#and they didn’t really take it seriously

[linoxpudding]

Inches In Between Us

summary: moment where you and him are caught too close for comfort… or maybe just close enough, tension simmers

pairing: skz x gn!reader

genre: slight angst, fluff, forced proximity trope

a/n: this one’s been sitting in my drafts forever (based on this request) I took my time crafting each moment to really bring the tension and emotion to life! comment below and let me know which scene had your heart doing somersaults ♡

Masterlist

~°~

Bang Chan (established relationship)

You flew across two countries just to see him.

You told yourself it was worth it—the late-night packing, the long airport waits, the time off you had to beg your manager for. You missed him. You missed you and him, and those Facetimes squeezed between rehearsals weren’t enough.

But now, sitting stiffly on the plush leather seat of the tour bus, knees locked together and jaw tight with frustration, you weren’t sure why you bothered.

You had claimed the wide back row—meant to seat four or five—but you sat all the way in the corner, facing the window, hoping to be left alone.

Chan’s voice had barely left your ears since the fight earlier—sharp words you both didn’t mean, silence that hurt more than shouting. He’d said he needed space.

So, you decided to give it to him.

Now that the schedule was over, the members and staff had scattered across the bus, most of them slouched in the two-seaters lining either side of the aisle. Some had earbuds in, some quietly scrolled their phones, but no one said a word about the tension radiating from the very back.

Chan climbed in last.

For a second, you thought—hoped—he’d take one of the many empty two-seaters. Maybe even sit with Minho or Changbin, who were already half-asleep a few rows ahead.

But no. He walked straight to the back and slid into the long seat. Not just the seat—but right next to you. Right up against you.

You blinked at him. “Seriously?”

In response, he just leaned back with a soft exhale, gaze forward.

Annoyed, you got up and moved to a two-seater near the middle of the bus. You didn’t look at him.

Seconds later, the seat dipped beside you again.

You didn’t even have to look to know it was him. The quiet, stubborn presence. That familiar scent. The way your thigh brushed against his because the seat was narrow and neither of you budged.

You huffed, loud enough for only him to hear, but said nothing. You didn’t want to draw attention. Not to the fight. Not to how your heart still sped up when he was near—even now.

His thigh pressed against yours, his shoulder brushing yours. There wasn’t enough room not to touch unless you climbed out the window. You didn’t move. Neither did he.

You refused to look at him, eyes glued to the streetlights racing by outside. Still, you felt him— his quiet sigh, his fidgeting fingers. The way he turned his body toward you, even if he didn’t say a word.

"You’re really not gonna say anything?" he finally whispered, voice low enough that no one in front could hear.

You shrugged.

"You were the one who said you needed space," you murmured bitterly, still not looking.

He was silent for a long second, then said, "Yeah. I was wrong."

"You can’t just say stuff like that and expect it to go away, Chan."

"I know," he said. "That’s why I’m here. In your space. Because I don’t want it. I want you."

“You told me to fly out. You wanted me here. And then you barely looked at me all day.”

Chan’s jaw tensed. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You think that makes it better?” Your voice cracked. “I cleared my schedule, booked time off, flew across countries just to watch you pull away from me every second. I know what dating an idol means, Chan, but this—this felt different.”

He looked like he’d been punched. “I know. I messed up.”

He reached for your hand, tentative. You let him, but didn’t squeeze back yet.

“I thought if I focused on the tour stuff first, I could make time for you later. But I just pushed you away, I’m sorry, baby.”

You turned to the window again, biting your lip.

“I was just excited to see you,” you whispered. “And you made me feel like an afterthought.”

Chan exhaled shakily. “You’re not. You’re the only part of this I don’t want to mess up.”

His voice was rough, edged with guilt.

“For the rest of today, I’m yours,” he said, gently pulling your intertwined hands to his chest. “No staff. No members. Just us. And I swear, I won’t let you feel like this again. Let me fix it.”

You hesitated. But you looked at him and there it was again: that open, vulnerable gaze only you ever got. He was looking at you— eyes glassy, sincere, scared.

So you nodded.

He leaned in, his voice even quieter.

"You can keep being mad at me. I’ll sit here the whole ride, touching your knee like a loser, until you’re ready to forgive me. I just… I don’t want this silence anymore."

Your anger crumbled a little at the edges. He was ridiculous. Dramatic. Stubborn. And yours.

You huffed, barely hiding the smile tugging at your lips. "You’re squishing me."

"Good," he said, bumping your shoulder gently. "I missed you."

You let your head drop onto his shoulder, just for a second. “You’re lucky we’re in public.”

He smirked. “Trust me. I know.”

Lee Know (frenemies)

It was supposed to be a relaxing weekend. A break from the city, from work, from stress.

A weekend camping trip with all your friends consisting of a bonfire, setting up tents, good food, and no cell service— sure, it sounded cute on paper. Until you found out Lee Minho was coming too.

Minho. The eye-roll king. Your arch nemesis in every group chat and game night. The one who always had something smug to say, who knew exactly how to push your buttons and enjoyed doing it.

So, here you were, standing in the middle of a forest clearing with an uneven patch of dirt under your shoes, mosquitoes humming in your ears, and Minho—a.k.a. your personal plague—stretching beside you like he owned the woods.

You didn’t even want to make eye contact.

“Alright!” Chan clapped his hands. “Everyone gets paired up in tents—but, to make things fun, we’re drawing sticks.”

Groans went up immediately, mostly from you and Jeongin.

“What is this? Summer camp?” you muttered.

“Exactly,” Felix grinned, holding out the small bundle of color-coded sticks. “Pick your destiny!”

One by one, your friends picked sticks, with excitement and curiosity filling the air.

You pulled yours last. It was red.

And then your heart sank.

“Red too,” Minho called casually, holding his up and locking eyes with you.

You blinked. “No. Nope. Pick again.”

He smirked. “Aw, are you scared of sharing a tent with me?”

“More like scared for my sanity.”

You whipped around to Han. “Please, just switch with me. I’ll give you my hoodie—the one you love. Or that extra brownie from earlier!”

Jisung burst out laughing, already dragging his guitar to a fancy-looking tent. “Can’t switch! I got the one with the LED light strip and padded floor. I’m not giving THAT up for your romantic tension!”

“There is no tension,” you barked. “Only rage!”

Minho was already walking toward your sad, lopsided tent, humming like he was enjoying every second of your meltdown. You shot pleading eyes at Chan, at Hyunjin, at anyone—but they were all pretending to be busy adjusting gear or unrolling mats.

Betrayal. Pure betrayal.

Sighing dramatically, you picked up your bag and trudged after Minho, muttering curses under your breath. Grumbling and defeated, you stomped into the tent, tossing your bag to the far corner. The inside was cozier than you expected, but that didn’t mean you were happy about it. 

“Okay but seriously,” you said, peering into the tent, “why is there only one camping mattress?”

Minho, behind you, tsked. “You lost. I shouldn’t have to suffer.”

“You think I didn’t suffer the moment I saw your face and ‘red stick’ in the same moment?”

He didn’t answer, just ducked inside and threw his sleeping bag onto the narrow mattress—if you could even call it that. It was barely wider than your body, lumpy, and definitely not meant for two.

“Oh, hell no,” you snapped, following him in. “That’s not just yours.”

Minho raised an eyebrow as he flopped down and smirked. “You wanna sleep on the floor then?”

“No. You sleep on the floor.”

“I got here first.”

You both stared at each other for a moment. The unspoken war was real. 

“Fine. I’m not giving it up,” you stubbornly said and climbed in.

There was maybe—maybe—three inches of space between your bodies. Arms touching. Legs bumping. Shoulders pressed awkwardly side-by-side.

This was not ideal.

“Stop moving,” you hissed as he adjusted.

“You’re poking me with your elbow!”

“You’re hogging the blanket!”

“Your knee is in my spine!”

A moment passed.

Silence.

Then, somehow—inevitably—you both stilled. The night was quiet outside the tent, filled only with the distant crackling fire and soft murmurs from the others. Inside, the air was warm. Heavy.

You could feel the rise and fall of his chest. Every little breath.

His eyes met yours. And you didn’t look away.

The bickering faded. The closeness became unbearable in a different way. His face was inches from yours, eyes flickering from your mouth to your gaze and back again.

Your heart pounded. Loud. Messy. Dangerous.

“Don’t snore,” you broke the silence.

“I don’t snore,” Minho piped up, rolling his eyes. “But I do talk in my sleep. Usually insults.”

“You’re really annoying,” you whispered.

“So are you,” he replied quietly.

But he didn’t move away. And neither did you. His hand brushed yours under the blanket. Barely touching. But enough to make your breath hitch.

You both leaned in—slow, tentative, until your noses almost touched—

“Yah! Who stole the marshmallows?!”

Han’s voice rang outside the tent and you both jerked away like you’d been electrocuted.

Minho cleared his throat, turning stiffly onto his side. “Sleep. Now.”

You swallowed hard, heart racing, facing the opposite direction.

But long after the outside voices faded, you stayed awake, replaying that moment—one breath away from disaster.

*************************************

The sun had barely risen over the quiet campsite, dew still clinging to the grass and birds chirping in the distance. Most tents were still zipped up, the fire pit long gone cold.

Han yawned dramatically as he and Hyunjin wandered toward your tent, both of them tasked with rounding people up for breakfast duty. "Let’s just yell and run," Han muttered. "Classic wake-up strategy."

Hyunjin shushed him. “No, I want to see their faces. Especially those two.”

Han smirked. “Ohhh right. Mortal enemies sharing a tent. Bet they killed each other in their sleep.”

They unzipped the tent slowly, careful not to wake any potential dragons.

But what they did see stopped them in their tracks.

Inside, the two of you were a complete mess of limbs—your arm flopped across Minho’s chest, his hand loosely resting on your waist, legs tangled beneath the thin blanket. One of his knees was even wedged between your thighs, and your face was tucked into the crook of his neck.

Utterly relaxed. Peaceful. Intimate.

Hyunjin let out a quiet gasp. “Oh my God.”

Han clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. “Dude. What… the hell?”

Hyunjin grinned. “So the tension finally melted.”

Han whispered, “Yeah. Into a puddle of cuddles and potential kisses? Do you think they kissed?”

Hyunjin smirked, “It might’ve happened.”

They slipped away without waking either of you—though Han did snap a silent photo on his phone, “just for documentation.”

However, the quiet rustling outside was just enough to stir you.

You blinked, stretching a little—only to freeze the second you realized something was very wrong.

Your cheek wasn’t against your pillow.

It was on someone's chest.

Warm. Steady. Rising and falling slowly beneath you.

You shifted just a little—and then you noticed it. Minho’s arm around your waist. One of your legs slung over his. His hand resting lightly on your back.

You nearly stopped breathing.

And just then, he stirred too—brow furrowing, eyes fluttering open. He blinked once. Twice. Then looked down.

Right at you.

There was a beat of silent realization. Eyes locking. Tension crackling in the small, stuffy tent.

Your breath caught. His hand twitched on your back.

“…You—”

“This isn’t—” you both started at once.

You scrambled back in a panic, elbowing the tent wall as you untangled your legs and rolled toward the exit. “I—I didn’t mean to—!”

“You’re the one who shoved me over in your sleep!” he whisper-hissed, equally flustered, hair a mess and voice rough from sleep.

You yanked the zipper open and practically ran out, heart pounding, cheeks burning.

The morning air slapped your face as you stumbled into the open, hoping no one saw. (Too late.)

From the campfire pit, Han and Hyunjin exchanged a look—and then burst into laughter.

Inside the tent, Minho sat up, running a hand through his hair and muttering to himself.

“…So dramatic.”

But even as he said it, a faint, undeniable smile pulled at his lips.

Because your warmth still lingered on his skin.

And that moment—however brief—was now burned into him.

*************************************

Back at the communal camp kitchen, Han was making scrambled eggs while Hyunjin cut fruit, both humming softly. Minho emerged from the trees a while later, hair a bit messy, lips pressed in a line as he poured water into the kettle like nothing happened.

“You sleep okay?” Han asked innocently.

Minho side-eyed him. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Han shrugged. “You know. Considering the person you used to say you’d rather fight a bear than share a tent with.”

Minho didn’t look up. “Shut up. There’s nothing between us.”

But then he hesitated. Almost like something tugged at him.

And when he glanced over his shoulder, there you were—laughing at something Felix said, your cheeks squished adorably in the cool air, your hair a mess from sleep. You tossed your head back as you laughed, eyes sparkling while Minho was watching. And he smiled softly. Almost in a daze, like it bloomed out of his chest before he even knew it was there.

Han caught it, catching the way Minho lingered just a second too long before turning back around.

He didn’t say anything.

He just smiled too—watching his best friend quietly fall.

Seo Changbin (friends to lovers)

Changbin’s apartment smelled like buttered popcorn and clean laundry.

It was your favorite place to be lately—low lights, cozy blanket, a ridiculous action movie playing on the screen, and him beside you, warm and familiar. Your legs were tangled casually over his, a bowl of popcorn between you, laughter spilling out as some over-the-top fight scene played.

"This is the dumbest movie you’ve made me watch," you grinned, tossing a popcorn kernel at him.

Changbin caught it in his mouth effortlessly and winked. "Admit it. You love it."

"I love mocking it," you teased, nudging his thigh with your foot.

He caught your ankle before you could pull back, grinning wickedly. “You sure you want to start something?”

You wiggled your toes defiantly. “What, you’re gonna fight me?”

“I could win.”

“You wish, Seo Changbin.”

That’s all it took.

Suddenly, the popcorn bowl was tossed aside, and you were squealing, squirming, as Changbin tackled you onto the couch in a flurry of limbs and laughter.

It wasn’t serious—just a mess of soft slaps, blocked pokes, mock grunts. You wrestled, pushing at his shoulders, but he was strong and quick, playful growls leaving his throat as he countered every move with ease.

“Okay, okay, I take it back!” you laughed breathlessly, trying to twist away.

He caught your wrists.

One smooth motion, and you were pinned flat against the couch cushions, Changbin hovering above you—knees on either side of your hips, hands holding yours gently but firmly down beside your head.

The laughter stopped. Well everything… stopped.

His chest was rising and falling, breath just a little uneven. Your wrists burned under his fingers, not from pressure but from presence. The movie still played in the background, but it was a muffled hum now—nothing compared to the thunder of your heart.

He was close. Too close.

His face hovered just above yours, eyes flickering over every part of your expression—your parted lips, your wide eyes, the heat that was now unmistakably there in both of your gazes.

Neither of you moved.

You swallowed hard. “Are you gonna let me up?”

He didn’t blink. “Do you want me to?”

You couldn’t answer.

Because maybe you didn’t want him to.

Your silence stretched. His grip loosened ever so slightly, just enough that your hands could move if you wanted—but you didn’t pull away. Not yet.

Your fingers curled around his wrists instead, and his breath caught audibly.

“You’re dangerous,” you whispered.

He leaned a little closer, voice low. “You bring it out in me.”

For a second—just a second—he dipped his head, your noses brushing, lips almost meeting. Almost.

But he hesitated. Like he needed permission. Like he didn’t want to cross a line unless you asked him to.

“Binnie…” you breathed, and that was all it took.

His forehead touched yours. Not a kiss, not yet—but his weight above you, his warmth, the want in his eyes was enough to melt you.

“You’re more than just a friend to me,” he murmured. “I’ve been trying to hide it for so long, but when you look at me like that—”

You surged up just enough to press your lips to his.

Soft. Careful. But charged like fire.

He kissed you back like he’d been waiting forever.

Changbin’s lips lingered on yours like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

You watched him in that small, quiet moment—his lashes brushing his cheeks, his hands still cradling your wrists. He looked… vulnerable. Not like the loud, confident Changbin who barked laughs and flexed his arms to annoy you. This was different.

He finally opened his eyes and met your gaze—softer now. Nervous, even.

“So…” he said, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “Now what?”

Your heart flipped.

You smiled shyly and tugged your hands free, only to lace your fingers with his. “Now,” you whispered, “you help me up, because you’re crushing me.”

A breathless laugh escaped him, and he immediately rolled off to the side, reaching down to help you sit up. “Sorry,” he said, a little flushed. “Didn’t mean to KO you on the first date.”

You both paused.

You tilted your head. “So this is a date now?”

He looked a little caught, but the smile never left his face. “I mean… if you want it to be.”

You nudged his knee with yours. “Only if it ends with another kiss.”

Changbin turned bright red, chuckled, and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re gonna make fun of me forever for this, aren’t you?”

You leaned in, close enough that your noses touched again, your voice barely a breath. “Probably.”

He kissed you again—quick, sweet, like he couldn’t help himself.

Then he got up, held out his hand, and pulled you to your feet. Still holding on. Still close.

“So,” he said again, this time with a grin, “sleepover rules still apply. I’m making ramen. You’re picking the next movie. And maybe later, we kiss again.”

You smirked, tugging him toward the kitchen. “We’ll see if you earn it.”

“Hey!” he whined playfully. “I pinned you! That’s gotta count for something!”

“It counts as me letting you win, obviously.”

“Oh, it’s on.”

And just like that, you were back to bickering—but now, between the sarcasm and the teasing, were shy glances, soft smiles, and the kind of tension that didn’t need words anymore.

You’d always been close. Now, you were closer than ever.

Hwang Hyunjin (crushing on seonbae)

It was your second week as a trainee for a new girl group under JYP Entertainment, and you had already learned that the training schedule was intense. You were still trying to find your rhythm in a world filled with highly talented idols, and it felt like everything was moving too fast. You spent most of your time in the practice rooms, working on vocal exercises, choreography, and dance routines.

One day, after a particularly long session, you found yourself taking a quick break to catch your breath. You'd never thought you'd meet Hyunjin from Stray Kids during your training, but here you were, sitting in the corner of the studio, trying to recover from a grueling dance practice. He was in the middle of a solo routine, and you couldn’t help but watch, captivated by his flawless movements. The way he danced was mesmerizing, and for a moment, you forgot everything around you. You did harbour a huge secret crush on him. 

When his practice ended, he caught you staring, a playful smirk appearing on his face. “Like what you see?” he asked with a teasing tone.

Caught off guard, you blushed, quickly looking away. “Oh! Uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“No need to apologize,” he interrupted, walking over to where you were sitting. “I saw you struggling with your choreography earlier. Need some help?”

You blinked, surprised by his offer. You had only been a trainee for a short time, and the idea of dancing with someone like Hyunjin made you nervous. But his smile was disarming, and you could tell he genuinely wanted to help.

"Actually, yes," you admitted, standing up. "I can't quite get the moves down for our routine. Maybe you could show me some tips?"

Hyunjin grinned, taking his place in front of you. "No problem. I'll teach you the basics, and we'll see if we can make it a little more fun."

He started by showing you the footwork, his body moving effortlessly to the beat. You mimicked his movements, but the steps felt awkward under your feet. Hyunjin noticed immediately and gave a little chuckle.

“You’re overthinking it,” he said, gently placing his hands on your shoulders. “Relax. You’re supposed to feel the music, not stress about the steps.”

His hands lingered just a second too long, and you felt a heat rush to your cheeks. You took a deep breath, nodding. “I’ll try again.”

You continued practicing, and as the movements started to feel more natural, Hyunjin encouraged you with small comments here and there. The choreography was getting better, but you were still a little offbeat.

"Okay, how about this," Hyunjin suggested. "Let’s do the next part together. I'll guide you."

Before you could say anything, he stood close behind you, his hand lightly resting on your waist to help guide your movements. His proximity caught you off guard, and your heart skipped a beat. The way his body was pressed against yours, his warmth radiating onto you, was almost overwhelming. You could feel his breath on the back of your neck as he leaned in to correct your posture.

“Here, just like this,” he said, adjusting your hips with his hands. The touch was gentle, but the closeness made it impossible to ignore the sudden tension in the air. You could feel your body growing tense, unsure of how to act with him so near.

His grip shifted slightly, and you found yourself in an almost perfect mirror of his stance. "See?" Hyunjin smiled, his voice low. "Much better."

The way his eyes locked onto yours made your breath catch in your throat. The dance had become less about learning the moves and more about the unspoken connection forming between you two in the space. His hands were still guiding you, his touch firm but soft, and every movement seemed to bring you closer together.

You both continued practicing, but it wasn’t long before the movements became more fluid, and you realized that it wasn’t just the choreography that was making you feel this way. Hyunjin’s presence, his proximity, was stirring something in you. Every time he adjusted your form, his hand would brush against your skin, sending a shiver through your body. Your heart beat faster, and the air between you felt heavier, charged with an unspoken tension.

At one point, you made a small mistake and spun the wrong way, causing your bodies to collide. For a brief second, you both froze, trapped in a moment of unintended intimacy. Hyunjin’s chest was pressed against your back, his arms still holding you in place as you both tried to steady yourselves. His breath hitched slightly, and you could feel his heartbeat racing against your skin.

You locked eyes, and for a second, everything else faded. The studio, the other trainees, the music—it was just the two of you, caught in this unexpectedly close moment. The space between you was nonexistent. The gentle brush of his fingers on your arm sent a jolt of electricity through you.

“Well,” Hyunjin said, his voice now husky, as he reluctantly stepped back, breaking the tension. “I guess we got a little… carried away.”

You bit your lip, trying to steady yourself. “I—I didn’t expect that,” you murmured.

He smiled, a little sheepishly. "Yeah, me neither. But hey, at least the moves are starting to look good, right?"

You nodded, though your thoughts were still a little scattered from the closeness you’d just shared. You both stood there for a moment, the silence between you filled with the lingering tension that neither of you dared to acknowledge.

“Well, if you ever need more help," Hyunjin said, his voice returning to its usual playful tone, "I’m just a call away.”

You gave a small, nervous smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As he left the practice room, you stayed behind for a few moments longer, your heart still racing from the unexpected intimacy of the dance. There was a mix of excitement and confusion swirling inside you. What was that? Was it just the dance, or was there something more there?

You didn’t have time to answer your own questions because, as a trainee, there was always another routine to learn, another move to perfect. But as you left the studio later that day, your mind kept returning to the way Hyunjin had touched you, the way he’d held you close, and how in that one moment, you couldn’t tell if it was just dance… or something more.

Han Jisung (secretly dating)

It was game night, a regular gathering with the boys at their dorm, where laughter and playful competition filled the air. You'd been looking forward to this night, to unwind and enjoy their company, especially Han Jisung's. You were secretly dating him, keeping it low-key for the time being, but lately, it felt like a secret you wanted to shout from the rooftops. There was just one problem—you didn’t know how to tell the others without making things awkward.

Tonight, everyone was hyped up and playing a board game, the atmosphere light and buzzing with friendly rivalry. The stakes had gotten higher as the rounds went on, and the trash talk was flying. You and Felix had become a bit of an invincible duo—strategizing, making each other laugh, and working seamlessly together. 

But as Hyunjin leaned back in his chair with a smirk and exclaimed, “Oh my god, Felix and Y/N, you guys are totally an unbeatable duo!” the comment seemed to hit differently. Jisung, who had been quiet for a while, stiffened beside you, his eyes momentarily narrowing as he watched you laugh along with Felix.

You noticed the subtle change in his demeanor. A quiet jealousy simmered beneath his usual playful and easy-going attitude. You felt your stomach tighten with an instinctive pull toward him. Felix, oblivious to the shift, was still bantering with Hyunjin.

But Jisung was different. He was unusually quiet, and the energy in the room had shifted in a way that only you could sense. You could feel his gaze lingering on you for a little too long, and it made your heart race—nervous, excited. The tension between you two was palpable, something you both tried to keep under wraps.

As the game continued, you couldn't help but glance over at Jisung. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. His playful vibe had shifted into something more guarded. It wasn’t like him to stay quiet for so long, and it made you feel uneasy, like you had inadvertently caused the shift in the air.

Felix was deep in conversation with Hyunjin, while the others were absorbed in the game, but you couldn’t focus anymore. You excused yourself from the table, slipping into the hallway in an attempt to get some space. You figured you could give Jisung a moment to cool down or maybe even talk about whatever had been bothering him.

But before you could walk further, Jisung was there. You didn’t even hear him approach, but suddenly his hand was on your wrist, and he was gently tugging you toward the hallway leading to his room. “Hey, where are you going?” you asked, trying to keep the casual tone.

He didn’t respond right away, his grip firm but gentle. There was a certain intensity to his gaze now—his eyes darkened slightly, and his usual teasing smile was replaced with something more serious. “I need to talk to you,” he muttered, his voice low.

You didn’t say anything. You knew this wasn’t just about the game anymore.

When you reached his room, Jisung quickly closed the door behind you, his hand resting on the handle for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. The two of you stood in the middle of the room for a few seconds, the air thick with unspoken words.

Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t like the way you two were... getting so close. Felix and you, laughing together like that.” His eyes were intense, full of something you hadn’t seen before—something raw. “It’s not like you’ve done anything wrong, but… it makes me feel something I don’t know how to handle.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You stepped closer to him, instinctively. “Hannie…” you began, but he interrupted you.

“I want to tell them, baby. I want to tell everyone we’re together,” he said, his hand gripping yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles gently, though his voice was firm. “I’m tired of pretending like we’re just friends.” He took a step closer, his face inches from yours now. His breath was warm against your skin, and you could feel his heart racing in his chest, matching yours.

The proximity was overwhelming, intoxicating, and for a moment, you forgot everything around you—the noise of the game, the others in the house. It was just him, and the desire in his eyes. You couldn’t lie to yourself any longer; you felt the same way. You had been trying to ignore it, keeping your relationship under wraps for the sake of the group, but in that moment, it all felt like too much to keep inside.

You swallowed, struggling to find the right words. “I want to tell them too, baby. I really do. But…” you hesitated. “Do you think they’ll understand?”

Jisung’s eyes softened, and he gently cupped your cheek with his free hand. “It’s not about them understanding,” he said, his voice tender now, the tension easing from his shoulders. “It’s about us. I want to be open with everyone, especially with you. You mean so much to me.”

The words hung in the air, a promise wrapped in vulnerability. You were quiet for a beat, the intensity of the moment consuming you. Slowly, you nodded. “Okay. Let’s tell them. Together.”

He smiled, the usual playful glint returning to his eyes, but there was still an undercurrent of sincerity. Without another word, he closed the gap between you two and kissed you, soft and slow, as if savoring the moment that had been a long time coming. The kiss deepened, both of you letting go of the tension and unspoken feelings you’d been holding onto.

When you pulled away, your foreheads touched, breaths mingling. He whispered, “I’m so glad you’re mine.”

You smiled, your heart lighter than it had been in weeks. “Me too,” you said softly.

From that moment on, there was no more hiding. You were his, and he was yours, and that was all that mattered.

Lee Felix (colleagues to lovers)

The music video shoot had gone longer than expected, and most of the staff had either stepped out for a break or were busy resetting lights outside. The trailer where touch-ups usually happened—the one usually buzzing with stylists, cords, and brushes—was now completely empty.

You were the only one there, you were sitting on the couch scrolling through your phone when Felix popped in, flashing that signature grin and muttering, “Hyung said I need my hair re-gelled. Sorry,” like he was inconveniencing you, even though it was literally your job.

“Sit,” you said, trying to sound normal. Professional.

But nothing about Felix ever let you stay fully calm. Not the way he tugged off his jacket with one hand and tossed it lazily on the couch. Not the way his damp dark hair curled against his forehead, making him look more boyish, more human, than the stage idol version everyone else saw.

You stood behind him, gently combing through his roots. The gel hadn’t fully set, and you needed to rework it from the front.

"Can you tilt your head back?" you asked.

He did, but the angle was awkward. He sat too low in the chair, so you had to lean forward, your hips brushing the armrest. When you reached to push his fringe back, your chest nearly grazed his shoulder.

He stilled. You froze.

Then, in one ungraceful second, your foot slipped against the leg of the chair. Your balance tipped forward—too fast to catch. A small gasp escaped you as your knees bumped the edge, and suddenly you were no longer standing.

You landed on him.

Your hands flew to his shoulders to steady yourself, but it was too late—your body was already pressed against his, knees planted on either side of his lap, your faces just inches apart.

His breath ghosted across your cheek. Warm. Shaky.

Neither of you moved.

“Sorry—” you whispered, trying to push yourself back up.

But his hands had found your waist. Not tight, not holding, just there. Warm, grounding. And when your eyes met, something shifted.

“No—” he breathed, voice quieter than you’d ever heard. “Don’t move.”

Your breath caught.

“Felix—”

“I didn’t mind… I mean, it’s okay. I just…” His stammered.

You blinked at him, heart hammering, heat blooming across your chest and neck. You’d danced around this for weeks—maybe months.

The lingering stares, the way his smile always stretched wider when you were near. But this…

His hands were still on your waist. And for a moment, neither of you moved.

The only sound was the low hum of a distant monitor and your heartbeat hammering in your chest.

Then, slowly, his fingers reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch barely grazing your skin. The motion was so gentle, so intimate, that it made your breath hitch. And the moment his hand dropped, his eyes widened—like he hadn’t realized what he was doing until it was already done.

“I—I didn’t mean to—sorry, that was—” he breathed, voice shaky.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. His cologne wrapped around you like a net, grounding and dizzying all at once.

“I just—” he went on, swallowing, “God, I’m sorry.”

You stared down at him.

His face was already flushed pink, his eyes still locked on yours like he wasn’t sure if he should let go or pull you closer.

“I didn’t mind,” you said quietly.

He blinked.

“What?”

Your voice came out softer this time, more vulnerable. “I didn’t mind. That you touched my hair.”

“Really?” he asked.

You nodded.

He exhaled through a breathless laugh, like disbelief. “Because I’ve been trying not to do anything like that since you started.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you,” he said instantly. No hesitation. Just the truth.

“And I didn’t want to make things weird. But God, you’re always so close, and you’re so gentle, and I’m pretty sure I’ve started dreaming about the way you touch my hair—”

You kissed him.

Quick. Certain. Nothing intense, just a quiet yes to everything he’d just admitted.

His hands tightened on your hips, grounding himself. “Okay,” he whispered against your lips, dazed. “Yeah. That just happened.”

You laughed softly and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. “It did.”

“I still need to finish your look,” you teased.

He grinned, pulling you even closer. “I think you just did.”

The silence was comforting this time. Not awkward but intimate.

Kim Seungmin (sunshine x grumpy)

When Chan invited you for a quiet weekend at his countryside farmhouse, you didn’t hesitate. It had been months since you last saw your best friend—too many midnight voice notes, too many “I miss you’s” with a sad emoji tacked on at the end. So you packed a bag and drove up that Friday evening, not even bothering to ask who else would be there. 

Chan had welcomed you in with the warmest hug and whispered, “Seungmin’s here. Try not to combust.”

You elbowed him, cheeks warm. “I don’t like him.”

“Sure,” he smirked.

Of course Seungmin was here. Still just as grumpy, still refusing to smile at your stupid jokes, still never calling you by your name—just “you” or “Chan’s friend.”

And yet, somehow, you still looked for him in every room.

By Saturday night, you were full of barbecue, three glasses into a fruity drink, and cozy in an oversized hoodie. Laughter buzzed through the warm-lit living room. Chan had pulled out board games and card decks, and Hyunjin tossed on a playlist. You and Seungmin had exchanged exactly four words since arriving: “Morning,” “Move” and “No, thanks”

After too many rounds of Mario Kart, Chan flopped onto the massive couch and clapped his hands. “Okay, new game. Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

“Are we in high-school?” you and Seungmin said in perfect sync from opposite ends of the couch.

Everyone laughed, but Chan just wiggled his eyebrows. “Come on, you’re all cowards. It’ll be fun.”

Chan started spinning a bottle, and before you could sneak away, your name was called—followed by Seungmin’s.

The room howled.

You whipped around to Chan, whispering furiously, “You rigged that!”

“Did not,” he said with a very smug expression. “Enjoy.”

The closet—tucked in the corner of the master bedroom—was dim, a little too warm, and far too tight for two people. The door shut behind you with a soft click.

“I hate them,” Seungmin muttered, already looking up at the ceiling like it might offer a hatch out.

You nervously glanced around in the little space. You took a breath. “Wow. Cozy.”

“Not really,” he said flatly.

You smiled anyway. “I forgot how much fun you are at parties.”

His lips twitched. The smallest, smallest smirk.

Minutes passed. Maybe only one. Maybe ten. You didn’t know. The quiet between you felt heavier than the night sky outside.

Then—he spoke.

“You flew all this way just to see Chan?” he asked.

Your brows rose. “Yeah, why?”

“No reason,” he said immediately, then hesitated. “Just… wondering.”

You took a step closer, trying to read him. “Why do you always look at me like I annoy you, but then keep showing up in every room I’m in?”

His jaw flexed. “You don’t annoy me.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

He pushed off the wall now, standing straighter, closer. “You’re… too much sometimes.”

You blinked. “Too much?”

“Too much sunshine. Too much sweetness. It gets under my skin.”

You smirked. “Good.”

He gave you a flat look. “This is ridiculous.”

“Then why are you blushing?”

“I’m not.”

You grinned. “You are. It’s kind of cute.”

He glanced away, jaw tightening, but the pink in his cheeks betrayed him.

You leaned in just a little. “What’s wrong, Seungmin? Closet too small? Or is it just me that’s making you all flustered?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“You wound me,” you gasped, hand over your chest. “I’m just being friendly.”

“Yeah, well… maybe tone it down a little.”

You tilted your head. “But I thought I was ‘too much sweetness’ and ‘gets under your skin’—don’t tell me I’m growing on you.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you always talk this much?”

“Only when I’m stuck in a closet with my longtime crush.”

Seungmin froze.

Your eyes widened. Crap. You hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“…What?” he said after a beat, voice lower.

You scrambled. “I mean—not crush crush. I mean like, maybe. Possibly. Okay, definitely. For a long time. Like years-long. But you were always so—”

He took a step forward. You stopped babbling.

He didn’t say anything. Just looked at you for a moment, then leaned in slightly, voice dry. “Chan told me you’d be here.”

“…Okay?”

“I’ve been trying to act normal since yesterday.”

“That was you acting normal?”

He smirked, just a little. “I don’t flirt like you do.”

“I don’t flirt—”

“Really?” he stepped closer, close enough that your breath caught. “Then what would you call this?”

You were backed against the shelf, heart in your throat, eyes flicking between his and his mouth. He braced one arm beside your head, gaze sharp.

“…Trouble,” you whispered.

He smirked again—wider this time. “Yeah. You’re trouble.”

And then, just before the timer outside buzzed, he kissed you.

Slow, deliberate, and nothing like the annoyed boy who always pretended you were too much.

When he pulled back, lips barely grazing yours, he whispered, “Next time, we skip the game.”

And when the door finally swung open to the cheering crowd, neither of you said a word—but the heat in your face said everything.

Yang Jeongin (brother's best friend)

You hadn’t seen Jeongin properly in almost a year—well you really haven’t seen him much since he’d debuted and got busy with his idol life. But when your brother casually mentioned, “Jeongin’s having a little dinner thing at his place. Just a few of us. You should come—it’s been forever.”  something fluttered in your chest that you tried very hard to ignore.

You’d crushed on him since you were probably twelve, back when he was just your brother’s slightly awkward best friend who always let you have the last slice of pizza. And now? Now he was I.N—idol, heartthrob, and the same boy who still texted your brother dumb memes at 2am.

You didn’t expect much when you arrived—just polite greetings, awkward small talk, maybe a few inside jokes that would go over your head. But when Jeongin opened the door…

Your heart did that stupid thing again.

He looked tired but beautiful, hoodie sleeves pushed up, the kind of soft glow that came from being around people he trusted. He looked mature now—fame-polished, confident, sharper around the edges—but you still saw glimpses of the boy who used to chase your brother through your backyard, who used to steal popsicles from your freezer and grin like he won the lottery.

“Hey,” he smiled, eyes flickering over your face for a second too long. “Didn’t know you were coming.”

“My brother dragged me,” you said lightly.

Jeongin tilted his head, still holding the door open. “Good. I’m glad you’re here.”

The dinner was casual, cozy. Laughter echoed through the apartment, plates clinked, and stories flowed like old times. But something about the way Jeongin kept glancing at you when your brother wasn’t looking—when he refilled your drink before anyone else’s, when your knees accidentally touched under the table and he didn’t move away—it felt like you weren’t imagining it anymore.

It wasn’t until later—when everyone was a little too full and a little too tipsy and began playing loud music—that you slipped away to find some quiet. 

The bathroom was unlocked, thankfully, and you slipped in, locking the door behind you. Only to turn around and freeze.

“Oh?” you exhaled.

Jeongin stood leaning against the counter, arms crossed, he was startled to see you too.

You nodded, suddenly too aware of the small space, the way the air felt heavier between you two. You both stood there in silence, not quite looking at each other. You should leave, your mind said. Step out, apologise, pretend this didn’t feel like something.

But for some reason… you stayed.

His gaze flicked to you, then away. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just… needed a break from all the noise,” you said softly. “Didn’t think I’d find you here too.”

He gave a half-smile. “Yeah, well. Guess we’re still in sync.” Then he shifted. “I didn’t think you’d actually come tonight.”

You shrugged, trying to ignore the way your hands felt clammy. “Yeah, well. My brother can be pretty persuasive.”

Jeongin smiled, then glanced down, almost bashful. For a second, he looked like the boy you remembered—the one who got flustered when you caught him singing in your garage.

You stepped back, “I’ll find somewhere else—”

You were about to step toward the door when he suddenly reached out and caught your wrist.

“Wait.”

You turned, startled by the contact. His hand was warm around your wrist, gentle but firm enough to make you pause.

His voice was quiet. Earnest. “How long are we gonna pretend we’re not dying to be with each other?”

Your stomach flipped.

You looked away, jaw tight. “My brother would never agree.”

He chuckled—soft, humorless. “Your brother doesn’t get to decide who I want.”

“Innie,” you warned.

He locked the door behind him.

“Innie?” he echoed, teasing. “You haven’t called me that in a while.”

You froze. “Jeongin—”

“I know. Your brother would kill me.” His voice was lower now, almost a whisper. “But it’s driving me insane, pretending I don’t feel something every time you walk into a room.”

He stepped in. Close. Too close.

“I thought I was imagining it,” he said, finally looking at you. “But the way you look at me sometimes... it doesn’t feel one-sided.”

“It’s not,” you whispered.

“Don’t tempt me,” he said, voice rough.

He pinned you to the counter so easily you couldn’t think straight.

He stepped even more closer before saying quietly. “If I kissed you right now, would you push me away?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you closed the space between you, barely a breath apart. And whispered, “I should.”

“But you won’t,” he said, voice hoarse.

“No,” you breathed, “I won’t.”

And then he kissed you—soft, hesitant at first, like he knew the line he was crossing. But when your fingers curled into his hoodie and he pulled you closer, you both forgot everything but the feeling of finally, finally not pretending.

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

Permanent Taglist:

@kaiyaba @lov3rachan @pixie-felix @ellemir2404 @willowhanji @skzimagines @wavetohannie @jamroses @vietjeb @kayleefriedchicken @kokinu09 @nightmarenyxx @my-neurodivergent-world @shuuporanglinos @silly250 @notmedina127 @thecutiepieme @stay-tiny-things @inlovewithstraykids @skz-ot8-stay @emilyywhyy @havenwithleeknow @hungryhobbit815 @seungminnieinthebuilding @beabidoobee @geni-627 @ye0lkkot @yaorzu-blog @butterflybananabread @nightshadeblooming @rockstarkkami @finannn @poody1608 @scarlet789 @mbioooo0000 @icannotbelieveit @casperlynn23 @rtyuy1346

Forced Proximity Trope Taglist:

@4ng3l-ch1ld @dolphin-scream-s

[natsaffection]

story idea or little short thing which ever but i personally image Natasha being a bad flirt when she really means it, like for example she ends up liking a woman who doesn't work for the Avengers or like has something simple like a small librarian or something and because it's unexpected she doesn't know how to react to this sudden feeling and tries to flirt with her but suddenly every bit of seduction she learnt and she used to her advantage vanished and she just stares a lot and maybe asks about the woman's interest as a way of flirting cause i don't know what to do, she's such a cutie patootie in my eyes, i can take her seriously but at the end of the day i just see my shayla like that's just babygirl with a big heart🥲

How she smiles. | N.R

Warnings: None, just fluff

Word count: 3,7k

A/N: Some story’s aren’t just story’s.

The clock on Natasha’s nightstand blinked 5:42 am. but she was already awake.

The room was still, a minimal space lit only by the soft morning gray leaking through the window. A single shelf held a few books. Her combat boots were lined up with surgical precision at the door. A black hoodie was folded on the chair. No clutter. Nothing personal.

Natasha didn’t need much. She liked it that way. She sat up slowly, letting the silence stretch. It was the one time of day she didn’t have to perform. No missions. No teammates. No masks. Just the hum of a world that hadn’t quite started turning yet.

The floor was cold against her feet. She liked that, too, the reminder that she was real. That she existed in the world, not just above it.

By 6:10, she was jogging along the perimeter of the compound. Not for training. Not for show. Just because she needed it. The steady rhythm of breath and pavement was something she could control.

By 7:00, she was in the gym, alone. No music. Just the sound of fists hitting pads. Her technique was flawless, fast, efficient, unrelenting. She didn’t spar to fight. She sparred to stay sharp.

At 8:00, she changed into a fresh black turtleneck and tailored pants. Not because anyone told her to, but because discipline was a habit she never broke. Breakfast was a protein bar and a black coffee she brewed herself. No creamer. No sugar. No softness.

By 8:30, she was already scanning mission logs in the ops room when Steve walked in, muttering about debriefs and red tape.

“You’re late.” she said, not looking up.

“It’s 8:30.”

“I said what I said.”

He chuckled under his breath. She smirked. It was a rhythm now, their banter, safe, familiar. Maria arrived fifteen minutes later, sleek and pressed as always. Natasha greeted her with a glance, a tilt of the head, just enough suggestion to keep Hill on her toes.

It wasn’t about flirting. Not really. It was about reading people, playing the part they expected. Sometimes that part had a smirk and a raised brow. Sometimes it had a knife. Most people couldn’t tell the difference.

By midday, the team had mostly scattered. Thor was off-world. Tony was buried in his lab. Clint was… somewhere. Natasha didn’t ask. She walked the compound in silence, boots echoing in empty hallways, her reflection catching in polished glass. The world outside buzzed with movement, but inside, there was stillness.

Natasha was many things. Spy, assassin, avenger. But in between all of that, she was also a woman used to waiting. Watching. Living on the edges of other people’s stories. She didn’t mind. It was easier that way.

When she finally sat down with Bruce in the lab around 4:00 pm, it wasn’t about conversation. He handed her a tablet with new intel. She passed him a small container of protein gummies, a quiet joke from their last mission.

“Thanks.” he said, with a hint of a smile.

“Don’t get emotional.” she replied.

Later, it was one of those rare nights when no one was injured, the world wasn’t on fire, and no one was being hunted across continents. So Tony did what Tony did best, threw a party.

The tower’s penthouse was transformed into something between a lounge and a battlefield of banter. Stark had cleared out half the bar’s premium stock. Music pulsed low. Everyone had a drink in hand, but the air wasn’t loose. It was precise, a show of ease from people trained to kill.

Natasha stood near the window, her silhouette painted in city lights, sipping whiskey straight. Her dress was black, high-necked but sleeveless, with a slit that whispered danger.

She was talking to Maria, a shoulder angled just so. A too-long glance. A slow smile that hinted at something unsaid.

Steve stood across the room with Sam and Clint, observing with a raised brow.

“You’re staring.” Sam said, following his gaze.

“I’m…watching.” Steve replied, slowly.

“Same thing.”

Clint smirked and leaned over. “He’s just surprised. Nat’s usually ten moves ahead, but with Hill? She lingers.”

“She’s not doing anything wrong.” Steve said, but his tone was too thoughtful to be casual.

“She never is.” Clint added. “Not where anyone can prove it.”

Meanwhile, Natasha had leaned in closer to Maria, brushing her hand lightly over her sleeve as she made a point about… something she definitely wasn’t listening to. She was flushed.

“Relax.” she said quietly, “I don’t bite.”

Maria gave a nervous chuckle. “That’s…debatable.”

She tilted her head, amused. “Maybe.”

Suddenly, the music dropped, and Tony clapped his hands dramatically. “Alright, children of chaos, time for the real entertainment. Who’s up for a little game?”

Natasha turned toward him, intrigued. “What kind of game?” she asked, already knowing she’d say yes.

“Truth or shot,” Tony said. “Classy, right?”

Groans and laughter broke out. Natasha smiled, finishing her whiskey. “Let’s make this interesting.” she said, walking over to the circle that had started forming in the lounge. “Winner gets to make someone else do anything.”

Steve frowned. “Define anything.”

“Come on, Roger’s.” Natasha said, arching a brow. “Live a little.” She was in control. This was her world. These were the spaces she navigated with elegance and heat and sharpness under the surface.

The morning after was crisp, the kind that bit at the skin but promised a clearer mind. Natasha had been restless since sunrise, her body tense with leftover adrenaline and the ghost of too many thoughts. Steve had caught on.

“You need fresh air.” he’d said. “Come on. Walk with me.” So they walked.

They cut through lower Manhattan in silence, boots clicking on damp sidewalks, the city just beginning to hum to life. Steve talked here and there, about a sparring session with Sam, a report Maria wanted, something about a diplomatic issue in Wakanda, and Natasha nodded, half-listening. Not because she wasn’t interested. Just…tired.

Then Steve pointed across the street. “That place is new.” he said. “Wanna try it?”

Natasha followed his gaze to a corner café tucked between a bookstore and a florist. It had wide windows, soft wood framing, and a handwritten chalk sign on the sidewalk that read:

Red Velvet Latte is back — dare you.

Natasha quirked an eyebrow. “Dare accepted.” The bell above the door jingled as they stepped inside, a soft sound against the murmur of the shop’s early patrons and the low jazz playing through the speakers. It smelled like cinnamon and espresso and something warm.

And then, Natasha froze. She hadn’t meant to. It was just a flicker at first, a glance toward the counter, a tilt of her head. But then she saw her.

You.

A young woman behind the espresso machine, long hair tucked perfectly into a clip, sleeves pushed up, a faint smudge of foam on her cheek. She wasn’t doing anything extraordinary, just pouring steamed milk into a mug, but there was something about her. The way the light caught her jawline. The calm on her face. The quiet confidence in the way she moved.

Beautiful.

Not the kind Natasha usually noticed. Not the dangerous, red-lipped kind. This was so much different. And all at once, Natasha Romanoff, assassin, spy, master manipulator, forgot everything. Steve was still talking, saying something about the furniture layout or the smell of nutmeg, but she didn’t hear a word. Her eyes were locked.

She didn’t even realize she’d stopped walking until Steve gently nudged her shoulder. “You good?”

No answer. Then, like the universe wanted to mess with her, the girl looked up..and smiled. It was instinct that brought Natasha to the counter. Not logic. Not curiosity. Just the kind of invisible pull she couldn’t have described even under interrogation.

“Hi there.” The girl said brightly. “What can I get started for you two?”

Her voice was light, smooth, like honey over gravel. And it hit Natasha like a gut punch. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Steve stepped in, amused but polite. “Just a black coffee for me. She’ll have…” He looked at Natasha. “Natasha?”

Natasha blinked. “I- uh…yes. Sorry. Just…”

The girl tilted her head, waiting. Natasha coughed gently, straightening her posture. “Espresso. Double shot. Please.”

The girl smiled again. “Coming right up.”

Natasha tried to mirror the smile, but it felt off. Too wide. She turned to Steve, who was already watching her with a knowing look.

“What?” she asked, too quickly.

He raised both eyebrows. “You’ve interrogated war criminals with more composure.”

“Shut up.”

They moved to a small table by the window, the sunlight catching Natasha’s cheekbone as she stared into the middle distance.

“You gonna tell me what just happened?” Steve asked, lowering himself into the seat.

“Nothing happened.” she muttered, adjusting the sleeves of her jacket. “I’m just tired.”

“Right.” he said, leaning back with a smirk. “Because I’ve definitely seen you speechless before.”

Natasha glared at him, but she didn’t have the energy to deny it. Her heart was still beating oddly fast, her palms still cool with nerves she hadn’t felt since her first mission.

Across the room, the barista worked with ease, laughing softly with a coworker as she pulled another espresso shot. Her voice carried faintly over the counter, low and melodic.

Natasha didn’t even realize she was staring again.

Steve watched her for a long moment, “Well, damn. I think we found your weakness.”

Natasha looked away, eyes narrowed. “She’s not a weakness.” she said, more to herself than to him. But even as she said it, she wasn’t sure she believed it. Not yet.

Their drinks arrived a moment later, and the girl set Natasha’s cup down gently in front of her.

“I hope it’s strong enough.” she said, and for just a moment, her eyes met Natasha’s. It wasn’t flirtatious. Not overt..Just kind.

And it made Natasha’s throat tighten. She barely managed to say “Thank you.” Then the girl turned and walked away, and Natasha watched her go like she’d forgotten how to do anything else.

Two Days later:

Natasha hadn’t meant to come back. At least, that’s what she told herself. She told herself it was just a convenient detour. She happened to be in the area. She just wanted decent espresso. Nothing more.

But as she turned the corner and saw the familiar chalkboard sign outside, Red Velvet Latte is back. You know you want it. She felt something twist in her stomach. It wasn’t nerves, exactly. It was worse. It was anticipation..

She stepped inside. The café was quieter than the day before, a weekday lull, with soft jazz humming through the speakers and the golden morning light catching on the brick walls. There were maybe five other people seated, heads bent over laptops or books.

And then, there you were. Behind the counter again. Your hair was half-up today, a few strands escaping to frame your face. You looked just as natural, just as quietly radiant as before, and maybe it was because Natasha had replayed the moment in her head too many times, but she felt it instantly:

She remembered you.

You turned, spotted Natasha, and smiled. Not politely. Not like you did for every customer. This one was warmer. Real.

“Oh..” you said, walking toward the register. “You’re back.”

Natasha’s mouth felt dry. You didn’t wait for her to speak. You tapped something into the screen and said, “Espresso, right? Double shot.”

Natasha blinked. Normally, she’d have something ready by now, a teasing remark, a flirty comeback, a raised brow and a smile that said you’re fun, but I’m dangerous. It was a routine. A shield. A game she always won.

But now? Now, she stood there like someone had unplugged her brain. “You…remembered?” she managed.

“Of course.” you said with a shrug, a hint of playfulness in your tone. “You don’t forget someone who looks like they walked out of a spy movie.”

It wasn’t flirtatious, not exactly. But it landed. Natasha opened her mouth, say something, say something clever, say literally anything! But her tongue didn’t move the way it was supposed to.

She gave a breath of a laugh, glancing down at the counter like it had answers. “Well…good memory.” That’s all she had..No wink. No comeback. Just a weird little knot in her stomach and a flush creeping under her collar.

You gave her a curious look, not suspicious, just curious. “You want it for here or to go?”

Natasha should have said to go. She had nothing to do here. No reason to stay. But before her brain could catch up, her mouth said,

“For here.”

You nodded. “Take any seat. I’ll bring it to you.”

Natasha nodded and turned away fast, too fast, choosing the corner table by the window, the one that let her sit with her back to the wall. Habit. Safety. Even if she felt completely unsafe in a way she didn’t recognize. She sat there, pretending to scroll her phone, heart beating in this slow, impossible rhythm.

What the hell was wrong with her?

Across the room, you moved like you belonged there, laughing with a coworker, adjusting the cups, brushing hair behind your ear. Everything about you was normal. So normal. And yet it felt like something had shifted in Natasha’s world just from being near you.

A minute later, you appeared beside her with the espresso. “Here you go.” you said, setting it down gently. “Still hot. I pulled it a little slower this time, more flavor that way.”

Natasha looked up, and for a second, she felt breathless again. She nodded. “Thanks.”

You hesitated. “So…spy movie?”

Natasha blinked. “What?”

“You do look like someone out of one.” you said with a grin. “Mysterious. Sharp jawline. Possibly knows forty ways to kill someone with a spoon.”

Natasha stared at you for a heartbeat too long. Normally, she’d laugh. Play along. Maybe lean in, lower her voice, say something like only forty? But her mouth wouldn’t work right, and instead, all she said was:

“I like spoons.”

Silence. You blinked, then gave a soft laugh that made Natasha’s face burn.

“Noted.” you said, lips twitching with amusement. “Well, enjoy your coffee…Spoon Lady.”

And just like that, you turned and walked away, and Natasha let her head fall into her hands with a groan.

She was losing her mind. Spoon lady? Natasha groaned under her breath, dragging a hand over her face.

She’d survived torture. She’d lied her way out of high-security prisons. She’d faced alien armies and bureaucratic meetings with Tony. And somehow, this was her downfall, a coffee shop and a girl with warm eyes and a smudge of cinnamon on her cheek.

The espresso sat in front of her, untouched. She leaned back in her chair, staring at the tiny porcelain cup like it had betrayed her.

Across the room, you were wiping down the counter, smiling at something a coworker said. Occasionally, you glanced toward Natasha, not obvious, but Natasha noticed. She always noticed.

And she hated that it made her stomach flip.

The café had quieted even more, only two other patrons now, both nose-deep in laptops. The music was softer too, some old soul track that felt like honey poured over late morning sunlight.

It was the perfect window.

Natasha picked up her espresso, stood, and walked, with the casual, predator-smooth stride she used in every hallway, every party, every mission, right up to the counter. To smooth over her earlier embarrassment, reclaim a little dignity, maybe throw in a practiced smile, something casual and clever. To prove to herself that she was still her.

But the second you looked up, all that went out the window.

Not because of how you looked, though, God, you did, but because of the way you blinked when your eyes met, as if startled by your own reaction. The way you tucked your hair back too fast. The way you over-corrected your smile like you didn’t trust it to hold.

She’s nervous, Natasha realized. Not scared. Not intimidated. Just…nervous.

It was adorable. And it knocked the breath right out of her.

Natasha had seen it all, seduction, awe, desire, even fear. But this? This quiet fluster of someone trying so hard to play it cool and failing just slightly? It was real in a way she hadn’t touched in years. No performance. No angle. Just a girl with warm hands, pretty eyes, and the worst poker face she’d ever seen.

Natasha leaned a forearm lightly on the wood and took a sip of her drink, stalling, breathing, reminding herself who she was.

“Okay.” she said, softly but clearly. “That was…a terrible first impression.”

You smiled, eyes bright with amusement. “It was kind of charming.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Is that a polite way of saying I sounded like an idiot?”

“Maybe a little..” you teased, laughing. “But in a very mysterious, highly-trained-assassin-who’s-not-great-at-talking-to-baristas kind of way.”

Natasha shook her head, but smiled. Real this time. She exhaled like it let out something she’d been holding for too long.

“I usually do better than that.” she said, eyes fixed gently on you. “I’m…not sure what happened.”

Your expression softened. You wiped your hands on a dish towel and stepped a little closer, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I think you were just surprised.” you said. “Happens more than you’d think.”

Natasha studied your face for a beat, calm, but flushed, a little shy. And the more Natasha noticed it, the worse she got. Because usually, when someone blushed, she’d lean into it, drop her voice, step a little closer, let the silence stretch. She liked the tension. The control.

But with you?

She didn’t want control.

She wanted to know you.

“I’m Natasha.” she said finally, voice quieter now, like she didn’t want anyone else to hear.

You blinked, that kind of blink that meant oh, and then smiled again, slower this time. “I know.”

Natasha tilted her head. “You do?”

“Yeah…” you admitted, cheeks turning pink, “Steve Rogers was with you yesterday. And you…kind of have the presence of someone who doesn’t do boring for a living.”

Natasha laughed, a low, husky sound. “That’s one way of putting it.”

You stuck out your hand over the counter, suddenly brave. “I’m Y/n.”

Natasha looked at your hand, then took it, her fingers brushing yours just a second too long.

“Nice to meet you, Y/n.” she said. And this time, her voice had its usual rhythm again, low, smooth, a little dangerous. But even then, even with every instinct in her clicking back into place, she didn’t push the flirt further. Not yet.

Instead, she asked, “So…how long have you been working here?”

You smiled, still holding Natasha’s gaze like it was easy. Like you weren’t shaking the world off its axis.

“A little over a year.” you said. “Why, are you planning to become a regular?”

And there it was, the invitation, the challenge. Natasha hesitated for half a second. Then she nodded slowly, smirking just a little.

“Maybe I already am.”

You blinked, your smile faltering slightly, not fading, just shifting. Like you felt the change in the air, too.

“Oh?” you asked softly, setting your rag aside. Natasha’s throat went dry. She glanced down at the counter, then back up. Her voice, when it came, was lower than usual.

“I was wondering..” Natasha said, fingers tapping once, nervously, against the wood, “if maybe you’d want to get coffee with me. Somewhere that isn’t here.”

The words hung there, fragile, quiet, terrifying. You didn’t answer right away. Your lips parted slightly, eyes wide. Then you let out a soft breath, a laugh, the kind people make when something inside them exhales.

“Like a date?” you asked, voice breathless.

Natasha nodded once. “Yeah. Like a date.”

You looked down, then back up, your cheeks flushed, but your smile was real and wide and a little stunned.

“You sure you don’t just want more espresso?” you teased, but your voice was trembling in the sweetest way.

Natasha leaned in, just enough. “I think I’ve had enough espresso. I want…something else.”

There it was. Not a line. Not a performance. Just truth. You bit your lip, still smiling. “Okay.” you said quietly. “I’d like that.”

Natasha blinked once, surprised or relieved. Elated in a way she didn’t know how to show.

Then, gently: “After your shift?”

You nodded. “I get off at two.”

Natasha gave a soft smile, and it reached her eyes this time. “I’ll be here.”

She turned to walk away, and for once, didn’t try to control the smile tugging at her lips. Because this..whatever it was, felt like the start of something she didn’t even know she was allowed to want.

And this time? She wanted everything.

[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

[lazysoulwriter]

private island, public love. – pedro pascal. ♡

requested! thank you so much.

---

You kind of expected a quiet dinner at home.

Something chill. Just the two of you. Maybe takeout, maybe the playlist he swears he made “just because,” even though you caught the filename: 1yrbabygirl. Maybe cuddles on the couch. Maybe more than cuddles.

You didn’t expect… all this.

There’s candlelight flickering across silverware. Soft music playing under the quiet sound of the ocean, just beyond the balcony. A dress you found laid out on the bed earlier — new, your size, your style, complete with a little note written in his chicken-scratch cursive: for tonight, mi amor. He’s seated across from you now in a crisp white shirt, top two buttons undone, sleeves rolled just enough to make you feel dizzy every time he moves.

You smile over your wine glass. “You went all out, huh?”

Pedro grins. “Only our first anniversary once.”

“You’re spoiling me.”

“Good.”

Your chest squeezes. God, you love him. And just when you think it can’t get any better, your phone buzzes.

Your heart skips a beat when you see it: Pedro Pascal just posted a photo.

It’s the two of you from earlier in the evening. Your hand in his. Your smile wide, head tilted toward him. His caption is simple:

One year of loving you. Not hiding it anymore.

The comments are already flooding in. And sure, your heart races at the idea of the world knowing. But it’s his smile across the table that really gets you.

You glance up. “Are you sure?”

He nods once, firm. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

You’re still reeling from the post when he takes your hand and kisses the back of it like you’re in a damn fairytale.

“I also booked us a place,” he says, like it’s casual. “Three nights on the island. Just us.”

Your eyes go wide. “Pedro—what about filming? What about your schedule?”

“I cleared it.”

“You need to rest—”

“I rest when I’m with you.”

You blink, stunned silent for once in your life.

Pedro chuckles. “You’re seriously worried about me when I’ve been counting down the days to spoil you like this?”

You try to argue again, but he reaches for your cheek and brushes his thumb over your skin with that look — the one that shuts you up and makes your heart leap every single time.

“I love my work,” he says softly. “But I love you more. Come away with me, baby.”

You nod, swallowing back the emotions swelling in your throat. And just like that, Pedro Pascal makes your first anniversary the beginning of a hundred more.

[zepskies]

10 'Til Midnight

Pairing: Professor!Dean Winchester x Student!Reader

Summary: A chance encounter outside of the classroom shifts the way you see your professor. Forever.

AN: Here’s a one-shot for @chevroletdean's 500 follower celebration! This also fulfills a request for one of my lovely Patreon members, @redhoodieone, who wanted to see AU Professor!Dean with a plus-sized student!reader. The reader is a graduate student (mid-20s) and Dean is in his 30s in this, so not really a wide age gap, but we’re still flirting with a gray area here lol.

Word Count: 4K

Tags/Warnings: graduate student!reader, plus-sized!reader, Shakespeare geekery, mythology and other nerdy classic lit. references, AU Brady sighting, sexual tension, mutual pining(?)

The ash cloud of exhaust rose up from the sidewalk steam grates. It infiltrated your nose as you hurried down a few well-worn concrete steps and into the bowels of the subway, a transition into deeper darkness.

To you, that acrid, mini plume of pollution was the smell of New York City; old cigarette buds and weed hash, fresh tequeños and hot dogs wafting from the open door of the bodega on the corner, mixed with a whiff of piss.

This was the city of broke creatives clinging to their fragile dreams with both hands, usually while the natives rolled their eyes. You were one of those shiny happy people with a dream and the battle-tested will to make it happen, especially tonight. You finally got to see a play on Broadway, an excellent production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

You replayed your favorite scenes in your mind like 1940s movie reel, except it was live in technicolor. An unconscious smile spread across your lips, but you had to hurry. Your train was about to leave in…

You checked the time on your phone—ten minutes to midnight—and compared it to the digital sign up ahead. Your eyes widened.

Shit! One minute?!

You had no choice but to try and run in your heels. That had you skidding to the open doors as they began to close, but you just managed to slip inside, albeit literally slipping with a yelp.

A man saved you by grabbing hold of your arm and waist before you fell, bunching the fabric of your coat beneath his hand. You gasped when you stared up at a familiar face. A sharp jawline covered with stubble, just neat enough to be respectable; dark brows shaded over green eyes, trained on you; bowed lips pursed with confusion.

“Professor?” you said, breathless and shocked.

He was just as baffled, but he finished helping you up as your name fell from his lips.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded and thanked him for the save, still catching your breath.

“Here, sit down,” he said, gesturing to a couple of empty seats on the subway. You joined him in sitting, though you ignored the stare of the guy standing closest to you who was holding onto a rail. He wore jeans and dirty hipster Vans, a brown bomber jacket and a gray beanie. The stench of weed and cheap cologne clung to him.

And his gaze followed you until you sat down. Slightly unsettled, you were subtle in the way you angled yourself toward the man beside you.

Professor Dean Winchester.

He really was the last person you expected to see on your way home tonight. You still couldn’t believe you ran right into him!

But then, you noticed the playbill sticking out of his coat pocket (his coat looked more expensive, a dark charcoal gray with a high collar, and it suited him).

“Oh, you…you saw the play too?” you said in excitement, showing him your own playbill that you fished out of your purse. You’d told him about it a month ago, after his lecture on fairy lore. You thought he might enjoy a play that was all about the convergence between the fairy realm and the human realm.

He’d admitted that he’d never seen a Shakespeare play live, but he said he’d look into it. You didn’t think he was actually taking you seriously though.

“Uh, yeah, I did. I’ve never been a big Shakespeare guy, truth be told, but you hooked me,” he said. When he smiled, it made the corner of his eyes crinkle a little.

You couldn’t help but smile too every time you noticed that…even though it made your cheeks warm in a blush. He really had no business being this handsome. And the suit? All crisp and black, paired with a classic, off-white dress shirt and a black pinstripe tie.

Clearly he’d dressed for the occasion of going to the theater, because usually he was one of the chillest professors you knew. He showed up to class in jeans, boots, plain henleys and jackets, though never without his watch, a classic leather time piece with a silver watch face and bold black numbers. It was so vintage, you’d asked about it once when you met with him to talk about one of your essays on Native American burial practices. He’d told you that the watch belonged to his father, who passed away a few years ago now.

“So what’d you think?” you asked. “Weren’t the sets beautiful? It was so ominous and creepy in the ‘forest,’ and ethereal too, like the fairy realm part of it.”

He nodded, smiling slightly wider at your enthusiasm. “Yeah, was a good production. The actors were top-notch.”

“Oh, incredible. That was the best Bottom I’ve ever seen.” You paused, realizing what you said, and a nervous giggle tumbled out of your mouth. “Well, the character. Not the ass—donkey—whatever. You know what I mean.”

The man laughed, rich and deep and washing over you pleasantly, even though you half covered your face in embarrassment.

“Can’t argue with you there. The ass was hilarious,” he smirked.

Another giggle, and you flipped through the playbill again to distract yourself from looking at his ruggedly chiseled face. Why, oh why did he have to be so fucking attractive? And somehow he was still single. You’d heard some of the girls in your class whispering about it after class one day—a full-on engagement that fell apart two years ago.

“But really, the actors who played the couples in the love quadrangle were awesome,” you said. “Helena was my favorite.”

He raised his dark brows. “Really? The girl who gets shit on the most in the play?”

That was another thing. He didn’t really talk like any professor you’d met in your life. You let out a snort.

“I don’t want to be her, I just think she did so well at showing that vulnerability,” you explained. “There’s nothing worse than being in love with someone who doesn’t even see you, you know?”

He tilted his head, his amusement fading as he listened. You felt emboldened to continue your thought.

“In her mind, she’s probably thinking, ‘Well, even if he’s yelling at me, at least he’s acknowledging I exist,’” you said, “which is incredibly sad and isn’t giving Shakespeare many brownie points for feminism, but it’s a reality that some women go through.”

After a moment, he seemed to see your point with a nod of his head.

“That’s fair,” he said, arching a brow. “Though I gotta hope you don’t let any guy talk to you like that.”

You shook your head with a smile, but before you could answer him, your phone slipped off your lap and tumbled to the dirty subway floor. You twisted away so you could reach down and grab it, but you caught that whiff of cheap cologne again. Gray beanie guy let go of the rail and bent down to scoop up your phone before you could. You offered a polite thank you and went to take it back, but he held it out of reach at the last second, giving you a teasing smile.

“How about I put my number in first, so you can call me when you get home,” he said. “I’m Brady, by the way.”

That oh-so-gracious offer was followed by a glance down your dress. You sat up straighter, adjusting the collar of your coat back over your neckline with a weary huff.

“Ah, you know what, I’m good with just my phone…please.”

This was why you kind of hated the subway. You didn’t know when you were going to have to interact with a creep trying to steal your phone, shoot his shot, or look down your dress as a consolation prize.

You held out your hand expectantly, but still, “Brady” didn’t take the hint.

“Aw, what, you have a boyfriend or something?” he asked.

“Oh my God. Are you fucking serious?” You sighed and decided a white lie was best here. “Yes, I have a boyfriend. Now give me my phone, please.”

“Hmm. Is it like beginning stages, or...?”

“Jesus Christ, dude.”

“Hey, I’m just saying, maybe we can grab a bite to eat, theeen you know. If things are going well, we could take things back to your place,” he said, his brows popping with sleazy suggestion. He still held the phone away from your grasping hand in frustration.

“Hey,” a deep voice cut in. 

You hesitated, glancing back at Professor Winchester. He glared up at Brady with a stony look that you’d never seen on him before.

“Give her the damn phone,” said the professor. His tone boded no argument.

Still, Brady pushed his luck.

“What, you her boyfriend or something?”

The professor didn’t bother to answer the question, but he stood from his seat, his long coat draped down all six feet and change of him, broad shoulders and calm confidence. He stared down at the lankier, scruffier pothead. Then he held out his hand.

Brady shifted back on his heels, seeming to realize that he didn’t want this version of Midnight on the Orient Express—the kind that ended up on the 6 o’clock news the next morning. With a roll of his eyes, Brady dropped the phone into your professor’s hand, complete with a dickish quirk of his lips. Professor Winchester gestured at him to fuck off.

“Walk away,” he said.

To your astonishment, the Brady just tossed him a “fuck you, bro,” and went to the other end of the car. You stood up too, just as the subway pulled to a stop. Professor Winchester handed you the phone.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

“Is this your stop?” he asked, still glancing back with a suspicious eye at the asshole still glaring at your backs.

You nodded, biting your lip.

“Okay, come on,” the professor said. He laid a guiding hand on the small of your back and joined you in stepping out of the subway car. To your relief, Brady stayed on the train.

“Thank you,” you said again. “Really, you didn’t have to miss your exit for me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean said, with a shake of his head. His frown was still in place just thinking of that fucking loser. “I’ll have better peace of mind knowing you got home safe.”  

Once you told him that your apartment was another few blocks away, he knew he was going to be walking you home. You told him you weren’t that new to the city, but in his mind, it still wasn’t a safe neighborhood for a young woman to be walking around by herself at this time of night.

He had no other motive than that, however…

He’d been pleasantly surprised to see you tonight. You were a flash of scarlet that tumbled into his arms, the scent of your floral perfume teasing his nose before he caught sight of that little dress clinging to your curvy form, ending just a couple inches above the knee. But you drew your wool coat closer to your body, hiding the tantalizing flash of red from view.

It was for the best, he thought, as he cleared his throat and tried to find something else to focus his eyes on while you two walked together. He couldn’t help but land on your face again, on your pretty painted lips.

A deep, full-bodied red.

It was a familiar shade. You’d worn it before, while chewing the end of a pen absently in concentration during one of his lectures on the difference between skinwalkers and shapeshifters—those long, pointed nails tapping a quiet rhythm against the plastic. It was one of your many quirks, but only now did he realize how much he’d actually noticed about you. If nothing else, he always knew he had your attention.

He also knew you were getting a master’s degree in English, and you were taking his class as an elective. You’d actually sought him out before the semester started to make sure you got a spot in his class.

“Sorry, sir, I know it’s early. I’ve just been trying since last year to get into this class, and I really wanted the chance to take it before I graduate this year.”

He’d shifted in his swivel chair with his jean-clad legs casually crossed. He bounced a tennis ball against the wall, as was his habit. (Mostly because it bothered Benny, who had the office next to his.)

The repetitive bounce really helped him to think sometimes; it was basically his version of a fidget spinner.

“You like mythology that much, huh?” Dean asked.

“Oh, yeah!” you said, as your eyes lit up. “I find it so fascinating how every culture in the world has their own stories that have still survived for thousands of years. Some of them even overlap. Like, maybe it’s technically a different creature, but they have the same name, just in another language. Or it’s the same creature, different backstory. It’s like any novel I’ve ever read—similar tropes, but the style, the packaging. That’s what becomes new and creative.”

Amusement tugged at Dean’s lips.

“Same candy, different wrapper, right?” he offered. His reward was your bright smile.

“Yeah, exactly.”

He’d approved your request without a second thought. Unlike 95% of the students who came and went through his classes, you weren’t just smart. You cared. You had a passion for this stuff…and it mirrored his own.

“So, uh, you liked that play, huh?” he asked. Wanted to rub his hand over his face right after. Smooth, Winchester.

But it succeeded in brightening your eyes again.

“Oh yeah. People tend to think of it as one of Shakespeare’s sillier plays, but it drops some interesting ideas about love, for example.” All while you spoke, you spun vivid gestures with your hands.

Dean’s remained in his coat pockets, but watching you made his smile deepen. He liked when you got like this, so animated and alive with your thoughts. It threatened to draw him out of his somewhat jaded shell.

“Oh, yeah? Like what?” he asked. Not because he really wanted to talk about what some sixteenth-century ye olde-y English douche thought about love, but because he wanted to hear you explain it.

You didn’t disappoint.

“Well, there’s the famous Lysander line, ‘The course of true love never did run smooth,’” you said, “but that’s not even my favorite. That’s boring. That’s every rom-com ever, from Harry Met Sally to While You Were Sleeping, all the way to He’s Just Not that Into You, and Crazy, Stupid Love.”

Dean had to interject. “You watch a lot of chick-flicks, don’t you?”

Your lips puckered, but the amusement in your eyes answered his question.

“Like I said, I think Helena is the most underrated tragic figure in the whole story. Yeah, she’s pretty much a doormat, following Demetrius around even though he claims he’s in love with her best friend. Even though he curses at her, threatens to kill her if she keeps annoying him, following him around like an abused puppy. We can agree, he’s like, the biggest asshole in existence, right?” you said.

“Oh, very much agree. You want some coffee?” Dean asked, pointing to a guy selling warm pretzels and drinks from his vendor cart on the side of the road. It had stopped snowing a few days ago, but the February air was still sharp and bitterly cold at this time of night. If only it were midsummer.

“Uh, you know what, I could go for some tea. Thank you,” you said. But you didn’t let that derail you from your thoughts on Shakespearean love. You were still waxing literary analysis while you dug into your purse to find your wallet, but by the time you got it out, Dean had already paid for both drinks and a large soft-baked pretzel.

Your brows furrowed. “Oh! I meant to pay for my part—”

“Don’t worry about it. Here, take half,” Dean said, and he shot you a smile while handing over your hot tea and half of his pretzel. He got your eyes to light up for a different reason as you took the treat. You thanked him with a sweeter smile.

Then you took a bite, and you kept talking.

“But then she says, ‘Love can transpose to form and dignity.’ It can make us act like idiots, right? I mean, back in high school I wrote my boyfriend’s essays for a whole year because I didn’t want him to fail English, and let’s face it, he could barely spell his own last name.”

“Yikes,” Dean chuckled. Sounded like a GED and a gas station job in that guy’s future.

“Right? And what did he do? He dumped me the week before prom because he knew Ruby Summers would put out.” You rolled your eyes, accepting Dean’s sympathies with a gracious nod and a dismissive hand wave. Still, he hoped all you’d given to that guy was your time.

"Well, the guy you're seeing now better be treating you right," he said.

You blinked, your brows furrowing a bit in confusion, until realization dawned on you.

"Oh, I don't have a boyfriend," you said with a small chuckle. "That's just what I tell pushy weirdos on subways."

Dean was tripped up for a second, but he eventually quirked a smile.

“So anyway, my favorite bar of the whole play is what Helena says in Act 1,” you said. “‘Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind.’”

In that moment, Dean’s eyes were a little too captivated.

But you broke the spell.

You glanced ahead to continue along the crosswalk with him, taking another warm, soft bite of pretzel.

“And that’s why Cupid’s always painted like a blind baby…or something like that,” you said. You laughed a little, and you seemed to realize just how long you’d been yapping his ear off. You came to a stop at what he assumed was your apartment building, but you suddenly got quiet. Embarrassed.

“Sorry, once I open my mouth on this stuff, I can’t really stop unless someone stops me and tells me I’m literally killing them with words that don’t make sense.”

“You’re making a whole lotta sense to me,” Dean replied. And he realized that he meant it. He rubbed his chin in thought. “Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind. I like that.”

Your mind seemed to be a hamster wheel on steroids, but he kind of liked that too.

“Well, did you like the play?” you asked, smiling in embarrassment. “Sorry, can’t remember if I even asked you that yet.”

He laughed softly. Even if you had, he didn’t mind answering again.

“I like it more now, hearing you talk about it,” he said. But maybe that was too honest. He padded it with something more appropriate, as your instructor. “It makes sense, since you’re an English major, but your passion always comes through in your essays. I’m really glad you decided to take my class this semester.”

You demured further at the praise. “Oh, thank you. It really is my favorite class so far this year, but…that’s because you’re the one teaching it. You're really good at telling stories. You make them simple and easy to understand, even when we're talking about hell hounds and old ghost stories, or the uh, Oedipus complex, or something.”

Dean smiled in amusement, but it was his turn to be touched, even if it surprised him too. You were just so honest and free enough to speak your mind. It was refreshing.

“Well, thank you. Glad to hear at least one person’s getting something out of it,” he said, his smile warming for once.

You smiled too, looking at him through your lashes. “All right well, thanks again for walking me home. I’ll, um…see you on Monday-ayy!”

You stepped up onto the first stair leading up to your apartment and caught an icy patch with your red-bottomed heels. A gasp fell from your lips as your arms spun out to catch yourself on anything that could keep you from falling, and that happened to be Dean—specifically his coat, and then his biceps when he moved in fast to keep you upright.

He ended up gathering you into his arms while you clung to his coat. Your red nails bit into the dark fabric. In his mind’s eye, he could imagine them popping the buttons of his dress shirt, carving shaky lines of heat and pleasure across his skin.

Fuck. He bit the inside of his cheek hard to rid himself of that image, his jaw ticking in response. But another one just replaced it when his gaze met yours, half-lidded and shocked, but…contemplating.

Hot breaths mingled in between, puffing visibly on the cold air.

“God, I’m sorry!” you breathed.

“Don’t worry about it.” He cleared his throat past the slight roughness in his voice. “You all right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, um…Take Two,” you said, laughing weakly.

You aimed to let him go and continue on up the stairs by yourself, but Dean couldn’t stop himself from trying to help you. He held your elbow at least, with a hovering hand by your waist in case you slipped again. When you finally made it to the door, you paused and turned to look at him over your shoulder. Again, that look in your eyes said you were debating something in your mind.

“You okay?” he asked again.

You nodded. “Yeah, I just, um…you know what? Never mind. Uh, good night!”

Dean nodded, giving you a casual salute. He didn’t leave until you got in the building safely, but for his entire long walk home, your face wouldn’t leave his mind. That look of internal conflict, like you’d been weighing some kind of pros and cons. He had to wonder…

Had you been about to invite him up to your apartment?

But no. Fucking no. He dismissed that thought as soon as it came. He was almost ten years older than you.

Didn’t stop Catherine Zeta-Jones from hooking up with Michael Douglas. She’s barely pushing fifty while he’s halfway into Senior Depends.

Second problem. Career ending and reputation ruining and his own clock punch at the local 7/11—kind of a problem.

You were a student.

Grad student, came a whisper from the back of his mind.

In Greek mythology, the golden apples of Hesperides in Hera’s garden were guarded by a dragon. The Norse gods also believed in their own version of immortal golden apples, harvested by the goddess Idunn. Sounded a bit like Eden, right? As in, the Judeo-Christian Garden.

As in, forbidden fruit.

What did they all have in common? There was always a consequence for the taking and sampling part. The question was, is the price worth how good it tastes?

Remembering the feeling of your soft curves under his hands, Dean had a feeling it would be more than fucking worth it.

But he shook the thought from his head, his fingertips digging into the soft insides of his coat pockets.

He was your professor. That was where those thoughts should end.

You didn’t even see him that way…did you?

You shucked your heels off as soon as you got inside your apartment. You heaved a deep sigh and shed your purse, your coat, your earrings and necklace, which you set down on the nightstand in your bedroom. You sat on the edge of the bed and fell back onto the creaky mattress.

Your hands came to rest lightly over your stomach, a safe place, while you thought back to how Professor Winchester held you so tight. Secure. Gentlemanly.

How he looked at you, his green-eyed gaze falling to your lips, like he was contemplating the best way to close that distance, bowing his head those last few inches and…

You forcibly shook your head. He was your goddamn teacher.

It didn’t matter that he was probably the youngest faculty member on campus, and you were a twenty-five-year-old graduate student. Whether or not the man was “age appropriate,” he was still your professor. You couldn’t think about him like that.

And he absolutely didn’t look at you like that…

Did he?

AN: Sorry again for all the nerdy lit. tidbits, but I had fun. 😂 I'm thinking about expanding this into an actual little series, so let me know what you think! ❤️

⋆˙⟡ Follow @zepskieswrites (with notifications on) to get notified every time I drop a new chapter. ❤️

Join My Patreon ⟡ Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories; send me requests, and more!

Dean Winchester One-Shots List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester Tag List (Part 1):

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl @kaleldobrev

@globetrotter28 @midnightmadwoman @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @my-stories-vault @0ccvltism

@rizlowwritessortof @k-slla @jackles010378 @alwaystiredandconfused @nancymcl

@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

@mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @cheynovak @jollyhunter

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @leigh70 @aylacavebear @jessjad

@kmc1989 @siampie @rubyvhs @masked-lost-girl @spnbabe67

@deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005 @impala-dreamer @spnaquakindgdom

[chigsprincess]

That’s MY lover

ওㅤ ㅤ*̩̩͙‧͙*˚⁺‧͙ when another guy starts flirting with you in front of them -y.isagi, m.kaiser, s.nagi, r.shidou, m.bachira, h.chigiri

Isagi Yoichi

He is very confused at first. Can’t this guy see he is your boyfriend?

Then he realises that he is very much aware, he just doesn’t care.

He actually gets pretty pissed about it, and pulls you closer to him instantly.

Ask’s him nicely to leave, since he can tell it’s bothering you as well.

If he still doesn’t get the hint, he’ll probably walk away with you so you don’t feel uncomfortable anymore. Not without turning back to flip the guy off though.

Kaiser Michael

Fuming, boiling, borderline thinking about murder. On the inside at least. Outside? Cool as a cucumber.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust you. He knows you are not stupid enough to leave him. It’s the audacity that pisses him off.

How can you walk up to the Kaiser and his partner, and start spouting some nonsense about treating you better than he could.

Is Michael an asshole? Yes. Is he a cocky bastard? Also yes. Is he self aware about these things? Hell yeah. But he worships the ground you walk on. No one can treat you better than him. Period.

Tells the person to ‘fuck off’ then turns back to talking to you like nothing happened. You two just ignore him until he feels uncomfortable enough to leave.

Nagi Seishiro

“Is this guy serious?”

Nagi has no intentions of dealing with someone like that. He is a pacifist after all and he also knows you can handle yourself just fine.

Still places a hand on your tight to ‘mark his territory.’

Only intervenes if the guy really can’t take a hint. He tells them off in an effortlessly cool way.

“As if someone as amazing as my partner would be interested in someone who can’t even understand the word no.”

Pulls you closer to him, so you feel safe and comfortable.

Shidou Ryusei

He’s just enjoying the show with his arm wrapped around your waist.

Gives unsolicited advice to the guy.

“No, don’t say that, they won’t like it. Try again.”

Cheers him on until he gets bored of his stupid face and stupid words.

Switches up as soon as he senses you becoming distressed.

“Okay now you get lost. No one upsets my gorgeous lover but me.” He says with a glare that’s paired with an uncanny smile. That should be more than enough to get them to back off.

Bachira Meguru

Poor sunshine boy hates it soo much.

As soon as the guy walks up to compliment your hair, he is front of you saying things like: “Yeah! My partner is the prettiest!” or “The love of my life is seriously amazing! Hope you find your person soon!” With the most condescending smile ever.

Runs away with you before the guy could really get into it.

Kisses you a hundred times, mumbling about the audacity of people nowadays.

He bounces back after some sweet reassuring words though, so just be nice to him.

Chigiri Hyoma

This was a weird misunderstanding.

A group of guys walked up to the two of with the clear intention of picking you up. Which would be fine in itself, if they didn’t refer to him as a girl.

Your tummy was starting to hurt from all the laughing you did while your boyfriend explained to them that he is in fact a guy and you two are a couple.

They are super apologetic and chill about it, and still invite you to have coffee with them in a platonic way this time.

At least you guys made some friends.

Once again you are reminded of the fact that your boyfriend is prettier than you, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

word count: 640

[whitechocolate355]

time out

oneshot

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 2k

warnings - language

synopsis: after a heated argument during a scrimmage, Paige and Azzi are both benched for “unsportsmanlike behaviour.” Forced to sit in silence while their teammates play, the tension between them begins boils over — and neither of them can hold back what they really want to say (or do).

one shot request from a lovely anon!! getting around to everyone’s requests so bear w/ me… also chap 5 for full court press will be uploaded tmr morning

The gym was blisteringly loud. Sneakers screeched. Whistles pierced. Coaches yelled in a flurry of clipped commands and clipboard slaps.

And Paige was about two seconds from completely losing her shit.

“I SAID SWITCH!” she yelled, throwing her arms up as Azzi jogged past her, completely ignoring the rotation.

Azzi didn’t even spare her a glance. Just caught the rebound like it was hers by divine right and launched the ball effortlessly into the net.

Swish.

Paige’s blood boiled. “You’re seriously not gonna talk to me now?”

Azzi brushed past her again, the faint scent of musky vanilla clinging to her skin, her face stoic, as if carved in stone. “I didn’t realise I had anything left to say.”

“Oh, cut the cold act,” Paige hissed, stepping into her space. “You’re playing selfish. This is a team scrimmage, not your personal Steph Curry highlight reel.”

Azzi stopped. Turned. Her hair whipping around like a blade.

“You want to talk about selfish?” she snapped. “Maybe look in a mirror before you start throwing around words you don’t understand.”

And that was it. All it took. Paige shoved her shoulder into Azzi’s, and Azzi shoved right back.

“HEY!” Coach blew the whistle like it was a goddamn siren. “You two—BENCH. NOW. You wanna act like children? You’ll sit like them too.”

Paige stormed to the bench, jaw clenched, heart clawing at her ribs. Azzi followed, expression unreadable.

But this had been building for weeks.

Paige could feel it in the way Azzi always passed to someone else when she was open. In the glances they shared that lingered too long. In the breathless moments after every scrimmage where she half expected Azzi to say something—anything—that might make sense of the way her heart pounded after every brush of their hands.

And now, with them both benched and pissed and sitting shoulder to shoulder, Paige couldn’t take it anymore.

They sat on opposite ends of the same metal seat, separated by maybe three feet and about a mile of heat.

The game continued. Shouts echoed. The scoreboard buzzed. But in their corner, time held its breath.

Paige bounced her knee. She could feel Azzi’s presence like a gravity field.

Neither of them spoke.

Not until the fourth whistle of the quarter blew and the gym momentarily dulled into ambient chatter.

"You always do this," she muttered without turning her head.

Azzi’s brow ticked. “Do what?”

“You push until I snap, and then you act like I’m the problem.”

Azzi finally turned to face her, eyes sharp. “Maybe you are.”

Paige laughed bitterly. “God, you’re exhausting.”

“Right back at you.”

Their teammates were across the court, deep in the scrimmage, too far to hear. Too far to care. Paige felt something inside her break loose—something reckless.

“You don’t have to hate me, you know.”

Azzi’s expression flickered. “I don’t hate you.”

“No?” Paige turned now, fully. “Then what is this, Azzi? Why is it that every time I try to talk to you, it turns into a fight?”

Azzi exhaled slowly, then said, “Because if I don’t fight you, Paige, I might actually—”

But she didn’t finish. She didn’t need to. Paige felt the unspoken words hang in the air between them like a thread about to snap.

Might actually what?

Their breath tangled somewhere in the air between them. The game raged on, but the court felt impossibly small now, the air between them thick with tension.

Flashback: The First Game

The first time Paige had seen Azzi play, it was more than just basketball. That girl was a display of effortless grace, precision, and an undeniable swagger that drew Paige’s eye from the beginning. 

They had met at a youth basketball camp, and Paige hadn’t been able to forget the way Azzi dominated the court, effortlessly gliding from one play to the next. Paige had never felt the need to be jealous, or scared for her spot on the team. But for the very first time, she was. And the culprit: Azzi fucking Fudd. It wasn’t just the way she played—it was the way she carried herself. Confidence radiated from her every movement. It pissed Paige off.

But at the same time, she was drawn to it. The two were the first off the court. 

Azzi wasn’t like anyone Paige had met before, which made her feel unsettled. It was as if she could read Paige’s movements, and every one of her thoughts because before Azzi even knew where she was, Paige had kicked it to her in the corner in one, smooth movement. And unlike her other previous teammates that would’ve just fumbled the ball in surprise, Azzi caught it mid-pass with ease — as if she intercepted her own ball — to fire the quickest release the crowd had ever seen. And with that, Paige held her fingers out in celebration, because as soon as that ball graced Azzi’s hands, Paige knew that shot was cash. 

—-----------

“I don’t get you,” Paige growled, slamming her water bottle to the ground. “You show up like you’ve got nothing to prove, and then you play like your whole damn career depends on it. What is it? What do you need to prove?”

Azzi took a breath, her face a mask of calm, but Paige could see the tension in her jaw, the way her muscles were coiled, ready to spring.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Azzi said, her voice lower than usual, laced with frustration. “Not everything is about what you want, Paige.”

“Then stop pretending like you’ve got it all figured out!” Paige shot back, her voice trembling with anger and something else she didn’t want to acknowledge. “It’s like I can’t even look at you without feeling like you’re hiding something.”

Azzi’s eyes flickered, just for a second, like she was about to say something but thought better of it. The silence that followed stretched out between them, thick with unsaid words.

They were sitting inches apart. But emotionally? Miles.

Azzi finally turned toward her, eyes softer now. “You think I’m hiding something? Paige, you have no idea.”

Paige swallowed, heat rising in her chest. Her heart beat erratically in her ears.

“Oh, I think I know,” she said, voice low and dangerously soft. “You don’t let anyone close. You keep everyone at arm’s length. But I’m done with that. If you’re hiding something, then I want to know. Because I’m not gonna keep playing this game with you.”

Azzi stood up suddenly, the motion sharp and filled with frustration. “I’m not hiding anything,” she said, her voice a growl. “I’m not the one here pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. I’m the one who shows up every single day, working my ass off, and all you can do is act like I’m the problem.”

Paige stood up too, the two of them facing each other, inches apart. “Maybe I’m not pretending,” she shot back, her voice hard, eyes burning with a fire she couldn’t suppress anymore. “Maybe I’m tired of you acting like I’m just another player you can push around. I’m done with that, Azzi.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, and for a second, Paige thought she saw something flicker in her eyes. But before she could analyze it further, Azzi was stepping back. Her hand went to the back of her neck, rubbing the tension there.

“I think we both need a timeout,” Azzi muttered, more to herself than to Paige.

“Yeah, we do.” Paige replied under her breath.

.

.

.

Benched and bitter and burning from the inside out, Paige knew she needed to get away. Before she did something she shouldn't do. Watching Azzi glance over at her every so often as their chests rose and fell in sync with each other was driving her crazy. And before she could stop her thoughts, Paige stood abruptly.

“Where are you going?” Azzi asked.

“Out back. Before I say something I can’t take back.”

Azzi hesitated, then stood too, following closely behind. “Say it.”

Paige turned, inches away from the gym door. “What?”

Azzi stepped in, closer now than she had any right to be. “Say what you want to say. I’m right here. And besides, I’m done following you.”

“Fine.” Paige grunted. It was time to get real. The blonde couldn’t take it anymore. “I don’t get you,” she began. “One second you’re giving me eyes like you wanna ruin me, and the next you’re pretending I don’t exist. What the hell is your game, Azzi?”

Fuck. Did she really just air herself out to Azzi?

Azzi stepped toward her slowly, closing the distance. Her eyes were dark, unreadable, but there was something else there too—something raw.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Azzi said, her voice barely a whisper. “This isn’t a game. You think you know me, Paige. You think you understand me. But you don’t. You’ve only seen the parts of me I’ve allowed you to.”

Azzi stood a few feet away, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “Maybe I’m tired of pretending.”

And just like that, Paige couldn’t take it anymore. 

Grabbing onto Azzi’s jersey, she pulled her into her chest —not hard, not violent, just… desperate, while her free hand pushed the door back. 

[Outside]

Azzi’s breath caught as Paige leaned in. It was slow at first, hesitant, like a dare. Azzi’s heart pounded in her chest, and before she could stop herself, she was leaning into Paige too, their mouths meeting in a frantic collision of teeth and heat.

Paige slammed her palm against the building wall, caging Azzi between her broad shoulders all while forbidding herself to tear away from Azzi’s lips. Her fingers curled around the metal grate, trying to stay grounded — as if this moment wasn’t what she was fantasising about since she met Azzi. 

It was a kiss that held everything—frustration, longing, pain. All the words neither of them had said but both of them had wanted to for so long. There were no zone defences anymore. No hesitation. Just the messy, overwhelming need to feel something, anything, between them.

Azzi’s hands slid to Paige’s back, pulling her closer. Paige’s hands found the hem of Azzi’s shirt, fingers pressing against the soft skin there, memorizing the feel of her. The kiss deepened, becoming frantic, like they were trying to devour each other whole.

Why the hell did she look at Paige like that when we first met?

Why does she keep pushing Paige on the court, then staring at Paige like she’s hers?

Why does this feel better than any win?

Paige shot away her thoughts with her mouth, biting softly on Azzi’s bottom lip, as if that was where she held the answers. Azzi pressed against the wall as Paige wrapped her arms around Azzi’s waist, her muscles tensing —which sent a jolting sensation to Azzi’s spine.  Paige’s hands gripped the back of her neck, pulling her impossibly closer.

Azzi gasped into her mouth, and Paige took that gasp like a win, like a possession. She leaned back, admiring her view with a smug smirk on her face —as if she had manifested this moment— before she tilted her head, deepening the kiss, her body flush against Azzi’s now — muscle to muscle, sweat to sweat.

Azzi moaned before she could stop herself…

And Paige kissed her harder for it.

They didn’t pull away. They couldn’t. Not until a water bottle dropped somewhere in the locker room, echoing just loud enough to remind them where they were.

Paige’s hands were still bunched in Azzi’s jersey. Azzi’s fingers were threaded through Paige’s hair.

Neither of them moved. Their foreheads touched.

Paige’s voice was hoarse. “I hate you.”

Azzi’s breath fanned her lips. “No, you don’t.”

Silence.

Then Azzi kissed her again — slower this time. Like a statement. Like a fuck-you and a promise in one.

The buzzer rang again. Timeout was over.

They pulled apart, barely. Lips swollen. Chests rising and falling.

Paige glanced down, cheeks red but jaw still set. “We have five minutes.”

Azzi smirked, voice low. “Then you better move fast...”, leading her to the locker room by the jersey.

[yanderemommabean]

Yandere Dr. Lee scenario <3

“My love for you is seeping into my bones like cancer. I’m obsessed with your every waking breath. My chest heaves at the idea of you ever leaving me behind to rot like the corpse of an abandoned animal. But you would never. You’re perfect. You’re the balm that soothes my burns and the morphine for when my body breaks. I hope to one day heal your wounds as deeply as you’ve done mine. I’ll start with slitting open your enemies like I used to do frogs in biology.” What? Your head is fuzzy from reading the first paragraph, but you can’t stop yourself. If you never finish reading then it will haunt you, or even hurt you, if this was to be taken seriously. 

“I want you. I’ve wanted you for myself for years. I let you have your social circle because that’s just the little butterfly you are. I know you know how obsessed I can be with you. If not, then, now you know. I’ve been in love with you for years, and every single time you bat those pretty eyes at other men, I want to kill them. I’m not going to make this hurt. This isn’t truly a punishment. I just couldn’t hold myself back anymore. I’m going to make you feel good, over and over and over until you see that I love you, little butterfly.”

You read the letter over and over again. You feel the shaking taking over as the deranged letter trembles in your hands, and your breath feels stuck in your throat. Whatthe fuck was this? Some sick love confession? And from who?! What did it even mean by punishment? You can’t bring yourself to hold onto the paper anymore, tossing it aside as you grasp at your hair. What do you do? Cops are hardly ever helpful with shit like this. Making a report should help, at least a little but- There’s a creaking sound behind you. Your thoughts pause, and your hairs stand on end. It’s an eerie silence as you hold your breath and feel the foreboding feeling behind you. Do you acknowledge it? Do you turn your head and see what made the noise? Or do you simply run away, get in the car and go? What if it’s just nothing? You shake. Deep breaths only do so much, but they’re better than completely flying off the edge. 

It’s fine. You’re just extra paranoid. This is a fucked up prank at the very least, and a crime waiting to happen at worst. You just need to get your bearings, get something to calm down, and take care of it as soon as possible. 

Turning your head reveals nothing. The same old floor, same kitchen and living room. No menacing boogeyman, no scary burglar, just your home. (Is it truly yours if rent is always there? Well, whatever, you need a way to get comfort. Delusions such as owning a home help!) 

Double checking the house isn’t a bad idea. So, you go, checking the cupboards, the cabinets, the pantry, and of course anything that looked like a grown person could be hiding. There’s still that foreboding feeling, but once you finish checking under your bed, and your closet, there’s nothing left to check.  There’s the ruffling of your blanket as you collapse. Deep breath in, slow exhale, again and again, until you feel your nerves settling.

Maybe this will be over by the time you get up in the morning to make a report. Maybe it’s a fucked up prank. You can’t really bring yourself to think past anything other than that. You tiredly drag your hands down your face, sighing out as your thoughts try to become less jumbled.

Your eyes close, and your mind finally starts to go blank. Everythings going to be ok. You’ll be ok.

Then there’s the pinprick burning in your arm, and a gloved hand over your mouth.

“So sorry, dove. I know, I know. Shh shh shh. You did good! you did so so good. Hide and seek with you is adorable! But...You know, just because I wasn’t in one hiding spot the first time, it doesn’t mean I didn’t move! Ah, but I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

There’s a flicker of light as your eyes struggle to stay open, heavy and weighted as your nails try to dig into the arm holding onto you. It’s no use. Your fight is leaving you fast and so is your consciousness, and while your heart is hammering, it’s slowing down considerably as a few tears leave your drooping eyes.

“Wanted a picture to remember this by. Just relax, my butterfly. Just relax. I’ve given you many shots haven’t I? Never did like when my nurses went to do it. Think those count as flirting? I sure do-”

There’s a pouty, disappointed hum as the intruder watches you fade into unconsciousness. “Damn. Worked quicker than I had hoped. Oh well, I need to get you home quick anyway. If I leave too late, people may notice, and it’s not an easy trail to clean.”

(-Mommabean)

[at-this-point-i-dont-even-know]

Lean On Me (Part 5/7)

Pairing: Dr Michael 'Robby" Robinavitch x younger! Langdon's little sister! reader

A conversation that needs to be had, is had....

Warnings: casual drinking, work in a strip club, general lack of clothing in the workplace slow burn

(I know nothing about working in a strip club, so this is all based off media representations, sorry for any mistakes)

part four / part six

taglist: @dayswithoutcoffee, @hagarsays, @4ishere, @omgbrianab, antisocialfiore, eugene-emt-roe

“Michael what the fuck!” you hiss, ripping your arm from his grasp as soon as the door slammed shut.

You clock your colleague Holly marching towards you, with a baseball bat raised high.

“It's okay! He’s my-”

“Boyfriend?”

“Friend!” 

Holly puts the bat down and smiles at Michael, who's still glaring at you. He runs his hands through his hair, and his breathing is heavy. You know whatever conversation that was about to happen could not happen in the change rooms. 

“Holly, can you watch my section for a minute,” you say a lot calmer than you feel, “I’m going to take Dog and him,” pointing at Michael, “outside for some air.”

Holly agrees because of course she does. You two have been at this club for years together, she was a single mum of two, who's been caught dancing by many ex-boyfriends, she knew what conversation was about to be had. 

Not that Michael is your boyfriend.

Dog is sitting patiently under one of the makeup desks, her tail wagging as she watches you pick up her lead.

“You bring your dog to this place.”

It's the first words Michael has said all evening and you turn to him, all fake smiles gone.

“Of course I do! I work 10 hour shifts some days, I can’t leave a dog in Frank's apartment for half the day!”

Michael says nothing, but ever the gentleman, he holds open the backroom door for you as you and Dog wander into the alley way.

The back alley behind the bar is as safe as any place can be in Pittsburgh after dark, it has two large gates on either end and only staff at the club know the combinations to the locks. It was where you have spent a lot of time either chain smoking when you were young, or internally screaming as you got older. 

You let Dog off the lead, who trots off to do her business and turn to look at Michael, who was looking around the alley, his brows raised. You could still feel the anger coming off him.

“So?” you start, crossing your arms until you realise all that's done is press your tits up and make them even more obvious to the red faced doctor.

“You’re a stripper.”

“Waitress technically- I lost my spot on the stage when I went to Europe.”

“Why?”

“Why did I lose my spot or why am I here?”

He rolled his eyes, “Why are you here?”

“Oh I just love getting my breasts out for random strangers.” the sarcasm drips from your mouth, you can’t help it.

“Sweethea-”

“No Sweetheart! No! You can’t just walk into a stripclub, then get mad when a woman has her tits out!” 

“I didn’t want to come to a strip club.” he said weakly, his own argument falling flat.

“Oh your old mate Jack just pulled you in here under protest?”

“Well-”

“What are you really mad about, Dr Robinavitch?” he flinches at the formal name and you can’t help but smirk.

“Why are you here?”

“Money.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously, I make more here in one night than I would in a week somewhere else. It's good, fast money!”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you need to make fast money?”

The question has you laughing, maybe not with humour but with amusement. Dog wanders off as you drop her lead to gather yourself.

“Why? Why do I need money? Oh I don’t know, maybe because my big brother is in rehab? Or because my parents are in a facility that has exorbitant bills their pension doesn’t cover? Rent? Vet bills? I’ve maxed out four credit cards since I have gotten back, so those need to be paid off as well? How else should I make my money, Dr Robinavitch?”

He’s silent, and the rage has simmered behind his eyes but his hands flexed between open and fists as if trying to ground himself.

“What about your degree?” he said, each word a challenge.

“What degree?” you huff, “I dropped out of school at fifteen.” 

The rage rose again as he took in your words.

“What?”

You move to lean against the wall of the club, it was cool (and a little gross) against your exposed skin.

“My dads a high functioning alcoholic and my mum- my mum is a self centred bitch who only cares about two things, my dad and Frank.I was an unhappy accident.” You close your eyes, you haven’t admitted any of this to anyone, ever, “Dad lost his job when I was fourteen, Frank was fifteen, and the bills started the pile up. Sacrifices had to be made, and that included my dance classes which I was mad about but I was told by my mother, young ladies do not complain. Then dad got a new job and it was okay for a few months but he hurt himself and ended up on workers comp. Then the bills piled up again and mum sat me down and told me that I needed to pull my weight around the house.”

“What about Frank?”

“Frank was top of his class in everything, he was on the football team and looking at a scholarship to any college he wanted. I was not doing so well in any of my classes, which got worse when I started working at the local diner every night. We chatted about it but he didn’t want to drop out of school so it was decided, I would.”

“That's not fair.” Michael said and when you opened your eyes he was in front of you, his hands on your face, tilting your head up so you could look him in the eye.

“You shouldn’t have been saddled with that.” 

You lean into his touch, and feel his breath on your face. It would take only a moment to breach the distance between you. You could almost taste him on your lips as you look him in his eyes.

The anger is still there, seething behind the golden brown colour but you can see something else there as he looks from your eyes to your lips. 

You need to break the moment before you kiss him in the alley.

It was a cliché to kiss someone outside of the club in this alley, plus your boss had cameras rigged out here 'for your safety'.

“But I was. I left school and started odd jobs, waitressing, working at a grocery store, I was even a cleaner at your hospital for a few months. But nothing was covering all the house repayments, Frank's textbooks or my mum's spending habits.”

Michael was now shaking his head, his thumb gently grazing your cheek.

“I know Frank, he’s an ass but he wouldn’t have let you pay for everything.”

“My folks didn’t tell him everything, and I didn’t want him to know. He couldn’t be distracted, he had a plan and a path and it was my job to keep him on it.” You didn’t sound bitter, the words could have been bitter. Others might have thought you would be bitter, but you weren’t, not at Frank. 

He had always been the kid who was going to make it.

You were just the little sister that was going to help him get there.

“I got a job here just before my sixteenth birthday, started as a dish-bitch, worked my way up to dancing by the time I was seventeen.”

“Seventeen?”

The grip on your cheek is tighter, as you watch him school his emotions, he got a little crease between his brows that looks like a ‘v’ as you watch him swallow a further remark.

“Yep- I had a fake ID in case the cops ever came in but they never did, at least not to raid us.” you joke but the brow on Michaels brow just got deeper, “No one cared really, I had boobs, and ass and was willing to work every night. So I did, I paid off my parents house, I covered Frank's textbooks, the excess of his college living costs and got him the best birthday and christmas presents. They never asked where the money came from, maybe they never cared enough to, I think Frank might have an idea but he never brought it up.”

Michael pulls away slightly, still in your personal bubble but no longer touching you. You try not to verbalise a whine as you try to lean back into his touch.

“You made enough to pay off your parents house.” A statement not a question.

You could tell Michael was processing, his hands were now in his pockets and his entire body language had changed, he stood taller, ridged as he blinked slowly. He walked away from you, suddenly on the other side of the alley.

“Michael?”

“You paid off your parents' house, and Frank's bills, just by dancing?” There was something under those words, an accusation you couldn’t quite place. Somehow during your confession he had picked up something that he couldn’t get through.

“Yes.” Your voice was small, and you realised your hands were shaking. You had just poured your whole truth out to this man and while you hadn’t expected open arms, his response had you thrown.

“You managed to pay off your parents' house, just by dancing on that stage?”

There it was, the judgement and the disgust. 

Michael was an understanding Doctor, a person who would advocate for those less fortunate.

But all people have their own hang ups, the thing they would never be able to look past.

And you just found his.

“Stripping is not prostitution.” You say through gritted teeth.

“I didn’t say that-”

“You didn’t have to! I heard it in your voice!”

“I didn’t-”

You want to cry, the tears are there but you won’t cry in front of him, how had you gone from flirting over pancakes to being judged in a back alley.

“We are done here, have a lovely rest of your evening, Dr Robinavitch.”

You push past time, snapping for Dog to follow you. She does, stopping only for a moment to sniff Michaels pant leg before trotting back inside, excited to see who was backstage and ready to give her cuddles.

“Why did you come back to it?” 

You look behind you, “What?”

“When you came home, why did you come back here?”

You sigh and just shake your head.

“Because Frank needed me.” You admit before closing the door and returning to your shift.

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

Michael’s table of friends are still there when you come back, your fake smile plastered wide on your face.

You couldn’t wait until the club closed and you could go home and cry into your pillow.

But there were still four hours left.

Michael returned to the table a few moments after you, but left almost immediately, making his excuses to the bachelor and Jack. You stayed well away until you saw Michael leave, letting Holly and Joe fill any drink orders.

Jack's eyes stay fixed on you for moments after Michael has gone, tracking your every movement.

You smiled back at him, daring him to say anything. You could do with a fight tonight you thought to yourself as you passed out wings, and whiskey glasses to another table that had come in. 

But he’s gone after you pick yourself up off a table, belly button still wet from a body shot.

You look around for him or any of Michaels friends as you tuck the $100 bill into your purse, but the table was empty, bar their finished glasses and a tip.

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

The liquor was flowing at almost every table by the time 2am rolled by, and Holly had just taken her place on stage. You wanted to laugh as she sent you a wink and a kiss mid-dip.

Joe is still behind the bar but he stops what he's doing as you shuffle up, exhaustion and sticky heels wearing you down.

“You okay?”

You laugh and give him a gentle push, “I think that's the third time you’ve asked me that tonight.”

He shrugs and pushes you back, “You spend half your life looking after everyone else. Someones gotta check in.”

After the conversation with Michael and the rollercoaster the last few weeks have been you can’t help but hug the older man. Pulling him in and clinging to him as you whisper your thanks. You had known Joe since you were fifteen, he had stood behind you for your first week, snapping the fingers of anyone who tried to touch you while you washed dishes in the ugliest frumpiest clothes he could talk the boss into letting you wear. 

“I think the crush is over before it even began.” You admitted as you pulled away, grabbing shot glasses for the table closest to the stage. They wanted to do tequila shots with Holly, so you poured four tequila shots for the guests and one shot of water in a ‘special’ sparkly glass for Holly. It wasn’t against the rules to drink during a shift, when someone wants to buy you a drink, but you knew Holly had an early school run the next morning and the last thing she needed was a hangover.

The shift goes on, and you go through the motions. Pouring drinks, folding your tips into your little purse and every so often taking money for a dance.

It was like you somehow ended up on autopilot, just doing everything with a smile on your face and a bounce in your step as your mind continues to just replay your conversation with Michael again and again.

“You managed to pay off your parents' house, just by dancing on that stage?”

He had asked the question again and again, and maybe it was your own insecurity but each time felt heavier and heavier. 

You had paid off your parents' house by dancing on a stage.

You had gotten your brother through college by dancing on a stage.

And you would get him through rehab with lap dances and body shots.

And you were not less than him for doing so.

The bar lights came on as the clock turned to 4am. You hadn’t even noticed the hours pass by, but as one last patron tried to grab your ass you waved goodbye to the stragglers and let out a sigh of relief.

Your feet hurt, and you just need your bed. 

Joe’s changed the music to a remix of ABBA’s greatest hits and you take a moment to remove your heels, enjoying the feel of the trainers you keep in your bag.

You're half way through putting chairs on tables when the front door slams open.

You turn ready to tell whoever was there to go home to their wife when your voice fails you.

“Can we talk?”

[saylorsuniverse]

INFRUNAMI --- nika muhl

summary:  your best friend, nika muhl, has been harboring a secret longtime crush on you, but you’re too blind to see that she’s right in front of you to ever give her a chance.

Warnings: pining (?), dead parent (sorry guys), errr slowburn, lots of slowburn, but that’s it… i think

author’s note: CAUSE I WAS BLIND TO SEE THAT YOU WERE RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME. wow i actually kind of fell off towards the end with this one but idrc it’s done with so please just like it 🙂‍↕️

words: 8.6k

—

Your first day of university was a mess — literally. 

It began with you waking up half an hour late for a class on the opposite side of campus. Then, you got lost and wandered into the wrong lecture hall, one packed with fourth year computational analysis students who definitely noticed you didn’t belong. After your humiliating, drastically late entrance to your biology lecture, you realized you left your notebook behind in your haste to leave, and your laptop was dead. By noon, your feet ached, your stomach growled, and you were seriously considering dropping out before the week was over to save whatever dignity you had left. 

That’s when it happened — someone rounded the corner too quickly and collided into you. A cold shock spread across your chest as the contents of the cup drenched your once white shirt. The bitter scent of coffee now enveloped you, and the fabric now clung to your skin, sticky and stained. 

Today was a mess. Literally.

You staggered back, staring down at your white shirt — now a soft coffee brown, clinging cold against your chest. 

“Are you fucking serious right now?” You snapped, heat rising in your face. “Do you even look where you’re going, or do you just—”

“I—I’m sorry,” the girl stammered, her voice gentle and laced with a distinct accent you couldn’t quite place.

You froze with your next words of harsh language caught in your throat. 

She stood there holding the empty cup like it had detonated in her hands. Tall, composed, and unexpectedly apologetic. Her eyes were wide, brows knit together in genuine concern and sincerity. 

You were still fuming—soaked, freezing, and humiliated—but suddenly, yelling didn’t seem so urgent. Not at a girl who was clearly a foreigner. Not when she looked at you like that, with wide, puppy-like eyes tinged with shame. Not when her apology actually sounded sincere.

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “It’s fine,” you muttered. “It’s not like this day could get any worse anyway. I think I’ve officially checked off every box on the ‘worst first day of college’ list.”

She let out a breath of relief, her shoulders relaxing just enough for you to notice how tense she’d been. “I really didn’t see you,” she said, her accent clearer now—Eastern European, maybe? “I’m an idiot. I wasn’t paying attention.”

You glanced down at your shirt again. Still wet. Still cold. Still embarrassing. But somehow, you weren’t angry anymore. “Join the club,” you said with a small, exhausted laugh. “Late, distracted, mildly ruining people’s lives... I’m president.”

That got a smile out of her—just a small one, but it softened her whole face. Then, without a word, she shrugged off her jacket and draped it over your shoulders. You caught the UConn women’s basketball team logo on the sleeve.

“Here. I hope this helps,” she said, her voice soft and a little uncertain, as if she wasn’t sure how you’d take the gesture. “And, if it’s not too much, let me buy you a coffee to make up for... this.”

You stood there for a moment, surprised by her sudden kindness. The jacket was warm, thick with the smell of fresh fabric and a faint hint of sweat, the kind you might expect from someone who spent a lot of time in the gym. It was too big on you, but that somehow made it feel like she was offering a shield from the mess of your day.

"I’m Nika," she added quickly, her eyes darting nervously. "Please let me make up to you for this.”

You didn’t know it then, standing in iced coffee and wearing a too big UConn jacket, but that mess of a moment was the beginning of everything.

It started with one coffee—just one, because she insisted. Then it turned into two. The coffees became casual hallway greetings, which slowly morphed into late-night walks after study sessions, shared playlists, “friendly” party dates, and post-game hugs that lingered just a second too long. Somehow, without you even noticing, Nika had become your person.

When your dad passed away suddenly on a random Tuesday at the end of February of your sophomore year, Nika was the one who bought your plane ticket back home – no hesitation, no questions asked. 

She showed up at your dorm the night before you left, hoodie half-zipped, her hair still damp from the showers after practice. You barely managed to pack—clothes strewn from your dresser to your suitcase, a pile of shoes collecting at the foot of your bed, your eyes red, puffy, and brimming with tears. She did it for you. Folded your clothes, tucked in a charger, reminded you to bring that sweatshirt your dad always complimented.

And when you finally returned—eyes tired, heart heavier than it had ever been—she was waiting outside baggage claim. Hood up, no makeup, holding your favorite energy drink and a croissant from that little French bakery you’d been insistent she try. And beside all of that, the kind of silence only someone who really knows you can offer.

That night, she slept on the floor beside your bed.

You didn’t ask her to. You never had to. Nika always knew when you needed her—sometimes from just a glance.

She stayed up while you cried yourself dry. She emailed your professors when you couldn’t even open your laptop, even went so far as to ask the headmaster directly if you could get more time off from your midterms.

She let you hold her hand during the funeral, her thumb tracing soft, steady circles into your palm—grounding you when you felt like floating away.

Nika didn’t try to fix anything.

She didn’t push you to talk. She didn’t drag you out for a walk, like she usually would. 

She just stayed. And somehow, that was enough.

It was late – well past midnight – and the two of you were curled up on the couch in your childhood living room, the glow of the TV flickering softly while some old sappy rom com movie played on mute. 

You were mid-ramble, half-laughing, half-sentimental, recounting story after story about your dad like they were your favorite bedtime tales.

“He swore he was the best fisherman this side of the Atlantic,” you said, shaking your head with a grin. “Like, you’d think he was hauling in marlins with his bare hands the way he talked about it.”

Nika smiled, chin propped on her fist, eyes locked on you. “Was he actually any good?”

You snorted. “God, no. The biggest thing he ever caught was, like, a three-kilo bass. And even then, it flopped out of the net before we got a picture. He claimed the fish sabotaged him on purpose.” 

Nika chuckled, soft and real, and you couldn’t help but smile wider.

It wasn’t just the sound – it was the way her whole face softened, the crinkle at the corners of her eyes, the small shake of her head like she couldn’t believe you. Her laughter filled the space between you like warm light, like something sacred yet familiar.

She tucked her legs under her on the couch, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands, and looked at you like there was nowhere else she’d rather be. The lamp behind her glowed gold against the curve of her cheekbone, catching the faintest shimmer in her eyes – like she was trying not to cry or trying not to say something she wasn’t ready to yet.

You noticed, then, how close you were sitting. How your knees almost touched. How easy it felt, like she’d always belonged here – curled up in your childhood living room, laughing at your dad’s fishing stories like she’d live them too.

And maybe, in a way, she had.

“I think he just liked the quiet,” you said after a pause, voice gentler now. “Being out there, the water, the stillness. I didn’t get it back then, but I do now.”

There was a beat of silence. Not awkward – never awkward with Nika. Just quiet enough to let the memory linger, to allow the both of you to bask in it.

Then she nudged your socked foot with hers. “You talk about him like he’s still here.”

“He kind of is.”

Nika didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to, of course. Instead, she just looked at you like she was memorizing the shape of your smile. 

And you thought, not for the first time, but he would’ve loved her.

Your dad would’ve seen the way Nika listened to your ramblings the same way he used to, the way her presence was so steady without being overbearing. He would’ve noticed the softness in her eyes, how she made your grief feel a little less sharp. She’d have fit into the rhythms of your family like she’d always belonged there – because, in some way, she had.

For a second, you closed your eyes, imagining it: your dad’s big, warm laugh, echoing through the house as Nika teased him about his fishing skills with that easy, teasing tone she used with everyone.

He would’ve loved her.

For that one fleeting moment, it felt like home wasn’t just this old couch or the smell of your mom’s cookies in the kitchen. It was this – you and Nika, talking about ghosts and bass and everything in between.

The following weeks slipped into a quiet rhythm, one that felt almost like a secret the two of you shared. You and Nika found yourselves slipping into these comfortable silences together more and more. In between late-night talks about everything and nothing, and those moments of laughter when you made fun of each other’s weirdest habits, something deeper was taking root. It wasn’t obvious, not yet—but it was there, nestled beneath the surface, like the steady pulse of something waiting to bloom.

Like the time Nika showed up at your dorm with a bag full of mismatched socks she'd stolen from the laundry room, daring you to try and make an outfit work out of them. Or when you spent an entire Saturday afternoon teaching her how to bake your dad’s infamous chocolate chip cookies, the ones he swore could cure anything. You ended up with flour all over your kitchen and dough stuck to your hair, but it didn’t matter. You were together, laughing over how none of the cookies had turned out even close to edible.

There were more nights like that—quiet ones, where you both stayed up late just talking, sharing stories about your families, about who you were when you were younger, before college and before any of this. You never had to explain why you did the things you did or why certain memories lingered with you longer than others. She understood—just like she always did.

And for someone who never begged for anything – never even dared to ask twice – Nika always begged you to come watch a game. It became the one exception to her “no begging” rule.

You’d always waved her off with a laugh, claiming basketball just wasn’t your thing. You didn’t understand the rules, the fouls, the constant whistle-blowing, or how she managed to stay so calm under so much pressure. But every now and then, she’d drop another hint – “It’s a home game, you won’t even have to walk far!” Or, “We’re playing a big team tonight… would love to see you there because everyone else will be.” It was subtle, and it always came with that soft, almost shy smile of hers – the one you’d started to recognize as her version of hope.

So, one night, you went. No warning, no heads up. You just showed up.

You found a seat near the middle of the bleachers, heart weirdly anxious, wondering if she’d even notice you in the crowd of white, navy blue, and grey. But she did – of course she did.

The moment she stepped out on the court and caught your eye, you saw it – that flash of surprise, that quiet spark of something deeper flickering in her expression before she masked it behind her unusual focus.

For the first time, you got it. Not the game necessarily – you still weren’t entirely sure what a double dribble was or a travel – but the way people moved for each other on that court. The trust. The rhythm. The fire. The way Nika played was sharp, unrelenting, impossible to look away from. That night, you finally understood what mattered to her. And why it might’ve always been more than just the game.

After the game, you tried to slip out quietly, but it was impossible to miss the way people swarmed toward the edge of the court – phones out, jerseys in hand, calling her name like she was some kind of celebrity.

And apparently, she was.

You always knew Nika had a massive Instagram following—you’d seen the numbers, seen the comments flooding in whenever she posted even the most casual selfie. You’d noticed the way people made googly eyes at her in the hallways, how other students suddenly stood a little taller or flipped their hair when she walked past.

But you never really got it. Not until now.

Not until you saw the crowd waiting for her after the game—eager hands holding out phones and posters, people calling her name like they knew her, like she belonged to them in some way.

It was strange seeing her like that. Not because she didn’t deserve it—she did, and then some—but because to you, she’d always just been Nika. The girl who stole mismatched socks from the laundry room just to make you laugh. The girl who memorized your coffee order by heart and always knew when you needed space and when you didn’t. The girl who once burned every single batch of your dad’s cookie recipe and still swore they tasted fine.

And now here she was—this campus icon with sweat-slicked hair and a grin that could start a riot—signing shoes, jerseys, posters… even someone’s forehead, like it was just another Tuesday.

You watched as she smiled patiently through photo after photo, soaking in the spotlight like she was born for it. This wasn’t the lowkey girl who had spilled coffee on you once or cried laughing when flour exploded in your kitchen. This was Nika Mühl, UConn’s Secretary of Defense. Golden girl. Game-changer. And suddenly, you realized: maybe you’d only ever known one version of her.

When she finally broke away from the crowd and jogged toward you, cheeks flushed and hair stuck to her forehead, she looked more alive than you’d ever seen her. You raised an eyebrow.

“So, you’re some big-time basketball hotshot, huh?” you teased, arms crossed. “That was… kind of impressive. I guess.”

She smirked. “Kind of?”

“I mean,” you shrugged, “I could do all that. With my eyes closed, actually.”

She blinked. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. Give me a ball and five minutes and I’ll outscore you easily. Might even dunk on you, Lebron James style.”

That made her laugh – full, loud, and way too amused. “Alright, alright. You talk a lot for someone who looks like she's never touched a basketball in her life. Let alone see a court.”

You nudged her side. “Take me to court then. Prove me wrong.”

And she did prove you wrong.

Somehow, that night ended with the two of you at an empty outdoor court lit only by flickering floodlights and moonlight. The air was cool and quiet, your laughter echoing as she passed you the ball and watched you completely miss the rim – twice.

“Well,” Nika said, trying and failing to hide her grin, “I see we’ve got a future draft pick on our hands.”

You narrowed your eyes at her. “Okay, rude. That one slipped.”

“That one?” she teased, jogging after the ball as it bounced off into the dark. You’re shooting like the hoop personally offended you.”

“Maybe it did,” you called, breathless with laughter. “Maybe I’m more of a… defensive player.”

“You just airballed a layup.”

“I slipped!”

“Sure,” she said, dribbling lazily back toward you. “Or maybe you’re just intimidated by my greatness.”

You scoffed. “Please. I let you win.”

“You didn’t score once, even when I was just standing there like a statue.”

You stared at her, hand outstretched. “Ball.”

Nika raised an eyebrow, spinning it once on her finger just to be annoying before tossing it your way. “Alright, Steph Curry. Show me what you got.”

You took the ball, squared up, and launched it with every bit of determination you had in you… only for it to hit the backboard with a loud clunk and bounce halfway across the court.

You both froze. Then she cracked up.

You glared at her, trying not to laugh yourself. “I’m warming up.”

“Yeah?” she managed through her giggles. “Need a few more games? A training camp, maybe? A miracle?”

You tried to look offended, but her laughter was contagious. The kind that made your chest ache a little—not from embarrassment, but from something warmer, softer.

When she finally caught her breath, she nudged your shoulder gently. “You’re not good at basketball,” she said, still smiling. “But you’re fun.”

Your heart did that annoying fluttery thing, but you masked it with a roll of your eyes. “Thank you. But I am good at basketball.”

Nika raised a brow. “Sure. Prove it.”

You grinned. “Rematch?”

She stepped back, dribbling the ball between her legs, eyes gleaming. “Loser buys post-game coffee tomorrow morning.”

You smirked. “You’re on.”

It was stupid. It was fun. And somewhere between you chasing the ball and her showing you how to dribble without bouncing it off your foot, you realized something had shifted. Not dramatically, not all at once. But it was there—right under the surface, in the way her hand lingered on your waist when she tried to show you the right form, in the way your eyes caught and held a little too long under the buzz of the lights.

And when you finally flopped onto the court floor, breathless and grinning, she lay down beside you and whispered, “Thanks for coming tonight.”

You turned your head toward her, the stars blurred in your peripheral vision. “Thanks for letting me see your world.”

You didn’t talk about that night again. Not because it was strange or uncomfortable, but because it didn’t need words. Some moments just stayed suspended in memory, like a snapshot only the two of you knew how to look at.

But life moved on – like it always does. 

The semester picked up speed. Papers piled up. Practice schedules got tighter, especially with March Madness on the horizon for Nika. Your part-time job at the ice cream shop started demanding more of your weekends. Somewhere between closing shifts and early morning labs, you and Nika started spending less time together. Not on purpose. Not in a way that sparked a fight or falling out. Just enough to notice.

Enough to feel it when the silence between texts stretched a little longer, when a missed FaceTime became a pattern. You’d come over to her dorm to find her asleep on the couch, laptop still playing, practice notes spread across her chest like armor. You’d pull the blanket over her head and wish you could pause the world just long enough to sit beside her again like before.

Then, at some point during your junior year, you noticed Nika becoming increasingly more homesick.

It was subtle at first. A sigh when she scrolled through old photos. A soft smile when her sister’s name popped up on her phone. But you knew Nika. You knew the way her energy shifted, the way her voice carried a little differently when her heart was somewhere else. You tried to bridge the distance with the little things. You brought her pastries from the Croatian bakery an hour away, even if they were never quite right to her. You learned how to say “good morning” in her language. You watched YouTube videos of her hometown, just so you’d have something to talk about when she brought it up. But it never felt like enough.

Then, you picked up extra shifts at the local ice cream shop to cover rent and textbooks and whatever else college kept throwing at you. You were always exhausted, sticky with sugar syrup and smelling like waffle cones. Texts went unanswered. Calls missed. Plans postponed.

Nika noticed.

She never said it outright, but it was there—in the shorter replies, the fading smiles, the way her voice sounded just a little tighter when she’d say, “You’re working again?”

You hated that look on her face—the quiet disappointment. The way it made your stomach knot and your chest ache. But what could you do? You were trying your best. That had to count for something.

And then it was her birthday.

You remembered last year—how she’d dragged you to the beach even though it was freezing, wrapped you both in a single towel, and made you promise to always spend her birthday together, no matter what.

This year, she barely looked at you when you showed up at her dorm.

“Didn’t think you’d come,” she said, not looking up from her phone.

You bit back a sigh. “I know I’ve been distant, but just… come with me.”

She rolled her eyes and stood anyway. “If this is a sad attempt to make up for ignoring me, I swear—”

And then she stepped into the apartment lobby. And froze.

Her mom stood there with her arms wide open, her dad fumbling with a bouquet of tulips, and her little sister waving with both hands, wearing a “Happy Birthday, Nika!!” t-shirt that was definitely your idea.

She turned to you, wide-eyed and speechless for the first time in maybe ever. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You flew them in?”

You nodded. “Used every paycheck. And some student loan money I probably shouldn’t have touched.”

She didn’t say anything at first—just stepped forward into her dad’s arms, burying her face into his shoulder as he hugged her so tightly it looked like he might never let go. Her mom was crying. Her sister was laughing, tugging at the hem of Nika’s sweatshirt.

You stood off to the side, suddenly overwhelmed by how much you missed a hug like that.

Your chest tightened as you watched them sway together, soft words exchanged in Croatian, her dad smoothing her hair back like she was still his little girl. Something about it gutted you. You couldn’t help but think of your dad. How his hugs were always too tight, how he always smelled like sunscreen and coffee, how he’d tease you for crying during animated movies—and how you’d give anything just to feel that once more.

You didn’t realize your eyes were glassy until Nika’s dad turned to you.

“Thank you,” he said, accent thick but warm. “For taking care of our Nika.”

Your throat closed. You managed a smile, but it was shaky.

Because you hadn’t been taking care of Nika.

If anything, she had taken care of you—when you were falling apart, when you couldn’t speak, when the world felt too loud or too quiet. When grief lived in your chest like a second heartbeat. She was the one who knew how to anchor you, to bring you back. She was the one who stayed.

“I try,” you whispered. “But I think she does a better job at that than me.”

He smiled again, like he understood something you hadn’t said out loud.

Later that night, when the cake had been cut and the apartment had quieted into soft music and the scent of leftover frosting, you slipped out onto the balcony for a moment alone.

You didn’t hear her come out—just felt her shoulder bump into yours as she slid into the chair beside you.

“Hey,” she said, quietly.

“Hey.”

She looked out over the city lights, then back at you. “You really flew them in.”

You nodded. “Had to bribe your sister with candy and airport snacks.”

Nika smiled, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.”

A beat passed.

“You’re still the best part of my birthday,” she added, softer now.

You turned toward her, and in the half-dark, you saw the sincerity in her eyes. The way they crinkled when she smiled, the way she looked at you like you mattered. Like she’d been waiting to say that all night.

Your heart swelled in your chest—warm and heavy and full.

“Don’t forget that when I inevitably ignore you again because I picked up another closing shift,” you said, grinning.

“Oh, I will absolutely hold this over your head forever,” she teased. “You’ll never know peace.”

You laughed, and so did she—and in that moment, everything felt right again.

That night on the balcony stuck with you.

Maybe because it felt like a turning point—like all the tension from the past few months had cracked open and been replaced by something softer, steadier. You started carving out more time. Showing up again. Not just with grand gestures, but in the small ways that mattered most.

And she met you there—like always.

You went back to movie nights and late-night drives and leaving each other notes in textbooks you forgot to return. You showed up to more games, even started learning what a pick-and-roll was (kind of). Nika still teased you for cheering five seconds too late, but she never stopped looking for you in the stands.

Time moved differently after that.

Suddenly, you were both seniors. Somehow, inexplicably, the final year. Yet, at the same time, your lives had become so interwoven, it was hard to remember what things were like before she spilled coffee on you that first day. And now? Now, she has a drawer in your apartment. A toothbrush in your bathroom. A mug she claimed as hers every time she used it for coffee. She wasn’t just a part of your life – she’d quietly, seamlessly folded into it. Still, something had shifted.

It was in the way she watched you sometimes when you weren’t looking. In the way her hand lingered too long on your back during hugs. In the way she'd start to say something, then stop herself with a breathy, "Never mind."

One night, after her game, you found her alone in the locker room, lacing and unlacing her sneakers with a faraway look on her face.

“You good?” you asked, settling beside her.

She nodded, too quickly. “Yeah. Just tired.”

But then she added, “Have you ever thought about how different things might be next year?”

You blinked. “Like after graduation?”

“Yeah. Like… you in a different city. Me playing overseas maybe. Us, not…” She hesitated, her eyes flicking to yours. “Not like this.”

You smiled softly. “I try not to think that far ahead.”

“Me neither,” she said. But it came out like a lie.

There was a pause. Then she nudged your knee with hers, and it was like exhaling after holding your breath.

“Don’t worry,” you said. “Wherever we end up, you’re stuck with me.”

She laughed, but there was something glassy in her eyes. “I better be.” 

Soon, classes were harder. Futures felt closer. The air around campus buzzed with goodbyes that hadn't even been said yet. Everyone kept talking about what's next, where they'll go, what they'll become. You tried not to think about the ticking clock—but it was always there, echoing under everything.

Basketball got more serious, too.

Nika was in it—deeper than ever. Her practices went longer, her sleep got shorter, and every conversation seemed to circle back to film study or recovery or the pressure of making it count. She wasn’t just UConn’s “secretary of defense” anymore. She was a senior. A two-time Big East defensive player of the year. A legacy in motion.

And you were watching it happen from the front row when March Madness rolled around that final year—cheering the loudest, holding your breath when she hit the court, catching her eye just before every tipoff. Sometimes, she'd smirk. A little secret passed between you like always.

But even then, something in the air started to shift.

Not in a bad way. Not yet.

Just... deeper. Closer. More.

Like the edges of your friendship had started to blur into something else. Something unspoken, stretched taut between quiet glances, tired hugs, and the way she never quite let go of your hand during long walks back to your apartment.

You didn’t know what it meant yet. 

And then came the Final Four.

The loss hit her harder than you expected. You had seen her take on challenges before—seen her shake off pain, both physical and emotional. But this was different. There was no bouncing back from this. Not right away, at least.

The silence in the apartment felt heavy, thicker than usual. The game had ended hours ago, but Nika hadn’t said much since. You could feel the weight of it in the air between you. You knew she was trying to hold it together, but you could tell—deep down, it was more than just a loss on the court. It was a dream that had slipped through her fingers.

You hadn’t said anything either, not at first. You just let the quiet linger, trying to give her the space she needed to process, even though you felt like you could barely breathe through the thick tension.

Nika was sitting at the edge of the couch, knees drawn to her chest, looking out the window. The city lights blurred in her reflection, her face pale and tired, a faint sheen of sweat still on her skin from the game. Her UConn jersey—usually so vibrant—looked like it had aged ten years in one night.

"Hey," you said, breaking the silence, your voice softer than usual.

She didn’t turn to look at you. "I should’ve played better," she murmured, her words low, like they were scraping out from the back of her throat. "We should’ve won. We could’ve…"

You moved to sit beside her, close but not too close. She didn’t push you away, but she didn’t invite you in either. You just sat there for a moment, letting the hum of the city fill the gap.

"Hey," you said again, this time touching her arm gently. "You were incredible. All of you were. One game doesn’t change that."

Her eyes flicked toward you, but she still didn’t speak. Her gaze was distant, unfocused. She looked... defeated, in a way that made your heart ache.

"Can we just... sit for a while?" she asked, her voice quieter this time, like it had lost some of its usual fire.

You nodded, settling down beside her, not saying a word as the minutes passed. The moonlight drifted through the window, casting a soft glow on her face. You couldn’t help but stare at her, the way her profile looked so fragile in that moment—like she wasn’t the powerhouse athlete you saw every game, but just a girl who had poured her heart into something, and it wasn’t enough.

"I should’ve been able to do more," she finally whispered, more to herself than to you.

"Nika," you started, your voice steady but filled with the weight of everything unsaid. "You’ve already done more than enough. For this team. For yourself. For me."

She shook her head slightly, the faintest hint of frustration creeping into her features. "It’s not just about the team. It’s… I let everyone down."

"No," you said firmly, reaching over to take her hand. "You didn’t let anyone down. You gave everything. And that’s enough."

Her fingers curled around yours, but she didn’t pull you closer. She just stayed there, quiet, letting the moments pass. You could feel the faint tremble in her hand, and your chest tightened.

After a while, she sighed deeply, leaning back against the couch. "I just wanted to give them a championship. I wanted it so badly."

You didn’t have the right words to fix it—hell, you weren’t even sure if there were any words that could make it better. But you squeezed her hand, offering the only thing you could: your presence.

"Whatever you need," you whispered. "I’m here."

She nodded slowly, her eyes closing for a moment, and for the first time that night, she leaned into you. Your arms instinctively wrapped around her, holding her close, and she didn’t pull away. It wasn’t about winning or losing anymore—it was about being there for each other.

And in that moment, you realized you’d always been there for each other. Through all the highs, all the lows, all the unsaid things.

The days after the Final Four were heavy.

Nika didn’t bounce back the way she usually did. The loss lingered like a bruise—tender, invisible, always there. You watched her move through campus like a ghost in sneakers, smiling for cameras, thanking fans, doing everything that was expected of her. But you knew better. You saw the silence in her eyes when the noise faded. The way she lingered in the gym even longer now, pushing her body past the point of exhaustion, like if she could just work hard enough, maybe the ache would go away.

People started asking questions almost immediately. Was she coming back? Using her fifth year? Making one last run at the title? And for a while, even she didn’t have the answer.

You caught her staring out your window one night, knees pulled up to her chest, hoodie drawn tight over her head. The city lights cast her in silver, and you didn’t have to ask what was on her mind.

“I always thought we’d win it all,” she said quietly, almost like she was talking to herself. “That it would all feel... worth it.”

“It was worth it,” you said.

But she just shook her head. “Sometimes I wonder if I gave too much. And now—if I don’t stay—what does that make me?”

You didn’t have an answer. Not one she’d believe, anyway.

Because the truth was, she was already being pulled in a hundred different directions. Agents. Media. Draft boards. Seattle, Indiana, Chicago—everyone had her name on their radar. You knew the WNBA had been a dream since she was a kid, but dreams came with pressure. With decisions. With the terrifying possibility that the next step might be the wrong one.

When she finally announced her decision—foregoing her final year of eligibility and entering the WNBA Draft—it wasn’t flashy. Just a post. A black-and-white photo and a caption that read:

"Grateful for everything. Ready for what’s next." —Nika Mühl

You texted her three seconds after it went live: “You okay?” And she replied: “No. But I will be.��

And then came draft night.

Her name was called in the second round by the Seattle Storm, and the room erupted.

You’d never seen her look more stunned—eyes wide, mouth slightly open like reality hadn’t quite caught up to her yet. People crowded around her, hugging, crying, cheering. She held the Storm jersey in her hands like it might disappear if she blinked.

When her eyes finally found you across the room, it was like a breath released. She mouthed, “Come here,” and you didn’t hesitate.

The afterparty was loud, glittering with celebration. There was music, drinks, speeches, photos—so many photos. Nika floated from group to group, gracious and radiant, but you could tell the weight hadn’t lifted. Not really.

You found her alone near the balcony later, a glass of champagne untouched in her hand.

“You should be inside,” you said. “People are looking for you.”

“I know.” She exhaled slowly, staring out at the city skyline. “I just... needed a minute.”

You stood beside her in the silence, letting the cool night air settle over your shoulders. She finally glanced your way.

“Do you think I made the right choice?” she asked, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it.

You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, you looked at her—really looked. At the proud line of her shoulders, the flicker of fear she was trying to hide, the way her fingers tightened slightly around the glass like she needed something to anchor her.

“I think,” you said carefully, “you’ve spent four years giving every piece of yourself to something you love. And now you’re just choosing to keep loving it—on your terms.”

Her eyes shimmered with something between gratitude and exhaustion.

“You’re gonna be great in Seattle,” you added. “But if you ever want to come back and lose to a real basketball player, I’ll still be here.”

That earned you a real laugh. Soft. Tired. Genuine.

Nika didn’t say anything at first. Her gaze flicked down to the glass in her hand, then up toward the crowded room behind you—music, laughter, cameras flashing. All of it too loud for something this delicate.

“I should offer my congratulations to the other players,” she murmured, already stepping back.

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “Of course.”

She hesitated—like maybe she wanted to stay. Like there was still something to say. But the moment passed, and then she was gone, weaving back into the celebration with a practiced kind of ease.

You leaned against the railing, trying not to overthink the thud in your chest.

“Hey.” Paige’s voice cut in, low and casual, as she joined you on the balcony, drink in hand.

You didn’t turn at first. Just nodded. “Hey.”

“She’s gonna do great,” Paige said, nudging her shoulder against yours.

“I know,” you answered quietly. “I just... it’s all happening so fast. She’ll be in a new environment. New team. New people. I don’t know.” You paused, feeling the heat of something you didn’t want to name rise in your throat. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Paige said, amused. “It’s textbook.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Textbook?”

She smirked. “Yeah. Classic pining.”

You blinked. “I’m not—”

“Relax,” she interrupted, holding up a hand. “I’m not judging. Just saying... she’s not going to date anyone in Seattle, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You blinked again, slower this time. “I wasn’t worried about—”

Paige tilted her head knowingly. “She’s been celibate for you for practically the entire time we’ve been at UConn.”

You nearly choked on air. “What?!”

“She didn’t say it like that,” Paige added with a chuckle. “But I mean... come on. We’ve all seen it. It’s always been you.”

You stared at her, heartbeat ticking up, unsure what to do with that kind of information. The kind that makes your stomach flip and your thoughts spiral.

Paige looked at you, face softening just a little. “She’s not leaving you behind. She just hasn’t figured out how to say she wants you to come with her.”

And with that, she gave your arm a gentle squeeze and walked back inside, leaving you alone with the quiet and a thousand words still stuck in your throat.

You didn’t go back inside. Not yet.

The air outside was cool, but your skin was hot—flushed with the weight of everything that had just been handed to you in one offhand comment from Paige Bueckers. A joke, technically. Just a nudge.

But it cracked something wide open.

She’s been celibate for you practically the entire time we’ve been at UConn.

You closed your eyes and exhaled slowly, like maybe if you stayed still long enough, the truth would settle. But it didn’t. It rose. Tangled and relentless and aching.

Because the truth wasn’t sudden.

It had been there—quiet and steady, hiding in plain sight. In the softness of Nika’s voice when she said your name. In how she always remembered the small things, like which brand of tea you liked when you were sick or how your dad used to hum classic rock in the kitchen.

You’d built a thousand memories together. Shared holidays and heartbreaks and stupid little Tuesday mornings. You’d joked, clung to each other, fought like sisters and loved like—what?

Friends?

You’d called it that. For years, you’d called it friendship. But now you were wondering if that word had been too small all along.

It wasn’t just Paige’s words.

It was the look on Nika’s face before she walked away—like something inside her had given up on being quiet. Like she wanted to say something but didn’t. Like she’d already said everything in the way she loved you, and she was done waiting for you to notice.

And god, you hated yourself at that moment. Because you had noticed. Just not clearly. Not fully.

You were so wrapped up in the rhythm of it—the shared routines, the laughs, the way she always showed up when no one else did—that you hadn’t stopped to question why it felt so permanent. Why it felt like you couldn’t imagine anything mattering more than her.

You’d been blind.

Not in a dramatic way. Just in the everyday kind. The way someone gets used to the sun rising and forgets it’s a miracle every morning. The way something constant can feel invisible until the moment it’s slipping away.

You hadn’t seen her. Not really. Not for what she was trying to be to you—not just the best friend, not just the late-night baking partner or sideline smile before tipoff. She’d been offering her heart in all the ways she knew how. And you’d held it, oblivious, like it was just something friends did.

It hit you all at once: you’d been in love with her for years.

Not in fireworks. Not in sweeping moments or grand gestures. 

But in the way your day never started right until you heard her voice. In the way her hoodie was still the one you reached for when everything felt too heavy. In the way every version of your future had her laugh somewhere in it.

And now she was leaving for Seattle. A new team. A new world. Without you.

Your stomach twisted. You weren’t scared of her success—you were so proud of her it hurt—but the thought of her smiling like that at someone else, of some other girl knowing the feel of her arms in a crowd or the way she whispered dumb jokes under her breath when she was nervous. That thought gutted you. Because that had been yours. And maybe, just maybe, you wanted it to always be yours.

You pressed your fingers to your lips, like they were holding back a truth you weren’t ready to say out loud.

But maybe it was time.

Time to stop calling it something safe. Time to be brave the way she’d always been for you. Because Nika Mühl had loved you in all the quietest ways. And maybe it was time to finally say it back.

You found her near the bar, cheeks flushed, drink in hand, spinning a half-empty glass between her fingers. The party had swelled—music pulsing, laughter rising in waves—but she stood still in the middle of it, like a pause in the chaos. Her eyes lit up when she saw you.

“There you are,” she said, voice a little slurred, a little softer than usual. “I was looking.”

You offered her a steadying arm, and she leaned into it without hesitation.

“Think you’ve had enough,” you said, managing a smile.

“Think I’ve earned it,” she mumbled, but let you guide her toward the door.

The cab ride was quiet—just the low hum of the engine and Nika’s head resting on your shoulder. You kept staring out the window, hoping the blur of streetlights could silence the noise in your chest. But it didn’t. Not even close.

Your apartment was dark when you unlocked the door, familiar in its stillness. You helped her out of her heels and guided her to the couch, where she dropped down with a groan.

“You’re so serious,” she muttered suddenly, peering up at you. “Why are you being so… serious?”

You froze. “What do you mean?”

She tilted her head. “You’ve got that faraway look again. Like you’re here, but not really.”

You tried to brush it off. “It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit,” she said, too quick. “You always do this. You disappear inside your head and pretend you’re fine.”

“Nika…”

She sat up straighter, brows furrowed despite the haze in her eyes. “Is it Seattle? Are you scared I’ll leave and forget you or something?”

“No,” you said quickly, too quickly. “God, no. I’m proud of you. I’m so proud of you.”

She looked at you then—really looked at you. The kind of look she only gave when she was reading between the lines. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, like she was steadying herself against whatever was coming.

“Then what is it?” she asked, softer now. “Because it feels like there’s something you’re not saying. And I don’t want to leave with you keeping whatever this is bottled up.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Because how do you say, “I’ve been in love with you for years and I didn’t even realize it until someone else said it out loud?” 

How do you confess to mistaking a burning house for a warm fireplace?

Your hands clenched at your sides. “I talked to Paige tonight.”

Nika blinked. “Okay?”

“She said something. About you. About… us.” You couldn’t meet her eyes, not yet. “She said you’ve been… waiting. That you haven’t been with anyone because—because of me.”

Silence stretched between you. 

And then, quietly, “She talks too much.” You looked up. Nika wasn’t angry. Just… exposed. Her smile faltered. “I didn’t want you to find out like that.”

Your heart thundered. “Is it true?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stood, wobbled slightly, and steadied herself on the armrest. “Why do you think I’ve been around this long, huh?” she said with a tired laugh. “You think I show up for everyone when they’re sick with their favorite soup and stupid flowers from the farmer’s market?”

You stared. “You brought me dahlias because I said once—”

“That your dad used to get them for your mom when she had bad days,” she finished. “I remember. I remember everything about you.”

You felt like your ribs were too tight for your lungs. “I thought it was just… you being you,” you whispered.

“It was me being me,” she said. “But only with you.” And that broke something.

“I didn’t know,” you breathed. “I was so close to it, I couldn’t see. I was blind to everything because you’ve always been right in front of me and I never let myself think it could be more. Not really.”

Her eyes softened. “And now?”

“Now I can’t stop thinking about it,” you said, voice cracking. “About you. About all of it. I keep going back to every moment—every time you stayed, every time you held me, every time I should’ve said something. I think I’ve loved you this whole time and I just… I didn’t know what to call it.”

Nika moved closer, like the space between you was unbearable. “You don’t have to call it anything. Just tell me it’s real.”

“It’s real,” you whispered. “God, it’s real.”

And then she kissed you—gently, as if testing whether the world would collapse or settle into place. It settled.

You didn’t pull away. Neither did she.

The kiss wasn’t urgent—it didn’t need to be. It wasn’t about making up for lost time. It was about everything that had always been there, finally surfacing. Gentle. Certain. Familiar in the most unfamiliar way.

Her forehead touched yours as your breaths mingled, the room too quiet and too loud all at once.

Nika smiled first—barely, just the smallest curve of her lips—and whispered, “Took us long enough.”

You let out a shaky laugh, eyes still closed. “Yeah.” And then it was quiet again.

Not the kind of quiet that asks for conversation. The kind that only happens when there’s nothing left to prove. Just two people, sitting in the soft, golden aftermath of something that’s been waiting to happen for a long, long time.

Nika leaned her head on your shoulder. Her hand found yours, fingers interlacing like they’d done it a thousand times—only now it felt new. Earned.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” she said after a while, voice low. “I know we’re moving into new chapters and states and time zones and all of it, but I don’t want to wonder ‘what if’ anymore.”

You squeezed her hand. “Me neither.”

The clock on the wall ticked past midnight. Outside, the city buzzed in celebration and motion—but in that quiet apartment, time bent. Softened. Paused.

You tilted your head toward her and whispered, “Stay here tonight.”

She was already pulling the blanket off the back of the couch. “Wasn’t planning on leaving.”And so you stayed. Not just in the room, or in the moment, but in it—this new, fragile beginning. A truth long buried, finally unearthed. You didn’t talk about what tomorrow meant. You didn’t need to. Not yet. Because for the first time in years, the silence between you didn’t hold distance. It held everything.

You awoke the next morning on your couch with no Nika next to you.

The throw blanket had slipped halfway to the floor. A dull ache in your curled neck from the angle you'd fallen asleep in, but none of that compared to the flicker of panic that sparked in your chest when your hand reached out and met only empty cushion.

Then, soft clicking, the low hum of something brewing, a faint curse in Croatian coming from the kitchen.

You moved on instinct, rounding the corner too fast — too fast for Nika to react.

"Shit—!" she yelped as one of the two mugs she was holding tilted too far, coffee sloshing over the side. Her socks slipped a little on the wooden floor, and for a second, it felt like time bent in on itself.

You froze in the doorway. She did, too.

And suddenly, you were nineteen again. First week of freshman year. A too-fast turn, a cup of coffee spilled across your shirt, and a girl with an accent and a laugh that made your whole world sound softer.

"You scared the hell out of me," Nika said, still clutching the cups like they were fragile cargo. She was wearing your old hoodie, the one that had your high school logo fading across the chest. Her hair was a little messy, eyes still sleepy. She looked like morning, yet still grinning through the mess. "Déjà vu?"

You laughed, stepping forward to grab a rag off the counter. "You just have a thing for spilling coffee on me, huh?"

She passed you a mug — less full now, but still warm — and for a second, you just stood there, facing her across the same floor where your friendship had once started as a simple accident.

Except now it wasn't just friendship.

Now, it was all the in-betweens. The almosts. The years of laughter and late-night talks and cookies and confessionsl All the things you never had the words for, finally spoken.

Nika glanced down at her once white socks now soaked in coffee, then back at you, something awe like flickering in her eyes. "I think I loved you even then."

You swallowed. The coffee burned your throat in the best way, but not in the way that you planted a kiss on Nika's lips. "I think I was too blind to see it — literally."

She smiled at that, soft and knowing, both taking sips as you leaned against the counter beside her and let the quiet settle in.

And there, in the messy kitchen with the morning sun bleeding through the windows, you felt it.

Not a confession. Not a climax. Just a continuation of everything that had always been right in front of you.

[oceanicfishies]

Smile wide for the camera!

— featuring: zayne x mc

— premise: what would happen if Zayne's [Spring and Flowers] was not full of fluff? and zayne wanted to explore his cameraman skills?

— tags/cws: +18, handjob, no-use of protection, use of phone to record, very explicit, enthusiastic consent, but overall filthy smut

The day had been pretty moved, first you attempted to attend a ceremony in which you would win a reward of Linkon’s City Hunter of the Year? Month? Week? Who knows. Zayne was pretty hyped even when he did not explicitly state it. Then there was a wanderer attack and of course, you had to go full beat mode to beat the crap out of the monster and then, you had to receive the award via live recording.

Zayne held the phone with a smile as small wrinkles formed in his eyes, that stared at you over the phone. 

“(...) It’s a matter of discipline and compromise, no race, ethnicity, sexuality or biological factor can define if you become an amazing hunter: keep working and it’ll arrive. Thank you for your support, I’ll keep fighting to make our city a better place to live”. I could hear as the crowd went to clap me, and my cheesy speech that I had to give while sweat dripped down my neck, and I tried to pretend I was not tired at all after chasing that monster.

As soon as the video call ended I stared at Zayne, that had his phone still recording my face.

“What is there to record?” I said with a tired smile as he approached me with the camera, capturing every detail of my skin. 

“You, clearly” He said seriously as he smiled over me as I tried to move the camera away from my face until he finally stopped recording and placed his phone on his jacket’s pocket. Then, he opened his arms to embrace me with a smile, “congratulations, love” he murmured as I hid my face on his chest. 

“Thanks Zayne, I’m sorry you could not attend the official ceremony” I said with a giggle. He didn’t let go of me immediately. His hand made slow, deliberate circles on my lower back, and I could feel his breath against the crown of my head, steady and warm.

“Let’s get out of here before someone makes you give another speech,” he whispered, brushing his lips just above my ear.

The ride back was quiet. Not awkward—just the kind of quiet that settles between two people who know each other too well to fill the silence with meaningless talk. Zayne had one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on my thigh. His fingers tapped a lazy rhythm, and I didn’t stop him. Outside, the neon streaks of Linkon’s skyline passed like falling stars, and I let myself relax for the first time all day.

By the time we reached the apartment, I was half-asleep with my head leaning against the window.

He nudged me gently. “ Don’t pass out yet, champion.”

I groaned, dragging myself out of the car like a corpse revived. “I swear if one more person calls me that, I’m changing my name and moving to the mountains.”

Zayne chuckled as he unlocked the door. “Duly noted.”

The moment the door shut behind us, I peeled off the jacket clinging to my shoulders, tossing it somewhere near the coat rack. Zayne didn’t even pretend to act casual, he watched me with that mischievous glint in his eye, like he was already ten steps ahead in whatever fantasy his brain was cooking.

“Something wrong?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not at all,” he said, stepping closer. “Just thinking... you look really good when you're sweaty and half pissed off.”

I rolled my eyes. “Romantic.”

“I try.” He was grinning now, stepping behind me to help pull the rest of my gear off. His fingers brushed skin, lingering longer than necessary. I let out a soft hum as he pressed a kiss to the back of my neck.

We moved into the living room, and I collapsed onto the couch while he grabbed two water bottles from the fridge. He tossed me one before taking a long sip from his.

Then, leaning against the wall with that smug little look that always spelled trouble, he said, “You know… I do still have my phone.”

I blinked at him, wary. “Okay?”

“And I am a pretty decent cameraman. Emmy-nominated, if you count my high school film class.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Zayne…”

“What?” He raised his hands in mock innocence. “I’m just saying—it’s a shame we never use my skills around here. The lighting’s good, you’re radiant... could be educational content.”

I threw a pillow at him.

He caught it, laughing. “Come on, imagine it: ‘Hunter of the Year—Behind the Scenes.’ We’d break the internet.”

I tried to act unimpressed, but the flush rising in my cheeks betrayed me. “You're insufferable.”

“And yet, you love me.”

His phone was already out of his pocket.

I watched him as he waved the phone a little, eyebrows raised in challenge. His smirk said he was half-joking. His eyes? They were dead serious. Focused. Curious. Wanting.

“You’re unbelievable,” I muttered, but didn’t look away.

“Mmhm. And you're blushing,” he said, stepping closer, slow like a hunter who knew the prey wouldn’t run. “So… that’s not a ‘no,’ is it?”

I leaned back against the couch cushions, stretching out my legs, letting my muscles relax in that post-battle haze. The warmth in my body wasn’t just from exhaustion anymore—it was from the way his gaze trailed down my arms, my collarbone, the slow rise and fall of my chest.

“You’re really not joking, are you?” I asked softly.

Zayne crouched in front of me, placing the phone gently on the coffee table, still untouched. “Only if you want me to be. We don’t have to, love. Not unless you're actually into the idea.”

I met his gaze. Open. Honest. Patient.

That was Zayne. Under all the swagger and snark, he always made room for me to say no, to set the rhythm.

“I mean…” I started, suddenly aware of the heat creeping down my neck, “you did miss the ceremony.”

“I did.”

“And you do have, allegedly, stellar cameraman instincts.”

“Legendary,” he confirmed, grinning.

I reached out and brushed a finger under his jaw. “And you’re asking?”

“I’m asking,” he said, voice softer now. “I want to record us. Just us. You and me. Only if you say yes. Only if you feel good about it. You can call the shots, review the footage, erase it any time. Hell, I’ll hand you the phone while we do it if that makes you feel better.”

I studied him for a moment. Not just his eyes—his whole posture. There was no push. No pressure. Just the quiet thrill of a shared idea, waiting to bloom if I let it.

A breath caught in my throat, and I leaned forward until our foreheads touched.

“Yes,” I whispered. “I want to.”

Zayne let out a small breath of relief, a smile breaking wide across his face. He tilted my chin up with two fingers and kissed me, slow and reverent, the kind of kiss that says thank you for trusting me.

Then he murmured against my lips, “I’ll set the angle just right. You deserve cinematic lighting, after all.”

“Oh, you’re so extra,” I laughed breathlessly, pulling him in as the kiss deepened.

Zayne’s hands slid under my thighs as he lifted me effortlessly, his lips still locked on mine, tasting like want and patience finally unspooled. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, giggling against his mouth as he carried me down the hallway.

“Where..”

“Bedroom,” he murmured. “Tripod’s in the closet. I knew one day it’d have its moment.”

I let my head fall back in a groan. “God, you’re such a menace.”

“You love it,” he replied, kicking the door open with his foot.

He set me down on the bed and moved across the room like he had a blueprint in his mind. He pulled open the closet, found the tripod, and then set his phone into the mount with a casual expertise that was borderline ridiculous. He adjusted the angle, then turned back to me with a spark in his eye.

“I’ll only hit record when you say,” he said, pausing with his finger over the screen.

I sat up on the edge of the bed, watching him. My pulse was a steady thrum in my throat now, but I wasn’t nervous. I felt seen. Wanted. Powerful, even, like the adrenaline from the fight earlier had twisted into something heavier, slower, warmer.

I pulled my shirt up over my head in one fluid motion and tossed it to the floor. Zayne’s breath caught.

“I’m saying,” I told him, voice low.

He didn’t move for a second. Just stared at me—my chest rising and falling, the sheen of sweat still clinging to my collarbones, the confidence in my voice that only existed because I knew he’d earned it.

Then he hit record.

The phone’s red light blinked to life.

Zayne came to me slowly, shedding his jacket and shirt along the way. He crawled onto the bed, positioning himself behind me, lips tracing the base of my neck while his hands explored—fingers dragging over scars and muscle like he was mapping a holy text.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” he murmured, brushing my hair away to kiss behind my ear.

“You have footage to prove it now,” I teased, letting my back arch against him.

“I’m filming you,” he whispered, one hand sliding down my side, “but I’m watching you. Every breath. Every twitch. Every sound.”

I moaned softly as his hands moved with intent, tugging at the waistband of my pants. I lifted my hips for him without being asked, and he slid them down, slow and reverent.

I felt as his hand slid over my underwear, in a teasing circle motion as he explored my clit as if he didn’t know it by memory. I could feel his gaze on my face even when I had my eyes closed. 

“Zayne-” I whimpered “this is very cinematic but do not tease me” i said as i tried to grind my hips against his hand.

He looked up at me with that devil-smile, his hand just barely brushing the inside of my thigh as I tried to grind down against him, desperate for more friction, more anything. His other hand steadied me at the hip.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, voice dripping with mock thoughtfulness. “The lighting’s perfect, the framing’s tight... Seems like I’m building some narrative tension.”

“Zayne,” I warned, breath catching as he pressed one finger just where I needed him, not moving, only resting there like a promise.

He leaned forward, his lips brushing the inside of my knee, trailing kisses up, up, closer. “Say please.”

I narrowed my eyes—but there was heat pooling low in my stomach, tightening with every second he made me wait. I bucked my hips again, and he held me firmer this time, still teasing, still watching me unravel.

The red recording light blinks steadily beside us.

“Please,” I whispered.

That was all he needed.

His fingers moved, slow and deliberate at first: rubbing gentle, lazy circles that made me gasp and arch into his touch. He watched me like he was watching the sky crack open: eyes wide, lips parted, ruined by the way I fell apart under him.

“There she is,” he murmured, pressing harder. “God, you’re so responsive. Look at you—fuck, you’re gorgeous like this.”

He proceeded to take off my jeans and underwear, still sitting behind me. He began playing with one of my nipples as the other hand he began tenting me with the idea of fingering.

“Would this be fine?” he whispered as he kissed my neck.

“Guess” I said annoyed as I closed my eyes shut and placed my head on his shoulder. He giggled and introduced two fingers with all the gentleness in the world. “Zayne, fuck you” I said annoyed with his unusual sweetness. 

He laughed as if I had said the best joke in the world to then begin thrusting his fingers inside my pussy with no mercy. 

“M-much better,” I moaned, breath hitching as his fingers curled just right inside me.

Zayne’s chest rumbled with another laugh, and he pressed his mouth to the spot just beneath my ear, kissing slow and wet while his fingers picked up a punishing rhythm.

“Thought you liked when I’m sweet,” he teased, voice low and warm, still pumping his fingers in and out of me with obscene slick sounds. “You were getting all cuddly on me two seconds ago.”

“I like when you fuck me properly,” I snapped, grinding down onto his hand, chasing every pulse of pleasure that sparked through my spine.

“God, you’re insatiable,” he groaned, biting down gently on my neck as his palm ground against my clit with every thrust. My head rolled back onto his shoulder again, surrendering completely to the feeling of him playing me like he knew this body.

I barely noticed his free hand reaching toward the phone, adjusting the angle slightly.

“You wanna watch this later?” he whispered, eyes flicking toward the screen. “Wanna see yourself falling apart on my fingers?”

My answer came in the form of a moan.

Zayne's fingers sped up, and I could feel it coming—the tightening, the rush of heat from the base of my spine curling forward like a wave about to crest. He knew it too. He always knew.

“Let go, love,” he murmured, breath hot on my cheek. “C’mon, show the camera how fucking gorgeous you are when you come.”

And I did.

With a gasp, I came hard around his fingers, thighs trembling, back arching against his chest. My body jolted with every aftershock, helpless and wrung out and still hungry.

Zayne kissed my cheek as he slowly withdrew his fingers, bringing them up to his lips with a pleased hum. “Perfect,” he whispered. “Every damn part of you.”

He then moved to place me laying on the bed, with him sitting by my side with a gentle smile as he stared over me at my naked body. He then leaned down to kiss my neck as he removed his trousers and undergarments.

“My love…” He purred as his two hands grabbed my tits. “Any position you would prefer in moments like this?”

“Y-yeah” I moaned as I turned so my back was facing him and I was on all fours, my face perfect for the camera to record every expression. I lifted my ass off the bed and smiled at him.

Zayne groaned behind me like he was in pain, his restraint fraying fast. I heard the rustle of fabric, the zipper coming down, the soft slap of skin as he palmed himself, watching me from behind with fire in his eyes.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re killing me.”

“Then come here and die properly,” I purred, tilting my hips back toward him.

He lined himself up, the head of his cock brushing against my entrance, teasing just like before—but this time, it was different. There was no pause, no slow build. Just a growled curse and then,

He slammed into me.

I gasped, fingers digging into the sheets, and feeling as his hand forced my head into the bed, feeling me in one deep, brutal thrust. My body rocked forward, then back again, already clenching around him, desperate for the friction, the stretch, the everything.

Zayne’s chest was pressed over my back, one hand on my head and the other on my hip: the pads of his thumb pressing into the dip of my lower back as he pulled out nearly all the way and then snapped his hips forward again.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, breath ragged. “Face in the camera while I fuck you stupid?”

I moaned—loud, needy—and nodded, not trusting my voice. His rhythm picked up, relentless, perfect. The sound of skin slapping echoed in the room, mixing with my cries and his gritted curses.

Every thrust pushed me forward into the mattress, and I could feel the heat from the phone capturing every expression.

“You should see yourself,” he groaned, leaning forward to bite down on my shoulder. “The way your eyes roll back when I hit that spot—fuck, like that—”

He angled his hips just right and I screamed his name, my entire body tightening. His grip on my hips turned bruising, grounding me as he drove into me again and again, chasing that edge with sharp, focused need.

“Touch yourself,” he demanded, voice nearly breaking. “Wanna see you come like this.”

I obeyed instantly, one hand snaking between my thighs, fingers working my clit as the pressure built fast. Zayne’s thrusts grew erratic behind me, and I could feel how close he was, how much he was holding back to let me break first.

And then I did.

I came hard, thighs shaking, back arching as I cried out into the mattress, voice wrecked and high and full of his name.

He moved gently from me, grabbing the phone to stop recording and then came back to the bed. He gently picked my trembling body and laid me against him. I opened my eyes as he cradled me into his chest.

I felt as his thumb caressed my cheek sweetly, a big contrast with the way in which he was fucking me seconds before.

“Hi love” he whispered softly 

“That was amazing-” I gasped as I leaned to kiss him. 

“It was” he said, quickly separating his lips from mine. “If you ever want round 2…”

“Why not now?” I said with a smile.

“Oh you greedy little thing” he said mischievously as he teased me one more time.

taglist: @mitskunicheesecake @puppy-steve @milknbagels @alexialvarez-11 @d4-ducks @xanxann01 @plzdonutpercieveme @namjoons-toenails @raendarkfaerie @shinyfestmilkshake @hisscenery @taronyuhunter @gawa-ng-gabi @cynireththorne @zaynescaleb

[darknight3904]

hiiii was thinking of Tommy and fem reader getting high together and fucking while on patrol<3 😋 maybe a sloppy make out session and some riding (my fav frfr)

Herbal Essences

Jackson!Tommy x Fem!Reader

Summary: Snowed in during patrol, you and Tommy make good use of your time, dipping into a special stash he and Joel had squirreled away

Warnings: Language, Smut 18+, riding, drug use (weed) unprotected p in v (don't do that irl.)

TLOU Masterlist

Word Count: 1.3k

You watched from the window of the abandoned cabin as the snow covered the Earth. The storm had rode up on you out of nowhere. Someone in Jackson had estimated you’d have at least another two days before it rolled in. Whoever they were, they were a shitty weatherperson. 

You shiver and cross your arms tightly across your body, turning back to your patrol partner and boyfriend who is building you a fire. 

“How’s it lookin’ out there?” Tommy asks over his shoulder 

“Like we’re gonna be stuck here for at least a couple of days.” You mumble 

Tommy grunts, tossing a match onto the wood, orange and yellow licking at the wood as he stands back up. 

The two of you fall into the worn out couch, the only piece of furniture that had been left in the cabin. Tommy passes you a sandwich which you eat tucked into his side quietly. It’d been a long day and you were tired yet there was something wrong. A cramping in your neck had been driving you nuts all week. The muscles were sore from god only knows what. You rub a hand across the nape of your neck, a deep sigh leaving your lips.

“Neck still botherin’ ya” Tommy asks, a mouthful of sandwich muffling his voice 

“Yeah, dunno what it is. It’s like I’m broken or something.” You sigh 

Tommy pats your thigh encouragingly standing up to cross the room to a few loose floorboards, “Got a surprise. Joel and I stashed it a while back, don’t tell him we’re usin’ it.” 

“If you’re about to whip out some king size bottle of booze Tommy I’m gonna tell you to put it back. I’m not really in the mood to drink right now.” You say, thinking back to the time he’d gotten so drunk on New Years he’d puked in your new boots 

“Nah, it ain’t booze.” 

Tommy turns back around, a plastic bag dangles infront of your face as you stare up at him like he’s lost his mind. 

“Seriously? Weed?” You roll your eyes 

“It’ll help those muscles relax, baby.” Tommy hums, resting a big hand on the nape of your neck, giving it a gentle squeeze as he does, “Just try it. Don’t like it I’ll put it back in the floor and we can go to sleep.”

“Fine.” You huff 

Thirty minutes later, the weed hasn’t been placed back in the floorboards. Instead, you’re passing the joint back to Tommy who takes a long drawl, a mischievous grin on his face as he stares at you. 

“What?” You laugh, “There something wrong with my face?” 

“Nah, just admiring my girl.” He hums, passing the joint back to you before motioning for you to get closer to him. 

You scoot over but are pleasantly surprised when he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his lap, legs straddling his lower half. You gasp when you settle into him, half hard cock pressing into your clothed center. Tommy gives you a smirk as his hands rest on your waist, taking a deep inhale of the smoke you exhale. 

“How’s your neck feelin’ pretty girl?” He softly asks 

“Good.” You mumble, distracted by the way he feels under you 

Tommy smiles at you, hand running over your cheek and back down your body, just ghosting over your chest. 

“Looking a little distracted. We didn’t even smoke that much, should’ve told me you were a lightweight.” 

“I haven’t smoked in like five years.” You huff, “M’tolerence is low.” 

Tommy leans in pressing a kiss to your collarbone, “Sure it doesn’t have to do with something else? Cuz’ I can practically feel how needy you are right now, drippin’ through those jeans I bet.” 

“Oh please, you’re the one who was half hard when you put me in your lap. If anything you’re the needy one.” You counter 

“Fine, fine, we’re both needy.” He takes the joint from your hand, snuffing it out in the ashtray, “Now lemme appreciate my girl.” 

Tommy pulls your shirt from your body, pressing kisses to the soft skin he’s unveiled as you slowly roll your hips down into him, low grumbles leaving his lips as you do. You hook a finger under his chin getting him to look at you again. 

You press your lips to his, once, twice, three times as he blinks at you. 

“You alright there? Weed finally short circuit that brain of yours?” You tease 

“Nah, just thinkin’ about what a hot girlfriend I got.” He laughs, capturing your lips with his. 

A gruff groan leaves Tommy’s lips as you cup his face with your hands, the kiss is all teeth and spit, the smoking has exaccerbated your need for each other. Big hands roam your body, squeezing and groping as he likes, Tommy’s hands inch down to where your jeans are still wrapped around your hips. 

“Fuck, get up, M’ gonna cum in my pants like this.” He groans 

Both of you push your clothes to the ground, Tommy pulls you back onto him, his big body keeping you warm. A hand sneaks down to your cunt, Tommy thumbing the wetness that has accumulated there, 

“Christ, you’re fucking soaked. This cuz of the weed?” He laughs, finger teasing your hole 

“Mmm, that and you’re just handsome.” You admit shyly 

Tommy gives you a cocky smirk as he shifts, lining himself up with you. You take the upperhand before he can, lifting your hips and sinking down on him before he can push you down hismelf. 

A loud moan leaves his lips as your hips work oh so slowly above him. Your hands rest on his chest fingers tangled in his dark chest hair while his grip your waist, helping you move up and down. 

You connect your lips to his again, smiling into the kiss, fuck he feels good like this. 

Tommy’s hands rise up to your chest, cupping you as he gently squeezes and tweaks your nipples. 

“Y’like that, honey?” He coyly asks, “Like it when I play with your tits? Fuck you’re always so soft for me.” 

The dirty talk goes right to your belly as you clench down on him, hips speeding up as he grunts under you.  Your wet cunt tightens even more when a rough hand begins to play with your clit, Tommy grinding the palm of his hand into the nerves while his fingers rub your folds, his cock still sawing in and out of you. 

“Fu-ck, Tommy.” You whine, “M’ close.” 

“Yeah? Gonna cum? C’mon baby, do it, soak me, mark me up.” 

Your nails bite into the sensitive flesh of his chest far too hard for it to be comfortable as you cum. You bite down on your lip whimpers and sighs escaping your lips as your head lolls onto Tommy’s shoulder. 

Tommy lets you come down, hand drawing back from your clit as you mumble something about it being too much. 

“S’ your turn.” You slur, the weed has made you sleepy and your other worldly orgasm hasn’t helped things 

“My turn.” He echos 

Tommy’s hands roughly grab you, his hips leaving the couch as he moves you up and down him with ease, bodies making an obscenely loud wet noise as he uses you. 

“Good girl, fuck you’re so fucking good to me, letting me fuck you like this.” He mumbles in your ear, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck. 

Tommy suddenly pushes you off him, you land with a small oomph on your back, the soft fabric of the worn-down couch welcoming your tired body. You watch in awe as he pumps his cock, once, twice and then white cum ozes down his hand and spurts up onto his soft belly. A loud groan of your name fills the room as he tosses his head back, eyes slammed shut as his chest heaves, sweat glistening under the pale light of the fire. 

When he finally looks back at you, you’re already thinking of how many other ways he could have you tonight. Fuck the way the drugs were making you feel, you needed him now. 

A smile settles on your boyfriend's face, he knows exactly what you want. 

“C’mon over baby,” He pats his leg, “Not done with ya yet.” 

Liked this fic? Check out More Tommy Here

[starmaidengarden]

@meime13 request: OMG, I just read what i requested, it was super cute, tbh, I didn't expected u to reply to my request, thank u very much, i think at this rate i'll become a bit greedy and always sending requests, ofc, if u don't mind, thank u very much Can I request smth else? Of course if u don't mind, may I request headcanons second year students (+Ace, if it's too much u can ignore it) with an s/o who's really sensitive, like can get provoked really easily and can cry from anger as well, and takes things personally sometimes without realizing it and sometimes unconsciously victimize herself and really subjective altho she claims to be "logical", and she absolutely hate this side of her and wish she was stone hearted person or emotionless and use her brain instead of her heart Sorry for too much yapping, it's ok if u don't accept the request, tbh i think i got a lil too excited, Take care

— 2nd years : ace : x gn!reader. victimize, ace being ace. established relationship. dividers : uzmacchiato!

a/n: no worries! I love your headcanons! Feel free to send as many requests as you like. There was a problem with the request where I couldn't add pictures. Sorry to do it this way again. hope you enjoy!!

Riddle Rosehearts ༉⋆｡˚

⭑.ᐟ At first, Riddle might have a tough time with how you react—he used to keep his feelings bottled up, thinking they were a weakness. But when he sees you cry or take things seriously, it hits him hard.

⭑.ᐟ He really tries to tread carefully around you and feels bad if he comes off too harsh. “Being pushed by your emotions isn’t a bad thing. It just needs a little guidance instead of pushing it away.” He’ll help you find ways to handle your feelings better—like journaling, or even venting sessions.

Ace Trappola ༉⋆｡˚

⭑.ᐟ At first, he might be kind of clueless and joke around too much, unintentionally setting you off. When he realizes his teasing has hurt you, his behavior changes completely. “Wait, I didn’t mean it like that! Damn, I’m really sorry—I was just messing around.” He’d feel really bad seeing you cry out of frustration or anger, especially if it was triggered by something he said.

⭑.ᐟ He doesn’t like seeing you hate yourself over your feelings and often tries to reassure you. “If you were just some emotionless robot, I probably wouldn’t even like you,” he says with a half-smile, hoping to lighten the mood. When you're overwhelmed, he tries to help you work through your feelings logically, but he’s learned to listen more and push less. He understands that being present for you, especially in tough moments, is what truly matters.

Ruggie Bucchi ༉⋆｡˚

⭑.ᐟ Ruggie is really good at brushing things off, so he’s surprised by how seriously you take everything. He often jokes about stuff that upsets you, not because he intends any harm, but because that’s just how he deals with things—and it usually backfires. When he sees you getting upset or spiraling into negative thoughts about yourself, he shifts into serious mode.

⭑.ᐟ He quietly brings you some food, sits next to you, and lets you vent until you calm down. Then, he teases you just enough to help you get out of your head. He reminds you that feeling emotions is part of getting through life; not everything has to be so logical all the time. “Even if you feel too much sometimes, I’d rather that than you not care at all.”

Azul Ashengrotto ༉⋆｡˚

⭑.ᐟ Azul truly understands your deep-seated feelings, even if he presents a tough surface. He knows what it’s like to struggle with parts of yourself that you can’t change, particularly the lingering fear of being perceived as “weak.” Initially, he is taken aback by your emotional outbursts and tries to resolve everything with logic, which only deepens your distress.

⭑.ᐟ However, once he realizes this approach isn’t effective, he shifts. He begins offering you more compliments and the emotional support you’ve been missing. Also, he enjoys helping you work through your thoughts, gently guiding you past any negative thinking. “Even if you can’t see it right now, I promise—what I see is someone worth listening to.”

Jade Leech ༉⋆｡˚

⭑.ᐟ Jade is really in tune with your feelings—he picks up on your emotional shifts even before you do. He never makes you feel dumb or irrational for crying or reacting strongly. His voice has this calm, soothing vibe, kind of like a lullaby. When you’re stuck in a loop of self-hate, he helps you flip your thoughts around. “Your feelings are part of what makes you, you. Why get rid of something so human?”

⭑.ᐟ He’s the kind of person who helps you figure out your reactions without judging. He’s never condescending but does push back a bit “Do you really want to be emotionless, or do you just want to avoid getting hurt so easily?”

Floyd Leech ༉⋆｡˚

⭑.ᐟ Floyd really loves your passionate side because it’s all over the place and real. He never judges you for it, even if he doesn’t always get it. If you’re crying out of anger, he gets fired up too— “Who messed with you? Want me to take care of them?” He’s not the type to baby you, but he knows how to comfort you in his own way—with tight hugs and holding your face, telling you, “I like Shrimpy just like this. Don’t change and become boring.”

⭑.ᐟ He can be pretty blunt and might say stuff that ends up hurting your feelings without meaning to. Then he gets a bit mopey if you take it too hard, like, “I didn’t mean it that way, don’t be like that…” Floyd appreciates your honesty, even if it leads to tears because you’re never boring, and that’s what he loves the most.

Kalim Al-Asim ༉⋆｡˚

⭑.ᐟ He doesn’t judge you for crying or getting upset—often. However, since he is such a cheerful person, he sometimes fails to notice when you're really struggling internally or blaming yourself.

⭑.ᐟ When he does pick up on it, he responds by showing even more affection: giving you hugs, showering you with compliments, and listing all the reasons he loves how expressive you are. He’s not interested in changing you; he simply reminds you that it’s completely okay to be emotional—it just shows how much you care. “Honestly, if you weren’t like this, I probably wouldn’t have fallen for you. You make everything feel so real.”

Jamil Viper ༉⋆｡˚

⭑.ᐟ Jamil picks up on everything, even the little stuff, like small expressions and changes in your mood. He may not always say anything, but he knows exactly how easily you can get hurt. When you get upset and cry from anger, he helps you take deep breaths while giving you some space. Later on, he’ll sit next to you and ask if you want to talk or let it all out.

⭑.ᐟ He also tries to share some of his grounding tricks with you, like breathing techniques or mental checklists, to help you work through your feelings. “You don’t have to be emotionless to be strong. Honestly, it just means your heart is more open than mine ever was.”

Silver ༉⋆｡˚

⭑.ᐟ Silver is incredibly patient with you, your sensitivity doesn’t bother him. When you feel overwhelmed, he speaks to you softly and doesn’t push you to "make sense" of things—he simply waits until you feel safe.

⭑.ᐟ He encourages you to take it easy, find your footing, and slow down. “You don’t have to figure everything out. Sometimes you just need to feel it.” If you express a desire to be emotionless, he frowns, “That would be a shame. Your feelings are what make you, you.”

[akookminsupporter]

The OT7 Mask: How Fake Unity is Hurting Jimin

RM deserves the award! = So Jimin doesn’t? RM is the leader; he should get the award = Jimin is the lead vocalist. What does their position in the group even have to do with this? If RM wins, BTS wins too = So if Jimin wins, it’s not a win for BTS? When exactly was it announced that Jimin’s no longer part of BTS? Jimin would be happy if RM won! = So RM wouldn’t be happy if Jimin does? Jimin’s already won a lot, RM should get this one = RM has loads of awards too, so I don’t get this logic. BTS have won tons — so when other fandoms say the same thing, we’re all going to be fine with it and just stop voting for BTS so other groups win? And seriously, how disrespectful is it to Namjoon to give him a “pity” award? If you vote for Jimin, you’re a BTS and RM' anti! = So voting for RM means you’re not a BTS and Jimin's Anti? Voting for Jimin means you don’t care about BTS = Again, when did Jimin stop being a BTS member? Jimin’s fanbases are solos and antis = But somehow, other members' fanbases are angels and “collaborating” with them is just fine if it means voting for RM and not Jimin? RM will be disappointed if we don’t get him this award = So Jimin wouldn’t be disappointed if he doesn’t win? RM worked really hard on his album, he deserves it = So Jimin didn’t work hard on his album and doesn’t deserve anything? If you’re a real BTS fan, you should vote for RM = And if you vote for Jimin, that suddenly makes you not a fan of BTS? Again, when did Jimin leave the group? We already ‘helped’ Jimin win other awards, now it’s the leader’s turn = So why are people actively campaigning against Jimin now? It’s not just “vote for RM”, it’s full-on harassment of anyone who dares vote for Jimin.

This kind of behaviour from ARMY — especially when it’s aimed at Jimin — isn’t anything new. It’s a pattern we’ve seen play out time and time again. Every comeback, every solo project, every milestone he reaches, there’s always this subtle resistance. And it becomes especially noticeable when other members are promoting around the same time. Suddenly, supporting Jimin becomes controversial. The energy shifts. You see people — often the loudest voices claiming to be OT7 — quietly start redirecting attention elsewhere, downplaying his achievements, or acting like celebrating him somehow takes away from the rest of the group. It’s passive-aggressive, it’s calculated, and it’s exhausting to witness.

And honestly, I still don’t understand it.

What is it about Jimin that triggers this behaviour? Why does it seem so difficult for some fans — or rather, so-called fans — to just support him without conditions? This isn’t about solos or akgaes. With them, it’s expected. You already know where they stand. No, I’m talking about the ones who loudly preach “OT7” — the ones who insist they support the whole group — yet never miss a chance to sideline or criticise Jimin the moment he’s the focus.

It’s always the same tired excuses. “He wouldn’t mind.” “He’s humble.” “He’d want the others to shine.” And while that might be true — Jimin is incredibly generous and selfless — his kindness shouldn’t be a reason to deny him what he’s earned. It shouldn’t be used as a shield to protect others while leaving him exposed to neglect and disrespect. His heart is not a doormat.

I’m honestly tired. It’s exhausting being Jimin's fan in this fandom. Not because of him — never because of him — but because of how much you have to fight just to see him treated fairly. The mental gymnastics people go through to justify excluding him from support or recognition is wild. You give him credit and people say you’re overhyping him. You vote for him and they say you’re divisive. You defend him and they say you’re being dramatic.

These recent voting campaigns have brought all of that ugliness right back to the surface. The fandom has once again revealed just how bitter, hypocritical, and downright mean-spirited it can be when it comes to Jimin. And even worse — it’s shown a deeper disrespect for all the members because this isn’t about RM being genuinely celebrated. For many people, it’s about two things:

“Namjoon hasn’t won anything — he deserves something.” As if he’s some charity case instead of a respected artist.

“Anyone but Jimin.” That’s it. That’s the real reason driving this campaign.

And I’m saying that with my whole chest. Because if the goal were truly to support RM, the tone and energy would be completely different. But the bitterness, the gatekeeping, the passive aggression towards Jimin’s fans — it tells a much darker story. One where RM’s win becomes a convenient tool for anti-Jimin sentiments.

Prove me wrong.

Honestly, I don’t think this fandom deserves Jimin. And I’d go further — many people in this fandom don’t deserve any of the seven. If the members saw how some of their "fans" behave — the backhanded comments, the cruel comparisons, the blatant erasure — they’d be disappointed. Ashamed, even. Because this is not what BTS stands for. This is not love. This is not unity.

And the saddest part? Jimin still loves this fandom. He still shows up with a full heart, full of gratitude, full of effort. He still works himself to the bone to give back to fans who — let’s be honest — haven’t always given him the same energy in return. It breaks my heart. Because he deserves the world. Not just the scraps, not just the applause when it’s convenient, not just the praise after everyone else has had their moment. He deserves celebration, respect, and the same unwavering support that some other members receive without question.

So to the haters, the antis, the jiminphobics hiding behind your fake OT7 masks — I hope you know something very simple and very important:

You will always be miserable. Because Jimin will always win. Whether it’s awards, hearts, or history — he will win. And not because anyone handed it to him, but because he earned it.

And if we really want to use your own logic against you — the one you’ve been applying all over the timeline — then let’s say this clearly:

If RM wins this award, it won’t just be a win for him. It’ll be a win fueled by hate — because many people aren’t voting for Namjoon, they’re voting against Jimin. And there’s a huge difference between those two things. That kind of win doesn’t feel like celebration — it feels like resentment in disguise.

[secretgardensinmymindd13]

thinking about how buck and eddie’s love story is so beautiful exactly because they were written as friends first throughout the show

just to count all the small and grand gestures they did for each other, from the very beginning -

and they did it not because of some physical attraction, but because they just devoted themselves to each other platonically

because they didn’t have the instruments to recognize their romantic and sexual feelings for each other (like eddie repressing every single emotion known to mankind and therefore not being able to recognize his feelings most of the time, and buck keeping these thoughts somewhere very deep in his mind as irrelevant), they kind of had no physical spark that would motivate their actions. so they literally fell in love with each other’s souls

this is the definition of unconditional love

i think that’s my problem with bucktommy - because they really can’t compare to what buck and eddie have, what they built

like, i really don’t get bt shippers, ‘cause when i have buddie’s relationship right in front of my eyes, i can’t take bt seriously. they pale in comparison

and that’s not to diminish the relationships built on obvious romantic and physical attraction, like bathena and henren (madney probably counts as friends-to-lovers) - these couples are beautiful and amazing in their own way, and i consider them soulmates too

but i guess something about the best-friends-to-lovers trope will always scratch my brain, especially when it’s between two characters who believe - or genuinely don’t know - that they can have each other in a romantic way

it’s just such a raw and pure kind of love. and the longer these characters think they’re just friends, the more foundation for an otherworldly love they build with each brick of their platonic fondness and dedication

i really think that if the writers made shannon eddie’s endgame, and had them forgive each other and create a beautiful relationship like all the other couples on the show, i would’ve liked them. i think the actors had chemistry and looked good together, plus the characters already had deep history

and if they gave buck an actually interesting and fitting partner, i’d probably like them too

but then again, i’m so glad they didn’t - because eddie and buck’s characters are so perfect for each other in so many ways, i really can’t imagine them with anyone else but each other

there’s too much stuff between them, and the chemistry between the actors definitely plays a huge role too

when you have something so great in your hands, you don’t fumble it. (this is a message to the writers, because buck and eddie have been fighting the narrative for their love since day one)

and that’s also not to say romantic love is somehow superior to platonic love. as someone who cherishes her friendships even more than her romantic life at times, that’s definitely not the point i’m trying to make

but it’s just that, first of all, it’s what makes sense for these characters. and second of all, we as a society really need such a beautiful queer friends-to-lovers slow burn. i swear it will make history and lay the foundation for more layered and deep queer representation in the future

so, yeah, buddie being best friends who slowly fell in love with each other is my favorite thing about them

it’s the “i don’t have to want to sleep with everyone i have feelings for” part of it all

but they do want to sleep with each other, obviously, so i think they deserve it

just let’s go. let’s fucking go. let them kiss already

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

A Planet in a Crowd Full of Stars

Synopsis: Childhood friends Y/N and Karina made a promise—she’d become an idol, and he’d always cheer her on. Years later, she’s living her dream, and during her biggest concert yet, she confesses her love… to him, in front of thousands.

Word Count: 929

Karina X Male Reader

Thanks for the request !! I love doing them ^^

It was a sunny day—the kind of day that smells like grass and melted ice cream. You were at the park, probably fighting over the last swing or seeing who could throw a rock the farthest. You were a chaotic duo: her with her scraped knees and a wild ponytail, you with dirt on your face and a heart too big for your age. She had her favorite choco milk with her, and you were chewing on a lollipop like it was your entire personality.

That was the day she said it, out of nowhere.

“I want to be an idol,” Karina declared, lying on the grass, arms stretched toward the sky like she could catch the sun.

You blinked at her. “An idol? Like… a statue?”

She glared. “No! Like… someone people admire! On TV! Singing, dancing!”

You nodded slowly, not understanding a thing, then replied seriously, “I wanna be a shapeshifter.”

Karina laughed. Loud and unfiltered. “That’s stupid.”

“You’re stupid.”

But you still pinky-promised her. You swore you’d be her number one fan. Even if you didn’t know what that really meant yet.

Years passed. Things changed. You got older, taller, a little colder. She got prettier, quieter, and harder to reach. She moved to the city, chasing her dream with glitter in her eyes. You stayed behind with hands in your pockets and a head full of memories.

And now, today—tonight—you’re running like a madman through the venue, clutching your phone and dodging crowds. You’re two years older, but you feel like a child again, nervous and breathless.

She did it. Karina. Your Karina.

She’s the star now. The girl whose posters line bedroom walls, whose voice fills playlists, whose name is chanted by thousands. But to you, she’s still the girl who once shared choco milk and dreams on a patch of grass.

Your phone buzzes just as you reach your VIP seat—front row, dead center.

Karina [7:42PM]:

hey weirdo. made it? did security let you through or did you look too suspicious again? lol

You [7:43PM]:

shut up. focus. i’m recording the whole thing so don’t mess up your choreo.

You can almost hear her giggle through the screen.

The concert starts 30 minutes later. The lights dim. The crowd erupts. And then she appears—spotlight kissing her skin, hair like stardust, eyes scanning the crowd like she’s searching for someone.

You.

Song after song, she’s radiant. Every smile feels like a secret. Every glance feels like a message. You can’t take your eyes off her.

Then, the encore.

A soft, acoustic melody plays. She stands in the center of the stage, holding the mic a little tighter. The fans quiet down as if they feel something coming.

“There’s someone here tonight,” she starts, voice shaking ever so slightly. “Someone really important to me.”

You feel your breath hitch.

“Someone who’s seen me not as ‘Karina the idol’… but as just… Karina. The girl with big dreams and weird hair. The one who used to eat sand and fight over swings.”

The crowd laughs.

You freeze.

She looks toward your direction. Your heart stops.

“I made a promise once. On a sunny day, with choco milk in hand and a heart too loud. And tonight…” she pauses, tears in her eyes, “I want to keep that promise.”

A pause.

“I love you,” she whispers.

Spotlight. Directly on you.

And the world fades. The screaming, the lights, the cameras—it all disappears.

Because she’s smiling. At you. Just like she used to.

You’re two kids again, laughing under the sun, making dumb promises. Only this time, she’s the idol—and you’re the boy she never forgot.

The show ends in fireworks and confetti, but your hands are shaking. The crowd is still buzzing, unaware that their idol just dedicated her heart to someone in the front row. To you.

A staff member in black taps your shoulder and leans in.

“She’s asking for you. Backstage.”

You follow him, dazed. Past the heavy curtains, beyond the chaos of dancers and managers, your heart races. The lights are warm, but your palms are cold. And then—

There she is. Standing by the vanity, wiping the sweat from her neck with a towel. Her hair’s a little messy, her cheeks flushed, but her eyes—her eyes light up the moment they land on you.

“You made it,” she says, like it’s the only thing that matters.

You scoff. “Yeah, and security didn’t tackle me.”

She laughs and walks toward you, slowly, like every step is a memory. “Did you hear it?”

“Hear what?”

She smacks your shoulder lightly. “Y/N.”

You grin. “I heard everything.”

A pause. The air shifts.

“Did you mean it?” you ask, voice suddenly smaller. “Back there. On stage.

She nods, barely hiding the nervous smile on her lips. “Every word. Even the sand-eating part.”

You both laugh.

Then silence. A kind of silence that feels too loud.

You take a deep breath, stepping closer. “Karina…”

She tilts her head, expectant.

“You still remember that promise?” you ask.

“I remember everything about you,” she says.

You reach into your jacket pocket and pull out a crumpled candy wrapper—the same kind she used to give you after winning a game at the park.

She gasps. “You still have that?”

“I told you. I’m your number one fan.”

She bites her lip to hide the blush, then throws her arms around you—sweaty, tired, radiant.

You hold her close, breathing in the moment, whispering against her hair,

“I love you too, you know. I just never got the spotlight to say it.”