#i need him to know how much i adore him and i need to be able to demonstrate it physically | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

filmnings · 1 day ago

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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

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

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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?”

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.”

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.

“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.

“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.

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.

“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.

“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.

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.”

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.

“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.

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.

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.

　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.

“What do you mean? What did he do?”

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.”

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.

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-?”

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?”

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.”

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

“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.”

“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

#𝓴𝗶𝗽𝗼 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒔! ๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵) ˑ༄#𝓴𝗶𝗽𝗼‘𝘀 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.ᐟ (づ￣ ³￣)づ♡#𝓁𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝖻𝗈𝗒──sunghoon ♡ ˎˊ˗#[oh la la!] : in the shadows #this is quite literally peak literature #like everyone else go home #it’s impossible to achieve anything greater than this #the only one who can is el #just banger after fucking banger like omg??#save some bangers for the rest of us??? 😭😭#sunghoon x reader #sunghoon smut #sunghoon angst #sunghoon fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen smut #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff

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kxsagi · 2 days ago

Note

Hihihi! I just stumbled upon your blog after taking a break from Tumblr, and I adore your writing!💕

I saw that your requests are open, so I thought I'd send one! I've never done this before, lmao, so sorry if I mess something up!

I was wondering if you could write something about arguing with the BL boys and then suddenly flashing them in the middle of it, asking them if they're still mad now?

I saw that you were fine with suggestive stuff in your rules, but feel free to ignore this if it's too much! I won't ask for specific characters other than maybe Chigiri? Thank you in advance for reading this! I hope you have an amazing day!💕

“𝐧𝐨, 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐰”

a/n: thank you girlie, you're so sweet, have an amazing day as well! 😚

title is a meddle about reference chase atlantic girls ily

suggestive content inside!

ft. itoshi rin, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, chigiri hyoma, mikage reo, kaiser michael, karasu tabito, ness alexis, niko ikki, shidou ryusei, itoshi sae

itoshi rin

you’re squaring up with him in the kitchen, halfway into a dramatic rant about how he never wipes down the counter after making his protein shakes.

"do you know what cleaning is, rin? do you even see crumbs or is your brain like–"

you cut yourself off, suddenly gripping the hem of your shirt and yanking it up with the speed of a magician doing a card trick.

just. flash. like it’s the most casual part of your sentence.

rin freezes. his jaw clenches, his whole body goes taut like he just got sniped from a rooftop.

he doesn’t speak. doesn’t blink.

his eye twitches like his brain is trying to keep functioning but a giant red ERROR screen just popped up in his mind.

“… did you just… what is wrong with you,” he hisses, voice low and stunned.

“you still mad?”

he looks at you like you summoned the devil. “… you are so annoying. get over here.”

he says it like a threat, but he's already reaching for you with dangerous intent.

argument forgotten. you’ve created a new problem.

isagi yoichi

you two are in the living room, arms crossed, facing off like two lawyers in a petty court show.

"you NEVER close the cereal box. it gets stale, yoichi. stale. it’s like chewing cardboard."

he’s rolling his eyes, "it’s not that deep–"

you sigh like you’re done. then, without warning, you lift your shirt and flash him like you’re unveiling a secret treasure.

it takes him exactly 1.5 seconds to process what just happened.

he literally chokes on his own spit.

“WAIT?! wait, wait, wait–”

his voice jumps three octaves. his hands flail like he’s trying to rewind reality.

“did you just–?! are you crazy?! i was–i mean, we were fighting!”

you just smile innocently. “you still mad, though?”

he’s red from the neck up, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“i-i need a timeout. a breather. some water. i–”

spends the next 10 minutes pacing in the kitchen muttering, “i’m dating a menace” with a lovesick grin, replaying the image in his head like a perv.

nagi seishiro

he’s lying on the couch, playing games, while you rant about how he left his laundry in the washer again.

“it’s gonna get moldy, sei! do you even care?! i’m not your maid!”

he groans. “too loud. i can’t hear my game.”

and that’s it. you snap.

you walk over and lift your hoodie in one swift move, flashing him right as he scores a kill.

he literally drops the controller.

“woah.” eyes locked. mouth slightly open.

he just blinks and says, “that’s not fair. now i forgot what i was mad about.”

“you weren’t mad.”

“exactly. we’re even now.”

immediately lies down with his head in your lap, face smushed against your thighs like he’s done anything productive all day.

mutters into your skin, “flash me again? i need it for my health.”

chigiri hyoma

you’re in his room, arms crossed, glaring at him for bailing on a hangout to go to the gym again.

“you didn’t even text. i sat there alone for 40 minutes–”

he tries to cut in. “pretty, i told you i had–”

you ignore him. you step closer, grab the edge of your shirt with both hands, and–

flash.

his jaw drops. his soul leaves his body.

“what the hell?!”

his face explodes in red, like he got hit by a tomato.

“what was that? was that a power move?!”

“you still mad at me?”

he swallows. hard. “… i was gonna defend myself but now i wanna marry you so i win either way.”

immediately flops onto the bed and yells into a pillow.

refuses to look you in the eye for 10 minutes.

whispers later, “i love you, but i’m never winning another argument again, am i?”

mikage reo

he’s mid-speech about how you should “just let him spoil you,” and you’re mid-speech about how “you don’t need a $500 pair of slippers.”

the room is tense. luxurious. slightly dramatic.

you interrupt yourself mid-sentence by slipping off your oversized sweater with flair, flashing him like you’re presenting a damn exhibit.

reo’s reaction is instant.

his mouth slowly curves into the cockiest, hungriest smile you’ve ever seen.

his voice drops two octaves.

“oh? that’s how we’re playing now?”

“you still mad?”

“i wasn’t mad, but now i’m incredibly distracted.”

walks toward you like a man possessed.

says dumb flirty things like, “wanna be my sugarbaby and my therapist?”

spoiler: you never finish the argument.

he wires money to your account and takes off his own shirt just to match.

kaiser michael

he’s all smug and loud, spinning around in a designer chair like he owns the universe.

you’re arguing about his ego.

“you can’t call yourself ‘a gift from god’ in front of my parents.”

he smirks. “they agreed with me.”

you stare him down. then without breaking eye contact, you pull your shirt up and flash him with zero hesitation.

he blinks once. twice. then he smirks wider.

“… oh, liebe. that was dangerous.”

leans back in his chair, tongue poking the inside of his cheek like he’s trying not to get feral too fast.

“are you still mad?”

“no. but you’ve signed yourself up for so much trouble.”

five seconds later: you’re on his lap.

he calls you a “cheater” while whispering unholy things in german.

you never win the argument, but now neither does he.

karasu tabito

he’s being an idiot. again.

said something sarcastic. you called him out. now it’s five minutes of dumb back-and-forth in the hallway.

you sigh. “you know what?”

you reach down, pull up your shirt, and flash him like you’re changing the subject on a powerpoint slide.

he gasps. no, squeaks.

stumbles backward into the wall like you just slapped him with a holy vision.

“MA’AM?!”

staring at you like you just performed a magic trick.

“you still mad?”

he shakes his head, stunned. “not mad. but i might need a moment to process this. maybe therapy.”

starts cracking jokes to cope. “was that a jumpscare or a proposal? because either way, i’m in love.”

never stops talking about it.

refers to it later as “the day he saw god.”

ness alexis

you were in the middle of a heated argument (probably about kaiser).

“why do you let him treat you like that? he’s not your boyfriend, alexis–”

“he’s not treating me badly! you just don’t understand him!”

and he’s got his hand on his chest, eyes glossy, one foot already stomping into a diva spiral.

you inhale slowly. then–

flash. shirt up. deadpan face.

he stops. dead silent. his hands freeze mid-gesture, trembling ever so slightly. eyes wide, lips parted like he just got slapped with a romance novel.

“... you’re weaponizing your chest.”

“you still mad?”

he blinks. gasps.

covers his face with both hands, voice cracking, “y-you can’t just DO THAT! i’m vulnerable!”

starts crying-laughing like a victorian wife who saw her husband naked for the first time.

he’s pacing. dramatically.

"i feel faint. lightheaded. i need to sit. or lie down. preferably on top of you. for stability."

somehow the fight ends with him in your lap.

whispers, "don’t tell kaiser. he’ll start using it against me."

niko ikki

you’re arguing about him spending 6 straight hours on his game, ignoring your texts.

“do you even remember you have a girlfriend, or is league your real soulmate?!”

he frowns, flustered. “i was in ranked! you always say you want me to do what i love–”

flash.

you just hit him with a quick shirt lift and stare him down.

his pupils dilate like he just activated his sharingan. his blue lens glasses slip down his nose. his mouth opens. closes.

he’s buffering like a video on 2G data.

“what the hell was that for?!”

“you still mad at me?”

he’s trying so hard not to look again.

“… i’m not mad, but i’m deeply concerned for my sanity right now.”

you smirk, turning away like the boss you are.

behind you, he silently clenches his fist and mutters, “i love her so much it’s ruining my life.”

texts you later from the next room: “you made me knock over my water.”

shidou ryusei

you’re in the middle of a heated argument, likely because shidou can’t take a hint.

“i’ve told you a thousand times to stop leaving your clothes everywhere!”

“i literally live here. where else am i supposed to put them?”

“on your damn body, for starters!”

he’s grinning like the chaotic gremlin he is, clearly trying to get under your skin.

you stare at him for a moment, silently deciding: this ends now.

flash.

you yank your shirt up, but keep your eyes locked on him. no warning. no hesitation.

his face goes from smirk to confusion to full-on shock in a matter of seconds.

his eyes widen, and he just... stops. his body visibly jerks back like he’s been hit by a truck.

“… what the hell?”

he snaps his head to the side like he’s trying to reset his brain, then dramatically blinks about 50 times.

“you still mad?”

his usual cocky, devil-may-care expression falls into full flustered chaos.

“… no. not anymore. but you just became my new favorite person. you wanna keep doing that, or should we keep fighting?”

he drops the argument completely and starts lowkey following you around for the rest of the day.

mutters to himself like a love-struck fool: “this is it. she’s my queen.”

proceeds to try to make you more mad for the rest of the week just to get another flash. it’s working.

itoshi sae

oh, it’s on now. sae is being sae. classic emotionally distant asshole.

you’ve been trying to get him to talk about his feelings, but he keeps brushing you off.

“stop acting like you’re some kind of unreachable god,” you snap.

“i’m not the problem here, you are,” he counters with that trademark smugness.

and just when you think you’re about to lose your mind, you don’t even flinch, you just flash him.

your shirt lifts slowly, not in a teasing way, just purely to make a point.

his whole world crashes for a split second. sae freezes mid-sentence. he blinks. his eyes widen slightly.

you watch the exact moment his composure starts cracking, the cool facade slipping just enough to reveal–

“did you just–?”

“you still mad?”

his breath catches in his throat, voice suddenly a little hoarse. “… i’m not mad, but i might be a little… distracted now.”

he clears his throat, trying to act like he’s in control, but it’s a losing battle.

“gosh, you’re insufferable,” he mutters, but there’s this shift in his tone, the way his hand instinctively reaches out toward you like he's trying to anchor himself.

you can tell he's so turned on, but he's also mad about it.

he stares at you like you’ve just opened the gates of heaven, and he's not sure if he wants to kiss you or run from you.

you’ve won. and he knows it.

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cvnt4him · 3 days ago

Note

You’ve given me bunny Izuku brain rot 🙏🙏

I was thinking maybe he starts doing rabbit courtship behaviors, which rabbits don’t have a lot of, but bucks do chase and circle does. Which would be pretty funny— Izuku trying to get Reader to run, and then when that doesn’t work he sprints away hoping she’d follow, and then when THAT doesn’t work the poor little guy tries circling and binky-ing around Reader. Meanwhile she’s just like WTF? 😭

Male rabbits don’t nest, but maybe he would as a desperate, ‘look! Look! Look how good I can be for you!! I can do this!! I would be such a good mate!!’ (he’s been pushed to his last straw, guys)

Also I have a feeling the brat would scent EVERYTHING, including reader lmao

I mean surely at some point Reader would realize Izuku has human-level intelligence, even if he has more instincts than a normal human. Maybe it would be, in teary desperation after he’s been rejected every single time, he does research on Reader’s laptop. (over human courting rituals ofc lmao)

Anyways, feel free to take whatever brainrotting you want from above as writing prompts! I’d love to see it!!

HAHSURUEUE THIS IS DELICIOUS.

mating season rolled up on izuku a lot quicker than he expected. He thought he could try to resist it at first but, his urges grew too strong. He needed to mate; to breed, and not just anyone but you.

Izuku couldn't help trying to get your attention, he figured if you realized what he was doing that what he was doing normally rooted with bunny courting methods and stuff you'd understand and help him! But that wasn't the case....at all in fact.

Truth be told you hadn't exactly learned how to take care of a hybrid. You thought it'd be as easy as taking care of a child, or maybe a cat. Something you've done before, you've babysat and even owed animals once upon a time.

You weren't exactly sure what izuku was doing but it sure was adorable....at first. He'd started getting more clingy and all in your face, staring at you , following you around and whining at you. When you'd look down at him he'd get this eager and excited look on his face, his ears standing at attention and his eyes widening.

His nose twitched faster than you recalled and his tail wagged behind him he slightly turned his head to the side, but instead of investigating you simply chuckled and patted him head. Now of course, your touch was all izuku wanted. But that was so brief and so bare, he wanted more.

Izuku whined to himself getting slightly grumpy, he wouldn't give up not just yet. You noticed he'd started following you around a whole lot more. So much so that it got annoying. He was always present and those once adorable eyes grew a little creepy with growing time.

You finally humored him and tried to figure out what he wanted. Izuku was nervous about telling you what he wanted, he was anxious and couldn't get it out to you in words with his nerves so he did his best to express it the best he could. His natural instincts, once again he was under the impression you knew what you were doing getting involved with a hybrid and keeping it.

You started to follow izuku asking him what he wanted and he was quick to run away his eyes still staring back as he zoomed across the hall sliding on his feet and soon sitting in his hands and feet to keep him steady. He tilted his head and you couldn't help but to giggle at the cuteness, be was so fast and so adorable you weren't sure what to do

“ oh, izuku, you're too cute!”

You walk away ultimately breaking izukus heart. No matter, he wouldn't give up just yet!!

His antics just grew more and more hectic, once again you didn't know too much about bunnies or even hybrids. You knew with him being half hybrid he had ears of a bunny, instincts for the most part, and even grew tons of body hair and hair period. Haircut days were the worst..

Izuku was more silent than usual but his eyes were always on you. He always had to be close to you, but never too close unless you asked him to. There was something with him,he refused to get too close unless he heard you ask or seen you motion for him to come.

He'd started circling around more, laying on top of you and more. Hed start running away from you like he was trying to get you to chase him, you understood that the more it happened and whenever you'd pretend like you would you'd see him jump high into the air, especially if you were outside.

You'd only I giggle and laugh at his antics and kiss him everywhere, silly thing. However he'd move himself from your grasp, visibly upset. You didn't quiet understand what he was doing, izuku didn't hop as much as he probably should and used to. He was formerly a wild hybrid before you kept him as your own so only God knows how high he can really jump. You only seen him hoo whenever he's extremely excited or when youre playing so whenever he jumped as high as he did you were more proud and shocked than anything.

Izuku didnt know what else to do... He felt like he was being clear with his hints why hadn't you made a move! Hes been so good and has been doing his best to get your attention but nothing worked! He was growing more desperate by the day, and desperate times calls for even more desperate measures..

You came back from work, you weren't overly tired like normal. You still had a bit of energy to maybe cook instead of eating left overs then climbing in bed with your recently mire energetic bunny. That sounded like heaven. You announced to izuku that you were home, not that he hadn't already heard the door open and shut plus the sound of your foot footsteps and shuffling.

You walk into your room to see izuku sitting on the floor and your covers were made into an odd .... shape? You couldn't exactly describe what it was but it looked like he'd put all of your covers and sheets and even pillows into a little circle in a sort almost like a birds nest. Honestly it seemed extremely comfortable, it was rather big and spacious. And boy was he adorable.

His eyes were wide and his ears were down a small frown on his face as his nose twitched fastly, you seen him sniff the air almost smelling your new scent that traced the air. He loved the smell of you, now especially that you smelled exactly like him.

He'd been rubbing up against you more, his chin all over your face and even rubbing his body all over yours the best he could at night. Sometimes his constant shuffling would upset your sleep especially because you work early when you're not working from home, so you had nothing better than to do besides push him off of be bed

Luckily for him, scenting you already worked! You hadn't noticed but with zuku growing even more desperate this was another sign of him being territorial. If this worked then that would make you involuntarily his!, even more than you already are, of course. Izuku is extremely territorial alot more than you'd think, you had to quickly instill it in his brain to NOT use your entire house as a toilet when he first moved in.

Then he was covered in hair like a damn fur ball and his eyes were always blown wide, since then hes calmed a bit and has definitely been tamed....for be most part. He would often leave whatever of his he could around to signify another way of him marking his own territory. Something slight that you wouldn't pick up on. And of course, you never did.

You cooed at izuku moving closer and rubbing his head against your lower tummy, scratching behind his ear the way he likes and emitting a low groan in return, you hear a small "miss you", leave his mouth as he rubs his head against your body.

The next day you went back to work izuku was quick to grab your laptop and do what little research he could. Of course he had no fucking clue what he should search up. Just typing in whatever he could, like "how to mate with humans" he ends up watching a 20 minute long video about sex education and honestly he feels up to speed.

He reads on google and other platforms that normally women like to be wooed while others like straight forward "rituals" izuku knew well enough you probably wouldn't like if he just pushed you down onto the bed and took what he wanted. But then again there was a part of him that got excited at the thought of it ..you finally understanding and letting him have it, finally letting him take you the way he needs.

His poor little mind fogging at the thought, his ears dropping as he stomped his feet in the bed at his own frustration. What was he to do when you didn't understand! He was too flustered and nervous to speak, for a hybrid that talks with any chance he gets unless he's upset, he has been really silent for the past weeks. There's no way you haven't noticed!

Tonight was the night. Izuku absolutely refused to let this moment slow away from him, he felt like he was going to explode everywhere. You came home a bit tired, you didn't have it in you to cook. All you wanted was to hold your furball to bed.

“ hey izuku, m’ home baby.”

He hears your grumble out with a sigh. Izuku was under your covers lying down in a burrito, he was facing the headboard as you could see the out print of his tail wagging at the sound of your voice. You giggle and crawl in bed with your work clothes still on you pull the cover back from his head to see him turn his head away from you

You heard a little sniffle leave his body and a wave of concern washed over you.

“ awh, zuku what's wrong baby?”.

You brushed his hair out of his face before you turn his face towards you to see tears welling in his eyes. He whined and seen the way you absolutely melted at the sight of him.

Izuku nuzzled his face into your neck, you could hear little hiccups leave him as struggled to whisper out to you.

“ ...want you.. s’bad..”

You pull back from him you hand still in his hair as you stroke it, he looks at you with his eyes blown wide like they used to be. You place small kisses to his freckled cheeks and see the way his saddened look is replaced with something else. His breathing changes and he moves closer to you, his eyes trailing down to your lips within and instant.

It felt like izuku began looking over you, his ear spiking up and his breath seems to still as well, his nose still twitching fastly as his shaky body moved closer to yours. His forehead moves to yours and he leans it agaisnt yours. You hum to yourself and stroke his cheek, izukus whole body shivers at the sweet touch of you.

He couldn't help himself any more, he tried to be patient and he feels like he has been for ever! Izuku smashes his lips onto yours and immediately whines into the kiss his tail wiggling as he moans climbing on top of you and rutting into your thigh. His breathing was heavy and it's like he couldn't be away from you anymore.

You were in for quite a night.

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beomiracles · 1 day ago

Text

My god where to even begin? This was such a cinematic piece to read, in every aspect. From detailed worldbuilding to fleshed out and raw characters, this fic really had everything you could possibly want. The pacing is set perfectly, as though we’re being gently held by our hand and guided through it all. There’s really so much to unpack, pregnancy trope, miscommunication, friends to lovers to ??? to friends and then to lovers again.. MY GOD. I adore how selfless both reader and beomgyu are, despite both going through hell and back without each other they still never blame the other. They’re aware of their own flaws which I think makes them so human, not to mention how deeply they feel. The metaphors and the writing in itself is so captivating and paints such a vivid and bright picture – for me there was such a distinct difference between past and present. And did I mention how kdrama worthy this all is? From the most tense of moments to romantic and slow scenes, all described and portrayed with finesse. I love that the reader is cautious about letting him- or anyone for that matter close to her. I love how selfless she is, how she loves her daughter and puts her before all. I love how Beomgyu understands her reasoning, how he loves HER love. She’s busy taking care of everyone and he quietly takes care of her– it’s so gut wrenchingly perfect. I really can’t explain it but he’s also so,, Beomgyu,, in this fic. It’s Beomgyu, okay?? Soobin is my favorite character, I'm so sickly attracted to him with kids, no less as such a caring man. The ending feels perfect, it’s like aftercare. Something I needed after the emotions the first half of the fic gave me. You really go into detail about the little things, the flowers he left out for her, not too close but close enough to where his intent would be made clear. It’s those tiny tiny additions that ties this entire fic together. Beomgyu and reader slowly finding themselves again – returning to the people we got to know through the flashbacks, it’s such a satisfying ending and it leaves you feel both warm and content inside. I will be recommending this to every single person I know. Thank you very much! Raya you’re amazing >_<

WHAT REMAINS THE SAME

pairing: choi beomgyu x single-parent reader

On the hardest, most terrifying day of your life, when your body is tearing open and everything feels like it’s coming undone, his name is the only one your heart remembers to call for.

warnings: childhood friends, longing, romance, angst, second chance, pregnancy, set somewhere in 90s, mistakes, parenting, flashbacks, timeskips, guilt, alcohol-induced!manipulation, descriptions of giving birth, subtle signs of postpartum!d, plot heavy, pov switching, drunk in-love beomgyu (lol), abandonment, used different idols as ocs. if any of the warnings above might be triggering for you, please step back. let me know if I missed anything. this is a work of fiction.

smut!warnings: multiple-smut scenes, missionary, nipple-play, fingering, oral!fem receiving, virginity-loss.

wc: 31k

notes: hiii! took long but she's here. i've dreamt about this once, and i couldn't stop writing. while I’ve done some research to better understand what it’s like to be a mother, there may still be inaccuracies, i did my best to approach the subject with care and respect. xxx

How does it feel to grow up with someone, know their laughter, their fears, the way their voice sounds in the dark and then never see them again?

A part of you is missing and you’re the only one who knows.

Would things be easier if there was closure?

Closure when your parents shattered whatever was left of a home, walking away like love was something that could be unlearned. Closure when you realized your dreams of college were slipping, no matter how tightly you held on. Closure when your anger turned inward—when your foot slammed into a doorframe and the only person you could blame was the one looking back in the mirror.

Would it hurt less if you had said goodbye to him? Or would it have made losing him even worse?

"Mom, I'm gonna be late!"

You hurriedly dab lipstick onto your lips, your other hand frantically smoothing down your hair, hoping it doesn’t look like a complete disaster.

"Mommy?"

"Just a second, sweetheart," you mumble, shoving the lipstick back onto the cluttered vanity before standing up to steal one last glance in the mirror. It’s not perfect. But then again, when have you ever been?

You step out of the room, each movement slower than it should be, the kind of tired that sleep can’t fix clinging to your bones. The stairs creak beneath your feet, groaning like they know how heavy it all is.

At the bottom, she’s already waiting. Your daughter, backpack snug and shoes on the wrong feet again, bouncing like the world is brand new. Her smile hits you like sunlight through a window you forgot was there... so full of life it steals the breath from your lungs.

You force a smile back. You’re getting good at that.

It’s almost cruel, how radiant she looks. Hair brushed, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with a kind of hope you haven’t felt in years. And then there’s you, barely held together, eyes raw from the night you didn’t sleep, wearing yesterday’s grief under today’s clothes.

People say kids reflect their parents. But she glows, and you… you’re flickering. And still, you kneel to tie her shoelaces. Still, you kiss her forehead and tell her she’s going to have the best day. Because even when you’re unraveling, you stitch yourself back together for her.

"You ready?"

"Aye, aye, captain!" she giggles.

You should be laughing with her, but your steps slow as your eyes catch the steady drip of the kitchen faucet. The soft plink, plink, plink echoes, a reminder of another thing left unfixed, another problem waiting for your attention.

You exhale, rubbing your temple. “Guess I’ll have to call someone to fix that… again.”

When you turn back, she’s already watching you—wide-eyed, her face painted with innocent curiosity. She doesn’t ask what’s wrong, doesn’t understand the weight of things like broken faucets, overdue bills, and work that keeps you up at night.

And you don’t want her to. Not while she can still giggle over silly things and believe the world is simple.

You double-check the locks before leaving. It’s muscle memory by now. Stove off, windows closed, doors latched tight. You scan the room one last time. You carry her to the car, buckle her in, and start the engine. The morning air is cold, the silence even colder but she fills it like she always does. Why are there more clouds today? Why are wheels round? Why is it called a car?

And you answer every question, every single one, because as long as she’s asking, you get to speak. You get to be known. You get to be real to someone. She knows your voice. She trusts it. And in her tiny, curious world, you are enough.

You remember the beginning. Those nights when she was barely one and you were… barely human. When her cries echoed through the walls and your body was too heavy with fatigue to even cry back. When no position, no lullaby, no amount of rocking made her stop and you were left wondering what you were doing wrong.

There were nights you stood in the hallway, holding her like a lifeline, tears sliding silently down your face while hers screamed out loud, both of you breaking in different languages.

But you’re here now, driving her to school, answering questions about clouds and wheels and words. You think… maybe you made it through the worst of it. You're still here, hands on the wheel, heart somewhere in the rearview mirror.

"Nari!" The booming voice cut through the air the moment you stepped out of the car, your daughter still nestled in your arms. You barely had time to turn before a familiar figure came sprinting toward you, like a man starved for something he’d only been missing a week. It made you chuckle, he always acted like it had been years since he last saw her.

"Uncle Binnie!"

Nari wriggled free, launching herself into his waiting arms. He caught her effortlessly, lifting her high before spinning her around, her laughter ringing out. Heads turned. Strangers watched. And you saw it too, the way he held her so easily, the way she clung to him, like father and daughter rather than what they really were.

You walked closer, and Soobin stretched out an arm, wordlessly inviting you in. You let him hold you, because you owed him your life.

"So," he said, his voice lighter now, as if this—this reunion, this familiarity—was as much his comfort as it was yours. His arm stayed draped around your shoulders, Nari tucked against his side. "How have my two favorite girls been?"

Nari giggled at the word favourite, her tiny hands clinging to him. "Mommy's been busy all days, uncle!"

The two of you laughed at the words your daughter. "Really? She's not playing with you?"

"Well, she plays with me still." She pouts and Soobin pinches her nose lightly. "But she's always busy."

You rest a hand on your daughter's head, gently smoothing her hair as her words settle deep inside you. After everything, you raised a child this kind, this thoughtful. A proof that you did something right. It burns in your chest.

She is the best thing that has ever happened to you.

The three of you walked toward the restaurant where Soobin had booked a reservation, his voice light as he chatted with Nari about her new teacher and the friends she’d made. You let them talk, let their voices blur into background noise as you glanced inside through the frosted windows.

Families.

Because it was Christmas.

A lump swells in your throat the moment you step inside. Parents leaning close to their children, wiping crumbs from tiny mouths, passing plates with gentle hands. Grandparents pulling little ones into their arms like gravity itself is made of love. Siblings bickering over who got more dessert, only to split the last bite anyway.

Every table holds something whole. Something complete. You hold your daughter's hand a little tighter.

You see it everywhere now, in the drop-off lines where both parents wave from the car window. In the grocery store, where dads lift kids onto their shoulders and moms scold them lovingly for grabbing too many snacks. In the tiny moments that most people take for granted, you see the shape of something you couldn’t give her.

Fate had a cruel way of making sure you never forget.

Nari was a big eater, one of the few traits she hadn’t inherited from you. She sat beside Soobin, happily digging into her food, her small hands clutching her utensils with eagerness. Meanwhile, you barely touched your plate, absently pushing the food around, taking a few bites here and there but never really eating.

Soobin noticed. "What's wrong?"

"Huh?"

His gaze softened, "Are you okay?" For some reason, his words made you smile. After all these years, he was still the most observant person you knew. Well… almost.

Because there had been someone else.

Someone who had noticed things about you without you ever having to say a word. Someone who had memorized the way your hands trembled when you were nervous. Someone that could read you in a glance, catch the shift in your breath before the words ever left your lips, but you haven’t seen him in years. Haven’t said his name out loud in even longer. And you weren’t sure if you ever would.

You weren't sure if you could.

"I am," you say, forcing the words out before glancing at Nari, watching as she happily munched on her pasta. "I guess I just don’t really like the holidays that much."

Soobin blinked, studying you for a moment before offering, "We can go watch a movie after dinner? Nari’s been wanting to see that one."

You nod, giving him another small, grateful smile. You reach for your water, ready to wash down the tightness in your throat, when he speaks again. "I also… heard."

You turn to him, brows furrowing. "Heard what?"

Soobin hesitates, his fingers gripping the edge of his fork. "He’s back in town."

Your heart stalls.

"Who?"

You shouldn’t have asked.

"Choi Beomgyu."

"Choi Beomgyu!" you squealed as the boy snatched the paper from your hands. "Yah! Give it back!"

"Don't cry over this," he said firmly, already folding the paper before you could grab it. Effortlessly, he slung your backpack over one arm while reaching for his own, slipping the paper inside.

A paper you were sure you’d never see again.

"What would my parents think, idiot?"

"I’d just tell them you got passing marks. No way they’d believe a high score anyway—ouch, ouch! I’m sorry! Fuck!" Beomgyu yelped as you tugged at his ear, swatting weakly at your hands in protest. His ears turned red, whether from the pull or the fact that you touched him, you weren’t sure.

"You think I haven’t already tried that?" you huffed.

"Well, no," he admitted. "But your parents love me more than you—ow! I mean, I mean, they see me as their own kid!" He laughed at your pout, eyes crinkling with amusement.

"You wanna be siblings then?"

"Hell no."

You turned away at his answer, crossing your arms as you walked. The buttons of your high school uniform pressed uncomfortably into your skin, but you ignored it. Beomgyu, your best friend, immediately followed. Like he always did.

The Beomgyu magnet to Y/N.

That’s what everyone called it.

Students stared as the two of you walked, their gazes lingering a little too long. A few even called out to Beomgyu, tossing him belated "Happy 19th birthday!" greetings, nevermind that his birthday had been last week.

Maybe that was just the price of being him. The kind of popular where people scrambled for any excuse to talk to you, even if it meant getting the date wrong. He’s smart, been in the school band since forever, and unfortunately, he’s not exactly hard to look at.

Not that you’d ever say that out loud.

"You mad?" he asked beside you. You shook your head, not even looking at him. From the corner of your eye, you caught the smirk tugging at his lips. "Hungry?"

You swatted his hand away when he poked at your sides, barely listening to his words. Beomgyu didn’t get the hint or maybe he did and just didn’t care. Either way, you kept walking, your chest tight, your hands curled into fists at your sides.

That damn test paper, crumpled inside his bag like it wasn’t another reminder of your failure. Like it wasn’t proof that no matter how hard you tried, it still wasn’t enough. You stayed up late. You gave up sleep, let the words blur and the numbers dance until they made sense. And for what? A score so low it made your stomach churn. The people that said they barely studied flashed scores that were twice as high as yours. Effortless. Like success was something they were born with, something they carried in their blood while you were left clawing for scraps.

It’s pathetic, isn’t it? That the only thing you have is passion and even that can’t save you.

"Hey."

You hadn’t even noticed your best friend catching up, too lost in your own head to hear his footsteps, but now he was in front of you, walking backward to see your face, deliberately blocking your path. "Don't think about it," he said,"I told you not to."

"I wasn’t thinking about anything.",The lie barely made it past your lips. You swallowed hard, forcing your voice to stay steady, but it was useless. Especially when he was looking at with the soft eyes of his.

There are moments you catch yourself wanting to pull away from him. Not because he did anything wrong—the opposite, really. He’s everything you’re not. He barely studies but still gets by with decent grades, he’s effortlessly good at almost everything, like life just hands him a script and he nails it every time. And you hate that it gets to you. You wanted to pull away from him.

How do you resent someone who’s never done anything but shine?

"Y/N," His eyes searched yours. "You look like you're about to cry."

You blinked at his words, but they don’t surprise you anymore. Beomgyu has always been seeing you. You clear your throat, a flimsy attempt to steady yourself, but he’s still looking at you. Still seeing too much. And then it happens—the slightest sniff, barely there, but he catches it.

"Can we go now?" Your voice trembles, and the second it does, his eyes widen just a little, something unreadable flashing across them. When he sees the gloss in yours, he reaches for you, fingers wrapping safely around your wrist.

"Come on," he murmurs, tugging you forward. You let him, swallowing back the lump in your throat, willing yourself not to fall apart here.

Not in front of everyone.

Being the daughter of a family of eleven, no one expected much from you. You were just another name in a crowded house, another body squeezed into too little space. School was a luxury, not a necessity. No one thought you’d make it past middle school.

Except your mother.

She saw the way your fingers traced the edges of worn-out textbooks, the way your eyes lingered on words you barely understood but desperately wanted to. And she let you chase that dream, even when it meant stretching what little you had even thinner.

"Hard work never betrays you," they say. But they never tell you how much it can hurt, because what do you do when you give everything; your nights, your energy, your hope, only to fall short? How are you supposed to believe in effort when all it leaves you with is failure?

"Stop sniffing, Y/N!" Choi Soobin snaps, his half-eaten lunch sitting in front of him on the makeshift mat spread across the school rooftop. "Seriously, it's driving me crazy."

You press your handkerchief to your nose again, trying to stay quiet. It’s lunchtime, but your food stays untouched. Just the thought of eating turns your stomach.

"Maybe stop talking with your mouth full," Beomgyu cuts in, not even bothering to look up. Then he glances at Soobin and adds, flatly, "And don’t yell at her."

"I'm just so pissed about that teacher giving her such a low score. Did you see her essay? It was her best one yet, she did so good!" the taller boy grumbles, pouting as he reaches over to pinch your cheek gently.

Your eyes—still a little red—meet his. “I know, right? I did my best.” you say, voice cracking just before the tears start all over again.

Beomgyu clicked his tongue, giving Soobin’s leg a light kick. “You made her cry again,” he muttered, shaking his head as he reached for your unopened lunchbox and popped it open like it was routine. He was already unscrewing your water bottle when Soobin, without a word, placed a tempura on top of your rice, his quiet way of saying sorry.

You wiped at your eyes, the ache in your chest softening just a little at the sight. When Beomgyu handed you your utensils, you took them without hesitation.

The universe didn’t give you everything you wanted but it tried to make up for it by giving you two people.

Everyone had gone back to eating. You reached for your food, slowly scooping the rice balls your mother had packed. Then, you glanced to your right. Your tear-streaked eyes—now lighter—and your mouth still full of rice met Choi Beomgyu’s gaze.

His eyes now filled with relief.

You forget little things all the time; where you left your pen, what day it is, one thing your mom asked you to grab from the market, but somehow, no matter how much time passes, you'll never forget the day you met your best friend.

You met Choi Beomgyu in kindergarten, when you were barely six years old. It wasn’t one of those storybook friendships that happened overnight. You just knew that the other kids were always too loud, too messy, too much and Beomgyu, was the only one who wasn’t. He was quiet. He didn’t try too hard. And then one day, your teacher asked the boys to choose a girl for the class dance. Without a word, Beomgyu walked straight to you. When you asked him why, he shrugged and said, “You don’t annoy me as much.”

It wasn’t exactly poetic but, it felt like the start of something that would last.

The only reason the friendship ever started was because neither of you found the other annoying. That was it. A comfort in each other’s presence. And somehow, that small reason stretched into something that lasted over a decade.

You grew up like that, orbiting each other through school days, lazy summer nights and wordless understandings. Eventually, people stopped calling you just friends. You were best friends. Branded, known. His name was a permanent fixture in your mouth; yours was stitched into every part of his life. His house felt like a second home. His mother always smiled a little softer when you came over, brushing your hair back like you were hers. Beomgyu’s older brother loved teasing him but was always strangely gentle with you.

It was rare to see one of you without the other.

Middle school was when you really noticed it—how Beomgyu started to change. He got louder. Braver. Started laughing with people you'd never seen him talk to before. His circle widened almost overnight. More guy friends, more inside jokes you didn’t quite understand, more people calling his name in the hallway. He picked up a guitar one day and never really put it down after that. It made you scared that he'll change with you too.

But he didn’t. Not once.

He still waited for you after class. Still leaned in to place his head on your shoulders when he was bored, still flicked your forehead lightly just to see you scowl. Still remembered the exact way you liked your ramen, and still offered the last bite even though he pretended not to care. And when someone tried to mess with you once—a cruel joke whispered too loud—Beomgyu didn’t even hesitate. He was there before you could even speak, standing in front of you like a wall you didn’t ask for.

Protective in a way that made your chest ache.

By the time middle school ended, the whispers had started. Are they dating? They’re always together. They have to be something.

You heard it all—in the hallways, behind half-closed locker doors, in the sharp glances thrown your way from girls when you and Beomgyu laughed like the world only existed for the two of you. It made something twist in your chest you got scared, unsure. You didn’t know what you were supposed to feel, or what he felt, or if either of you were even allowed to change the shape of what you’d always been.

So, just for a day, you pulled away.

You ignored him, let your eyes pass over him like he wasn’t there, didn’t wait at the gate like you always did, didn’t answer his questions. It wasn’t meant to hurt him. It was supposed to be space.

And that day, was the first time you ever saw Choi Beomgyu cry.

You never dared again.

In a house full of noise, with siblings, all louder and needier than you, it was easy to feel invisible. Your voice always got lost, your victories overlooked, and your sadness mistaken for silence.

Beomgyu saw you.

Where your family’s attention scattered, he gave you his wholly. He noticed when you were quiet, asked when no one else did. Remembered things no one bothered to learn. The way you preferred your socks mismatched. The way your hands trembled when you were overwhelmed. The way you lit up, just a little, when someone said your name.

With that kind of attention, it made you feel like you and him, alone, were enough.

High school brought a lot of changes. New uniforms, new hallways, new people. And Choi Soobin. The quietest boy you’d ever met. Kind in a way that didn’t demand attention. Always alone, always lingering just outside the crowd, like he hadn’t figured out how to step inside yet. It wasn’t you who invited him. It was Beomgyu.

“He looks lonely,” he’d said one afternoon, watching Soobin trail behind the rest of the class. “Let’s have lunch with him.”

And slowly, Soobin bloomed. Around the two of you, he laughed louder, smiled wider, filled space with stories and inside jokes and that rich, echoing laugh with his dimples that made everything feel a little warmer.

It was beautiful, watching him come alive, because you knew that feeling. You knew what it was to bloom like that.

You, too, bloomed because of Choi Beomgyu.

"You don’t like it?" Beomgyu asks, noticing the frown tugging at your face. His brows pull together in concern. "Why’d you go for that weird flavour?"

The two of you are walking side by side, the street quiet except for the sound of your footsteps. You’d said goodbye to Soobin five minutes ago, he lived on the other side of town, and his path had already veered off.

"It looked interesting," you mumble, pouting as you glance at Beomgyu taking a bite of his strawberry ice cream, one you’ve never seen him pick before. "It tastes awful, Gyu."

He laughs at the frustration in your voice, reaching out with his right hand for the lavender ice cream you picked on a whim. You hand it over without protest, eyes hopeful.

"You give in way too easily, with sales talk." When he offers his strawberry cone in exchange, you grin, already tasting victory. "That one's way too sweet anyway."

"Then why’d you get it?"

Beomgyu shrugs, eyes on the sidewalk. "Because it’s your favourite," he says simply. "And just in case you hated yours."

His words warmed your cheeks even as you keep your eyes forward. You keep walking, heart thudding a little too loudly in your chest, footsteps in sync with his like they’ve always been. You stay close to the edge of the sidewalk, careful not to drift too near. Beomgyu walks beside you, his hand swinging lazily at his side, fingers occasionally brushing against the fabric of his uniform pants. So casual. So unaware of how close he is.

And all you can think about is that space between you.

What would he do if you reached out and held his hand?

"No, Mom!"

Your attention shifts to a wailing child as you near the familiar playground you both pass every time you walk home. The kid is mid-meltdown, clearly not ready to leave, while his mother looks like she’s holding on by a thread. You scoff, shaking your head. "I don’t think I’ll ever be a mom. I can’t stand kids." A laugh bubbles out from beside you. You roll your eyes, already knowing who it’s from.

"Stop laughing," you mutter. He does but the grin stays, soft and a little amused. You catch him looking at you.

"What?"

"Nothing," he says, still smiling. "Just pictured a tiny version of you throwing a tantrum like that."

"As if."

“Do you want to swing for a bit?” he sways the conversation, nodding toward the playground.

You blink. “Huh?”

“The swings,” he says again, a bit more softly this time. “I can push you.” You glance over, surprised, but his expression is sincere, almost serious in that way Beomgyu gets when something small matters more than it should. And you remember…how you both used to love this.

“Okay,” you murmur, “Sure.”

The playground is mostly empty now. The crying child from earlier is gone, carried away by a tired mother. A few scattered voices float in the breeze, but it’s peaceful, quiet enough to hear the rustling of trees, the soft creak of the swing chains. From here, you can see the lower half of the town, rooftops glowing under the setting sun, like something out of a memory.

You finish the last bite of your ice cream, sit down on the swing, and feel his hands gently press against your back. "You ready?"

For a while, he says nothing after that. Just pushes you with that soft kind of attention he’s always had—like you’re something delicate he’s afraid to damage. Every time you glance back at him, he’s already looking at you, smiling.

You think it's because your smile is too wide to hide.

The breeze dances through your hair, and the sun dips lower, casting everything in gold, and when you look back at him again, his hair tousled by the wind, his eyes soft, his face glowing in that dying light; your breath catches.

He’s beautiful. He's always been beautiful. In the way he’s always looked at you.

“Y/N.” The sun has dipped. It’s been about thirty minutes since you first sat down. Beomgyu now sits on the swing next to yours, feet dragging lightly against the gravel, head bowed like he’s studying the way his fingers twist together.

You glance at him. “Hm?”

“I… I have to tell you something.” His eyes stay fixed on his hands.

You try to lighten the mood, like you always do when he gets like this, “You need anything?” you tease, nudging his foot with yours. “Is that why you pushed me off the swings earlier?” He lets out a short, breathless laugh, but his eyes never meet yours.

“I— I’m going out of the country.”

“Oh, wow,” you say, perking up. “That sounds amazing! It’s your first time, right? Who would’ve thought you’d be getting on a plane before me? Where are you going? How long’s the vacation? Are you gonna—"

You stop mid-sentence. He’s finally looking at you, and there’s something in his expression that makes your heart sink. “What’s wrong?” you ask, quieter now.

“I’m not going on vacation,” he says. “I’m moving. For college. My parents got this opportunity… it was all kind of sudden. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

You stare at him.

Leaving. He’s leaving.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice is small. It barely carries over the creak of the swings, but it’s enough, enough to make Beomgyu go still.

You don’t know why that’s the first thing you said. Maybe because it’s easier than saying please don’t go. Your hands are freezing, even though it’s not that cold out. It’s the way your whole body feels hollow now, like something vital’s been yanked out of you. You remember the stories—the ones your classmates whisper like warnings.

People who leave this town don’t come back.

The thought of him leaving terrified you.

Beomgyu shifts in the swing beside you, the chains rattling. “Y/N, I… I didn’t know how. Everything happened so fast and I—” When he finally looks at you, you wish he hadn’t. There’s guilt written all over his face. It makes you feel worse.

“You still should’ve told me.” You grab your bag, his hands flinch as you pull it from them, and you’re already on your feet. You take it without meeting his eyes. “I’m going home.”

He says your name, again and again, but you’re already walking. Fast. Like if you stop, it’ll all hit you at once and you’ll break apart right there in front of him.

You don’t look back.

Because you know if you do, you’ll beg him to stay.

You slipped through the front door of your home without a sound. It was too easy, when no one really looked at you long enough to see the redness in your eyes.

Your family wasn’t rich but they managed to rent a house with just enough space to pretend everyone had their own corner. Yours was the storage room. Barely wide enough for a mattress, with walls that breathed dust and silence. But it was yours. Four claustrophobic walls and a door you could close on everything else. You dropped your bag and sat on the floor. The mattress creaked behind you, but you didn’t move. You just sat there, blinking hard against the tears that threatened again.

This was the one place where it was safe to fall apart other than in front of him.

It’s been hours since you got home. Hours since you last your best friend. Since he told you he was leaving.

At first, you were angry. Furious, even. You buried your face in your pillow and cried like it would undo the words he’d said. It felt like betrayal. You kept thinking: Why didn’t he tell you sooner? He’d told you everything before. Every stupid little secret. Every bad decision. Every dream. And this—this—he kept quiet.

But anger doesn’t last. Not when it’s him.

Why did you react like that? Why couldn’t you have just smiled and said, I’m happy for you? What kind of best friend gets upset when someone they love is finally getting out?

Because of all people—he deserves to leave this town.

He’s always dreamed bigger than these cracked sidewalks and dead-end streets. Always reached for something more while you stayed tethered to what’s familiar. He’s leaving you. You wipe your eyes again, though it’s useless. The tears keep coming, your body hasn’t figured out how to stop grieving yet. You’ll apologize tomorrow. The moment the sun rises. You’ll tell him you were wrong. That you’re proud of him. That you’ll miss him more than he’ll ever know.

Because he deserves that.

You’ll apologize tomorrow... tomorrow?

The thought tastes wrong in your mouth. What if tomorrow is too late?

You sit up suddenly, heart pounding. The clock reads 9:04 PM. You listened outside, the house is still. Silent. You know the rhythm of your family’s sleep—light snorers, tired bones, people who won’t notice you’re gone as long as you're quiet. You grab your jacket, moving carefully across the creaking floorboards. Your door opens with a whisper. One cautious step, then another, and you're at the front door, fingers trembling slightly as they find the lock.

The outside air is cool against your skin as you crack the door open. But just as you take a step out, you freeze.

Across the street, lit faintly by the orange glow of the nearest streetlamp, someone sits on the pavement. Legs stretched out, hands buried deep in the pockets of a hoodie you know too well.

Choi Beomgyu.

Your breath catches in your throat.

“Hi, pretty.”

“You—” A curse almost slips out, but you bite it back, glancing toward the hallway behind you. You lower your voice. “What the hell are you doing here? What if I didn’t come out, idiot?”

The furrow in his brow from earlier is gone now, replaced by that familiar boyish grin, the one that always makes it harder to stay mad.

“But you did come out,” he says simply. He rises from the pavement with that lazy ease he always carries, brushing his hands on his jeans before holding them out—open, waiting—but he doesn’t move toward you. Just stands there. Looking at you like he knew you’d come. Like he hoped you would. You hear it in the quiet expectant look on his face. Come here.

And you do.

Your feet move before your mind catches up, closing the distance between you and him. Without a word, you wrap your arms around his waist, his arms are already around you before your face finds the safety of his chest. He pulls you in tighter, like he's afraid that if he doesn't hold you close enough, you’ll disappear too.

Beomgyu leans down, buries his face in your hair, and breathes in—one deep, shaking inhale that sounds like worry, like guilt, like relief all tangled into one. Because he was.

“I knew you’d come out,” he whispers. His voice is soft, cracking at the edges, and it breaks something in you. Your eyes sting immediately. “I’m sorry,” he adds.

You pull back reluctantly, almost having to pry yourself from his arms because he doesn’t loosen his grip right away. When you finally look up at him, your voice is barely above a whisper. “No… I’m the one who’s sorry.”

He’s staring at you now, like you’re something fragile in his hands. His gaze scans your face slowly, like he’s trying to memorize every flicker of emotion before it fades. His left arm stays wrapped around you, grounding you, while his right hand comes up, gently cupping your face. His palm is warm. Familiar. It fits too perfectly against your skin. You’ve always been close to him. But this—this feels like a different kind of closeness, and you can’t look away.

Not when he’s looking at you like this.

Not when the soft, slow stroke of his thumb across your cheek sends shivers through your chest, makes your breath hitch and your heart stutter.

Is it because he's leaving?

“Have you been crying?” he whispers, voice is barely there, like he’s afraid to ask, afraid to know the answer. His hand stays warm on your face, thumb trailing just beneath your eye. He’s not wiping tears—there are none left—but it’s like he can feel where they were, tracing. “Have you?” he asks again, softer this time.

You try to look away, but his hand gently guides you back, eyes locked onto yours. Your voice comes out in a breath, cracked and small. “It was my fault.”

“No,” he interrupts, voice thick, eyes glassy. “I don’t want to leave you.” He leans in, resting his forehead against yours, and you close your eyes, the burn behind them almost unbearable now. He pulls back just enough to kiss your forehead. Another lands gently on the bridge of your nose. You’re still, barely breathing, as his lips hover close to yours. “I’ve been in love with you for years,”

Your eyes flew open. “What?”

“Did you really not see it?” His voice cracked. “That I’m completely, stupidly in love with you?”

You shook your head, stunned, your cheeks burning despite the ache swelling in your chest.

“God,” he breathed, pulling you into him, “it’s taking everything in me not to kiss you right now.”

His arms tightened around you, desperate. “Since you didn't hear me out earlier, I'll say it now. I swear I’ll come back. As soon as I can. I’ll come for you. I'll make it up to you. You better be ready—I want your bags packed the second I show up. I made Soobin promise to walk you home every day, because I know how easily your mind wanders and it drives me insane.”

You clutched his shirt, the tears finally breaking free. “I’ll wait for you,” you whispered, voice wrecked as you cried. “I promise.”

He pressed his lips to your hair. “Good.”

“And Gyu?” you murmured, voice muffled against his chest. He hummed in response, arms still wrapped tightly around you, your face pressed against the fabric of his shirt, breathing him. “I’ve been in love with you too,”

You didn’t have to see his face—you’ve known him for thirteen years. You felt the way his whole body stilled for a second, then melted, like the words filled something he hadn’t dared to hope for. You knew he was grinning, that crooked, boyish grin that always made your heart trip. He pulled you impossibly closer, like he wanted to fuse you into him.

And under the soft, flickering lamplight, it’s the kind of scene that belongs in a movie. Two teenagers, holding on like the world might tear them apart the second they let go. Two hearts beating too loud, too fast.

Hopelessly, breathlessly in love.

When Beomgyu pulled away from the hug, his eyes flicked to the door of your house. You were meant to go inside but his expression asked you to stay. You slipped your fingers into his.

“Can I come with you?”

He didn’t even hesitate. He never could, not with you. Maybe it was the quiet defiance of it, or maybe it was the way things had shifted—how it suddenly felt like you were his, and he was yours. The truth that the two of you belonged to each other now. He reaches out, his hands waiting for yours.

It only took a second when you did.

That night, you didn’t walk into the comfort of him home, or the usual warmth of his family’s greetings. You followed him up to his room, quietly.

He made sure you were comfortable, tucking you in gently before leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’ll just turn off the lights,” he murmured, his voice low.

You shifted onto the left side of the bed, heart thudding as you waited. Every creak of the mattress as he moved made your breath catch. The bed dipped with his weight, and you held your breath, listening to the quiet rustle of sheets and the sound of your own pulse pounding in your ears. "Beomgyu?" you whispered.

His response was immediate. “You need something?”

You hesitated, teeth tugging at your bottom lip. “Can you… hold me?”

Two strong arms snaked around your waist as soon as you said those words, and Beomgyu's lips were against your nape. He left trails of kisses on your neck up to the back of your ears, his body pressed on yours. "I thought you'd never ask."

You giggle, breathless, and he laughs too, warm against your skin. He presses a few more soft kisses to the back of your head, then his voice drops to a whisper against your ear. “Can I touch you?”

Your breath hitches, but you nod. His hand slips beneath your shirt, fingers brushing lightly across your stomach. “This okay?” he asks, voice gentle.

You nod again, barely able to get the word out. “Yeah.”

His hand travels higher, fingertips gliding up until they meet the bare curve of your chest. He pauses, just long enough to make your heart race. His lips are at your neck now, breath hot. “This okay too?”

When he feels you nod, his hand moves with more purpose, fingertips gliding over the curve of your breast. He cups you fully, palm warm, thumb brushing the softness, squeezing just enough to make you arch subtly into his touch. He teases, exploring everywhere except where you need him most, drawing out the ache with every careful touch. When his fingers finally graze your nipple, a quiet moan slips from your lips before you can stop it. He pauses, his breath brushing against your neck. “You can tell me to stop anytime, okay?”

Then he pulls his hand away from under your shirt, and the sudden absence makes you whine, your body instinctively chasing after his warmth. Before you can speak, he cups your face gently, tilting your head until your eyes meet. It’s dark—but he's close, so close—you can make out the shape of his face, the softness in his gaze.

He leans in, brushing a featherlight kiss over your lips. Then another. You giggle softly, breath mingling, and when your lips part in a smile, he takes it as invitation. This time the kiss is deep—hungry. His mouth moves against yours with desperation, like he’s been craving your taste for far too long. His hand finds your waist, tugging you closer, bodies aligning in all the right ways as the heat between you builds.

“I need you, Gyu,” you whisper, voice barely there, lost in the way his lips trail along your neck, warm and wet. “Please.”

He pauses just enough to meet your gaze, then his hand slips between your thighs, cupping you through the fabric. The pressure makes your hips jerk, breath hitching.

“Here?” he murmurs, rubbing slow, teasing circles. “You need me here?”

It’s too much, and not enough. Heat pools low in your belly, a need that feels raw and overwhelming. You nod, biting your lip, your voice trembling. “Yes. There. Please.”

He groans, low and deep, and that’s when clothes start disappearing—slowly, messily. Every layer peeled off is interrupted by his mouth; on your lips, your jaw, your collarbones. His hands, greedy and gentle all at once, explore you like he’s memorizing every inch. The room is filled with nothing but breath, the soft rustle of fabric, the occasional hitch of a moan. It takes time—because he makes it take time. Like he wants to savour the reveal, like he’s waited too long to see you like this and now he refuses to rush. He holds and touches you, like your mother made you just for him.

When he finally sinks lower, eyes locked on yours as his lips trace a burning path down your body, you don’t stop him.

“Beomgyu…” You moaned as you clenched your fist on his dark locks. His tongue was doing to your buds as his fingers part your wet folds. You don't know what it is, but it makes your legs quivered as his tongue lapped at your entrance.

Beomgyu grunts as he hears your soft moans, sucking on your clit to hear more. Your taste in his mouth got him drunk as he shook his head from side to side, making your moans go higher as you moved your hips to grind your wetness on his tongue. "Hmm?"

He pulled back, replacing his tongue with his thumb, rubbing her wet clit as he kissed and sucked your inner thighs. Your eyes rolled back as your chest rose up and down, glistening with sweat.

You're fucking beautiful. Beomgyu thought as he looked up at you with hooded eyes. Your lachrymose eyes met his. The sight of your blushing cheeks, eyes asking for more with your lips between your teeth made Beomgyu slightly rut his hips on the bed.

"You'll come back for me, right?" He pumped a finger inside your pussy, curling it to hit your spot as he put his mouth back to work again, flattening his tongue over your swollen pearl before flicking it with the tip. You cried out in pleasure, throwing your head back.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I just couldn't help myself.” He begged as he doubled the finger inside your soaking cunt, making you cry out in pleasure as your hands grabbed the pillow under your head. "I will. I can't live without you."

“I can't resist having all of you.” He kissed your clit, making you whimper at the brief contact. He took off his shirt and pants before pulling you by your arm, sitting you on his lap as he took off your blouse and bra. He kissed around your nipple before taking it into his mouth, moaning at the taste of you.

It’s crazy how you went from crying to rubbing against each other, but both have been craving for this. And now, the situation of him leaving only made his hunger for you increase. Beomgyu thought of everything he could do to show you how sincere he was and how much he loves you. He wanted you to know that you were the only woman he’ll ever touch like this. That he'll come back, that this decision wasn't something he ever wanted. And the growing tent in his boxers is also aching to prove that.

He moved your position to grind on his bulge, letting out quiet moans as he desperately kissed you. He stopped your hips as he moved to your other nipple, lightly biting it while staring at your glossy eyes, making your breath hitch. He hummed as he sucked the pebbled flesh into his mouth, nibbling on it. Once satisfied, he laid your back down, admiring your body as you panted. Your eyes are glistening, and so is your cunt. He groaned at the sight, pushing his hair back and taking his erected member out of its confinement. He pumped it a few times before you sat up and took it into your hand.

“Let me make you feel good.” Beomgyu stopped your hand, giving a kiss on your forehead. “Fuck.” He murmured as he moved to your lips, sucking on them, making you whimper as you laid back down again.

“Beomgyu, please…” You cried when Beomgyu started to rub his shaft on your slit. Every time his head hits her bud, you let out a whimper, eyebrows furrowed and eyes wide as you look up at him.

Beomgyu took his time, grunting before pushing the tip inside. You gasped, grabbing the sheets under, feeling the pain as his length invade you. Your walls fluttered around his cock, making him let out low growls. You felt tears in your eyes as you watched half of his length disappear inside you. Beomgyu took your hand, intertwining your fingers. He kissed your tears.

“Just a little more, love.” Beomgyu shushed when you hissed, feeling a hint of pain as he filled you. His other hand began rubbing circles on your clit to ease the burn from the stretch.

Beomgyu kissed your hand when he was entirely in, giving you time to adjust. You look gorgeous underneath him. Legs wide open,mouth slightly parted, and body glistening under the dim lights of his room. You're all his, and he would never let himself fuck up. He would never let himself do something stupid. He'll come back to you as soon as he can, the thought of you waiting burns him.

Beomgyu started moving slowly when you nod your head, until your whimpers turned into moans. His name echoed in whispers, as you clawed on the skin of his back, leaving red marks. He was cradling your head, and his lips pressed on your ear. He was whispering the sweetest things to you.

“You’re the only one I’d fuck like this, baby. You’re the only one I’d touch like this.” Beomgyu growled, kissing your ear lobes.

“Yes, yes, Beomgyu, please…” You begged as his hips started to thrust harder into you.

“Fuck. You’re the only one I’d make love to, Y/N.” He groaned, feeling your walls clench around him. He could tell that you were both close. Your walls spasmed around him, and his thrust started to stutter.

“I love you and only you. So fucking much.” He stared deeply into your eyes, feeling your orgasm take over your body. His mouth reaches for your sweet lips, your toes curling as your legs wrap around his waist. Beomgyu thrustied into you a few more times before pulling out to spill his thick load on your thighs. He wouldn’t trade you for the world.

After, Beomgyu became the shyiest guy in the world. He silently blushed, cleaned you up before getting under the covers with you.

“I love you,” He started, as he ran his fingers down your back before resting on the lower part of it, pulling you to his chest.

“I love you, Beomgyu.”

“Do you have any plans?” your mother asks softly, her voice barely cutting through the clatter of her hands preparing a lunchbox. You’re in front of the mirror, running your fingers through your hair.

“Plans for what?” you finally say, eyes fixed on your own reflection—not really seeing it.

“It’s your… twentieth birthday.” Your hand pauses mid-motion.

You clear your throat and force a shrug, “Oh. Right.”

She watches as you fumble with the buttons on your blouse, your fingers too stiff, too fast. She sees the shadows beneath your eyes and sighs. “You should take it easy, sweetheart.”

“I am,” you lie, “I just have work. And… I don’t know.” You reach for the lunchbox she’s packed. Transparent. Eggs again. You swallow hard, the sight alone making your stomach twist.

“I’ll get going,” you murmur, already turning away. You don’t meet her eyes. You can’t. Not when you know she’s still watching you—worried, helpless. And not when you’ve gotten so good at pretending it doesn’t matter.

After high school, it wasn’t a shock, you knew college was never in the cards for you. No dramatic moment of realization. Just reality. So here you are, a year later, on your way to work… and you didn’t even remember today was your birthday.

He would’ve remembered. He never missed it.

You shake the thought off like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t stick to the inside of your ribs. You offer stiff smiles to your coworkers as you clock in, grabbing the stack of flyers assigned to you for the day. Real estate. That’s what they call it. What you do is stand outside in the sun, in the cold, in the wind—shoving these papers into passing hands, hoping someone actually cares enough to look.

Most don’t.

But then again… who would take someone like you seriously? Who would even want someone like you?

“Here. It’s on promo today,” you say, holding out the flyer with rehearsed cheer. “You can get ten percent off the down payment if you sign today, and there's a—”

“I’ll do it,” the man cuts in, eyes lingering where they shouldn’t. On you, not the paper.

You blink, caught off guard. “Oh, great,” you say, managing a small smile. Finally. Something good. Maybe you can actually afford to eat something real tonight. Maybe even bring some back for your mom.

“If you sleep with me. One night.” You freeze. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the flyer. You don’t look at him right away—you’re afraid if you do, you’ll either throw up or scream.

“I’ll pay extra,” he adds, as if this is just another business transaction. As if your dignity has a price tag. Your jaw clenches. Slowly, you snatch the flyer back from his hand, crumpling it in your grip.

“Go to hell,” you mutter. You don’t even look back as you turn around, heart pounding—not from fear, not entirely. From exhaustion. From disgust. From the unbearable weight of this being your life. You exhale shakily, trying to bury the sting in your throat.

You thought today couldn’t get worse. But that’s the thing, isn’t it?

Every day’s been worse since.

After that encounter, you had to pull yourself together, force a smile like nothing happened, like the words didn’t stick to your skin and crawl under it. You kept handing out flyers with trembling hands and a voice that cracked more than once. But no one noticed. No one ever does.

You whispered it like a prayer. Please—just one sale. Just one. If there’s anything left out there for you—anyone listening—let today be enough. It’s your birthday, for god’s sake. Let that mean something.

Not a single sale.

Now you’re on the subway, back hunched against the hard plastic seat, eyes locked on the floor like if you move, you’ll shatter. The carriage rocks, people come and go, and still, you sit there, numb.

Your eyes sting, but the tears won’t fall. They never do. Not anymore. Because nothing hurts more than the ache that’s lived inside you for the past year. It's a wound that learned how to stop bleeding and just started swallowing you whole instead.

You pulled out your wallet and started counting what little was left. Bills folded too many times, coins barely enough to matter. You stared at the total for a second, then let out a quiet sigh. Fuck it. A drink won’t fix anything but it’ll help you tonight. You took a different bus route tonight.

The pub is dim, you step inside quietly, hoping not to draw attention. You don’t belong here, but you don’t belong anywhere these days. You could be anyone: a woman with a broken heart, a woman who just lost her job, a woman trying not to fall apart in public. All of them could be true. None of them are far off. You’re still in your work clothes. The blouse is wrinkled, two buttons undone. Your hair’s half-up, half-forgotten, and the look on your face probably says enough to keep people away. You don’t care. You head straight to the bar and order something strong, sitting alone at a stool like it’s the only place left in the world that doesn’t expect anything from you.

"I will. I can’t live without you."

Your breath stutters. The glass trembles slightly in your hand. You almost choke on the drink as the tears sting again—too cruel. You press your lips together and wipe your face quickly, like that’ll stop the pain. You need to leave. Now. Before you break down in front of strangers.

You slide off the stool, heart pounding, eyes glassy ut then the stool beside yours shifts.

“Hi, pretty.”

You freeze. You turn your head slowly, hope rising in your chest before you can stop it—hope that maybe, somehow—

It’s not him.

“Jaehyun,” you say, forcing your features to settle. He noticed the flicker of disappointment in your eyes, the way it sparked and died all in the same breath. You remember him. A batchmate. Schoolmate. Someone who never really talked to you back then.

“What are you doing here all alone?” he asks, already gesturing to the bartender for two drinks.

You shake your head quickly. “No, I’m good.”

He grins, “Come on, just one. I’ve missed you.”

You almost laugh. Bitterness curling behind your teeth like smoke. Missed you? He didn’t even know you. You were never close. You never even talked outside of borrowed notes and hallway nods. And now, here he is, like proximity to your sadness gives him permission to touch it.

Does he miss you too?

You look down at your drink, the ice already melting. “That’s funny,” you mutter, just loud enough.

“What is?”

“You missed me?” you echo, eyebrows raised, voice flat. “We barely spoke in school. Is that a new pick-up line or something?” Your eyes meet his, tired and unamused. You expect him to get defensive, maybe roll his eyes and leave. Part of you even hopes he does. But instead, he laughs.

“Well, sorry,” he says, shrugging, “but you should know, I had this terrible, massive crush on you back then.”

You blink in surprise. He goes on. “Except… Choi Beomgyu basically told me to back off in second year. Guy was obsessed with you.”

Your stomach twists. Choi Beomgyu. You look away, suddenly too aware of your own breathing. The room feels louder, smaller.

Choi Beomgyu that you haven't heard back anything since the day he left.

“He told you that?” you manage to say, voice thinner now, almost brittle.

Jaehyun hums like it’s nothing, like he didn’t just drop a grenade into your chest. “Yeah. Said you weren’t really available. Emotionally or otherwise.” He chuckles. “Dude looked ready to murder me, so I backed off.”

You stare into your glass, watching the light catch on the melted ice. The burn in your throat isn’t just from the alcohol anymore, it’s from everything you’ve buried just to stay standing.

Beomgyu wrote you, at first. The first month after he left, letters came; messy handwriting, little jokes scribbled in the margins, lines that made you cry in secret because he still sounded like yours. His I love yous. And you clung to that. But then… nothing.

You kept writing anyway. Hundreds of letters. You told him everything—about your new job, about how hard things had gotten, about the nights you couldn’t sleep, about how it felt like something inside you was cracking open just from missing him. You even wrote when you were sick, when you thought, maybe this will scare him enough to write back. Still nothing.

You gave him the benefit of the doubt. Told yourself maybe he lost your address. Maybe life got too loud. Maybe something happened. Maybe. But denial only holds you together for so long. One month passed. Then one year. And the silence became an answer you never asked for. You remember checking the mailbox every day like clockwork. Standing there in your pajamas with bare feet on cold tile, praying for something—anything—with his name on it. There was even a day you went to the post office, hands trembling, convinced the letters must’ve gotten stuck somewhere, misplaced, waiting.

But there was nothing.

And now you're outside the pub, crying. You're a mess, knees drawn to your chest on the dim pavement, makeup smudged, throat raw from holding back too long. Drunk, heartbroken. And Jaehyun, this man you barely know, is looking at you like you're shattering.

“Fuck him,” he mutters, his fists clenching at his sides like that might help. “Forget about him, Y/N.” He crouches beside you, his hand awkwardly pressing to your shoulder, trying to comfort you. You barely feel it. Everything inside you is too loud.

Choi Beomgyu.

His name beats in your chest.

“I hate seeing you like this,” Jaehyun says, his voice tightening. “I backed off because of that asshole. And now look. He left. He hurt you. He’s probably living some perfect fucking life while you’re here… like this.”

Choi Beomgyu.

You miss him. You need him.

You can’t say anything. You just keep crying—ugly, silent sobs that make your shoulders shake. There’s nothing left to hold together. Nothing left to explain. No one to explain it to. Your other half isn't here.

Jaehyun’s voice softens, “Stop crying,” he whispers, too close. “You don't deserve this. He forgot you, Y/N. He lied, he's an asshole."

"Come with me. I’ll make you forget him.”

Choi Beomgyu. He'll never come back to you.

Jaehyun reaches out his hand. And just like that, you’re back to that night, back to the night your best friend confessed. You lifted your eyes, only to see his face instead. The man in front of you waves his hand again.

It took long for you to give your hands.

It only takes one decision.

One misstep. One reckless breath you don’t take back in time. People don’t believe that—not really. They think life builds slow, that it gives you warnings, but sometimes, it just tips. One turn down the wrong street. One answer you shouldn’t have given. One goodbye you didn’t mean and suddenly, the shape of your life is different. You think you’re being careful. You think you’re being brave. You think you’re doing the right thing, but the future isn’t some distant, untouchable thing. It's sitting in your hands, waiting for you to move. To decide. Pressed into your palms, like wet clay. You could mold it into anything. Or crush it without meaning to.

You don’t always know which one you’ve done until it’s here.

"You'll take care of yourself, right?" Beomgyu's voice cracks, his lips tremble like they’re holding back everything he doesn’t want to say. His hands cup your face so gently it hurts.

You nod. It’s all you can manage. Your throat is tight, your eyes sting, "I will. I promise."

Behind him, his family waits, luggage in hand, eyes heavy with knowing. The gate is just a few feet away, and it draws a line. A line you can’t follow. A future you’re not invited to.

Beomgyu leans in, kissing you like he's trying to leave pieces of himself behind. A kiss to your forehead. Your nose. Your cheeks. Your lips. "I love you," he says. And somehow, despite the chaos of the airport, the overhead announcements, the rushing footsteps—you hear it. You hear it.

He grips his passport tighter, knuckles white, like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart. He looks at you one last time—eyes burning, jaw clenched—and then he lets go. His hands leave your skin, and something inside you goes with them.

He turns to Soobin, standing behind you, silent and teary-eyed. His voice is low, almost pleading. "Take care of her."

Then he walks away.

You bite your lip hard, tasting salt and copper, as the tears spill freely now. Soobin’s hand rests on your shoulder, but it does nothing to soothe the storm inside you.

Because he's walking away. His figure grows smaller and smaller, swallowed by distance and the sharp fluorescent lights of the terminal.

Then—he stops. He turns around.

And you see it, fresh tears carving down his cheeks. He looks at you. He looks like he wants to run back to you. You shouldn’t be surprised. Not with Beomgyu. Not with the way he loves; loud, reckless, and all at once. He throws his head back, chest heaving, and yells so loud the entire terminal stills:

"I’LL COME BACK FOR YOU!"

You wake with a jolt, gasping like you’ve just surfaced from drowning. Sweat clings to your skin, your forehead slick, and his voice—those last shouted words—still echo like sirens in your ears. You press your palms into your face, trying to ground yourself, but your stomach twists violently. Before you can even think, you’re out of bed, legs shaky, breath uneven. You half-stumble down the hall, grateful that the bathroom’s empty. You barely make it to the sink before the nausea hits.

You vomit. Again. Again. Each heave sends a fresh wave of pain crashing through your skull, like your body’s punishing you for remembering. All you can hear is the frantic thud of your heartbeat, pounding so loud it drowns out everything else.

It’s been over a month since you slept with Jaehyun. A month since you last saw his face. You tried with him—god, you tried, but you can't.

Every moment with him feels rehearsed.

You wipe your face with trembling hands, heart thudding against your ribs like it wants out. The bathroom light flickers faintly above you, and when you finally dare to look up at your reflection, you barely recognize the girl staring back. You’re usually regular. Always have been. But this time… nothing.

The realization hits you like ice down your spine. Your throat tightens as you swallow hard.

You need to buy a pregnancy test.

"I'm pregnant." The words fall from your lips, your eyes fixed on anything but him. The floor. The wall. "I don’t know what to do."

The silence that follows is deafening. You don’t have to look to know he’s staring at the test in your hand—at the two pink lines that changed everything. Then, quietly but without hesitation: “Let’s keep it.”

“I know you don’t love me,” he adds, voice soft even as it cracks at the edges. “I know you’re still…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. The silence stretches, his throat bobbing as he swallows down. “But we can keep it. Together. For the baby.”

And finally, you look at him. Really look. His eyes aren’t pleading. They’re not trying to convince. They’re just… open. Raw. Honest.

“We’ll build something,” he says, stepping a little closer, as if that might make it real. “A home. A family. Just give it time. Move in with me. We’ll make it work.”

Days passed. Somehow, you said yes. You told him you'd try — and he held on to that like it was a promise.

Jaehyun talked more now. About his family in the U.S., how they already knew, how they were surprisingly… supportive. He started picking up little things for the baby, socks, bottles, a stuffed bear with a stitched-on smile. He showed you receipts, color palettes for the nursery. He told you that before the baby comes, he’d have a small apartment ready. For both of you. For your new life together.

You believed him.

Your mother's reaction, on the other hand, was quieter than you expected. No yelling. No disappointment. Just a soft, dull acceptance. Maybe it was because she never expected much from you in the first place. Or maybe she saw how pale you looked, how your hands trembled when you thought no one was watching, and figured silence was the kindest thing she could give. Your father... just ignored it.

You're sitting on a bench in the park, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the grass. You pop a strawberry into your mouth, sweet and cool against the heat. Six months. You're six months pregnant now. Just a little over three left.

Jaehyun sits beside you, a paper bag in hand, his eyes bright with effort. "Here," he says, pulling out a small container of salad. “I made it. Looked up what’s good for the baby. Thought you might like it.”

You smile, soft and small, and take the container from him. You open it — and pause. The smile fades. “Oh.”

He stiffens beside you. “Why?”

You glance up at him, careful with your voice. “I’m allergic to peanuts.” You’ve told him before. Twice. Maybe three times.

His face falls. He takes the container back immediately, as if it’s burned him. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you murmur. You see it in his face, that flicker of guilt, of failure. He’s trying so hard to be someone good for you, for the baby. But the truth is, you barely know each other. You’re still learning each other’s favorite colours, let alone what makes each other hurt.

He reaches for your hand.

You let him hold it.

That day had been going well. Too well. The sun was warm but not suffocating, the breeze gentle against your skin. Jaehyun was laughing, not just smiling, but actually laughing, the kind that made you glance at him sideways because it still felt strange to hear joy from him, to feel it near you.

And you let yourself imagine it. A future. A home.

A baby wrapped in soft cotton blankets.

“Jake?” It was sharp, high-pitched, almost disbelieving. You turn instinctively. A woman stands a few feet away, dressed in crisp neutrals, her expression caught between shock and something you can’t quite name. She looks to be in her forties, and she's staring straight at you. “Are you joking?”

The sun is gone now, replaced by the fading lavender of twilight. A breeze lifts the hem of your shirt slightly, brushing cool against your skin.

“Mom,” Jaehyun says quickly, already letting go of your hand like he has been caught. He stands, tense, defensive. The word Mom hits you like a shove. You try to stand too, slow and awkward, one hand supporting your back, the other braced against the bench. You can feel the weight of her stare, heavy on your belly.

"Hi, I'm Y/N. Jaehyun's told me about you." You smiled or tried to, under her pining stare. Jaehyun just stands there, caught between you and her, mouth slightly open.

Why does he looks so shock?

And in that awful silence, you feel a rush of embarassment crawl up your neck, because you’re standing here, and she’s looking at you like a mistake he should’ve never made.

“Well,” she says, her tone clipped, “He’s never told me about… you.” Her eyes rake over you. From your shoes to the curve of your belly. You bite the inside of your cheek so hard it stings.

He lied.

“Mom, not here. Please. Let’s talk—”

“Is this why you’ve been asking for more money?” Her voice rises, looks around at the food, the soft blanket, the picnic he prepared so proudly. Then her eyes land on your clothes—the ones Jaehyun bought you—and her lip curls. “You thought we knew? That we’d let this happen? That I’d let my son throw his life away for a girl like you?”

“Mom! Stop!” Jaehyun shouts.

Your chest tightens. Your throat burns. You cover your stomach without thinking, hands trembling as they settle over the place your baby lives like you can protect them from her words. The tears sting, but you blink them back.

You look at the father of your child. He should be saying something, anything. He should be standing in front of you, shielding you from the way his mother's eyes tore into you.

He steps toward her. He places his hands gently on her shoulders, leans in, and whispers something you can’t hear. And just like that, she exhales. Composed again. Her mouth presses into a smug, satisfied line as she straightens her purse strap and turns away. “I’ll wait in the car, son.”

Your chest is burning now, your heart lodged somewhere in your throat. You stare at the ground. You can’t meet his eyes.

“I’ll talk to my mom first, ugh, you can go home by yourself, right? I’ll see you soon after. Be safe." He doesn’t even wait for your answer. He jogs off, his figure growing smaller with every step. And all you can do is watch his back.

It’s not unfamiliar to you now, that view.

You stand there a moment longer than you should, frozen in place, lips pressed tight as tears finally spilled down your cheeks. You wipe them away with the back of your hand, rough and fast, like you’re angry at yourself for letting them fall in the first place. Then, gently, you rest your hand on your stomach, “I’m sorry about that,” you whispered.

You walked home alone.

You weren’t surprised when Jaehyun didn’t show up the next morning. Hope had already begun dying in you the moment he left you in the middle of that park without looking back.

It wasn’t him who came. It was a man in a tailored suit with dead eyes and a briefcase that looked more expensive than anything you owned. The family lawyer. He didn’t ask how you were. Didn’t even sit down. We’ll need a paternity test. He’s willing to pay child support. Don’t get any ideas about taking advantage of him.

You stood there, your mother nodding beside you. Your father crossing his arms with dissapointment in his face. Your fingers numb, barely hearing anything over the sound of your own heartbeat screaming in your ears.

Maybe this was some twisted drama, and you were the girl everyone pities at the end, the one who gets left behind while the world keeps spinning. Not the lead. Not even a real character. Just… a consequence.

The future you had barely started cracked before it even had the chance to grow roots.

“Hold on, okay? She’s almost here,” your mother says, voice shaking as she grips your hand.

But it’s slipping, everything is slipping. The pain is unbearable, a tearing, twisting storm from your waist down, and it doesn’t stop. It doesn’t even give you a moment to breathe. Your body feels like it's being ripped apart from the inside out, like it's punishing you for something you don’t remember doing wrong. You can smell the blood. It clings to the air, to your skin, to the sheets already damp beneath you. The weight of what's about to happen, of bringing life into the world while feeling like you’re dying.

“It hurts,” you gasp, voice cracking, tears slipping past clenched eyes. “Mom, it fucking hurts. Help me, please. Get her out of me.”

Your mother squeezes your hand again, then suddenly lets go. “She’s outside. I think she’s here. Just—just wait for me. Hold on.”

The silence that fills the room is unbearable. You stare up at the ceiling, as if by looking high enough, far enough, you can escape this. The pain. The fear.

They say in books, in birth books, in all those neat little guides—you’re supposed to think of something calming during labor. Focus your mind. Ground yourself in something that brings you peace.

You try. Your baby.

You’re going to meet your baby.

That thought should’ve been enough. It should’ve filled your chest with warmth, should’ve steadied the pain tearing through your mind and body. But the next contraction crashes in like a wave with no mercy, stealing the air from your lungs, and all that escapes is a broken scream. “F-Fuck— Somebody, please—”

Think. You have to think of something.

Anything.

Your head thuds back against the pillow. Eyes squeezed shut. Nails digging into the sheets. You're drowning. You're breaking. You're alone—but through the haze, something small slips through.

“Beomgyu…” you whimpered, voice trembling, pleading. “Choi Beomgyu…”

Where are you? Are you okay? Do you know? You imagine his face; the one you’ve tried so hard to forget. The one you buried behind months of silence and sleepless nights. His voice, the sound of home. His laugh that you know like the back of your hand. You still love him. You always have. It never stopped.

On the hardest, most terrifying day of your life, when your body is tearing open and everything feels like it’s coming undone, his name is the only one your heart remembers how to say.

“It’s uncommon, but still normal,” the town doctor says gently, “Some women don’t lactate. Hormones play a big role. But… please, don’t blame yourself.”

You nod without really hearing her, eyes fixed on the floor, your nails digging into the soft, raw skin of your nailbeds. You shift slightly, rocking your sleeping baby in your arms, trying to ignore the weight in your chest that won’t lift.

“Remind me—what’s the baby’s name again?” You blink. Your lips part, but the words don’t come.

“Uh…” you murmur. “I haven’t… thought of one yet.”

The doctor exhales, not unkindly, but tired. “Alright. But it’s been three weeks. She really should have a name by now. Please try to decide soon so we can get her registered.”

You nod again. But the truth is, you’ve thought about it. A thousand names, whispered into the quiet in the middle of the night. But none of them felt right. None of them felt like hers. Or maybe… none of them felt like yours to give.

And so you just sit there, holding this tiny, perfect girl, feeling the weight of everything you should be and everything you’re not.

You gather your things in silence, careful not to wake the baby cradled in your arms. As you step out of the small clinic room, your eyes instinctively scan the hallway, pausing on the sight of couples dotting the waiting area, soft coos and shared smiles hovering between them. Each one holding their newborn close. Each one together.

You start walking, slow and unsteady, the dull throb of healing stitches pulling at your every step. Your body still remembers the pain, even if the world already expects you to move on from it. You wince, adjusting your hold on her, and try not to think about how you haven’t even given your daughter a name.

You should’ve given her at least that.

You glance down. She’s fast asleep, her tiny features softened in slumber, the faintest blush dusting the bridge of her nose. A little replica of you. It almost makes you want to cry. “Look at you,” you whisper, “sleeping like you didn’t have me up all night.”

The wind hits softly as you step outside, cool and crisp. And that’s when you see them; a small cluster of flowers, blooming stubbornly from the cracked soil lining the pavement. Soft petals reaching toward the gray sky.

Rain lilies. Your eyes linger.

Lily… Nari. Nari that means lily.

You look down again, heart twisting. “Nari?” you murmur, brushing a finger against her soft cheek. “Nari.”

You finally have a name now.

“Nari…” you whisper, voice cracked and shaking as you rock her back and forth, again and again. “Please… what’s wrong?”

She won’t stop crying. She’s been crying for hours. Her tiny fists clench in the air, her face red and scrunched as the wails echo through the small, suffocating space. You’ve fed her. Changed her. Held her. Walked in circles until your legs gave out beneath you. Nothing works.

You feel your eyes burn, the tears pooling too fast to blink away. “Mama fed you, changed your diaper… I don’t know what else to do.”

You bounce her gently, almost frantically now, trying to stay calm, trying not to let your own tears fall onto her cheeks. Your arms ache. Your head pounds. You’re too tired to think. Too tired to feel anything but the raw failure in your chest. Your gaze flickers across the room , the mess of bottles, clothes, diapers. The couch you now sleep on, because your room is too small for the crib. Her rocker sits unused in the corner, surrounded by unfolded laundry. Everything feels too much.

You hear the door creak open behind you. “I have class tomorrow,” your sister says, peeking out with a tired frown. “Can you make her sleep?”

“I’m trying,” you choke out, barely able to speak through the sob in your throat. She sighs.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper quickly. “…give me a few more minutes.”

She doesn’t say anything else, just closes the door. You swallow the scream lodged in your chest and hold Nari tighter. Waking your mother isn’t an option. She’s been sick. She’s done enough. And this… this was supposed to be yours. Your responsibility. Your choice.

"Just pictured a tiny version of you throwing a tantrum like that."

You remembered Beomgyu's words, and you laughed. “Yeah, idiot,” you murmured through your tears, voice shaking but light for the first time in hours. “It’s a mini me throwing a tantrum.”

Nari blinked up at you, her cries halting mid-breath, her wide, wet eyes now focused on your face like she’d just seen something new.

“Nari?” you whispered, tilting your head toward her. “Are you curious about what Mama just said? You want a story, is that it?”

A hiccup. A blink. Silence. And just like that… she stopped crying. You breathed out, stunned. The smallest, most fragile peace settling in the quiet of the room.

“Okay,” you said, cradling her close, your voice soft as cotton, barely louder than a breath. “I’ll tell you about Mama’s best friend.”

Your voice filled the space. Low, warm, laced with something tender and bruised all at once. You told her about him. About how the world used to feel safer with him around. You giggled at the memories, surprised at how easily they came flooding back. The way he used to clicked his tounge but always carry your bag anyway. The way he’d say your name when he was trying not to laugh. The way he looked at you like you were something soft in a world that never was.

You didn’t say his name out loud. You weren’t ready.

But for twenty whole minutes, the past lived again in that tiny room, and by the end of it, Nari was asleep in your arms.

It worked like a miracle.

From that night on, whenever Nari cried, you spoke of him, and she listened. Is it because of how soft your voice is? You found yourself remembering him more often, not just in the obvious ways, but in the smallest corners of your day. The way he used to hum while doing homework when the silence got too loud. The way he tapped his fingers when he was nervous.

It was survival.

Because somehow, in your mind, he was here. In the warmth of a blanket tucked around Nari. In the gentle sway of your arms as you rocked her. In the soft words you murmured when she couldn’t sleep. And sometimes, when the night got too heavy and you couldn’t stop crying, it almost felt like he was holding both of you.

As if he’s... here.

His face, and memories that would carry you through the hardest nights.

“Nari, here, baby. Come on, girl.”

You crouch down, clapping your hands softly, eyes wide with wonder, a grin tugging at your lips even as your heart races. She’s moving—wobbling just a little, her tiny feet unsteady but determined.

She takes one hesitant step. Then another. And then a few more, slow and careful, her chubby arms outstretched for balance as she toddles from your mother’s arms toward you.

“That’s it,” you breathe, laughing through the lump in your throat. “Come on, love. You’re doing so well.”

When she finally makes it into your waiting arms, you scoop her up, spinning her gently with a joyful squeal. Her giggles fill the space like music, bright and unstoppable.

“You did it, sweetheart,” you whisper, pressing kisses to her cheeks. “You walked. You really walked.” From across, your mother watches, eyes soft with pride.

"Y/N." The voice is deep, familiar, and it stops you cold. You turn around slowly, your breath catching in your throat. He looks older but his eyes are still soft. Still searching. He glances at the little girl in your mother’s arms, then back at you. And it’s like something clicks.

"You’ve been here all along?" he asks, disbelief painting every inch of his face.

You force a small smile, bending down to kiss Nari’s forehead. “Wait for Mama, okay?” you whisper. Your mother gently takes her inside, casting you a look before the door closes behind them.

You stand, tugging awkwardly at the oversized T-shirt clinging to your frame, your shorts wrinkled, your hair tied up in a messy attempt to feel somewhat put together. You know you don’t look anything like the version of yourself he used to know.

"Hi, Soobin," you say quietly, and he just stares. “Yeah. I’ve been… here.”

His jaw tightens. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He runs a hand through his hair, like he’s trying to make sense of something that refuses to be clean. “Every time I came by, they told me you weren’t around. That you’d moved. And now—” he exhales hard, eyes flickering back toward the house. He doesn’t finish the sentence. You know what he wants to ask. You can feel the question burning in his chest.

You look down at your hands. “I was ashamed,” you admit. “I didn’t go to college. I didn’t do everything the way I said I would. Life happened. Fast.”

You swallow. “I have a daughter now, Soobin. And… you don’t have to keep looking for me. I’m not who I used to be.”

You try to fix your hair, but his eyes drop to your shoulder—and you know he’s seen it. The faint stain from Nari’s spit-up you missed. You cover it too late, embarrassed. You offer another shaky smile, but it barely holds.

Then he moves. He steps forward, without hesitation this time, and pulls you into him. You don’t even have time to brace for it. His arms wrap around you like they remember. Like they never forgot.

“I want to meet her,” he says into your hair.

It was beautiful, the way Nari took to Soobin, like she’d known him all along. Like something in her little heart just recognized him. The moment you placed her in his arms, she blinked up at him, curious and calm. And Soobin, he melted. Immediately. A soft grin tugged at his lips, and the cooing started, gentle and awkward and perfect.

“She’s so tiny,” he whispered, holding her like she was the most fragile thing in the world. Like he was afraid to breathe too hard. But within minutes, he was bouncing her softly, nose brushing against her cheeks, whispering silly things just to make her giggle. He didn’t want to let go. You could see it in the way his arms curled tighter, like maybe holding her could undo all the time lost between you.

When he saw the place you’d been staying in, he didn’t judge. He didn’t say a word about the peeling paint or the single fan in the corner. He just looked at you, eyes determined. “Come with me,” he said. “I have a spare apartment. It’s clean. It’s yours if you want it.”

And before you could even shake your head, he added, “I’ll help with Nari. I’ll help you get back on your feet.”

You said no at first. Of course you did. You couldn’t be that girl; the one who takes advantage of someone’s kindness. Soobin didn’t push. He just came back the next day. And the day after that. And again. Somehow, after long talks with your mother, after long nights staring at the ceiling wondering if you were doing the right thing—you said yes.

Trusting became hard for you. But you found with Soobin, maybe because, he trusted him too.

Moving in felt less terrifying than you thought it would. Soobin didn’t make it feel like charity. He made it feel like home. You found a job a month later. And Soobin… Soobin became the softest constant in Nari’s world. The man she ran to with tiny feet and open arms. The one who could make her laugh when you were too tired to try.

He didn’t replace anything. He just… showed up.

"I also… heard."

You turn to him, brows furrowing. "Heard what?"

Soobin hesitates, his fingers gripping the edge of his fork. "He’s back in town."

Your heart stalls. There’s only one person neither of you have dared to mention in years.

"Who?" You shouldn’t have asked. You shouldn’t want to know.

"Choi Beomgyu."

The moment his name hit the air, you dropped your gaze. Like it burned. You couldn’t meet Soobin’s eyes. You knew what was there; the same quiet questions he used to ask in softer moments, the ones you always left unanswered.

He had tried to make sense of how someone could disappear so completely. How someone like Beomgyu could vanish without so much as a goodbye. You remember those early months—Soobin asking carefully, kindly, trying not to press too hard. What happened between you two? Did something go wrong?

You never said a word. Not really. You built walls around your silence and stayed inside them. Pretending was easier than admitting you’d been left behind without a reason. A year without word turned into six. And in all that time, Beomgyu never did. Never came back. No letters. No apologies. Not even a rumor to hold onto.

It’s almost laughable, if it didn’t sting so much.

When you told Soobin about Jaehyun—the shame, the mess, the lawyer at your doorstep—he understood. No futher questions. No judgment. Just that steady kind of empathy only Soobin ever managed to offer. But when it came to Beomgyu? He never understood. He couldn’t. Or maybe he just wouldn’t. "Beomgyu's so in love with you that I can’t believe it."

Maybe it was because you were both too young. Or maybe he met someone oversea, a girl who laughed like you but didn’t cry like you, someone who studied at the same college, shared the same dreams. Maybe she didn’t come with too much baggage, or sleepless nights.

Maybe by now, he has a new life. A wife. A child.

And if someone had told your nineteen-year-old self that this would be the ending, you would’ve laughed. Laughed like it was the cruelest punchline to a joke you didn’t know you were part of. You didn’t know what love really was back then. Not until it stayed behind when he didn’t.

Not until six years passed and he still lived in your head.

“Groceries?” you ask as you open Soobin’s car, your voice low. He moves slowly, cradling the sleeping Nari in his arms like she’s made of glass, then settling her gently into the passenger seat, tucking the blanket around her like he’s done it a hundred times before.

“I can go pick them up, if you want,” you offer, watching the way he lingers with her.

“You sure?” he asks, eyes flicking to yours as he reaches over, gently fixing the collar of your coat, you hadn’t even noticed it had slipped. “It’s cold today. You okay to drive?”

“I’m sure,” you nod, tugging your sleeves over your knuckles. “Besides, Nari said she wanted to sleep over at your place tonight. Something about your sister’s pancakes and playing with Han.”

He smiles,“She’s been talking about that all week.”

You nod again, more to yourself than to him. “And I can’t leave my car parked out here overnight. So… it makes sense.”

“Alright.” He exhales softly, “Call me if anything happens, okay?”

You huff a quiet laugh. “Still trying to figure that out… this phone.”

He laughs, “I’ll go, then. I’ve got her.”

You step back as he closes the door. “Bye,” you murmur, watching the car pull away. And when the taillights disappear into the evening, you let out a long, tired breath. The cold bites at your fingers as you turn to your own car.

The drive was short.

You rub your hands together as soon as you step out into the cold, breath fogging in front of you. The night has settled deep. The parking lot is nearly empty. A few cars. A flickering streetlamp. Just like Soobin said, it’s just groceries. A quick stop. Preparations for tomorrow’s feast. His sister always makes a big deal out of celebrations, dragging him into the chaos. You’ve learned to let them. It gives Nari something bright to look forward to.

Inside, the box is heavier than you expected. You thank the employee handing it over and hug it to your chest, shifting your weight so you don’t drop it. You can carry it. You’ve carried heavier things.

You start walking, slow and careful, the edges of the cardboard digging into your arms. You were just about to ask someone for help with the door when—

It opens. From the outside.

The bell rings overhead; a soft chime, but for some reason it sounds like music tonight. It catches you off guard, how comforting it feels. Maybe it’s the simple fact that someone held the door for you. Maybe it’s the smallness of kindness that makes your chest loosen. You don’t even care if he only opened it because he was heading inside himself. He stepped aside, held the door open, and waited.

And lately, that’s more than enough. You smile for the first time in what feels like forever.

“Thank you—” The word barely made it past your lips before it died because standing in front of you, just as stunned, just as still—

Choi Beomgyu?

You blinked. Once. Twice.

It was like the world forgot how to move. Or maybe just you. The cold didn’t bite anymore. The weight of the box in your arms vanished. Even your own breathing, gone, like your lungs decided they couldn’t function with him so close.

He looked older. Not completely different, but grown. His hair was longer now, brushed just past his shoulders, half tied back in a way that made him look effortlessly composed. He looks at you. Behind him, someone cleared their throat—an older man, another customer —the sound snapping the thread of stillness that had wrapped around the two of you like a noose.

You flinched first.

You took a step back, sudden and clumsy, the box in your arms tilting dangerously as your feet fumbled over themselves. He didn’t move — not a word, not a sound, just his eyes following the box, then trailing downward. To your hands. And when his gaze stopped on your ring finger—bare, unadorned, still slightly red from cold—something flickered across his face.

As soon as the old man walks past, you run.

You don’t think anymore, your body moves before your brain can catch up. The cold slaps your face as you push through the door, feet pounding against the pavement. Behind you, you hear it; that soft slam of the door closing too fast, like someone let go in a rush.

“Y/N—” His voice. God, his voice. It hits you like a bullet. Real. Near. Here. You gasp, eyes locking on your car. Just a few steps. Just get there. Just get in, you can’t let him catch up.

You can’t see his face again. Can’t hear what he might say. Because after all this time... You still don’t know who left who.

You still don’t know if he betrayed you or if it was you who betrayed him.

“Y/N, please—”

Three more steps to your car.

Just three.

“Y/N.” You reach for your keys, but something so painful happens to your right foot. “O—ouch.” The box slips, crashes to the pavement.

“Fuck,” you curse, loud and sharp, the sound echoing through the empty parking lot. You see Beomgyu flinch. You lean against the side of the car, pain blooming like heat across your ankle, shame rushing in right after. All you want to do is disappear. Fold into the metal. Crawl into the seat and drive away like none of this ever happened.

It's one of your leg fucking cramps.

One of the cruelest things no one tells you about giving birth… is how your body doesn’t come back the same. You keep your head down, chest heaving, trying not to cry and behind you, you hear him step closer.

“What’s wrong?” Beomgyu asks. You’re trying to reach for your leg, but the muscle spasms again—tight and brutal, like it’s being wrung out from the inside—and your breath catches, a broken sob lodged in your throat. “Y/N, what’s wrong?” He’s closer now, panicked.

You don’t answer. You can’t, the pain twists deeper, radiating up your thigh, stealing the air from your lungs. You collapse back against the car, gasping, then you whimpered; tears burn hot, streaking down your cheeks before you even realize you’re crying.

“It hurts—” you sob, choked and ugly. “It hurts, it hurts, I—”

Beomgyu’s down in front of you before the words finish. He’s on his knees, hands trembling as he reaches for your ankle, for your shoes, for anything he can fix.

“Okay, okay, I got you, I got you,” he mutters like a prayer, but his hands hover, unsure. Like he’s scared to touch you. Like he doesn’t know where it hurts more. You keep crying; loud, unfiltered sobs that rip through you like the pain itself. Beomgyu’s hands are at your ankle now, carefully slipping off your shoe.

“Don’t move,” he says, and you shake your head, clutching at the car door, your body trembling. “Don’t—don’t move, baby—”

“Don’t— ah—” You managed to say, but the pain flares again, and your voice collapses with it.

Beomgyu’s left hand moves up to your thigh, firm but gentle, pressing your leg down to straighten it. His right finds your foot, still covered in your sock, and starts to stretch it carefully—and you felt your body relax as the pain blurs.

“Breathe,” he says. You squeeze your eyes shut. “Breathe, Y/N.”

You do. And slowly, the pain starts to ease. Your breathing staggers, catches, steadies even if your tears are still falling. And for the first time since after accidentally meeting him at the store, you look back at him. Your eyes meet his, and you can see how glassy they are. His eyes—locked on you like you're something fragile and holy and breaking all at once.

Do you know what it’s like to be angry at someone?

Like really, deeply angry; the kind that simmers low for years, slow and bitter. The kind you carry in your chest like armor. You build it up, rehearse it alone in the shower, in the car, while folding laundry like you’re folding the bones of your rage. You prepare your words like weapons. Every line sharp, factual, unforgiving. You’re not going to yell. No. You’re going to ruin them. Intelligently. With every truth they chose to ignore.

And he looks at you like this. With the softest look that he can give, like he never meant to hurt you. Like he miss you.

You don’t feel powerful. You feel exposed. How do you stay mad at someone who still looks at you like you’re everything they lost?

You let him hold your ankle. You don’t even fight it. His other hand moves up your leg again, massaging. You can feel the warmth of him even through the fabric. Fresh tears slip down your cheeks before you can stop them.

Beomgyu freezes at the sight of it. “Does it still hurt?”

Yes. How can you miss him for years, and seeing him now makes you miss him more?

“Where?” he asks again, softer this time. “Tell me where it hurts.”

Everywhere, you think. You.

You pull away. No words, just the slow removal of his hands from your skin. You crouch to gather the fallen box, desperate for anything to do with your hands but before you can even reach it—he’s already there. Already picking it up. Already moving toward your car like it’s still his place to help. He opens the back door, gently places the groceries inside then turns to look at you.

"I should go," It was your voice this time, cracking the silence between you for the first time all night. Beomgyu flinches, almost imperceptibly, as if your voice surprised him. "My family's waiting."

You don’t wait to see if he reaches for you. You open the car door, slide inside, and shut it before the moment can stretch any further. The engine rumbles to life beneath your hands, a poor distraction from the weight in your chest. As you pull away, you glance in the rearview mirror; see him get smaller and smaller, watching you.

The car felt like a cage. You could barely breathe, not with the way your chest was caving in, not with the way your fingers wouldn’t stop trembling. You kept seeing him; standing there, just standing there, like he didn’t know whether to run after you or let you go. That image clung to you like a bruise. What were you supposed to say? Hey. I guess you’re back. Did it hurt as much for you as it did for me?

When you finally pulled up, your face was dry, but only because you'd cried yourself empty. You didn’t say anything to Soobin—couldn’t. Nari was already asleep, curled up beside his nephew like nothing in the world had gone wrong. His sister welcomed you with a soft smile and showed you to the guest room, no questions asked. You were grateful for that. You didn’t have the strength to lie. Soobin looked at you like he wanted to ask, but you refused to meet his eyes. You knew if you did, something inside you might shatter beyond repair. He must’ve sensed it because he didn’t say a word either.

Sleep didn’t come easy that night, not when the only thing behind your eyelids was the face you’d missed more than the life you once had.

It's cruel how memory chooses the softest parts of someone to haunt.

A soft knock at the door startled you awake.

The room was too bright, it's morning. You flinched, disoriented. Had you even slept? It felt like you’d just blinked. “Yeah… I’m up,” you mumbled, voice rough with a night that gave you no rest. Whoever it was didn’t respond; the sound of footsteps fading down the hall.

You needed to check on Nari. That much you could focus on. You pulled your hair into a loose ponytail with tired fingers, the strands falling uneven around your face. Your pajamas were wrinkled, your face was swollen from all the crying, but you made yourself somewhat presentable.

The living room greeted you with soft light spilling through the curtains, shadows curling against the floor. “Where’s Na—” You froze.

Sitting casually on the couch, a fresh bouquet of roses rested on the table in front, he turned at the sound of your voice.

Choi Beomgyu.

Right. You kept forgetting he was Soobin’s friend too. Of course.

He stood slowly, looking at you. His hand reached for the flowers. “Good morning,” he said softly.

It pulled you out of your stupor, your instincts kicking in like a switch. You turned on your heel, not giving him the satisfaction of a second glance. You needed to find the criminal.

"Good morning, my Y/N!" Soobin greeted with that stupid smile of his, the one that usually made things feel a little lighter. But not today. Not when you walked straight up to him and grabbed him by the collar, your fists trembling with something dangerously close to panic. His grin vanished.

"What the hell are you trying to do?" you snapped, your voice low, "Where is my daughter?" He winced, not from your grip, but from your stare.

“He kept calling me about you—ouch—okay,” he muttered, raising a hand as if to calm you down. “He was desperate. He somehow managed to reach people I haven’t even spoken to in years. Just calling and calling, he was trying to find me. All because of you." Your grip faltered for a second.

“I think…” he hesitated, then met your eyes. “I think it’s best if you hear him out. He got here fifteen minutes after Nari went out with my sister and Han. They’ll be back in the afternoon.”

You slowly let go of his collar, hand falling back to your side like it suddenly weighed too much. Your chest was tight, heart heavier than it had been in weeks. Did he talk? Did he tell him? About you? About how deeply, thoroughly, and irreversibly you’ve screwed everything up?

Your eyes searched his face, ask but then, almost gently, as if he could read your thoughts, Soobin spoke. “I didn’t tell him anything, It wasn’t my place.” he said quietly. “It’s best if you hear him out..”

Beomgyu’s walking away.

Each step feels like it’s slicing him open from the inside, like the ground’s dragging knives across his chest. The doors ahead glint under the airport lights; the ones that’ll swallow him whole and spit him out somewhere far from here. Far from you. He tells himself not to look back. If he does, he’ll break. If he sees your face, he’ll run back and beg to stay. Worse—if you so much as whispered his name, told him not to go—he would drop everything. The flight. The future. All of it.

So he keeps going. Until something in him caves. He always caves when it comes to you. He stops. Turns.

And there you are; clinging to Soobin, crying like the world’s ending. Maybe it is. He wants to run to you, hold you until you stop shaking. But instead, he just stands there, chest heavy with every breath. He makes a promise right then, like a prayer carved into bone: He'll give you the life you deserve. He'll give you everything.

He tries to smile, but his lips are trembling too much. He can’t fall apart here, not when you’re already crying. You’re always the crybaby, not him. He has to be the strong one.

And when he finally finds the words—words that feel like ripping out his own heart and handing it to you—he shouts them so loud they shake through the air between you.

What do you even say to someone you're leaving behind?

“I’LL COME BACK FOR YOU!”

Even if the world changes. Even if you forget.

He will.

It’s hard, being in a new country. Harder than he ever admitted out loud. His family’s here, but it doesn’t feel like it. They’re always working, always somewhere else. And when he comes home to an empty apartment and four white walls, it hits him all over again.

You’re miles and oceans away.

He walks through streets that don’t sound like home. Every sign is a puzzle, every conversation feels like it’s moving too fast, slipping through his fingers. He nods and smiles, pretends he understands. But most of the time, he doesn’t. Most of the time, he’s just tired.

The only thing that feels real is when your letter arrives.

On those days, everything stops. His heart settles. His hands too excited as he tears the envelope open, like it’s something that gives him ar reason to live for. Your handwriting, your words; they’re a piece of home he can hold. It becomes his favorite part of the week. His only part of the week, really. Writing to you, reading your letters, rereading them until the ink practically imprints itself into his skin.

It was going well. For a while, anyway. Two months of surviving. Of pretending he was getting the hang of it.

Until it all went up in smoke.

He came home one evening and the sky was choked in black. Smoke pouring like a stormcloud, thick and angry, swallowing everything whole. Their apartment—the only place that ever felt remotely stable—was on fire. Gone. His parents’ last coin flip, their last gamble at a better life, reduced to ash. The furniture. The photographs. The little trinkets that made it feel like home.

Your letters. God, your letters.

He’d kept every single one. Folded neatly, worn soft from rereading. He used to clutch them on the bad days, the lonely nights. And now they were gone, burned before he could even say goodbye to them.

Suddenly, they were homeless in a country that still didn’t feel like theirs. The language still felt foreign, the people distant. They stayed where they could; shelters, temporary housing, places that didn’t ask too many questions. He didn’t write for a week. Then another. A month slipped by before he realized just how long it had been. But how could he write, when he couldn’t even buy himself a meal? When a sheet of paper, an envelope, a stamp—things he used to take for granted—now felt like luxuries too far out of reach?

He thought of you every single day. He trusted you’d still be there, still waiting, still believing in him. He had to, because he didn’t have anything else left.

They moved. Again. And again. From shelter to shelter, wherever there was space, wherever someone would take them in. No place ever felt permanent with borrowed beds. While his father scraped together bits and pieces for a future that still felt out of reach—secondhand furniture, donated appliances, hope held together with tape, Beomgyu worked for their family too. Late shifts, early mornings, anything that paid. He kept his head down, hands tired, eyes always scanning for something he couldn’t name.

It took six months. Six months of skipped meals and pocketed coins, of walking past stationery aisles with a lump in his throat, before he could finally afford to write to you again. And when he did, he poured everything into that first letter. Every apology he never got to say. Every cracked piece of his heart. Every I’m sorry it took so long, wrapped in trembling handwriting and the ghost of smoke that never really left his clothes.

He waited for your reply. Days passed. Then weeks. Nothing. So he wrote again. Maybe the first got lost. Maybe you didn’t see it, but then the second went unanswered. And the third

Still, he didn’t stop.

Every week, without fail, he wrote. Even when his fingers ached. Even when the silence on the other end felt like a punishment he deserved. He wrote like it was the only way to stay alive. Like if he just kept going, somehow, you'd hear him. Apologies bled through ink. Cries tucked between the lines. Please. Please say something. Please don’t leave me behind.

It had been over a year.

One year and seven months since he last saw your face, he missed your birthday. He missed everything. Coming back was a miracle in itself. His boss had finally said yes to time off, just a few days, barely enough, but he didn’t care. He had scraped together every cent. Skipped meals. He stopped buying things that tasted like comfort just to save a little more. He told himself he’d apologize the moment he saw you. Fall to his knees if he had to. He didn’t care what it took—he just wanted to explain, to make you understand, but then, on the bus to your neighborhood, holding the small bag of gifts he could afford, it hit him like a punch to the chest.

He’d been writing your address wrong.

All those letters—pages of love and pain, of apologies and hope—had never reached you because he wrote them from memory after everything got burned. He didn’t even realize he was crying until a stranger asked if he was alright.

And then he saw you. From across the street, standing beside Jake Sim. You're pregnant? Jake is laughing at something, one hand resting on your belly. You look beautiful.

Right there, across the street, the boy who swore he’d come back for you was breaking.

The ones left behind mourn with open hands, reaching for echoes, clinging to the warmth of a room that’s already gone cold. They cry in the spaces where laughter used to live, and the grief comes loud, sharp, like a scream in an empty house. But the ones who leave? They bleed quietly. They turn their backs knowing they’re carving wounds into people they love, knowing their absence will echo longer than their presence ever did. And they leave not because they want to—but because the world asks them to; because duty, or fate, or something crueler demands it.

Between the two, who suffers more? The ones who wait for a door that won’t open, or the ones who shut it with shaking hands and walk away?

Beomgyu had kept himself hidden for years—not out of pride, but shame. A quiet, gnawing embarrassment that maybe he had broken too much to ever come back whole. He never wanted to burden you, never wanted his face to remind you of the past. He knew you had your own life now. A family. A world that kept turning even after he stepped out of it.

He couldn’t explain what shifted in him this year. Maybe it was the ache of too many birthdays passed, or the way the past never seemed to loosen its grip. But he found himself wanting. Just a glimpse. Just to know you were okay. He went to your house—stood in front of the door he once called home—and was met with a stranger’s cold dismissal. Your father, grayer now, eyes harder. There was no trace of your mother; divorce, he guessed.

Then he felt oddly drawn to buy himself water and saw you at a grocery store. A mundane miracle.

And now here he is, sitting across from you, heart in his throat, watching your brows knit in confusion as he says the words he’s kept caged for years. The girl he once wanted to give everything to. The girl he still does. He worked through the ache, graduated, got a job, built something steady from the mess he once was. It’s not enough to retire on, but it’s enough to build a life. He tried dating, tried pretending but every time someone got too close, he found himself pulling away, haunted by a laugh that wasn’t yours. He looks at you, you’re here. And your adorable, bewildered expression guts him more than anything else ever could, because it confirms the one thing he’s tried hardest to bury: he’s still so fucking in love with you.

Beomgyu clenches his fist, thumb digging into his palm as he forces himself to meet your eyes. He stopped talking minutes ago—about the fire, the years, except the time he went back and saw you with Jake—and still, you haven’t said a word. Not to him. Not yet. “I know it’s—”

“What do you want me to do?” you ask, your voice flat, unfamiliar. And it terrifies him more than if you had shouted. “I’m sorry. About the fire, and everything, but what do you want me to do with that, Beomgyu?”

The way you say his name, it burns. Beomgyu stares. You still look the same, achingly so, but something in your voice tells him the years have changed you into someone else. Someone harder. He nods slowly, eyes flickering down, again to your hands. Bare. Still bare. The absence of a ring doesn’t make sense. You should be married by now. Any man would’ve been a fool not to. So why is your finger still empty? Soobin never told him anything. Wouldn’t.

“I don’t really want anything,” he says quietly, even though his heart is screaming otherwise. He wants everything. He wants you. “I just… hoped we could talk again.”

Beomgyu sees your face soften with his words, and you're about to speak when the door of Soobin's apartment beeps open.

“Mommy!”

A small voice cuts, bright and sweet, and he turns just in time to see a little girl bounding toward you—hair in low pigtails, uneven but endearing, the kind he used to tie for you in middle school with small fingers and too much care. The lollipop in her hand is sticky, half-melted, clinging to her palm as she throws herself into your arms. And you catch her like you were made for it. Beomgyu’s heart stutters.

“Did you miss me, Mommy?” she beams, eyes wide and waiting. And then he sees it—the softest, most real thing he’s seen on your lips since he sat down.

It tears him apart.

“I did, hun,” you murmur, brushing hair gently from her cheek. “Did you eat yet?”

“Yes! Sorry I didn’t wake you up to eat. Uncle Binnie said to let you sleep.” Beomgyu can’t breathe. His chest feels too tight, too full.

He can’t look away. He knows he should; knows it’s not his place to linger in the picture-perfect moment unfolding in front of him but he’s frozen. The little girl settles in your lap, arms still curled around your neck, and then, her curious eyes flick to him.

“Hi,” she says brightly, the lollipop now forgotten, her smile wide and fearless. Beomgyu blinks, then somehow finds the strength to match her energy.

“Hi,” he says softly. “I’m Beomgyu.” He sees it immediately—the shift in your gaze.

“She’s my daughter,” you say. “Her name is Nari.”

His breath catches.

Of course she is.

She looks like you. Same curious eyes. Same soft, heart-shaped face. A perfect mirror of the girl he fell in love with all those years ago. It stings—how beautiful she is. How familiar. She looks like you. He lets out a small, stunned laugh that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Yeah, figured she is.”

“Bye, Beomgyu,” Nari chirps from the living room, her tiny hands waving enthusiastically at the man standing by the door. Beomgyu grins, lifting his hand in a playful wave back. Then his eyes find yours.

You shift where you’re standing, arms crossed tight over your chest. Soobin’s already stepped outside, giving the two of you space as he walks ahead from Beomgyu toward the lot. You hadn’t expected Nari to warm up to him so quickly. Nari, usually shy around anyone new, had taken to Beomgyu almost instantly. She’d asked him question after question, tugged on his sleeve, even laughed in that unfiltered way she rarely does; maybe because he kept talking to her like he’d known her forever. Gentle. Patient. Funny in that effortless way.

“I’ll head out,” he says softly, clearing his throat. “See you tomorrow?” He looks like he's about to take you in his arms.

“Yeah,” you murmur, voice barely holding steady. “Drive safe.” You don’t look at him. You can’t. Not when your chest already feels too tight. For a moment, nothing happens.

Then he shifts, and when his hand lifts, you flinch—so subtly he might not even notice; all he does is rest his palm gently on your head. The touch is soft. Careful. With that small, simple gesture, he’s holding the whole mess of your heart right there in his hand.

You look up, just in time to see him step back. He gives you a quiet smile, a small nod, then he turns and walks out the door. You stand there, staring at the space he left behind, at the door that feels like it’s separating more than just a room. And suddenly, it hits you—this aching, desperate urge to run after him. To pull him back. To say all the things you swallowed down.

You felt it the moment he started talking, explaining—something inside you beginning to quietly break. His story unfolded slowly, like a wound being reopened in real time. It was too vivid, too cinematic, the kind of tragedy that scripts are written around. The kind that ruins the heroine, just before the credits roll but this wasn’t fiction, and Beomgyu doesn’t lie.

That’s what made it unbearable.

You sat there, silent, trying not to fall apart, trying to keep your expression flat even as the weight of his words dragged you under. Because somewhere between his grief and yours, a realization slipped through the cracks.

You were the one who gave up first.

Now, you couldn’t pull him into this; this version of your life where everything is held together with fraying thread because of you decisions. Where your daughter’s laugh is the only light in a world that feels dim more often than not. Where you don't even know who you are without the exhaustion.

You love Nari. Of course you do. You love her with a kind of fierce, bone-deep love that no one else will ever understand. But loving her doesn’t mean you don’t ache. You can’t let him back in. You can’t let him try to fit into this life, not when you know it would never be enough.He belongs to a different world, a world of bright lights and movement and choices. He could leave tomorrow.

You told yourself you were protecting him. That someone like Beomgyu—so full of life and possibility—shouldn’t be dragged into the mess of your world. A single mother, anchored to a small town and a quiet kind of loneliness. He deserved someone lighter. Someone with no baggage. You love Nari. God, you love her more than anything. Being her mother is the one thing you’ve never regretted. But that love also demands a kind of sacrifice.

If you let Beomgyu in—really in—you’d hope. You’d start to believe he might stay. And that hope is dangerous.

Worse still, a darker thought lingers: what if Nari starts to see him as more than just your friend? What if she lets herself believe he could be something permanent, someone who doesn't leave? Beomgyu comes from a world that moves faster than this place ever will. A city boy, full of dreams and fire. This town would shrink around him.

There’s an urge—violent, desperate—to throw the door open and run after him, but you don’t move. Your hands… they’re not the same hands that once held him with all the certainty in the world. The naive teenager you once were would’ve said yes without thinking, would’ve smiled and nodded like words was enough to fix anything. Whatever fragile, fleeting thing bloomed between you, it was your hands that crushed it first. Wanting him now would be selfish. Cruel.

You're not heartless enough to ruin him twice. You will be damned if you ever stood in front of his path.

It's still bright out.

The sun hasn't set yet, but when Soobin glances to his right, it feels like someone told the man beside him that it never would rise again. All that light seems to have drained from him, a ghost of the boy Soobin first saw; eyes full of hope, clutching a bouquet of roses like he believed in happy endings.

"Choi Beomgyu," Soobin sighs as the elevator doors slide shut. "What did she say?"

There’s no answer. Just a low, half-hearted grumble from Beomgyu, somewhere between a whine and a sigh, like even admitting it out loud would hurt too much. Soobin turns, already knowing what he’ll see. Beomgyu’s head bowed, eyes glued to the floor, hands stuffed deep in his pockets like he’s trying to hold himself together.

Some things really don’t change. Soobin shakes his head, the corners of his mouth tightening. It's the same Beomgyu from high school—the one who used to trail behind you, heart always half a step ahead of his courage. The one who scribbled love in silence and let it rot there. Back then, Soobin had to push him every damn day just to get him to tell his heart out. Watching him want you but never move was its own kind of torture. And now, years later, here they are again. Did he seriously need to play the matchmaker again?

"Are you…" Soobin clears his throat, the question catching awkwardly on his tongue. "…giving up?"

"No. God, no." Beomgyu finally lifts his head, eyes flashing like Soobin just accused him of something unforgivable. "It's just—she caught me off guard that—"

"That she changed?" Soobin cuts in, sharp. "What, were you expecting her to do aegyo? Say some of that cute shit she used to pull in high school? Oh, I’m sorry, ‘Oh, Choi Beomgyu, I love you too—Ouch!” Soobin curses under his breath, reaching for his shin where Beomgyu’s foot just connected, hard. It wasn't playful. It was frustration. Beomgyu doesn’t say a word, but Soobin doesn’t need him to. He can feel it radiating off him—the heat, his rage.

Good. He’s still so stupidly, violently affected by you. There’s still something left to fight for.

"Are you still in love with her?" — "Yes."

The answer slips out of Beomgyu’s mouth so fast, so effortlessly, it startles the breath out of Soobin for a second. He smirks, "How can you tell?"

Beomgyu exhales, eyes distant. "Because it took everything in me not to kiss her."

"Heol. You pervert," Soobin snorts, shaking his head, but his tone softens, "About your question earlier. About… Nari’s father." He sees it instantly—the way Beomgyu’s smile falters, the way his jaw clenches like he’s bracing for something. Soobin swallows hard, the lump in his throat thick with everything he isn’t saying. There’s so much he wants to spit out. He feels like he’s being ripped in half. One part of him wants to grab Beomgyu by the collar, shake him, scream at him to grow the hell up and the other part just wants to pull him into a hug and not let go—because Beomgyu looks like he’s seconds away from breaking.

"It’s not my story to tell," Soobin finally says, "but for what it’s worth, he’s not in the picture. If that wasn’t obvious already." He pauses, glancing at the still silent Beomgyu, "She changed. I won’t lie about that. She’s sharper now, doesn’t smile unless Nari’s in the room. Harder to reach, but she’s still… our Y/N."

The elevator dings.

A week has passed, and you see Choi Beomgyu every single day.

He hasn’t brought up your last conversation. He doesn’t push, doesn’t crowd the space you’ve drawn around yourself. He just… shows up. Whenever Soobin takes Nari out, even when you’re not there, you’ll find Beomgyu waiting by the car for your daughter, always looking back to give you a small smile.

There was a time when you told Soobin you were thinking about going home. He only shrugged and said, “You’ve already planned your holiday breaks. Leaving now would break Nari’s heart.” So you stayed. And every day, Beomgyu keeps coming back.

He brings flowers—always the same kind as the first time. He never hands them to you directly; places them somewhere nearby, close enough to notice, far enough to ignore if you wanted to. He doesn’t say a word about them. Your fingers always find the stems. You gather them quietly, arrange them in the same vase.

“Do you want some of this too?” you ask, motioning toward the chicken. Nari nods immediately, her mouth open, ready for the next bite. It’s lunchtime. The dining table is full—Nari beside you, Soobin across, his sister and nephew chatting quietly at the end. And then there’s Beomgyu, sitting diagonally from you, close enough to hear every small thing you say. You spoon the food onto Nari’s plate, smoothing it out beside the rice. Beomgyu doesn’t say much, but you can feel his eyes flicker toward you every now and then.

Beomgyu glances at you, then at Nari’s plate—already full, her little fork digging in eagerly. The rest of the table begins to eat, soft clinks of utensils and the hum of conversation filling the space. Then he looks down at your plate.

It’s still empty.

Without a word, Beomgyu reaches across the table and starts serving food onto it. You turn, startled by the movement. “I’ll do it—” you begin, reaching for the serving spoon.

“Eat,” he says gently, scooping the biggest piece of fish fillet onto your plate. “You don’t like it when your food turns cold.”

You go still. The words hit you in a way you weren’t expecting; pulling you back to high school lunches, sitting on worn benches, complaining about lukewarm meals. Back to the way Beomgyu used to sprint across campus just to find a microwave, breathless but grinning as he handed your food back, warm again.

You blink, watch as he quietly adds a little more to your plate. He reaches for your utensils, places them gently in your hand and you take them.

Just like you always used to.

“You sure you don’t need help?” Soobin asks, placing the last plate into the sink.

Your hands are already in the soapy water, working through the pile of forks and spoons. “Yeah,” you reply easily, “this is nothing.”

Soobin gives your head a gentle pat, and you hear his footsteps fade as he leaves the kitchen.

You keep going, the familiar rhythm of washing grounding you—soap, rinse, repeat. It’s peaceful in the way small, ordinary things can be. Then, without looking, you feel someone beside you. A hand reaches for the dishes you’ve already washed, careful and quiet, followed by the soft drag of a towel across porcelain.

“Hey,” you start, half-turning, “I said I’m fine, I’ll do that—” Your words trail off when you glance over and see him. Beomgyu. He’s focused on the dishes, drying each one.

He's helping you.

Beomgyu glances at you, his thoughts loud. You hadn’t pushed him away. You let him stay beside you, in this small, shared space; rinsing, drying, moving in sync. Something so simple, yet to him, it feels intimate. He’d dreamed of this. Not grand reunions. Not tearful apologies or big moments. Just… this quiet kitchen, and you beside him.

“You’re a guest,” you murmur, eyes on the sink. “You shouldn’t be here, doing this.”

He hears it—the softness in your voice, the way it falters just slightly at the end. You talked to him. Directly. A loopsided smile pulls at his lips, unable to hide it, because you talked to him. He doesn’t look at you right away, just focuses on the dish in his hands like it means more than it does.

“I want to,” he says simply, glances your way. "I want to help you." He watches how quickly your hands move through the motions but all he can think about is how much he wants to stop you. How badly he wants to take your hands out of the water, dry them gently, press them to his chest so you’ll feel how fast he’s still beating for you.

He keeps drying the plates you pass to him.

Beomgyu has been watching you and Nari all week. It hadn’t even taken a full day for him to see it: how good of a mother you are. How instinctively, beautifully you move around your daughter, knowing her moods, her hunger before she even says a word. But it’s the other things he can’t stop noticing.

The way you serve everyone first before thinking of your own plate. The way you rush through bites, always half-standing to get something for someone else. The way your eyes stay on others, never on yourself. He remembers lunch—everyone halfway through their meal, and your plate still empty. You were too busy making sure Nari had enough, that Soobin’s nephew got seconds, that nothing spilled. And something about it made his chest twist in a way he wasn’t ready for.

Who’s been taking care of you?

You, years ago, pouting over your favorite ice cream being sold out. You, holding out your foot for him to tie your shoelace, smiling like you knew he’d do it without asking. You, crying over the smallest things, because back then, you were allowed to. Now you're here, taking care of a child like you’ve done it a thousand times before. He sees you—this version of you, all grown up—and it knocks the breath from his lungs.

Beomgyu reaches out before he can stop himself, the sight of a single strand of hair falling across your face pulling him in. His fingers move gently as he tucks it behind your ear. He looks at you, afraid he must have done something wrong, something personal, but in this moment, with you looking up at him, lashes soft and eyes wide, he’s too dazed.

“Thank you, Beomgyu.”

He knows you haven’t said a word since the first day he showed up, but if anything, somehow, impossibly; he’s fallen even deeper.

You were chopping vegetables at the table, Soobin’s sister beside you, lending a hand—at least until the two of you realized a few ingredients were missing, so she went out for a run. Soobin and Beomgyu had volunteered to keep an eye on the kids, leaving the kitchen unusually quiet.

“Y/N?” You looked up to see Beomgyu standing at the doorway, something wrapped in red cradled in his hands. His smile was small, unsure. You returned it without thinking.

“I wanted to give you something,” he said. You set the knife down and nodded. Ever since he’d spoken to you again that day, little conversations had started to creep back in. It felt easy. Light.

“What’s this?” — “Merry Christmas.”

“You do know it’s only 12 p.m. today, right?”

“I know,” Beomgyu says, scratching the back of his head. “But… do you remember that little tradition we had? Back then?”

You pause, looking at him. “Our families always went out of town on Christmas Day,” he continues, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “So we used to pretend Christmas was the day before. At noon. Just the two of us.”

You do remember. How could you not? Your hands move to unwrap the gift slowly, careful not to tear the paper. Inside, your eyes land on a pack of relief patches. Your breath catches. A note, scribbled in familiar messy handwriting.

Can we be friends, again?

"Uh, I didn’t really know what to get you," Beomgyu says, rubbing the back of his neck, voice a little rushed. "I mean… there’s a lot of things I wanted to give you, but," he lets out a nervous laugh, "I heard you talking about these patches. And I know you get those cramps whenever it’s too cold, so I just," He cuts himself off when he sees you smiling, arms open wide.

"If you don’t hug me right now, I’m taking it back and—"

You don’t even get to finish the teasing before he’s already moving, fast enough to startle you. His hands find the back of your head, cradling you gently as he exhales like he’s been holding his breath this whole time. His other arm wraps around your back, pulling you closer. You instinctively hugged him around the waist—just like you used to. You hold him, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t let them fall.

Beomgyu feels your arms tighten, and he presses himself closer. Being in your arms feels like forgiveness. It’s warm.

In the middle of the kitchen, two souls stood still. Remembering, what it felt like to be whole.

You wash your hands, eyes drifting to the nearly rebuilt faucet.

It’s been a month since Christmas. Three weeks since you came back home with Nari. And Beomgyu—just as everyone expected—has been everywhere. He visits for Nari, plays with her like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Sometimes he comes with Soobin, sometimes alone. He stays. He helps. He shows up with flowers one day, groceries the next because he noticed you were running low. And the faucet, the one you swore would never stop leaking, is finally fixed.

You became... somewhat friends.

“Nari?” you called, a small laugh slipping out when she came running in with her backpack already on—hair tie and comb in her hands. You took them from her, settling onto the living room couch as she plopped down on the floor between your knees. Gently, you began brushing her hair, pulling it up the way she liked for practice days. It was her big day. And you—fresh off nearly ten hours at work—had barely caught your breath. Beomgyu had insisted on taking her this time. Said you needed to rest. Said he’d be proud to cheer her on.

Your hands moved on autopilot through her hair, “Do you remember…” you swallowed, fingers pausing for a second, “Do you remember the person I used to talk about a lot?”

You never said his name aloud but something in you needed to know.

“Hm?” Nari hums, eyes fluttering shut a little, comforted by the way you gently brush through her hair. “Oh. Yes, Mommy.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” she says, “Mama’s best friend, right? And I think it’s Beomgyu.”

Your hands still. “What? Why?”

“I saw his dimples, Mama,” she replies, her voice sure. “It's ike the ones you always told me about and he’s big like a bear, like you said. And…” she turns her head slightly, looking up at you with soft certainty, “Beomgyu says you’re his favorite person in the world.”

You blink. Words caught somewhere between your chest and your throat. You never realized how much she was listening. How much she noticed. You were still trying to find something to say when the doorbell rang.

It was the fastest you’d ever seen your daughter run.

You caught the look on her face; pure joy, her smile so wide you thought her cheeks might burst. It was a look she gives to someone she trusts. She knew exactly who was at the door. You followed, slower now, your steps unconsciously softening when you heard him laughing. Then you saw them; Beomgyu practically crouched on the floor, Nari already clinging to him. He looked up, his eyes met yours, and he smiled.

It made you want to dream again.

Beomgyu buckles Nari into the back seat, double-checks the latch, then closes the door with a soft click. When he turns around, you're still watching; leaning against the front door, arms crossed, casual in a plain shirt and shorts, face bare in the morning light.

So fucking beautiful.

He lifts a hand in a small wave. You smile, and wave back. It’s such a small thing, but enough to make his heart race. He gets back in the car, forcing himself to look away. He doesn’t start the engine until he sees you step inside and gently close the door behind you. He’s driving, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror once, then again. “You okay back there?”

“Yeah!” Nari chirps. “Thank you for letting Mama rest. I wanted her to rest too, ‘cause she’s been working a lot. I wanna take care of Mama today.”

Beomgyu’s chest tightens. She’s so small, her voice so light, and she probably doesn't know her words nearly undoes him. That kind of love, intentional, coming from someone who hasn’t even lived a fraction of life yet, it knocks the breath from his lungs.

How did she learn to love like that?

He glances at her in the rearview mirror, and she’s just there. Swinging her legs, looking out the window like she didn’t just crack his heart wide open. He swallows hard. He’s proud. God, he’s so proud. Of her, and of you; especially you. Because this kind of softness doesn’t come from nowhere. You built that in her and now it’s spilling out of her in the backseat of his car, and he doesn’t know what to do with the way it’s making him feel. It hasn’t even been that long. A few weeks. A handful of moments.

But he already wants forever.

He wants school plays and scraped knees. Wants to be the one who teaches her how to ride a bike, how to parallel park, how to survive the kind of heartbreaks he won’t be able to protect her from, chase off the boys who don’t deserve her. He wants to watch her grow into the world. And he wants you there for every second of it. Your laugh in the kitchen, your hand on his arm, your face before he sleeps. He wants you both. And it scares him, how much.

He’s never wanted anything this badly. His eyes sting. He blinks it away. Another glance in the mirror. Another heartbeat held tight in his chest.

“That’s cool, kid,”

The sun was high, painting the day in golden warmth that makes everything feel a little softer.

Up ahead, Nari bounced with excitement, her small hands clasped tightly in Soobin’s and Beomgyu’s. She was all smiles, practically skipping between them, laughter in her face. You watched her, heart full. Watched them. Soobin was talking to her, probably asking which games she was going to beat him at today. Beomgyu, though, kept glancing back, eyes always searching for you. Making sure you were, still close.

Soobin had wanted to take Nari out to the mall today—spoil her a little, burn some energy. And of course, that meant one inevitable stop: the arcade. Beomgyu had tagged along without hesitation. The way Beomgyu’s eyes lit up when you said yes to Nari, was evident.

“You have to press this one,” you say through a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you point to the button. “You used to be good at this, Beomgyu.”

“Hey,” he says, mock offense in his voice. “It’s been a while, okay?”

He steps closer, closer than he needs to. His shoulder brushes against yours, and the warmth of him slips under your skin before you can stop it. He doesn’t move away. Instead, his fingers wrap around yours, guiding the controller, and his other hand settles at your waist.

Steadying himself. Or maybe just finding a reason to touch you. You don’t pull away.

He presses the button like you showed him. The claw sinks down and lifts the small teddy bear. When the prize drops, he turns to you, pride written all over his face. “Told you I could do it,” he says, flashing that grin, dimple and all.

You try to play it cool, rolling your eyes, even as your heart stumbles a little. “Fine. It’s acceptable.” You take the toy from him, trying not to let your fingers brush again.

“I’ll give this to Nari," You start walking, feel Beomgyu fall into step beside you. You halt at the sight.

It’s instinctual, the way your body freezes, breath caught halfway through your chest. The space is loud, chaotic in the way weekends always are, but suddenly it all sounds muffled. Distant. Like the world just dipped underwater. It’s easy to spot Soobin; he stands tall even in a crowd, his frame always familiar but your eyes don’t land on him for long. They find the man standing across from him. The man in front of Soobin. In front of Nari.

The father of your child.

Jaehyun.

Soobin’s standing protective, squared just slightly forward, one arm half out like he’s ready to shield. He’s trying to keep things calm, you can tell. You’ve known him long enough to read the tension in his shoulders. You see him lightly push Jaehyun back. A warning. And then you see her. Nari stands beside Soobin, pressed in his legs, small and stiff, eyes wide but lips pressed in a firm, silent no. She shakes her head—once, twice, over and over. You know that look. You know that body language. The way her fingers twist in the hem of her shirt, the way she leans subtly toward Soobin, away from the man she doesn’t know.

Nari doesn’t like strangers.

You’re frozen. You don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing until your chest starts to ache. You don’t know what part of it hit you first; seeing him again, or the way he’s looking at your child like he has some kind of right.

Jaehyun.

The man who left knowing you were carrying his child. You feel your stomach twist, something sour crawling up your throat. Is it fear? Or is it the anger, the shame? He left you. And it wasn’t just about leaving, it was how easily he did it. How quickly he made it clear that not even a child could make him stay. That you weren’t enough. That he meant none of what he promised. You were humiliated. Why does he know Nari? Why now? Did he know? Did he follow you? Did he have someone watching? Has he been here all along, memorizing the shape of your daughter’s face without ever earning the right? Your hands are shaking. Being a father? What does that even mean?Because he’s the one who gave her half her blood? Is that all it takes? A name on a birth certificate, a twisted smile, a return after years of silence?

“Y/N. Hey.” Beomgyu’s voice is careful but you don’t look at him. Your eyes are locked on Nari. On the way her small frame stiffens, how her lips tremble like she’s holding in a sob too big for her chest. You don’t even know what to say; what do you say to a child meeting the man who walked out before she could even open her eyes? Beomgyu’s hand comes to your shoulder, but it drops the second he hears Nari.

“No—!” It's tiny, a plea, crying out through her tears. And everything goes still.

“Dude, back the fuck off.” Soobin immediately says, aware that Beomgyu who is now nearing them. “You're scaring her.”

Jaehyun steps forward anyway, insisting, and Nari stumbles back. She doesn’t say anything this time, just clutches Soobin’s hand tighter, tears slipping down her cheeks as she tries to disappear into the space behind him.

Beomgyu doesn’t even blink. The second Soobin lifts Nari, turning her away from the scene, hiding her trembling frame against his shoulder; Beomgyu snaps. He grabs Jaehyun by the collar and slams him against the nearest wall, hard enough to rattle the arcade glass. The lights flash mockingly behind them, all blinking reds and greens and blues like it’s some sick joke.

Jaehyun stares him down, cocky despite the blood already blooming at the edge of his lip.

“What?” Jaehyun stares him down, “You gonna scare me off too? Like you did with Y/N before?” Beomgyu’s jaw clenches. He’s shaking with how hard he’s holding back. Jaehyun laughs—laughs, like it’s all a game. “You’re not her father,” he spits.

That does it.

Beomgyu’s fist flies, collides straight into Jaehyun’s face. The impact is loud, brutal. Jaehyun stumbles sideways, nearly collapsing, but Beomgyu’s there again, dragging him back up by the collar like he refuses to let this end with one hit. “Don't even say her name. You left her. You left them.”

Jaehyun punches him back, hard, and Beomgyu hits the edge of a skee-ball ramp, stumbling. “You think you can come back and pretend you care?” Beomgyu growls, eyes wild, blood rushing hot in his ears. “You think one fucking look at her erases years?”

“You don’t know what I went through,” Jaehyun snaps, lunging forward. “You don’t know what it was like—”

“Don’t you talk to me about pain!” Beomgyu yells, slamming into him again. This time they both fall—Jaehyun’s back hitting the carpeted floor with a thud as Beomgyu’s fists come down, one—two—three times.

Soobin rushes forward, grabbing Beomgyu’s arm. “Stop!”

But Beomgyu shakes him off, panting hard. His knuckles are red, maybe bleeding, maybe not. Doesn’t matter. Everything is fire. Jaehyun coughs, blood at the corner of his mouth now, face turned away. “You don’t get to waltz back into her life,” Beomgyu says, voice rough. “You don’t get to show up and make her cry and act like you’re owed something. You were gone. Stay gone-” He raises his fist again. Blinded—by fury, by the ache of every story you ever told him in a whisper. He wants to destroy him for you. He wants to make Jaehyun feel what you felt.

“Choi Beomgyu!” He freezes. Your voice, cracked, frantic, and trembling—catches him in the ribs harder than any hit could. “Let’s go,” you beg, voice softer now, breaking. “Please?”

He turns. He sees you; your arms wrapped tight around yourself, like you’re barely holding it together. Tear-streaked cheeks, eyes wide and desperate. Soobin still has Nari tucked into his chest, shielding her from it all, from him. And Nari’s shaking, tiny hands fisted in Soobin’s shirt, too afraid to even look. Beomgyu’s heart drops.

He meets your eyes and it’s over. The rage leaks out of him in slow, gutting waves. Guilt rushes in to take its place, heavy and drowning. He looks down at his fists, knuckles split, blood seeping between his fingers. Jaehyun groans on the floor, but Beomgyu doesn’t care anymore.

He only sees you.

“…Let’s go.”

Beomgyu doesn’t really know what happened after. Everything moved in a blur. Security guards rushing over. Soobin’s voice, gathering Nari in his arms and carrying her out quickly. The sting of cold air as they pulled him aside. Your hand slipping into his, trembling.

And now this. A small, sterile room in the back of the arcade. Fluorescent lights buzzing above like they’re judging him. His knuckles throb with every pulse of his heart. That little box of first aid in your hands.

Beomgyu watches you. You’re so close he can feel the soft brush of your breath on his skin. Your hand cradles his jaw with the gentlest pressure, a cotton pad in your other, dabbing at the cut on his cheek with delicate focus.

He’s sitting, back against the cold wall, while you stand over him—eyes still glassy from the tears you swore you were done shedding. He doesn’t believe you. Not with how you keep blinking too fast, how your lips press together like you’re holding more in. "Does that hurt?" you ask softly, barely above a whisper.

“No, baby.”

You nod, thumb brushes his cheek as you tilt his face just slightly toward the light, inspecting the damage with far more care than he deserves. He can’t look away from you. Not with the way your brows are drawn in concern, not with the way your skin keeps brushing his, unintentionally intimate. Not with how close your mouth is. Not when he’s this full of anger, of adrenaline, of fear and guilt and the overwhelming ache of you being this soft with him after everything.

He should say something. Apologize again. Ask if you’re okay. But all the words are caught in his throat, dried out from the fire still simmering in his chest. You dab more alcohol gently and he winces, less from pain and more from the way your eyes flick to his for a split second. And linger.

He swallows.

You’re standing between his legs, hands on his face, touching him like he’s fragile. And it’s killing him—how much he wants to grab you and say something stupid like don’t leave me, don’t hate me, don’t talk to him—

“Why did you have to do that?” you whisper, voice cracking, your hands trembling where they grip the fabric of his shirt.

Beomgyu's heart swell, he reaches for you, palm steady on your waist, pulling you in like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he waits even a second longer. You straddle his lap without resistance, your thighs pressing against his hips, breath shallow as you shift closer. Your face is barely inches from his when he leans in, and the moment your lips touch, it’s messy. Breathless. Too much and not enough all at once.

The kiss deepens quickly—months of longing, fear, and pent-up desire pouring into it. You tilt your head, hands sliding up to cradle his jaw, and he groans softly against your mouth, his grip tightening on your hips. His fingers dip beneath the hem of your shirt, skimming the skin of your lower back, tracing slow circles. Your hips move without thought, just enough to feel the way his breath stutters against your lips. His hand slides down to your thigh, squeezing firmly before gliding up, under the fabric of your shorts, rough fingertips against soft skin.

“You were bleeding,” you murmur between kisses, breath hitching as his mouth trails along your jaw, down your throat. “I was terrified.”

His lips pause against your skin, and he exhales shakily. “I didn’t care,” he says, voice low. “I'll do anything for you.” Your fingers tangle in his hair as his hands explore. Needing. His mouth finds yours again, deeper now, hungrier. You rock your hips against him, just once, testing, and the sound he lets out makes your spine arch.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your lips. “Don’t do that unless you mean it.”

Beomgyu gets on his knees before you, hands gripping your thighs, “I hate that he ever got to touch you,” he mutters, lips brushing against your inner thigh, hands pressing on where you need him the most. “That he got to taste you.”

"Beomgyu," Your breath catches, your fingers tangled in his hair as he kisses higher. "Please,"

His mouth is ravenous. As soon as he lets down your underwears, his tongue moved in slow, devastating small licks that make your knees weak and your head fall back. You’re gasping, so sensitive, his grip on your thighs keeping you wide open as he buries himself in you like he’s starving.

Every lick, every kiss feels like a promise. Like he’s trying to erase every memory that isn’t him.

You cry out his name, hips stuttering under his hold, and he only groans in response, like the sound of your pleasure is the only thing he wants to hear. His hands are everywhere—thighs, hips, stomach—like he needs to hold every piece of you down while he builds you up to the edge. He rubs your clit, tounge sucking your entrance and making sure he gets, taste everything.

You’re trembling when it hits you, but he doesn’t stop and it’s too much, too good, your body curling more towards his mouth, hands gripping his hair. He looks up at you like you’re holy. Wrecked. Worshipped.

“You feel that?” he says, breathless. “No one else gets to have this. Just me.”

Soobin sighs from the driver’s seat, fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. The car is still parked outside the arcade, engine off, the signs of early night settling around them. They’ve been waiting nearly twenty minutes now. He glances toward the entrance again. You and Beomgyu are still inside. No sign of either of you. Must be a serious conversation, he figures. After everything that just happened, how could it not be?

Beside him, Nari is unusually quiet. She sits in the passenger seat, small hands folded in her lap, eyes fixed on the window as if she’s trying to stare through time. It’s not like her. Not at all.

Soobin clears his throat gently. “Nari?” he says, keeping his voice soft. “Are you okay? Do you want anything? We can grab a snack or,” She shakes her head right away, not even turning to look at him.

He watches her for a moment, the tight press of her lips, the little furrow between her brows, her shoulders stiff with something she’s trying not to feel. A minute passes.

Then, finally, her voice; small and uncertain, breaks the silence. “Uncle... is Beomgyu going to be...”

Soobin glances over. “Hm?”

Nari bites her lip, eyes finally meeting his. “Is he upset?” The words are soft. Too soft for a kid who just cried her heart out.

Soobin’s heart twists in his chest. “No, sweetheart. He’s just... worried. About you. About your mom.” She nods once, but her pout only deepens.

“Then can you tell Beomgyu to stay with us? He really makes mommy happy.”

That day had been a moment of weakness.

Seeing Nari like that and hearing Beomgyu, breaking in your defense. You hadn’t been the same since. “Why are you ignoring him, seriously?” Soobin sighs through the phone, “Did something happen?”

You press the phone tighter to your ear, lips parting, but nothing comes out. Ever since that day, crammed in the backroom of the arcade, Beomgyu bruised and breathless—you’d barely spoken. Not to him. Not even to yourself. You couldn’t look him in the eye when you walked out. You’ve been silent ever since. “I’m just thinking,” you murmur, voice low.

“It’s been a week,” Soobin snaps, concerned. “For once, can you at least tell me what’s going on?”

You barely managed a rushed goodbye before the doorbell pulled you out of your daze. Nari was at school. You weren’t expecting anyone. Your legs felt heavy as you made your way to the door, heart climbing into your throat like it already knew.

Beomgyu. He looked like he hadn’t slept. Hair tousled, dark circles under his eyes, jaw tight like he’d rehearsed a thousand things to say and forgotten every single one the second he saw you. He quickly goes inside as soon as you step back and closes the door behind.

“What’s wrong with you?” he breathed, “What did I do?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. He laughed but it was hollow. “Did I cross a line? Say something I shouldn’t have? Did I hold you too long? Look at you too much?”

“Beomgyu—”

“No,” he said quickly, his voice shaking. “No. Don’t do that. Don’t say my name like that. I’ve been trying, I’ve been trying so hard not to push. Not to ask for more than you’re ready to give. I’ve been—fuck—I’ve been so patient with you, Y/N. Waiting. Holding back. Being whatever you needed me to be. And now you’re just… gone?” He choked, looking down. “You just left me there.” Tears welled up in your eyes. You swallowed hard.

He looked at you again, and it almost broke you. “Did that mean nothing to you?” he whispered. “Did I mean nothing to you?” You stepped back, instinctively, like your own guilt was too heavy to hold this close. He saw it.

Your eyes sting. You see him, the exhaustion in his face, the bags under his eyes. You look at him and God, it’s the worst thing, because he looks like he’s already bracing for the worst.

“I fucking miss you,” he says quietly, desperately. “I miss Nari. And if you really don’t want me in your life, say it to my face. If I don’t have a chance, if there’s no space for me in your world… I’ll back off.” He swallows, eyes glassy. “If you don’t want me anymore—”

“It’s not that.” Your voice comes out cracked, a whisper barely stitched together. His eyes snap to yours, and it nearly undoes you. “I’m in doubt, okay?” you whisper. “Because I’ve been there. I’ve heard promises. I’ve believed in forever before and ended up alone with a baby in my arms.” He flinches. “I can’t do it again. Not for me and especially not for Nari. She’s not like other kids. She feels everything. If she loves you and you leave…” You take a shaky breath. “It will destroy her. I know what that kind of pain looks like. I lived through it and I won’t risk her having to.”

“And on top of that,” you breathe out bitterly, “let’s be real. There are a thousand girls who’d love to be yours. Girls with no baggage. Girls who are whole. Girls who don’t carry years of hurt and a child that isn’t yours. Girls who haven’t already given everything they had away.” You shake your head, jaw tightening. “I’m a single mom, Beomgyu. I have nothing left to offer. I’ve been holding myself together with spit and string for years. And one day… one day you’ll see that, I’m not shiny or easy or new. That I’m just work. And when that happens, I won’t be surprised.” You’re shaking now, because the words are pouring out like you’ve been choking on them for years.

Your voice trembles as you say it, eyes flickering to the floor. “I just want to protect her from that moment. What if one day you wake up and realize we’re too much?”

Beomgyu stares at you, chest heaving, and for a moment, all you can hear is the silence between you. His hands are trembling. You see it even as he clenches them into fists at his sides. Then his voice breaks, barely holding back the quake in his chest. “Do you even know how hard it’s been for me?”

“Do you know what it’s like to wake up every damn day thinking about you and wondering if I ever even cross your mind?” His eyes are glassy now, jaw clenched like he’s trying not to fall apart. “Do you know what it does to a person?”

You know, you know that feeling.

He laughs, bitter and quiet. “I came back because I couldn’t stay away and yeah, maybe I was terrified because every time I see you, I wonder if just being here is ruining something you’ve already tried to heal from.” He looks at you, “But I couldn’t stay away. I couldn’t pretend that moving on was possible. Not when my heart—” his voice cracks, “—not when my heart’s been beating for you all this time.”

He runs a hand through his hair, eyes red, pacing slightly as if staying still is too much. “I’m fucking in love with you, Y/N. I have been. And that feeling,” he pauses, chest rising and falling, “that feeling, it hasn’t faded. It won’t. Not in a week, not in a year, not in a lifetime or my next. I can’t look at anyone else and even try to imagine what it could be. It’s you. Always been you.”

He swallows thickly, “And Nari? She’s a gift. She’s part of you. She’s this bright, beautiful piece of you and I love her.” He chokes on the words. “If I walk away now, it’s only me. Just me. I’ll take that. But if you walk away… if you shut that door between us for good, it won’t just be you. I’ll lose both of you. You and Nari.”

Beomgyu breathes, then he sees it. Your tears. They fall quietly, like you didn’t even realize you were crying, and something in him fractures. His expression caves, soft and broken, and before he can stop himself, he steps closer, tentative, like he’s afraid you’ll flinch. His hands are gentle when they reach for you, thumbs brushing the wetness from your cheeks like he’s memorizing the shape of your grief. His touch is trembling, unsure.

“You’re crying,” he whispers, “God, you’re crying…” His voice breaks on the last word. You can feel his hands shaking as he holds your face. “You think I’d ever leave you?” he breathes, eyes locked to yours, full of disbelief and pain and love. “You think I’d walk away from this? From you? After all we've been through? I’ve known you since we were kids. I loved you then, and I love you now.”

You hiccup, the sound small and sharp, like something inside you just split. A soft, strangled whimper slips out at the warmth of his hands; so gentle, so undeserved and your face crumples as fresh tears fall. “It’s all my fault,” you whisper, and makes his breath hitch. “If I had trusted you…” Your voice shakes, breaks, and you force the words out. “If I had waited. Maybe then…” Your chest caves inward, like you’re caving around the memory. “Maybe then she wouldn’t look up at me with those huge, tear-soaked eyes and ask if he ever loved her. If she wasn’t enough.” The words fall like stones. “If that’s why he left.” Beomgyu’s face twists but he doesn’t interrupt. He just listens. He takes it.

“And I, I have to look at her, and I have to lie. I have to lie, Beomgyu.” You’re gasping now, fists clenched. “I have to smile while swallowing every goddamn piece of my grief, and tell her, ‘You are enough. You are so loved,’ while the space beside her is a fucking ghost.” You squeeze your eyes shut. “And she believes me. That’s the worst part. She believes me.”

Your voice goes hoarse, barely audible. “Maybe if I’d made better choices,” you whisper, voice barely there, “I wouldn’t be doing this alone. I wouldn’t be the only one standing on the sidelines during family days, clapping for one when the world cheers in twos.”

You press your lips together to keep from sobbing. “I wouldn’t be the only arms she runs into.”

“I’m here,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. “I’m here. Just… just tell me what you need—”

“I love you.” It’s barely a whisper, but it stops the world. Your fingers tighten in his shirt, twisting desperately, “I love you,” you say again, voice cracking. “I never stopped.”

His breath catches in his throat.

“Even when I was pregnant and terrified and waking up alone. Even when the world felt too big and I was too small and everything hurt, I still loved you.” You’re trembling now, eyes locked to his like the truth has finally clawed its way out of you. “When I gave birth, when I held her for the first time and felt everything and nothing all at once—I wished you were there. I needed you there.” Your voice breaks entirely, your forehead pressed harder against his like you’re trying to crawl into him, into that space where it doesn’t hurt so much.

“There were nights I didn’t think I’d make it. Days where I’d stare at the ceiling and wonder if she’d grow up resenting me. Days where I’d hold her and whisper your name… it was you. Always you.” Beomgyu’s eyes are wide, glassy, like he’s forgotten how to breathe. His lips part, but nothing comes out. Nothing can.

Because you just shattered him.

“We survived because of you,” you whisper. “Because I remembered what it felt like to be loved by you, because even when you weren’t there, you were still the reason I kept going.”

His hands slide to your jaw, his chest is rising and falling fast now, like your words punched through every wall he built.

He’s completely undone.

You barely get to speak again before he’s on you. He can't stop himself anymore. It’s how you looked, whispered the words that you loved him after all this time. His hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him, his body heat searing through your clothes. His lips crash into yours—hungry, desperate, like he’s been starved for you. His mouth moves against yours, claiming, taking.

His fingers thread through your hair, tilting your head back as his tongue slides against yours. His hands roam down, gripping, pulling, making sure you feel every bit of him. He grabs your wrists, lifting them, wrapping your arms around his neck as his lips move to your jaw, then to your neck, his breath ragged as he nips your sensitive skin. "I missed you," he murmurs. Another kiss—hotter, deeper, his body pressing your back against the wall. "I got fucking scared you'd never let me in."

His movements were hurried, frantic, as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he let go. In one swift motion, he lifted you, his steps unsteady as he carried you to the bedroom. Your bedroom. The air felt heavy as he laid you down on the mattress.

"You loved me." His voice softens, almost breaking. He presses his crotch to yours, eyes seeking yours. "You loved me after all this time?"

“Yes,” you said weakly, your hands clutching at his shirt, your voice trembling as much as your resolve.

"You're stuck with me now." His hands moved to your shoulders, then slid down to your waist, pulling you to him. He grinds desperately to you. You never knew that lips could talk without uttering a word as he captures your lips again and again. "I can't stay away anymore. I can't live without you."

You surrendered to his touch, your body softening beneath him. Your hands gripped his shoulders for balance as he pressed you deeper into the mattress, which groaned under your shifting weight. You reached for Beomgyu’s lips, catching him off guard as you kissed him with everything you had, tongues colliding in a heated frenzy. His hand slid between your thighs, cupping your middle and sending a shiver through you. But even in the haze of his taste, a heavy guilt settled in your chest. "Gyu,"

"I need you, baby." His breaths were ragged, syncing with your every moan as his tongue tangled with yours. Your fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer, urging him on. His body pressed against yours, grinding to yours, while his hands roamed over your skin, igniting every nerve he touched. His lips trailed downward, leaving soft kisses that melted into your flesh, a path leading straight to your core.

He stripped you of every barrier, leaving you bare under his gaze. His eyes shimmered with adoration and awe as they traced your body. You hadn’t realized how powerless you were against him until your legs parted, welcoming him. He's on top of you, looked at you like you were sacred, like you were his entire world. Beomgyu's eyes never left yours as his fingers found your hand, he intertwines your fingers.

“It's going to be okay… I'll be here now.” he whispered between kisses, his voice breaking in a way that made your heart ache. Tears pricked your eyes because you wanted to believe him. You needed to believe him. His hands explored further, his fingers shakily reaching for your clit, pinching softly then roughly rubbing, coaxing sounds from your lips that you didn’t know you were capable of.

"I'll fix everything for us, for you." He looks at you—wanting to see every expression you make. His face hovers and with his fingers he spreads you apart. He swallows, salivating. He sticks his tongue out, lightly licking your clit. You taste so—he buries his face in, tongue inside, hands on your hips. "Shit, you've always tasted this good," He groans, lapping up, sucking the arousal out of you. He moves up, nose bumping on your clit then he suckles more. His cock throbs with every taste of you, the way you melt against his mouth driving him insane. He feels you slick against his chin, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t leave a single inch of you untouched by his warm, greedy mouth. It was as if your body had been crafted for his lips alone, flesh and heat meant to be devoured at his leisure.

When you tug hard on his hair, he groans against you, finally pulling back. His lips glisten as he moves up your body. He crashes his mouth onto yours, the kiss deep and hungry, and you taste yourself on his tongue—messy, desperate, a mix of him and you, blurring the lines between who’s devouring who.

“I love you,” he murmured as he positioned himself, slowly sliding into you. A low, guttural sound escaped him as he felt you, tight and warm, pulling him deeper. He's sure he'll come right there and then. His face buried itself in the curve of your neck, and his words spilled out—

"You feel so so good, don't ask me to stop, please." His touch was gentle even as his thrusts inside you grew more desperate. He cradled your head, kissed away your tears, and pressed his lips to your cheek. “I’m in love with you, Y/N,"

“I love you,” you replied, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss as you both unravelled together, bodies trembling in unison. Your thighs clenched tightly around his waist.

"Beomgyu, I— I'm sorry—" You whispered his name and it made tears well up in his eyes. His hand gently pushed the damp strands of hair from your face, and he pressed tender kisses along your cheeks, your temple, and your jaw.

“Shh, I know baby,” he whispered, pulling you against his chest, holding you like he was afraid you’d slip away. His lips brushed the crown of your head.

All the horrors inside you; every thoughts of abandonment, every sleepless night, every silent scream, begin to dissolve beneath his touch. With every kiss he lays against your skin, something softens. He’s chasing the ghosts from your bones, like he’s replacing every bruise life left behind with something holy. He kisses your cheeks, wet with tears. He kisses you like a man who has memorized the ruins. Who has studied the wreckage of you and decided that this is still his favorite place to be. That you, broken or whole, scarred or shining, were always meant to be his.

You’re starting to breathe.

"I'm not missing anything anymore," Beomgyu murmurs, lips tugging into a soft pout. You laugh quietly against his bare chest, your cheek rising and falling with each of his breaths. His arms tighten around you, fingertips tracing slow, lazy circles along your spine. The two of you lie tangled in the warmth of the sheets, skin to skin. He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead. "Nari. Her first words. Her first steps. All those nights you probably sat up alone…” His voice trails off, and when he speaks again, it’s rougher. “I wasn’t there. And I hate that. I hate that you had to do it all without me.” He looks at you and for a second the world seems to still. "I'm not missing any more of it."

How can someone like him be real?

“Okay.” You smile, and so does he—quiet and shy, the corners of his mouth lifting just enough to show the faintest hint of dimples. You reach out without thinking, your fingers brushing the soft curve of his cheek, then trailing across the tiny freckles scattered like whispers on his skin. “And how are you supposed to do that, hmm?” you murmur, voice barely above a breath. “Live with me? Or—”

“Marry me,” he says, and your hand stills, but he catches it gently, holding it between his own. He brings it to his lips and presses a kiss to your palm, “Will you marry me?”

You can’t breathe. Your heart stumbles in your chest as you search his face for any trace of a smile, any flicker that he might be joking—that he doesn’t really mean it. Beomgyu takes your silence for doubt, so he keeps going. “Of course, I’d have to ask Nari first, and probably beg. I need her approval before anything,” he says with a nervous laugh, eyes flicking to yours.

“You get to choose where we live,” he adds quickly. “Do you want a house near the coast? Somewhere quiet? We could move. We could adopt a dog. Or do you want a flower shop?” He’s painting visions in the air now, “We could also—”

Beomgyu keeps talking. His words are soft, a little rushed. He talks about futures like they’re right there in the middle of his hands, painted in soft colors and quiet mornings. You, him, and Nari. A little house somewhere warm. A dog with floppy ears. A flower shop if you want it. A life that feels full.

You hear him, but your heart is louder.

They say you’re lucky if you find the man of your dreams. But that never felt like something made for you. Not for the boy rambling in front of you, not for your best friend. You look at him; at his eyes, honest and open, at his lips, red and kiss-bitten from how often they’ve met yours. At the way he watches you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered.

And suddenly, it makes sense. It all dawns to you, why you've always find it hard to imagine, to hope, and to wish.

It's all because Beomgyu, is the maker of your dreams.

"Where's my ring?"

You sit at the coffee shop, the cup of coffee in front of you untouched, growing cold. Your fingers keep circling your new ring, turning it absentmindedly, like maybe if you spin it enough, it’ll stop the nerves.

Then the door chimes. Jaehyun walks in, scanning the room, searching, until they land on you; they soften. “Hi,” he says as he slides into the seat across from you. There’s a small pink paper bag in his hands, creased slightly from how tightly he’s holding it. “Thank you for meeting me, Y/N.”

“It’s nothing,” you reply quietly. “I guess it was inevitable… that we’d have to sit down like this.” He nods, gaze drifting to your hand; your ring. A flicker of something passes over his face, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

“I want to be there for Nari,” he says finally. “Time with her. Some kind of custody arrangement. I know it’s late. I know how much time I’ve missed. But I… I regret everything.” His voice trembles, “I’ve spoken to my mom. I’ve thought about this a lot. I don’t expect forgiveness, but let me support her—financially, emotionally. Whatever you’ll allow me to do.”

"Yes." You interrupt gently, before his words spiral too far. "Thank you, Jaehyun. But…" You pause, trying to steady the shake in your voice. “This is going to take time.”

You glance down at on your right, on the windows to the parked car where you know your best friend is waiting, then back at him. “I’ll explain it to her. Slowly. When it feels right. And when she’s ready, we’ll set a day where you can be with her—freely, as her father. Just… not yet. We can’t rush something like this. Not when it’s her heart on the line.”

His shoulders sink just a little as he nods. “I lost my chance,” he says softly, looking at the window, at the same parked car you've been looking at,“With you. With Nari.” It isn’t a question.

He offers a faint smile, and for a second, it looks like he might say more but the words catch somewhere in his throat and never make it out. Instead, he slides the pink bag across the table. “I baked you cookies,” he says. "It doesn't have peanuts on it."

“Nari, be careful!” you call out as your daughter bolts through the front door, laughter echoing off the bare walls of your new home.

Beside you, Beomgyu chuckles, juggling two boxes in his arms. “Careful, sweetheart,” he calls after her, his voice filled with nothing but adoration as he follows you inside.

Your eyes sweep over the space—unfamiliar, but full of promise. It had taken months of gentle convincing, of late-night talks and quiet reassurances from Beomgyu. And now… here you are. Standing in a place that doesn’t feel like home just yet, but might—because he’s here. Because she’s here.

You set your box down on the counter and breathe in slowly, letting the moment settle around you.

A warm hand slides over your back, fingers curling gently at your waist. “You okay, baby?” Beomgyu murmurs, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the side of your face. “Soobin said he stopped to get food.”

You nod, turning slightly to face him. “I want to paint our house,” you say quietly.

Our house.

Beomgyu smiles, eyes crinkling like he’s just heard something sacred. “Then let’s paint it,” he whispers, eyes still on you like you’re the most important thing in the room.

He takes your hand gently, absentmindedly lifting it to his lips. His thumb brushes over your fingers, then lingers on your ring. He kisses it, soft and slow, like it’s second nature now, like loving you in small, wordless ways has become part of who he is.

“We can also have…” he starts, voice trailing off as he imagines out loud, eyes flicking to the blank walls around you. “A wall for Nari’s drawings. Right here, maybe in the hallway. And a shelf for your books. One of those that curves, remember? You showed me a picture of it.” He smiles, that soft boyish grin he only gives when he’s picturing a life with you. “And maybe a corner just for us. A record player. Or a couch we can fall asleep on, when we're tired of chasing Nari around.” He laughs a little, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. “We can fill this place up with us.”

“Daddy!” The word rings out like a bell, and you both freeze. Beomgyu goes completely still beside you, breath caught in his throat. You turn just in time to see Nari bounding down the hallway, a soft, excited smile lighting up her face.

“Do I get my own room now?” she asks, as if she didn’t just change the world with one word. You and Beomgyu look at each other, stunned; eyes wide, not in disbelief, but in something far softer.

It’s the first time. The very first time she’s called him that.

Beomgyu blinks quickly, like he’s trying to make sure he’s not dreaming, like if he moves too fast it might vanish. Then, he drops to his knees and opens his arms. Nari runs into them without hesitation.

He wraps her up tightly, heart thundering, eyes glassy with everything he’s feeling all at once; shock, love, awe. He buries his face into her tiny shoulder and laughs through it, voice thick.

“Of course you get your own room, sweetheart,” he says, pulling back just enough to look at her. “You can have anything. Daddy will give it to you. Anything you want.”

Shit happens. Life happens.

It breaks you in places you didn’t know could crack. It tests you, takes from you, forces you to let go of things before you're ready. Time passes. Plans fall apart, but no matter how far you go, no matter how the story twists, no matter what you've been through, you always end up where you belong to. Always end up with them.

The ties between may fray. Fate may take unexpected turns. You might walk through fire, lose your way, forget who you were before the world touched you, come back with more scars than dreams. But nothing, nothing, not even all the wreckage life leaves behind… can stop two souls that are meant for each other.

The things that the world can’t touch.

It remains the same.

taglist: @heesmiles @lovingbeomgyudayone @virtaideen @hyukascampfire @fancypeacepersona @bamgeutori @lilbrorufr @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @xylatox @yunverie @imlonelydontsendhelp @moagyuu @immelissaaa @readinmidnight @pagelets @wonderstrucktae @boba-beom @nightblythe @hyuckxtagram @hoefororeo @beomgyusluver @feet4liferss @soobinbunnie5 @soohashits @lostgirlysstuff @demidelulu @love-be0m @razsberrie @strawberryshoujosundae @y2kgyu @usuallyunlikelyfox @xi0riae @giegiemon @okkotsuevie @beomkyum @i-am-not-dal @cherr4es @brrytears @yystarz @moonlightgrleric @lumpynoofles @raspberrii @baekberrie

634 notes · View notes

monstersflashlight · 2 days ago

Text

Commission for Anna

Request: Would you be able to do some like, plus size body positivity fluff mixed in with some nsfw? Like a girl who feels too big until she meets a monster who's very big and he thinks she's soft and perfect?

Let’s make a deal

Orc x chubby fem!reader || (light) body worship, oral sex || tw: fatphobia

“I don’t want to do this,” you tell him again you let out with a pout. He looks down at you with the most adoring smile you’ve ever seen, your legs getting a bit weak.

He presses his hand a bit harder against your lower back, guiding you inside the awful store. “But you need to, you know you do. It’s your friend’s wedding, come on.” His reasoning is solid, and you know it, but going shopping at a normal mall with your size… Not the best experience.

You wanted to order it online, but you couldn’t find anything good enough so he suggested the mall… And maybe bribed you with the promise to buy any books that caught your attention if you were a good girl and tried on the dresses you like. Who were you to refuse that? He was offering to buy you books… So you accepted.

And now you are regretting it.

“But… They are all going to look stunning and I’m going to look like a sausage covered in lace or something.” You try to cover it as a joke, but you are really worried about it. You are worried you’re indeed going to look awful next to all of your thinner friends in their pretty dresses.

To your surprise, he continues your joke: “I’d eat that sausage any day.” You chuckle, and then burst out laughing when he adds: “Wait! I do eat her out every day,” he whisper-shouts making the lady at the front turn her head with her nose furrowed as if the comment was disgusting.

Her look brings back all your worries. You bite your lip, doubts overpowering your amusement. “I’m serious. I’m going to look so fat in the pictures. All the other bridesmaids are dainty and thin and I’m going to be the fat friend… again.” You try not to sound bitter about it, but you’ve been the fat friend your whole life, never the pretty one, never the hot one, never the sexy one… And it just hurts to be.

His eyes soften, and his hand caresses your cheek as he tells you: “Okay, let’s make a deal.”

“Another one?” You ask, remembering the book deal you make. You are definitely not forgetting about that one, you’ve been eyeing a couple hockey romances you want to have real bad and he’s going to pay for those.

“Another one,” he repeats with a soft smile. He lowers his voice to make his offer: “If you try on four dresses, I’ll make you come so many times later that you’d be dehydrated by the time I finish.” Your whole body thrums with anticipation.

“And if I don’t?” You tease.

“Then I’ll be a good orc boyfriend and let you sit on my face until you are too tired to feel bad anymore,” he states with a very serious face.

You break down laughing, doubling in the middle and holding your belly as you do so, tears in your eyes. “How is that a deal?”

He arches an eyebrow: “You don’t want it?” He extends his hand and you look at him intensely for a beat. Your heart feels so full you feel like it’s going to explode. He’s just so fucking perfect, always having the best words, the perfect words… Fuck, you love him so much.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Deal,” you tell him with an amused smile as you grab his too big hand and shake it.

You end up in the dressing room with four dresses that you aren’t sure are going to fit either your boobs, your belly or your ass… But you’ll give them a try because your boyfriend insisted. You aren’t sure how they are going to look over all your fat, probably awful, but you take a deep breath and try the first one. It’s a no go, as soon as you try to pull it down your body it clings to your boobs and doesn’t go down.

You take it off with your heart beating too fast and your mood souring instantly. You knew this was going to happen, and still you are feeling worse and worse.

The second dress fits… very badly. It sticks to parts of your body that you don’t want it to, making you feel, as you pointed out earlier, like a sausage.

The third one gets over your boobs and belly, but the second you try to pass it down your hips it gets stuck, leaving you feeling like Winnie the Pooh as your eyes fill with tears.

Your boyfriend asks how is it going three times, as if he knows you are struggling. You tell him you are trying them on, you’ll be out in a sec… As you wipe the single tear that runs down your cheek as your whole brain starts vibrating with self-doubt and self-deprecation.

You want to leave, you don’t want to try more dresses… But there’s only one left, only one pretty emerald dress that looks so pretty you know you are going to be devastated when it doesn’t fit. But you try it either way, the willingness to make good on your deal powering you through it.

To your utter surprise, the dress fits, the corset like upper part hugging your waist and your boobs and making you feel like a princess. The skirt flows around your hips almost to the ground, and a deep cut up your leg makes it feel sexy. You look at your reflection in the mirror and feel something in your chest bloom.

“I think… I think this one is good,” you say as you open the curtain to find him leaning against the opposite wall.

His mouth falls open completely, his green cheeks turning pink as his eyes travel down your body. “You look… wow.” He takes a deep breath, covering his mouth with his hand as if to wipe saliva out of his mouth. “Wooow,” he repeats as if he can’t believe it. Your heart is pounding like crazy in your chest.

“What?” You ask, feeling self-conscious as his eyes travel up and down your body over and over, mouth still agape.

“Absolutely ravaging,” he finally lets out. The blush that covers your cheeks burns as hot as your body when he looks at you like that.

But because you are you and can’t deal with emotions, you joke around: “You are just trying to gain my favor to get your dick sucked.”

He smirks at you, the corner of his lips reaching almost the tip of his tusk. You sigh adoringly as he chuckles. “I don’t need to compliment you to get my dick sucked,” he states.

“Oh, yeah?” You tease, feeling cheeky.

“Yes. Because I know my little human loves to do that. I don’t need to convince her.” You let out an accidental moan at his rough tone. His eyes darken before he’s guiding you back inside the dressing room: “Take off that dress, we need to get home now.”

“But the bookstore…” You try to argue.

“I’ll let you pay your whole online wishlist with my card if you get out of that dress and sitting on my face in the next thirty minutes.” Your big orc eating you out and all the books you want? Yes.

You change in a hurry, almost throwing the cash to the rude girl at the counter as you do, but you don’t fucking care. Your orc is grabbing your hand and pulling you along to the parking lot, his dick clearly hard in his pants. Some people stare, but neither of you worry about them.

You make it home in record time, pulling off your clothes as you run to the bedroom. He arrives before you, laying down on his back and staring at you squirming next to the bed. You are still feeling a bit self-conscious after the dress-fitting.

But the heat in his gaze makes you shiver. “Come here, darling.” His voice is rough and pure sex. You approach the bed, kneeling next to him. “I promise to give you orgasms until you pass out, so come sit on my face and let me rock your world.”

You instantly shake your head. “I’m too heavy for that.”

“No, you’re not,” he says with a growl that makes your clit tingle as he grabs your hips and pushes you down until you are straddling his face.

His tongue darts out as you try not to push too much of your weight on him, but he’s not having any of that. He growls and grabs your hips again, pushing you completely down until his face is smothered against your pussy and his tongue can reach your welcoming heat. His nose is rubbing your clit, and you let out an involuntary cry of ecstasy at the sensation. Fuck, that feels phenomenal.

Before your body could react, he was making out with your pussy until your brain felt like cotton candy and your hands are tangled in his hair as you ride his face with abandon. Your pussy is making obscene noises against his face, so wet it’s almost embarrassing, but the way he’s moaning under you blows away all your doubts. The pleasure overriding your fears of crushing him as he devours you, moaning like a bitch in heat against your pussy lips and making you crazy with desire.

He eats you out like he’s a starved orc, and good goddess if you aren’t living for it. His hands find your belly, your ass, your boobs… He’s groping around your body, making you feel more secure about yourself as you’ve ever felt. He’s just so fucking perfect, always making sure you feel like the goddess he believes you are.

And right now, with your hands in his hair and your clit, rubbing perfectly against his nose, you believe him, too.

He keeps going until your thighs are trembling against his ears and your pussy is gushing around his tongue as you come for what feels like an eternity, your full body shaking over him until you can’t think straight anymore.

And then he does it again.

And again.

Until you are begging for him to stop because your clit feels too tender and you don’t think you can hold yourself up anymore. He chuckles between your thighs, helping you to your back and caressing your cheek, kissing your forehead as your eyes close very slowly.

Before you pass out, he lets out a soft “I love you,” and you melt completely against his warmth and his love, feeling like a goddess.

180 notes · View notes

shawtuzi · 17 hours ago

Text

here’s a little draft i made a while back <3

cw include: throat training, throat fucking, suguru has a big dick, lots of praise, spit, cum eating, not proofread///wc: 2.6k

day one of throat training . . .

“go slow now, baby. there’s no rush,” suguru cooed down at you, a groan bubbling in his throat when you wrapped your hand around the base of his dick. he was big—intimidatingly big, but then again everything about suguru was intimidating.

right now though, his energy was very comforting. his tone was low and sweet as he spoke to you, his eyes filled with so much love and adoration that it made your heart swell.

your eyes slowly drifted from his to the angry red tip right in front of your lips, a dribble of pre trailing slowly down the side. before you could even lick at it, suguru was gripping your jaw with a tatted hand. “i mean it. don’t go pushing yourself to the point you get sick, i don’t mind the mess, but i know you’ll never be able to look me in the eyes again because you’ll be embarrassed.”

he was right and you knew that, but it didn’t stop you from rolling your eyes at the statement.

“i promise i won’t go overboard, now lemme taste? please?” suguru’s thumb rubbed over your glossed up lip gently, his head lowering in a small nod. you leant forward, giving the tip an experimental lick. you noticed his pierced eyebrow twitch, and licked again, and again until your lips were wrapped completely around the throbbing muscle.

your tongue rubbed slowly against the underside, this had suguru groaning quietly, his head tipping back slightly. much to your dismay your eyes had already begun to water, but you charged forward regardless.

“spit on it, get it wet,” suguru grunted, brushing his thumb over the apple of your cheek. with a hum you pulled off his cock, you gathered up all the spit in your mouth and puckered your lips, letting it dribble over his slit. “mm, fuck. good girl, now use your hands like i’ve showed you.”

geto was never the type to be silent about his likes and dislikes in the bedroom, so the first time you gave him head he made sure to show the ropes of how he liked it. he didn’t mind that you couldn’t take much of his cock down your throat—it was the fact that you were so determined to make him cum as hard as possible that it made him fall in love with the way you gave head.

you took his cock back into your mouth again, your tongue lolling over his slit as your hands wrapped around the base. with a deep groan suguru’s head fell back against the couch with a soft thud, his adams apple bobbing.

the first time he heard you gag he ignored it. he knew you could do better, so he let you continue. you gulped another inch down and gagged harder than the last time, a fresh batch of hot tears brimming your lash line. “heh, you’re halfway there, baby. this is the m-most you’ve ever taken,” suguru panted out, teeth catching onto his bottom lip.

you hummed around his cock, lashes fluttering to rid the tears in your eyes. suguru couldn’t fight the twitch in his dick when your hot tears landed on his thighs—he always had a thing for seeing you cry during times like this.

a particularly loud gag caught his attention, and that’s what had him pulling you back by your hair, a web of spit connecting to your lips and his cock. “why—why’d you make me stop?” suguru couldn’t help by chuckle at how raspy your voice had gotten, you were too cute. he maneuvered you into his lap, shushing your whines and protests with a sloppy kiss the second you were close enough.

“i was in the middle of somethin’,” you mumbled against his soft lips. suguru lifted up your tank top revealing your breasts. his teeth tugged gently on his lip ring as he ogled your naked chest, and after what felt like an eternity his eyes finally met yours. “sounded like you needed a break, besides i was gettin’ impatient. i need to be in her.” a squeak slipped past your lips when his hand cupped your pussy over your pajama shorts, his fingers dancing over the small wet patch in the center.

“seems like you were getting worked up too. you’re shorts are soaked, baby,” he chuckled, now using three fingers to rub at your cunt. your brows furrowed, kiss swollen lips parting the tiniest bit. suguru took that as an opportunity to pull you in for another bruising kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

suguru eventually got his way and had you bent over the armrest of the couch with three of his fingers shoved down down your throat while he fucked you from behind. when he was peak pussydrunk he slurred promises into your ear of how he would help you deepthroat his cock even if it took weeks.

day two of throat training . . .

“s-sugu i need a—hah! b-breakkkk!” suguru moaned against your pussy, your cries and pleas falling on deaf ears. you attempted to shut your thighs, but he just forced them right back open. as punishment he purposely ran the ball of his tongue piercing over your swollen clit earning a pitiful sob from you.

a hard smack on the back of the head finally had him pulling away, his thick brows pulled together in annoyance. “i know, i know i’m sorry, but in my defense i did say i needed a break,” you panted out, your hand coming down to brush his jet black hair out of his face. he mumbled out a thank you and kissed you clit one last time before finding his place next to you.

you were quick to cuddle into his side, and the hard on in his briefs was definitely making itself known with the way it poked at your lower tummy.

“sugu?”

“hm?”

“lemme suck you off again.”

suguru ran a hand through his hair before looking down at you, the corners of his lips lifting into a smile. he gave you a small nod and made quick work to push his briefs down his thighs. while you found a position to get comfortable in, geto spat in his hand and slowly worked that same hand up and down the length of his dick.

“gimme s’more spit, i wanna make it wet for you,” he grunted, holding his hand out for you. you ignored the burning feeling in your cheeks and obeyed his command, letting a glob of spit drip from your lips and onto his hand. he stroked himself for another minute before speaking, “open your mouth.”

your lips parted, greedily wrapping themselves around his leaking tip. suguru’s hand found purchase on the back of your neck, meanwhile the other hand cupped his balls, his fingers squeezing them ever so gently.

he was almost halfway in your mouth, and so far no tears! but that was very short lasting because a second later suguru thrusted his hips up, shoving his cock further down your throat. “ah, shit. your throat got so fuckin’ tight for a second,” he breathlessly chuckled, beads of sweat now starting to dot at his hairline.

“why don’t i help you out a lil.” suguru’s fingers wove themselves through your hair, securing a tight grip before planting his feet into the bed. you expected him to be a little rough, but not this rough. his bulbous tip was smacking the back of your throat so hard it was becoming difficult to breathe. “relax your jaw, don’t think t-too hard about it, baby,” he grunted, forcing your head down another inch, and then another. his cock was now more than halfway in your mouth.

“c‘mon just a little bit more—fuckkk, yeah there you go, pretty baby.” suguru’s tongue toyed with his lip piercing, tugging on it with his teeth ever so softly to add a little pain into the mix.

suddenly he felt a hand tap at his thigh rapidly, and that was his cue to lift your head, wet gasps and pants leaving your swollen lips. his chest was heaving, a thin sheen of sweat covering his pecs and abdomen.

“you good?”

your head was so cloudy it felt as though you were floating, all of your senses consumed by suguru. with a gulp you nodded, your hand wrapping around his dick to bring it to your lips once more. “i wanna—i wanna take more, wanna take all of it sugu.”

suguru’s tongue swiped across his bottom lip, “oh, i’m gonna help you take all of it, just not today, baby. let’s get you comfortable with where you’re at now.” and with that he was pushing his cock between your lips, his eyes fluttering when your tongue caressed the thick veins on the underside. “y-you’re fuckin’ heaven sent,” he moaned lowly, giving his balls a tender squeeze.

you moaned around him, hollowing your cheeks and sucking harshly to get a reaction out of him. this had suguru moaning louder than before, his thighs tensing when he felt the coil in his stomach wind tighter and tighter.

you were being so perfect for him, and that only made him want to ruin you even more. he wanted to see tears pour from your eyes and snot dribble from your nose, all while you moaned around his cock like a bitch in heat. he was almost there, he just had to push you a bit further, but that could wait for next time.

“y-you’re about to make me cum, baby. you gonna let me paint that tight throat white? hm?” with no warning he pushed your head as far as you would allow him, the sound of your choking causing the knot in his stomach to snap. seconds later you felt something hot coat your tongue and throat, and with all the strength you had, you swallowed around his cock, earning a deep groan from your boyfriend.

you pulled off his cock with a lewd pop, your chest heaving rapidly as you tried to catch your breath. suguru’s head tilted all the way back, body completely numb from one of the best orgasms you’ve ever given him. he could hear you quietly laughing at him, and then he felt you slither into his lap, his limp cock now pressing snuggly against your puffy pussy.

“you okay, honey?” you cooed, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. it took a minute, but eventually suguru’s eyes were fluttering open, and when he saw his lips curled into a lazy smile. “yeah m’good, baby. just needed a minute to recover, ya almost sucked my soul out,” he chuckled, tatted hand grabbing a handful of your ass. butterflies erupted in your tummy at his words, oh how you wanted to do it all over again and again and again until your jaw fell off.

but for now you settled on sucking on suguru’s pierced tongue while he ground your pussy against his already half hard dick <3

day three of throat training . . .

suguru wasn’t the jealous type. he was a secure man who believed that he was a good person, and an even better partner. it was rare that your sugu ever got jealous of you and another guy, but when he does . . . .

“sugu i—”

“aht, aht. zip it, i don’t wanna hear anything from you,” he grumbled, locking the door behind him once you both were inside your apartment. your lips were turned into a frown, heart tightening when he brushed past you and walked into your shared bedroom. you trailed behind him like a kicked puppy, your head hung low, and your lips pushed into a pout.

you hadn’t meant to entertain the very flirtatious waiter who was serving you two dinner, you were just making conversation! suguru didn’t see it that way unfortunately, hence why he was giving you so much attitude. you hated when suguru was upset with you, it made your stomach twist into knots do tight it almost made you sick.

while he slipped off his shoes and shrugged off his jacket you just stood to the side and watched, twiddling your fingers together until he said your name. your head lifted, eyes locking with his. he used two fingers to beckon you over, “c’mere, lemme unzip you.”

his annoyed facade slowly broke more and more as you stepped closer to him, he almost broke completely when he saw how glassy your eyes were. his touch was gentle as ever as he turned your back to him, nimble fingers slowly pulling the zipper to your dress down. you let it slip past your shoulders, leaving you in nothing but your lavender bra and panties.

you turned towards him, taking another step closer until your bodies were touching. you looked up at him with those doe eyes he could never resist, your chin resting on his chest. “please don’t be mad at me, sugu. i wasn’t trying to flirt back with him, honest!”

suguru sighed, his hands finding purchase on your hips. “i know you weren’t, baby. i just—i just got a little jealous is all, but i should’ve known better than to think such a thing. m’sorry i made you upset, i hate seeing you upset, especially if it’s my fault.” his thumb traced over your jaw gently as he spoke, and by the time he was finished talking your noses were practically touching.

“you’re gonna hurt your back if you stay like this,” you giggled, referring to the way he leaning over you. suguru chuckled, his tongue poking out to toy with his lip ring. “the back pain is worth it for you.”

ugh, he was just so perfect.

“you’re so sweet, sugu. i could just—”

“just what?”

your eyes flicked to his lower half and then back up, a small smirk curling at your lips. “so sweet to me i could just suck your soul out.”

he groaned at your words, his lower half pushing against yours out of instinct. you cupped him over his jeans, your teeth clamping onto your bottom lip. “i think tonight will be the night, m’gonna take it all sugu.” suguru’s dick twitched at your words, already hardening up underneath his briefs.

“yeah baby? think you can handle it all?” he questioned lowly, his hands cupping your chubby cheeks. you nodded, hearts practically forming in your eyes. your lips puckered slightly, and geto wasted no time pressing his lips against yours, his tongue swiping over your bottom lip. your lips parted, allowing his to duck your tongue into his mouth.

suguru grabbed a handful of your ass, his mouth opening wider to swallow up every moan and whimper you let slip out. “get on your knees, i’ma fuck your throat.”

before you knelt down suguru halted you, his hand wrapping around your wrist to bring you closer to the bed. he quickly tossed a throw pillow on the ground in front of you. “don’t want you to get carpet burn, or anything,” he grinned, undoing his belt and zipper. when he sat on the bed you made quick work to kneel in front of him, your knees digging into the plushness of the pillow.

his cock was rock hard by now, pre drooling from the tip and down the base. “remember, baby, relax your jaw and swallow around it. don’t think too hard about it either, just lemme ease it all the way in, yeah?” his words sounded muffled in your head, your attention solely focused on his twitching dick. your head bobbed in a mindless nod, your hand reaching up to wrap around the base.

it took a little time, but you managed to get more than half of his dick into your mouth without gagging too harshly. he let you take it at your own pace at first, but eventually he got too impatient.

your eyes widened when he forced your head down, leaving a little over an inch left. “hah, shit. so fuckin’ tight,” he grunted, cupping the bulge in your throat. he pushed down gently on it, and that’s what had you choking around his cock, a mix of drool and pre dribbling from the corners of your lips.

you remembered his previous statement and relaxed your jaw, taking the last few inches of him into your mouth. suguru was always vocal, but the sound the came out of his mouth just now was very new. you’d never heard him moan so loud and whiny before, it made a gush of wetness drip from your pussy and seep into the soft material of your panties.

“h-holy shit, okay, okay m’gonna fuck your throat now. just—just tap me really hard if you need a break.” and with that suguru began to thrust wildly into your mouth, you chokes and gags sounding like music to his ears. your throat was burning, and your jaw was beginning to ache, but you pushed through the pain to hear those lovely sounds suguru was making.

he pulled you completely off his cock, allowing you to get exactly seven seconds of air before pushing his cock back into your mouth. he had an iron grip on your hair, holding you in place as he bucked his hips up.

when his eyes flicked down he nearly busted at the way you looked. your eye makeup was completely smudged due to your free falling tears, and so was your lip combo that you had worked so hard on. you were in such a messy state, but to him you had never looked prettier.

“s-shit, i’m gonna cum. take that shit all down your throat, baby. take it, take it, take ittttt,” suguru’s thighs tensed and his head tilting back, a pornographic moan slipping past his lips. he pushed your head as low as it would go, your violent gags and spluttering falling on deaf ears. you whimpered around his cock as he painted your throat white, your nails digging red crescents into his thighs.

when his grip on your hair loosened you quickly lifted your head up, your lips parting desperately for air. “you’re shaking,” you mumbled, poking at suguru’s trembling thigh.

“yeah, i know i am. i jus’ need a minute . . . to . . . *sigh* recover.” as suguru spoke you took it upon yourself to leave little kisses all over the base of his cock, your tongue poking out to lick up any excess cum you missed. he wanted to tell you to stop, he really did, but suguru was just too weak for his baby.

that’s how he ended up cumming down your throat three more times before nearly passing out from exhaustion. you took charge of the aftercare that night, cuddling him and kissing all over his face while you whispered about how hot he sounded while you were giving him head.

and then the next morning when he woke up he wasn’t all too surprised when the first thing you did was paw at his cock over the blanket, your eyes fluttering oh so innocently as you asked him if you could suck him off again <333

#suguru geto smut #geto smut #suguru geto x black!reader #geto suguru x black reader #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x reader #geto x black reader #suguru geto x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x black reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x black reader

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piroulinewafers · 1 day ago

Text

𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: caleb x fem! reader 𝐜𝐰: liberal usage of gege/meimei. 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: the colonel has never known how to love gently— not when it comes to her. spoiling her with pretty things is merely second nature to him. sometimes, she calls it too much. he calls it love.

caleb didn’t know when he came in— he rarely did.

the weight of the day still clung to his shoulders— the crisp collar of his uniform creased with long hours, boots dulled with dust and gloves still on his hands. but none of it mattered now. not when he stood in the doorway of the quiet little apartment, holding something delicate and lovely in his hands— wrapped carefully in soft tissue paper, tied with a pale satin ribbon.

“meimei,” caleb called softly, voice low and warm like it always was when he was deliberately trying not to scare her off.

“c’mere for a second.”

she peeked out from the hallway, hesitant and shy as ever, sleeves of her pyjamas tugged down past her hands. her eyes caught on the package he was holding, then flicked back up to his face.

“caleb…” she began softly, a slight frown on her face. though perhaps it was more akin to a pout, a pathetic attempt at a frown because even she couldn’t be mad at him.

“you didn’t have to get me anything…” she murmured, already shrinking into herself, as if to prepare for an argument she knew she wouldn’t win.

“i did.” he crossed the room, boots silent against the wooden floor, and pressed the bundle gently into her hands. “i wanted to.”

she blinked up at him. “you always say that…”

“i know.” a breath of a smile touched his lips. “but i saw it and thought of you. and once that happens, well… you know i can’t help myself.”

“i want to see you in it,” he said plainly, honestly, stepping pack and resting a hand on his belt. “right now.”

she looked down at the box, then back at him, wary but touched. “r-right now? caleb, it’s getting late,”

she opened her mouth to further protest, but he was already unfastening the ribbon, gently lifting up the lid.

and there it was: the softest powder-blue dress, dappled with silvery stars like frost caught in twilight. it’s skirt puffed just slightly with layers of light tulle beneath, and black, satin bows rested on the shoulders lie little whispers of sweetness, and a dainty silver belt circled the waist in a constellation of charms. on top, were a pair of white knee-high socks delicately ribbed and trimmed with tiny, matching bows. the second box had a paid of glossy black mary janes that had little bows on the double straps.

she stared, fingers trembling just slightly as they brushed the fabric. “it’s too much, gege….”

he stepped closer. “no, it’s perfect. for you.”

“caleb,” she whispered, brows furrowed as she averted her gaze. “this must’ve been expensive. i don’t need fancy things, i— “

“nope.” he held up a hand, face stern, the same look he used on his subordinates to get them to shut up and one that worked effortlessly well on her too. “not listenin’. don’t care.”

“but—“

“i said,” he cut in again, stepping forward now, close enough she had to tilt her chin to meet his eyes. “i wanted to buy it for you. because i knew you’d like it. and,” — he bent just a little, voice lowering to a near-whisper against her temple— “because i knew my meimei would say no.”

her breath caught. she’d forgotten how warm he sounded when he spoke, how the words curled around his affection or her. gentle, but unyielding.

he drew back, smirking faintly. “so i didn’t give you the chance.”

“go on,” he nudged her gently towards the bedroom with a hand on her back, warm and firm. “the dress is here, and i want to see you in it.”

she hesitated, glancing back at him once before slipping out of sight with the main box in hand.

he waited.

and when she returned, she did so quietly, almost uncertain and hesitant. adorably, endearingly shy.

she looked perfect. caleb was sure of it. the way the fabric floated just above her knees, the glimmer of the thread catching in the light, the way the bows framed her bare shoulders— it was all perfect.

“i… can’t reach the zipper,” she mumbled, voice barely a breath.

caleb crossed the roomm without a word. he took the socks from her arms, setting them on the couch behind him before stepping behind her. gently, he gathered up any hair in the way and moved it over her shoulder. she shivered when hsis fingered brushed the curve of her neck, exhaling softly.

“tricky zipper, hm? gege is here to help.” he murmured, mostly to himself, though there was a fond smile tugging at his lips.

with careful precision, he guided the zipper up the back of the dress, letting the fabric mold to her frame. he took his time, not because he struggled, but because he didn’t want to rush. when he was finished, he let his hands linger just a moment longer at her waist as he smoothed the dress out.

she made a quiet noise of pretest when caleb suddenly settled onto a knee after picking up the socks again, biting her lip.

with a practiced gentleness, he cradled her ankle and guided her foot into the soft cotton. her hands didn’t stop him as he bunched up one sock, holding her ankle in his palm like something precious. he slid the fabric up slowly, smoothing it over her skin with quiet, reverent care.

“you don’t have to do all of this…” she mumbled softly, her voice wobbling.

“i do. i want to.” she’d gone quiet, her cheeks flushed, her knees pulling just slightly inwards as she sat on the couch, but she didn’t stop him.

he took her other foot and did the same, rolling the second sock up with the same quiet precision, making sure every ling was smooth, every wrinkle gone. the little bows sat delicately right against her upper calf. “let me take care of you.”

caleb’s thumbs smoothed over the delicate fabric just beneath the bow on the socks, before reaching over for one of the shoes, bringing the box closer to where he was kneeling for each access. the glossy black mary janes gleamed under the warm room light, polished to a mirror shine, the cute little bows practically winking up at him.

he turned the shoe in his hand, thumb brushing along the sole before lowering it gently in front of her.

“sit still,” he said softly, nodding towards where she was sitting on the couch. and she obeyed, knees together, her dress spreading in a soft fan around her thighs.

“you don’t have to do that,” she murmured, watching him with pink cheeks, voice small.

“i know i don’t,” he answered without looking up, already easing the shoe toward her foot. “but i want to.” it was his same response for her nearly every retort.

she opened her mouth again, probably to protest— that it was embarrassing, that she could do it herself— but she closed it as quickly when he took her ankle in his hand.

caleb was gentle, careful as always. her foot was light in his palm, small, and cool to the touch beneath the socks. he slipped the shoe on with a practiced gare, guiding her toes in, cradling her heel. he took his time adjusting the strap over the sock, making sure it didn’t pink, then fastening the buckle with a quiet click.

“there,” he murmured, smoothing his thumb over the top of her foot. “one down.”

she made a quiet sound in the back of her throat— half laugh, half sigh— and he swore he felt her twitch.

the second shoe followed in the same rhythm. caleb took her other foot into his hand and repeated the ritual— slow, tender, reverent, as if this simple act held all the weight in the world.

“you know,” he said as he buckled the strap again, “these little bows are gonna be the death of me.”

she blinked. “w-why?”

he looked up at her with a crooked smile, still kneeling at her feet, the picture of a man far too proud of a moment so ordinary.

the colonel of the farspace fleet, at his knees for her.

“because you look like you walked out of a dream,” he said, a deep hum leaving him. “ you look like a little present,” he said, voice thick with something soft and dangerous sand utterly full. “like someone wrapped you up just for me.”

she looked down at him, eyes slightly wide, lashes fluttering.

“i want to keep you like this,” he murmured. “tucked away, somewhere safe. somewhere only i can reach. is that selfish?”

she didn’t answer, and he didn’t need her to. he reached up instead, tugging slightly at the hem of her dress and smoothing it over her lap with both hands before resting his cheek against her knee.

“let me do this for you,” he whispered, tilting his head to press a kiss to her knee. “let me keep you. spoil you. protect you.”

she sighed, her fingers hesitantly threading into his hair. a touch that said: i don’t know how to say yes, but i won’t say no.

and for now, that was more than enough for caleb.

#caleb x reader #love and deepspace #caleb lads #caleb love and deepspace #caleb x mc #caleb x you #xia yizhou #caleb x fem reader #caleb x y/n

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intromortal · 3 days ago

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i’m BEGGING for more thoughts on stepbro jay … losing my mind over how soft u wrote him im obsessed (only if u want to tho !!)

⚠︎ smut. mdni. step-cest. soft dom jay, just some eating out through panties. also this got a bit longer than intended so i cut it short at the end but i do plan on eventually actually writing this as a longer work nonnie!! sorry for letting this sit in my inbox for so long pls

jay's touch is gentle as always, as his hand slides down the expanse of your back, goosebumps littering your skin in its wake.

you feel so incredibly silly for ever doubting jay's devotion and feelings for you now that you can get a close look at just how bright his eyes sparkle with adoration for you.

truth be told, it's not entirely on you. you devised a plan that backfired completely, yes. but jay just wants you to be happy and content, even if the man next to you isn't him (he also knows how a relationship like yours would be seen by outsiders, so he's happy to just be in your life at all)

so he put on his most convincing smile when you asked him to bring you along to hang out with his friends. took slow breaths to calm his heart down when he saw how gorgeous you looked when you told him you were ready, far too beautiful for a simple night with the boys.

he also hid the way his nails drew blood from his palm whenever you spent too much time talking to one of the guys, tried his best to ignore how your touch lingered on their shoulders and how their eyes undressed you right in front of him.

so imagine his surprise when at the end of the night you run out of his car, tears welling in your eyes, without ever looking back at him.

"aren't you the prettiest girl ever, my dove?" jay's voice is muffled as he presses kisses down your torso, his tongue darting out a few times to taste the saltiness of your skin. "so lovely too, putting on that show to make me jealous. and here i am, thinking you just wanted to fuck my friends after i helped you get off last time. i'm very dumb, aren't i?"

his lips reach your panties, a cute baby blue pair you picked out for him, that peeked out from time to time because of how short your dress was. his thumb hooks under the fabric, and just when you think he's gonna take them off, you feel them slap against your skin again. the sting is barely there, just enough to have you mewl as you arch your back into your step brother's touch, but it doesn't hurt. jay would never hurt you.

"easy, little dove. i watched you dance around the house all night, watched my friends strain to get a peek under your dress. but you just wanted to tease me, mhh? did you want to make me jealous? did your little dove brain think i would fuck you silly after this little stunt?"

"yes! please jay, i need you," your voice breaks slightly, and you can feel the smile forming against the flesh of your thigh. jay loves you like this. you're always cute, but you're so much cuter when you're needy and desperate for him.

"you got one thing right, baby. but not today." he whispers, his eyes locking on yours as he lets a glob of spit dribble right onto the core of your ruined panties, as if you needed any more wetness there. he bends down, never breaking eye contact with you to watch your reactions, and licks his own spit to spread it around the fabric covering your poor needy hole. "you're too fragile, but i'll slowly teach you how to take it. don't you want that?"

you nod desperately, gulping down as jay's careful touch spreads your legs so he can get more comfortable between them. "please, take them off?"

he looks up at you, fake confused at your question. "but why? you chose these for me? shouldn't i get to enjoy them fully?"

#ask #anon #jay smut #jay x reader #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #jay thought

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yaut-jaknowit · 1 day ago

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A masseuse who specializes in non-human species? A male yautja (possible bad blood) keeps coming back to her shop. Smitten with the masseuse, he keeps all suitors away.

I absolutely adore your works!

Aches and Pains

Pairing: Mai'tuiudh (Male Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 2858

Summary: You're a masseuse for nonhuman patients. Mai'tuiudh becomes a patient and pays handsomely. Even as your clientele starts to dwindle, he pays more. Until he's the only one left. He kinda kidnaps you/persuade you to join him.

Author Note: Thank you so much!

Masterlist

Ao3

Out of everyone and everything you’ve seen, him was one you had never expected. A species so reclusive that even he asks to be seen after hours. The complaint died on your tongue at the amount he was willing to pay. Twice what you ask for. Double time for a short nightshift. So, you decided to agree to his terms for exchange of the money. Money talks.

Tonight would be the first session. As a person devoid of anything about his kind, you poured yourself into researching to learn more about him. Only to come up empty handed with nothing to aid you. You didn’t know what else to expect. There was a reason only their name is heard and strikes fear into everyone. Including yourself.

He, on the other hand, was charming and polite. Not the ferocious, bloodlust creatures people paint them as. He didn’t threaten to kill you in exchange of receiving a massage in return. No, he offered a lumpsum, more than you ask for, in exchange and to do it at nights only. Irt shocked you but you did your best not to show it. Yet, that fear in your eyes couldn’t be wiped away completely.

The giant royal blue Yautja stepped into your workshop with silent feet. His orange eyes scanned over his surroundings like a practiced warrior. It was his presence alone that sent your heart into overdrive. The only way you were able to press through was thinking about the money. That much every week? It was hard to say no.

His towering frame turned towards you. What you believed to be a smirk quirked a mandible up. Then, he bent at the waist and leaned in close one of his mandibles’ fangs grazed along the shell of your ear. “I can hear your heart racing, sweetie,” he rumbled, voice vibrating and tickling the inside of your eardrum. You shuddered and felt goosebumps spring to life along your forearms. Heat bloomed to dust your cheeks.

You forcefully cleared your throat and took a step back away from him. The cool night air of the still open door brushed across any bare skin. You snapped free from your thoughts and bowed your head in submission. “I-I’m sorry. Can’t help it,” you muttered and closed the door. It took all the cool air away with it. You took a deep breath and gestured towards a room already prepared with a table able to fit his size.

Mai’tuiudh regarded you with eye alit with mirth before finally pulling away to allow you to breath fully again. A deep rumbling sounded from his chest. Almost like a purr. Do yautjas purr? But, the sound was done before you could completely acknowledge it. You wondered if you had heard it at all. He followed to where you wanted him to go. While you shadowed after him. You stopped just inside the room.

“You’ll need to strip down all the way. The towel right th-what are you doing?!” you screeched as Mai began to peel off his armor and clothing in a causal manner. One of your hands claps over your eyes, back turning to him in haste. “Not right now! Wait until I leave the room to give you privacy.” You couldn’t believe what he was doing. Another thing to ass to your mental list about yautjas. Privacy and decency were nonexistent in his weirdly shaped dome head.

“I’m going to be naked on the cot anyhow,” he snorted back at you. You could hear the faint rustling of him shedding everything off of him. Oh how you wanted to throttle him for his very logically answer. But, you liked to offer privacy even if it was mock in a way. You sighed noisily and dragged that hand down your face, eyes closed and back still to him. “You can turn around now. I ain’t gonna bite you for even taking a peek.” It almost sounded like he encouraged it.

Neves threatened to make your heart leap free. You timidly turned around to face the hunter, eyes sliding open. Mai stood there, butt naked, with his hands on his hips. A like-smirk playing on his mandibles. There was no towel covering him. You shrieked again, hands slapping over your eyes.

Anger was the first thing you felt until your mind had finally noticed something. Well, something missing.

Your head snapped back over towards him, hands following back to your sides. Your gaze couldn’t look away at the lack of male genitalia. Confused, you took a step forward and noticed only a slit in place. “You don’t…” you trailed off. One brow furrowed, head titled. Until you realized what you were ding and stumbled back, hands thrown up. “I’m so sorry!”

A deep chuckle vibrated through his chest. “You don’t need to apologize. You are more than welcome to explore. I don’t mind.” Cheeky bastard had a smirk on his face. You scowled at him with a deep breath to calm yourself. Clearly, he wasn’t bothered at the fact that you were ogling at his nakedness. Not because he was well defined as a prime hunter, but for the difference between your two species. Nothing more.

“Lay down,” you demanded and kept your gaze locked to his fiery one. “Drap the towel over your waist. I’ll be back.” Hopefully, he would listen to you. You stepped out of the room. The door closing with a click behind you. Heat flushed your cheeks at the entire situation that just occurred.

Quickly, you rushed to the backroom and splashed cold water on your face. It did nothing to quell the fire that was burning. You took another deep breath, filling your lungs, then releasing it. You only felt slightly better.

Before you wanted to, you returned back to his assigned room. Relief flooded you at the sight before you. Mai had followed your instructions by lying down, belly to the cot, with the small towel draped over his waist, covering up everything important. A content sigh left your lungs.

Though his head and facial features are unique, you were able to find a head rest that would work for him. His tress were splayed over his back or hanging off the sides of his face. You snorted walked to the edge of he waist high cot. “I’m glad you can listen,” you retorted in mostly friendly manner. It wants to play jokes on you, you’ll give him the same energy back.

Mai clicks in response, muscles rippling along his back. You couldn’t help but watching as they do. No wonder he was here, begging practically for your magic hands to work on him. He looks incredibly tense. And you didn’t even need to touch him. You make a small noise of amusement than swept his tresses out of the way.

A gasp threatened to tear our of your throat both at the strange feeling of the dreads and the noise he made. It wasn’t a threatening growl he made but it still made you tense up nevertheless, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Did I…” you trailed off.

“No,” he grunted before you could start again. “No. Just… need a warning next time. My tresses are sensitive.” Sensitive? Like he could feel when you touched them? They were warm, as if alive beneath your fingertips. The more you learned about his physic, the more you craved the knowledge. Yeah, his body near the same as a human. But, his entire head, hair, and… other things were remarkably different.

Despite him not being able to see you, you dumbly nodded your head. “Okay, sorry.” You couldn’t help it. Disrespecting his culture or consent to touch was a no-go for you. A boundary you weren’t going to cross. An apology was needed in your eyes.

“Am I okay to touch?” you asked in respect after that small misunderstanding. He grunts with his head nodding.

To ease your heart, you take another deep breath. A constant thing now. You grabbed a bottle of lightly scented oil and drizzled it over his back. Mai tense at first. The oil cool from the room temperature and his blazing skin. You first settled your hands between his shoulder blades then dragged the oil up to his shoulders.

The heat skin produce was unlike anything you’ve felt before. You’ve dealt with plenty of other creatures during your career but nothing such as this.

Once, his muscles tense up under the now feeling. As you slide your palms towards his tense neck, he was instantly going lax. You smiled at the notion before kneading at the muscles that corded his shoulders. They were so knotted your own hands cramped while working those knots out until it was plushy under your finger tips.

Mai was good at staying still under your despite you knowing it had to be painful to a degree. He was holding back his grunts and groans. You saw the way his chest would hitch when you would work on a specific spot that seemed to be troubling him.

By the time you had reach his feet, you swore the yautja had passed out. The male was still and softly breathing. Was that snore you were hearing?

For a species known to be the deadliest out there, to see him lying there, asleep from getting a massage was adorable. You smiled to yourself and decided against waking him up. Instead, you began to clean up around him, adding a few noises here and there. Not wholeheartedly trying to wake him. Just enough to possibly rouse him from sleep.

It took until nearing the last stuff for him to finally raise his head and blink his eyes open. An airily snort left your nose at the groan he produces. Despite the fact he does make you slightly uneasy, you felt calm for the first time. Well… until he rose to his feet, towel slipping free to the group. You shrieked and slapped a hand over your eyes for the second time that night.

Mai chuckled at your desperate attempt of modesty for himself. Though blinded, you hear him move about the cleaned room. A shuffle of fabric before the male grunted. You slowly split your fingers and peered at his newly dressed form. A sigh of relief passed your lips. He’s lucky he pays well.

Like clockwork, the male comes and goes once a week. He doesn’t change his attitude about modesty of himself. It soon grows to a point where you ignore it since he wasn’t change. A cultural difference. Your curiosity didn’t wane though. To see a yautja, to touch a yautja was unheard of. But, here you were, giving one a massage weekly. It didn’t make sense but you never shard this secret. Not because he put that into the agreement, but because you felt a want to keep it to yourself. In a way, it made you feel important.

With his constant appearance came a down fall you didn’t expect… clients dropping you. A small ache bloomed in your chest when another client declines to set up the next appointment. For the life of you, you can’t figure out why.

Why were all these clients leaving? Even ones you’ve had since you first opened up five years ago. What you also noticed that there wasn’t a drop in revenue. Not with the way Mai keeps increasing his payment. Just telling you to keep the change. Youd didn’t suspect him at first until you looked at the money. It was the same amount you would’ve lost that time.

Yautjas are known to be possessive. Your eyes narrowed on his back as he strolled to the room he has practically claimed at this point. No one wants to step into that room anymore. The only answer you get out of someone was ‘scent’. As a human, you didn’t known what that meant entirely. You just thought the room stank but you couldn’t smell anything wrong.

Today was the least straw. Your last, longest client had declined setting up his next appointment. There was fear evident in his eyes as they wildly looked around. As if the walls would come alive and eat him whole. He scampered out of the building like his tail was on fire. Then, out appeared as if he was there the entire time. You were too angry, too saddened to jolt as his sudden appearance.

The navy blue yautja goes to his room, only throwing a smirk in your direction. There was a smugness that made you want to throttle him but you follow after with a crestfallen expression to sour your features. One he notices and lets his purr to fill the air of the small room. On instinct, your muscles relaxed. It felt so strange as these feelings slipped threw your fingers and melted to your feet.

He lays down on the cot and covers himself with the towel, still purring away. “Ugh, I… I hated when you do that,” you snapped at him with no heat to your words. Mai doesn’t stop. You gather the oil and drizzle it along his back before getting to work in almost a trance.

Like always, it takes about an hour to work through his body and finished up with his feet. He had stopped purring halfway through and relaxed fully into the cut. You pulled your oil covered hands away form his and silently stood there. Mai rolled onto his back then slipped off of the cot faster than ever before. Clearly he hadn’t fallen asleep this time. You meet his gaze. Shock apparent in your gaze at his sudden move.

Instantly, he crowding into your spawn. Surprised, you stumble backwards until your back hits the nearest wall. A small ‘oof’ leaving your lips. You tilt your head back to gaze up at the blue yautja, eyes wide at the near would look in his own gaze. He has one large palm to the middle of your chest, pinning you to the wall.

His musky scent washes over you. One you’ve grown used to but this seemed to seep into your pores.

“You’re sad,” he states rather than askes. You flinched at the hard truth thrown directly into your face, about to duck down. Then, Mai grabs your chin and forces all of the attention on you.

“What about it?” you snapped back at him, not wanting to discuss your suspicions to the very one causing all your issues. Not that you had hard evidence but enough to point a finger at him.

“What trouble you, little one?” he coos but there’s real concern in his voice.

Your anger sputters enough to kill the flame but the embers still hot. “My clients.” A pregnant pause to read his face. Yet, he reveals nothing. “They have all… left. You are all that remains.” That was the sad truth.

His touches softened. His thumb caresses your check bone, the claw dangerously close to your eye. But… you how he wouldn’t hurt you. “I’m sorry to hear that. That does make my offer easier to ask.” This caused you to tilted your head, his hand following. “For you to join me. I’ve shown I can care for you. Credits are no issues. I can show you my trophy collection, show you how much I can provide for you.”

That… that wasn’t what you were expecting. Your jaw dropped. “Like go into spawn… live with you?” Mai nodded your head with a grin playing his features. “But-but-“ you tried but Mai shook his head and held one of your hands close to his chest. You felt the heat rising off of his blistering scales.

“No. No buts. Just think about it. You won’t have to lift a finger besides to give me massages. That’s all you will have to do. I’ll spoil you,” he promises with a purr to seal the deal. Spoil you. A wish come true. Any person wants to be spoiled and living their best life. “I’ll take care of you. You know I can.”

The money. Plenty of it to spill into your business with the declining clients.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat and rubbed your fingers against the scales on his chest. Smoother than the ones on his shoulders. “Okay.” Your head nodded. “Okay, I’ll go with you. I’ll be your personal masseuse.” You knew he would take care of you. Plus, all of your clients left. You suspected it to be him as the root cause.

Mai fiercely grinned at your acceptance and tug you close. His arm wrapped around your torso and pressed your gith to his frame. You gasped softly, head titled back to look at him. A deep purr poured from his chest as he held you. He leaned down and bury his face into your neck, inhaling your scent.

“You won’t regret this. I’ll keep you safe, protect you, care for you. You’ll want for nothing,” he promised. He would keep till the end of time. You relaxed against him, molding yourself into his arms. Maybe this wasn’t so bad.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #predator x you #yautja x human #predator x human #x reader

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infinitelibrary · 2 days ago

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K!!!!!!!! oh my GODDDDDDD

I needed a day or two to process and really soak this all in before I provide you with my analytical dissertation / dissection of your work of art. And I DO mean WORK. OF. ART. The details and the way you set the scene for us is truly a thing of beauty. For those of us that have been to this incredible destination, you’ve transported us back to that magical place. And for those of us that HAVEN’T been - you’ve painted SUCH a vivid picture of what it’s like that we can practically smell the ocean and feel that warm breeze caressing our skin. - we FEEL like we are there with MC. There were moments where I had to stop and sit back and just be like "wtf did I just read"..."no way she captured that the way she did"...just...

BUT...let me go in order...

The “you know BTS?” line cracked me up

That comment about the boat moving with the waves, but MC's ability to remain rooted to the ground. That one little detail spoke volumes about MC’s expertise and skill at her craft and is a true testament to how long she’s been working there. Even if Yoongi hadn’t asked…we would’ve known she’d been doing this a long long time.

Yassss to the Bond girl reference…I love it!!

Also why can I absolutely hear him saying “you know this fish” in his adorable English lilt. Kinda like the “You like these chains?” moment from his early days.😂

MC being totally oblivious to the fact that she asked for his number / to exchange contacts so that he could send her the fish pic is TOTALLY something I would do. I can be a bit obtuse like that (I’ve had friends point it out to me AFTER the fact) so to have this happen to her and the realization dawn on her was just hilarious and very very relatable! I loved that moment

That whole first watermelon scene. Min Yoongi you SLY DOG you. But MC is not innocent in all this either…both of them basically eyefucking each other at that point.

The way his foot slipped when he was jumping in….SUCH a yoongi thing to do. I can practically hear his little yelp.

Her rambling when she gets nervous was ADORABLE

The "macro details" when Yoongi leans in for that first kiss got me because - the visuals??? Oh my GOD when I tell you, I had to go back and re-read that paragraph like three times because my mind just couldn’t comprehend how vividly you managed to capture every fucking detail of that moment. The smell, the taste, the TEXTURE…good GOD. It’s like I was THERE. It’s like I was living that moment, seeing, hearing, smelling, feeling, tasting ALL those things. That was the moment I was like 'wtf did I just read'. I literally had to sit back and look around me to essentially pinch myself back into my reality.

Like oh my GOD you guys just LOOK at this paragraph and tell me you can't picture yourself RIGHT THERE in her place.

that detail??? I mean come ON!!!

“We bout to break protocol” DAMN RIGHT YOU ARE you HORNY BASTARD (also please add ladder sex to the list of things I would like to do with Mr. Min Yoongi)🤐

Seriously tho - your words are like POETRY. The little touches on the boat after that first time, once everyone else had gotten back on board. But also - the mentions of the food - again, a lovely little detail that made us feel like we were right there.

The domesticity of that first visit to her place. Cooking together (that would be the actual DREAM) and then just talking. Like, I know on first glance it may seem like just lust and unbridled physical attraction and while that’s part of it, I love that they had conversations together as well. About anything and everything and the most random of things.

I love that even after that first real night at her place, MC still refused to give him her number. Part of me wonders what if. But I think it’s also so that she could be sure that it was in fact really real. She basically said as much. And they both feel it’s real in the moment - especially Yoongi, no doubt, is convinced it’s real but she also knows the gravity and weight of everything that his career and life path have in store for him…and that things are not at all certain. She’s in a whole other country, he has professional and patriotic obligations he has to fulfill and who knows what could happen in that time. This gives them both time to live their lives, get back to reality and then decide if this is something they really wanted to come back to. And I think he realized that too.

Her missing him while he’s gone, sure…but also moving forward and living her life through all of its ups and downs. Finding strength in his memory, his music, and his lyrics. All of that was so relatable.

The “I tried to forget you…turns out I can’t” Are you KIDDING ME with that line???? OMG I COULD SOB. The ending was so perfect. So soft, so romantic, so gentle, and just so damn PERFECT.

Kudos, K! HUGE fan. Have been, am now, and always will be. 😘😘😘

Watermelon & Suga | myg

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x plus size female!reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: idol!au, Fluff, Smut, Drama, Whirlwind romance, Love at “second” sight

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Inspired by the events of Dday Phuket Vlog, Yoongi meets you, the island girl of his dreams, and now he can’t stop thinking about you.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Dday rockstar Yoongi, I love this MC I think she a baddie, writing might feel a little too indulgent at times, A world with no language barriers, A relevant time skip, check the dates. Sex on a boat, public sex/slight exhibitionism kink, unprotected sex (be safe!), oral (m&f), spanking, fingering, squirting (in that order lol), slight degradation and dirty talk but MC likes it, sweet pet names, tell me if I missed anything, but yeah… sex on a boat and then some, Yoongi is down atrociously bad for our curvy queen and is desperate to worship her and validate her <3

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 10k!

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Finally!!! Worked on this for months ever since some of y’all plagued me with Phuket vlog Yoongi as honeymoon hubby material and I couldn’t stop the fantasy from unfolding. It did take me a while to bang this out (I blame the Nerds), sorry. Nonetheless I hope y’all enjoy this lil slice of paradise. 💜 Thank you Aqua for betareading.

🗓️ June 2023 - 📍Phuket, Thailand

The air smells like salt and sunlight, a mix you’ve grown so accustomed to that it no longer feels special. Just another Tuesday workday on the Andaman Sea.

It’s nice and calm out today, barely a ripple on the surface. There’s a light breeze from the southwest, nothing too exciting, just enough to keep things cool. No storm on the radar, and the water's warm enough for a good snorkelling sesh. Basically, a perfect day to fall in love (with the sea).

Your usual clients are giddy tourists, high on Tiger beer and oyster omelets. But today seems quieter, more chill somehow, even though your group today is unlike your typical clientele. Today, you were asked to sign an NDA.

The rest of the group has boarded already. Some seven men and women that comprise a group of musicians currently in town for their concert tour. Now, you’re just waiting for the last member to join. The VIP, apparently.

So who’s the diva?

Well, after 15 minutes, he finally decides to grace you with his presence.

“Min Yoongi?” you call tentatively.

He nods, barely glancing up as he steps onto the boat. A quick bow, respectful but distracted. You direct him to a seat near the stern, his cologne lingering in the air as he passes you.

To be fair, he’s not flashy, no monogram logos in sight, no jewelry, or any other loud proclamations of being the proverbial shit. Dressed in a black and white shirt with a plain black rash guard and shorts, a baseball cap tugged low over his eyes, he could’ve been mistaken for anyone. But there seems to be a deliberate nature in how he moves, careful and understated, like he’s trying to avoid notice but not entirely succeeding.

Swag can’t be faked, even if he did walk a little bit like your grandpa. Those New Balance slides? Yeah, you’ve seen it in your halbeoji’s home.

You turn to speak with Soomchai from the coast guard—a moderately cranky but well-meaning old man who’s been doing this for decades. He scratches at his scalp through his faded fisherman’s hat as you hand him the passenger manifest.

“You’re staring too hard,” he quips, licking the pad of his index before flipping the pages.

Huh? “I’m not.” You say.

“So they’re famous, eh?” he reviews the names on the clipboard, surreptitiously glancing over your shoulder.

You look behind you, half of them are already asleep, half basically on their phones.

“One of them, yeah. You know BTS?”

His face remains unchanged as he counts the passengers. “I don’t and I don’t trust the lot of them. Want me to accompany you?”

“Loong Soomchai,” you smile at the man who has taken you under his wing since you moved here last year. “Chill. Besides, I have a black belt in taekwondo, if you already forgot. I can easily toss them overboard, then they’ll really be your problem.”

“Aish,” he waves a dismissive hand at you. “I’m on line 3. Stay safe.”

“Roger, that,” you speak into your hand-held radio, your voice blaring on the receiver tucked into the older man’s cargo shorts.

Soomchai’s slouched frame disappears as the boat pulls away from the dock. You brace your legs and adjust your stance. The boat shifts beneath you—but you don’t. Learning how to move with the water, how to balance your weight just right, was something that came with time.

Before you officially start the tour, you check your rash guard, snug across your chest, and smooth down the high-waisted swim shorts that you are wearing. You’re quite happy with your fashion choice today. It made you feel like a Bond girl—but curvier, tougher, more badass.

Usually, you would take a moment to observe your audience, make eye contact and exchange smiles to open the communication. Your VIP, though, sits with his arms resting on his thighs, gaze fixed on the water as though it holds answers to questions only he knows. You wonder if he’s the type to make small talk or if he’d prefer you stayed silent.

Still, it’s your job to guide, to narrate, to fill the spaces between the silence and the sea. You start with the usual pleasantries and introductions, your go-to joke to break the ice, and you’re off.

“If you look to the right,” you gesture, “you’ll see Koh Tapu. You may have heard of it as James Bond Island, because a scene from The Man with the Golden Gun was filmed there.”

A polite murmur rises from the other guests. Some snap photos. Min Yoongi doesn’t look up.

You let the silence stretch, wondering if you should say more. It’s not often you get guests like him—someone who seems so unbothered, yet weighed down at the same time.

It isn’t until you glance back at him again that you realize he’s watching you now, his eyes sharp beneath the brim of his cap. Caught, you quickly look away, focusing instead on the shimmering turquoise of the water.

“How many times have you done this tour before?”

The question surprises you. You’re not sure if you should be offended, but you answer swiftly anyway. “Hundreds of times,” you admit with a shrug. “But the sea changes every day. It’s never exactly the same.”

You smile at him, genuine. “I imagine it’s a bit like your concerts. You practice it a thousand times, but it's still different in every show, every city, every audience… Makes things interesting.”

Something in your words seems to resonate with him. He leans back slightly, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “I get that,” he says softly, more to himself than to you.

After that, you noticed Yoongi’s guard begin to lower. He’d nod occasionally at your explanations, even ask a question here and there—about the history of a limestone karst or the kinds of fish they might see while snorkeling. His voice was quiet, with a faint rasp from overuse that made him clear his throat now and then.

“You know this fish?” Yoongi asks, holding out his phone to show you a screenshot.

“Wow, that’s beautiful…” you lean forward slightly.

He coughs a bit, scratching the back of his neck as he leans back. “Yeah, uh, they said it’s native to these parts.”

“I’m not familiar,” you squint. “Can you send me the photo? I can ask one of the other guides—I’m still no expert on marine life, I fear.”

There’s a pause. He gives you a look you can’t quite read, brows slightly raised, lips pressed in something not quite a smile. But it’s not disapproving either. Just...

Oh shit. You just asked for his number. Or to exchange Kakao. Same thing. You basically asked to link up.

Such an idiot. A flush creeps up your neck. Stupid, stupid girl. You weren’t thinking. God, he probably thinks you’re trying to pull a fast one on him—playing the helpful guide when really, you just wanted an excuse.

People don’t just ask for Yoongi’s number. Of course not. Unless they’re someone. You hope he doesn’t file a complaint after this.

You straighten, your voice a little brighter, a bit too eager to salvage what’s left of your professionalism. “But, um, actually, no need. We’ll see a ton of species later when we get near the caverns. I’ll make sure to keep an eye out for that one.”

“Mmh.” He nods. You can’t quite tell if it’s thoughtful or distracted by your word vomit.

But as you turn to walk across the deck, you can feel his eyes burning holes on your back. Low on your back. Maybe lower even.

Should you look? Maybe you’re just imagining it.

You chance a quick glance. And your eyes meet his. Looking at you with an interesting glint. His lips lift slightly. You tilt your head, curious. Pulse racing. Giddy.

Okay, maybe your job is safe after all. But your heart? Eh.

When you serve them a plate of watermelon slices, the group’s energy shifts. One of them jokes about how they should’ve brought soju, while another eagerly reaches for a piece, groaning in satisfaction the moment he tastes it.

You place the tray in front of Yoongi, and he immediately plucks a slice. He bites into it, and for the first time all morning, you see a full-blown smile—pretty enamals and pink gums on show.

“Good?” you asked, unable to stop your own grin from forming.

He nodded, wiping his thumb along the corner of his mouth. “It’s perfect.”

“What’s your favorite fruit?” you throw out a neutral question as you struggle to ignore the stray liquid he’s trying to chase down with his tongue.

“Tangerines,” he replies. “The ones from Jeju Island are the best. Have you ever been?”

“No, unfortunately.”

There was a beat of silence before he adds, almost to himself, “But this… this is nice.”

He pushes the plate towards you. “You should have one.”

“Ah, maybe later.”

“Don’t be shy,” the plate moves another inch closer. You pick up a slice, mumbling a thanks.

Sugar fills your mouth as you sink your teeth on the watermelon, juice dribbling on the side of your lip which you immediately catch with your tongue.

Unlike you though, he’s watching. Openly. Shamelessly. The way his eyes dart from your mouth to your eyes is not lost on you and you can’t help but feel excitement pooling in your belly.

“Sweet.” you remark, before sucking the juice from your thumb. Baiting him.

He smirks, “Looks like it.”

“You always flirt using fruit?”

“You’re the one licking your lips.”

You grin.

As a tour guide, you’re used to the art of the harmless flirt. It comes with the job—tourists with sun-soaked nerves and too much vacation confidence, tossing compliments like loose change. You’ve learned how to play along just enough, to keep things light, fun. A wink here, a tease there. Part of the act. People like feeling charming, and you don’t mind giving them the illusion.

But this feels different.

Right now, it’s just you, the sea, and this idol watching you like he’s the one mesmerized.

And maybe it shouldn’t matter, the way his gaze lingers—not over the places you’ve been taught to hide, but the ones you’ve learned to own. The dip of your waist. The curve of your hip where your swim shorts sit snug.

There’s something about being looked at like this—not with hunger or pity, but with curiosity, appreciation, even. And it makes you want to keep his gaze a little longer.

‘Cause you know who he is. You’d recognized the name when you saw it on the manifest and when you signed the documents. He’s an idol. Part of Bangtan Fuckin’ Sonyeondan. A man with a carefully manicured image, a life guarded by rabid fans, dissected by media men with too many opinions, surrounded by sexy, slender women.

You’d think men like him don’t get to have ‘normal’ moments like this. They don’t make casual conversations about fish or share food with a rando. But here he is, acting like this is real. And god, why does it feel like it might be?

Honestly, maybe it’s nothing. Maybe you’re not the only one who knows the art of the harmless flirt. Maybe he’s not even that interested.

But you’re gonna play along. See where this goes. At least for now.

Later, after anchoring in a secluded cove, you bring out the snorkeling gear. Most of your guests dive in with ease, their laughter echoing as they race toward the reef. Yoongi lingers on the boat, fiddling with the straps of his mask.

“Need help?” you ask, stepping closer.

He looks up, sheepish. “Is it that obvious?”

You laugh softly. “A little. Here, let me.”

He hands you the mask, watching as you adjust the straps. His gaze feels heavier now, like it’s searching for something beyond the simple act of fixing the gear.

You’re used to people skimming past you with their eyes, but when Yoongi looks, you feel like your skin is on fire. His gaze dips, just for a second, on the spot where the zipper of your top sits against your boobs. He doesn’t comment, doesn’t smirk—probably thinks he’s being sly. But you’re on to him.

“You’ve done this before, right?” you check, eyes teasing, as you pass the mask back to him.

He shrugs. “A long time ago. I’m out of practice.”

“Good thing I’m here.” You flash him a reassuring smile and step into the water, gesturing for him to follow.

You surface and nod. He hesitates only briefly before jumping in—but his foot slips slightly on the boat’s edge, and he lands with an ungraceful splash and shriek that echoes across the cove. You can’t stop the laugh that bursts out.

“Grand entrance,” you say, grinning as he surfaces with a shy expression.

“Glad I could entertain you,” he mutters, pushing his wet hair back, and if that isn’t one of the sexiest actions you’ve ever seen done by any human being. God.

“Here.” You take a chance to reach for his hand, and to your mild surprise and relief, he takes it. “Just relax. The water will do most of the work.”

He follows your lead, his fingers tightening slightly around yours as you float together. The reef comes into view below, vibrant and teeming with life. You glance at him, his face half-hidden by the snorkel mask, and find him watching you instead of the reef.

“You’re missing the best part,” you pull your hand away, pointing toward the colorful fish darting between the coral.

“Am I?”

You take your mask off only to roll your eyes. “Are you always this smooth?”

He pulls the mouthpiece out just enough to smirk at you. “Only when it works.”

You couldn’t help the giggle that escapes you.

“Admit it,” he says, leaning closer, his voice low. “You’re having fun.”

You don’t deny it. Instead, you start wading away, gesturing towards the reef. “Come on. The fish are much better company.”

Back on the boat, the atmosphere is lighter. Yoongi is more relaxed now, his earlier distance replaced by a quiet warmth. As you steer toward the island for lunch, you feel his gaze on you again.

When you glance over, he doesn’t look away this time.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” he says, though his lips twitch into an understated smile.

At the island, the group disembarks for lunch, their excitement palpable. Yoongi lingers by the railing, his gaze flickering between you and the others.

“Come with us,” he says, his voice low enough that the others don’t hear.

You shake your head, smiling apologetically. “I can’t. Protocol.”

He looks as though he wants to argue, because he seems like the type that gets everything he wants, but resignedly nods, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Next time, then.”

“Next time,” you echo, though you’re not sure if you believe it.

While they eat, you stay behind on the boat, finishing your own lunch, which one of the island ahjummas hands you as soon as you dock. There’s still some leftover watermelon, so you have it for dessert. It’s sweeter than any you have had all summer, but not sweet enough to distract you from the thought spinning in your head: Did the Min Yoongi really just invite you to join their group for lunch?

He was probably just being polite. Right? But then why did he stare at your lips for ten whole seconds when you were exploring the caves?

Fuck. You really need to get Lasik because your eyes cannot be trusted. Maybe a psychiatric evaluation too, while you’re at it.

Who are you kidding? At this point you can only afford the oh-so ahjumma-chic wide-brim hat so your lone brain cell is not fried by the sun.

BUT. Why does it feel like you had a connection?

Him with his kind eyes and that sexy smile. You’re so fucked.

Shaking your head, you grab a beer from the cooler and chug it, the cold brew doing its damnednest to wash down your delusions. For a moment, the only sound is from waves against the boat’s hull.

But then, footsteps.

You glance over your shoulder.

Yoongi is walking into the shaded area of the boat, pushing damp strands of hair with his beautiful fingers.

“Hey,” you say, clocking that he’s coming in alone. Your pulse races.

“Hi.”

“Craving more watermelon?” you ask, smiling as you gesture to the plate.

He leans against the table, his gaze steady, but there’s something else there. “I was,” he says, his voice softer now, “but I think I’m craving something else.”

Your breath stutters. The plate in your hand feels heavier. The tips of his fingers brushes along the edge of the table as he walks closer, and closer.

“There’s, uh, more delicacies on the island,” you try to use your tour guide voice, but you’re faltering. “Thailand has, umm, over 1,000 species of fruit, you know…”

“Mmm.” A faint smirk touches his lips, but his eyes are fixed on you. He’s literally in front of you now, so close that the air is sucked out of your lungs. You notice every macro detail—the faint streaks of sunscreen on his cheek, the fine grains of sand clinging to his hair, the way his scent is a mix of the sun and the ocean and his own musk. And those lips. Goddamn those lips.

“What is it that you like?” you ask, your voice small and shy as he studies you, too.

“I think I prefer,” he murmurs, before leaning in. “This.”

His kiss sparks upon contact against your mouth. His lips are a little chapped, but still soft. A hand slips around the back of your neck, guiding you closer until your lips part, and his tongue slides in. There’s not one second of hesitation, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You angle your head and kiss him back, a little messy, a little breathless. It’s not the kind of kiss meant for daylight, not while you’re at work, not something that belongs on a boat in open water, but fuck if it ain’t so goddamn good you forget where the hell you are.

His other hand settles on your middle, firm, squeezing against your soft waist. You’re keenly aware of every place your bodies meet—your chest against his damp shirt, your thigh brushing his leg, the faint heat radiating off his skin in the humid air.

You’ve never done this. Nope. Not while working. Not with guests, especially. But Yoongi doesn’t feel like a guest anymore. Doesn’t feel like a fantasy or a celebrity or whatever version of himself the world thinks he is.

He doesn’t feel new–like someone you just met. It sounds crazy that you connected on a level that doesn’t quite match the short amount of time since you’ve exchanged names. You can’t even correct your actions at this point. Not when he tastes like coconut and you’re slipping farther away from clarity.

Your hands move on instinct, sliding up under his shirt, fingers tangling in the sticky strands at the nape of his neck. “Yoongi…” His name escapes you like a plea, like you’re already wrecked—and maybe you are.

His tongue strokes yours, and it’s incredibly filthy how he’s sucking it into his mouth like he wants to own it. Own you. You moan. Your knees weaken. Your brain empties. The only thing you can feel is him—his mouth, his breath, the growing pressure of his body against yours.

Fingers are slipping under the hem of your shorts, gripping you behind with no hesitation.

“This ass,” he mutters, then smacks, and the sound cracks in the air. Your breath catches, a gasp hitching from your throat as slickness floods your bikini bottoms.

“Shit–somebody might see us,”

“Nah, nobody else is gonna come here,” he pauses, smirks. “Except you, twice. Then, me.”

The confidence. “Oh my God.”

“We ‘bout to break protocol.” He squeezes your ass again, groaning into your neck. “You want this?” he rasps. His lips latch onto your throat, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. “Tell me.”

“Fuck, yes,” you breathe. “Come…”

You grab his hand and lead him toward the hatch, pulling it open and motioning for him to climb down. He does without question, dropping to the lower deck with a soft thud.

You grip the ladder, descending slowly, legs already shaky with anticipation. But before you can hit the floor, his hands are on your thick thighs, firm. Squeezes once.

“Stop,” he commands. “Face me.”

Your heart stutters, but you obey, turning to face him as you grip the edge of the floor deck which is now at your eye level.

“What are you—?”

“You keep an eye out,” he says, voice low and dark with intent. “I'm just gonna eat you out real quick.”

Your breath catches—shocked, aroused, completely undone.

He curls his fingers into your waistband, tugging your shorts and bikini bottoms down in one smooth motion. A gust of humid air brushes your exposed skin as your knees nearly give out.

But you don’t get a second to process, because his mouth is already on you, making out with your pussy lips. His tongue licks a long, hot stripe through your folds, and your nearly fucking cum right there.

The metal ladder is cool against your ass as you struggle for balance. Your grip tightens on the deck, knuckles almost white. His hand slides up to part your thighs just a little more, anchoring you open for him. You feel his hot breath, before his tongue dives back in—savoring, circling, sucking.

You panic—just briefly. You spent hours in the ocean. You probably taste like—

“Mmm,” he hums against you, like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. His grip on your thigh is a bit harsh as if he could read your mind that you wanted to squirm out of his grasp.

There is something so incredibly arousing about feeling him, but not seeing him. Hearing him, but not touching him. As if the sensations are heightened. Every feeling more palpable because of sense deprivation.

Next thing you know his fingers are teasing your entrance, collecting the slick from your pussy.

You feel a wet tap against the side of your mouth and words aren't needed as you suck his digits in. You’re drunk of your own taste and heady scent, the feel of his bony knuckles massaging your tongue tipping you closer to the edge.

But then his fingers are gone and you almost want to bite it down but then he slides it into your cunt and Christ alive.

He is moving in and out of you so shallowly, just knuckle-deep, the pads of his fingers barely scraping your inner walls. You move your arms to grip the ladder behind you, giving you the leverage to rock forward, coaxing it inner, deeper.

Fuck is he laughing right now?!

You halt your movements as you hear a throaty chuckle from underneath you.

“Why’d you stop,” he teases, kissing up the softness on the inside of your thighs.

“Hook your thigh over my shoulder,” he mumbles against your soaked heat, voice low and so filthy it makes your whole body tense.

You do as he says. Your leg lifts shakily, your body is burning with the exertion but his hand is already there, steadying you, guiding you, draping it over the curve of his shoulder like you don’t weigh nothing.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, just before his tongue dives back in.

It’s messier now. His fingers pump deeper, faster, the pace almost punishing as they curl inside you, finding that spongey spot that makes your thighs seize. His tongue flicks over your clit in short, relentless strokes, matching the rhythm of his fingers.

You cry out—loud, desperate, your hand gripping the ladder like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the earth. Your hips jerk, trying to escape, but he growls and tightens his hold, tongue moving even faster.

“Fuck, Yoongi—I’m gonna—”

And then it hits. A blinding, body-shaking orgasm that tears through you so violently your vision goes white. You scream as your legs almost gives out, but his arm braces your hips as you fuckin’ squirt, soaking his chin, his neck, the tops of his shoulders.

He lets out a surprised, delighted laugh, breath hot and sticky as he looks up at you.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, eyes glazed, chin glistening. “You squirted all over me, you dirty girl.”

You whimper, half-mortified, half-high, your body still twitching. “Sorry…” you squeak.

His tongue darts out to taste the corner of his mouth, and he grins—smirks, really. Completely pleased with himself. “Don’t. Sexiest thing I’ve seen in a while.”

You’re trembling so hard you can barely stay upright, your leg slipping from his shoulder. He catches it, presses a final kiss to your inner thigh, then plants your foot down on a step.

“Come here. Be careful,” he says, voice gentler now. He guides you by the waist, helping you down the last few steps until your feet hit the floor.

Your body collapses into his chest on instinct, and he chuckles again, arms wrapping around your middle.

“You okay?” he asks softly, nose nudging yours.

You nod, breath still catching in your throat. “More than okay.”

He pulls back just enough to flash that lazy grin. “Good. ’Cause I’m not done with you yet.”

He spins you back around, pressing you against the ladder. You gasp as his hand flattens between your shoulder blades, your palms bracing the handles above you as his hips roll into yours from behind—slow and grinding, just to let you feel what he’s working with.

“Still want this?” he asks, voice low, gravel edged with need, his hard cock moulding itself against your plush ass cheeks.

You push your hips back into him. “Yes. God, yes.”

There’s a frantic shuffle of clothes, from his end, his swim trunks dropped and kicked away, and then… He slides in with one rapid thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Your mouth drops open, lungs pierced, your breath knocked right out of you.

“Fuck—shit,” you choke, forehead pressing against your arm.

“F-fuck,” he groans, fingers tightening on your hips. “You’re so fucking tight.”

He starts to move, hips snapping forward sharply. Each thrust drives you against the ladder, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the tiny space, the scent of the ocean mixing with the thick heat of your bodies.

Yoongi rocks against you desperately like he’s been holding back all damn day. Like he’s finally been let off the leash. Mercifully he slows down, but he is pulling you up by your hair so your back is resting against his chest.

“Yoongi,” you say his name breathlessly, and he releases his ponytail grip as you struggle to stay upright. He licks the skin by your ear, whispering dirty things you’ve never heard of in your entire life, twitches against your walls.

“You like that, huh, you little slut?”

Fuck. You didn’t expect to like the name so much. An involuntary clench of your pussy and you know he got the idea. It’s not just the name, but it’s the way he is literally manhandling you, fulfilling all your small girl fantasies.

“Mmh.”

“Yeah, you love it.” His fingers find the zipper of your rash guard top sliding it down just enough for his large hands to slip inside and grab a fistful of your breasts.

“Your tits are so soft, shit. Wan’ suck on them so bad.” He growls.

“Want it,” you mewl, pushing your chest forward for him to grasp.

“I bet you do, huh. Maybe later, if you’re a good girl I can suck on these. Make you cum just licking at your nipples—want that?”

“Uh-huh, please,” You sound so whiny, fucking back into him as he fondles and tugs and pulls at your sensitive nubs.

“Spit,” he instructs, his palm out. “Let’s get these nice and slick.”

A wet glob from your mouth lands on his palm and he slaps it against your tits. You whimper at the sting, but it’s quickly relieved by the soft massage against your breasts.

“Feel good?”

“So good. Ah–” your words are cut off as he folds you again to his liking.

Yoongi fucks like he is used to being watched, but right now? There’s no audience. No stage. Just you, bent over, body shuddering with every thrust, moaning like you don’t care who hears it.

Your hands scramble for grip, nails digging into your own skin as his rhythm gets rougher. His fingers trail up your spine, tracing the dip at the small of your back before curling into your hair and yanking just hard enough to make you gasp as he continues to rail you from behind.

“Harder, please, Yoongi…”

“So desperate,” he pants, breathing hot against your neck. “So fucking good like this. You feel—” a groan breaks his sentence, “—so goddamn perfect. A pretty little— cocksleeve just for me.”

You’re trembling now, thighs shaking as pleasure coils low and tight in your belly. You feel everything—his cock, thick, hot, hitting just right with every snap of his hips and your body is unraveling fast.

“Ahhh. Right there, fuckin there. That’s it…” You glance over your shoulder, and fuck he’s so fucking hot and he’s fucking you so good and…

“You gonna come for me again?” he growls, one hand sliding between your thighs. “Shit. Give it to me, you dirty fuckin’ girl.”

You cry out as your orgasm slams into you, body clenching tight around his cock, eyes squeezing shut as white heat galvanizes every nerve. Yoongi curses behind you, hips stuttering once, twice—and then he’s coming too, spilling deep inside you with a growl that sounds more animal than human.

You both stay there, shaking and sticky and utterly breathless. The only sound is the ocean lapping against the hull and your heart pounding in your ears.

Yoongi’s hand doesn’t leave your waist, his fingers sink against your soft skin a bit firmer, though somehow gentler, too. Then, his lips press once, twice, thrice, softly, against your shoulder blades. You don’t understand what’s happening. It feels intimate, too intimate.

“Umm…”

“Is there a bathroom here?”

“A tiny one, yeah. Over there.”

You wince as he pulls his cock out, walls pulsing once as if you wanna keep him inside you if you can.

“C’mon,” he taps your ass playfully, lightening up the moment. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

By the time the group is back on the boat, skin sun-warmed and bellies full from lunch, the mood is mellow. No one makes any comment as to why you and Yoongi are already on the boat, or why you both have different tops on. You’re slightly relieved. But it also makes questions swirl in your brain that you don’t really want answers to. You shove it in the recesses of your mind and focus on getting back to work. You’re still on duty after all.

You check on the other guests, making small talk about the yummy lunch spread. You know they had grilled squid, pad thai, mango sticky rice… like every other group you’ve toured, and it’s always a dopamine rush to see everyone so satisfied.

Someone puts on music through a Bluetooth speaker, the kind of acoustic guitar track that feels like the end of a movie. The boat sways gently as it begins to head back toward the mainland.

You pretend not to notice when Yoongi lingers near the bow, waiting until the others have found their seats before sliding into the open spot beside you.

He doesn’t say anything. Just sits close enough that your arms brush when the boat dips slightly with the tide.

You glance at him once. Twice. On the third time, you catch him already looking at you.

Neither of you smiles. He just reaches for the beer you hand him and takes a long sip, throat bobbing.

The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable. It’s in limbo. Like neither of you wants to name what happened, not while you’re still in it. Still riding the aftershocks of something way too fucking good to put into words.

At one point, he rests his arm along the back of the bench behind you. His fingers graze your shoulder. And you know it’s not by accident.

Your hand brushes his knee when you reach for a stray towel. Not by accident, either.

The sun dips lower as the coastline comes into view, and a knot begins to form in your chest. The same one he must feel, if the way his hand keeps tightening around his bottle is any sign.

Eventually, the boat eases into the dock. The group starts gathering their things—bags, towels, sun hats, laughter loud again as people gear up to head back to city life.

You move to help untie the mooring lines, and when you return to the deck, he’s standing by the edge, a small bag slung over one arm.

The others are already walking off. Bowing to you and thanking you for the tour. He’s the last one to leave just as he was the first to arrive.

“This is where I’m supposed to say thank you for the tour,” he murmurs, eyes still on the sea.

You nod. “This is where I say, come back anytime.”

He turns to you then. And for a second, the tiredness in his eyes softens.

“Will you be here, if I come back?”

You don’t answer right away. Just offer a small smile. “Maybe.”

He nods like that’s fair. Steps forward like he might hug you, or say something more. Maybe he considered it. But instead, he slips past you with a final glance.

The dock creaks under his steps. He doesn’t look back.

You watch him walk away until he disappears into the crowd.

Your chest aches with something unnameable.

You know how this goes. Men like him probably have groupies all the time, in every tour stop. You were Phuket. And that’s fine. It’s fine.

At least, you tell yourself, he was a really good fuck and you finished twice, which is more generous than any other one night stand or quickie you’ve had. A great story to tell your future grandkids that you once fucked a very famous idol. Okay, maybe not your grandkids. Maybe not a story to tell, actually. (You signed an NDA!) But something to shove in your heart, let every ventricle lock it tight there. But the taste of him is still on your lips, and the way your heart stutters in your chest says otherwise, like the memory is already struggling to be freed.

You’ve just stepped out of the shower when the knock comes. You freeze.

It’s late—well past when anyone should be dropping by. You don’t get visitors out here. Not unannounced. Not at this hour. Wrapped in your towel, you tiptoe barefoot to the door, heart thudding.

Another knock. Slower this time. Softer.

You squint through the peephole and nearly forget how to breathe.

It’s him.

Yoongi.

You open the door, towel clutched tight, words lodged in your throat.

It’s really him. Hood pulled low.

His eyes sweep over your form, too. Wet, barely covered… but he recovers enough to explain what is going on.

“I know this is crazy,” he says, before you can even speak. “But I had to see you again.”

He stands there, blinking at you under the harsh hallway lighting in your apartment building, like he’s afraid you’ll shut the door in his face.

“How did you even—?”

“I went back to the pier. Found the old guy? Practically begged him. And he gave me your address.” He exhales, shaking his head with a laugh. “I think he only did it because he felt sorry for me.”

You’re still standing there, stunned, the scent of body wash clinging to your skin.

“Can I come in?” he asks, quieter now. Like he’s unsure of the answer. “You’re in your towel.”

You nod, even though you’re still in shock, stepping aside. You adjust the towel on your chest.

“Make yourself at home. Let me just put clothes on.”

Yoongi slips off his shoes and steps into your little house like he’s done it a hundred times before.

He looks around. It’s nothing special—worn tile floors, mismatched furniture, an abandoned oatmeal bar on the coffee table—but he doesn’t look disappointed. He looks like he’s breathing for the first time all day.

You grab a shirt and sleep shorts, quickly changing in the bedroom. When you return, he’s leaning against your kitchen counter, eyes scanning the fridge magnets, the little details of your life like they mean something.

You glance up at the clock, 8:30 p.m.

“I was gonna eat ramen,” you say, trying to play it cool.

His lips twitch. “You got enough for two?”

You both end up cooking together. He cuts vegetables with a precision that is completely uncalled for for a cheap pack of instant noodles. You make a comment and he huffs his chest with pride, his knife skills now in full show as he chops the onions in record speed.

You laugh at how he makes a face and complains about being in tears afterwards.

The kitchen fills with steam and the smell of broth. You sit on the counter while it simmers, beers in hand. He stands in front of you, and your legs part instinctively, letting him through. Like he belongs there.

It’s oddly domestic. Ridiculously comfortable. Why? You still don’t get it.

You’re talking about nothing—favorite childhood snacks, weird airport food, your least favorite sea creatures—when the silence slips in between you.

He’s watching you now, the way you laugh, the way you push your hair behind your ear. His beer forgotten on the table.

You meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, but unlike in the boat, they’re not unreadable. In fact, they’re very much readable and you don’t hesitate to call him out for it.

“You’re gonna kiss me again, aren’t you?” you raise a brow.

“Been thinking about it since you opened the door in that towel.”

So he does.

He kisses you slower this time. More careful. Not rushed, not frantic like it was in the boat. He cradles the back of your neck, the other slides beneath your shirt to rest against your waist.

You’re kissing each other like you’re trying to remember. Like you’re trying to make it last. His mouth moves with so much purpose, almost like he’s writing over the hurried, hungry moment from before and replacing it with this—reverence, sureness, clarity.

When he pulls away to breathe, you whisper, “This is crazy.”

He nods. “I know…”

At least you can agree on that.

Later, he’s between your thighs on the couch, and this time, he doesn’t tear at your shorts like he’s chasing a high. This time, he touches you with all the time in the world, so you feel it all. When he slides your shorts down, he pauses, eyes locked on your center, pupils blown.

“I wanted this before,” he murmurs, kissing your inner thigh. “But I didn’t take my time. I didn’t show you.”

“Show me what?” you ask, breathless.

He presses another kiss to your other thigh, then another, closer and closer to your mound.

“That you deserve to be worshipped,” he says. He drags his tongue along your puffy folds, slow and tender. You arch into his mouth with a gasp, already so close just from kissing in the kitchen. But maybe it’s also the rasp of his voice, and the refreshing honesty, the way he seems to be convinced that you were special.

So this isn’t like the boat. You, suspended against the ladder. It’s not messy or wild. It’s not just lust, or tension exploding in secret.

This is something else. You, suspended in a different reality. Yoongi, telling a different story with his mouth.

He eats you out with care, overwriting that animalistic fuck at sea. His hands cradle your supple thighs as he buries his face deeper. His tongue works in slow, deliberate circles, building towards your peak.

“Watch…” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear between breaths. He puts his index and middle fingers in his mouth, dragging it across his sinful tongue. Teases it against your hole before pushing it in agonizingly slow, relishing the way your body is writhing in pleasure.

When he pushes the length all the way in, you fist the cushions. “Yoongi—oh god—”

His mouth envelops your clit in a gentle suction as his fingers go in and out of you.

“Ahh, so close…”

He doesn’t stop. Not until you’re shaking again, voice breaking on his name, thighs trembling on either side of his face.

He stays between them even after. Kissing. Calming. Worshiping.

You’re still breathless when he pulls back, lips slick, hair mussed, cheeks flushed with heat and pride. He looks up at you like he’s just done something holy—and maybe he has.

You’re still dazed by the time he pulls back, lips glossy, hair wild from all your pulling but his eyes, soft, focused completely on you. He rises slowly, kissing your stomach, bunching up the fabric as he goes, and you can’t even bring yourself to feel a little embarrassed like you sometimes do, with every cover that’s shed, every piece of you revealed, because he is treating you with the kind of reverence you’ve never felt before. Blind to the flaws, he’s not about to leave any part of you untouched by the pink petals of his lips, helping you out of your cotton tee.

When his face meets yours again, you’re already reaching for him, pulling him close, needing his mouth, his breath, the low rasp of his voice in your ear. You’re so high on this feeling. Of being wanted–no–worshipped, for who you are. He kisses you like a man obsessed, hands sliding under your thighs as he coaxes you onto him, settling you over the hardness pressed tight beneath his sweats.

You’re straddling him now, knees sinking into the couch cushions on either side, your body still trembling from the orgasm he pulled out of you. And then—you pause.

You hesitate. Just for a second.

The reality of it creeps in and your saboteur whispers the insecurities you’ve worked so hard to hide. You’re heavier than him. Curvier, fuller. And even though he just made you fall apart on his tongue, there’s a flicker of doubt when you feel your weight settle onto him.

He notices instantly.

“Hey,” he murmurs like he knows, threading his fingers on your hair to pull you towards him, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. His other hand grip your hips, sliding back to your ass where he gives it a soft squeeze. “Don’t do that.”

“I just…” you look away, voice small. “You sure you’re comfortable?”

He lets out the softest fucking laugh, breath hot against your throat. “Baby, sit on me.”

His grip tightens, pulling your hips flush against him. You feel all of him—thick and very solid right against your slit and you can’t help the moan that escapes you, mixing with his own with the slightest friction.

You whine when he thrusts up just once, just enough to make your clit drag against the bulge in his boxers.

“Shit. You’re so sexy…” he breathes, hands sliding from your hips to your thighs, then your asscheeks, cupping them with both palms. “You feel what you’re doing to me right now?”

You nod, dazed, as you roll your hips, slow and testing. He groans like it’s killing him—in the best way.

“Wanna see you ride me… wanna feel you come on my cock. You think you can take it?”

“Shit, yeah…” You respond with a shameless grind.

“I think I’m addicted to you,” he smiles, ogling your tits, the way they jiggle for him.

“Yeah?”

He licks his bottom lip, nodding.

“Off,” you gesture to his clothes, his tee tossed haphazardly on the floor. You lift your hips slightly to give him room to shimmy his bottoms down.

His cock flops against his tummy, heavy and reddened. Your mouth wants it too but your hands are already guiding him to your slick entrance on its own accord like it knows better. You finally sink down onto him and his head drops back against the couch, jaw clenched, eyes fluttering shut.

“Fuck. You feel like heaven.”

You gasp, reveling in the fullness of him, the stretch. You ride him slowly at first. Letting him feel all of you. Letting him watch.

And he does. Watches the way your body moves over his, the way your breasts bounce with every roll, the way you take him so deep he can barely speak.

“Look at you,” he pants, hands moving everywhere—your waist, your ass, your thighs, back to your breasts.

“Shit…” he pants, eyes moving to where you’re riding him. “You’re so fuckin’ hot… fuckin’ perfect.”

He palms your breasts, groaning low in his throat. “Can’t get enough of these.”

He leans forward, licking the valley of your chest before closing his mouth around your nipple, sucking hard enough to make you cry out. Your walls flutter around him in response, and he lets out a low, wrecked groan, before smacking your ass.

“Fuck!”

“Bounce for me, baby,” he gruffs hungrily against your skin, and he delivers another spank. “Come on…”

You do—riding him harder, feeling him twitch inside you. His mouth stays latched, teeth grazing sensitive skin. He’s relentless, filthy, utterly focused on unraveling you.

When he finally pulls back, he finds your mouth again, devouring your moans between kisses as you both hurtle toward the edge.

“Gonna cum, Yoongi—” you gasp.

“With me, baby,” he pants. “Fuckin’ cum with me.”

He bucks into you harder, faster, harsher and finally you cum together—this time with his name sobbed into his neck—he holds you there, pulsing inside you as he paints your walls white, whispering things he probably shouldn’t say, things you ache to hear.

His head is fully tipped back on the couch, breathing heavy, body a little glossy from his sweat and yours. The aftermath clings to your skin, but the fire hasn’t burned out. Not even close. You’re not done.

He worshipped you, called you a goddess. But, aren’t you his dirty girl? His slut? And when he looks like the hottest man alive—

He looks up when you shift beside him, his brows pulling just slightly. “Wait. What’re you—”

You don’t answer. Just move lower, letting your hands glide down his chest. His abs twitch under your palms.

“I wanna taste you,” you whisper. “Suck you dry….”

He groans—low and hoarse—as you move between his legs, your mouth ghosting over the crease of his thigh. He spreads them automatically, lazy and loose, cock already half-hard and still wet with your juices. A drop of cum beads at the tip, glistening.

“Shit,” he breathes, pushing a hand through his hair. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You hum in amusement, dragging your tongue along the underside of his cock—slow and soft, just enough to make him twitch. Then again. Firmer this time. And when you wrap your lips around the head and suck, you feel the ripple it sends through his entire body.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he hisses.

You take your time. Lap him up, your cum and his combined. Lick up the length of him again, then back down to the base, tongue swirling as he expands in your mouth. The weight of him is perfect against your tongue, the way his girth stretches your lips obscene but delicious.

His hand finds the back of your head, not forcing—just resting there. “God, baby… that dirty mouth…”

You bob your head, eyes flicking up to meet his. He looks fucking ruined already, jaw slack, stomach trembling with every flick of your tongue. You clench your throat against his tip and feel him jolt. You love the way his body reacts, the little tremors in his thighs, the tension in his neck.

“Don’t stop,” he pants. “Just like that—fuck, you’re acting like a real slut right now.”

Yes, fuck. You choke involuntarily, swallowing against his tip. He groans, lips lining up into a smirk. You take him deeper, popping him off first to admire your handiwork, cock swollen and red. Let spit drip down your chin. Let your throat work around him as your hand pumps what you can’t take. You can feel him losing it—his moans getting louder, filthier, raspier. He swears under his breath, head thrown back against the pillows.

“Shit, shit—I’m gonna cum,” he warns, eyes fluttering open to find yours again. “Swallow for me, baby. Be my good fuckin—fuuuuck—”

You take him in faster, tongue firmly pressed against that vein as you slide up and down keeping your lips vacuum sealed, and finally—

He comes with a choked-off groan, hips jerking, both hands tangled in your hair now as his cock pulses on your tongue. You take it all. Every filthy, salty, slimy drop. You swallow without breaking eye contact. Brandish your tongue with pride.

He blinks down at you, stars in his eyes as he releases the grip on your scalp to move to your chin. “Shit. You’re unreal.”

You smile.

You wish this was real.

Somehow he convinces you to move to the bed so he can clean you up. He emerges from your tiny toilet with a warm washcloth, damping it against your leaking cunt.

“C’mere,” he lays on his side, gesturing you to move into him. Alarm bells sound in your head but you can’t bring yourself to stay away when your lips are already towards each other like magnets.

Yoongi’s hand is splayed across your lower back, fingers idly tracing soft, lazy shapes into your skin. His other arm is tucked behind his head, smug and relaxed and still looking thoroughly fucked out.

The night goes on like that. You kiss, cuddle. Talk about small things—more favorites, random things—the suspicious little mole by his arm, scary things—his upcoming military service. And you share with him your own—favorites, why you sleep with an alien plushie, your uncertain future with your job and the economy going to shit.

Hours after, your heart is unrecognizable, suddenly morphing into the shape of someone you just met. It should feel wrong. You’re still not sure why it doesn’t.

“You’ve ruined me for anyone else, I fear,” he says, voice rough, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips.

Go away, butterflies! You snort into his shoulder. “Pshh don’t lie.”

“Why would I do that?”

You lift your head slightly, looking at him. “Okay.”

There’s a beat of silence—comfortable, but loaded. His thumb still circles lazily over your spine.

“You should give me your number.”

You consider him for just a moment. But decide to shake your head. Not because you wanna see him sweat, but because you resolve not to.

His brow shoots up to his forehead like he didn’t expect that response.

“If you’re still thinking about me after two years…” you say, not quite looking at him, “Then find me. Just like you did today.”

He huffs, repeating his request. “Or you could just give me your number.”

You meet his gaze now, seriousness in your eyes. “I’m not gonna do that.”

“Why? You were hustling me for it in the boat…” he teases with a sly grin.

“Shut up, I just wanted to help you find your fish.”

He pokes his tongue in the inside of his cheek, still waiting on you, deciphering that look.

“Look. I don’t want to wait around for your text or your call. I’m not that girl.”

“Then don’t,” he says simply. “I mean, you won’t have to. I do plan to call. And I’m a pretty good texter, actually.”

You roll your eyes, tracing a slow line over his chest with your fingertip. “Be for real. You look like the type who won’t charge their phone for days.”

He gasps dramatically. “You’re… super wrong. And I have a fucking cool library of cat memes. You’ll be missing out.”

“I think I’ll live.”

“Fine.”

There’s a moment. He tilts his head toward you, so adorable, so boyfriend, like you’re an old couple bickering about something mundane, like who’s gonna check the front door if it’s locked. Certainly not a conversation that basically dictated if you will ever see each other again.

Then before you know it, you jut your lip, unable to stop yourself from acting cutely.

“Kiss me?”

He grins, cat-like. “I’ll do you one better. I can also give you tongue.”

You groan. “God, you’re cringe. You sure you have fans?”

“A fucking lot of em.” He hovers above you, his inky bangs tickling your forehead. “Shut up and take it.”

Tongue teasing against the seam of your lips, he kisses you breathless for the hundredth time tonight. His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck as he pulls you closer, deepening it just enough, with a lot of tongue, as promised.

It’s that feeling.

You could stay here forever.

And that’s the problem.

For now, you let it be what it is. Just a moment where your body fits perfectly against his, your laugh harmonizes with his, and it feels like—just maybe—you were really meant to find each other in the middle of the sea.

You’re both hovering by the door, breaking every rule in the one night stand playbook. This wasn’t supposed to feel like this..

But it fucking does.

He’s dressed the same way he came in last night—cap tugged low over damp hair that smells faintly of your shampoo. You’re in your oversized T-shirt and sleep shorts, bare feet brushing the cold floor. It makes the contrast feel starker somehow—him stepping back into the world, you still rooted in this little bubble of what the night became.

“You think we'll see each other again?” he mumbles, leaning his shoulder beside the door. It’s a quiet question, almost tossed out like it’s nothing.

“You’re you,” you say simply. “You have the world in your hands. It really just depends on one thing.”

His brows lift, a flicker of interest breaking through the fatigue in his face. “And what’s that?”

“How bad you want this.”

That makes him pause.

His eyes dip down your body like he can’t help it. Then his teeth sink into his bottom lip.

“Don’t make this harder,” he huffs.

“I’m not,” you whisper back. “I’m just being honest.”

“I don’t want to leave,” he says, barely audible.

You shrug, trying for casual even though your chest feels like it’s about to collapse. “But you have to.”

And that’s all there is to it.

He turns, opens the door.

But he doesn’t leave. Not immediately. He stands there, hoodie sleeves too long around his hands, looking back at you one last time.

His gaze doesn’t wander. It lands right on your face, and stays.

“Maybe next time,” he says, just like he did in the island.

You nod, barely. “Maybe.” You try a small smile.

He hesitates for a second more. Tries that small smile to mirror your own.

Then he leaves. And this time, it’s goodbye.

The door closes with a soft click, and the room is too quiet all over again, everything intact like he was never even there. Except he left with maybe just a tiny piece of you and replaced it with a bit of sparkle that you don’t notice immediately until you step back in your room.

That morning, you fire off a text to Soomchai asking why he gave a stranger your address and demand he send you a generous portion of his seafood pad thai as a peace offering. He obliges.

🗓️ June 2025 -📍 Phuket, Thailand

Life goes on. You didn’t have much choice in that.

The tours picked up again after the rainy season, but not in the way they used to. Fewer tourists, more locals. The occasional influencer. You learned to smile a little brighter. Talk a little faster.

But when things got tight—and God, they got tight—you picked up a second job teaching English online. What started as survival became something sustainable. Eventually, something yours. Your own business, your own pace, your own students across time zones who asked if Thailand really was that beautiful. You always smiled when they did. You tell them how sugary sweet the watermelons are.

And then there was the bracelet.

The one Yoongi left on the nightstand without a word. Understated but expensive in a way you only noticed when you turned it over in your hand and saw the brand pressed into the clasp. You kept it for months. Until the rent was due and the electricity bill was on its last notice and your fridge was nothing but leftover rice, soy sauce packets, and a bottle of beer.

The pawnshop paid you enough to stay afloat for four months.

And then last week—after months of hard work, after finding your footing again, you walked back into that same pawnshop and bought it back. The bracelet.

Not that he’d ever come looking for it. But it felt right having it again. Like you were reclaiming something. Maybe not him, but you.

You think of Yoongi sometimes. Not in the hopeful, aching, delulu way you used to.

He’s no longer in headlines. Gone stone cold on socials. Even ARMY wants to do a recon mission to find him. But he’s doing his bid to serve his country so the absence must have been necessary for him. At least you hope so.

You play his music when you’re cooking, or on the rare evenings you chill on your balcony with a cold one and the humid breeze and his husky voice and the sweet piano melody lulls you to sleep.

It wasn’t clear then, but it is now. He simply was a blip on your timeline. An unforgettable 24 hours that changed the pace of your heartbeat. And you don’t hold it against him anymore.

If anything, he reminds you of your favorite line from one of his songs: “Future’s gonna be okay.”

And deep down, you really believe that.

It was one of those nights. Adele was blaring through your bluetooth speaker. And you’re out singing the shit outta her in the kitchen, lyrics be damned, crooning in your frilly little apron with a wooden spatula being used as your mic.

“Never mind I’ll find, someone like youuuuu…

I wish nothing but the best for youuuuuuu toooooo

Bla bla bla I bet I remember what you said

La la la sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead…”

It’s probably the onions but you’re now crying and it feels phenomenal and oddly cathartic.

Your phone chimes with a text.

Soomchai: Hey. Sorry I know it’s late. Stopping by to drop off dessert.

Strange, but okay. Everyone likes a freebie. Especially when it’s sugar.

You’re rinsing dishes when the doorbell comes.

You wipe your hands, heart racing for a reason you can’t name. You open the door.

And he’s there.

Not Soomchai.

Min Yoongi.

Wearing a hoodie just like when you last saw him. His hair is a bit shorter, face slightly more gaunt and just as guarded. There’s a weariness behind his eyes—one you recognize instantly.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t step forward.

Says one thing as you struggle to regulate the thumping of your heart.

“Dessert?”

You stand there, barefoot and blinking at him, stunned into silence. You want to ask why now. You want to ask what changed. But instead, you step aside. Quietly.

He walks in, a plastic bag with dessert in tow. Takes off his shoes. Looks around like the space is familiar and foreign all at once.

And then—

“I tried to forget you,” he says, voice a bit raw. “Turns out I can’t.”

You swallow hard, emotion clawing up your throat.

“Me too,” you say softly, lifting your wrist so he can see the glimmer of his bracelet. You haven't removed it since you got it back.

He nods, walking closer. He hesitates just long enough to make your pulse quicken.

You stare at him, waiting.

“Wanna try this again,” he says. “If you still want to.”

You don’t answer right away. You just step forward and wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face in the warm cotton of his hoodie. He exhales, slow and shaky, like he wasn’t sure you'd say yes. How could you not? He walks in with a pretty face, and even prettier words.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

“I missed you too,” he replies.

And that night, he proves how much.

“Butterflyfish,” you whisper.

“Hm?” His voice is drowsy, the sound vibrating softly against your forehead.

You tilt your head back, just enough to glance up at him—but his eyes are already closed, lids heavy, expression peaceful in that half-dream state right before sleep.

“The fish you were looking for,” you say quietly. “Back then.”

There’s a small pause. A breath. Then a soft, sleepy grunt of remembrance.

“Ah.”

His arms tighten around you, warm and sure, like he’s tethering himself to this moment. To you.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

You feel it more than hear it—his lips brushing your hair, the words settling between your ribs.

“For helping me find what I was looking for.”

The End :)

A/N: … and now we know deez fish. 🤭

I hope this story was like a brief vacay in the tropics just like in Yoongi’s vlog, and made you feel like you were there in the moment with him.

Well—tell me what you think! Favorite parts? Please leave me a note and reblog if you enjoyed this story! 🙏🏼😘

Thank you for reading, you lovely, beautiful human. xo

Check out my masterlist if you want more Yoongi.

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