 

Sunghoon groans and covers his face at the terrifying suggestion. If only you were that easy to approach in such a vulnerable way. “I guess… I’ll consider it.” 

The next day is Sunday. Jake and Sunghoon attend church as normal. Sunghoon participates less in his prayers and songs than usual. His mind is too preoccupied with all he has going on in life. He feels guilt and frustration. 

Sunghoon, lost in his own world, fails to realize that his best friend—Jake—battles something similar internally. 

You’re never as alone as you think you are if you take a better look around. Everyone is riddled with their own self disgust, guilt, or shame. How else would the churches be so full? 

　Entering the fourth week of summer should feel easier than it does for Sunghoon. The work seems to be picking up regarding responsibilities. The weather is only becoming less forgivable. The peak is yet to hit, but that only means the seasonal storms are right around the corner. More care is needed in the fields and barns in terms of protection in case of unpredictable weather. 

Aside from the work, Sunghoon is anxious because of you. He hasn’t seen you yet today and he feels nervous about it. Perhaps he has grown too clingy, finding close comfort in knowing you’re there with him on the farm. There’s a sense of safety when you’re in the line of sight; you make things easier for him and he enjoys the presence. 

While he’s watering plants and checking the sprinklings through the fields, an older man approaches him. It’s a familiar face that he’s seen around a few times over the past month. The man waves with a smile and Sunghoon does the same. 

“It’s amazing what you’ve done, boy.” The man begins, Sunghoon questions where he’s going with the start because he’s just an extra hand of help and doesn’t feel he’s accomplished or improved the farm in drastic ways. “I’ve worked here, hm, well I’ll be damned! Nearly 15 years! And I’ve never once seen that farm girl talk to anyone. Much less spend time.” the man chuckles. 

“Oh!” Sunghoon blushes and hopes it’s only mistaken as feverish from the summer. He smiles small and stares down to the bundle of plants he brought with him to the farm today. He feels special knowing this much of you. “She’s something…” 

“Sometimes I’d see her talk to herself and the animals.” The man pulls out a cigarette and lighter to smoke. “She’d walk around aimlessly like a ghost. Used to scare the hell outta me.” As he laughs, smoke escapes his lungs. He wheezes a little before continuing, “But now she follows and watches you like she’s worshipin’. If only she did the same with her daddy. Although with a face like yours, I can’t blame the girl.” 

“Pardon? What do you mean by that?” Sunghoon, bemused, watches the man smoke and laugh between weak coughs. “She has a dad?” His last question is overroad by the man who speaks over him. 

“You keep up your work, kid. I outta get back to mines too.” And then he’s walking away with a low chuckle, shaking his head to himself. 

Sunghoon’s aware of your mother. He always thought it was just the two of you running things. He’s never once seen a man, your father, leave the house or so much so be around it. This gives him more to think about, especially on the fact that he still doesn't know much about you at all. You’re still an enigma to him, but he wants everything. 

By the afternoon when all the guys are finishing up their break, you finally come out of the house. With the sound of the front door opening, Sunghoon is quick to straighten his posture and find your eyes. You’re already looking at him, watching him and his surroundings with no expression. His cheeks burn and he can’t help the smile forming on his lips. 

Two and a half days without seeing you feels like so much longer. 

He stands up from the picnic table, grabbing his newspaper wrapped bundle of greenery and shyly hiding it behind his back. He walks over to you, tripping over his feet as he approaches the porch steps to the house. You stand there in front of the door but at the top of the few stairs, arms crossed and amused. 

He’s diffident, arms behind him and modestly attempting to hide how nervous he feels on the inside. His stomach is doing flips, his heart racing. On top of already sweating. He feels like he could throw up his lunch right in front of your feet. He swallows thickly before slowly bringing his hands out in front of himself. 

“I,” he clears his throat, “ehem, I got these for you.” With outstretched arms, the bundle of flowers shake in his trembling hands. He suddenly feels he’s too nervous to even meet your eyes, so he watches the chipped paint wood of the front porch steps. 

You just stand there, watching him with wide eyes and your heart in your throat. Your mouth is lost for words, glancing around at the few farmhands who haven’t left yet and are staring at Sunghoon’s exchange in a similar bewilderment. Some are trying to keep themselves from bursting out into laughter.

“Are you some kind of stupid?” You whisper harshly for only him to hear, snatching the flowers out of his hands. “Why the hell would you do this?” Your words like your tone are mean, but in your chest there’s a raging pounding. It’s a seething raw emotion that doesn’t know how to be dealt with. You’ve only just stepped out of the house and your body feels like it’s inside a furnace. 

Sunghoon’s head shoots back up to look at you, his face and heart drop. “I-I’ve never had a girlfriend before so I wasn’t sure what to do.. This is what boyfriends do, right?” He takes a hand to scratch at the back of his head. Inner turmoil takes over and he thinks he’s fucked up. He bites at his lip, doing his best not to instantly cry in regret. 

You notice this and sigh, irritated. You look from the neatly wrapped white roses and tulips and back to Sunghoon. “So you are stupid,” you mumble before taking your own bottom lip between your teeth. A part of you wants to sneer, but you spin on your heels to hide the warmth that floods your face in substitution. “I’m throwing them away,” you announce, opening the door and walking back inside your house. 

Sunghoon, broken, just drops his head and turns back. A few of the farmhands are snickering from not too far away, chattering among each other and eyeing Sunghoon. He wishes God would smite him on the spot from the humiliation. 

Wanting to avoid everything for a little while, he thinks of heading to the lodge to lay down in hiding. But before he can walk away, the front door of your house swings open once more. He glances back at you, meeting your eyes like he always seems to do. 

“Done for the day already?” You call over to him, now leaning over the banister of the porch with crossed arms. 

Sunghoon, unable to refute you, offers a weak smile and shakes his head. “No.” 

He walks back over to you and you meet him halfway. You don’t say anything else. You don’t bring up the fact that he had bought you flowers or confused the odd relationship you share for dating. It’s cute in all its blind innocence, but that just goes to show you that you have more work to do with him. 

You don’t think of messing with him today. He’s distinctly grown too clingy with how much time you’ve spent with him. Yet you can’t ignore him either. The two of you carry out the rest of the day’s farm work in silence. The inner fury you feel with him doesn’t seem to go away, despite how he hasn’t said much or even brushed skin with you. 

You don’t know how you’re remaining pacific by his side. The rampaging of your heart strings tug like a screaming instrument just from being next to him. How he can keep walking tall, stare at you when he thinks you aren’t looking, or even smile at you is beyond what you know is capable of humans. Men like him only existed in books and movies. You wonder if he’s perhaps playing a game like you.

By the time he’s in the truck to go back to town to catch a bus into the city, you’re sitting at the lake dock. Criss crossed legs, a bouncing knee, and fingernails being ripped at by your teeth. You stare blankly at the water, hoping for that sense of serenity to encapsulate you. It never seems to come. It just feels cold.

So you decide on punishing him for making you feel this way. 

You don’t leave your house for the next three days. You don’t make yourself known, heard or seen. However, you’re peeking out every window of your house to get any chance of a view of him. You hate yourself for being so curious of him in the first place. What was supposed to be good fun has only left you feeling angry. Taking his innocence was never going to heal you, or even make him like yourself. In fact, it’s making you sicker.

And on the night of the fourth Thursday, you’re laying in bed staring at your ceiling. A stuffed animal is hugged tightly to your chest. You can’t sleep and you can’t stop thinking about someone for the first time in your life. No amount of tossing and turning, counting sheep, or button presses to your distorted singing, stuffed bear made it easier. 

Somehow, you ended up punishing yourself. You always had a knack for that, historically, but this time felt different. It actually kind of hurt. Being alone came naturally to you, but tonight it hits you just how lonely you’ve always been. 

　Friday, the farmhands are huddled on the front porch of your house. All the animals are safely away in their designated homes thanks to their help. It started to storm in a heavy downpour only minutes ago. What started out as a dark gray gloom and windy rain quickly turned into an early flooded property, illuminated by strikes of flashing lightning and roaring thunder. 

You stand dry under the protection of the porch roof by the front door. Watching and listening to your mother suggest the shaking cold, soaked men take shelter in the lodge until the sky lets up so they can head home. 

Sunghoon hasn’t spared a look to you all day, but you know that he feels his eyes on you. It’s in the way he shifts awkwardly amongst the men that ignore him. How his eyes are trained low and unfocused yet always trying to move in your direction. His wet hair falls over his face, concealing his emotions you wish to dissect. He comes off as stoic but you know he wears his heart on his sleeve; how his body language speaks volumes. 

Your mother pushes past you to get back inside, saying she’ll check the basement for a spare heater that the boys could use at the lodge. There’s something in you that makes you move without thinking. Suddenly a hand is tugging at the bottom of Sunghoon’s damp jacket for his attention. The material is too thin for this weather and the thought of him becoming sick crosses your mind. 

“It’s warmer here,” your words, for once, came out soft. Too much so, being lost in the cracking sound of thunder. He looks at you through his bangs. The wave of alleviation from whatever he was dealing with is palpable. His eyes and body almost look relaxed. You tug him towards you once more, insinuating that he follows you. 

He does. Like whatever subconscious emotion made you approach him also made him follow you in. As he steps in, he notices the indistinguishable vibes of the farmer’s lodge. It’s updated and cleaner, but similar in aesthetics. A shotgun sits leaning up against the wall by the front door. His brows furrow and eyes narrow. “Those aren’t safe to have lying around…” he mumbles. 

You tug him towards the staircase to walk up, “It’s protection. Only my mother and I are here,” is mumbled back as you lead him up the wooden, creaking stairs. Your feet move light and quick, like a mouse in a home not theirs. If your mother saw you, there would be unnecessary consequences. And the possibility of your father’s involvement would only worsen such. 

Sunghoon cautiously steps into your bedroom, his body tenses at the sound of you shutting and locking the door. He feels on edge, wrapping his arms around his shivering body and soaked clothes. You move around him to sit on your bed, telling him to remove his sopping attire. He does so with shaking hands, leaving him in nothing but his underwear. He shyly looks around the room while using his hands to cover his manhoon. 

His eyes scan over you, sitting quietly on your bed with a look of contemplation that stares past him. A wooden cross hangs on the wall above your bed, the dark wood matches the decadent bed frame. The nightstand nearby has a pile of books and journals with a low light lamp and unlit candle. 

The large window has sheer white curtains drawn open and a vase on the windowsill. A glass vase filled with the flowers he gave you earlier in the week. His heart aches at the sight of the still healthy white roses and tulips, and a smile graces his lips. You liar! You kept them! Is what runs through his thoughts. 

Without Sunghoon realizing, you got up to grab a towel and drape over the back of his shoulders. He’s taken aback by your ghost-like actions, but offers you a small smile of appreciation. “Thanks…” 

You nod for response and glance from him to the vase of flowers he was lost in thought over. You didn’t have it in to explain yourself, mostly because you didn’t understand why you had done so either. 

He dries himself off and finds a place to sit at the end of your bed. You’re on the other end with your back pressed to the headboard, watching him, counting every mole you can find on his pale canvas. The stuffed animal you sleep with is being mindlessly fumbled around in your hands. 

Sunghoon turns to face you directly, he reaches a hand out, eyes shifting from your face and the winged bear. You shoot him a mean look at first, only holding it closer to yourself before your face softens to slowly extend it out to him. 

He takes it with careful hands and looks down to inspect the old toy. Its cream colored fur is dirtied and matted with age. The holographic satin wings on the back have loose stitching and its halo is crooked. Across the chest of the bear reads ‘Jesus Loves Me’ but it’s obvious the sewn name Jesus has been ripped away at. One paw has a red heart embroidered saying ‘press me’. His thumb brushes over the button heart before pressing down. The bear sings in a distorted happy voice the lullaby of Jesus loves me. 

“His name is Saint Michael,” you say quietly and he almost doesn’t catch it. Sunghoon can only breathe a laugh because he finds the dichotomy cute. You almost laugh too, but bite your tongue and look back to your empty hands. You don’t know it but he can see you try to fight your little smile. To him, this moment means more than anything; he’s starting to see you’re more tender than you realize. It brings him a sense of surety in knowing that he can break you like you to do him. 

Silly as it may seem for a troubled girl, the bear was the only comfort you had throughout childhood. There was no kindness from your father, no solace from your mother, no guide in knowing life or love. But there was Saint Michael, the stuffed angel bear; he may not have defended you in battle but he hugged you back, and that was enough to cherish him like a deity. 

Sunghoon crawls across the bed and sits himself next to you, too close for your liking, but you don’t push him away. He hands the stuffie back to you and you place it on the nightstand to face away from you. You lower yourself in the bed, shuffling under the covers of the blanket and he does the same. His skin naked bare yearns for more warmth, yours specifically. 

You feel him turn on his side next to you, pressing up against you despite there being enough space on the bed. His movements are awkward and nervous like he is. You feel a certain pressure against your thigh that isn’t his bones or limbs. You spare him a glance, he doesn’t know if it’s a warning or dare. 

“...Have I ruined you?” You wonder aloud, looking back to the ceiling. 

“No,” he answers quickly, shaking his head against your shoulder. The way he’s missed you in his desire to touch you, hands tingling with want to snake around your waist and pull you in tight. “I think I just want you all the time now. I can’t help it, m’sorry.” He sounds ashamed in his soft mumbles. 

“I’ll only keep stripping all that purity from you. Once it’s mine it’ll remain mine, you know that right?” You look back at him before brushing some of his drying hair from his eyes. He tries to lean up into the touch but your hand is taken back. “And I will pretend it’s healing all that’s missing from me. Do you really want to be mine, Sunghoon?” Your words are so gentle yet laced with threat. 

“Yes,” he exhales, “I want to be yours. Let me be yours please.” It’s hushed, a secret prayer with hope. His hips push further into the skin of your leg, where the hip meets the thigh. He wouldn’t mind going to Hell if it meant more time with you. 

“You beg like a needy barn animal in heat.” You use a hand to cup his face, he sighs into the hold as he eyes flutter to a close. You push your leg in between his, terribly close to his exposed and vibrating body. “So hump me like one.” 

“W-what?” he stutters out before licking over his lips, his thighs squeezing around the plush of yours now trapped in his. His eyes already wet with desperate want, staring back at yours.

“Do it. Like it’s mating season and you want to claim me before anyone else.” 

A cracked voice whine falls from his lips and he begins to roll his growing bulge against you. You watch as he sucks in breaths between quiet breathy moans. His pink, plump lips pursing and falling open. His eyes try to stay on your face, how close you are to him, but they fall shut sometimes in his basking of rapture. It’s a slutty sight of a faith-sickened boy. 

He loves the little to no proximity that there is. His hands find place on your waist, and he’s aware of how that makes you feel, but he can’t stop it. He wants more and more of you. His hands slide up under your shirt, the feeling on your bare skin in his hands makes his body shudder. Untouched, warm flesh for his large hands to explore and learn every curve of. 

Even you stiffen at his exploration, holding in your breath as if you’ve forgotten how to breathe. Your shirt lifts up more with his hands and the exposure is daunting like you’re revealing your insides. 

The pit of your stomach lights up and you're frozen under his clutch. The pads of his fingers hold you so tight as if he’s scared you’ll disappear. His cock is raging and you can feel every pulse of blood that his heart beat floods to. He’s humping into you desperately, chasing the euphoria that he could never find on his own. Such a delicate, shy boy now driven by lust and longing. 

“You’re pathetic and disgusting. You’re practically fucking me through our clothes,” you murmur while you try to push his hands down off you, but his grip won’t let up. Instead his nails dig further into you, a barely sounding broken noise escapes you from the pain. This makes his body collapse further into you, his head dropping between your shoulder and neck. His movements are sloppy and rushed. 

“N-no, I’m still good. You make me feel good, I am so good,” he whines, tears beginning to fall from his eyes to your shoulder. You try to imagine his holy water is washing you clean but it only singes. 

“Tell me that only I make you feel good, that you’re only good for me.” 

“Only you—can only be you to make me good,” he cries against your warmth, rocking himself into you roughly. His leaking cock begins to twitch against you and his hips won’t quit their stuttered jerks. 

You hum lightly and run a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. He looks up at you with those desperate, wet, dark eyes and you can’t help but acknowledge how pretty he is like this. His puffy cheeks are flushed pink as the tip of his nose. “Only for me,” you mumble.

“Yes, thank you, I am yours. Yes.” His breaths are jagged and heavy. There’s a coiling in his abdomen that feels borderline explosive. You were right, he craves this feeling. It’s surreal to him how he’s gone so long without it. His arms wrap around you completely now, holding you down while his body rolls on top of yours, situated between your legs. His heart hammers against your chest; he wants to mold into you, to become a singular rot. 

You squeak a gasp, being caged down by him. Your heart beats with the same veracity. One of your arms wraps around his waist to hold his back while the other holds the back of his head that hasn’t left the safety of your neck. He continuously sobs through meek moans. His hair tickles your skin like sparks while his lips brush over your jaw and neck making the tingle feel like crackling flames. 

Under his weight you feel yourself slipping in both confidence and dominance, your body wanting to sink down in submission from the unknown comfort of his control. Your heart aches and you feel something you’ve never felt before. You think you’re scared of it, yet your body pulls him closer. Hand in his hair, tugging with fearful aggression. Nails piercing the skin of his shoulder blade. You’re pliant under his heavy thrusts and sounds of sin. 

The rain pours harder outside with whips of harsh winds smacking the window. It’s almost like God’s wrath is screaming to be seen, to shout that He is watching. 

Sunghoon’s hard cock is relentless against your core. The rough grind of him is stimulating in ways   you’ve never felt before, your body sensitive and starving for more. You squeeze your eyes shut and moan within your closed mouth, hating yourself for feeling this way because it was never supposed to be about you. You are betraying yourself more than your fathers.

The sounds you try to withhold make Sunghoon weaker. He feels uncontrollable, only becoming needier and hungrier with his movements, “I can’t stop. I can’t stop.” He whines, begging for you to vocalize how you feel it too. 

You feel like you’re breaking underneath him, and it feels shameful. Like every harsh word your father ever spat at you was true now that you’re a part of the experience and not just the cause. Everything is too much. It takes every ounce of strength you have to turn both of your bodies over. Now sitting up on top of his lap, you can finally breathe again, sighing in relief. He whimpers at the distance between you both but also from the view of you. 

He moans your name softly as he grips your hips, pushing himself up into your clothed pussy like he’s fucking you. Your hands push down on his shoulders. You stare into his eyes with a plain expression and contrasting sharp eyes, grinding your hips back down on top of him. It’s hard to ignore the way it makes you feel, watching him fall apart beneath you as his pulsing cock fucks against you, but you manage. 

“Cum for me,” you demand quietly, “make a mess and imagine it’s inside me.” 

“Holy fu—ngh,” his entire body spasms and shudders with a low groan falling from his open lips. His movements slow down only to become lazier and uncoordinated. You can feel the warm wetness he spills soak through your thin pajama shorts and underwear. 

“You’re right. You are good for me,” you coo softly, cupping his face and using your thumbs to wipe away the tears. Your hips circle and swivel slowly on him until his quivering cock finishes cumming. 

Sunghoon has a sparkle to his wet eyes. The way the gentle praise left your lips makes him melt, and he can’t stop the flickering glance between your eyes and lips. He breathes heavily through his post clarity. Still he basks in your touch with a hopeful look in his eyes. His tongue slides over his lips before he’s leaning up towards your face, hands affixed to your waist to pull you closer to him. 

This makes a wave of panic wash over you, knowing what he wants to do. You shake your head no and pull yourself away, slipping off of his lap only to turn away from him. 

“None of that. It’s not what-” 

And then there’s a press of lips to your cheek. Your face burns as if a hot coal was what kissed your face. Your eyes go wide, turning to see the boy sitting up next to you. He only wears a shy smile as he sees your reaction.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a week now,” he admits with a small laugh. “Not exactly there but that’s fine. I wish you would let me help you feel good too.” he whispers, looking back to the windowsill where the gifted flowers stood in their vase with the raging storm as their backdrop. 

“That’s dumb and I don’t need to,” you reply, still watching him stare forward. Your chest feels painful; it’s an ache like shattered glass trying to piece together in the wrong ways. Stabbing but trying.

“I think you deserve to,” he argues. “But I understand if it’s not what you want. I was really touchy and I shouldn’t have been because you don’t seem like it. I was too caught up in the moment.” His mind goes to the mess he’s still sitting in and he feels self-conscious all over again. “Is it embarrassing how much I need you?”

You blink at him, swallowing the words that were never going to come out because you didn’t even know what they should or would be. So you settle with a simple, “No.”

You think it would kill you to admit how much you actually always wished to be wanted, needed, or loved. A bigger part of you didn’t think you were worthy of it, let alone capable. The world had such a way of saying otherwise. Until it brought Sunghoon to you; the boy who showed you feelings and experiences you never thought possible. 

As if he could read your mind, he asks, “Why did you choose me out of everyone?” He falls back onto the bed, laying down and pulling the blanket over himself. 

“I think you reminded me of a lamb.” 

“Pardon?” His brows furrow. 

You lay back down next to him, facing him like he is to you. “Pretty, white, and docile. You were so nervous when I first saw you—sometimes you still are.” You even laugh a little. “When you shook my hand I knew I could do anything to you because you’d let me.” 

“You think I’m pretty?” He smiles wide, scooting closer to you. 

You scoff with an eye roll, leaning further away from him. “Oh shut up, you’ve seen a mirror.” 

And then it’s his turn to laugh a little. He looks at you like you’re the reason the sun rises and falls. It kind of hurts you to see him like this because it reminds you of your initial rotten intentions and how they’re dissipating the more you’re with him. 

Time passes faster than the two of you realize. There’s light banter and easy conversations. You learn more about Sunghoon. Where he goes to school, what he studies, and who his friends are. He tells you of the sports he used to do and what he does in free time with his best friend. The more you learn about him, the more you understand his naivety and how despite what you’ve done, he won’t change. There’s something lovely about it. 

You don’t have much to share about your life the way he does, at least not in the same light. But you show him your favorite books, drawings you made over the years, and share the stories of movies you found interesting. He savors the moment of you simply confiding, enjoying the more he can know about you. 

The storm passes later in the evening. So caught up in borrowing time, the rain has slowed down to a simple pitter patter. The clouds dispersed and the setting sun only came through to say goodbye to the day. 

The sound of the truck that the farmhands use to take back to town is heard roaring to life, signalling you and Sunghoon that it’s safe and time to head out. 

Sunghoon jumps out of bed but by the time he’s shoving himself into his still damp jeans and looking out the window, the truck is already speeding down the dirt, now mud riddled road. 

“They just left without me,” he breathes out. “I’m used to them leaving me out, but t-this is.. How am I going to get home?” He looks back to you with sad eyes, not the light they had earlier. He’s not shocked by their actions, but he is disappointed. A hand runs through his hair in his stress. 

“Should I kill them?” Your question is brazen, body and voice eerily still in your seriousness. 

“W-what?!” he whispers in shock, freezing for a moment. 

“I’m joking.” You sit up and watch Sunghoon resume getting dressed. “I think you should head back to the lodge for the night. There’s a washer and dryer for your clothes. And spare food for dinner too.” 

Sunghoon nods slightly, “your jokes are weird, but okay.” He looks like he’s thinking of something, taking his bottom lip between his teeth in thought before speaking again. “Can you stay with me for the night at least?” he asks shyly. 

“No,” comes out quicker than you intended. “...But I guess I can walk with you there.” 

He nods again but now with his signature small dimpled smile. You almost forgot about being angry at the other farmhands for taking it away. 

You have to make sure the coast is clear before leaving the house. You tiptoe down the halls and stairs, weary of where your mother is inside the house. To your luck, she’s in her usual state. She’s passed out on the couch with two empty bottles of wine on the floor. The television volume is low, playing a rerun of the reverend’s sermon; the devil himself of your childhood, preaching about how he lost his child to the otherside. 

With a finger to your lips, you silently signal for Sunghoon to be quiet and to follow you out. 

Once safely out of the front door, you take his hand in yours and start running for the lodge. The tall boy is behind you, so you don’t get to see the bright smile on his lips or in his eyes as you run through the light run towards the lodge. 

Now standing in the front doorway of the farmer’s lodge, wet from the sky all over again and still hand in hand, Sunghoon bravely speaks up.

“I don’t like it when you disappear on me,” he breathes out shakily, honestly. “Nobody else sees me like you do,” he squeezes your hand tighter in his, feeling you begin to pull away. “Come with me into the city tomorrow. We can- I’m not sure yet, but I’m sure I want more time with you.” 

His eye contact is unwavering, begging. Both of his strong hands hold onto yours. You glance from your hand then back to his pleading expression. He will always remain so sweet, no matter what you do to him. 

“I felt less lonely before I met you,” you confess, eyes unblinking as you stare up at him for a long pause. “I’ll meet you here in the morning.” 

In only seconds, he’s pulling you into a hug. His arms wrap around you so tightly as he holds you to his chest. You go stiff in his arms, forgetting how to breathe for a moment. What feels suffocating at first turns into a warmth you’ve become all too familiar with, and it was never anger. The indignation you always wear is just a hand me down from your parents; it doesn’t fit you right even though it’s comfortable. 

With a shaky exhale, you wrap your arms around him too. The hug surrounds you like a blanket of unknown comfort. Your ear pressed to his chest listens to the sound of his racing heart. You can feel the pound throughout his entire body too. Every emotion held within is trying and fighting to be seen. It’s still so cold from the rain but he feels contrast, only warm. His lips press a kiss to the top of your head, making your body burn even more and your hold all the tighter. 

　True to your word, you meet Sunghoon at the farmer’s lodge the next morning. He seems happier than usual. Very giddy to be spending a weekend day with you without work in the way. No distractions or excuses to leave. Just the two of you and a new day with zero obligations.

Because you had a spare bike, you both are able to peddle towards town to the bus stop together. Having made these frequent trips alone, you’re familiar with the owner of the gas station at the stop. He’s a deaf older man, and it surprises Sunghoon that you know how to sign and ask him to hold onto the bikes until you’re back. You tell Sunghoon that you learned some basics from reading a book you bought a long time ago. 

Stunned, Sunghoon realizes that you went out of your way to do so for one man who watches your bike while you endure solo trips. You, the odd girl who was mean and sinful, used your money and learned a language for one man who did a simple favor. He’s learning more to admire you for by the day, and it’s crazy to him how you don’t see your own charm. 

Sunghoon pays your bus fares even though you insisted on being capable of doing so yourself. Sat in the middle of the bus that’s only barely half filled, he asks if there’s anything you’d like to do for the day while in the city. Nobody has ever asked you such an effortless thing, and you like it more than you imagined. Just uncomplicated curiosity of your wishes. 

“The book store. The small yellow one on main street. Maybe see a movie if anything is worth seeing.” You shrug, spewing out the usual things you do. Looking around the taken bus seats, you notice some familiar faces. 

“That sounds nice,” he smiles, “our first real date! I think there’s a cafe near that book store too. Do you like coffee?” 

Your cheeks burn as you stare at him in bewilderment, “you think we’re going on a date?!” 

“Of course we are,” he laughs like it’s obvious and wraps an arm around your shoulder, looking out of the window. All that the town can offer him other than you passes by. “I’m a fan of americanos. You seem like you’d take your coffee black.” 

“I don’t even like coffee,” you mumble, turning your attention out of the window as well. “Tea is nice though.” You add in, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Hm. I can see that too,” he hums as he pulls you closer into his side. 

So much can change in such little time. You’ve experienced this many times in one life. How one day can open a new door to a path otherwise not taken. Showing Sunghoon more of you has made him bloom into a larger ray of light. He seems more comfortable, and now you’ve become the awkward one. 

The ride to the city doesn’t normally take this long, or at least you don’t think it does. Every second with him by your side makes the experience feel brand new. The theme of time being unreal is common with him, you’ve discovered. It’s when you’re in the bookstore and see a holiday sale that you realize it’s not even June anymore. 

While Sunghoon looks for books for his upcoming college semester, you find yourself in genre sections you never really cared for before. The dark and racy ones were fun to bring home, sure. But innocent, cliche romance was always something cringey to you. Now if you change your perspective to that of research then it’s less daunting, right? Perhaps you’d make sense of all the things you’re discovering about yourself and him. Yeah, that’s convincing enough. 

He teases you at the checkout counter when he sees what you picked out. Your face flushes in embarrassment and you can’t even bite back at him or defend your choices. So you smack him with the book on the way out while he laughs and makes jokes that aren’t very funny. 

The two of you do manage to catch a movie. You honestly didn’t care to see one, but having to sit silently in a theater for at least an hour and half seemed like enough time for him to, hopefully, forget and drop the whole book situation. It’s a summer slasher film. A group of teens go camping and the plot is very ‘who done it’ style. Overall, it’s a fun choice. You have your turn to laugh and joke when Sunghoon gets jumpy or scared. 

After the movie, you both end up at the cafe Sunghoon mentioned while on the bus. There was something painfully intimate about everything today. But especially sitting down to eat with him. Not even your mother could meet you at the table anymore. 

“You seem softer today,” Sunghoon states, setting his half-drunk coffee down. “Almost nervous. Is it because we’re out together for our first date? Or just the people in general?” 

You raise a brow at his brazen curiosity and observation. “Maybe you’re rubbing off on me,” you play with your fork to move around the barely touched food in front of you. “Or maybe it’s a bit of both.” 

“If you come to the city enough to know sign language for the man who watches your bike, do you like it better than the countryside?” 

“Don’t know. I’m used to the quiet life, but leaving it behind and pretending it’s not there is nice too.” 

“What keeps you there?” 

“The scenery. The air. The lake. Being friends with the animals.” You look up from the plate to Sunghoon who is watching you like a lecture: attentive and learning. “I’m not very good with people, so I think it suits me alright.” 

“You’re good with me though,” he argues softly.

“No, not really. I wish I was more like everyone else,” you inhale deeply as your eyes wander around the bustling cafe. There’s a choir of laughter, conversations, and social dynamics you would have to study to master. “If I were a good person, everything would be easier.” 

“...but I like you as you are,” he mumbles loud enough for you to hear, watching you shift in your seat. He doesn’t think you’re not a good person, and it hurts that you see yourself as such. 

As Sunghoon speaks, there’s a chime that follows as the front door of the cafe is swung open. A disheveled man stumbles inside, heavy feet stomping the tile floor to attempt to stabilize his disorientation. The man burps obnoxiously loud, and many eyes find him with the grand entrance. 

He scratches at his lengthy, unkept beard as he looks around. When his sunken eyes find you sitting at the table nearby his eyes grow wide and his mouth falls open. His hand shakes with a pointed finger in your direction, “y-you! The girl from the reverend’s sermon!” He’s loud, capturing the attention of everyone now. His sloppy movements make way towards you and Sunghoon; you feel everything within you freeze, and your heart knocks at your chest fast and hard with anxiety.  

He slams his hands on the table, causing your plates and drinks to rattle. He reeks badly of alcohol and his crazed eyes never leave yours. You swallow thickly, fight or flight mode still trying to understand the situation before you. Meanwhile Sunghoon, worried and confused, slowly begins to stand up and grab your bags. 

But you, you’re frozen staring at the messy man who talks of your greatest hate. Your hands tremble on the table. 

“I thought the reverend made you up for stories, but my God! You’re the real living thing just like the pictures; his only sin,” he laughs boisterously in your face and you try not to gag. “I saw him a little whiles earlier, ya know,” his voice goes quieter, it’s taunting even. You wish to remain calm but your eyes tremble and a frown takes your face. “I should go find him and tell him you’re here. He really-”

Sunghoon takes your hand, practically dragging you away from the table. You almost fall from your seat, like a baby deer just learning to walk, there’s little strength to your legs. 

“It’s not too late! You can be on the right side of things!” his voice ricochets off the walls of the now quiet cafe. “If I can be saved by his preaching, so can you! Look at me!” His mad laughter follows you and Sunghoon outside. 

Sunghoon watches you stand on uneasy feet, zoned out staring at the sidewalk. It didn’t take much to put the pieces together that the drunken man was talking about your father. Your father being a reverend who’s not in the picture gave him much to wonder about, but now isn’t the time. He just wanted to get you somewhere away from this memory. 

He crouches down in front of you. You slowly blink back to reality, now looking down at his back. You don’t want to speak so you poke his shoulder in questioning.

“Hop on. Let’s go somewhere else.”

“What if I’m heavy?” you look at the bags he’s already holding, feeling that you too are a burdened weight he doesn’t need to hold. 

“I’ve got good muscles, remember? Good for farm work,” he’s patient and calm with you while his eyes watch the man from outside the glass cafe windows. “Come on, baby.”

Without thinking, you end up on his back. He carries you on his back, strong arms holding your legs while yours are loosely around his neck. Your insides are a flared up hurricane but at least that allows your body to forget the empty ache you left at the cafe. With your chin hooked over his shoulder, you watch the many people and downtown stores that pass by.

Sunghoon doesn’t exactly know where he’s walking, but thinks it’s best to end the day here and return you to the bus stop. He’s never seen that look on your face before—the one you had when the man was loud in your face. He didn’t like it, and he’s sure you hated it. You looked intimidated, or afraid. 

“Would you kill him for me?” you watch the side of his face, “the reverend, I mean.” 

He stops in his tracks and turns his head to look back at you, “w-what? I can’t kill someone… and you should joke like that.” he panics, looking around to see if someone was listening to the wild conversation and request.

“Yeah, I know. I’m fucking with you,” you look away to hide your smirk, “and only half joking.”

“Did you believe him before?” He starts walking again, but this time at a slower pace knowing the bus stop isn’t too far now. 

“Who? My dad or Our Father?” There’s a use of air quotes at the end of your question. 

“Both?” his head tilts. 

“Neither,” you confirm. There’s a pause for thought and Sunghoon waits for you to further explain. “My relationship with both is too similar. They’ve both known me my whole life, right? Seen all of my wrong doings and in return shown wrath through unnecessary punishments called forgiveness. In what good world is tolerance violent?”

“What do you mean? What did he do?”

“Sometimes, after my mother set the table for dinner, he would knock my plate to the floor. Tell me to eat off the ground like the animal I was or starve.” Sunghoon frowns at this, coming to a slow stop when he sees the bus shelter bench. “Sometimes I had days and nights locked in the barns, but he switched it up to the basement when I was too close with the animals.” You laugh a little, but he senses the pain behind it. “I watched him kill the animals, too, only to smother me in their blood. Beatings were rare, but I think only because he despised the thought of even touching me.”

Sunghoon slowly sets you down to the ground and breathes out your name safely, taking your hands into his. He looks at you with sorrow, like he was the one who endured it with you. 

“God’s orders, am I right? My father, the church goers, speak of God like they’ve seen his face and heard his voice, but they haven’t. I would’ve by now too.” 

If He was really in everything, all around, why did He always turn a blind eye? Why does He pretend to not know you? It only made it harder to believe in—something that would bring you here, torture you then watch you suffer for not living how it pleases. God wants to be believed in, but so do you. Only you would never beg for compassion. 

Sunghoon squeezes your hands in his, “I don’t think you should stay there. You never deserved that… even if you’re volatile and strange… because you’re also kind and caring. It’s why I like you. It’s their fault for not seeing that,” he reassures. “I haven’t been through what you have, and I can’t understand. I-I mean I can try to, ya know… it’s not like I’d leave if I didn’t.” His words begin to stumble nervously, not confident in its sympathy reaching you where needed.

You laugh nervously, trying to tug your hands away from his grip that doesn’t let up. “Okay sure whatever, this is really embarrassing now…” You swallow hard and find difficulty in meeting his eyes. 

That’s all that matters, what he said to you, but you didn’t have it in you to say it. He already knows it though, smiling small and holding your hands still. Without words or excessive displays he can still see it in your eyes, the subtle comfort of acceptance. 

He could never blame you for your nature. He sees your anger as you just trying to be strong all while being sad. Whether you are his lover or executioner, he would accept you as you are every time with open arms, receiving hands. Even more readily, now.

　Even more time has passed since knowing Sunghoon. Summer has never flown by so fast. The calendar doesn’t exist to you anymore. It’s only the days you see him and the days that you don’t. The season will be wrapping up in the next few weeks, but only for him. He has to return to his regular scheduled routine of pursuing education while you will stay here, on the farm. It’s rare for you to feel this emotion: fear. You are scared of losing him. And the concept is something you do your best to avoid thinking about because it makes your skin itch with anxiety. It crawls over you like something that needs to be cut out. 

And then an idea hits you. Something far more deep-seated than everything else you’ve done with Sunghoon that would solidify that this summer is real and yours. Something that will always stay; a reminder that good things are possible despite how the world has made you. 

It’s a damn near perfect day. The sun is so bright, and only peers down onto you both through the gaps of the trees. It’s just warm enough. Just quiet enough aside from the sound of Sunghoon’s gentle breathing and natural composition of the nature that surrounds. Rustling of leaves, chirps of birds, and scurrying of whatever life that wishes to not be seen. 

You both sit criss cross at the wooden dock by the lake, simply enjoying the scenery and all it has to offer. His large knee is affixed to yours. If this was early June, you would have moved away. But now it’s a week into August and you wouldn’t have it anywhere else. Just like you always imagined, and secretly wanted, the view is nicer with someone else. 

He didn’t bother asking why you never brought him here before, or why it is that you chose to now. He’s just happy that you decided to at all. 

You slip a hand into your boot and pull out a pocket knife. You flick it open and do a brief inspection of the cleaned blade. The sun glints off the metal as you turn it. 

“Sunghoon, do you trust me?” 

His eyes flicker from your blank face to the blade. He nods slowly with a swallow, “of course.” There’s a subtle apprehension to him. You hand him the small blade and leave your palm facing up, open to him. 

“Cut a diagonal line down my hand,” you point and draw a line down the middle of your palm. 

“Huh, seriously?” he takes the blade confused and concerned with what you’re asking of him. “Why? I can’t hurt you.”

“Do it. Don’t think of it as hurting me, but still do it deep enough to leave a scar.” 

He struggles to understand the situation, but you’re so serious and clearly waiting for him to do as you asked. He exhales deeply, taking your hand in his while the other holds the knife just above the bared skin. Hesitant and slow, the tip of the knife pressed down into your flesh. You wince a little, which makes him pause. You nod, encouraging him to continue and he does despite hating the act. He slices the palm of your hand open just as you wanted. You hate blood, but it’s not so bad when caused by him.

“Shit, it stings,” you swallow through the pain. The feel of open flesh burning and stinging. “Your turn,” you exhale while taking the knife back with your free, unharmed hand. 

“My turn,” he agrees as if all logic has left him and readily displays his palm to you. Deep down, he feels guilty for hurting you, so to make it even he wants to feel the same.

Just as hesitant and careful, you create a matching wound in his hand. A deep enough, bleeding, lesion in his left hand to match  your right one. He cringes at the sight and the pain before looking back to your face. Your expression is so soft yet attentive, almost awestruck. 

“Even when you hurt me you’re gentle,” he remarks, watching you in amazement with a meek smile. 

“I am not gentle. I have sullied you,” you remind him, your eyes attempt to glare but they’re too bright in his. 

“In the softest way, why?” His voice is delicate and still like the lake that sits before you. You blink slowly at him because there are no words to be found. He continues, “I never thought of you as a bad person,” he pauses as you drop the red stained knife, unsure if he should continue at first but does regardless. “And, uhm, I’ve thought a lot about this summer. What I've learned from you. Purity is constructive—like something made to bring shame.” You don’t move, watching him. “I don’t have to be clean to be good…and your hands never made me dirty. Because they never were either.” 

Like an excavator to your tall, strong built walls Sunghoon has knocked your shield down. The facade of your character is breaking down, crumbling into the broken pieces that made it. A single tear escapes your eye and runs down your cheek. It’s rare for you to cry and you’re disgusted with the reality as to why it’s now that you break. Simply falling apart from kind words. 

You try to use everything in you to ignore the heat in your body, to show the anger you think you’re feeling inside. So your eyes remain sharp and strong, boring into his, as they still water. You swallow the dry lump in your throat and without a word, you take his hand into yours to join in a mix of blood. 

At first, you had one goal; one similar to murder. The sparkle he had in his eyes, you wanted to eat—to make them empty—and see the world ugly and godless like you. Yet somehow, somewhere along the way, his eyes shone even brighter. You only wanted to take and take of the innocent boy, but in this moment you realize, maybe I just wanted to give him some of me. 

You wipe the wet drop away from your face with haste, pretending as if it was never there. Whatever blood oath you’re making with Sunghoon allows you to feel something indescribable. You don’t know if it’s deserved, but you smile anyways. Because the indescribable feeling feels like it’s an unknown, unspoken promise. 

He’s seen you smile before with insidious malice, but this time, for the first time, you are really smiling. It’s a raw expression of surfacing emotions, and he returns the emotion like the sun. He thought of you beautiful before but with your brightness finally peering through your clouds, he believes you to be heaven sent. A part of him always wanted to see you cry—usually it was him with tears in his eyes; which is funny, because he wasn’t much of a cryer himself. You just had that way of breaking him down. He knows now he does for you too. And he can tell that you’re probably the type of person who needs to cry the most. 

His hand squeezes yours tighter, a grip so loving, as you bind in one. Neither of your eyes or smiles leave each other until the bleeding stops. 

　A week later, Sunghoon asks you on a date. The summer fair is in town. It’s something like a festival where all the locals from towns around the city come to visit and join in on festivities from carnival games, rides, food, and uncommon entertainments. You think of being mean, denying him the acceptance of the date, but you have always wanted to go. So you said yes without your words: took his scarred hand in yours and nodded. 

The evening sky is a watercolor of warm tones as the sun begins to lay down for the night. The bright lights of the fair illuminate the large open field turned carnival. There’s a sea of people here tonight, and although it makes you nervous inside, having Sunghoon by your side makes the ordeal easier to handle. 

The line for the ticket booth is lengthy but it passes by. You approach the booth, standing a little behind Sunghoon who takes out his wallet to buy your entrance wristband passes and tickets. You look around at the many people: families, friends, and couples, all immersed in their own experience as the music and sounds blend in the background of conversations. 

“Oh wow! You’re really handsome,” the girl at the ticket booth gawks at Sunghoon. She straightens her posture and fixes her hair from her face, “one ticke-?”

Catching this, you step forward and snatch Sunghoon’s wallet from his hands, “he already knows that. Do your job or I’ll feed you to pigs.” You slap the cash amount for what you need down onto the table top with a straight face and mean eyes. 

Her eyes go wide and she hushes an apology, quickly giving you both wristbands and tickets for the evening. She even threw in extra tickets as you stared her down. 

Sunghoon watches you with a flushed face, even the tips of his ears burn red at your jealous threat. You both walk off into the fair, a sheepish smile on his face as he leads you through the crowd with an arm wrapped around your back and hand to your waist. 

“Was that one of your jokes too?” he grins down at you.

“Nope,” you glance at him with a small smile. You weren’t sure what came over you in the moment, but it was something internally deep, and territorial. An innate reaction to someone trying to appeal to something that belongs to you. It felt ugly and you didn’t like it. 

The idea that he could possibly be taken from you was a phenomenon you’ve thought of for a while now. Knowing he has an existing life outside you, outside of this summer, that he would return you made you sick. You’re far from perfect, or the right thing for him, and he could find a safer option if he ever pleased. Pushing the thoughts away is harder than you imagine, so you cling to his side even more. 

You and Sunghoon use up your spare tickets for carnival games. You toss rings around bottles, shoot water guns into the mouth of a clown frame, and throw darts at balloons. The both of you aren’t very skilled at any of the games, but it's fun enough to enjoy the time without winning a prize to show for it. 

Eventually, Sunghoon does find frustration within the ‘rigged’ set up of the games. He even pulls out his wallet for cash when the tickets are gone. You’re surprised at how competitive he is; his determined nature is something that stirs your insides around. You don’t know if you’ve ever smiled so much in your life. 

After 3 rounds of throwing a ball to knock over a moving target, he does manage to win. Going 3 for 3 and not missing a single shot. The excitement you feel when he succeeds takes over and you’re proud, doing little jumps in place and clapping your hands together. 

“You did it! You won!” you exclaim, hugging onto his side. 

He can only smile down at your joyfulness. A fire burns in his heart and he hugs you back, kissing your forehead. “All for you. Which prize do you want?” 

“It’s yours, you should pick it,” you blush, elbowing his side with a shy smile while your eyes keep looking up to the stuffed white lamb with a lace ribbon around its neck and a cushion gold bell adoring the throat. 

Of course, that’s the prize he ends up choosing. It might not be Saint Michael the stuffed bear, but it’s something far happier, cleaner, and softer. 

The stuffed animal never leaves your hold throughout the rest of the evening. It rides the many rides you and Sunghoon do. And sits at the picnic table with you both as you share fair snacks. Popcorn and cotton candy was never so sweet for either of you. Like contentment melting on your tongues. 

Cliche as ever, Sunghoon wants to end the night there with a round on the ferris wheel. The line moves quickly and when it’s your turn to step into the carriage, he takes your hand and sits you down the seat next to him. 

It moves slowly and rocks back and forth with shaky movements that have you gripping the side handles. With an arm around your shoulder, he holds you close to him. The array of flickering colorful lights and people below you feels almost magical. 

Taking your eyes from the heightened difference between you and the ground, you look back to the boy beside you who is already looking at you. The reflection of rainbow luminescence glistens in his eyes. It’s even prettier than the view from the top of the little world you’re in. You give him a shy smile, finding it impossible to look away. 

He says your name in a whisper, taking your chin between your fingers. “Thank you for choosing to let me in.” 

Confused and wide eyed, you watch him lean into your face. You gasp when his lips meet yours before returning the notion. With eyes closed, you melt into his kiss. It’s sweet as all the things you’ve experienced today because of him. 

It’s also as clumsy and messy as a kiss can be for two people who’ve never done so before. However, human nature and desire take over and ease the rest for you both. Lips move over another in a gentle waltz, careful and slow. 

And as if the situation couldn’t get anymore cliche, fireworks light up the sky. At first you thought it was just your imagination and all the books you’ve read flooding your consciousness, but the booming sounds and cheers of the crowd are too loud to not be real. 

You pull away from him first, and he’s already wearing a shit eating grin so wide that you can’t help but roll your eyes, fighting the urge to smile back at him. Your face burns in both embarrassment and adrenaline from the kiss. 

After that, you don’t leave the city like you should. The bus takes you both back downtown but neither you or Sunghoon feel it’s time for goodbye. So, for the first time, he takes you back to his apartment. You’ve never been to anybody else's home before, and it’s nerve wracking to say the least. The complex is large and somewhat modern, housing many of the second and third year private college students.

When you step inside, it’s quite plain but at least clean. You’re immediately greeted by a boy shorter than Sunghoon. He has a big mouth smile and shining dark eyes. His hair is shaggy but it suits him. He’s practically bouncing on his toes. You shift yourself behind Sunghoon and hold onto his shirt, hiding slightly from the excited puppy-like roommate. 

“How did it go? Oh, and nice to finally meet you,” he rambles out quickly, “I’m Jake. The best friend and roommate. I’ve heard a lot about you.” He shoots Sunghoon a wink before grinning back at you. He extends a hand for you to shake but you don’t reach out. Something about his eyes doesn’t sit right with you. 

“She’s shy,” Sunghoon laughs a little as he guides you past Jake and towards his room. “It was fun though. I recommend going before it’s gone.”

“Ah, you got yourself a nice little angel, huh?” Jake leans over the kitchen island, watching you both. His smile falters. “I’ll have one of my own some day.” For some reason, you think of him as a secret pervert.

Sunghoon laughs his comment off and tells Jake goodnight before showing you to his room. His room is neat and as simple as a college boy’s room can be. A bed, desk, dresser, closet, and bathroom. One poster of a musician you’ve never listened to and a window with unopened blinds. 

You sit yourself at the end of his bed and he sits down next to you. There’s some awkward silence as you look around, unsure of what you’re supposed to do. He feels similarly to your internal dilemma. 

“I-I’ve never had-”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off. Of course he’s never had a girl over. And of course you’ve never been over to a boys house. 

“Are you tired?” he asks, and you lie by nodding your head. So you both get ready for bed. He gives you a shirt to borrow for bed that change into in his bathroom while he changes into sweats and a t-shirt in his room. 

In minutes you’re both laying in his bed under the covers and staring up at his ceiling in the dark room. Not a word is said as you both lay there wide awake and untouching. But you know he’s wanting to by the way his body is shifting and turning, inching closer with every minute movement. 

And before you know it, although expected, his body is nestled closely to yours. His arms wrap around you, pulling you into an embrace. For the most part, he usually does keep his space. Knowing how you are when it comes to physical touch that feels too sudden or invading. But with barriers breaking down more over time, he thinks you’re learning to handle the comfort better. 

“I thought you were tired?” he mumbles, head on your shoulder. His hands trace up and down your arms that are wrapped around yourself like a guard. 

“I lied,” you whisper. Your eyes can’t look at him yet, so they remain aimless to the ceiling. Some moonlight slips through his cracked window blinds, giving you enough view of the spinning ceiling fan. 

“I had fun today. Mostly because you did. I like seeing you happy,” he smiles after kissing your shoulder that’s exposed in the neckline of his shirt too big for you. “And… I liked when you kissed me back,” his voice is quiet and shy-like. 

“Do you want to do it again?” Your eyes shift to him and you can barely see the warm flush to his cheeks. He’s cute. 

Taken aback at first, he just blinks at you with a parted mouth. Then he nods his head slowly, licking over his lips. 

You turn over onto your side to face him and his hands don’t leave your waist. Unsure of what to do with your own, you wrap them around his neck. Good thing they sit behind him and it’s dark in the room because it would kill you for him to notice the slight tremor in your fingers. 

With a scarily racing heart and stiff, trembling body you surge forward to kiss him. His lips are quick to capture yours. Soft and pillow-like, they mold into yours in waves. What starts off as clumsy and unskilled turns into hunger. Something desperate and needy. His grip feels bruising to your hips but in a nice way. In a way you want it to hurt more. 

His nails digging further into your flesh to keep you impossibly close make your lips gasp, or maybe it’s the lack of air, or just both. And instinctively his tongue is licking its way past your lips and into your mouth. He kisses you like he’s starved for it. His wet tongue drags over yours, and your teeth, then as far as it can inside of you. He whimpers, pressing his already hard cock to you as he licks and kisses you open. 

Your stomach has never burned this way before, and you feel the hot sensation all over then down to your core that aches like it’s hungry too. You feel disgusted by yourself but can’t fight the hum you make as you devour him right back. You’re getting wetter every second he’s in your mouth. 

This time, he pulls away first. Panting for air and staring at you with glazed over dark eyes. He licks over his wet lips again, savoring the taste of you on himself. He bites down onto it and a part of you wishes it was you he sunk his teeth in. 

“Can I do what I did last time?” he breathes out, his hips involuntarily jerking up against you at the thought alone. 

While trying to act like you’re not catching your breath too, you say quietly, “do whatever you want.” 

He kisses you again but with more desperation. You try to do the same but you can feel your heart and your head preparing for battle. The way he’s feeling you up and grinding himself on you is in no way unwanted, and that’s part of the reason you’re struggling to maintain presence. 

It’s so much happening so quickly, but you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t imagine this happening eventually. Sex was inevitable. The way his body yearns to be one with yours makes you feel special almost. He’s already engraved into you but in his mind he has to be inside of you and it hurts so badly how you think the same. 

But is the last thing that keeps him pure really yours to take? You’ve stripped so much away from him for all the wrong reasons before and now it feels strange. You are no good and that’s all he is. 

The only thing keeping you here, in the moment, is him. His exploratory and gentle yet rough hands, his body grinding into you, his lips that can’t leave yours or your skin for even a second, and the weak wanting sounds that leave them. 

“I need more, please. I want- I need to feel good with you. Please,” he’s whining into your ear. Then pressing kisses along your jaw and neck that are all so tender, slow, and deliberate. Large hands caress you like you’re breakable, as if not already just a body of fragmented pieces made whole and called a person. 

Your still shaking hand reaches down between your two bodies and slips past his sweats. He had the nerve to go commando and you wish you could tease him, but you can’t. You’re lucky you’re even here right now and breathing his air. Your hand wraps around his aching length and gives him a few tugs to which he’s quick to moan. He kicks off his sweatpants while you bring him closer to you. The plush of your thighs trap him; he whimpers against the soft heat of your flesh. 

Your hips grind up into him once, showing him what he should do too. He’s slow to start, rocking himself between your thighs. Slutty and hopeless sounds leave him in a string of his want. His leaking hard cock is so close to your core. Only the thin layer of your underwear keeps him from feeling your clear need for him too. 

Wrapped in each other's arms, you bury your head to his shoulder. You can feel the pulse of his aching desire rubbing and grinding against you. It makes you shiver in sensitivity and cower further into his neck. You don’t bite down onto your lip, but his neck. There’s a sting to your eyes because you hate it—the wet warmth that pools out of you. Your sin sticks to your underwear and your skin like the red raining life of all the animals you made leave the earth; your haunting subconscious correlates with your growing pleasure. 

You know you’re not religious yet every time Sunghoon touches you there’s a divinity to it and it makes your hands want to join in prayer to thank the universe for sending someone like him to you. Because his hands roam your body as if they have in every world; as if there is not one timeline where you have not been made for him. Like you were carved from his rib every time. 

Your body smolders in that angry way it always did whenever Sunghoon got too close to you. Whenever his words were too kind, his touch too gentle, or god forbid when he just smiled at you. That fire is just the divine nature of your relationship, lighting up everywhere he touches and leaving flames in the wake. You thought it was your body rejecting his purity, but you were only denying the likeness. He made you feel good. And in the most ironic way possible. You just didn’t think you deserved it. 

Yet an anguished moan leaves you, rumbling against his skin as you bite down harder. Regardless of it all, he is yours right now. 

The feeling of your sinking teeth in him, the sounds you’re now making, and the damp heat between your legs he can’t stop chasing all makes his head spin. He bites down onto you just the same and it only makes you moan louder. 

“Please,” he’s whining again through the bite. His voice a needy tremble while his hips stutter and thrust between your legs that only squeeze tighter together. The way the fat of your legs hug his raging cock through his desperate grinds makes him chase more and more for that feeling he just can’t seem to reach. The crying tip kisses and pushes up then past your leaking folds every time. It drives you both insane. 

If your body is the fiery lake of creation's deepest pit, then he is the cleanest ocean of earth’s highest point. If anyone could extinguish you, and possibly make you feel whole, it was Sunghoon. 

This is the most horrifying reality you’ve come face to face with. Not just intimacy, but a stronger driving emotion. You have to open yourself, rip open your chest and bare your beating heart in all its naked vulnerability. Let it scream out I like being with you. You have allowed this person into your world that nobody else has dared to step foot in. To see you in such ugly ways yet still extend their arms for you. It’s a terrifying level of closeness that you’ve never once experienced and you don’t know what to do with. You’re beyond perplexed by what he’s done to you, in both terror and awe.  

You pull back from Sunghoon and he pauses everything for a moment to look at you, noticing your wet eyes. Before he can ask what’s wrong you reach down and slip off your underwear. You shift your body and maneuver him as best you can until he’s on top of you. Rattled with concealed embarrassment you remove his shirt and toss it somewhere to the floor, and he does the same. 

You take a deep breath and reach back down to his cock, lining it up with your pussy. You blink and swallow away all the things trying to stop you from allowing yourself him. Pliant beneath him, you grab his shoulders and pull him down to you for a quick kiss. Foreheads now pressed together with lips ghosting over the others, you tell him, “I hate you.” 

Sunghoon only smiles down at you before kissing you once more. With his arms caged around you, he slowly pushes himself forward. The fat tip of his cock fails to go through you, only sliding up and past the wet folds. He whines feeling the warm slick coat the head; his entire body shudders. He nearly cums from that alone. 

He looks at you confused, and nod once while trying to shift your hips around for a better angle. It’s not like you to be so quiet during things like this. It only tells him that for once, you’re nervous about new things the way he was. 

So he tries again, this time a little rougher. He thrusts his hips forward, the tip pushing past the tight walls but still barely in. You whimper at the intrusion and the feeling of you being stretched open. Your hands squeeze hold onto his biceps for purchase. 

The tight sensation of your pussy squeezing his tip feels otherworldly to him. He can’t help but need to sink deeper into you. His cock pushes in further at an agonizing pace until he’s as deep as he can possibly go. His arms shake while he tries to maintain his strength and keep himself from collapsing onto you completely. The wet walls that surround him flutter and try to pull him further inside, making him feel lightheaded. His moans are so needy it’s almost like he’s crying from the feeling. 

“Oh, f-fuck!” you whimper. Having Sunghoon completely inside of you feels so full. You’re stuffed with him and it hurts so good. “You gotta move, Hoon. Feels like you’re splitting me open.”

“You're so tight, mm.” His hips stutter from your words alone and he whimpers again. He pulls himself out halfway while your gummy walls kiss around him in an attempt to suck him back to be filled again. He begins to rock himself in and out of you. It’s inexperienced and awkward, but he gets the hang of it quickly. Doing what feels best for him and what seems to be the best for you too. 

“I hate you. I fucking hate you,” you whisper harshly, looking up at him with tear filled eyes. It all burns while feeling like heaven. Never have you been so full, held so gently, or seen than this summer. You bite back the breaking moans and whimpers. You claw at his skin. You even begin to cry when your hips can’t stop chasing his thrusts. 

“I love you too,” he whispers back. A kiss is pressed to your forehead as his cock pistons you. Sunghoon is smart enough to know you’re a liar. Your mean words that used to hurt him, he now understands. You’re not really a bad person. And you don’t hate him. You were just really damaged and if he’s damned for trying to heal that then he’s fine with that too. 

“I mean it,” your body shudders, feeling his tip pound so far and deep in places inside you that you didn’t know reachable. His fat cock drags out and forces through your tight hole, making you cream all over him more and more. The sounds that leave your body, the sounds your bodies are making, it’s so obscene. Fighting off the disgust and focusing on how he makes you feel is war. It’s so hard for you to win. 

“No you don’t,” he shifts himself to sit on his knees, taking your legs and wrapping them around his waist. He leans forward and kisses both of your cheeks before fucking himself into you again, only harder and faster than before. 

“Ngh,” you moan again through broken sobs, blinking away the tears as you stare up at him. “I’m t-trying to.” 

“I know, baby.” he mumbles before capturing your wobbling lips into a searing kiss. “It’s okay, haah, don’t cry. You’re good. You’re so good for me,” he says against your wet lips. You can only sniffle and try to turn your head away from him in your embarrassment. “No, no.” he takes your chin with his thumb and finger, forcing you to look back at him. His thrusts never letting up during his care. “Look at me. You’re so good to me.” He reminds you over and over. “We’re so good together. I’m yours. you’re mine.” 

“Say it again,” you sniffle through little sounds of sin. Your hand finds a place on his cheek, and your thumb rubs over his lips that wear a smile. 

“You’re so good, good for me. We are so good together. I am yours. And you are mine,” he says softly. His eyes are so filled with love, and if you could see your reflection in his then you would know yours are too. “Say you’re good, baby, it’s okay.”

“I’m good,” you sob through your whimpers, “I’m yours.”

To Sunghoon, the idea of sex was always sacred. Something that’s only done and shared between lovers bound by marriage of the church. But now, he thinks differently. He knows that there is no shame in him loving you now or years later. And he was more than happy to make love to you all night until you believed it too. 

　Perhaps there was a thing such as divine intervention and if God’s timing was alway right, he knew how to be evil with it too. Because the next day, when Sunghoon takes you home, he’s met with your maker. 

Your mother, aware of the frequent trips you’ve been making and how close you’ve grown to the summer farmhand boy, is quick to make a call to your father the night you don’t return home. It wasn’t necessarily because she cared for your well being. You’re more than capable of handling yourself. But it was an excuse to try and get him to come back. Only it doesn’t go how she wanted.

When you see the reverend’s car parked in front of your house, your heart drops. Sunghoon picks up on your tension, He sees how you go blank at the sight and slowly turn back into the empty girl he met months ago. He tries to hold your hand but your fingers can’t move, can’t return the embrace. 

When the reverend walks out of the house with his infamous weapon of sacrificial forgiveness, you know what to do. Your body moves on its own, leaving Sunghoon to reach out for you that walks towards the woods. He goes to follow you and the desolate man that stalks behind, but your mother stops him. She’s hysterical as she drags him towards your house saying, “it’s going to be okay.” But she’s crying. 

Once out of their sight, the reverend takes you by the hair. He yanks your head around, pulling you towards that cursed tree. He’s uncharacteristically rough and your scalp screams for a release but you don’t show it. You don’t even look at the man. Not even when he’s tossing your body to the ground. 

“So you’re whoring around with my employees now, huh? Was ruining this farm not enough for you?” His words mean nothing to you. You dust off the dirt and go to stand again, but he kicks you back down. You tsk under your breath as he speaks again, “I’ve seen all the things you’ve done. Seen you leave my barns with red hands and smile. Cut heads off chickens like an anatomy project. Is he next? That church boy?” 

Now you look up to glare at him. Seeing the reverend was aggravating enough, but to say something about Sunghoon was infuriating to you. “I am not a killer. You are! And those animals were already dead.” You spit at his black leather church shoes. 

“Oh, you disgusting little devient,” he laughs lowly, untying the rope from the tree. “Your cruelty shouldn’t bring you joy. Sick and twisted, I should’ve dealt with you sooner regardless of what your drunk bitch mother protested. I can save the boy when you’re gone.” 

“What?” you shuffle backwards from him, angry and confused as he stalks closer to you until you’re backed against the tree. “All those things I did was because of you. Your righteousness made me rotten!” Your hands shake, gripping at the dirt ground for anything to make the fear stop. You glance up to the empty tree branch then the rope in his hands. Where is the lamb? You think briefly before it hits you. “You’re crazy,” you whisper, “I will not be your martyr… not now what I’m finally-”

“Condemn me to Hell for all I care,” he crouches down in front of you, “This is the last time I’ll be a killer.” He throws the rope to your lap and tells you to tether yourself. 

“Why do you hate me?” The words scratch at your throat. When you were younger, you did want the reverend to hate you. It was when he noticed you most, and it’s all you really knew. But now you’re older, and his disdain never made sense. 

You can’t bring yourself to move even if you wanted to. Was this His plan? To allow you one good thing in life before ending it? Was ruining Sunghoon your final sin? 

The rope shakes with your fingers as you stare down at it. The twine of the rope burns over the palm of your hand where Sunghoon carved his promise. Your throat feels dry, tight and suffocating; choking on everything you’ve ever done. And your eyes still puffy from the night before well with tears all over again. 

“I just do,” he thinks of slicing your neck open right there. So fuck tying you down, you were always secretly another lamb anyways. He raises his knife and the metal sits cold under your chin as he lifts your head up to look back at him. 

“Okay…” you swallow. 

Your eyes squeeze shut and so does your mouth, as you raise your head to the sky with an exposed throat. Why isn’t this easy? Unlike the animals, you do know what’s coming. And it’s scary. Scary not because of death, but because you aren’t ready. You haven’t told Sunghoon goodbye or that you love him back. And the thought of him finding something in this world to hate, is such an ugly feeling to die with. 

And then there’s a loud noise. A booming bang, followed by unsteady feet falling back and the ground rumbling with a thud. 

You open your eyes and your father is on his back clutching his abdomen. He coughs and gasps before raising his hand. It’s dripping in deep red. And you can’t help but smile with tears in your eyes as you exhale a jagged breath.

You turn your head and Sunghoon stands there with the shotgun in hand, open mouthed and wide eyed. 

“Sunghoon!” you scramble to your feet and run over to him, taking the gun from his hands as he’s frozen in shock. 

“H-he was going to- he was about to hurt you. I had to-!” he stutters, his eyes already crying and hands shaking, still feeling the weight and recoil of the gun. 

“It’s okay,” you coo softly. “Just- go back to the house and I’ll be right there, okay?” You rush out. Still in shock and dazed, he blindly trusts you and does as you say. 

When he’s no longer close by, you walk over to the reverend with a blank face. You stare down at him as he tries to crawl away, dirty and bleeding. The smile you make doesn’t reach your eyes. 

You point the gun back down at him, and place your foot over the shot wound Sunghoon created. The man gasps and tries to swat at your leg but you only press the gun further into his face, making him surrender. 

“Divine intervention, huh? Say it with me now. I know no punishment, only mercy.” Your voice is quiet, calm, and mocking of his tone. With the barrel to his forehead, you watch him writhe in pain and cough up a little blood. 

“Go to Hell,” he spits his words like venom. 

“If you say it, I’ll let you live. But if you show your face to me or Sunghoon again, I’ll shoot you right between the eyes.” Your foot presses down harder. You can feel that angry little girl inside of you jumping with joy.. Knowing his God demands to be bled for, and making him know the sacrificial suffering, well it feels good to say the least. “Say it. With me. Now.” Each word pronounced with the growing applied pressure to his shot wound. And then he begs for forgiveness. He’s never seen you smile the way you did when he was below you with those words. Empty eyes were never so alive for him either. He cries and chants ‘I know no punishment, only mercy’ over and over. It was like the most beautiful hymn.

　There wasn’t much to be said about that day. Sunghoon and you just pretend you shared a nightmare. Neither of you talked about it. It was just another thing that tied you together. 

Sitting there in the peak of summer’s heat. A day before Sunghoon returns to college classes. Birds chirp. The leaves of the tall trees thistle in the light breezes that pass by. Sunghoon sits criss crossed and while you have your feet hanging off the edge of the dock, kicking in the water. 

“I’m sorry,” you break the silence. Shocked, he looks over to you. He never would have expected you to apologize for anything. “I was selfish when I approached you. I wanted to take all that goodness out of you and keep it for myself. I thought I wanted to hurt you, but after sharing all this time with you, I realized I was wrong. It’s weird to say it out loud,” you laugh small, awkward, “but I really am sorry. I love you more than even I know.” You stare down to your feet in the water that has gone still. A tear falls from your eye, and down to your cheek. 

“I know. I love you too,” he wraps an arm around your waist. “But now the same sins bind us.” You hiccup silently and turn to look up at him. “Harvest all of my purity, farmer’s daughter.” 

For the first time, you really laugh. It’s bright and loud like the big smile he’s seeing for the first time on his favorite face. It’s morning sunlight that whispers through trees to kiss the forest floor. Birds that sing songs of hope to awake life into a new day. Nostalgic, expansive days of childhood where the concept of time doesn’t exist. To him, you look like the epitome of summer; he doesn’t want this season to end. 

You were never the lamb. Or the wolf. Not an animal at all. Nothing like the ones you grew up with. You were just a girl, scared and alone. But not anymore. Because it’s your last day on this farm, and tomorrow is the first with only Sunghoon. 

“Your humor is poetry.” you continue to laugh until tears prick your eyes all over again. You love it. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be funny.” he looks away shyly, blushing. It only makes your giggle more, but you stop to press a kiss to his cheek. He blushes harder. 

“I’ll keep doing it, harvesting all of your purity, for as long as you’re good.” you say with a smile. 

“Do you promise? I am always good, especially with you, so it could be a long while.” He bumps your shoulder playfully with a laugh. 

You take his scarred hand in yours and you laugh like he did, pure and true, “I do.”

© fangel ┊ do not copy, repost, modify or translate my content ໒꒱ tysm for reading, ⌗unlearn shame ⌇ taglist @tinycatharsis @simjaexy @leehsngs @511rkive @beomluvrr @jjongsaengzz @slvtella @jaerisdiction @kkamismom12 @rayofsunshineeee @nshmrarki @m3wkledreamy @hanjisbeloved @filmnings @stercul1a @hooniesfvngs @moriwori @sleepyhoon

[cherrygirlfriend]

fragile fawn reader seeing rafe at the beach of their encounter?

chance meetings

rafe sees fragile fawn reader at the beach while he’s out with his friends. hi!! since they met on the side of the road i did decide to just make it a random beach 😭 but i hope you don’t mind !!

rafe’s eyes were covered by a pair of black ray-bans despite the fact that the sun was already setting, the sky a color of pinkish orange as he pulled his car up on the beach, music coming from his stereos until rafe killed the engine and climbed out.

several of his friends got out of their own cars, the noise of chatter starting to fill the formerly quiet beach. the girl he’d been seeing that month, madison or madeleine, or something along those lines, wrapped her arm around his waist, and he lazily draped his tanned arm over her shoulder as they started to make their way to where their friends were.

bass-heavy music was blaring from the speaker topper had brought and rafe grabbed a beer from the cooler, opening it up via hand and ditching the bottle cap somewhere in the sand, taking a large chug. mad-something was babbling into his ear about something that rafe really couldn’t give a shit about.

“what’s good?” topper exclaimed, a wide grin on his face as they bro-hugged, before topper snaked his arm around the girl he had brought along with him.

“rafeyy, can you put sunscreen on my back?” the girl rafe brought asked, sticking her bottom lip out in a pout that she probably thought was cute but one that seemed to grind his gears, a wide grin on topper’s face. “sure.” rafe mumbled in response, but his eyes instead drifted to the water, the sight of an eerily familiar girl standing knee-deep in the water, the hem of her long floral-patterned dress floating on the surface causing him to furrow his brows in confusion, the figure staring up at the sky.

“it’s the weird-ass bird girl.” topper snorted and took a swig out of his beer. “bird girl?” rafe asked, feigning disinterest by doing the same as his friend had done, “yeah. jen saw her playing with some bird the other day and talking to herself. heard she’s a few sandwiches short of a picnic.”

“she’s a total nutcase.” madeline(?) said with a roll of her eyes, “heard she’s been in the loony bin a few times. doesn’t have any friends around here ‘cause everyone steers clear of her creepy ass.”

“i heard she was in a cult.” topper’s girl whispered conspiratorially and let out an irritating giggle as he watched you plunge into the water, “doesn’t matter. she’s irrelevant.”

rafe let out a noncommittal hum, yet as the night went on… the boy couldn’t help his eyes from straying to you. even as the sky turned a dark shade of blue, as his friends slowly started leaving the beach… rafe just kept looking over at you, sitting on a bench near the shore, your hair and dress half-dry as you simply watched the waves lap against the rocks.

“hey, i gotta head out.” rafe mumbled, chucking the half-empty bottle of beer onto the sand, “top, you mind giving… mad-whatever a ride home?”

“i got you, man.” topper shrugged, and rafe didn’t think the boy even heard him, but he didn’t really care. based on how the girl had draped her arms around some random dude’s neck, he was sure she’d find a way home.

rafe walked over to the bench where you were sitting at, holding a hand out, “come on.” you looked up at him with furrowed brows, your gaze going from his eyes down to his hand, “why?”

“you’re not supposed to get rides from strangers. we’re not strangers anymore. therefore i can give you a ride. now c’mon, before my hand goes sore.” after another moment of hesitation, you took rafe’s hand and he pulled you up to your feet.

you hummed softly as you gazed out of the window of rafe’s car, unaware of the fact that the boy driving was glancing at you every other second, until he placed something on your lap. you looked at the grey sweatshirt rafe just handed to you, before turning to him with a questioning look.

“put it on before you freeze to death.” rafe grumbled, and you did what he said, not even noticing that you’d put it on backwards.

“it seems like every time i see you, you just keep giving me clothes.” you observed, the sleeves of rafe’s shirt slightly too long for you. “you’re a strange guy.”

“that’s cause you don’t wear enough clothes.” rafe mumbled. “why do people call you bird girl?”

“i don’t know. people here don’t really talk to me that much.” you shrugged, “but it could be because i took home a raven that injured its wing a few days ago and i’m helping her out.”

“are you some kind of a hippie? all these midnight walks, going to swim in your fuckin’ clothes, savin’ animals… i don’t get your weird ass.”

“says the person who keeps borrowing a stranger his clothes.” you shrugged, “i’m just… me.”

“okay, then. real talk; were you in a cult?” rafe asked as he pulled up in front of the house that he somehow already knew the way to from muscle memory. “cause that’s what people are sayin’.”

“it was more of a commune.” you hummed quietly, but before rafe could say anything else, you pressed a quick kiss on his cheek, “thank you for the ride.” stunned, he watched as you climbed out of his car and rushed to your front door. why the hell did you just kiss his cheek?

and why the hell did he like it so much?

ty 4 reading! feel free to send requests & check out my masterlist! ₊˚⊹

[nastybuckybarnes]

Coal - One

Pairing: Alpha!Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Omega!Reader

Summary: ...Snapping the folder closed, he tosses it back to Price and rises to his feet. "Since you're just the messenger, you can tell them to send the pup back where it came from."...

Warnings: A/b/o dynamics, military inaccuracies, language, sexual themes, smut, injuries, lowkey mean!simon, kinda strangers to simons a hater to lovers?

Word Count: 3.4K

A/N: Y'all really thought i would be involved in the COD waters and NOT do something a/b/o??? y'all thought wrong. Im such a hoe for this shit but enjoy cause i have another a/b/o idea for cod? idk maaaan

A/N2: I literally have like 12 different things written and ready for posting idk why i dont post them. i think im scared of you guys 😣 but im gonna try to post at least once a week until i start getting through my inventory........

~*~

"Thank you for joining me on such short notice," The Captain says, pushing open the door to one of the interview rooms.

The Lieutenant steps in a moment after him, ducking slightly through the doorway, but says nothing.

The Captain sits down first, then motions for the other man to sit across from him.

Ever the good soldier, Ghost obeys, taking a stiff seat while his eyes flicker around the otherwise empty room.

"What's goin' on?" He finally asks, tugging his gaze from the mirror behind Price and focusing on him instead.

The older man heaves a sigh and tosses a thick folder across the table. It thuds lowly upon impact and slides over to Ghost, and the man only stares at it blankly.

"This is done. There's nothing you can say or do that will change this."

Running near a mile a minute, he wracks his brain trying to figure out what's going on as he slowly flips open the folder.

Confusion settles on his shoulders when he finds the contents sealed in a plastic bag.

Eyes flickering up to his Captain, he pauses.

Only after Price gives an encouraging nod does he open the bag, and when he does he wishes he hadn't.

His eyes roll back and a shudder tears down his back.

"What is this?" He grits out, yanking the shirt out of the bag and crumpling it up in his hand as the scent slowly fills his nose through the fabric of his balaclava.

It smells earthy, homey. Sweet and warm like baking with the cool fog of morning dew.

"This is your Omega."

"Try again."

Price sighs, "don't make this any harder than it already is. It's above my head, Lieutenant. These aren't my orders, I'm just the messenger."

Ghost is quiet for a long moment, then he quickly flips the folder open and starts scanning over the words on the page.

There's a picture of a pretty Omega with warm, happy eyes.

Looking past that, he reads her name, nationality, presentation age. He eats up every word, stopping only when he gets to the part about her upbringing.

The Omega they've so kindly gifted is from a Military Omega Shelter.

The shelters are more of a ghost story than he is.

Snapping the folder closed, he tosses it back to Price and rises to his feet.

"Since you're just the messenger, you can tell them to send the pup back where it came from."

He leaves the room, and the walls tremble with the force of the door closing.

Price heaves out a heavy sigh and turns to look at the mirror over his shoulder.

On the other side of the glass, Laswell watches you carefully.

She keeps her senses on high alert for every breath, every tiny change in your scent.

Your eyes, however, are locked on where the angry Alpha was just standing.

You'd been told stories of why Omegas needed to see Alphas in their natural habitat before submitting to a mate. Something about the primitive nature taking over and kicking the Omega into fight or flight when seeing an unknown Alpha for the first time. You were never a big believer in that, you'd openly scoffed at it.

But now? Now you couldn't be more grateful the Shelter enforced it before sending you off.

If you'd had to meet this Lieutenant Riley in person without seeing him from a distance first, you're sure the weight of his glare would've killed you.

The silence hangs so heavily between you and Chief Laswell that a trill starts to ring in your ears.

"That wasn't too bad," she finally says.

Your eyes find your fingertips as your brows draw together.

That wasn't too bad?

If that's 'not too bad' you're positive you don't want to know what 'bad' is.

His harsh words echo in your head and your frown deepens.

A chuckle leaves her lips at the look on your face, and she watches as Captain Price slowly rises to his feet and leaves the room.

"I wasn't sure what they would've told you about this assignment," she confesses, leaning back in her chair with a sigh.

She slides over a folder that bears a striking resemblance to the one that Captain Price gave the Lieutenant.

"They told me I would find out when I got here," you answer quietly, eyeing the folder.

That's not entirely true.

You knew you would be coming here to be mated. That here you would service an Alpha or perhaps a pack.

Everyone in the Shelter knew.

The only time girls leave the Shelter is when an Alpha needs an outlet, a rut bunny to quell his raging animalistic needs. And there's no shortage of those particular Alphas in the military.

On the off-chance an Omega isn't chosen, she stays with the Shelter and goes on to teach the next generation.

You weren't one of those lucky ones.

"By now, everyone who knew you has been led to believe that you died in the helicopter that brought you here. Your funeral will be in two weeks. Empty casket."

Her words shock you so deeply that, for a split second, you bring your gaze to hers.

"The rest of your life will be, from this moment on, highly classified. To be shared with none but those in your pack, with the exception of given doctors and myself. All your medical needs will be met through our facilities, and anything you require will be provided. Do you understand?"

Her voice rings with such authority that all the suppressants in the world can't hide the fact that she's an Alpha.

"Yes."

She gives one firm nod of her head, then flips the folder open for you.

There, on the first page, is a generic photo icon in place of where your new mate's face should be.

"Lieutenant Riley is a private man, required by his profession. If he wants you to see him, you'll see him."

You skim your eyes over the page, breathing steadily to keep your scent even and hide the apprehension growing in your belly.

The document is more redacted than not, and it's a mere two pages long.

Sitting up straighter and casting your eyes down to the floor, you nod your understanding.

Laswell rises and motions for you to do the same.

Like the good Omega you are, you obey, following her as she opens the door to the hallway.

"He won't be on board with this. He'll likely refuse. Vehemently. You must understand that it has nothing to do with you as an individual and everything to do with the situation at hand. No Alpha will admit they need help, fewer still will accept it. Even when it's wrapped wonderfully in a gift like you."

Her words ease some of your nerves, her compliment warming your tummy for the briefest of moments.

Your inner Omega yearns for more approval from this Alpha, hell, from any Alpha, really.

The Shelter gave just the right amount of Alpha exposure to cause a deep craving for their approval.

Surely one of the reasons you were chosen for this particular one.

"You are here to help him in ways he may not even understand. Be patient and know that you're doing what's necessary. You're helping him."

The warmth in your tummy spreads to your chest and you can't help the smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth.

That smile vanishes, however, when Laswell turns down a long hallway with only one door at the end. In front of the door is the very man in question.

His eyes bore into yours and you quickly drop your gaze, heart racing in your chest.

Laswell doesn't falter. She continues down the hall with you at her side, and Simon straightens up and starts walking.

"Lieutenant," She greets, pausing her stride.

"Laswell."

He walks right on by the two of you without sparing either of you a glance.

The sound of his voice so close, the deep rumbling growl of it around that one word has your scent permeating the air.

Risking a glance over your shoulder, you catch sight of him as he turns the corner, his glare focused on you.

You suck in a shuddering breath at the menacing look and snap your head back forward, biting on your bottom lip to stop it from quivering.

"I put your bags in here already. I didn't think he'd be that attuned to your scent so soon," She confesses.

The two of you come to a stop outside of the door that must be for your quarters.

"This is a biometric locking system. Right now, you and I are the only ones with access. Once you've been claimed and welcomed into the pack, your pack mates will also be given access with the permission of your Alpha."

You say nothing, only nod your understanding as she unlocks the door.

Respecting the boundary of the threshold, she takes a half-step back to give you enough space to enter.

Slowly, you step into the room, glancing around quickly before flicking on the light.

Though far better and larger than your room at the Shelter, it's still very sterile and military.

There's a bed to the right, with a nightstand on either side. At the foot of the bed is a stack of extra pillows and blankets.

On the opposite wall is a small desk with four folders placed neatly on it. Your bags occupy the space on the floor beside the desk.

To the left are two doors. One that likely leads to a closet and another to a bathroom.

Your inner Omega recoils at the stale stench of the air.

"You'll be okay here for the night?" Chief Laswell asks after a moment.

"Yes." Is your automatic reply. You don't know why she's asking, you both know that you don't have a choice.

She nods, watching from her spot outside the door as you step further into the room.

"The first week or two I won't mind if you ask me for anything you need, but I would like to see you get more comfortable with your Alpha and with the other members of your pack."

You nod your understanding, walking toward the desk and inspecting the other contents.

"Once you get used to them, the team's not so bad. I think you'll get along well with the Sergeants."

Your brows furrow for a moment, but before you can say another word the door closes between the two of you with a soft click and the 'whir' of the lock.

At least no one else can come in.

Slowly, you make your way around the perimeter of the room, taking your time and breathing heavily to cover the area in your scent.

Once you've successfully scented the room, the bathroom, and the closet, you take a careful seat on the corner of the bed and let the silence envelope you.

Ever since the Shelter took you in, you knew that your life would be some variation of this. But you never thought it would be so... alien.

It's almost like you're watching someone else live your life.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you stand up and make your way back over to the desk, flipping open the folders.

Each one has a plastic bag inside, and information on your new pack.

Lieutenant Riley's folder is as bare as the one Laswell slid over to you, however the plastic bag is what really piques your interest.

Carefully, you pull it open, a soft purr leaving you as his scent fills your nose.

He smells wonderful. Like the earth after a rainstorm. The smoke wafting from a dying fire through fresh morning fog. Like destruction and the peace that follows.

After another long, deep breath, you seal the bag once more and hug it close to your chest.

Your mind wanders back to when he found out about you. The anger that filled him, the way he shuddered when he smelled your scent.

Chief Laswell's words ring in your ears as you start to worry.

It's not you. You're not the problem. He's angry at the situation.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you set the bag down and flip open the next folder, shivering when you see another plastic bag, and a photo of Captain Price.

The whole team must be here. A tiny piece of them given to you, to allow yourself to get familiar with them even in their absence.

You're more than sure that Lieutenant Riley didn't willingly provide anything. The others, though? You're a little bit more hopeful.

You open the plastic bag a crack and give it a gentle sniff, another purr of satisfaction rumbling softly in your chest.

The Captain smells more woodsy, with a spicy undertone. Like an old, warmly lit cabin in the middle of the forest, in the heart of the winter.

You keep the bag held up to your nose as you read over what little information there is.

The document is redacted, but still gives you far more information than the Lieutenant's.

Sealing the bag, you move on to the next folder, cocking your head to the side and letting your eyes flutter closed as you open the bag.

This one is fresh and citrusy, like linen hanging to dry in the sun beside an orange tree.

Sergeant Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick.

A Beta.

You had expected the pack to consist of all Alphas.

Truly, you expected the Military to only employ Alphas.

Your eyes scan over the words quickly, greedily devouring all that you can about this Beta as you take deep breaths of his scent.

This is good news. Great news, even.

Sealing and setting down his bag, you move on to the last one.

Your eyes widen when you read the name and presentation.

Another Beta.

Who goes by Soap?

This one smells like the loveliest combination of lemon, jasmine, and sandalwood. Like a Sunday reset, a freshly clean house, and a lover at your hip.

After reading through Sergeant MacTavish's file you set his bag down and take a few steps back, so far, in fact, that you hit your legs on the edge of the bed and stumble back.

Falling onto your back, you take a few breaths and try to clear your head.

Your eyelashes lightly kiss your cheeks as you let your eyes fall closed, basking in the lingering embrace of your new packs scents.

You bask in it so much that you fall asleep right there on your back.

It's hours later that you're awoken by a soft knock on your door.

Pushing to your feet, you take a moment to sniff the air, recognizing the scent from one of the many folders on your desk.

Slowly, you open the door, a little surprised to see the Captain standing in front of you.

"Evenin'," he greets, smiling gently at you.

You bow your head in acknowledgement, refusing to let your eyes stray to his.

"I'm Captain John Price. I... I figured you know that already, but I thought it best to come introduce myself properly."

His scent is so much stronger like this, like a brick wall of woodsy spice that makes you feel cozy and warm.

He must feel you relaxing, your scent easing to something a bit softer, because his shoulders relax and his scent wafts more freely.

"They're serving dinner, if you'd care to join us?"

His words confuse you, but the way he asks confuses you more.

He's your pack leader. He barks orders and the rest of you follow them.

So why is he asking if you want to go with him?

They didn't go over this at the Shelter.

Instead of verbalizing any of your confusion, you just give him a soft nod and take a step out of your room.

The door shuts and locks behind you automatically, something that eases your nerves.

Captain Price leads the way, and you follow closely behind him, anxiety prickling your palms at all the new faces you pass.

Every single person stops to watch as you walk by, their gazes heavy with judgement, intrigue, and some other things that you'd rather not put a name to.

Finally, after what feels like hours of walking in silence, Captain Price pushes open the door to the mess, leading you toward a table in the far corner where two men have already taken a seat.

"Here, have a seat with the boys while I get you some food."

You obey instantly, taking a seat across from the two Beta's as the Captain turns and leaves.

There's a moment of tense silence between the three of you before one of the two men across from you finally speaks.

"S'nice to finally meet the reason why the Lt's been busting his knuckles for the past four hours," The Scottish one says.

You look up as he speaks, your eyes meeting his.

"This is Gaz, and I'm Soap. Or Kyle and Johnny. Or, your favourite pack members. We're not picky with what you call us, really," he continues, smiling cheekily at you.

Something about him has you feeling immediately at ease, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"How are you adjusting so far?" The other one, Gaz, asks.

You glance around the mess for a moment before bringing your gaze back to him.

"It's... a lot. But I'm sure I'll get used to it quickly."

He nods his understanding, his own eyes drifting over your shoulder to where his Pack Leader is getting you food.

Providing for Omega.

The two Betas would be lying if they said it didn't make them feel good to see you already getting taken care of.

Simon's standpoint on the pack needing an Omega (him needing an Omega) is firm. The rest of the pack, however, don't share his disdain.

Soap couldn't be more elated!

A plaything! A toy! A woman with soft hips and a gentle smile. This is exactly what they've been missing, Simon's just too stubborn to see that yet.

That's fine. Even though your mate isn't too keen on making you feel like part of the pack, Soap's dead set on making you feel included.

"Well, anything you need you let us know, yeah? We want you to be happy here," Gaz says.

You nod your gratitude, dropping your eyes when you feel Captain Price return.

He sets a tray of food down in front of you, then another beside you for himself.

"Now, don't feel pressured to eat everything here. I wanted to get you a bit of everything."

"Thank you," you murmur softly.

Price clenches his jaw to stop the shiver that so desperately wants to roll down his spine at the sound of your soft sweet voice.

Conversation picks up between the three men after that. Each contributing their part between bites of food.

You pick at the food on your plate, taking nibbles here and there, but your attention stays focused everywhere but your food.

How could you focus on something like eating when you have a new life to explore? A new pack to learn?

That last part isn't as hard as you had thought it would be.

As they eat and chat, you're able to put together the mosaic that is their pack. Your pack, now.

Captain Price is an Alpha, the lead Alpha, and he leads his pack. He bears the weight of their safety on his shoulders and back, and you're included in that.

Soap has a naturally charming and calming energy about him, as if all the issues in the world couldn't wipe the smile off of his face. More than once has he made a sly remark that has your brows raising and a giggle falling from your lips.

And Gaz is a healthy mix of humour and tender level-headedness that really does make you feel like he may understand what you're going through. And if he doesn't fully understand it, then he certainly can empathize with it.

"All finished there, little one?"

You're snapped out of your thoughts by Captain Price's low voice, and you turn your head toward him, nodding your answer.

He nods along with you then rises, taking the tray from in front of you.

"Well, little one," Soap teases playfully once the Captain is out of earshot, "how about a tour?"

[sweetdispatch]

8 pieces with panda cotta, honey, and marshmallows

Laundry - L. Hughes

v' bakery pairing: Luke Hughes x fem!reader summary: A bet with your friend helped you to admit your feelings to Luke but he doesn't know about it warning: none

You’ve met Luke in university and something clicked between you two. You couldn’t stop thinking about him and how great he is. You wanted him as someone else rather than just a friend but you weren’t sure if he feels the same. He never showed you that you two might have a chance as a couple. 

But Luke was just shy. He really liked you and didn’t want to scare you by throwing himself at you. He thought that it’s too fresh to even think about being a couple, that's why he was waiting for the proper moment. 3 months went by and he still treated you as a friend. You felt heartbroken and your friend could tell that this situation is bugging you. 

“Just ask him” Your friend told you.

“What the hell am I supposed to ask him?” You looked at her. 

“Ask him out. I don’t know, take him to a diner and just tell him how you feel” She shrugged. 

“I can’t. I don’t want to look desperate” You sighed and threw yourself on a bed. 

“Okay, let’s do it your way. I bet that you two will end up together after dinner. I’ll do your laundry for the rest of the semester if i’m right” She said knowing that this is the only way to motivate you. 

“And what if you’re wrong?” You asked her. 

“You’ll be doing my laundry” She smiled at you and you laughed. 

“Deal” You shook her hand and texted Luke to ask him to go with you to the diner. 

Your friend was right. When you admitted your feelings to Luke, he told you exactly the same thing. You two became a couple after the dinner and nothing could be better. He was your rock and you were his biggest supporter. Something that was scary for him at first, was an incredible experience. 

With every day, you two had been stronger than ever. Even when Luke left to play in New Jersey, both of you could feel the love radiating. After his season was finished, you were having your finals and that’s why, he decided to visit you in your dorm instead of going back home. He knocked on your door and your friend opened them. 

“Luke, hi” She hugged him. 

“Is Y/N there?” Luke asked her. 

“She’s in the library but you can wait for her here because I’m leaving. Also your welcome” She said and left the room. 

Luke was confused about what she meant by that. He was thinking about it all the time he was in your dorm. After an hour, the door opened and you spotted him sitting on your bed. You threw your bag on the floor and jumped into his arms. 

“I missed you” You kissed his cheek. 

“I missed you too. I didn’t know you’re now studying in the library” Luke joked. 

“I had to go there. My friend was arguing with her parents over the phone and I couldn’t focus so I went there” You told him while still hugging him. “I’m so happy to see you here” 

“Can I ask you a question?” You nodded your head. “What did your friend mean by saying your welcome to me?” 

You froze in his arms. You completely forgot to tell him that she was the one who made the stupid bet to motivate you to ask him out and tell you about your feelings. You knew you had to tell him the truth but you didn’t want to ruin your relationship. You sat down on the bed next to him and took a deep breath. 

“Remember the night when we became a couple?” You asked him carefully. 

“Of course. How could I forget?” Luke told you. 

“It was kinda a bet with her” You said and Luke looked at you surprised. “But listen, I had feelings for you but I was too scared to tell you about them so she made a bet with me to tell you this. She knew that this will motivate me to finally admit the truth to you” 

“So if not her bet, we would still be only friends?” Luke asked you. 

“Probably” You told him quietly. 

“Well I’m gonna thank her personally” Luke stood up ready to do it. “That was the best thing she ever did” 

“I don’t even know where she is. This can wait till tomorrow” You told him shocked that he’s not mad about it. “Everything is fine between us? Because I know how this looks and I will completely understand if you’re mad at me” You said and looked at your hands. 

“Look at me” You didn’t react so Luke gently placed his hand under your chin. “I’m not mad. I couldn’t be mad at you, especially if this helped us to be together” Luke placed a kiss on your forehead and you smiled. 

“If you want, we can go to the store and buy her something for being the wingman” You proposed and Luke nodded his head. He grabbed your hand and both of you went out to pick flowers and candies for your friend as a thank you. 

[internetdaddy98]

The Long Shift 

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist]

Pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!SeniorResident!Reader Summary: Dr. Robby and Y/N attempt to return to normalcy, but neither of them can stop thinking about each other. They try to keep their distance, but stolen moments betray their restraint. Word Count: 1.5 K Content Warning: 18+ MDNI, Explicit Content, Explicit Language, Unresolved tension, Medical procedures, will most likely be medically inaccurate at times, unresolved tension.

The days after felt like an aftermath.

She’d slipped out of his apartment before dawn, her clothes quietly tugged on in the living room while he lay half-awake in bed, painfully aware of the absence beside him. The air still smelled like her, like the soft press of skin and sweat and sex and shampoo, and when he exhaled, it clung to his lungs like smoke.

She left behind a note, curled in his coat pocket, a single word: Sorry, early shift <3

Two days later, you were all business.

No one would have guessed that he'd had his hands between your legs two days ago, whispering things into your mouth that made you gasp and claw at his shoulders like he was the only thing tethering you to the world.

But he knew.

He watched you from across the trauma bay, tracking the path of your lips as you spoke to a family. Noticed how your hands trembled slightly when you passed him a chart. You didn't flinch when your brushed shoulders in the hallway, but you did go quiet, eyes downcast, breath a little too shallow.

You were trying so damn hard to be good.

But he could smell the memory of you on his skin.

The first stolen kiss happened in the supply closet. He hadn’t meant to follow you in. You hadn't meant to linger when you saw him behind you. But the moment the door clicked shut and the lights flickered dim overhead, you turned, and he stepped forward, just once, deliberately, and that was it.

You exhaled his name like a secret. "Michael" soft and unguarded.

He cupped the back of your neck and kissed you like he was starving. Like he was claiming something he never should’ve touched.

Your fingers curled into his chest like you needed something to hold onto, and when he pulled back, just enough to see the dazed, needy look in your eyes, he leaned in again, mouth to your ear, and murmured, “You think I don’t remember the sounds you make at night? You think I haven’t thought about them every hour since?”

You made a sound then, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, and he nearly lost it again. But instead, he let you go. Walked away with his hands clenched at his sides and your taste still on his tongue.

The second kiss was worse.

Because it wasn’t planned.

Because it happened in the stairwell behind the ICU where no one went unless they were falling apart or hiding something.

You had followed him, god, you shouldn’t have, but you did. Quiet footsteps. Your voice saying, “Hey, can we talk?”

He turned to you, already raw. Already ruined.

“Okay,” he said. And then kissed you.

Harder this time. Desperate. His hands braced against the wall behind your head, caging you in, while you reached for his collar and dragged him closer like you wanted to disappear into him. When he pulled away, you were flushed and panting, lips kissed raw. Your fingers still clutched the fabric of his shirt like you weren’t ready to let go.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” you whispered. 

Good.

“Welcome to the club,” he muttered, then ran a thumb across your bottom lip before backing away like a man on fire.

He thought about you all the time now.

Your laugh when you let your guard down.

The curve of your thighs in his hands. The way your voice broke when you begged for more, quiet, breathless, “please” like you were still too shy to say what you really wanted.

He didn’t want to just have you.

He wanted to ruin you.

Take that stoic, soft-spoken exterior and fuck it out of you until you cried for him. Until you stopped being careful and just was. Just his. And yet, he still called you Dr. Sheridan in front of the interns.

Still said, “Good work today,” instead of come home with me.

Still walked away when your eyes lingered a little too long.

But it was fraying at the edges now, all of it. And when you smiled at him over an iced coffee cup in the break room, cheeks flushed from a run to trauma, he watched the way your lips wrapped around the straw and thought.

You’re going to be the death of me.

Night shifts had always been where he could breathe again. Until you started haunting them. Now every slow hour past midnight just made him hungrier.

It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed how you moved in a dark hallway, how your scrubs clung too well to the shape of your hips, how you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth when reading charts like you were doing it just for him. But lately, he couldn't stop watching you. Couldn’t stop wanting you.

You had this infuriating habit of standing too close. Smelling like warm skin and hand lotion. Soft eyes. Softer voice. A steel core beneath all of it that only showed when you were pressed hard enough.

He lived to press you.

And now, standing across from you in the dim hallway outside of the on-call room, he could feel your tension mirrored in him, tight, coiled, waiting for something neither of them could hold back.

You turned when you sensed him behind you, still sipping your coffee like it wasn’t a loaded gun between them.

“You avoiding me, Sheri?” His voice came out low, almost rough. Unshaven and feral around the edges.

Your gaze didn’t waver. “I’m not trying to.”

“But you are.”

There was something in your expression then, guilt, want, defiance. You wanted him to chase it down.

So he did.

He had you against the door before he even realized his hands had moved. Your breath hitched in surprise, but you didn’t pull away. And when his mouth found yours, finally, finally, you gasped like you’d been waiting to breathe again.

It was a kiss that was simmering for the past four hours, and it landed with the weight of everything unsaid. His hands were in your hair, tugging slightly at your top to expose your throat, his mouth dragging down the soft column until you whimpered.

He felt you arch into him, seeking, trembling, and God, he wanted to fuck you then and there.

He backed you into the bed, lowered you onto it with a grip too firm to be tender. You let him, your eyes wide and dark, pupils blown with need. And still, you reached for him like he wasn’t the one unraveling you, like you were going to be the one to break him.

Your scrubs came undone with a rough tug. His hands slid under the thin cotton of your top, palms roaming over your waist, ribs, the soft undercurve of your breast. When he rolled your nipple between his fingers and bit gently at your collarbone, you made a sound that snapped something in him in two.

A low, breathless moan that was only for him.

He groaned into your skin. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

“Yes, I do,” you whispered.

You didn’t make it to undressing fully. It was clumsy and fevered clothes half-shucked, your bare legs wrapped around his waist, his belt undone just enough. But it didn’t matter. He needed to be inside you more than he needed air.

And when it happened, when he finally slid into you with a desperate groan and you gasped his name into his neck, he swore he saw stars behind his eyes.

You were warm, tight, trembling beneath him. His hand cradled the back of your head, his other braced beside you, trying not to lose control. But it was no use. Your nails raked down his back, and he snapped his hips forward with a grunt, drawing another beautiful, breathy moan from your mouth.

He whispered her name like a curse. “Sher, fuck, sweetheart”

“Don’t stop,” you begged. “Please don’t stop.”

Like hell he would.

He moved rough and deep, dragging pleasure from you like it belonged to him. His mouth never left you, your jaw, your throat, your lips, like he couldn’t get enough, like tasting you meant keeping some piece of his sanity intact.

But he was losing it anyway.

You whimpered again when he bit down softly on your shoulder. A sharp growl escaped him, and he buried his face into your neck, thrusting into your core harder, rougher, deeper.

“I think about this every night,” he rasped. “I dream about the sounds you make. How I’d kill just to hear them again.”

“Michael” You moaned so sweetly, so shamelessly, and his rhythm stuttered.

He was gone.

You shattered together in the quiet dark, sweat-slick, shaking, breathless. He held you in place while he spilled inside you. And afterward, he held you close, your hair damp against his chest, your fingers tangled with his. He kissed your temple. Your cheek. Your lips, softer now, like a secret.

Neither of them spoke the words that hung in the air between their hearts.

But he knew them.

He was hers. He’d always been.

And he didn’t know how the hell to go back.

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

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[scoupsakakitty]

Svt ot13 x reader, where like, reader made a single mistake during one of their concerts. Then when they practiced for the rest of tour reader keeps on spotting their flaws even when its fine. Maybe even overworking to the point she sleeps in the practice room? Then they(ot13) was confused to why reader hasn't come home yet, only to find reader passed out on the floor of the practice room, like literally passed out..

This is my first time doing a req, sorry if its too detailed.. please dont overwork yourself irl!!

Don‘t Dance Alone Tonight | idol!Scoups x 14thMember | angst fluff

The cameras stopped rolling. Lights dimmed. Staff members clapped as the director yelled “Cut!” for the final time. Cheers erupted. Another long MV shoot was done. But even through the chatter, the laughter, the scattered energy of a wrap party brewing — Seungcheol noticed it.

Y/N was gone.

She hadn’t said goodbye. No jokes. No nods. She didn’t even take her usual post-shoot selfie with Hoshi or tease Chan about his expressions in the last take.

Just… vanished.

And the worst part?

They hadn’t spoken all day. Not since that morning — the fight.

“You think just because you’re leader, you can talk down to me?” she had snapped in their dorm room.

“I’m not talking down to you. I’m trying to help you not burn out!” he had replied, voice rising with frustration.

“I know what I’m doing, Cheol. You don’t get it. You’re not the one messing up on stage.”

She had stormed out, leaving his words stuck in his throat and his heart heavier than he could explain.

Now she was gone. And his gut twisted.

“Y/N’s not here,” Chan said, peeking into her room in the Performance Unit’s dorm.

Seungcheol frowned. “I thought she stayed with you guys.”

“We thought she was with you,” Jun added from the kitchen, phone in hand. “She left right after the shoot.”

“She didn’t say anything,” Minghao said quietly. “Not even in the group chat.”

Seungcheol pulled out his phone again — five missed calls. All to her. None returned.

“She’s not answering?” Chan asked, voice rising slightly.

“No.” Seungcheol shook his head, trying to keep the worry from surfacing, but his tone betrayed him. “Goes straight to voicemail.”

“I’ll check the building rooftop,” Jun offered. “She goes there when she needs space.”

“I’ll try the stylist team,” Minghao said. “Maybe she went back for something.”

“I’ll text the managers,” Chan added.

“I’ll check the practice rooms,” Hoshi said without hesitation, already grabbing his hoodie. “If I were her… I’d be dancing it out.”

Studio 3 was nearly dark, save for the moonlight pouring in through the high window. Hoshi pushed the door open softly and froze.

There she was.

Y/N lay curled up on the wooden floor in the corner, her hoodie bunched up beneath her head, long legs tucked in, a bottle of water knocked over beside her.

The monitor in the room was paused mid-dance. It replayed the last segment they practiced together. Her figure in the center. Perfect form. But he knew she wouldn’t see it that way.

“Y/N…” he whispered, kneeling beside her.

Her eyes were shut tight. Sweat clung to her hairline. Her brows were slightly furrowed — even in sleep, she didn’t look at peace.

He pulled out his phone and called the only person who should be there right now.

“She’s here,” Hoshi said softly. “She fell asleep in the practice room.”

Silence on the other end.

“I’ll be right there,” came Seungcheol’s voice. He sounded breathless.

“I’ll wait.”

Seungcheol arrived within twenty minutes. When he opened the door, he found Hoshi sitting quietly near her, legs crossed, watching over her like an older brother.

“She hasn’t moved,” Hoshi whispered. “I think she passed out from exhaustion. She must’ve been here for hours.”

Seungcheol swallowed hard, guilt crawling through every inch of him.

“Thanks, Soonyoung.”

Hoshi nodded, then gave Seungcheol a small pat on the shoulder. “Talk to her. I’ll be right outside.”

When the door clicked shut behind him, the room was silent save for the soft hum of the AC and Y/N’s breathing.

Seungcheol crouched beside her. “Y/N…” he said gently, brushing a strand of hair away from her cheek.

She stirred, murmuring something unintelligible before her eyes blinked open.

“Cheol…?” she croaked, eyes adjusting to the low light.

“Hey.” He forced a soft smile. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

Confusion flickered across her face, followed by recognition. Then guilt.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep…”

“I know,” he said softly. “You scared us.”

She sat up slowly, her joints cracking from the cold floor. “I just wanted to get the routine right. I messed up that one time and now I can’t stop seeing the flaws.”

“You didn’t mess up, Y/N.”

She laughed weakly, without humor. “You didn’t see the replay?”

“I saw it. And I saw you trying to perfect something that was already beautiful.”

She turned her face away, jaw clenched.

“I thought you were disappointed in me."

His chest ached.

“I was never disappointed in you,” he said firmly. “Frustrated? Yes. But only because I saw you pushing yourself too hard again. I wasn’t angry at you. I was angry that you wouldn’t let anyone in.”

Tears welled up in her eyes.

“I didn’t want to seem weak.”

“You’re not weak. You’re the strongest person I know.”

“But I keep making mistakes—”

“You’re human,” he interrupted, voice breaking. “You’re allowed to make mistakes, Y/N. I’ve made more than I can count. But disappearing without a word? That scared the hell out of me.”

She looked down at her lap. “I’m sorry.”

He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly.

“I’m sorry, too. For snapping. For not checking on you sooner. For not being the partner you needed today.”

She sniffled against his shoulder. “You’re always what I need, Cheol. I just forget how to say it when I’m overwhelmed.”

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s warmth on the cold dance studio floor.

Back at the dorm, Y/N entered her room quietly, grateful for the silence. Her room was her sanctuary, a rare privilege in the chaos of idol life. She’d fought hard for it — not out of vanity, but for peace.

She sat on the edge of her bed, looking at the mirror across from her.

“How long were you practicing?” Seungcheol asked from her doorway.

“Since after the shoot.”

“Did you eat?”

She shook her head.

He disappeared for a moment and returned with a bowl of ramen.

“No excuses. Eat.”

They sat on her bed, sharing the meal in silence.

“I’m not good at resting,” she admitted.

“I know. That’s why I’m here. To remind you that you deserve it.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Promise me something,” he said, voice low.

“What?”

“No more running away.”

She nodded.

“And no more dancing alone until you collapse.”

She hesitated — then nodded again. “Deal. But only if you promise something too.”

“Name it.”

“Don’t ever stop fighting with me.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Because when we fight, it means we care. And I’d rather argue with you a hundred times than feel like we’re strangers again.”

He smiled softly. “Then I promise.”

A week later, during practice for their encore concert, Y/N danced the choreography perfectly. When the final beat hit, she turned toward the mirror and met her own gaze. No criticism. No anxiety.

Just pride.

From behind, Seungcheol’s voice rang out. “You did great.”

She turned. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes full of affection.

She smiled, breathless. “You saw?”

“I always see.”

[auroraboringaliceinwonderland]

Oh gosh I can’t tell you how excited I am to see some meta of these two. Considering that they and Merlin are canonically supposed to be considered a trio (though we certainly deserved to see more of such), I kinda wanna ramble about how Merlin fits into those traits as well.

You mentioned Arthur and Gwaine struggling with trust and abandonment issues, and I think Merlin actually faces those too.

Who can he trust, really, as a person of magic? There’s so little people who know, and every time someone learns they either get hurt (Hunith; Gaius; etc) or die (Lancelot; Freya; Will; etc).

That then extends to his abandonment issues as well. Everyone leaves him one way or another. Hel, the beginning of the series is about his mother making him move to Camelot. For good reasons in him earning a life of his own and stuff, but she still technically pushed him away; and after so many others wind up leaving or getting hurt or dying, that’s how he’ll likely end up viewing it at some point.

That doesn’t mean Merlin doesn’t have his friends of course, but most of them he has no choice but to keep at arms length or he could risk them leaving too.

Now to talk about the anger and self-hatred, which I also think Merlin has. Anger at Uther and the way things are in Camelot; anger at Kilgharrah and the Druids and this destiny that he has to complete; anger that he has to be alone throughout all of it; etc. And self-hatred because look at all the people he’s hurt and killed, and for what? Things keep getting worse, not better. How is he meant to complete his destiny?

How all of these emotions manifest feels different than how Arthur and Gwaine’s do; to a point where I don’t think they even notice that something is wrong - not until it’s too late and Arthur is wondering why Merlin hasn’t smiled for the past three days. To them it’s just Merlin being Merlin.

However I kind of see it as a mix between how Arthur and Gwaine’s emotions manifest; Merlin isolates and doesn’t tell anyone what is wrong because he can’t, however he also puts on that act to seem like he’s the fun guy that everyone loves.

Maybe that’s why Arthur and Gwaine are so drawn to him - because Arthur can subconsciously recognize that same wound in Merlin; and because Gwaine can as well. They’re just viewing it from different angles and don’t see that there’s another part to it.

The dynamic between Arthur and Gwaine is so interesting to me. They are both men who struggle with trust and abandonment issues. They both have so much anger and self hatred. But in Gwaine it manifests as a drinking problem (to numb the feelings, and to become that funny cool guy everyone likes because he is easy to get along with and doesn't have this huge amount of emotional baggage) , getting into brawls (punishing himself for drinking or for feeling) and flirting with every single person he comes across (avoiding any deep meaningful connections bc then ppl would realize he's not that nonchalant careless guy and would abandon him) and Arthur isolates (avoiding needing people bc eventually they would leave and he doesn't want to be hurt and humiliated again but also as a punishment for himself bc he shouldn't need other people that's weak, a lesson he learned from Uther), broods and denies himself to feel his emotions. (a king needs to be strong)

They are literally the same but they are so different. And I think thats why they struggle to get along sometimes because they recognize that wound in the other but they have a very different way of coping.

Or they just both wanted to kiss Merlin and were jealous who knows

[spaceyaemonds]

pairing: dr. jack abbot x reader

sum.: jack finally decides to give you your ring.

warnings: none??? a child/parenthood? maybe implied angst?? reader did get into a car accident while pregnant and that is also mentioned here! minors DNI

notes: this is how jack (doesn’t) propose! just a short lil something. i do still intend to have part 7 posted tomorrow!! unedited. and as always, any feedback is extremely appreciated, it helps keep me motivated. especially reblogs/comments/asks!

wc: 649

set in this universe

Jack creeps in as quietly as he can, hoping that Bug isn’t up yet so he can at least shower before making her breakfast.

The apartment is quiet, and he’s sure to go press a kiss to your head as he makes his way to the ensuite attached to your bedroom, showering quickly so he can go make breakfast for the three of you.

He makes his way back to the bedroom, hair still damp as he sits at the edge of the bed to put his prosthetic back on.

You, as always, catch his eye.

He hopes Bug’s been good. She’s going through a phase where she doesn’t sleep all night and constantly wakes up, probably because she’s teething.

He would prefer to be there on those nights, but knows you unfortunately get the brunt of that more often than he would care to admit.

Jack watches you a few moments longer, eyes tracing the features of your face, a face he could describe blind.

He’s loved you since the first time he slept in your bed, well watched you sleep in your bed. He bought a ring two days later on the way to work, and it’s sat in the bottom of his backpack ever since.

A dainty band with a big diamond that he just hasn’t worked up the courage to give you. Not that he thinks you’d say no, but after having it so long, he can’t think of a good way to ask.

Jack didn’t want to trap you, or make you feel trapped, in this situation if you didn’t want to be, so despite just knowing deep in his chest, he didn’t ask when he bought the ring.

Didn’t ask when you cried to him and told him your fears of motherhood. Didn’t ask when you’d been rolled into the ED after getting rear ended at a stoplight by some jackass who wasn’t paying attention, when he felt like he was gonna die watching Shen stitched the gash on your temple while you hyperventilated as Ellis’ shaky hand tried to find the baby’s heartbeat. Didn’t ask when tears streamed down his cheeks and he smiled the biggest smile he had in years when he held your baby for the first time.

Despite the dozens of opportunities to ask, he never could bring himself to do it.

But watching you now, something stirs deeper than it usually does.

So, in true Jack Abbot fashion, he goes and quietly digs the ring out of his bag.

He slips it on your left ring finger when he comes back in the room, kissing the side of your mouth twice before turning the baby monitor on your nightstand off and going to wake up his baby.

She looks just like you, everyone agrees. From her nose to her toes, she’s all you.

Especially when she pouts up at him with little tears lining her eyes.

“Oh, you poor, pitiful baby,” He coos at her as he picks her up and kisses her head repeatedly, “Daddy’s poor baby. You had a long night huh?”

He gets a squawk in reply.

Thirty minutes later, his girl is changed and eating some mashed bananas, giggling at every face Jack makes at her.

He feels you before he sees you as you wrap yourself around him and bury his face in his neck. He feels a wetness and the shaky breath you exhale as you squeeze him tight against you.

“I love you.”

One hand reaches up to hold your arm, “I love you more,”

Jack watches as her eyes light up when you look at her, hands clapping together as she lets out another giggle before fisting at her mashed bananas.

You let out another wet laugh as you angle your head towards your fiancé to kiss him as deeply as you can while Bug is distracted by her bananas.

[makis-eyebrows]

Request: ♧

Paddock Walks

George Russell's very adventurous and curious daughter goes too far from home but makes friends with someone new.

The paddock at Imola was buzzing.

Cameras clicked, engines hummed in the background, and crew members scurried around with laptops, tire warmers, and espressos in hand. Amongst the chaos, one small human was on a top-secret mission — one that involved invisible maps, snack recon, and a grand sense of purpose.

Her name was Y/n Russell.

Three years old.

Full-time explorer.

Part-time snack thief.

And currently... completely, utterly lost.

It had all started innocently enough. George had brought her along early that morning, while Carmen was busy sorting out some last-minute ideas to keep the small girl busy. Y/n, ever the curious soul, had been holding George’s hand — until a glittery, spinning wheel cap caught her eye.

She followed it.

Then a butterfly.

And by the time she realized her tiny feet had wandered a little too far, the tall white garage walls all looked the same… and Papa was nowhere to be seen.

Instead of crying, Y/n did what any tiny adventurer would do: she adjusted her sunhat, hugged her bunny plush tight, and kept walking.

That was when she heard it.

“Leo, come on! Not into the McLaren motorhome again—!”

Around the corner, a short-legged dachshund came barreling toward her, ears flapping like flags. Behind him, a very breathless and mildly distressed Charles Leclerc jogged after him, sunglasses pushed up on his head, a leash flailing in his hand.

Leo screeched to a halt in front of her, sniffed her shoes with great enthusiasm, and promptly plopped down beside her like they'd been best friends for years.

“Uh…” Charles blinked. “Bonjour?”

Y/n looked up at him, blinked once, then declared with complete confidence:

“I like your dog. He’s sausagey.”

Charles stared. Then laughed. “Merci. I think he likes you too. Are you... alone?”

Y/n nodded cheerfully. “I’m lost. But it’s okay. I was finding snacks.”

Charles crouched down. “Ah… and where did Papa go?”

“Dunno. But I think he’s tall. Like, really tall. With big hair.”

Charles snorted. “Okay, that narrows it down to... one person. You must be George’s little one.”

Y/n gasped. “You know my Papa?!”

“I do. And I think he’s probably looking for you right now.” Charles gently took her hand. “Shall we go find him together?”

Leo barked in agreement.

So, the new trio — Charles, Y/n, and the now nicknamed “Sausagey” — began their slow parade through the paddock. Charles waved off every confused look from team personnel as they passed.

“Leclerc, you okay?” asked Lando, watching him shuffle past with a toddler and a sausage dog.

“Saving a Russell,” Charles replied like it was a military op.

Y/n waved proudly. “I’m the Russell!”

Soon, they turned a corner and spotted George frantically speaking with a staff member, Carmen close by with wide, worried eyes.

George turned just as he heard, “PAPA!”

A small rocket of pink crocs and energy launched at his legs.

“Y/n!” George dropped to his knees, scooping her up into the safest hug imaginable. “Where on Earth did you go? We were so worried!”

“I was with Sausagey and Cha Cha. We were looking for you!” she said brightly, nuzzling into his shoulder.

Carmen reached over and pulled them both in. “Oh, sweetheart. You gave us a heart attack.”

Charles smiled. “She’s a very capable co-pilot. We went on quite the adventure.”

Y/n wiggled in George’s arms and pointed at the dachshund. “Can we get a Sausagey too?”

Leo barked once, like he agreed.

George groaned. “Don’t start with her, Charles.”

“I didn’t,” Charles said innocently. “She named the dog.”

Later that day, a candid photo would surface online of Charles carrying Leo under one arm, holding Y/n’s tiny hand with the other, the three of them mid-laugh as they walked through the paddock.

The caption?

“Charles, Sausagey & their newest teammate.”

George reposted it with:

“The Great Russell Rescue: Thank you, @charles_leclerc — and Sausagey.”

And from then on, Charles never corrected anyone when they called Leo “Sausagey.”

Because as far as one tiny Russell was concerned… that was his name.

And just like that, my work is done.

I need to lock in and do my work. School's back in session on Monday. I LOVE BUT HATE SOUTH AFRICAAAA.

That's Gang Gang out!!!♡

[lilangelbud]

I’ve got a request if you’re interested: some faux dad/daughter where the family goes shopping together for some clothes for their daughter. They stop at a bikini store or just some clothing store in general. The girl asks for her parents to come in the changing room and check the outfit. The mom waits outside while dad checks. The dad tries to hold himself back and just rubs himself on the daughter without being inside her. But soon he just can’t help it. The dad has some fun with her in the changing room while the mom waits outside, oblivious. The dad comes undone and brings the daughter to orgasm too.

The fluorescent lights of the clothing store buzzed softly overhead as the family wandered through the aisles. The daughter, clutching a handful of bikinis and sundresses, turned to her parents with a hopeful smile. “Can you guys help me pick?” she asked, her voice light but insistent. The mother nodded, already distracted by a rack of sale items, while the father hesitated, his gaze lingering on his daughter for a beat too long.

“Sure, sweetheart,” he said, his voice steady but his pulse quickening. He followed her to the changing rooms, where she disappeared behind a flimsy curtain. A moment later, her voice floated out, hesitant. “Dad? Could you come in and check if this one looks okay? I don’t want to come out if it’s not.”

He glanced at his wife, who waved him off without looking up. “Go ahead, I’ll be right here.”

Pushing the curtain aside, he stepped into the small, cramped space. His daughter stood there in a bright red bikini, the fabric hugging her curves in a way that made his throat dry. She turned slightly, looking over her shoulder, her expression innocent. “What do you think?”

He swallowed hard, his eyes tracing the lines of the swimsuit, the way it clung to her. “It… looks good,” he managed, his voice rough. She smiled, oblivious to the heat creeping into his cheeks, and turned back to the mirror, adjusting the straps.

“I think it’s a little tight,” she murmured, her fingers brushing against the fabric. “Maybe you could help me adjust it?”

His heart thudded in his chest as he stepped closer, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for the straps. His fingers brushed against her bare skin, and he froze, the contact sending a jolt through him. She didn’t pull away, just tilted her head slightly, her breath hitching.

“Is that better?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. She nodded, her eyes meeting his in the mirror, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them.

He couldn’t help himself. His hands slid down her shoulders, his touch feather-light but deliberate. She didn’t move, didn’t protest, and the silence between them grew heavy with tension. His hands lingered at her waist, his fingers tracing the edge of the bikini bottom, and he felt her shiver beneath his touch.

“Dad…” she whispered, her voice trembling, but she didn’t push him away.

He couldn’t stop. One hand slid around her hip, his palm pressing against her stomach as he pulled her back against him. He could feel the heat of her body, the way her breath quickened as his other hand slipped lower, his fingers brushing against the soft fabric between her legs.

“Shh,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. “Just let me help you…”

She leaned into him, her head tilting back against his shoulder, and he could feel her heartbeat racing in time with his own. His fingers moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm, teasing her through the fabric, and he felt her hips shift, pressing against his hand.

“Daddy…” she whimpered, her voice barely audible, but it was enough to break the last of his restraint.

His other hand slid up her side, his fingers slipping beneath the edge of the bikini top, and he felt her gasp as he cupped her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple. She arched into his touch, her hips rocking against his hand, and he could feel her growing wetter with every movement.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Just let go…”

Her breath came in shallow gasps, her body trembling as his fingers worked her, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. He could feel her tightening around his hand, her hips moving with a desperate rhythm, and he knew she was close.

“Come for me,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear, and she obeyed, her body shuddering as she let out a stifled cry, her legs giving out beneath her. He caught her, holding her tight against him as she trembled in his arms.

But he wasn’t done. His own need was too urgent, too overwhelming to ignore. Turning her around, he pressed her against the wall, his hands gripping her hips as he ground against her, the fabric of his pants rough against her sensitive skin.

“You feel so good, baby,” he groaned, his breath hot against her neck. “So fucking good…”

She whimpered, her hands gripping his shoulders as he thrust against her, his movements growing more frantic. He could feel himself losing control, the pleasure building with every thrust, and he knew he couldn’t hold back much longer.

“Daddy, please…” she whispered, her voice trembling, and it was enough to push him over the edge.

With a low groan, he came undone, his body shuddering as he pressed her against the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. For a moment, they stayed like that, their bodies pressed together, their breaths mingling in the small, confined space.

Outside, the mother’s voice called out, oblivious to what had just happened. “Are you two almost done in there?”

The daughter stiffened, pulling away from him with a look of panic, but he just smiled, his hands lingering on her hips. “We’re almost done,” he called back, his voice steady.

Turning back to his daughter, he brushed a strand of hair from her face, his expression soft. “You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle.

She nodded, her cheeks flushed, but there was a glimmer of something in her eyes—something that made his heart race all over again.

“Good,” he murmured, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, fleeting kiss. “Now let's get out of here before your mom starts to suspect anything.”

[starwovenkiss]

Because how funny would it be if Jason Todd had a nemesis who had a crush on him?

Jason, who is just trying to do his job and keep Gotham from burning for one night so he doesn’t have to hear his umpteenth lecture from Bruce about the responsibilities he holds from carrying the bat symbol, pulls up to you.

You had become a thorn in his side as of late, and he tries not to let his amusement show when he sees you waiting on a rooftop.

“What are you doing here, _____?” He knows what you’re doing. It’s the same game you’ve played for the past three nights, and when you turn and smile, glossy lips turned upwards, he can’t help it when his own lips mirror the reaction. It’s involuntary, and he knows B is getting on his case about how much time he’s wasting while not bringing you in—but how can he, when he has so much fun chasing you like this?

“You know why I’m here.” He does. According to Babs, you’ve robbed two banks along 81st Street, and although the amount is significantly less than what you were pulling before, it’s enough to warrant concern. To get his attention, like you wanted.

“You’ve got to stop doing this.” His voice sounds lilted even through his voice filter, and he watches your brow raise, pausing for a moment before stepping closer to him.

“Stop doing what?” you purr, moving in closer, looking like a feline ready to strike. It’s easy to forget about your mentor, how you two were raised on opposite sides of the coin—one trained in stealth and justice, the other in seduction and vice. And while Selina’s influence still moves through your every movement, he’s watched you grow from that first night you appeared on the rooftop of Gotham’s Metropolitan Art Museum. How you developed your own style of fighting, your own form of distraction that differs from your mentor in every way.

“Where’s the money, cat?” he sighs, looking down at you. Despite facing a former crime lord and one of the most terrifying vigilantes in Gotham, your body language is relaxed, as if this is another casual conversation to you. In fact, you merely sigh, as if he’s the one being ridiculous for asking such a question.

“What money?” you smile softly before running to jump off the side of the roof. Jason readies himself, loving nothing more than to chase you into the night before he registers his comm system crackling to life.

“Babs,” he asks, still keeping an eye on your shrinking figure as you jump from rooftop to rooftop deeper into Gotham.

“I don’t get it.” She laughs. Jason tenses, knowing that whatever is going to come next can’t be good.

“She steals almost $75K from the vault, triggers every alarm known to man, just to leave it hidden two blocks away.” Jason knows why you did it—he’s not oblivious to the way you act around him. However, admitting that means he’s signing up for no certain amount of teasing from Babs and a potentially very long talk from Bruce (as if the hypocrite should have anything to say to him).

“Maybe she’s bored.” He shrugs, keeping his tone as even as he can.

“A protégée of Selina? Doubt it.” Babs snorts. “I could think of another reason why she keeps drawing you out there.”

Jason pauses before responding. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Babs does a terrible job of hiding her laughter. “Sure you don’t, Hood. Looks like there’s another robbery downtown, and it seems legit this time. I’d head over there if I were you.”

a/n: i have written 10k words of a gaz fic that has no end in sight, and needed something to get me out of my head. so here’s a little drabble for my other favorite boy <3

[neeeooon]

Hii how are you? Hope everything is well! I saw that you wrote for wind breaker, and I loved you even more! If it wouldn't be much trouble, can you do suo x reader who is Sakura's twin like that recent post? Where at first he was flirting with the reader to mess w her and Sakura but found himself falling in love? Please and thank you!

suo 🥰 cute okay YES i’m on it TYSM

not a good idea

suo hayato x fem!reader who is sakura’s twin sister. veryy suggestive at the end

suo hummed too suspiciously, too sweetly, as he tapped his chin and stared at you. “y/n looks a little cold. doesn’t she, sakura?”

your brother’s eyebrow twitched as suo removed his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. your face flared on its own account, causing you to look away from them both.

you knew that suo was only flirting with you to tease you and your brother, especially since he openly admitted to getting some sick kick out of your matching flustered expressions, but that didn’t make it easier for you. anytime he was around, your face would instantly heat up at the thought of his “innocent” smiles and flirts. he had you conditioned like a dog.

you worked part-time at an old books and music store near sakura and suo’s high school, and they’d always stop by to see you since your classes ended before theirs. when the bell rang above the door at the normal time, though, you were surprised to see only suo there.

he flashed his signature smile, as suspicious and sweet as always, and waved his fingers at you. “good afternoon, y/n.”

tilting your attention to the bottom shelf, you hummed a reply and pretended to count records. you knew suo was approaching by the length of his shadow against your desk, and did your best to will all the extra blood out of your face.

suo leaned forward, and you froze when you looked up to find him mere inches away from you. you swallowed. “can i help you?”

his head tipped ever so slightly to the side, earrings shifting against his neck. “do you have any books on chinese poetry?”

you met his eyes then and saw a flicker of curiosity in them. his smile remained calm and calculating, but you felt a sliver of hesitation as you stared at it.

“we do. this way.”

there was no one else in the shop, as expected. you typically spent those hours organizing shelves and dusting until your usuals came in. it felt strange breaking away from your unofficial schedule, especially since suo and your brother never asked about books or music while visiting you.

“here,” you said as you waved a hand down one of the smaller sections in the store. it was located near the back, away from the door and any prying eyes with other not-so-popular genres. “if you need any more help—“

“sorry,” he smiled sweetly as he tapped a delicate finger against his covered eye. “i’m struggling to make out the titles. can you pull some for me?”

you shot a nervous glance toward the front of the store, worried your manager might walk in and accuse you of slacking off, but the feeling of suo’s intense gaze forced your attention back onto him. you blushed deeply, and he hummed.

wordlessly, you filtered through the poets, searching for authors with chinese surnames, and pulled those for your brother’s classmate. “here. look through them and bring the ones you like to the front. you can put the others back when you’re done.”

suo made sure to run his fingers along your hand as he took the books from you, and though you knew the action was purposeful, his closed-eyed expression betrayed nothing.

your expression, on the other hand, gave away every single thought running rampant through your mind. that was definitely on purpose; you could tell by the sweetness in his smile.

his hands are so soft… you blushed when you caught yourself thinking about his hands and fought the urge to slap the sides of your face.

“thank you for the book,” he said in a soft, almost cheerful voice, and you shook your head. suo still hadn’t moved, though, and neither had you.

you were going to be the first, leg twitching to step back, when he suddenly looked at you. you realized only then that suo had had his eye closed since taking the books from you and burned until his ruby-colored stare.

when you finally managed to take a step back, he took one forward. your heart fluttered, pulse hammering wildly in your ears at the proximity. the way his eye lowered and dragged to where your name badge rose and fell with your quickening breath sent an unfamiliar shock down your spine.

“this isn’t a good idea, suo.”

“logical? perhaps not. but good?” he leaned closer, hands clasped behind his back as his nose nearly blushed against your red cheek. “does this not feel good, y/n?”

you shivered. without permission, your hands flew up to clench the fabric of his jacket, fingers trembling as you held him in place. you tugged a little, not enough to move him, as you hesitated over whether you should pull him against you or push him away.

suo looked over you patiently, lips softly curled in their normal fashion, sending mixed waves of anger and heat through your chest. how could he not be affected by this? while your face felt like it would explode if it got any hotter.

“my brother’s not here,” you stammered pathetically. “you don’t have to keep teasing me.”

suo’s smile grew. “you’re the one holding me in place, y/n.”

your fingers released his jacket as if the contact burned you. hands unsure of what to do, you shoved them behind your back and leaned against the bookshelves to keep them pressed in place. “that’s… sorry.”

“don’t be,” he blew off casually, drawing your eyes back to his. “i liked it.”

oh god. this guy was going to be the death of you.

“i like you, too. but you aren’t ready for that at the moment.”

for the first time, you balked. any color in your face drained as his words slammed into you and repeated themselves in your head like a mantra.

you stammered pathetically for a reply until suo swept a strand of hair behind your ear with careful fingers. the tips of two brushed against your cheek, leaving thin trails of fire in their wake.

as quickly as his touch had been there, it left with him as he clasped his hands behind his back and sauntered to the front of the store. “i’ll take this one, please.”

it took you a moment to remember what he was talking about. you slapped the sides of your face and hurried to the front of the store to check his book out and hand it to him. “c-come again, soon,” you stammered out your professional line like it pained you to say.

suo only smiled. “i will.”

[infinitelibrary]

K!!!!!!!! oh my GODDDDDDD

I needed a day or two to process and really soak this all in before I provide you with my analytical dissertation / dissection of your work of art. And I DO mean WORK. OF. ART. The details and the way you set the scene for us is truly a thing of beauty. For those of us that have been to this incredible destination, you’ve transported us back to that magical place.  And for those of us that HAVEN’T been - you’ve painted SUCH a vivid picture of what it’s like that we can practically smell the ocean and feel that warm breeze caressing our skin. - we FEEL like we are there with MC.  There were moments where I had to stop and sit back and just be like "wtf did I just read"..."no way she captured that the way she did"...just...

BUT...let me go in order...

The “you know BTS?” line cracked me up

That comment about the boat moving with the waves, but MC's ability to remain rooted to the ground.  That one little detail spoke volumes about MC’s expertise and skill at her craft and is a true testament to how long she’s been working there.  Even if Yoongi hadn’t asked…we would’ve known she’d been doing this a long long time.

Yassss to the Bond girl reference…I love it!!

Also why can I absolutely hear him saying “you know this fish” in his adorable English lilt.  Kinda like the “You like these chains?” moment from his early days.😂 

MC being totally oblivious to the fact that she asked for his number / to exchange contacts so that he could send her the fish pic is TOTALLY something I would do.  I can be a bit obtuse like that (I’ve had friends point it out to me AFTER the fact) so to have this happen to her and the realization dawn on her was just hilarious and very very relatable! I loved that moment

That whole first watermelon scene.  Min Yoongi you SLY DOG you.  But MC is not innocent in all this either…both of them basically eyefucking each other at that point. 

The way his foot slipped when he was jumping in….SUCH a yoongi thing to do.  I can practically hear his little yelp.  

Her rambling when she gets nervous was ADORABLE

The "macro details" when Yoongi leans in for that first kiss got me because - the visuals??? Oh my GOD when I tell you, I had to go back and re-read that paragraph like three times because my mind just couldn’t comprehend how vividly you managed to capture every fucking detail of that moment.  The smell, the taste, the TEXTURE…good GOD. It’s like I was THERE.  It’s like I was living that moment, seeing, hearing, smelling, feeling, tasting ALL those things. That was the moment I was like 'wtf did I just read'. I literally had to sit back and look around me to essentially pinch myself back into my reality.

Like oh my GOD you guys just LOOK at this paragraph and tell me you can't picture yourself RIGHT THERE in her place.

that detail??? I mean come ON!!!

“We bout to break protocol” DAMN RIGHT YOU ARE you HORNY BASTARD (also please add ladder sex to the list of things I would like to do with Mr. Min Yoongi)🤐

Seriously tho - your words are like POETRY. The little touches on the boat after that first time, once everyone else had gotten back on board.  But also - the mentions of the food - again, a lovely little detail that made us feel like we were right there. 

The domesticity of that first visit to her place.  Cooking together (that would be the actual DREAM) and then just talking.  Like, I know on first glance it may seem like just lust and unbridled physical attraction and while that’s part of it, I love that they had conversations together as well.  About anything and everything and the most random of things.  

I love that even after that first real night at her place, MC still refused to give him her number.  Part of me wonders what if.  But I think it’s also so that she could be sure that it was in fact really real.  She basically said as much.  And they both feel it’s real in the moment - especially Yoongi, no doubt, is convinced it’s real but she also knows the gravity and weight of everything that his career and life path have in store for him…and that things are not at all certain.  She’s in a whole other country, he has professional and patriotic obligations he has to fulfill and who knows what could happen in that time.  This gives them both time to live their lives, get back to reality and then decide if this is something they really wanted to come back to. And I think he realized that too.

Her missing him while he’s gone, sure…but also moving forward and living her life through all of its ups and downs.  Finding strength in his memory, his music, and his lyrics.  All of that was so relatable. 

The “I tried to forget you…turns out I can’t”  Are you KIDDING ME with that line????  OMG I COULD SOB.  The ending was so perfect.  So soft, so romantic, so gentle, and just so damn PERFECT. 

Kudos, K!  HUGE fan.  Have been, am now, and always will be. 😘😘😘

Watermelon & Suga | myg

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x plus size female!reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: idol!au, Fluff, Smut, Drama, Whirlwind romance, Love at “second” sight

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Inspired by the events of Dday Phuket Vlog, Yoongi meets you, the island girl of his dreams, and now he can’t stop thinking about you.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Dday rockstar Yoongi, I love this MC I think she a baddie, writing might feel a little too indulgent at times, A world with no language barriers, A relevant time skip, check the dates. Sex on a boat, public sex/slight exhibitionism kink, unprotected sex (be safe!), oral (m&f), spanking, fingering, squirting (in that order lol), slight degradation and dirty talk but MC likes it, sweet pet names, tell me if I missed anything, but yeah… sex on a boat and then some, Yoongi is down atrociously bad for our curvy queen and is desperate to worship her and validate her <3

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 10k!

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Finally!!! Worked on this for months ever since some of y’all plagued me with Phuket vlog Yoongi as honeymoon hubby material and I couldn’t stop the fantasy from unfolding. It did take me a while to bang this out (I blame the Nerds), sorry. Nonetheless I hope y’all enjoy this lil slice of paradise. 💜 Thank you Aqua for betareading.

🗓️ June 2023 - 📍Phuket, Thailand

The air smells like salt and sunlight, a mix you’ve grown so accustomed to that it no longer feels special. Just another Tuesday workday on the Andaman Sea. 

It’s nice and calm out today, barely a ripple on the surface. There’s a light breeze from the southwest, nothing too exciting, just enough to keep things cool. No storm on the radar, and the water's warm enough for a good snorkelling sesh. Basically, a perfect day to fall in love (with the sea).

Your usual clients are giddy tourists, high on Tiger beer and oyster omelets. But today seems quieter, more chill somehow, even though your group today is unlike your typical clientele. Today, you were asked to sign an NDA.

The rest of the group has boarded already. Some seven men and women that comprise a group of musicians currently in town for their concert tour. Now, you’re just waiting for the last member to join. The VIP, apparently.

So who’s the diva? 

Well, after 15 minutes, he finally decides to grace you with his presence. 

“Min Yoongi?” you call tentatively.

He nods, barely glancing up as he steps onto the boat. A quick bow, respectful but distracted. You direct him to a seat near the stern, his cologne lingering in the air as he passes you.

To be fair, he’s not flashy, no monogram logos in sight, no jewelry, or any other loud proclamations of being the proverbial shit. Dressed in a black and white shirt with a plain black rash guard and shorts, a baseball cap tugged low over his eyes, he could’ve been mistaken for anyone. But there seems to be a deliberate nature in how he moves, careful and understated, like he’s trying to avoid notice but not entirely succeeding. 

Swag can’t be faked, even if he did walk a little bit like your grandpa. Those New Balance slides? Yeah, you’ve seen it in your halbeoji’s home.

You turn to speak with Soomchai from the coast guard—a moderately cranky but well-meaning old man who’s been doing this for decades. He scratches at his scalp through his faded fisherman’s hat as you hand him the passenger manifest.

“You’re staring too hard,” he quips, licking the pad of his index before flipping the pages.

Huh? “I’m not.” You say.

“So they’re famous, eh?” he reviews the names on the clipboard, surreptitiously glancing over your shoulder.

You look behind you, half of them are already asleep, half basically on their phones.

“One of them, yeah. You know BTS?”

His face remains unchanged as he counts the passengers. “I don’t and I don’t trust the lot of them. Want me to accompany you?”

“Loong Soomchai,” you smile at the man who has taken you under his wing since you moved here last year. “Chill. Besides, I have a black belt in taekwondo, if you already forgot. I can easily toss them overboard, then they’ll really be your problem.”

“Aish,” he waves a dismissive hand at you. “I’m on line 3. Stay safe.”

“Roger, that,” you speak into your hand-held radio, your voice blaring on the receiver tucked into the older man’s cargo shorts. 

Soomchai’s slouched frame disappears as the boat pulls away from the dock. You brace your legs and adjust your stance. The boat shifts beneath you—but you don’t. Learning how to move with the water, how to balance your weight just right, was something that came with time.

Before you officially start the tour, you check your rash guard, snug across your chest, and smooth down the high-waisted swim shorts that you are wearing. You’re quite happy with your fashion choice today. It made you feel like a Bond girl—but curvier, tougher, more badass.

Usually, you would take a moment to observe your audience, make eye contact and exchange smiles to open the communication. Your VIP, though, sits with his arms resting on his thighs, gaze fixed on the water as though it holds answers to questions only he knows. You wonder if he’s the type to make small talk or if he’d prefer you stayed silent. 

Still, it’s your job to guide, to narrate, to fill the spaces between the silence and the sea. You start with the usual pleasantries and introductions, your go-to joke to break the ice, and you’re off. 

“If you look to the right,” you gesture, “you’ll see Koh Tapu. You may have heard of it as James Bond Island, because a scene from The Man with the Golden Gun was filmed there.”

A polite murmur rises from the other guests. Some snap photos. Min Yoongi doesn’t look up.

You let the silence stretch, wondering if you should say more. It’s not often you get guests like him—someone who seems so unbothered, yet weighed down at the same time. 

It isn’t until you glance back at him again that you realize he’s watching you now, his eyes sharp beneath the brim of his cap. Caught, you quickly look away, focusing instead on the shimmering turquoise of the water.

“How many times have you done this tour before?”

The question surprises you. You’re not sure if you should be offended, but you answer swiftly anyway. “Hundreds of times,” you admit with a shrug. “But the sea changes every day. It’s never exactly the same.”

You smile at him, genuine. “I imagine it’s a bit like your concerts. You practice it a thousand times, but it's still different in every show, every city, every audience… Makes things interesting.”

Something in your words seems to resonate with him. He leans back slightly, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “I get that,” he says softly, more to himself than to you.

After that, you noticed Yoongi’s guard begin to lower. He’d nod occasionally at your explanations, even ask a question here and there—about the history of a limestone karst or the kinds of fish they might see while snorkeling. His voice was quiet, with a faint rasp from overuse that made him clear his throat now and then.

“You know this fish?” Yoongi asks, holding out his phone to show you a screenshot.

“Wow, that’s beautiful…” you lean forward slightly.

He coughs a bit, scratching the back of his neck as he leans back. “Yeah, uh, they said it’s native to these parts.”

“I’m not familiar,” you squint. “Can you send me the photo? I can ask one of the other guides—I’m still no expert on marine life, I fear.”

There’s a pause. He gives you a look you can’t quite read, brows slightly raised, lips pressed in something not quite a smile. But it’s not disapproving either. Just... 

Oh shit. You just asked for his number. Or to exchange Kakao. Same thing. You basically asked to link up.

Such an idiot. A flush creeps up your neck. Stupid, stupid girl. You weren’t thinking. God, he probably thinks you’re trying to pull a fast one on him—playing the helpful guide when really, you just wanted an excuse. 

People don’t just ask for Yoongi’s number. Of course not. Unless they’re someone. You hope he doesn’t file a complaint after this.

You straighten, your voice a little brighter, a bit too eager to salvage what’s left of your professionalism. “But, um, actually, no need. We’ll see a ton of species later when we get near the caverns. I’ll make sure to keep an eye out for that one.”

“Mmh.” He nods. You can’t quite tell if it’s thoughtful or distracted by your word vomit.

But as you turn to walk across the deck, you can feel his eyes burning holes on your back. Low on your back. Maybe lower even.

Should you look? Maybe you’re just imagining it. 

You chance a quick glance. And your eyes meet his. Looking at you with an interesting glint. His lips lift slightly. You tilt your head, curious. Pulse racing. Giddy.

Okay, maybe your job is safe after all. But your heart? Eh.

When you serve them a plate of watermelon slices, the group’s energy shifts. One of them jokes about how they should’ve brought soju, while another eagerly reaches for a piece, groaning in satisfaction the moment he tastes it.

You place the tray in front of Yoongi, and he immediately plucks a slice. He bites into it, and for the first time all morning, you see a full-blown smile—pretty enamals and pink gums on show.

“Good?” you asked, unable to stop your own grin from forming.

He nodded, wiping his thumb along the corner of his mouth. “It’s perfect.”

“What’s your favorite fruit?” you throw out a neutral question as you struggle to ignore the stray liquid he’s trying to chase down with his tongue. 

“Tangerines,” he replies. “The ones from Jeju Island are the best. Have you ever been?”

“No, unfortunately.”

There was a beat of silence before he adds, almost to himself, “But this… this is nice.”

He pushes the plate towards you. “You should have one.”

“Ah, maybe later.”

“Don’t be shy,” the plate moves another inch closer. You pick up a slice, mumbling a thanks.

Sugar fills your mouth as you sink your teeth on the watermelon, juice dribbling on the side of your lip which you immediately catch with your tongue.

Unlike you though, he’s watching. Openly. Shamelessly. The way his eyes dart from your mouth to your eyes is not lost on you and you can’t help but feel excitement pooling in your belly.

“Sweet.” you remark, before sucking the juice from your thumb. Baiting him.

He smirks, “Looks like it.”

“You always flirt using fruit?”

“You’re the one licking your lips.”

You grin.

As a tour guide, you’re used to the art of the harmless flirt. It comes with the job—tourists with sun-soaked nerves and too much vacation confidence, tossing compliments like loose change. You’ve learned how to play along just enough, to keep things light, fun. A wink here, a tease there. Part of the act. People like feeling charming, and you don’t mind giving them the illusion.

But this feels different.

Right now, it’s just you, the sea, and this idol watching you like he’s the one mesmerized.

And maybe it shouldn’t matter, the way his gaze lingers—not over the places you’ve been taught to hide, but the ones you’ve learned to own. The dip of your waist. The curve of your hip where your swim shorts sit snug. 

There’s something about being looked at like this—not with hunger or pity, but with curiosity, appreciation, even. And it makes you want to keep his gaze a little longer.

‘Cause you know who he is. You’d recognized the name when you saw it on the manifest and when you signed the documents. He’s an idol. Part of Bangtan Fuckin’ Sonyeondan. A man with a carefully manicured image, a life guarded by rabid fans, dissected by media men with too many opinions, surrounded by sexy, slender women.

You’d think men like him don’t get to have ‘normal’ moments like this. They don’t make casual conversations about fish or share food with a rando. But here he is, acting like this is real. And god, why does it feel like it might be?

Honestly, maybe it’s nothing. Maybe you’re not the only one who knows the art of the harmless flirt. Maybe he’s not even that interested.

But you’re gonna play along. See where this goes. At least for now.

Later, after anchoring in a secluded cove, you bring out the snorkeling gear. Most of your guests dive in with ease, their laughter echoing as they race toward the reef. Yoongi lingers on the boat, fiddling with the straps of his mask.

“Need help?” you ask, stepping closer.

He looks up, sheepish. “Is it that obvious?”

You laugh softly. “A little. Here, let me.”

He hands you the mask, watching as you adjust the straps. His gaze feels heavier now, like it’s searching for something beyond the simple act of fixing the gear.

You’re used to people skimming past you with their eyes, but when Yoongi looks, you feel like your skin is on fire. His gaze dips, just for a second, on the spot where the zipper of your top sits against your boobs. He doesn’t comment, doesn’t smirk—probably thinks he’s being sly. But you’re on to him. 

“You’ve done this before, right?” you check, eyes teasing, as you pass the mask back to him.

He shrugs. “A long time ago. I’m out of practice.”

“Good thing I’m here.” You flash him a reassuring smile and step into the water, gesturing for him to follow.

You surface and nod. He hesitates only briefly before jumping in—but his foot slips slightly on the boat’s edge, and he lands with an ungraceful splash and shriek that echoes across the cove. You can’t stop the laugh that bursts out.

“Grand entrance,” you say, grinning as he surfaces with a shy expression.

“Glad I could entertain you,” he mutters, pushing his wet hair back, and if that isn’t one of the sexiest actions you’ve ever seen done by any human being. God.

“Here.” You take a chance to reach for his hand, and to your mild surprise and relief, he takes it. “Just relax. The water will do most of the work.”

He follows your lead, his fingers tightening slightly around yours as you float together. The reef comes into view below, vibrant and teeming with life. You glance at him, his face half-hidden by the snorkel mask, and find him watching you instead of the reef.

“You’re missing the best part,” you pull your hand away, pointing toward the colorful fish darting between the coral.

“Am I?”

You take your mask off only to roll your eyes. “Are you always this smooth?”

He pulls the mouthpiece out just enough to smirk at you. “Only when it works.”

You couldn’t help the giggle that escapes you. 

“Admit it,” he says, leaning closer, his voice low. “You’re having fun.”

You don’t deny it. Instead, you start wading away, gesturing towards the reef. “Come on. The fish are much better company.”

Back on the boat, the atmosphere is lighter. Yoongi is more relaxed now, his earlier distance replaced by a quiet warmth. As you steer toward the island for lunch, you feel his gaze on you again.

When you glance over, he doesn’t look away this time.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” he says, though his lips twitch into an understated smile.

At the island, the group disembarks for lunch, their excitement palpable. Yoongi lingers by the railing, his gaze flickering between you and the others.

“Come with us,” he says, his voice low enough that the others don’t hear.

You shake your head, smiling apologetically. “I can’t. Protocol.”

He looks as though he wants to argue, because he seems like the type that gets everything he wants, but resignedly nods, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Next time, then.”

“Next time,” you echo, though you’re not sure if you believe it.

While they eat, you stay behind on the boat, finishing your own lunch, which one of the island ahjummas hands you as soon as you dock. There’s still some leftover watermelon, so you have it for dessert. It’s sweeter than any you have had all summer, but not sweet enough to distract you from the thought spinning in your head: Did the Min Yoongi really just invite you to join their group for lunch?

He was probably just being polite. Right? But then why did he stare at your lips for ten whole seconds when you were exploring the caves?

Fuck. You really need to get Lasik because your eyes cannot be trusted. Maybe a psychiatric evaluation too, while you’re at it.

Who are you kidding? At this point you can only afford the oh-so ahjumma-chic wide-brim hat so your lone brain cell is not fried by the sun.

BUT. Why does it feel like you had a connection?

Him with his kind eyes and that sexy smile. You’re so fucked.

Shaking your head, you grab a beer from the cooler and chug it, the cold brew doing its damnednest to wash down your delusions. For a moment, the only sound is from waves against the boat’s hull.

But then, footsteps.

You glance over your shoulder.

Yoongi is walking into the shaded area of the boat, pushing damp strands of hair with his beautiful fingers.

“Hey,” you say, clocking that he’s coming in alone. Your pulse races.

“Hi.”

“Craving more watermelon?” you ask, smiling as you gesture to the plate.

He leans against the table, his gaze steady, but there’s something else there. “I was,” he says, his voice softer now, “but I think I’m craving something else.”

Your breath stutters. The plate in your hand feels heavier. The tips of his fingers brushes along the edge of the table as he walks closer, and closer.

“There’s, uh, more delicacies on the island,” you try to use your tour guide voice, but you’re faltering. “Thailand has, umm, over 1,000 species of fruit, you know…”

“Mmm.” A faint smirk touches his lips, but his eyes are fixed on you. He’s literally in front of you now, so close that the air is sucked out of your lungs. You notice every macro detail—the faint streaks of sunscreen on his cheek, the fine grains of sand clinging to his hair, the way his scent is a mix of the sun and the ocean and his own musk. And those lips. Goddamn those lips.

“What is it that you like?” you ask, your voice small and shy as he studies you, too.

“I think I prefer,” he murmurs, before leaning in. “This.”

His kiss sparks upon contact against your mouth. His lips are a little chapped, but still soft. A hand slips around the back of your neck, guiding you closer until your lips part, and his tongue slides in. There’s not one second of hesitation, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You angle your head and kiss him back, a little messy, a little breathless. It’s not the kind of kiss meant for daylight, not while you’re at work, not something that belongs on a boat in open water, but fuck if it ain’t so goddamn good you forget where the hell you are.

His other hand settles on your middle, firm, squeezing against your soft waist. You’re keenly aware of every place your bodies meet—your chest against his damp shirt, your thigh brushing his leg, the faint heat radiating off his skin in the humid air.

You’ve never done this. Nope. Not while working. Not with guests, especially. But Yoongi doesn’t feel like a guest anymore. Doesn’t feel like a fantasy or a celebrity or whatever version of himself the world thinks he is.

He doesn’t feel new–like someone you just met. It sounds crazy that you connected on a level that doesn’t quite match the short amount of time since you’ve exchanged names. You can’t even correct your actions at this point. Not when he tastes like coconut and you’re slipping farther away from clarity.

Your hands move on instinct, sliding up under his shirt, fingers tangling in the sticky strands at the nape of his neck. “Yoongi…” His name escapes you like a plea, like you’re already wrecked—and maybe you are.

His tongue strokes yours, and it’s incredibly filthy how he’s sucking it into his mouth like he wants to own it. Own you. You moan. Your knees weaken. Your brain empties. The only thing you can feel is him—his mouth, his breath, the growing pressure of his body against yours.

Fingers are slipping under the hem of your shorts, gripping you behind with no hesitation.

“This ass,” he mutters, then smacks, and the sound cracks in the air. Your breath catches, a gasp hitching from your throat as slickness floods your bikini bottoms.

“Shit–somebody might see us,”

“Nah, nobody else is gonna come here,” he pauses, smirks. “Except you, twice. Then, me.”

The confidence. “Oh my God.”

“We ‘bout to break protocol.” He squeezes your ass again, groaning into your neck. “You want this?” he rasps. His lips latch onto your throat, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. “Tell me.”

“Fuck, yes,” you breathe. “Come…”

You grab his hand and lead him toward the hatch, pulling it open and motioning for him to climb down. He does without question, dropping to the lower deck with a soft thud.

You grip the ladder, descending slowly, legs already shaky with anticipation. But before you can hit the floor, his hands are on your thick thighs, firm. Squeezes once.

“Stop,” he commands. “Face me.”

Your heart stutters, but you obey, turning to face him as you grip the edge of the floor deck which is now at your eye level.

“What are you—?”

“You keep an eye out,” he says, voice low and dark with intent. “I'm just gonna eat you out real quick.”

Your breath catches—shocked, aroused, completely undone.

He curls his fingers into your waistband, tugging your shorts and bikini bottoms down in one smooth motion. A gust of humid air brushes your exposed skin as your knees nearly give out.

But you don’t get a second to process, because his mouth is already on you, making out with your pussy lips. His tongue licks a long, hot stripe through your folds, and your nearly fucking cum right there.

The metal ladder is cool against your ass as you struggle for balance. Your grip tightens on the deck, knuckles almost white. His hand slides up to part your thighs just a little more, anchoring you open for him. You feel his hot breath, before his tongue dives back in—savoring, circling, sucking.

You panic—just briefly. You spent hours in the ocean. You probably taste like—

“Mmm,” he hums against you, like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. His grip on your thigh is a bit harsh as if he could read your mind that you wanted to squirm out of his grasp. 

There is something so incredibly arousing about feeling him, but not seeing him. Hearing him, but not touching him. As if the sensations are heightened. Every feeling more palpable because of sense deprivation.

Next thing you know his fingers are teasing your entrance, collecting the slick from your pussy.

You feel a wet tap against the side of your mouth and words aren't needed as you suck his digits in. You’re drunk of your own taste and heady scent, the feel of his bony knuckles massaging your tongue tipping you closer to the edge.

But then his fingers are gone and you almost want to bite it down but then he slides it into your cunt and Christ alive. 

He is moving in and out of you so shallowly, just knuckle-deep, the pads of his fingers barely scraping your inner walls. You move your arms to grip the ladder behind you, giving you the leverage to rock forward, coaxing it inner, deeper.

Fuck is he laughing right now?!

You halt your movements as you hear a throaty chuckle from underneath you.

“Why’d you stop,” he teases, kissing up the softness on the inside of your thighs.

“Hook your thigh over my shoulder,” he mumbles against your soaked heat, voice low and so filthy it makes your whole body tense.

You do as he says. Your leg lifts shakily, your body is burning with the exertion but his hand is already there, steadying you, guiding you, draping it over the curve of his shoulder like you don’t weigh nothing.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, just before his tongue dives back in.

It’s messier now. His fingers pump deeper, faster, the pace almost punishing as they curl inside you, finding that spongey spot that makes your thighs seize. His tongue flicks over your clit in short, relentless strokes, matching the rhythm of his fingers.

You cry out—loud, desperate, your hand gripping the ladder like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the earth. Your hips jerk, trying to escape, but he growls and tightens his hold, tongue moving even faster.

“Fuck, Yoongi—I’m gonna—”

And then it hits. A blinding, body-shaking orgasm that tears through you so violently your vision goes white. You scream as your legs almost gives out, but his arm braces your hips as you fuckin’ squirt, soaking his chin, his neck, the tops of his shoulders.

He lets out a surprised, delighted laugh, breath hot and sticky as he looks up at you.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, eyes glazed, chin glistening. “You squirted all over me, you dirty girl.”

You whimper, half-mortified, half-high, your body still twitching. “Sorry…” you squeak.

His tongue darts out to taste the corner of his mouth, and he grins—smirks, really. Completely pleased with himself. “Don’t. Sexiest thing I’ve seen in a while.”

You’re trembling so hard you can barely stay upright, your leg slipping from his shoulder. He catches it, presses a final kiss to your inner thigh, then plants your foot down on a step. 

“Come here. Be careful,” he says, voice gentler now. He guides you by the waist, helping you down the last few steps until your feet hit the floor.

Your body collapses into his chest on instinct, and he chuckles again, arms wrapping around your middle.

“You okay?” he asks softly, nose nudging yours.

You nod, breath still catching in your throat. “More than okay.”

He pulls back just enough to flash that lazy grin. “Good. ’Cause I’m not done with you yet.”

He spins you back around, pressing you against the ladder. You gasp as his hand flattens between your shoulder blades, your palms bracing the handles above you as his hips roll into yours from behind—slow and grinding, just to let you feel what he’s working with.

“Still want this?” he asks, voice low, gravel edged with need, his hard cock moulding itself against your plush ass cheeks.

You push your hips back into him. “Yes. God, yes.”

There’s a frantic shuffle of clothes, from his end, his swim trunks dropped and kicked away, and then… He slides in with one rapid thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Your mouth drops open, lungs pierced, your breath knocked right out of you.

“Fuck—shit,” you choke, forehead pressing against your arm.

“F-fuck,” he groans, fingers tightening on your hips. “You’re so fucking tight.”

He starts to move, hips snapping forward sharply. Each thrust drives you against the ladder, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the tiny space, the scent of the ocean mixing with the thick heat of your bodies.

Yoongi rocks against you desperately like he’s been holding back all damn day. Like he’s finally been let off the leash. Mercifully he slows down, but he is pulling you up by your hair so your back is resting against his chest. 

“Yoongi,” you say his name breathlessly, and he releases his ponytail grip as you struggle to stay upright. He licks the skin by your ear, whispering dirty things you’ve never heard of in your entire life, twitches against your walls.

“You like that, huh, you little slut?” 

Fuck. You didn’t expect to like the name so much. An involuntary clench of your pussy and you know he got the idea. It’s not just the name, but it’s the way he is literally manhandling you, fulfilling all your small girl fantasies.

“Mmh.”

“Yeah, you love it.” His fingers find the zipper of your rash guard top sliding it down just enough for his large hands to slip inside and grab a fistful of your breasts.

“Your tits are so soft, shit. Wan’ suck on them so bad.” He growls.

“Want it,” you mewl, pushing your chest forward for him to grasp.

“I bet you do, huh. Maybe later, if you’re a good girl I can suck on these. Make you cum just licking at your nipples—want that?”

“Uh-huh, please,” You sound so whiny, fucking back into him as he fondles and tugs and pulls at your sensitive nubs.

“Spit,” he instructs, his palm out. “Let’s get these nice and slick.”

A wet glob from your mouth lands on his palm and he slaps it against your tits. You whimper at the sting, but it’s quickly relieved by the soft massage against your breasts.

“Feel good?”

“So good. Ah–” your words are cut off as he folds you again to his liking.

Yoongi fucks like he is used to being watched, but right now? There’s no audience. No stage. Just you, bent over, body shuddering with every thrust, moaning like you don’t care who hears it.

Your hands scramble for grip, nails digging into your own skin as his rhythm gets rougher. His fingers trail up your spine, tracing the dip at the small of your back before curling into your hair and yanking just hard enough to make you gasp as he continues to rail you from behind.

“Harder, please, Yoongi…”

“So desperate,” he pants, breathing hot against your neck. “So fucking good like this. You feel—” a groan breaks his sentence, “—so goddamn perfect. A pretty little— cocksleeve just for me.”

You’re trembling now, thighs shaking as pleasure coils low and tight in your belly. You feel everything—his cock, thick, hot, hitting just right with every snap of his hips and your body is unraveling fast.

“Ahhh. Right there, fuckin there. That’s it…” You glance over your shoulder, and fuck he’s so fucking hot and he’s fucking you so good and…

“You gonna come for me again?” he growls, one hand sliding between your thighs. “Shit. Give it to me, you dirty fuckin’ girl.”

You cry out as your orgasm slams into you, body clenching tight around his cock, eyes squeezing shut as white heat galvanizes every nerve. Yoongi curses behind you, hips stuttering once, twice—and then he’s coming too, spilling deep inside you with a growl that sounds more animal than human.

You both stay there, shaking and sticky and utterly breathless. The only sound is the ocean lapping against the hull and your heart pounding in your ears.

Yoongi’s hand doesn’t leave your waist, his fingers sink against your soft skin a bit firmer, though somehow gentler, too. Then, his lips press once, twice, thrice, softly, against your shoulder blades. You don’t understand what’s happening. It feels intimate, too intimate.

“Umm…” 

“Is there a bathroom here?”

“A tiny one, yeah. Over there.”

You wince as he pulls his cock out, walls pulsing once as if you wanna keep him inside you if you can. 

“C’mon,” he taps your ass playfully, lightening up the moment. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

By the time the group is back on the boat, skin sun-warmed and bellies full from lunch, the mood is mellow. No one makes any comment as to why you and Yoongi are already on the boat, or why you both have different tops on. You’re slightly relieved. But it also makes questions swirl in your brain that you don’t really want answers to. You shove it in the recesses of your mind and focus on getting back to work. You’re still on duty after all. 

You check on the other guests, making small talk about the yummy lunch spread. You know they had grilled squid, pad thai, mango sticky rice… like every other group you’ve toured, and it’s always a dopamine rush to see everyone so satisfied.

Someone puts on music through a Bluetooth speaker, the kind of acoustic guitar track that feels like the end of a movie. The boat sways gently as it begins to head back toward the mainland.

You pretend not to notice when Yoongi lingers near the bow, waiting until the others have found their seats before sliding into the open spot beside you.

He doesn’t say anything. Just sits close enough that your arms brush when the boat dips slightly with the tide.

You glance at him once. Twice. On the third time, you catch him already looking at you.

Neither of you smiles. He just reaches for the beer you hand him and takes a long sip, throat bobbing.

The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable. It’s in limbo. Like neither of you wants to name what happened, not while you’re still in it. Still riding the aftershocks of something way too fucking good to put into words.

At one point, he rests his arm along the back of the bench behind you. His fingers graze your shoulder. And you know it’s not by accident.

Your hand brushes his knee when you reach for a stray towel. Not by accident, either.

The sun dips lower as the coastline comes into view, and a knot begins to form in your chest. The same one he must feel, if the way his hand keeps tightening around his bottle is any sign.

Eventually, the boat eases into the dock. The group starts gathering their things—bags, towels, sun hats, laughter loud again as people gear up to head back to city life.

You move to help untie the mooring lines, and when you return to the deck, he’s standing by the edge, a small bag slung over one arm.

The others are already walking off. Bowing to you and thanking you for the tour. He’s the last one to leave just as he was the first to arrive.

“This is where I’m supposed to say thank you for the tour,” he murmurs, eyes still on the sea.

You nod. “This is where I say, come back anytime.”

He turns to you then. And for a second, the tiredness in his eyes softens.

“Will you be here, if I come back?”

You don’t answer right away. Just offer a small smile. “Maybe.”

He nods like that’s fair. Steps forward like he might hug you, or say something more. Maybe he considered it. But instead, he slips past you with a final glance.

The dock creaks under his steps. He doesn’t look back.

You watch him walk away until he disappears into the crowd.

Your chest aches with something unnameable.

You know how this goes. Men like him probably have groupies all the time, in every tour stop. You were Phuket. And that’s fine. It’s fine.

At least, you tell yourself, he was a really good fuck and you finished twice, which is more generous than any other one night stand or quickie you’ve had. A great story to tell your future grandkids that you once fucked a very famous idol. Okay, maybe not your grandkids. Maybe not a story to tell, actually. (You signed an NDA!) But something to shove in your heart, let every ventricle lock it tight there. But the taste of him is still on your lips, and the way your heart stutters in your chest says otherwise, like the memory is already struggling to be freed.

You’ve just stepped out of the shower when the knock comes. You freeze.

It’s late—well past when anyone should be dropping by. You don’t get visitors out here. Not unannounced. Not at this hour. Wrapped in your towel, you tiptoe barefoot to the door, heart thudding.

Another knock. Slower this time. Softer.

You squint through the peephole and nearly forget how to breathe.

It’s him.

Yoongi.

You open the door, towel clutched tight, words lodged in your throat.

It’s really him. Hood pulled low. 

His eyes sweep over your form, too. Wet, barely covered… but he recovers enough to explain what is going on. 

“I know this is crazy,” he says, before you can even speak. “But I had to see you again.”

He stands there, blinking at you under the harsh hallway lighting in your apartment building, like he’s afraid you’ll shut the door in his face.

“How did you even—?”

“I went back to the pier. Found the old guy? Practically begged him. And he gave me your address.” He exhales, shaking his head with a laugh. “I think he only did it because he felt sorry for me.”

You’re still standing there, stunned, the scent of body wash clinging to your skin.

“Can I come in?” he asks, quieter now. Like he’s unsure of the answer. “You’re in your towel.”

You nod, even though you’re still in shock, stepping aside. You adjust the towel on your chest. 

“Make yourself at home. Let me just put clothes on.”

Yoongi slips off his shoes and steps into your little house like he’s done it a hundred times before.

He looks around. It’s nothing special—worn tile floors, mismatched furniture, an abandoned oatmeal bar on the coffee table—but he doesn’t look disappointed. He looks like he’s breathing for the first time all day.

You grab a shirt and sleep shorts, quickly changing in the bedroom. When you return, he’s leaning against your kitchen counter, eyes scanning the fridge magnets, the little details of your life like they mean something.

You glance up at the clock, 8:30 p.m.

“I was gonna eat ramen,” you say, trying to play it cool.

His lips twitch. “You got enough for two?”

You both end up cooking together. He cuts vegetables with a precision that is completely uncalled for for a cheap pack of instant noodles. You make a comment and he huffs his chest with pride, his knife skills now in full show as he chops the onions in record speed. 

You laugh at how he makes a face and complains about being in tears afterwards.

The kitchen fills with steam and the smell of broth. You sit on the counter while it simmers, beers in hand. He stands in front of you, and your legs part instinctively, letting him through. Like he belongs there.

It’s oddly domestic. Ridiculously comfortable. Why? You still don’t get it.

You’re talking about nothing—favorite childhood snacks, weird airport food, your least favorite sea creatures—when the silence slips in between you.

He’s watching you now, the way you laugh, the way you push your hair behind your ear. His beer forgotten on the table.

You meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, but unlike in the boat, they’re not unreadable. In fact, they’re very much readable and you don’t hesitate to call him out for it. 

“You’re gonna kiss me again, aren’t you?” you raise a brow.

“Been thinking about it since you opened the door in that towel.”

So he does. 

He kisses you slower this time. More careful. Not rushed, not frantic like it was in the boat. He cradles the back of your neck, the other slides beneath your shirt to rest against your waist.

You’re kissing each other like you’re trying to remember. Like you’re trying to make it last. His mouth moves with so much purpose, almost like he’s writing over the hurried, hungry moment from before and replacing it with this—reverence, sureness, clarity.

When he pulls away to breathe, you whisper, “This is crazy.”

He nods. “I know…”

At least you can agree on that.

Later, he’s between your thighs on the couch, and this time, he doesn’t tear at your shorts like he’s chasing a high. This time, he touches you with all the time in the world, so you feel it all. When he slides your shorts down, he pauses, eyes locked on your center, pupils blown.

“I wanted this before,” he murmurs, kissing your inner thigh. “But I didn’t take my time. I didn’t show you.”

“Show me what?” you ask, breathless.

He presses another kiss to your other thigh, then another, closer and closer to your mound. 

“That you deserve to be worshipped,” he says. He drags his tongue along your puffy folds, slow and tender. You arch into his mouth with a gasp, already so close just from kissing in the kitchen. But maybe it’s also the rasp of his voice, and the refreshing honesty, the way he seems to be convinced that you were special.

So this isn’t like the boat. You, suspended against the ladder. It’s not messy or wild. It’s not just lust, or tension exploding in secret.

This is something else. You, suspended in a different reality. Yoongi, telling a different story with his mouth.

He eats you out with care, overwriting that animalistic fuck at sea. His hands cradle your supple thighs as he buries his face deeper. His tongue works in slow, deliberate circles, building towards your peak. 

“Watch…” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear between breaths. He puts his index and middle fingers in his mouth, dragging it across his sinful tongue. Teases it against your hole before pushing it in agonizingly slow, relishing the way your body is writhing in pleasure.

When he pushes the length all the way in, you fist the cushions. “Yoongi—oh god—”

His mouth envelops your clit in a gentle suction as his fingers go in and out of you. 

“Ahh, so close…”

He doesn’t stop. Not until you’re shaking again, voice breaking on his name, thighs trembling on either side of his face.

He stays between them even after. Kissing. Calming. Worshiping.

You’re still breathless when he pulls back, lips slick, hair mussed, cheeks flushed with heat and pride. He looks up at you like he’s just done something holy—and maybe he has.

You’re still dazed by the time he pulls back, lips glossy, hair wild from all your pulling but his eyes, soft, focused completely on you. He rises slowly, kissing your stomach, bunching up the fabric as he goes, and you can’t even bring yourself to feel a little embarrassed like you sometimes do, with every cover that’s shed, every piece of you revealed, because he is treating you with the kind of reverence you’ve never felt before. Blind to the flaws, he’s not about to leave any part of you untouched by the pink petals of his lips, helping you out of your cotton tee.

When his face meets yours again, you’re already reaching for him, pulling him close, needing his mouth, his breath, the low rasp of his voice in your ear. You’re so high on this feeling. Of being wanted–no–worshipped, for who you are. He kisses you like a man obsessed, hands sliding under your thighs as he coaxes you onto him, settling you over the hardness pressed tight beneath his sweats.

You’re straddling him now, knees sinking into the couch cushions on either side, your body still trembling from the orgasm he pulled out of you. And then—you pause.

You hesitate. Just for a second.

The reality of it creeps in and your saboteur whispers the insecurities you’ve worked so hard to hide. You’re heavier than him. Curvier, fuller. And even though he just made you fall apart on his tongue, there’s a flicker of doubt when you feel your weight settle onto him.

He notices instantly.

“Hey,” he murmurs like he knows, threading his fingers on your hair to pull you towards him, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. His other hand grip your hips, sliding back to your ass where he gives it a soft squeeze. “Don’t do that.”

“I just…” you look away, voice small. “You sure you’re comfortable?”

He lets out the softest fucking laugh, breath hot against your throat. “Baby, sit on me.”

His grip tightens, pulling your hips flush against him. You feel all of him—thick and very solid right against your slit and you can’t help the moan that escapes you, mixing with his own with the slightest friction.

You whine when he thrusts up just once, just enough to make your clit drag against the bulge in his boxers.

“Shit. You’re so sexy…” he breathes, hands sliding from your hips to your thighs, then your asscheeks, cupping them with both palms. “You feel what you’re doing to me right now?”

You nod, dazed, as you roll your hips, slow and testing. He groans like it’s killing him—in the best way.

“Wanna see you ride me… wanna feel you come on my cock. You think you can take it?”

“Shit, yeah…” You respond with a shameless grind. 

“I think I’m addicted to you,” he smiles, ogling your tits, the way they jiggle for him.

“Yeah?”

He licks his bottom lip, nodding.

“Off,” you gesture to his clothes, his tee tossed haphazardly on the floor. You lift your hips slightly to give him room to shimmy his bottoms down. 

His cock flops against his tummy, heavy and reddened. Your mouth wants it too but your hands are already guiding him to your slick entrance on its own accord like it knows better. You finally sink down onto him and his head drops back against the couch, jaw clenched, eyes fluttering shut.

“Fuck. You feel like heaven.”

You gasp, reveling in the fullness of him, the stretch. You ride him slowly at first. Letting him feel all of you. Letting him watch.

And he does. Watches the way your body moves over his, the way your breasts bounce with every roll, the way you take him so deep he can barely speak.

“Look at you,” he pants, hands moving everywhere—your waist, your ass, your thighs, back to your breasts. 

“Shit…” he pants, eyes moving to where you’re riding him. “You’re so fuckin’ hot… fuckin’ perfect.”

He palms your breasts, groaning low in his throat. “Can’t get enough of these.”

He leans forward, licking the valley of your chest before closing his mouth around your nipple, sucking hard enough to make you cry out. Your walls flutter around him in response, and he lets out a low, wrecked groan, before smacking your ass.

“Fuck!”

“Bounce for me, baby,” he gruffs hungrily against your skin, and he delivers another spank. “Come on…”

You do—riding him harder, feeling him twitch inside you. His mouth stays latched, teeth grazing sensitive skin. He’s relentless, filthy, utterly focused on unraveling you. 

When he finally pulls back, he finds your mouth again, devouring your moans between kisses as you both hurtle toward the edge.

“Gonna cum, Yoongi—” you gasp.

“With me, baby,” he pants. “Fuckin’ cum with me.”

He bucks into you harder, faster, harsher and finally you cum together—this time with his name sobbed into his neck—he holds you there, pulsing inside you as he paints your walls white, whispering things he probably shouldn’t say, things you ache to hear.

His head is fully tipped back on the couch, breathing heavy, body a little glossy from his sweat and yours. The aftermath clings to your skin, but the fire hasn’t burned out. Not even close. You’re not done.

He worshipped you, called you a goddess. But, aren’t you his dirty girl? His slut? And when he looks like the hottest man alive—

He looks up when you shift beside him, his brows pulling just slightly. “Wait. What’re you—”

You don’t answer. Just move lower, letting your hands glide down his chest. His abs twitch under your palms. 

“I wanna taste you,” you whisper. “Suck you dry….”

He groans—low and hoarse—as you move between his legs, your mouth ghosting over the crease of his thigh. He spreads them automatically, lazy and loose, cock already half-hard and still wet with your juices. A drop of cum beads at the tip, glistening.

“Shit,” he breathes, pushing a hand through his hair. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You hum in amusement, dragging your tongue along the underside of his cock—slow and soft, just enough to make him twitch. Then again. Firmer this time. And when you wrap your lips around the head and suck, you feel the ripple it sends through his entire body.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he hisses. 

You take your time. Lap him up, your cum and his combined.  Lick up the length of him again, then back down to the base, tongue swirling as he expands in your mouth. The weight of him is perfect against your tongue, the way his girth stretches your lips obscene but delicious.

His hand finds the back of your head, not forcing—just resting there. “God, baby… that dirty mouth…”

You bob your head, eyes flicking up to meet his. He looks fucking ruined already, jaw slack, stomach trembling with every flick of your tongue. You clench your throat against his tip and feel him jolt. You love the way his body reacts, the little tremors in his thighs, the tension in his neck.

“Don’t stop,” he pants. “Just like that—fuck, you’re acting like a real slut right now.”

Yes, fuck. You choke involuntarily, swallowing against his tip. He groans, lips lining up into a smirk. You take him deeper, popping him off first to admire your handiwork, cock swollen and red. Let spit drip down your chin. Let your throat work around him as your hand pumps what you can’t take. You can feel him losing it—his moans getting louder, filthier, raspier. He swears under his breath, head thrown back against the pillows.

“Shit, shit—I’m gonna cum,” he warns, eyes fluttering open to find yours again. “Swallow for me, baby. Be my good fuckin—fuuuuck—”

You take him in faster, tongue firmly pressed against that vein as you slide up and down keeping your lips vacuum sealed, and finally—

He comes with a choked-off groan, hips jerking, both hands tangled in your hair now as his cock pulses on your tongue. You take it all. Every filthy, salty, slimy drop. You swallow without breaking eye contact. Brandish your tongue with pride.

He blinks down at you, stars in his eyes as he releases the grip on your scalp to move to your chin. “Shit. You’re unreal.”

You smile. 

You wish this was real.

Somehow he convinces you to move to the bed so he can clean you up. He emerges from your tiny toilet with a warm washcloth, damping it against your leaking cunt.

“C’mere,” he lays on his side, gesturing you to move into him. Alarm bells sound in your head but you can’t bring yourself to stay away when your lips are already towards each other like magnets.

Yoongi’s hand is splayed across your lower back, fingers idly tracing soft, lazy shapes into your skin. His other arm is tucked behind his head, smug and relaxed and still looking thoroughly fucked out.

The night goes on like that. You kiss, cuddle. Talk about small things—more favorites, random things—the suspicious little mole by his arm, scary things—his upcoming military service. And you share with him your own—favorites, why you sleep with an alien plushie, your uncertain future with your job and the economy going to shit.

Hours after, your heart is unrecognizable, suddenly morphing into the shape of someone you just met. It should feel wrong. You’re still not sure why it doesn’t.

“You’ve ruined me for anyone else, I fear,” he says, voice rough, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips.

Go away, butterflies! You snort into his shoulder. “Pshh don’t lie.”

“Why would I do that?”

You lift your head slightly, looking at him. “Okay.”

There’s a beat of silence—comfortable, but loaded. His thumb still circles lazily over your spine.

“You should give me your number.”

You consider him for just a moment. But decide to shake your head. Not because you wanna see him sweat, but because you resolve not to. 

His brow shoots up to his forehead like he didn’t expect that response.

“If you’re still thinking about me after two years…” you say, not quite looking at him, “Then find me. Just like you did today.”

He huffs, repeating his request. “Or you could just give me your number.”

You meet his gaze now, seriousness in your eyes. “I’m not gonna do that.”

“Why? You were hustling me for it in the boat…” he teases with a sly grin.

“Shut up, I just wanted to help you find your fish.”

He pokes his tongue in the inside of his cheek, still waiting on you, deciphering that look.

“Look. I don’t want to wait around for your text or your call. I’m not that girl.”

“Then don’t,” he says simply. “I mean, you won’t have to. I do plan to call. And I’m a pretty good texter, actually.”

You roll your eyes, tracing a slow line over his chest with your fingertip. “Be for real. You look like the type who won’t charge their phone for days.”

He gasps dramatically. “You’re… super wrong. And I have a fucking cool library of cat memes. You’ll be missing out.”

“I think I’ll live.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

There’s a moment. He tilts his head toward you, so adorable, so boyfriend, like you’re an old couple bickering about something mundane, like who’s gonna check the front door if it’s locked. Certainly not a conversation that basically dictated if you will ever see each other again. 

Then before you know it, you jut your lip, unable to stop yourself from acting cutely.

“Kiss me?”

He grins, cat-like. “I’ll do you one better. I can also give you tongue.”

You groan. “God, you’re cringe. You sure you have fans?”

“A fucking lot of em.” He hovers above you, his inky bangs tickling your forehead. “Shut up and take it.”

Tongue teasing against the seam of your lips, he kisses you breathless for the hundredth time tonight. His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck as he pulls you closer, deepening it just enough, with a lot of tongue, as promised.

It’s that feeling.

You could stay here forever.

And that’s the problem.

For now, you let it be what it is. Just a moment where your body fits perfectly against his, your laugh harmonizes with his, and it feels like—just maybe—you were really meant to find each other in the middle of the sea.

You’re both hovering by the door, breaking every rule in the one night stand playbook. This wasn’t supposed to feel like this..

But it fucking does.

He’s dressed the same way he came in last night—cap tugged low over damp hair that smells faintly of your shampoo. You’re in your oversized T-shirt and sleep shorts, bare feet brushing the cold floor. It makes the contrast feel starker somehow—him stepping back into the world, you still rooted in this little bubble of what the night became.

“You think we'll see each other again?” he mumbles, leaning his shoulder beside the door. It’s a quiet question, almost tossed out like it’s nothing.

“You’re you,” you say simply. “You have the world in your hands. It really just depends on one thing.”

His brows lift, a flicker of interest breaking through the fatigue in his face. “And what’s that?”

“How bad you want this.”

That makes him pause.

His eyes dip down your body like he can’t help it. Then his teeth sink into his bottom lip. 

“Don’t make this harder,” he huffs.

“I’m not,” you whisper back. “I’m just being honest.”

“I don’t want to leave,” he says, barely audible.

You shrug, trying for casual even though your chest feels like it’s about to collapse. “But you have to.”

And that’s all there is to it.

He turns, opens the door.

But he doesn’t leave. Not immediately. He stands there, hoodie sleeves too long around his hands, looking back at you one last time.

His gaze doesn’t wander. It lands right on your face, and stays.

“Maybe next time,” he says, just like he did in the island.

You nod, barely. “Maybe.” You try a small smile.

He hesitates for a second more. Tries that small smile to mirror your own.

Then he leaves. And this time, it’s goodbye.

The door closes with a soft click, and the room is too quiet all over again, everything intact like he was never even there. Except he left with maybe just a tiny piece of you and replaced it with a bit of sparkle that you don’t notice immediately until you step back in your room.

That morning, you fire off a text to Soomchai asking why he gave a stranger your address and demand he send you a generous portion of his seafood pad thai as a peace offering. He obliges.

🗓️ June 2025 -📍 Phuket, Thailand

Life goes on. You didn’t have much choice in that.

The tours picked up again after the rainy season, but not in the way they used to. Fewer tourists, more locals. The occasional influencer. You learned to smile a little brighter. Talk a little faster.

But when things got tight—and God, they got tight—you picked up a second job teaching English online. What started as survival became something sustainable. Eventually, something yours. Your own business, your own pace, your own students across time zones who asked if Thailand really was that beautiful. You always smiled when they did. You tell them how sugary sweet the watermelons are.

And then there was the bracelet.

The one Yoongi left on the nightstand without a word. Understated but expensive in a way you only noticed when you turned it over in your hand and saw the brand pressed into the clasp. You kept it for months. Until the rent was due and the electricity bill was on its last notice and your fridge was nothing but leftover rice, soy sauce packets, and a bottle of beer.

The pawnshop paid you enough to stay afloat for four months.

And then last week—after months of hard work, after finding your footing again, you walked back into that same pawnshop and bought it back. The bracelet. 

Not that he’d ever come looking for it. But it felt right having it again. Like you were reclaiming something. Maybe not him, but you.

You think of Yoongi sometimes. Not in the hopeful, aching, delulu way you used to.

He’s no longer in headlines. Gone stone cold on socials. Even ARMY wants to do a recon mission to find him. But he’s doing his bid to serve his country so the absence must have been necessary for him. At least you hope so.

You play his music when you’re cooking, or on the rare evenings you chill on your balcony with a cold one and the humid breeze and his husky voice and the sweet piano melody lulls you to sleep.

It wasn’t clear then, but it is now. He simply was a blip on your timeline. An unforgettable 24 hours that changed the pace of your heartbeat. And you don’t hold it against him anymore.

If anything, he reminds you of your favorite line from one of his songs: “Future’s gonna be okay.”

And deep down, you really believe that.

It was one of those nights. Adele was blaring through your bluetooth speaker. And you’re out singing the shit outta her in the kitchen, lyrics be damned, crooning in your frilly little apron with a wooden spatula being used as your mic.

“Never mind I’ll find, someone like youuuuu…

I wish nothing but the best for youuuuuuu toooooo

Bla bla bla I bet I remember what you said

La la la sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead…”

It’s probably the onions but you’re now crying and it feels phenomenal and oddly cathartic.

Your phone chimes with a text.

Soomchai: Hey. Sorry I know it’s late. Stopping by to drop off dessert.

Strange, but okay. Everyone likes a freebie. Especially when it’s sugar.

You’re rinsing dishes when the doorbell comes.

You wipe your hands, heart racing for a reason you can’t name. You open the door.

And he’s there.

Not Soomchai.

Min Yoongi.

Wearing a hoodie just like when you last saw him. His hair is a bit shorter, face slightly more gaunt and just as guarded. There’s a weariness behind his eyes—one you recognize instantly.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t step forward.

Says one thing as you struggle to regulate the thumping of your heart.

“Dessert?”

You stand there, barefoot and blinking at him, stunned into silence. You want to ask why now. You want to ask what changed. But instead, you step aside. Quietly. 

He walks in, a plastic bag with dessert in tow. Takes off his shoes. Looks around like the space is familiar and foreign all at once.

And then—

“I tried to forget you,” he says, voice a bit raw. “Turns out I can’t.”

You swallow hard, emotion clawing up your throat.

“Me too,” you say softly, lifting your wrist so he can see the glimmer of his bracelet. You haven't removed it since you got it back.

He nods, walking closer. He hesitates just long enough to make your pulse quicken.

You stare at him, waiting.

“Wanna try this again,” he says. “If you still want to.”

You don’t answer right away. You just step forward and wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face in the warm cotton of his hoodie. He exhales, slow and shaky, like he wasn’t sure you'd say yes. How could you not? He walks in with a pretty face, and even prettier words.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

“I missed you too,” he replies.

And that night, he proves how much.

“Butterflyfish,” you whisper.

“Hm?” His voice is drowsy, the sound vibrating softly against your forehead.

You tilt your head back, just enough to glance up at him—but his eyes are already closed, lids heavy, expression peaceful in that half-dream state right before sleep.

“The fish you were looking for,” you say quietly. “Back then.”

There’s a small pause. A breath. Then a soft, sleepy grunt of remembrance.

“Ah.”

His arms tighten around you, warm and sure, like he’s tethering himself to this moment. To you.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

You feel it more than hear it—his lips brushing your hair, the words settling between your ribs.

“For helping me find what I was looking for.”

The End :)

A/N: … and now we know deez fish. 🤭

I hope this story was like a brief vacay in the tropics just like in Yoongi’s vlog, and made you feel like you were there in the moment with him. 

Well—tell me what you think! Favorite parts? Please leave me a note and reblog if you enjoyed this story! 🙏🏼😘

Thank you for reading, you lovely, beautiful human. xo

Check out my masterlist if you want more Yoongi.

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