#is this what having your shit together feels like??? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jakesimfromstatefarm · 3 days ago

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(this is gonna be so so so very long because i think reading this truly changed the trajectory of my life. you have been forewarned. pls read this masterpiece i beg of u)

holy. mother of matrimony. i — i have no words. currently on my flight to korea as i type and i thank my past self from 10 hours ago who decided to leave my tumblr app open on this fic before i lose connection so i could read this on my flight and . wow . i don’t think i’ve felt this way about a fic in a whileeeeeeee. your writing style is so so so beautifully painful, in a devastating way that makes me wish this was a book in a series i could purchase and read over and over and over again. i absolutely love how you wrote yn despite how insane is actually is (which we now know she really isnt insane, just grew up under circumstances and was wildly misunderstood). but oh my god the ending????? was so intense??? and not just that, but every intimate scene with sunghoon wanted to make me cry from emotional tension AND from how HOT IT WAS LMAOO. when she finally lets sunghoon in and realizes her true feelings and vulnerability, i think i actually wanted to shed tears right here and now in my lil economy flight seat oh my god.

“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.”

IM GONNA SCREAM LIKE WHAT????? THIS IS INSANE I DONT THINK U UNDERSTAND HOW THIS QUOTE MADE ME FEEL ???? oh my god im gonna cry all over again

"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.*

WHAT THE ACRUAL FUCK😭😭😭😭NO BECAUSE THIS?? the way this fic started with yn wanting to strip hoon of his purity and ruin him but ir ended up being THE OPPOSITE ??? and he SHOWS HER AND SHES GOOD !!!!! and she BELIEVES IT !!! SHES ALLOWS HERSELF TO BELIEVE IT AND TO BE CHANGEDDDD UR HONOORRRRR i rest my case oh my god

"I hate you. I fucking hate you," you whisper harshly, looking up at him with tear filled eyes.

"I love you too," he whispers back.

MY JAW literally dropped at this. like this trope/line is one of those cliche ones but something about how you executed this???? was so amazingly beautifully done. if i wasnt in a plane rn i would stand up and applaud u fr this ENTIRE scene was perfection from start to finish. the vulnerability? the realization? the rawness? holy shit i think it added five years to my life.

AND THEN THE ENDING !!

"Harvest all of my purity, farmer's daughter."

man i don’t even have the words anymore. im just gonna leave it at that. thank you for this beautiful work of art. gonna go back to this whenever i wanna feel something.

harvest of purity — sunghoon [ 박성훈 ]

pairing ⦂ sunghoon ⨯ fem. reader

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

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

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

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

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

You were positive that it was something they wanted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe all your father really was is the executioner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s safe to have a little fun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“None of that. It’s not what-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think you reminded me of a lamb.”

“Pardon?” His brows furrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What keeps you there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hop on. Let’s go somewhere else.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Both?” his head tilts.

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

“What do you mean? What did he do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sunghoon, do you trust me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-I’ve never had-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I mean it,” your body shudders, feeling his tip pound so far and deep in places inside you that you didn’t know reachable. His fat cock drags out and forces through your tight hole, making you cream all over him more and more. The sounds that leave your body, the sounds your bodies are making, it’s so obscene. Fighting off the disgust and focusing on how he makes you feel is war. It’s so hard for you to win.

“No you don’t,” he shifts himself to sit on his knees, taking your legs and wrapping them around his waist. He leans forward and kisses both of your cheeks before fucking himself into you again, only harder and faster than before.

“Ngh,” you moan again through broken sobs, blinking away the tears as you stare up at him. “I’m t-trying to.”

“I know, baby.” he mumbles before capturing your wobbling lips into a searing kiss. “It’s okay, haah, don’t cry. You’re good. You’re so good for me,” he says against your wet lips. You can only sniffle and try to turn your head away from him in your embarrassment. “No, no.” he takes your chin with his thumb and finger, forcing you to look back at him. His thrusts never letting up during his care. “Look at me. You’re so good to me.” He reminds you over and over. “We’re so good together. I’m yours. you’re mine.”

“Say it again,” you sniffle through little sounds of sin. Your hand finds a place on his cheek, and your thumb rubs over his lips that wear a smile.

“You’re so good, good for me. We are so good together. I am yours. And you are mine,” he says softly. His eyes are so filled with love, and if you could see your reflection in his then you would know yours are too. “Say you’re good, baby, it’s okay.”

“I’m good,” you sob through your whimpers, “I’m yours.”

To Sunghoon, the idea of sex was always sacred. Something that’s only done and shared between lovers bound by marriage of the church. But now, he thinks differently. He knows that there is no shame in him loving you now or years later. And he was more than happy to make love to you all night until you believed it too.

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

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

When you see the reverend’s car parked in front of your house, your heart drops. Sunghoon picks up on your tension, He sees how you go blank at the sight and slowly turn back into the empty girl he met months ago. He tries to hold your hand but your fingers can’t move, can’t return the embrace.

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

Once out of their sight, the reverend takes you by the hair. He yanks your head around, pulling you towards that cursed tree. He’s uncharacteristically rough and your scalp screams for a release but you don’t show it. You don’t even look at the man. Not even when he’s tossing your body to the ground.

“So you’re whoring around with my employees now, huh? Was ruining this farm not enough for you?” His words mean nothing to you. You dust off the dirt and go to stand again, but he kicks you back down. You tsk under your breath as he speaks again, “I’ve seen all the things you’ve done. Seen you leave my barns with red hands and smile. Cut heads off chickens like an anatomy project. Is he next? That church boy?”

Now you look up to glare at him. Seeing the reverend was aggravating enough, but to say something about Sunghoon was infuriating to you. “I am not a killer. You are! And those animals were already dead.” You spit at his black leather church shoes.

“Oh, you disgusting little devient,” he laughs lowly, untying the rope from the tree. “Your cruelty shouldn’t bring you joy. Sick and twisted, I should’ve dealt with you sooner regardless of what your drunk bitch mother protested. I can save the boy when you’re gone.”

“What?” you shuffle backwards from him, angry and confused as he stalks closer to you until you’re backed against the tree. “All those things I did was because of you. Your righteousness made me rotten!” Your hands shake, gripping at the dirt ground for anything to make the fear stop. You glance up to the empty tree branch then the rope in his hands. Where is the lamb? You think briefly before it hits you. “You’re crazy,” you whisper, “I will not be your martyr… not now what I’m finally-”

“Condemn me to Hell for all I care,” he crouches down in front of you, “This is the last time I’ll be a killer.” He throws the rope to your lap and tells you to tether yourself.

“Why do you hate me?” The words scratch at your throat. When you were younger, you did want the reverend to hate you. It was when he noticed you most, and it’s all you really knew. But now you’re older, and his disdain never made sense.

You can’t bring yourself to move even if you wanted to. Was this His plan? To allow you one good thing in life before ending it? Was ruining Sunghoon your final sin?

The rope shakes with your fingers as you stare down at it. The twine of the rope burns over the palm of your hand where Sunghoon carved his promise. Your throat feels dry, tight and suffocating; choking on everything you’ve ever done. And your eyes still puffy from the night before well with tears all over again.

“I just do,” he thinks of slicing your neck open right there. So fuck tying you down, you were always secretly another lamb anyways. He raises his knife and the metal sits cold under your chin as he lifts your head up to look back at him.

“Okay…” you swallow.

Your eyes squeeze shut and so does your mouth, as you raise your head to the sky with an exposed throat. Why isn’t this easy? Unlike the animals, you do know what’s coming. And it’s scary. Scary not because of death, but because you aren’t ready. You haven’t told Sunghoon goodbye or that you love him back. And the thought of him finding something in this world to hate, is such an ugly feeling to die with.

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

You open your eyes and your father is on his back clutching his abdomen. He coughs and gasps before raising his hand. It’s dripping in deep red. And you can’t help but smile with tears in your eyes as you exhale a jagged breath.

You turn your head and Sunghoon stands there with the shotgun in hand, open mouthed and wide eyed.

“Sunghoon!” you scramble to your feet and run over to him, taking the gun from his hands as he’s frozen in shock.

“H-he was going to- he was about to hurt you. I had to-!” he stutters, his eyes already crying and hands shaking, still feeling the weight and recoil of the gun.

“It’s okay,” you coo softly. “Just- go back to the house and I’ll be right there, okay?” You rush out. Still in shock and dazed, he blindly trusts you and does as you say.

When he’s no longer close by, you walk over to the reverend with a blank face. You stare down at him as he tries to crawl away, dirty and bleeding. The smile you make doesn’t reach your eyes.

You point the gun back down at him, and place your foot over the shot wound Sunghoon created. The man gasps and tries to swat at your leg but you only press the gun further into his face, making him surrender.

“Divine intervention, huh? Say it with me now. I know no punishment, only mercy.” Your voice is quiet, calm, and mocking of his tone. With the barrel to his forehead, you watch him writhe in pain and cough up a little blood.

“Go to Hell,” he spits his words like venom.

“If you say it, I’ll let you live. But if you show your face to me or Sunghoon again, I’ll shoot you right between the eyes.” Your foot presses down harder. You can feel that angry little girl inside of you jumping with joy.. Knowing his God demands to be bled for, and making him know the sacrificial suffering, well it feels good to say the least. “Say it. With me. Now.” Each word pronounced with the growing applied pressure to his shot wound. And then he begs for forgiveness. He’s never seen you smile the way you did when he was below you with those words. Empty eyes were never so alive for him either. He cries and chants ‘I know no punishment, only mercy’ over and over. It was like the most beautiful hymn.

　There wasn’t much to be said about that day. Sunghoon and you just pretend you shared a nightmare. Neither of you talked about it. It was just another thing that tied you together.

Sitting there in the peak of summer’s heat. A day before Sunghoon returns to college classes. Birds chirp. The leaves of the tall trees thistle in the light breezes that pass by. Sunghoon sits criss crossed and while you have your feet hanging off the edge of the dock, kicking in the water.

“I’m sorry,” you break the silence. Shocked, he looks over to you. He never would have expected you to apologize for anything. “I was selfish when I approached you. I wanted to take all that goodness out of you and keep it for myself. I thought I wanted to hurt you, but after sharing all this time with you, I realized I was wrong. It’s weird to say it out loud,” you laugh small, awkward, “but I really am sorry. I love you more than even I know.” You stare down to your feet in the water that has gone still. A tear falls from your eye, and down to your cheek.

“I know. I love you too,” he wraps an arm around your waist. “But now the same sins bind us.” You hiccup silently and turn to look up at him. “Harvest all of my purity, farmer’s daughter.”

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

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

“Your humor is poetry.” you continue to laugh until tears prick your eyes all over again. You love it.

“It wasn’t supposed to be funny.” he looks away shyly, blushing. It only makes your giggle more, but you stop to press a kiss to his cheek. He blushes harder.

“I’ll keep doing it, harvesting all of your purity, for as long as you’re good.” you say with a smile.

“Do you promise? I am always good, especially with you, so it could be a long while.” He bumps your shoulder playfully with a laugh.

You take his scarred hand in yours and you laugh like he did, pure and true, “I do.”

© fangel ┊ do not copy, repost, modify or translate my content ໒꒱ tysm for reading, ⌗unlearn shame ⌇ taglist @tinycatharsis @simjaexy @leehsngs @511rkive @beomluvrr @jjongsaengzz @slvtella @jaerisdiction @kkamismom12 @rayofsunshineeee @nshmrarki @m3wkledreamy @hanjisbeloved @filmnings @stercul1a @hooniesfvngs @moriwori @sleepyhoon

#──── ♡ ⚯ ͛ᝰ.ᐟ ADDIES ULT FAVS!#──── ♡ ⚯ ͛ᝰ.ᐟ addie reads!#beautiful beautiful beautiful.#pls pls pls pls pls read this everyone pls

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honeyslibrary · 2 days ago

Text

Rookie Card | Jack Hughes

Pairing; Jack Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Fluff, established relationship, little to no knowledge of Costco (I've never been lol), edited once, that's it I think!

Summary; Jack finds out that reader keeps a certain card in her wallet

Word Count; 3.1k

Authors Note: I feel like if this happened IRL he'd be such a little shit about it and would not stop teasing 😭 Also I don't have a Costco membership idk what they sell there and I did not look it up to be accurate 🥴 -Honey

You knew this Costco trip was a mistake the moment Jack grabbed the cart.

"I'm driving," he'd announced with that lopsided grin that still made your stomach flutter after eight months together. That grin had gotten you into this relationship in the first place. The same one he'd flashed at you across the bar the night you met, when your friend had elbowed you and whispered, "Holy shit, that's Jack Hughes," and you'd pretended not to know exactly who he was.

Now that same grin was steering an overloaded shopping cart through the warehouse chaos of Costco on a Sunday afternoon, which felt considerably less charming.

"Slow down," you call out as he narrowly avoids clipping an elderly woman examining a stack of discounted bestsellers. "This isn't the ice, Hughes."

Jack shoots you a look over his shoulder. "I'm being careful! Besides, we need to beat the sample rush. Those little pizza bagel things go fast."

You roll your eyes but can't help cracking a smile. For a professional hockey player who regularly gets body-checked into boards, Jack has an almost childlike enthusiasm for the free samples at Costco. It's endearing, even if his cart navigation skills leave much to be desired.

Two hours later, the cart is piled dangerously high with everything from the mundane essentials you actually came for (paper towels, coffee beans, that specific brand of Greek yogurt Jack insists is the only acceptable post-workout snack) to the impulse purchases that somehow found their way in when you weren't looking (a 2.5lb bag of dried mango slices, a folding camp chair, and what appears to be an industrial-sized container of protein powder).

"Do we really need all this?" you ask, eyeing the mountain of products as you approach the checkout area.

Jack looks genuinely confused. "Which part don't we need?"

"I don't know, maybe the trashcan sized candle?"

"You said your apartment always smells like hockey gear!"

"I meant you should do laundry more often, not turn the place into a Yankee Candle outlet."

He shrugs, unrepentant. "Trust me, I'm doing us both a favor."

As you approach the front of the store, Jack steers the cart toward the self-checkout area.

"The regular lines aren't that long." you comment, glancing at the regular checkout lanes where actual employees could help with the small mountain of purchases you've accumulated.

Jack scoffs. "Self-checkout is way faster. Plus, I'm basically a professional at scanning."

"Since when?"

"I did a grocery store commercial last season, remember? Spent like three hours scanning the same box of cereal from different angles."

You bite back a smile. "I'm pretty sure that doesn't translate to actual scanning skills."

"I forgot you were the expert," he rolls his eyes, smiling as he maneuvers the cart into the self-checkout lane.

The Costco self-checkout is already chaos. The cart is overloaded, the scanner next to yours keeps yelling "place item in the bagging area," and Jack is too busy pretending the jumbo box of Goldfish is a dumbbell to be remotely helpful.

"Four pounds of pure cracker power," he announces, curling the box in perfect form. "Could be a new workout trend. Snackercise."

An exasperated mother with twin toddlers shoots him a look that's half annoyance, half recognition. You've gotten used to the double takes, the whispers, the occasional autograph requests. Jack handles them with ease, always friendly, always gracious, never making it weird. It's one of the things you admire about him, even if you're still adjusting to dating someone whose face is plastered around the city.

Today, thankfully, the mother is too focused on keeping her children from dismantling the candy display to approach. Jack sets down the Goldfish box with a mock grunt of exertion and turns his attention back to you.

"Want me to scan stuff?" he offers, reaching for the box of protein bars you're holding.

"I've got it," you say quickly, having witnessed his "scanning skills" on previous shopping trips. The last time you let him take over at Target, you'd ended up with three accidental duplicates and one item that never made it into the system at all.

You're juggling a case of sparkling water and trying to scan your membership barcode from the app when you groan.

"It's not loading," you mutter, tapping frantically at your phone screen where the Costco app has frozen on a loading icon. "Can you just get my wallet? It's in the pink one, middle pocket of my bag."

Jack perks up like you just asked him to defuse a bomb. "On it," he says, already elbow deep in your tote. "Why do you carry so much stuff in here? Are you secretly a suburban mom?"

"Just grab the wallet," you sigh, shifting the sparkling water to your other arm. The self-checkout machine beeps impatiently, its screen flashing a demand for your membership ID.

"I'm exploring uncharted territory here," Jack narrates, rummaging dramatically. "I may need supplies. Possibly a headlamp."

The employee monitoring the area, a tall guy appearing about your age, wearing a faded Yankees cap, glances over with amusement. You feel a flash of self-consciousness, aware of how you and Jack must look: bickering over a shopping cart like you've been married for decades rather than dating for months. It's comfortable, though. That's what surprised you most about being with Jack, how quickly the comfort came, how easily you fell into each other's rhythms.

Jack pulls out a crushed receipt, a Tide pen, and a tampon like he's on Let's Make a Deal. "Is this a snack bar? Why do you have a Canadian penny in here? What year even is this?"

"Jack." Your patience is wearing thin. The case of water is getting heavier by the second, and the lady behind you is starting to make pointed throat-clearing noises.

"Okay, okay," he says, finally fishing out your wallet and flipping it open. "Looking for the ol' Costco membership—" He hands you the card, "wait a sec."

You pause mid-scan, turning slowly at the change in his tone. "What?"

He's gone still. Smirking.

"No way." His voice cracks slightly as he pulls out a small, glossy rectangle. "Is this? Babe, is this my rookie card?"

Your stomach drops. "Oh my God, Jack. Give me that."

The blood rushes to your face so quickly you feel light-headed. Of all the things he could have found: the ancient gum wrapper you keep forgetting to throw away, the fortune cookie paper with the embarrassingly accurate prediction about meeting a handsome stranger, even the crumpled CVS receipt from when you panic bought three different pregnancy tests after a condom mishap last month (all negative, thankfully), he had to find THAT.

"You carry this around?" he laughs, holding it up like he's found hidden treasure. "In your wallet. Next to your license. And your credit card. I’m literally next to your driver’s license.”

You lunge for it, nearly dropping the sparkling water. "I forgot it was even in there!"

It's a lie and you both know it. The card is in pristine condition, carefully tucked into one of the clear plastic sleeves in your wallet where most people would keep photos of loved ones or emergency contact information. You'd bought it four years ago, back when Jack was just starting to make headlines, back when you would never have dreamed you'd one day be sharing takeout on his couch while he complained about his coach's defensive strategy.

He dodges you like a child on a sugar high, rookie card still in hand. "You've been walking around with literal 18-year-old me in your purse this whole time?" He holds it toward you, pointing at his face. "Look at this haircut! I look like I was just let out of a Boy Scout meeting."

"Stop talking," you hiss, your face fully on fire as the self-checkout voice robotically reminds you to please place item in the bagging area.

The employee at the front is now openly watching your exchange, a slow smile of recognition spreading across his face as he realizes exactly who Jack is, and exactly which card Jack is holding. Great. Just what you need: a witness to your humiliation.

"Oh, this is rich," Jack says, shaking his head. "You, giving me crap about being cocky, but meanwhile? You've got a personal Jack Hughes shrine in your wallet."

You glare at him, wishing desperately for a sinkhole to open beneath your feet. "Do you want me to put that card in the trash right now?"

He snorts, finally slipping it back into its slot with fake reverence. "Absolutely not. That thing's probably worth, like, eight bucks."

"Try a couple hundred," the employee chimes in helpfully, then immediately holds up his hands in surrender when you shoot him a death glare. "Sorry. Just saying."

"See?" Jack grins. "You're carrying around, what, Nathaniel's monthly rent in your wallet? That's dedication." He gestures to the Rangers fan, who apparently is named Nathaniel and who apparently needs to mind his own business.

You snatch the wallet out of Jack's hands, cheeks still burning, and you return to scanning items with aggressive efficiency.

"So," Jack says, leaning against the bagging area with his arms crossed, watching you work with infuriating amusement. "When exactly were you planning to tell me you were a fan?"

"I wasn't hiding it," you mutter, scanning a jar of almond butter with unnecessary force. "I told you I watched hockey."

"Yeah, but you never mentioned having a collection of hockey cards. Of me, specifically."

"It's not a collection. It's one card."

Jack raises an eyebrow. "Mm-hmm. And are there others at home? Like, do you have a special album or something? Holy shit, do you have posters?"

"No," you say, a beat too quickly.

The truth, which you would rather die than admit right now, is that you do own exactly one poster. It's from a sports magazine spread three years ago, and it's been carefully rolled up and stashed in the back of your closet since your third date with Jack, when things started to feel serious enough that you realized having his face on your wall would be deeply weird.

"You hesitated," Jack says triumphantly. "There are posters."

"There are no posters," you insist, though your traitorous complexion is probably giving you away. You've always been a terrible liar, a fact Jack discovered during your first attempt at playing poker together, when he cleaned you out of chocolate-covered almonds (your chosen betting currency) within twenty minutes.

"You know," he says, taking pity on you and beginning to bag some of the scanned items, "it's kind of cute."

"It's embarrassing," you correct him, focusing intently on scanning a pack of chicken breasts.

"Why? You're a hockey fan who happened to start dating a hockey player. That's not weird."

"It's weird if I was specifically a fan of you before we met."

"Were you?" he asks, and there's a note of genuine curiosity beneath the teasing now.

You sigh, pausing your scanning marathon. "I watched your games sometimes. I thought you were good." You look up at him, considering how much to reveal. "I liked how you played, like you were actually having fun, not just doing a job. It was... I don't know. It made the game more exciting."

Jack's expression softens, the teasing glint fading into something warmer. "That's... actually really nice."

"Don't let it go to your head," you warn, but you're smiling despite yourself.

"Too late," he says, tapping his temple. "Already filed under 'Evidence My Girlfriend Thinks I'm Amazing.'"

The self-checkout machine beeps demandingly, reminding you that you've paused too long between scans. You return to the task at hand, but the tension has dissipated, replaced by a comfortable rhythm as Jack bags while you scan.

"You know," he says after a moment, carefully arranging a tub of laundry detergent next to the candles, "I have some of your work saved on my phone."

You look up, surprised. "What?"

"Those illustrations you did for that children's book about the penguin? I downloaded them. They're in a special album." He shrugs like it's no big deal, but there's a hint of vulnerability in the admission. "I show them to the guys sometimes. Demko's kid loves the one with the penguin on the skateboard."

"You... show my work to your teammates?" The thought of Jack's hockey buddies, men whose names appear on jerseys and in ESPN headlines, looking at your penguin drawings is surreal.

"Yeah. I'm a fan." He says it simply, without the teasing edge from before.

You don't know what to say to that, so you just keep scanning, but something warm unfurls in your chest. It's been like this since the beginning, moments of revelation that catch you off guard. Reminders that beneath the public persona and the franchise player status, Jack is just... Jack. A guy who gets excited about Costco samples and saves your artwork on his phone.

Jack leans in, way too pleased with himself, as you scan the last few items. "I'm starting to think you were a fan before you were my girlfriend."

"I hate you," you say, but there's no heat in it.

"No you don't."

You glance at him. He's grinning like an idiot, casually bagging your industrial-size trail mix like this isn't the most embarrassing moment of your life.

"Okay, maybe I don't," you mutter, swiping your credit card.

He bumps your shoulder. "It's okay, babe. I'd carry your rookie card around too. If you had one."

"What would a children's book illustrator's rookie card even look like?" you wonder, punching in your PIN.

"First professional doodle," Jack says thoughtfully. "Maybe that red panda you showed me, the one you drew for your niece's birthday card."

"That was awful. I gave him six toes."

"It had character," Jack insists. "Very avant-garde."

You roll your eyes so hard it's a miracle they stay in your head. "Let's go before you start reciting your career stats to the family behind us."

"Oh, I would never—" He pauses, then turns to the man waiting in line. "Did you know she keeps my rookie card in her wallet?"

"JACK."

He laughs, loud and unrestrained, as you grab his arm and drag him away from the checkout area, your face flaming all over again.

"You're the worst," you inform him as you navigate toward the exit, receipt clutched in your hand.

"And yet, you keep my rookie card with you at all times," he counters, skillfully steering the cart around a display of seasonal patio furniture. "Makes a guy wonder what else you might be hiding."

"My deep regret about agreeing to date you?"

"Nah, that's written all over your face." He grins. "I'm thinking more like, do you have a scrapbook? Did you write my name with hearts around it in your diary? Ooh, did you have one of those fathead wall decals?"

You stop walking, fixing him with your most serious expression. "Jack. If you ever want me to sleep over at your place again, you will drop this immediately."

He considers this for a moment, then mimes zipping his lips. "Dropped."

"Thank you."

You resume walking, pushing through the exit doors into the parking lot. The late afternoon sun hits your face, warm against the crisp autumn air. Jack moves ahead to guide the cart, his shoulders relaxed under his faded blue henley, hair slightly mussed from where he ran his hands through it while deliberating between two different coffee brands for twenty minutes.

"I forgot to ask," he says as you reach the car, "are you coming to the game on Thursday?"

"I have that deadline for the fox book illustrations," you remind him, helping to load bags into the trunk of his SUV. "But I could come to Saturday's game maybe?"

Jack nods, lifting the case of water with ease. "Saturday works. Oh, don't forget, there's that charity thing on Sunday."

"Gala thingy?"

"Yeah." He slams the trunk closed. "Bring your wallet though."

You narrow your eyes, pausing with the shopping cart halfway to the return corral. "Why?"

"In case anyone asks for your autograph," he says with exaggerated seriousness. "After, you can show them my rookie card, tell them you knew me when."

You groan, abandoning the cart to march back to him. "I swear to God, Hughes—"

But before you can finish your threat, he catches you around the waist, pulling you against him. "You're cute when you're mortified," he murmurs, and then he's kissing you, right there in the Costco parking lot, with the orange glow of sunset painting everything gold.

When he pulls back, you keep your hands on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath your palm. "I'm never taking you shopping again," you inform him.

"Yes you are," he says confidently. "You need someone to reach the top shelves."

"I can bring a stepladder."

"A stepladder won't tell you interesting facts about protein powder or help you pick out deli meat."

"Those are selling points?"

He kisses you again, quickly this time. "Admit it. Shopping with me is an adventure."

"A nightmare," you correct him, but you're smiling. "A recurring nightmare where I'm trapped in Costco forever with a hockey player who thinks jumbo sized everything is a personality trait."

Jack laughs, releasing you to retrieve the abandoned shopping cart. "Come on, nightmare's over for today. Let's go home and figure out where we're going to put that giant candle in your apartment."

"Your apartment," you counter. "You bought it, you store it."

"Fine, but you have to remind me to burn it. And not burn the apartment down."

You watch him return the cart, the easy grace in his movements, the way he nods politely to an older couple walking past. When he returns, he slides into the driver's seat beside you, immediately reaching for your hand across the console.

"So," he says as he starts the engine, "should I be concerned about any other professional athletes you might have rookie cards of? Am I competing with, like, the entire NHL draft class of 2019?"

You squeeze his hand, letting out an exaggerated sigh. "And here I thought you'd dropped it."

"I'm just saying, I should know if I'm in an open relationship with you and a wallet full of hockey cards."

"Just drive, Hughes."

My Patreon, where you can find exclusive fics not posted anywhere else: HERE

#jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes imagines #jack hughes fanfiction #jack hughes fic #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x you #jack hughes fluff

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fluffyfish000 · 2 days ago

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pining <3 ft. jason todd

The lights from Gotham's towering skyscrapers crept through the Jason's open window as his frayed combat boots hit the floor with a grunt. Blood and Gotham's endless muck clung to the worn soles, his gun shining in the dark before he sets it on the counter, ripping off his helmet, sweat-damp dark strands sticking up wildly. Long patrol. Long day. Long life.

And of course, now was the time that you decided to climb in the open window after him, grinning crookedly as you twist your body through the frame. "Ever heard of a door?" Jason grumbles, not even bothering to turn around. He already knows it's you. No one else has the sheer audacity to sneak into the Red Hood's safehouse at this time of night.

"You wouldn't have let me in," you shoot back as you straighten, idly stretching. You saunter over to him, standing beside him on the counter and nudging him with your elbow. He hisses as you accidentally brush against a bruise. "Sorry," you say, retracting your arm, then look at him curiously. "What's up? You'd usually snap at me for that."

"I'm not in the mood tonight," he snaps, foot tapping, tone tense and body jittery. The Joker nearly got out of Arkham (again) and even if he's back in the hellhole, Jason's still on edge. He's always on edge.

You hum in acknowledgment, leaning forward on the counter. Then, in a rush of courage that definitely is too forward considering the stage your.. friendship? is at, reach for his hand. He stiffens as your fingers intertwine with his own calloused, scarred ones, turning his head, a considering look in his green eyes. Then he relaxes minutely, infinitesimally, but it's there. And that's more than you've got from him in a long, long time.

The two of you stay like that for a while, basking in the comfortable silence, heavy with unspoken words, your hands joined together, his gripping yours like a lifeline. He watches as you finally leave, crawling out his window with a cheeky grin and salute. He scoffs outwardly, but he can't help huffing out a laugh through his nose, the corner of his mouth quirking up as you leave. His heart feels strangely lighter than it did before you came.

Ah shit. This is gonna be a problem, isn't it?

#batman #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #dcu #batfam #batfamily #gender neutral reader #gn reader #dc comics #dc universe #jason todd imagine #jason todd fanfiction #dc x reader #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n

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andvys · 2 days ago

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The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter thirteen

⭐︎ Then this heart would break and fall as twice as far

Warnings: hurt/no comfort? not here, sorry y'all. angst. injuries, mentions of death, blood, gore, not gonna spoil anymore

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Hope has always been a downfall hasn't it? This time it tears you apart completely.

Word count: 15k

Author's note: I'm cackling as I'm typing this, you guys have no idea what is about to hit you. The next few chapters are gonna be filled with so much evil shit. Someone go and pray for Dingus. @hellfire--cult we're at our favorite part now hehe

series masterlist ⭐︎ previous chapter

☀︎

A miserable expression is lingering on Eddie’s face. He barely keeps his eyes open as he gets hit by waves of nausea every thirty seconds or so. He keeps an arm around his waist as his left elbow rests on the table. He is blinking, staring at you in confusion and awe. You drank more than him, even continued after he passed out, and yet you seem fine, more cheerful than ever.

Your mouth is moving quickly, and you are waving around with your hands as you ramble about one thing after another. Eddie’s mind can’t even catch up, he is too hungover for this, which is surprising considering he never dealt with those, but the lack of alcohol in the past year, especially in that capacity, turned him into a wuss – at least that’s how he feels about himself watching you.

You were the first one up, even, filling the generator with gas, just enough for everyone to have a warm shower. You cooked coffee and oatmeal with the supplies from the RV, and now you are sitting here, hair still wet from the shower, a new sweater, and a look of happiness and excitement on your face.

Eddie thinks that it’s refreshing to see you this way, especially after the difficult days that you had, but his mind just can’t comprehend how you can feel so fine while he is suffering from the amount of whiskey he had last night.

“How…?” He mumbles, cutting you off mid sentence.

“Hmm?” You tilt your head to the side.

“How can you feel so fine… You hadn’t had any alcohol in months, and you drank more than I did… How are you not hungover?”

You shrug and bring your cup of coffee up to your lips, taking a sip.

“I’m not a lightweight like you.”

Eddie snorts at your words, shaking his head. “Nah. I’m not a lightweight usually, besides I had some a few weeks back and I felt fine…”

“Maybe that stuff was too hard for you.”

Eddie frowns at your words and he shakes his head, “nope.”

“Take another shot and you will feel fine.”

Eddie’s lips curl up in disgust, and he stares at you, bewildered.

“I swear!” You exclaim, leaning forward. “My dad used to do barbecues a lot and he invited all his old buddies from High School and one time when they came over I was dealing with a major hangover cause I got drunk the night before for the first time ever… my dad got really mad at me – not the point of the story but his friend, this russian guy told me to take a shot of hard liquor, he said that it’s an instant cure… the thought made me wanna throw up but I tried it and guess what…? It helped!”

Eddie looks at you like you have gone crazy. He slowly reaches for the coffee you have made him and takes a sip.

“Yeah, uh… that’s crazy.”

“But it helps!”

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head, “I believe you, but god, that thought makes me want to throw up.”

“I know, I know, but you should try it.”

Silence fills the room for a moment. You lean back in your chair and look out the window, watching the snow fall just as it did the night before. The wind is still heavy and you know that you might have to stay here for another day or two.

Eddie sips on his coffee, he keeps watching you, taking in the excitement that keeps flashing in your eyes, the way your lips twitch, wanting to curl into a smile.

“What’s got you so hyper this morning?” Eddie finally asks.

You look back at him and you press your lips together, looking around the empty room and out into the hallway to make sure that nobody is coming but Steve must still be in the shower, and Nancy is getting the RV ready.

Only as you lean forward again and you wrap both hands around your mug, does he notice the slight nervousness. You are tapping against the porcelain, taking a deep breath as you lean closer.

“I’m gonna kiss Steve.”

Eddie forgets the nausea he was dealing with just now. He furrows his eyebrows as confusion hits him.

“Hang on… wait…. you two didn’t kiss last night?” He murmurs, tilting his chin down as he stares at you with wide eyes.

“Um no…” You shake your head, blushing under his gaze.

“...But you two flirted all night…”

Your confidence slips away a little as you think about the previous night and how he hadn’t kissed you. You wanted him to, but he didn’t. There have been a few moments when you thought he would.

“Do you think that maybe I shouldn’t…?”

Eddie shakes his head wildly, his curls bouncing at the movement.

“No! You should! Holy fuck, you should!” He almost yells.

You start shushing him, waving your hand at him as your cheeks heat up, “keep it down!”

“Sorry, sorry!” He winces as he sinks back into his chair. “But I… I think you absolutely should kiss him. I just thought that he’d finally make the move, you know? I saw the way he acted around you last night.”

The excitement returns in your eyes, he sees it in the way they light up, and the color in them lights up. You straighten up in your seat, your cheeks flushing as you smile.

“Nothing happened at all?” Eddie whispers, tilting his head to the side.

You shake your head. Your hair falls in front of your face as you look down. Your heart flutters in your chest as you think of the way he lifted you up to get the cowboy hat or the way he placed it on your head later, how he took your pictures, and how he held you when you lied in bed. You woke up on top of him this morning, his arms wrapped around your waist strongly, snuggling you.

“No, nothing happened…”

A smirk appears on Eddie’s lips when he notices just how flustered you are. Something did happen, he knows it, but you won’t tell him, not now at least, because he walks in. His hair is wet, his beard shaved off now, a spitcurl hanging in front of his eye. He is wearing a flannel, a pair of new jeans, and boots he got from the closet.

Your lips part as you look him up and down, eyes glued to him. His cheeks are a little flushed when his eyes meet yours. He offers you a smile and even a wink, “Sunshine.” He greets you, tipping his head down even though he isn’t wearing the hat.

“M-Morning.” You smile, huffing under your breath when Eddie kicks you under the table.

“Morning, Eddie.” Steve greets him next before he walks over to the kitchen counter, reaching for a mug, he pours himself some coffee.

“Good morning, Cowboy.” Eddie grins, completely forgetting about his hangover as he looks between you and him. “So uh… Nancy is getting the RV ready, but I don’t think that the storm will pass anytime soon.”

Steve nods as he turns around to face you both. He leans against the counter and takes a sip of his coffee. He takes a moment to look at you, and his stomach flutters when all the pictures from the previous night start flashing in his mind.

“Hmm.” He hums as he turns to look out the window. “It’s safer to stay here for another day or two.”

“I think so too.” You nod, trying not to stare at him, but it’s hard not to when he looks this good. His skin looks smoother, although you did like the beard and the subtle mustache he was sporting, but he looks so handsome like this too, clean shaven. He left the buttons at the top of his new flannel unbuttoned. You swallow as you take him in. You wish you could just say ‘fuck it’ and kiss him but this is not the moment, not here, not now.

“We can get some wood later to make some fire, there’s a shed in the backyard, I’m pretty sure we will find some there.” Steve says, looking at you, his eyes connecting with yours. “You and I, Sunshine.”

Oh, so he wants to be alone with you too.

Hope awakens inside of you when he walks towards you and picks out the seat beside you. He flashes you a smile and for a split second, his eyes flicker down to your lips.

Your breath hitches in your throat, and your heart flutters yet again.

What if he has the same plans?

Your eyelashes flutter, and your lips curl into a smile.

Eddie snorts at your silent interaction, eyes moving back and forth between you two. The moment you both turn to look at him, he covers it up with a cough.

"Oh, damn." He coughs, patting his chest. “That sip was too big,” he fakes a laugh and looks away, trying to hold back his smirk but failing miserably.

“Why don’t you go take a shower, Munson?”

Eddie looks back at Steve, holding his hand to his chest, offended. “Are you saying I smell bad?”

Steve shakes his head, “No, but the shower is pure luxury, who knows when you’ll get that chance again.” He shrugs.

Eddie raises his eyebrows, smirking as he looks into his eyes teasingly.

Steve only shakes his head in response and looks down into his mug.

“Alright, hot shower here I come.” Eddie chuckles as he gets up. He grabs his coffee and winks at you before he walks away, humming.

“He was just complaining about his hangover, and now he is humming.” You mumble, confused.

Steve chuckles as he turns towards you. He ignores the fluttering in his body, that electrifying pull he feels towards you, but it’s hard, even harder when you look into his eyes, when you are this close, when he smells your sweet scent, when he remembers how it felt to touch your bare skin.

“That’s how he is.” Steve chuckles, his eyes lingering on your lips for a tad too long.

“Yeah…” You whisper, noticing the way he looks at you.

Your hope continues to rise, to build up, to spread inside of you.

Friends don’t look at each other like that, right?

Friends don’t stare at each other’s lips.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asks, reaching for your hand. “You’re not hungover, are you?”

You shake your head, looking at him dumbly. You curl your fingers around his hand, holding his. “No… no I’m not, I feel fine… good. And you?”

Steve squeezes your hand back as he lifts his mug to his lips with the other. He gives you a soft smile, “Yeah, I feel good too.”

“Yeah?” You tilt your head at him, your lip curling into a smile.

His breath hitches in his throat. The way you are smiling at him, the way your eyes move across his face, like you are memorizing his features. No one’s ever looked at him like that, and it makes him nervous.

“Yeah,” he whispers, letting go of your hand, he lifts it up to your face and tucks the loose strand of hair behind your ear before he brushes his knuckles against your cheek, his thumb lingering over the developing scar on your cheekbone. “I had fun last night.”

You lean into his touch. The happiness is trembling inside of you, his touch and his words only fueling your hope.

“I did too,” you whisper, smiling.

The tension between you both is just as strong as it was the night before. He looks at you just as he did the night before, nothing changed, except your heart beats even stronger now.

You look at his lips, wondering if now would be the right time to try, wondering if you can just lean in and do it, but before you can dwell on it any longer, the door opens and Nancy walks in.

“Hey.” She mumbles, shutting the door, and she rubs her hands together. “I was in the garage, not even outside, but it’s cold as hell out there!” She exclaims and tears her jacket off before she turns to look at you. Her eyes widen when she notices Steve beside you, close beside you. She looks between you both, eying his hand on your cheek, the flustered look on your face, the flustered look on his face. She bites the insides of her cheeks, trying not to smirk. She saw how you both acted around each other last night, how often Steve’s hand landed on your lap, how you kept biting your lip looking at him like you were ready to risk it all, how he kept looking at you like he was about to rip your clothes off and show you what you have missed.

Nancy doesn’t know how far you have gone last night after her and Eddie passed out in the living room, but by the tension between you, she knows that something must have happened.

Steve pulls his hand away slowly, and you reach for your mug, bringing it up to your lips. You take a sip as you look outside.

Her blue eyes flash with mischief. She clears her throat and looks at Steve, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you were about to have your breakfast, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes widen, and his jaw falls slack at her comment. In all those years he has known her, she has never ever made any jokes or comments like these. If anything, she was always way too serious to even laugh at dirty jokes made by others.

You start choking beside him, blushing furiously at her words.

“Nancy!” Steve glares at her before he turns to you, patting your back softly.

“I’m sorry,” Nancy chuckles, flashing you an apologetic smile when you calm down again. “Didn’t think you would choke so soon.”

Steve sees the way your eyes widen, the way you flip around, staring at her in disbelief, but the girl only hums to herself as she pours herself a coffee.

Steve closes his eyes and clenches his jaw, shaking his head.

“Can’t believe Munson is rubbing off on you, Wheeler.”

Her shoulders shake as she laughs. She turns to face you both, smirking again when she sees how Steve is still rubbing your back.

“Do you two want me to leave or…?” She points between you two, her eyes glinting as they lock with yours.

A sigh falls from your lips, and you shake your head at her.

“Nope.”

Steve stops rubbing your back but he doesn’t remove his hand, his palm slips down to your lower back and you aren’t even sure if he realizes that he did it because he starts talking to Nancy about the weather and about the change of your plans while keeping his hand on you like it’s the most normal thing. He did it last night as well, when you were all sitting in a circle and he was chatting to Eddie, keeping his hand on your knee or your thigh.

You try to focus on the conversation, but it’s difficult when his touch sends jolts through your body, overwhelming your poor heart and heating up your skin under the layer of clothes. He keeps fueling your hope, pushing you towards the decision you made last night.

You don’t know how much time passes while you sit there with his hand on your lower back. You don’t even know how much information you have missed on the change of plans they have decided on.

But when he calls your name two times or so, he pulls you out of your little stupor, making you look at him.

“Huh?” You ask dumbly, staring at him with burning cheeks.

“I asked if you wanna go get the wood now?” Steve repeats his question that went over your head. He finds it endearing the way you look at him, eyes big and filled with confusion. “Think it’s best if we do it as soon as we can. The storm might get worse later.”

“Oh.” You nod, licking your lips as you place your mug down. You avoid Nancy’s eyes, who is staring at you with a smug look on her face. “Yeah. I’m just gonna grab my jacket–”

“I got it.” Steve says, squeezing your shoulder when he gets up from his seat. “Finish your coffee.”

“O-Okay.” You murmur, giving him a soft smile.

Steve nods at you, smiling back at you. He leaves the room, leaving you alone with Nancy who is tapping against her mug impatiently.

“So–”

“Nothing happened!” You whisper before she can even finish her sentence. You lean closer to her, finally looking at her. “Nothing happened last night, we drank more, took pictures with the polaroid camera we found, and then we talked and went to sleep.”

You see the disappointment flashing in her features. Her shoulders slump, and a pout appears on her lips. She leans back in her chair and sighs, “And here I thought he grew some balls, but hey, maybe he was just being a gentleman and didn’t want to make a move because you were drunk!” She shrugs with one shoulder, offering a supportive smile. “I kinda thought something happened though… with the way he acted around you just now…”

Your stomach flutters. He did act differently, more touchy than usual. You liked it, a lot.

You breathe in and open your mouth to speak, but you quickly close it again when he walks back in, holding both your and his jacket in his hands.

“Here.”

You grab your jacket and get up, pushing the chair back into place. You put your jacket on and pull the hood over your head to protect your wet hair.

“Be careful out there.” Nancy mumbles, looking out the window.

“We’re just heading down to the shed, it’s like ten steps away.” You chuckle.

“Still.” She shrugs.

“Don’t worry, we’ll come back in one piece.” You smile at her, giving a small wave as she gives a thumbs up for good luck.

Once you and Steve are ready to go, you grab your gear and step out into the cold. He shuts the door behind you both. Shivers run down his spine instantly as the cold bites his skin.

“Holy shit.” He murmurs as he turns around to face the backyard. He squints his eyes when the harsh wind hits him.

“It’s so cold.” You murmur as you look around. You can barely see anything through the fog and the falling snow. All the trees are white, layer and layers of snow cover the ground you are about to step in. “I think we should have waited with the shower.”

Steve chuckles as he glances down at you.

“Come on, let’s get this over with.” He reaches for your hand, taking hold of it with a squeeze.

“Yes, please.” You whisper as you welcome his warm touch in this freezing cold.

The snow crunches beneath your boots as you both start making your way down to the shed. You look around, making sure that nothing will sneak up on you while you are busy struggling with the cold, but the gated property seems as safe as it did the night before. The gate looks untouched, the wooded area around it looking empty as well, no sign of any unwanted visitors, no footsteps in the snow.

“Goddamn,” Steve curses under his breath as the icy snow hits his cheeks. “I hate winter.”

“Yeah, me too.” You nod, sniffling as your nose starts running from the cold. You sigh in relief when you make it to the door of the shed.

Steve pulls out the bundle of keys from his pocket, he found it in one of the drawers in the kitchen. “Alright, let’s figure out which one it is.” He murmurs as he flips through the keys.

You cover his back, keeping your hand on your gun holster while he tries to unlock the door.

A little ‘yes’ falls from his lips when it clicks open.

“Come on, let’s get inside.” He reaches for your hand again, leading you into the shed, he steps in after you.

It’s not much warmer in here, but at least the walls keep the wind away. You breathe heavily and rub your arms, looking around the darkened shed. Light seeps through the gaps on the ceiling, allowing you to see.

“Bingo!” Steve snaps his fingers, smiling in triumph as he gestures to the wood in the corner. “See, I knew they kept their wood here.”

You follow him, pushing the hood of your jacket off slowly. You bite your trembling lip as you keep your eyes on him, watching the way he brushes his hand through his hair before he reaches for the plastic cover on top of the firewood stack.

“Come on,” he looks over his shoulder, flashing you a smile that makes your insides tingle and your knees weak.

Your heart skips a beat when you realize that this could be the moment. You’re alone with him and you don’t know when you will get that chance again, especially now that you are stuck in this house for another day or two.

“Maybe we can make a fire for us in the bedroom; that fireplace should be used as well.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, and heat rushes through you when he indicates that he wants to spend another night in that bed with you. His words from last night echo in your mind, ‘our bed’.

The bile rises in your throat, and suddenly you feel your heart beating harshly. Your cheeks heat up despite the coldness in the air. You don’t even need any more encouragement, you have made your decision already.

You never thought that you would even consider that, to try, to make a first move. You were never one to risk anything, let alone anything like this. But you are sure, you are so sure of it, so filled with hope.

He has to feel the same, right?

All these signals, all these signs, it can’t be just platonic.

Even Eddie and Nancy see it, their teasing has to mean something.

You take a deep breath, and before you can ponder and contemplate, you take a step forward and then another until you are standing next to him.

His words pushing you to what you’ve wanted to do since last night, you decide to not waste anymore time and just do it now, knowing you might not get him alone again after this.

“I… I really had fun last night… It’s been a while since I got to feel carefree like that.” You kill the silence between you, bringing back the conversation from the kitchen.

A smile appears on his face, he takes the plastic cover off and throws it on the ground before he turns to face you, looking down at you.

“Yeah, me too… and with great company at that.” He murmurs, his voice still raspy so early in the morning.

You bite your lip when his hazel eyes stare into yours. Your heart starts racing, the anticipation mixed with nervousness and vulnerability all crashing over you at once when you take a step closer to him.

“I had fun spending time like that with you, Steve…” You say, trying not to expose the shakiness in your voice.

You forget about the cold, not even feeling it on your skin anymore. You don’t hear the howling of the wind anymore either, only the pounding of your heart echoing in your ears.

Steve notices the different emotions flickering in your eyes, the way your chest starts rising up and down faster, heavier. He senses the change of air, the tension moving into a different direction now.

“Drunk?” He chuckles nervously when you move closer to him. His lips part, breath getting caught in his throat when you shake your head and reach your hand out to grab his bicep.

“No… alone.” You whisper, gazing into his eyes now.

Steve stops breathing, and his heart stops beating too.

He looks into your eyes, into the eyes he had found so much warmth, so much comfort in. They are shining just for him. Your breathing is heavy, meaning that your heart is racing… just for him.

He had wondered… He had thought about this so many times, dreamed about it even. His heart beats strongly every time he allows his mind to explore those thoughts. He dreams about how different things would be if you had met in a different world, in one where you would both be safe, in one where he wouldn’t have to fear losing you every second of every goddamn day.

Things could be different. Things would be different if you weren’t here.

“What…” He whispers, unable to keep his body from leaning down towards you.

“I want to spend more time like that with you, Steve…” You whisper, blinking up at him in a way that nearly brings him to his knees when you confess.

You take in his rosy cheeks, the moles on his skin you want to kiss, that strand of hair that keeps falling in front of his eye that you want to brush back for him so badly.

With every inch you move towards him, closing the gap between you both, you feel your heart beating stronger, making it feel like it will rip through your bones and your flesh. You close your eyes and you take the leap.

Steve’s eyes threaten to close when he feels your breath on his lips and your body pressed against his own. Everything he had longed for is in reach. Everything he wanted, you want too. It wasn’t just him. You want it too. You want it. You want him. He feels the brush of your lips against his own, and everything he had already suspected aligns inside of him. Everything inside of him yearned for you, not just his mind, not just his body but his heart and his soul.

And he wants it so badly. He wants it. But even with the feelings inside of him, with the longing that will burn him alive in the long run, he can’t because this will only make the world a worse place for you both. If you both take this step, if you both give each other your hearts it will only kill you both if something happens to the other.

So he closes his eyes, going against his own heart, and he softly pushes you away by your shoulders.

“No, Sunshine.”

It pains him physically to the point where he can’t even open his eyes to look at you.

Everything inside of you stops. Your heart. Your lungs. Your mind. Everything.

“I–I didn’t mean drunk… I meant–” Your voice is shaky, desperate, and yet still hopeful.

“No, I know what you meant. But it’s not a good idea.” Steve clenches his jaw, hating how much his heart is screaming at him, even more so when he opens his eyes again and looks down at you.

Your lips are parted, eyes wide and filled with confusion. Not yet registering the pain he had caused. You tilt your head at him.

“I-I thought…I thought we…” Your voice breaks when he shakes his head at you. The back of your feet touch the ground again, and you take a step back from him, hand falling off his bicep. The back of your eyes start burning as it begins to sink in. The knife in your chest was twisted.

You misunderstood. You misunderstood again, except this feels worse than anything ever has before because you were so sure. You were so sure. And you misread the lines, you misread everything.

Steve’s eyes are filled with desperation, and he can’t mask that. He can’t hide that, and if you weren’t so shocked, so hurt, you would see it.

His heart is aching inside his chest, his stomach is twisting as the fear grips at him, knowing that this just changed everything.

But it’s for the better.

It’s for the better for the both of you.

“No…” He whispers, twisting the knife deeper. “I’m sorry if my actions showed something that wasn’t there.”

You feel sick. You feel like throwing up. You feel like screaming at yourself for believing, for being so naive again.

“Oh…” You whisper, unable to look at him, you lower your head and stare at the ground beneath you. “I… okay, I-I understand…” Except that you don’t. You don’t understand because you thought that he gave you all the signs, all the right signals and you thought that you were reading them correctly. It turns out that you didn’t because he never saw you as anything more than a friend while you were slowly falling.

Steve just stands there, staring at you, watching the way you slowly crumble before him, and it hits him harshly. Guilt, regret, sadness, and anger rush through him, knowing the damage he caused to your heart, knowing that he is responsible for the pain flashing across your face as you wilt before him.

The urge to grab you, to pull you into his arms, to fix this is so strong, but he can’t, he can’t, and it makes you both ache.

“I’m sorry…” You whisper.

You look so small before him, your voice weak and trembling. He broke you. He feels like he broke you, and it tears his heart apart.

He opens his mouth, but no words come out. Nothing will fix this now, nothing. He knows he should tell you the truth but if he does, it will only keep your hopes up so he says nothing and watches with saddened eyes and a pained heart how you turn away from him, your eyes blinking quickly as you reach for the wood, gathering as much as you can carry before you turn around without glancing at him. You walk away from him, and you walk out the door.

And Steve, he stands there staring at the door you have walked through. He is now left alone with his thoughts, left alone with his aching heart, and it all overwhelms him. He crouches down, clenching his eyes shut as he holds his head tightly.

“Fuck…” He whispers, pained.

You don’t feel the snow on your skin, you don’t feel the coldness clinging to your body, you don’t even hear the howling wind as you make your way back towards the house. You don’t even know what you are feeling because you wish this moment wasn’t real, that it didn’t happen, that it was all just a dream.

But it’s not.

The door slams shut behind you after you make your way back inside. Your body moves on its own accord, walking into the living room, and you throw the wood down next to the fireplace.

Your frown deepens as you look down, confused as to where you went off the path, where you had misunderstood.

Footsteps echo in the hallway, but you don’t register them.

Eddie comes rushing in, hair wet from the shower he took, a livelier look on his face before. A smile appears on his face when he sees the wood on the ground. He claps his hands together, rubbing his palms, “oh yeah, let’s get some warm stew started with this–” His smile slips when he notices the dissociated look on your face, “Sunshine?” He whispers.

You snap out of your thoughts and turn to look at him.

Eddie frowns when he notices the lost look in your eyes. He takes a step closer, worriedly placing a hand on your shoulder.

“I-I uh… what?”

“Are you alright?”

You open your mouth but flinch when the door opens and Steve’s footsteps fill the silent hallway.

Eddie notices the way you duck your head, nodding at his question.

“Yeah… Yeah.” You mumble softly before you walk away, practically rushing out of the room and up the stairs, leaving him standing in the middle of the room.

Eddie stares at the doorway for a moment. His eyebrows are furrowed, and the confusion is evident on his face.

“Huh…?”

You are not okay. It isn’t hard to figure that out when you were cheerful and excited this morning. He follows you out, walking through the doorway, and he doesn’t even notice Steve standing by the door with a hollow look on his face and glassy eyes when Eddie follows you up the stairs.

Steve doesn’t even know what to do with himself now, knowing that this just changed everything. He looks down at the wood he carried inside. Blinking away the tears, he doesn’t allow himself to cry. He carries the wood into the living room, dropping it next to where you had placed it.

It overcomes him suddenly, the anger – the anger towards himself, the anger towards this world, the anger towards you. You did something he wanted to do for so long, but he kept holding back, he kept pulling back because this just can’t happen for so many reasons. He pulled back by making himself believe that you aren’t on the same page as he is, but you are, clearly you are, and now there is no denying left to do anymore, and it angers him.

Steve clenches his fists as he stares into the fireplace, not yet lit. Irritation sparks in him as the boy inside of him, who once begged for love, is yelling at him; ‘why why why!’

He feels it so deeply inside his chest, as though someone is pounding against his ribcage from inside, letting him know that he just made the biggest mistake of his life, that he is gonna feel regret and guilt.

And he will, it’s close by, all those emotions are waiting right around to corner, waiting for the perfect moment to land the strongest blow to his heart.

And you, you shut and lock the door in the first room you could find privacy in. You press your back against it and slide down until you are sitting on the floor. You prop your elbows on your knees and close your eyes, taking deep breaths.

You ignore the pounding on the door and Eddie’s concerned calls; you are too focused on your breathing, on calming down.

Unwanted tears well up in your eyes. The rejection stings deeply in your chest, spreading like a virus inside of you, infecting your heart and all your organs with a sickening sadness.

For once in your life, you thought that you could try, that you had a chance, that the hope you felt wasn’t born from silly delusions. You thought there was something. You really thought he wanted you.

You were so sure that he wanted you.

But he didn’t, of course he didn’t, how could he? No one ever did; he was no exception.

A soft sob falls from your lips as the first tear cascades down your cheek. You bring your hand up to your lips, cupping it to muffle your cries as you can no longer hold it in.

The realization begins to sink in that you have ruined something special, that you didn’t only lose this delusion you had of him, but that you also lost a friend because you couldn’t control your feelings.

He won’t ever look at you the same again.

And you won’t either.

The wood crackles in the fireplace, the flames paint the room golden, the wind is still howling outside, no sign of it stopping any time soon.

There is an awkward silence hanging over the room. Nobody is speaking, Eddie isn’t rambling, Nancy isn’t asking questions, Steve is staring into his bowl, not feeling the appetite to eat at all. And you aren’t there, you haven’t come out of your room since you locked yourself in there after coming back.

Nancy’s blue eyes move across Steve’s face curiously. His expression is stoic, his jaw is clenched, and if she didn’t look into his pain filled eyes, she would have believed that the old Steve made a comeback. The angry, hateful one he was before you came along.

It isn’t hard to figure out that something happened between you two because this morning you both looked like you came back from your honeymoon and now you are hauled up in your room while he is glaring at his soup like he is trying to make it explode with his mind.

Nancy glances at Eddie, who is already looking at her. He knows as much as she does; nothing. He tried to make you talk, he tried knocking on your door a few times, but you kept lying to him, telling him that you had a headache and that you wanted to be alone.

Nancy tried as well, but she had no luck either.

And neither of them want to push him, not when he looks like this.

When the time is right, he will speak up for himself.

And he does, when he and Eddie are the only ones left awake. The two couches in the living room are occupied by them. Eddie is staring into the small flame in the fireplace, hand behind his head, and the other tapping against his chest.

Steve is lying on the opposite couch, staring up at the ceiling. He is wide awake, exhaustion somewhere far away. He feels empty and cold without you in his arms. He doesn’t remember the last time he had slept without you. He had become so used to it, it turned into something normal.

Is this his new normal again?

His eyes burn, and the coil grows in his throat as the sadness spreads inside of him.

“She wanted to kiss me.”

Eddie freezes at Steve’s words.

His hand freezes too as he stops tapping. His dark eyes move away from the fire, and he turns to his side to look at the brunette. He doesn’t speak, waiting for him to continue.

“I pushed her away.”

Steve’s voice is pained, Eddie can tell that much but it’s confusion that ripples through him. His eyebrows crease together as he pushes himself up on his elbow, staring at him intently.

“What?” Eddie whispers, shaking his head. “W-Why?”

Eddie knows how he feels about you, without having talked much about it, he knows. It’s in the way he looks at you, it’s in the way he smiles around you the most, it’s in the way he only allows you to get so close, it’s in all his actions that have to do with you.

Steve is silent for the longest time, just staring up at the ceiling, blinking. He can’t hide his tears, not when he keeps sniffling as he thinks about you.

“I don’t understand, Steve–”

“It just can’t happen.” He says bluntly.

Eddie stares at him, eyebrows still pulled together, lips parted in confusion. His chest aches a little as he thinks about you and how you must have felt when he pushed you away. Guilt sparks inside of him as well because he had encouraged you.

His eyes saddened, knowing the heartbreak you are feeling now.

“But you…” Eddie murmurs, not understanding him.

Steve turns to his side, turning his back on him.

“It’s better if we stay friends and if we keep our distance.” Steve mumbles, like his own words don’t break his heart more.

Like that’s possible after everything you have been through.

Eddie feels a sliver of anger for him, but also pity because something is clearly holding him back.

“But you can’t… you can’t sleep without each other.” Eddie whispers, knowing that this is the least of the problems, but it is a fact that Steve cannot deny.

“Well, I have to get used to it, don’t I?” Steve snaps and pulls his blanket closer to his chin, sinking deeper into the couch as the first tear rolls down his cheek and soaks the pillow beneath his head.

Eddie stares at him for a while, not knowing what else to do or say. All he feels is confusion and sadness for both of you, but especially you.

A sigh falls from his lips, and he falls back on the couch, staring into the fire again.

He knows that things are about to get messy.

At that point, he just didn’t know how messy.

By the time you walk into the kitchen the next morning, Nancy and Eddie have already eaten their breakfast. The latter is flipping through a magazine he found somewhere in the house while she is cleaning her gun. Steve is standing by the window, looking out with one hand on his hip and the other holding a freshly brewed cup of coffee.

He is standing with his back to you, not yet noticing you.

Your heart freezes still at the sight of him. You knew he would be here, of course you did, where else would he be? Yet you can’t stop yourself from feeling this way.

Almost as though his body can sense your presence, his heart starts aching more painfully than before. He knows you are there before he even turns around to look.

“Morning!” Nancy smiles at you, though it quickly fades when she notices how red your eyes are and how tired you look.

“Morning, Sunshine.” Eddie says softly, eyes filled with pity as he looks you up and down.

You braided your hair and showered, you made sure you looked fine, but you can’t hide the hours of tears you have shed, because your eyes are still puffy and red.

“Morning,” you force a smile, which comes out looking like a grimace. You keep your eyes away from him and make your way over to the pot of coffee; at least the smell of it is welcoming.

You can feel their eyes on you, Nancy’s confusing stares, and Eddie’s pitiful, sad ones.

He feels guilty, you know he does. You don’t blame him for anything, though. He was just being a good friend, trying to encourage you to go after something your mind was already set on.

The steam rises from your mug as you pour the coffee in.

The silence is almost deafening, and you tense up a little when you feel him watching you too.

The sadness is still deep inside of you, your chest still aching in pain, but there is also something else now that it all settled in. You feel humiliated and embarrassed and that feels worse somehow because you can’t avoid him. You can’t keep your distance the way you would be able to if the world weren’t like this, but then again, if the world hadn’t changed, you would have never met him, and maybe for the better, even if the thought breaks your heart.

Nancy opens her mouth as her concerned eyes stay stuck on you, but before she can even ask if you are okay, Eddie kicks her under the table, shaking his head at her with big eyes.

She presses her lips together, shutting her mouth. Her eyebrows furrow as she reads his eyes. It isn’t difficult to figure it out, especially when she takes a look at Steve who is standing there with tense shoulders and a look of guilt and desperation on his face as he watches you.

Oh.

“I’m gonna check out the basement, see if they’ve got a secret armory somewhere.” Eddie murmurs, pushing back his chair as he gets up. His eyes are still on Nancy, motioning for her to come with him.

“Yeah…” Nancy mumbles, eyes flickering back to you. Without even having to see your face, she can sense your sadness. “I’ll go with you.”

Eddie looks over at Steve before he leaves, trying to make the man come to his senses, to fix this mess. He knows it’s probably too late but he won’t stop, not until Steve pushes his worries aside and goes for what he wants.

You look down into your mug after pouring some sugar in. You are alone with him now, their footsteps echo down the hallway. You want nothing more than to turn heel and run, you don’t want to have to look at him, you don’t want to talk to him either; you need time.

Time he won’t give you.

He starts moving towards you, and you tense with each step that he comes closer. You are frozen in place by the time he is next to you.

“Sunshine…”

Steve is looking down at you. The guilt inside of him is eating him alive, seeing the pain etched into your features, the puffy red eyes that indicate the hours you have spent crying last night. His fingers curl into his palms, nails digging into his skin as he fights the urge to pull you into his arms the way he normally would, but he can’t, not now.

He sees the tears that well up in your eyes because of him.

If only you looked at him, you would see the pain in his hazel eyes. The sadness, the aching, the yearning.

“I’m–”

“It’s okay, Steve.” You whisper and turn away from him, not wanting him to see the tears in your eyes. “Please just… I need time, okay?”

Time. You need time to move on from him.

Steve swallows the painful lump in his throat. The thought sickens him even though he knows that this is what’s best for you.

He should shake his head. He should apologize for being such an idiot. He should tell you what worries him, what is holding him back. He should pull you into his arms. He should hug you. He should hold you. He should…

“Okay.”

He should’ve.

The silence becomes too loud when he leaves you standing there alone.

Everything becomes too loud again.

The days that follow after this are filled with a heavy tension that Eddie nor Nancy can explain. You avoid Steve, you avoid him as much as you can in the cramped up place once you are back inside the RV after four long days in the mansion.

You steal Eddie’s spot in the passenger seat. He doesn’t mind it, but it is a little obvious, considering you never cared for it before. You want to avoid him at all cost, and everyone notices it, even the man ignored.

Your cold shoulder begins to frustrate Steve after another two days pass. Almost a week of your silence now and it begins to drive him crazy. All you do is spare him glances, answer with ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to any of his questions.

You asked for time, and he understands it; he gives it to you, but he starts getting irritated. He feels tired, he feels angry, and the guilt lingers in him when he begins to snap at Eddie and Nancy, sparing you because you don’t even pay attention to him, and that begins to sting. Your cold shoulder hurts, the stoic tone in your voice hurts too, when all he’s used to is your warmth and the smile you greeted him with every morning.

He is tired, so tired now that you don’t sleep in his arms anymore. Every time he closes his eyes now horrifying pictures flash in his mind, and every time he falls asleep, he wakes up minutes later, plagued by nightmares he hasn’t dealt with in so long. It’s just like before you, except now the nightmares are even worse because it’s not Robin getting ripped away from him anymore, it’s you now. All he can do is watch how you get torn apart while screaming his name,. He is frozen in place every time, watching the life drain from your eyes, but never looking away from him. He wakes up in cold sweat every time, heart pounding and chest heaving, and even though he knows it’s only a nightmare, he still has to get up to check on you.

He wonders if you are on the same page, if you struggle just as much as he does now that you don’t share a bed with him anymore. The tired look in your pretty features tells him that you do.

The more days pass, the more distance grows between you. You are right there, and yet it feels like you are far away. You refuse to get paired up with him, asking for Nancy or Eddie instead whenever a run into a town is planned.

He is being punished, he tells himself.

It’s not you needing time anymore, it’s you punishing him, he is sure of it. That’s what the anger is telling him, at least.

“I think you should talk to her.”

Nancy’s voice sounds irritated, her face looks like it too.

Eddie narrows his eyes at him, getting fed up with the both of you too but especially with Steve, knowing that things could have been different if he hadn’t been such an idiot.

“Not like she’s gonna talk to me,” Steve murmurs as he runs a hand through his messy hair. “She’s just gonna stare and scoff as always.”

Nancy rolls her eyes at him. You filled her in on everything, told him how he rejected you, how he told you that he doesn’t feel that way for you. And she would have understood it, if he told the truth, but he lied to you and now he is acting like a dick after tripping over his own mistake.

“Can’t blame her, you’re an idiot.” She mumbles under her breath as she turns around to check on you. You are sitting on a bench, enjoying the lake view.

Eddie asked for a break from driving, in need of fresh air and a cigarette.

“What did you just say?” Steve glares at her, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You heard me.” Nancy challenges him, crossing her arms over her chest as well. Her protectiveness over you fueling her anger towards him.

“Okay, okay.” Eddie takes one last drag of his cigarette before he throws it into the snow. He takes a step towards Steve, holding both hands out. “Not you two as well now. I’ve got enough of you and her,” he points his fingers to where you are sitting. “I don’t need any more drama, that RV is too small for that.”

Steve takes a deep breath, opening his mouth to speak, but Eddie shakes his head at him and holds his palm up higher.

“Nah, I’m speaking. You go and figure this shit out. You go and talk to her even if she doesn’t talk back, just go and fucking talk to her, it’s been a week and I can’t take this shit anymore.” Eddie exclaims, his eyes burning with despair. “I am not leaving until this tension is cut, alright!?”

Steve draws his eyes down, staring at the ground instead. He clenches his jaw and nods.

“Alright.” He murmurs softly.

“And you,” Eddie turns around to face Nancy, “you sit your ass down on this camping chair and eat your goddamn oatmeal.”

Nancy raises her eyebrows at him, huffing as she uncrosses her arms. She takes another moment before she sits down, not without giving him another eye roll.

Steve takes a deep breath, not even needing any encouragement from Eddie. His frustration is strong and the need to talk to you too. He glances at the metalhead, sighing before he starts walking away from him and towards you.

He walks down the little hill, careful not to slip on the snow. He glances over his shoulder to see Eddie watching him, and this time he can’t help but roll his eyes.

You hear the footsteps, the crunching snow beneath boots. You don’t turn around to look who it is but your heart senses him and you instantly tense up, unable to continue enjoying the sun shining down on you.

Steve stops before you, looking down at you with hints of despair and anger in his hazel eyes.

“Sunshine.”

The tone in his voice makes your eyes snap open. You furrow your eyebrows, irritation building up in you already.

You look up at him, raising your eyebrows in question when you find him glaring at you.

“What?”

His throat bobs and his eyebrows crease together, lips curling into a frown. It feels so foreign to hear you snapping at him, to see you glaring at him. It makes him feel small and vulnerable, yet also angry.

“I gave you time, it’s been a week… and we… we still don’t talk.” He starts, voice sounding tense.

You push yourself up from the bench, standing before him now.

“I don’t want to talk, Steve.” You mumble, ready to step around him and walk away, but he steps before you, blocking your way.

The exhaustion in him, the irritation and the anger is only fueled by your words. He is desperate to go back to normal – as if that could ever be.

“You don’t want to talk to me, is that it?” Steve asks, tilting his head down as he glares into your eyes. “Because I see you talking to them.” He throws his arm up in the direction of the RV. “And you seem fine when you talk to them.”

You open your mouth but close it again when you can’t find the right words to say. Your throat tightens the longer you look at him.

Humiliation runs deep inside you; that is the reason why you can’t talk to him, why you can’t even look at him. Because, how embarrassing and pitiful is the thought of him knowing how you feel about him yet not feeling the same?

You shake your head, taking a deep breath.

“Steve… That’s different–”

“Different?” He scoffs and takes another step back, bringing his hand up to his hair, running his fingers through it. “I didn’t think that a stupid mistake like this would ruin our friendship.”

Stupid mistake.

Another blow. Another slap in your face.

A stupid mistake?

By now, you know that you got all these signals from him wrong, that you saw something that wasn’t there, that you mistook his affection for something more, something you would never share with just a friend.

Your shoulders slump as you blink, staring up at him, only now really taking a close look at him, enough to see the tiredness in his eyes, the exhaustion in his features.

“That’s not fair.” You mumble, frowning at him.

Steve nods, clenching his jaw as his eyes flash with anger.

“You’re right, it’s not fair, Sunshine. We’re adults, and you can’t just act like a pouty brat because things didn’t go like you planned! I gave you time, I did as you asked. I want to keep being friends, I want to go back to how things were before because you mean something to me, but you are completely ignoring my feelings, acting childish!” His words are guided by all those negative emotions that boiled up inside of him, caused by the frustrations, the lack of sleep, and the anger that grew within himself.

You drew back, like you had actually been slapped in the face. Your eyes flash with disbelief. The sadness that spread inside your whole body already was now burning but especially in your eyes.

Your lips curl downwards, and tears well up in your eyes. You wish you felt anger instead; it would make things easier.

Steve blinks, seeing clearer now after the anger wore off with the words he just threw at you. He takes a deep, shaky breath. The guilt punches him in his gut when he notices how hurt you look, and he wants nothing more than to slap himself.

“I– Sunshine, fuck… I-I didn’t…” He pauses when you draw back further after he takes a step forward.

You nod, blinking rapidly as you try to get rid of the tears in your eyes.

“I see how you feel about me now…” You whisper, understanding now why he didn’t want you.

Just like you had once suspected, he would never want someone like you. He made sure you knew beforehand, and yet you still fell. He called you immature before, more than once. And he was right, because maybe if you weren’t such a naive, childish woman, you would have taken a step back a long time ago and seen things for what they were, but instead you relied on your hopes and dreams, the way a child would.

Steve shakes his head, his hazel eyes flashing with the need to explain, but you aren’t even looking at him anymore.

“No, Sunshine… Please–”

A bone chilling scream cuts him off, echoing through the trees around you both, followed by a gunshot that you know is loud enough to lure anything close by in.

“Eddie!” Nancy’s scream leaves shivers running down your spine.

Your head snaps up, eyes locking with Steve’s in horror. Both of you push the fight aside, forgetting everything for a moment as you both turn around and start running up the hill, back to your friends. You reach for the gun in your holster, clicking the safety off.

Your heart begins to pound in your chest, ringing in your ear, and tightening your throat as the shots keep going off. This moment reminds you too much of the attack not too long ago, and you aren’t ready, you aren’t ready to kill again.

But it’s not people being a threat this time, no, it’s monsters, too many at that. The dog-like creatures that Eddie calls demodogs. Nancy keeps reloading her rifle, shooting the ones charging at her as her panicked eyes keep flashing back to Eddie who is swinging the axe around.

There is so much blood, red blood in the white snow, both from the demodogs and from Eddie. You don’t have the time to look at where his blood is actually coming from because a demodog charges right at Steve, not even giving him the time to react as he reaches for his bat, which he left leaning against the RV.

You raise your arms up, aiming at the demodogs’ head, taking the shot before it gets the chance to jump at him.

Steve flinches, turning around with wide eyes as he looks down at the twitching demodog at his feet. His eyes meet yours for a brief second, nodding at you.

“Eddie, watch out!” Nancy screams.

It all goes too fast, before you can even move, before you can even blink, you watch Eddie getting tackled to the ground, his head crashing against a tree root.

Steve’s eyes are wide with horror, just like your own. He charges forward, swinging his bat against the demodog, who was ready to turn Eddie into its lunch.

You start shooting at every demodog charging at you and your friends. The adrenaline kicks off inside of you.

“Where are they fucking coming from!?” Nancy yells as her rifle clicks empty. You cover her back, aiming at the creatures coming from behind the trees. For the first time, you regret stopping by the forest. You don’t know where to look, where to aim at, too many for your liking, emerging from the woods.

“Eddie! Eddie, don’t do this, man!” Steve’s desperate voice echoes as he crouches before his friend, who is fighting his consciousness. His eyes were opening and closing. Blood is oozing from his head and his leg. Dead creatures lie around him.

Your heart drops when you see Steve shaking him, slapping his cheek as he tries to keep him awake.

Your breath gets caught in your throat first, Eddie’s name falling from your lips as you stare in horror. And then… the wind suddenly gets knocked out of you, the gun drops from your hand and into the snow, claws digging through your thick jacket as your body hits the cold ground.

Your hand falls into the icy snow, your head hitting the harsh ground beneath it. You blink in pain as the world becomes blurry before you for a split second. You breathe in deeply, hand patting the ground in search of the gun that slipped from your hands.

You hear your name being called. His voice calling out to you.

And as you come to your senses again, your eyes widen in fear when you see the opening head, charging down at you, ready to feast on your flesh.

For a split second, you see death welcoming you. The darkness ready to claim you, ready to take you into its cold embrace, to take your soul sooner than it was meant to.

Everything flashes before your eyes. He flashes before your eyes.

And then… it’s gone again, just like that.

You scrunch your eyes shut as the body flies off you, slammed away with the nailed bat. You hear the flesh being teared open, the squelching as the bat repeatedly slams into the body. You open your eyes again, turning to your side as you try to catch your breath, watching Steve kill the creature that attacked you.

Blood drips from his bat, and he only steps away once the body stops moving. His chest is moving up and down heavily, his dark eyes flashing with concern as he looks back down at you. He steps towards you, eyes moving up and down your body, fear flashing across his face.

He almost forgets your surroundings, ready to drop to his knees before you and pull you into his arms but Nancy’s scream pulls him back onto the field and you both turn towards her, her rifle aimed at the demodog charging at her as she covers Eddie’s body with her own, but before she can even pull the trigger, a loud shot goes off, taken from a different direction, its head blown off and blood splattered across her jacket now.

You look around, eyes wide and heart jumping to your throat when you see the men, four of them on horses, heavily armed.

Nancy looks down at herself, watching wide eyed as the blood runs down her jacket. She glances only briefly at the men, before she drops her rifle on the ground beside her and crawls towards Eddie.

“Eddie…Eddie!” Her panicked voice echoes.

You push yourself up, searching for your gun in the snow as your hands begin to shake. The moment oh too familiar, the panic rises inside of you, stinging in your throat as breathing becomes a struggle.

You find your gun and pick it up, holding it tightly as you step in front of Steve.

“Sunshine…” He murmurs from behind you, taking a step closer, and he curls his hand around your wrist. His eyes flicker back and forth between his unconscious friend and the men moving closer to all of you, noticing how the demodogs start retreating, running back into the woods.

“Steve! He is losing blood!” Nancy’s panicked voice finally gets to you.

You blink, forcing your eyes away from the group moving towards you. You keep your finger on the trigger, ready to shoot if anything goes sideways again. You step over the dead bodies, stepping over the blood as you and Steve rush over to Eddie.

Concern rushes through you when you take in the sight of him. He is out, unconscious, and barely breathing. Blood is coating his cheek and his ear, oozing from the wound on his head. You forget about the panic inside of you, about the group of strangers coming closer, about everything. Your heart is pounding strongly, and the despair inside of you is growing.

“Oh my god,” you whisper as the paralyzing fear takes hold of your body. “Eddie…”

Nancy already tended to the wound on his leg, but she looks a little helpless as she stares at the wound on his head – it’s not that she doesn’t know what to do, it’s the fact that the panic inside of her makes her unable to work. The logical part of her brain is shut off, the emotional part stronger now as she cries for her best friend. Her hands shake terribly as she stares at him, her blue eyes filled with tears as she keeps repeating his name.

Steve stares down in horror, frozen and paralyzed. The sight before him reminding him too much of the day he lost her. He doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know how to move.

He wishes it were only one of his nightmares.

“Hey.” The stranger's voice makes your head snap up, hand holding onto the gun tightly. The man holds his hands up after he gets down from his horse. He takes no step forward yet, trying to show you that he means no harm. His blue eyes move across your little group before they settle on Eddie. “Mind if I take a look? I can help.”

Nancy looks up before you can say anything. She nods, without even taking a look around first, without making sure that they aren’t bad people, and it only shows you just how desperate she is to save her friend, not caring about the potential danger.

And you know that you can’t care about it either right now, not when Eddie is bleeding out in the snow.

The man crouches down before Eddie, eyebrows furrowing as he leans down and carefully picks his head up.

He eyes the wound, touching around it before he checks for a pulse. “Weak pulse, but it’s there.” He looks up, eyes moving back and forth between Nancy’s panicked ones and Steve’s frozen ones, finally they lock with yours. “He needs medical attention… immediately. He’s got a concussion and an open wound,” he pauses, glancing at Eddie’s leg, at the makeshift bandage around it, blood oozing through it too. “He definitely needs stitches, maybe even surgery.”

You look back and forth between him and his men who are still on the horses, watching out for any incoming threat.

“We got a little community down the road, we got doctors and all medical supplies necessary–”

“Okay, okay!” Nancy nods, wiping away her tears. “Take us there!”

Under any other circumstance, she would have never reacted this way, neither would Steve or even you, but you have no choice at this moment. All you can do is get up and take a step back, watching the strangers carry Eddie into the RV after wrapping up his head.

Nancy follows inside right away, taking a seat beside Eddie.

Steve is staring at the blood in the snow, Eddie’s blood. He is barely blinking, barely breathing. His body is frozen.

“Steve!!!” Her voice echoed in his head as if she were there on the floor again, getting dragged, her hand reaching out for him desperately.

Your chest aches, eyes softening as you see the state he is in. The fear of losing another friend set so deeply inside of him. You take a step towards him after putting your gun back into your holster, reaching out to take his hand, “Steve?”

The touch of your hand, the softness in your voice calling out his name, instantly grounds him, pulling him back to here. He blinks as he stares into your eyes.

“Come on…” You whisper, squeezing his hand.

He curls his hand around your own, holding on tightly, like he is scared you were gonna let go again. His heart warms at your touch, at the caring look in your eyes.

“Eddie’s gonna be okay.” You mumble softly. “But we need to go now…”

You try to let go of his hand as you guide him towards the RV, but his grip on your hand only tightens, not letting you let go.

“Okay.” You whisper, taking one last look around before you step inside the RV, pulling him in with you.

The man tending to Eddie’s wound, steps away when you walk in. The guy beside him, looking no older than seventeen, gives you a nod before he walks past you and out of the RV.

“I’ll stay with you, guys. Either of you wanna drive, or do you want me to?” The man who took care of Eddie asks, looking between you both.

You glance at Steve, who drops the bloody bat on the ground. He fishes out the keys from his pocket, handing them to the man, “you can drive, doesn’t matter anymore.”

The man gives him a curt nod, understanding what he means by that. He grabs the keys, wasting no time to get into the driver's seat.

You close the door behind you and lead Steve towards the bench, sitting down with him, you glance at Nancy, who is sitting beside Eddie, holding his hand.

“I know it ain’t mean much in this world, but I promise we’re good people.” The stranger you have yet to learn the name of speaks.

Steve nods, not saying anything but squeezing your hand – a silent promise to protect you if it comes down to it.

For a moment, whatever happened between you two before all this, vanished. You keep holding his hand, and he keeps caressing your knuckles the way he did before, when things were still okay between you.

Steve’s eyes move back and forth between his friend and you, while you look out the window, preparing for whatever is about to come.

You shift in your seat, eyes flicking back and forth between the window and the man driving the RV. He has a gun in his holster, a belt around his waist, knives, and an axe secured in it. His clothes are clean, cleaner than those of the people who attacked you on the street.

You don’t know how long it took you to get there, but it felt like hours, the more you looked at Eddie, just laying there without any movement. Steve’s hand tightens around you, and his back straightens when he sees the gates that keep the community safe from the outer world.

The man opens the window, waving at the guard on one of the towers who is holding a rifle, looking down at the RV with a skeptical look on his face.

The sudden crackling noise of a walkie startles you a bit.

“Open the gate, it’s me.” The man grumbles into his walkie. “Tell Charlie to be ready, we've got a code one.”

“Copy.” The man on the tower nods, signaling with his arm towards someone standing on the other side of the gate.

You lean forward as you watch the gate open, you keep holding onto Steve’s hand as the RV starts driving again slowly. Your body is restless, heart pounding in your chest, nerves running high as your eyes take in the sight before you.

There are guards, four of them, two on each tower, two by the gate. They nod at the driver once the RV passed the gates, all of them are armed with rifles. They all look like military minus the attire.

As you drive further into the community that looks like a small town, you notice people walking down the street, others standing by a building that looks like an old bakery, chatting and laughing with each other. You see a playground and children playing there, throwing snowballs at each other.

This place looks like it has been untouched by the outer world – it looks odd compared to what you have seen all these months.

You and Steve turn to look at each other, your eyes sharing the same emotions.

Once the RV stops in front of what you assume is the infirmary, you and Steve get up. You let go of his hand, placing it over your gun instead, just in case.

The man driving the RV, kills the ignition and removes the keys, handing them back to Steve with a nod.

“I’ll get some help, y’all stay here.” He mumbles before he brushes past Steve and opens the door, leaving it open as he makes his way into the building.

Your heart is still pounding both in fear for Eddie and in anxiety of being stuck in a place you know nothing about. You just hope that you didn’t walk right into a trap.

Eddie’s unmoving body makes you feel sick, the thought of losing him crossing your mind when you see just how much blood he has lost. You aren’t sure if and how you would keep going if it happened – let alone how they would keep going.

Steve can’t even find it in himself to care about the potential danger you are all in. He is staring at Eddie, still frozen in place, hand searching for yours again. You won’t deny or reject him now, you slip your fingers through his and give his hand a squeeze that says ‘I’m here, no matter what, I’m here.’

“Howdy.” A man wearing a white coat greets you, clearly the doctor. He offers you a kind smile as he brushes past you and Steve, already having noticed Eddie on the bed. “Let me take a look.”

You and Steve step aside when two other men walk in, carrying a stretcher.

“Alright, let’s get him inside.” The doctor orders.

Everything moves quickly after, a blur thanks to the adrenaline and worry. The men carry Eddie outside of the RV and into the infirmary. Nancy follows first, her panicked look never fading. You and Steve follow, his hand still clinging to yours as you step into the unfamiliar place.

The smell of disinfection hangs heavy in the air. The place looks clean, spotless. You pass by a few rooms, noticing the medical equipment in all of them.

“You guys can wait here, Aaron will be right with y’all.” The doctor explains, looking mostly at Nancy, who doesn’t want to step away from Eddie.

She nods, blinking away tears that still linger in her eyes.

“Here.” The doctor gestures to the chair behind her, “take a seat, I’ll update you in a minute, alright?”

“Alright… Alright.” Nancy murmurs and sits down, breathing shakily.

The doctor looks up from her, glancing between you both, “you too.”

“Yeah, okay.” You nod at him, assuming that Aaron must be the guy who drove the RV.

The doctor walks into the room where Eddie was carried into. He closes the door behind him, leaving you all in the quiet hallway. You take a deep breath, noticing how much your heart is still pounding, how much your hands are shaking, even with the touch of his hand.

You turn to look at him, his eyes are so hollow, and he looks so lost. It hurts to see him like this.

“Come on,” you whisper as your eyes trace his features. “Let’s sit.”

Steve nods, agreeing almost robotically. He sits down, and you follow, taking the seat between him and Nancy. You glance at her, your heart clenches in your chest. You reach your hand out and squeeze her forearm.

She nods at you, trying to smile, but you can see how much she is struggling to, how scared she is.

You want to assure her, to tell her that he will be alright, but your words are caught in your throat. You don’t know how much time passes as you sit there, but it feels like forever. The clock on the wall across from you is ticking. Nancy is bouncing her knee beside you, unable to find rest. You are on the same page, and Steve is too, but his eyes are frozen, stuck on the ground.

It seemed as if the people here knew not to offer anything until you all had a bit more trust in them. Maybe waiting for the leader or the head of the community to have a word with you all first, which made sense.

The door at the end of the hallway opens, making you all straighten your backs. The man who brought you here, Aaron, you assume, steps in. He closes the door and makes his way over to you.

“Hey guys.” He nods at you all, rubs his hands together, and leans against the wall across from you, crossing his feet. “Charlie’s a good doctor, your friend will be alright.” He starts, assuring you.

Nobody speaks. No one even knows what to say.

“Are y’all looking for a place to stay or just passing through?” He asks, looking between all of you.

“Passing through.” Steve mumbles from beside you, eyes hard as he looks at the man.

“Where’s your destination?”

Steve falls silent again, clearly not trusting the man despite the help he’s provided so far.

And you might not be the best judge, but you can tell that he is harmless, at least if he wants to be. His stance and his body tells you that he is trained, years of military experience probably. Even with the thick jacket on, you can tell that he is muscular. He surely doesn’t need the weapons on him to do some damage. Besides, this place wouldn’t be filled with people and children if they had ill intentions.

“California.” Nancy says, surprising both you and Steve, earning a glare from the latter.

“Oh?” He pushes himself off the wall, eyes sparking with interest. “The beach?”

“Yeah.” She nods.

He hums, nodding as he looks between you all, eyes lingering on you for a moment.

“You guys from Hawkins?”

Steve tenses up beside you, eyebrows creasing together as his lips part.

“We had a little group passin’ through a while back, probably a year back by now,” he explains. “They were from Hawkins, heading to California as well.”

Nancy and Steve share a look before they look back at him, eyes sparkling with interest now. He straightens up beside you, still holding your hand.

“One of the teens got sick, so they had to stay here for a week. We gave them medicine and recipes in case of any sicknesses in the future–”

“Teens?” Steve asks, leaning forward. “Which one?” He asks, hope rising up inside of him.

The man before you furrows his eyebrows, “curly hair, lisp, he uh had cleidocranial dysplasia–”

“Dustin.” Steve sighs, worriedly to find out that he dealt with a sickness, but relieved to know that he is alright.

Nancy sighs beside you, her eyes widening in relief.

“Yeah, that was his name. We’re still in contact with them, if you want to, I’ll take y’all to the radio station tomorrow morning. I’m assuming your friend will need to stay in the infirmary tonight, maybe tomorrow too. You guys will get a place to stay–”

“I don’t wanna leave Eddie.” Nancy shakes her head.

“I understand. You can move into one of our cabins tomorrow morning, after you talk to your friends.”

You and Nancy nod, feeling more comfortable with that.

Steve doesn’t seem fond of the idea, but he doesn’t argue against it, knowing that Dustin and the others were here shows him that he can put aside his distrust.

The door opens before any of you can speak up again. The doctor walks out, causing all of you to tense up, Nancy especially.

“He’s got a mild concussion, head injury looked worse than it actually was, but he lost a lot of blood on his leg. The cut was pretty deep. We stitched it up, but needs a blood transfusion.” He explains, looking down at Nancy. “You know his blood type?”

“He’s a type B.” She says, voice filled with anxiety because she can’t help.

Steve huffs beside you, worriedly.

“I’m type B too.” You speak up, letting go of Steve’s hand, you waste no time getting up and take off your jacket. “You can take my blood.”

Steve leans forward, looking up at you with wide eyes.

The doctor nods, he opens the door to the operating room, and gestures for you to step inside. You do, stepping forward and towards the room, you look back at him one more time. He is staring at you, eyes filled with emotions that could have fooled you. Soft and filled with something that you swore wasn’t just platonic.

Were you really so far off?

Or was he just giving the wrong signs?

A soft touch on your hand pulls you back, and you look down, meeting Nancy’s eyes and her sad smile, “thank you,” she whispers, squeezing your hand.

“Of course.” You squeeze her hand back before you let go and walk into the room. Eyes falling on Eddie’s body on the bed right away. Your heart clenches in your chest at the sight of him, face falling. The machines are beeping loudly beside him, his body still unmoving.

“Aaron.” The doctor calls for the blue eyed man, motioning for him to follow inside. “Set the IV will ya?”

Steve tenses up, not wanting to be without you, not wanting you to be left alone with a stranger. He refuses to move away from his spot, refusing to walk into any other room and further away from you.

The door closes behind you, and the man, Aaron, takes his jacket off, hanging it on the hook on the door. He walks over to the sink and washes his hands, glancing at you.

“Take a seat, ma’am.” He gestures to the chair beside Eddie’s bed.

You nod, making your way towards Eddie. You eye him, your eyes filling with sadness as you take his state in.

You sit down without tearing your eyes away from him. The thought that you couldn’t protect him, that this happened again, sickens you. Guilt sparks up inside of you. If you hadn’t been so busy arguing with Steve, this wouldn’t have happened.

Oh, Eddie.

“You okay?” The man asks as he steps up before you, two needles and an IV line in his hand.

“Yeah.”

“You’re not afraid of needles, are you?”

“No,” you shake your head.

“Alright,” he nods, smiling softly at you. “Take your sweater off, please.”

You reach for the hem of your sweater, feeling glad for the tank top you have on underneath. You throw the sweater over the chair and lean back.

“I’m Aaron, by the way.”

You raise your eyebrows and look up to find him looking at you already, getting the IV line ready after injecting the needle into Eddie’s arm. He leans down before you, moving closer, and he sprays some disinfectant on your arm before he checks for a vein.

You give him your name, offering a kind smile when his eyes meet yours.

“Nice to meet you,” he smiles, tilting his chin down. “You’re from Hawkins too?” He asks, distracting you from the needle he injects into your skin.

“No,” you shake your head, ignoring the sting. “I’m from Nevada.”

“Oh, you’re a long way from home then.”

You nod, eyes following the tattoos on his skin that disappear under the sleeve of his shirt.

“Yeah, I was in New York for college when all this started…”

He raises his eyebrow, not looking away from the IV until it starts drawing blood and flooding through the line.

“You found your way to Indiana?” Aaron asks, eyes meeting yours again.

“Yeah, stumbled right into Hawkins,” you say, smiling at the memory.

“You were on your own before?”

You nod, avoiding his eyes as he stares at you, his blue eyes moving across your face. It isn’t difficult to see how handsome he is, even in this state you are in, troubled by worry and anxiety, you still see it, you would have to be blind not to.

“Brave girl.”

You cast your eyes on the ground, blushing.

He smiles to himself when he notices your reaction, and he takes a step back, checking on Eddie.

“Alright, I’m gonna get you something to eat, you’ll need it after.”

“Okay,” you nod, giving him a small smile before you look over at Eddie. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am.”

You are left alone with silence and your own thoughts after he leaves the room. You sink into the chair, keeping your eyes locked on your friend. The exhaustion of this day is catching up to you slowly, tiredness taking over you, and sleep envelopes you quickly, welcoming you with open arms.

“Psst.”

You feel something poking your arm, shaking you.

“Sunshine.”

Your eyebrows crease, your mind still hazy, feeling far away somewhere.

“Don’t die, you’re still a virgin.”

You open your eyes, frowning in confusion, needing a moment to take in your surroundings. Eddie’s kind eyes meet yours, a loopy smile on his face.

You look down at his arm, the needle and the IV gone, a bandaid covering the spot the needle poked through.

“There she is,” he grins.

A groan falls from your lips, your back hurting from falling asleep on the uncomfortable chair. You don’t even register the comment he made. You blink, needing a moment to fully wake.

“I was kinda hoping the pain meds would get me high but I don’t feel shit.” Eddie frowns, pouting as he looks at you.

You eye him up and down, moving closer, something falls off your shoulders and you look down, frowning when you notice a blanket that wasn’t there before. You glance at the bedside table, a chocolate bar and a glass of orange juice standing there for you.

“Can’t believe you gave me your blood, we’re blood sisters now.” Eddie grins, trying to make you smile.

You look up, shaking your head at him. Is he really not high?

“Come on, I’m trying to make you smile.”

“I appreciate that,” you mumble, tilting your head to the side. “I’m happy you’re back. Are you okay?”

Eddie’s smile curls into a softer one, his brown eyes flashing with sympathy, knowing you feel guilt for not getting to him sooner. “I’m okay. Can’t believe they got me twice.” He murmurs. “Also, can’t believe I got Nancy Wheeler crying over me, she was full on sobbing when she and Steve came in before.” He chuckles, like they aren’t best friends.

Was Steve the one who put the blanket around you?

“I’m sorry, Eddie…” You whisper, reaching for his hand as you eye the bandage around his head, the bruise forming on the side of his head.

The anxiety, the anger from the day (before? Maybe with everything that happened, this could already be the morning of the next day?) has passed and left your body. All that is left now is the sadness and heartbreak, mixed with guilt from not being able to protect him.

His painful screams echo in your mind just like Steve’s hurtful words dawn on you again, repeating themselves in your brain over and over again.

You rarely cried before, you never cried when you were on your own, you found it hard to. But now tears well up in your eyes, and you can’t push them away.

“Hey…” Eddie whispers, his smile falling when he notices your face crumbling. “Sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper weakly as the first tears begin to fall, rolling down your cheek before you can even stop it. “If I hadn’t done anything, or tried anything at all with him, I wouldn’t have asked to stop for some air because the RV suffocated me with him in there and–”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Eddie shakes his head, grabbing your hand and pulling you closer, trying to hug you. You welcome it, lying your head on his chest carefully.

He knew it was bound to happen, he knew you were gonna break down sooner or later after Steve’s rejection.

“I got you.” He whispers, running his fingers through your hair as cry softly. “Please tell me that idiot apologized.” He mumbles, remembering how he sent him to talk to you. He didn’t have the chance to ask him before, one of the male nurses came in and asked them to follow him for a general checkup.

You shake your head, keeping your eyes closed.

He looks down at you, and the pain is written across your face.

“What happened…?” He whispers, frowning.

You shrug, not wanting to tell him.

“Sweetheart–”

The door opens, and someone steps in, making you pull away from Eddie. You quickly wipe your tears and turn around.

“You alright, Honey?” Aaron asks, looking at you.

Eddie raises his eyebrows as he eyes the man, head tilting to the side in curiosity when he notices the way he looks at you.

“Yeah,” you nod, sniffling as you glance at Eddie. “I’m just happy this moron is awake.”

“Hey, I have feelings!” Eddie gasps, acting offended.

Aaron chuckles as he walks over to him, checking the vital signs on the monitor.

“You’ll be fine in a week or so. Gotta keep the injury in check, Doc had to give you some stitches.” He explains.

“Oh man, a scar no one can see?” Eddie whines.

You giggle at him, shaking your head.

Aaron looks at you, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Eddie. The man clears his throat and steps back, “alright, whenever you are feeling like you are ready to walk again, I’ll show you to your cabin.” He explains, nodding at you. “And you should eat something, you gave a lot of blood.”

You nod, casting your eyes down shyly.

“I’ll come check on you in a few hours again, but for now, you should rest some more, Eddie.” Aaron says as he makes his way to the door. “Your friends are outside, I’ll send them in.”

Eddie nods at him, waiting until he is gone. He clears his throat, a smirk tugging at his lips as he looks down at you.

“Sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” You mumble as you take a sip of the orange juice.

“Found you a Cowboy.”

You almost spit out your juice, coughing loudly as you punch your chest in order to push the rest down. Eddie chuckled but winced as the action made the stitches move slightly.

“I’m– Not interested.” You say, and Eddie sighs, shaking his head at you.

“Have you seen that man? I’ll be forever pissed at you if he makes a move and you don’t take it.” You blink a few times, surprised by Eddie’s words and– You have seen him.

You took notice before of his features, his eyes, his beard, his clothes, and the roughness of his voice. It was hard not to, even in the situation you were all in. Yet–

“Eddie?” Nancy rushed in, a smile on her face as Steve breathed heavily, right behind her. They both rushed to Eddie’s side, and you could only see the brown haired guy that was smiling with relief, as he hugged his friend after Nancy had her share.

Your heartstrings tugged at you, painfully so. Your fingers wrapped around the blanket again as you felt a shiver run down your spine. Yeah, Aaron was handsome, as Eddie put it.

But those blue eyes had nothing against hazel ones.

Not even close.

☀︎

welp I am sorry. here is Aaron for y'all (face claim. not the actual actor, they just happen to have the same name lmao)

taglist: @prettyboyeddiemunson @pretentious-blonde @thecreelhouse @tvserie-s-world @thesickestqrmydcll @crispystarfishhottub @sophal22 @definitionwanderlust @talkativecarnation @mysticalwoolenfroglegs @ariesandwolves @mortqlprojections @sattlersquarry @sherrylyn0628 @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @micheledawn1975 @keepingitlokiii @littleromanoff2005 @sunshine-mrk @xxladymjxx @bananasplits-world @myharrington

#steve harrington x reader #stranger things angst #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington

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eraserbread · 1 day ago

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hi, how are you? I hope you take requests rnnn

how about nanami with a pregnant wife who has a bit of a baby brain? and she's feeling so bad about the whole thing bc of hormones + insecurities, so he comforts, reassures an makes it all better

more of my wife guy!nanami ✧

→ f!reader, est relationship, pregnancy, slight angst, mostly fluff

"happy anniversary, baby." you're smiling, leaning over kento's frame at the dinner table. he's resting his chin in his palm. luxe spread of meats and vegetables on his plate. after your terrible first trimester, you can finally cook for him again, though he doesn't expect it.

"what's this?" his light eyes flit to the white gift bag you're setting next to the meal he shrugged off moments ago.

"it's nothing, really." you watch as he opens it, hands crossed behind your back when you walk to your awaiting seat. he pulls out a box, and inside the box is a small, gold heart locket. he shoots you a look.

"dear, this is endearing for sure, but-

"open the locket."

so, he does, and inside is a picture of him a few years younger. on the other side, you two are pressed together. kento's stoic, pressing a kiss to your cheek as you smile for the camera. his eyes soften.

"how thoughtful." you can't read him right now, but there is a smile in his eye only you could recognize. "I don't know exactly how thrilled I am with the idea of wearing a locket, but it is a beautiful ornament."

"mm, don't worry i will be taking and wearing it. you have everything you need, the only gift I can give is... experience, I guess. babies, marriage."

"and that's all i need, hm." he nods for your hand, hanging the locket over your fingers when you give it to him. "but, baby, i'd be much more receiving if it was actually our anniversary."

"w-what do you mean, it's june." you're turning over your shoulder to the calender kept on the refrigerator. it's june... you married him in-

"july. we got married late july."

you falter for a moment, eyes going blank, brows knitting together. kento watches along, familiar with these bouts you work yourself into during pregnancy. it's almost... cute, dare he say. like a confused puppy, though you feel like shit.

"fuck."

"no need to work yourself up; it's okay." ken's rushing in for damage control, knowing the faintest sparks of emotion could do you in for an entire week. he doesn't want to make you feel bad, and he loves the gift. in fact, "the locket is perfect. can't wait to see you wearing nothing but it."

that makes you laugh—almost. it's not enough. you can feel the overwhelmed tears starting to brew in the corners of your eyes. you hide your face in outstretched hands.

and kento is standing up at once, heart beating a little quicker in his chest as he reaches to comfort you. "don't feel bad, you know I never care about transactional things like this."

"that doesn't make it better." at the sound of his sweet, comforting tone, you're crying. finally. he's wrapping big arms around your shoulders, palms flattening over your jutting belly. against his figure, you're swaying like the breeze. he's so warm.

but your mind is on fire, you can't live it down.

"no, i know that because it's just after your birthday... god, what is wrong with me?"

"shh... it's okay. I promise you I do not care. the locket is so beautiful, and I'm so happy you're still thinking about yourself. anniversary or not, it's extremely thoughtful." he kisses the top of your head, sighing into your hair. "hey, I love you. it doesn't matter; nothing matters."

"i know you don't care, but i feel like an idiot." you sniffle, hiccuping softly as he kisses you again... and again. he's so perfect.

"you're so sweet." another kiss to the head, "when you're forgetful. it always gives me reason to help you."

"you're shameless."

"mhm." he laughs. it's light, but it's there—lost in your hair. "shake it off, you'll upset my daughter."

#hello anon i do take requests rn #but i am two weeks behind be gentle with me #eraserasks #.nanami <3 #.the wife guy!! <3 #nanami fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #jjk fluff #kento nanami x reader

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ceramini · 8 hours ago

Text

DAMN IT NERD ⋆˚࿔ ARE YOU LISTENING?

pair loser!jake x hot!reader ͡ ͘◡ ꫶᳝᳜᳝᳜᳝᳜৯ tags creampie, cockwarming, overstim, dirty talk = nerd talk, jake likes legos ✿ scene jake is sweet, dumb, and accidentally packing a weapon between his legs. no one understands how he landed his insanely hot gf, not even him. but she loves him anyway, even if he won’t shut up about legos, star wars, or his ridiculous love for her… especially during sex. note let’s pretend jake likes star wars ─── library ⊹ ࣪

like + reblog appreciated <3 click to join taglist

You’re not even sure how you got here.

Well, no… you do know. You were in bed, legs tossed over Jake’s shoulders, back arched, spine pressed into the mattress like a damn sticker. He was inside you. Deep. Relentlessly deep, like he was on a fucking mission.

You weren’t sure what the mission was, but Jake clearly was.

He was, talking.

Still.

“You know the Republic Gunship set?” he pants, rocking into you a little too slow for how breathless he sounds. “I’ve been saving up for it. It’s so cool. It has, like—twenty clone troopers. Twenty. And they all have these little helmets that come off. I didn’t even know they did that until—until I watched this review last week—shit, you feel so good—wait, so anyway—”

You cut him off with a groan, fisting the sheets. “Jake.”

“Huh?” He looks down at you, blinking like a golden retriever who just got caught chewing drywall. “What?”

“You’re talking about Legos again.”

“Oh.” He pushes his hips forward with a little whine. “Sorry. You’re just so warm and I was thinking about that set and how cool it’d be to build it with you while we watch Clone Wars and—and—fuck, you’re squeezing me again.”

You squeeze him on purpose this time. “That’s because you’re babbling about minifigs while you’re raw inside me, Jake.”

His eyes go big. “You like when I’m raw inside you.”

“I did. Before you compared it to building a Lego set.”

“Okay, okay, fair.” He nuzzles your neck like he’s not splitting you in half. “But also? You’re kinda like a Lego set.”

You stare at him. “Jake.”

“I mean that lovingly.”

You drop your head back against the pillow. “I swear to God, if this is going where I think it’s going—”

“Because like. You’ve got all these beautiful little pieces. And I wanna learn how they all fit together. Every time I touch you it’s like I’m figuring out where the next part goes—”

“Jake.”

“—like, do I kiss here?” He sucks a hickey under your jaw. “Touch here?” Trails his hand between your legs. “Or maybe—fuck—maybe I just fuck you and see what happens.”

You’re clenching again. Hard. And you hate that it works.

He beams. “See? You do like my metaphors.”

“I like your dick,” you hiss, arching as he thrusts up and hits that spot. “I tolerate your metaphors.”

“You love my metaphors,” he says smugly, fucking deeper like he’s trying to prove it.

You moan into the heel of your palm. “You’re insufferable.”

Jake whimpers, forehead tipping to yours. “You’re so hot when you’re mean to me.”

“You’re hot when you shut up.”

He slows, just a little, and looks genuinely wounded. “You don’t like when I talk?”

“I love when you talk,” you gasp. “Just not when I’m trying to come and you’re talking about fucking battle packs.”

“Oh.” He slips out almost entirely, just to push in again, hard. You cry out. His ears go pink. “Noted.”

You try to glare. You really do. But he leans down to kiss you and his stupid soft lips and stupid tongue make you forget how to breathe, let alone stay mad.

And the way he’s throbbing inside you doesn’t help.

Jake pulls away with a dumb little grin. “I think I’m gonna come. Can I stay in? I know I asked earlier but I wanna make sure it’s still okay—”

“Jake, yes, God, yes—”

He sinks into you one last time and shudders, full-body, like he’s short-circuiting. You feel him twitch, warm and heavy, and moan his name as his hand clutches at your waist like he’s scared you’ll float away.

He comes like he’s overwhelmed. Pretty and flushed, forehead pressed to your collarbone, one hand gripping your thigh like a lifeline.

You’re both panting. Slick. Shaking a little.

And then.

“Did you know the Lego Titanic set is almost four feet long—”

“Jake.”

“Sorry! I’m just—still inside you and happy and thinking about boats and I love you and—”

You grab his face and kiss him hard. He whimpers against your mouth, cock twitching again, not soft at all.

You pull back. “You’re gonna shut up now, right?”

“Totally,” he breathes, blinking fast. “Except—can I keep talking if it’s just about you?”

You blink. “Maybe.”

Jake buries his face in your neck. “Cool. ‘Cause I was gonna say, you’re prettier than every minifig I’ve ever owned. Like, if you were a collectible, I’d never take you out of the box.”

You groan. “That’s not romantic, Jake.”

He laughs. “I thought it was.”

You wrap your legs tighter around him and sigh. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

“I’m lucky you let me fuck you.”

He kisses your cheek, then your jaw, then, very slowly, starts moving again. Just a little. Deep and slow, the kind of rhythm that makes your eyes roll back.

“Can I stay in?” he murmurs. “Just for a bit?”

You nod.

He smiles. “Cool. You feel better than any Lego set.”

You cover his mouth. “Just fuck me.”

You don’t know why you let him stay inside. You really don’t.

Maybe it’s the way he’s so big, the way he fills you up like you were made for it. Maybe it’s the post-orgasm brain melt. Maybe it’s the genuinely tragic puppy-dog look he gave you when he asked if he could just stay for a little while longer.

You said yes. Like a fool.

And now he’s talking again.

“Okay, but hear me out,” he mumbles against your collarbone. “If you were a Lego piece, I feel like you’d be one of those rare ones that only come in, like, three sets. And I’d trade my whole collection just to have two of you.”

“Jake.”

“Or like, like if I was building a Millennium Falcon and your piece wasn’t in the box? I’d cry. Like actual tears. I’d email Lego Customer Support and tell them it was a tragedy. I’d say my girlfriend is missing. That I can’t build without her. That it’s ruining my life—”

“You’re still inside me.”

“I know. That’s why I’m being romantic.”

You groan and throw an arm over your face. “Your idea of romance is comparing my vagina to missing plastic.”

“It’s not just plastic, it’s—hey, wait—” He props himself up on an elbow, wide-eyed. “Are you getting mad again?”

“I’m not mad,” you sigh. “I’m just. So full. And so tired. And you’re talking about spaceships and crying and clone troopers while your dick is still hitting my goddamn cervix.”

Jake flushes. Hard. “Oh. Sorry. I’m just…this is like, peak life for me. Like, I don’t know what I did to deserve you but I think about it a lot and it makes me feel like I should be doing more. Like, you’re smart, and you wear those little skirts that make my brain short-circuit, and you never make fun of me for how much I love Star Wars even when I definitely deserve it—”

“Jake.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you getting hard again?”

He pauses. You feel him twitch inside you.

“…Maybe.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I can’t help it!” he whines, and somehow he sounds genuinely upset about it. “You’re so warm and soft and I like how you clench when I say dumb stuff, and I know I’m not supposed to keep talking, but I love you and I’m having a feelings crisis and also your tits are out and I didn’t even mention them yet.”

You uncover your eyes and glare. “Don’t.”

Jake glances down at your chest. Immediately goes pink. “Too late.”

You shift under him and he moans, a soft, helpless sound like he’s ashamed to have made it. You can feel him starting to get hard again, slow and steady like a threat.

And the worst part is? You like it. Your body’s already reacting. He’s still so thick, so deep, and now he’s whining like he can’t help but want more of you.

“God, you’re pretty,” he whispers, like he’s confessing something serious. “And I’m, ugh, I’m such a loser, I know. Everyone always asks how I got you and I never have an answer. They’re like, ‘is she into Legos too?’ and I have to lie and say yes, just so they don’t try to hit on you.”

You laugh. You shouldn’t, but you do. “So you lie about me being into Legos to keep me safe?”

He nods solemnly. “It’s the only way.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Jake beams. “Your idiot.”

He leans down and kisses you again, sloppy, soft, so sweet it makes your stomach flip, and you groan against his mouth when he accidentally rocks his hips.

And just like that, you’re clenching again. Wanting him. Wanting it all over again.

He breaks the kiss with a gasp. “Oh. That was—yeah. We’re doing it again, right?”

You roll your eyes. “Not if you keep talking.”

“I can be quiet!”

“You can’t.”

“I can. Watch—” He places a hand over his own mouth.

You raise a brow. “You look ridiculous.”

He wiggles his brows, nods, then thrusts.

You gasp. His hand flies off his mouth. “Oh fuck, that was hot—”

“Jake.”

“Sorry. Sorry.” He puts it back. Mutters behind his palm, “I just love you so much.”

You stare at him, flushed, wrecked, still hard and inside you, his hand awkwardly slapped over his own mouth, and you realize something terrible.

You’re gonna marry this dumbass.

You sigh, toss your head back, and say, “Fine. Just shut up and fuck me again.”

Jake nods furiously. Slips his hand from his face and whispers, “Yes, Captain.”

You sigh into the pillow.

🪷 ─── @gyarumindd

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beardedjoel · 2 days ago

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honey, honey | two: tempting fate

sugar daddy! joel x f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist

summary: your first official meet up (that's absolutely not a date) with joel is going even better than you'd imagined, until a mishap leads to awkwardness. 12.2k words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, sugar daddy worthy age gap (reader is 21, joel is 54), slow burn! inherent power dynamic imbalance from a sugar daddy arrangement, flirty flirty tension, alcohol consumption, playing it a little fast and loose with pov, reader has shit parents and comes from money, reader's clothing is described (dress and heels).

a/n: thank you so much for the love on chapter one! excited to share more with you. as usual, i yapped, but these two also love to yap with the best banter, so what can i say? it's their fault!!

You hear the tinkling bell of the boutique door as you slip inside, taking in the few other customers milling about. Soft white lighting bathes your skin, seeming to cast a pretty glow on everything in the high end shop. A put together, even toned employee greets you but you only half hear her, spilling out the typical “just looking around” in response.

You’d think it was your first time in a shop like this with the hesitant movements you make, the way your glances flit around the place as if everyone inside knows your secret. Hell, half of them might even be in on your secret with their own person behind the scenes funding it all, just like you are.

You passively flick through the curated racks, eyes half glazed over as they sweep over tables perfectly presenting clothes to you. You’ve never had so much hesitation shopping before or picking out what to try on, but you feel stuck, chewing at your lip as you approach yet another rack of dresses, everything starting to blur together.

You can’t help but wonder what Joel would like to see on you, what his expectations are. He’d sent you away with your first check, that huge sum to just get you to quit your job. You hadn’t quite gotten the nerve to do it yet, but you’re not telling him that. You want to make sure it’s all set in stone first before making any rash decisions, which may be the first smart and well thought through choice you’ve made this week. Or maybe even this year.

On top of that, he’d given you what he’d coyly referred to as a starting bonus to buy something new to wear for your upcoming dinner together. You knew it really was a test, a way to work out if this arrangement would work for the both of you. For him to see if you could really go through with spending his money, and spending it in a way that also pleased him.

You’d tossed and turned again last night after making what felt like a deal with the devil, leaving you barely awake for your morning classes before heading here. Joel hadn’t had any contact with you, and you suppose you hadn’t expected him to. It was clear enough that dinner was at six sharp on Friday, back at his house.

You sigh, running the chiffon fabric of a floral printed dress through your fingers before pulling out your phone. You anxiously tip tap your fingers on the darkened screen, arguing with yourself for another beat before pulling up your conversation with Joel.

You: Any dress code for dinner?

You cringe at your own message, trying to focus on browsing again as you await an answer. Luckily, Joel seems to be free, your phone lighting up with a response only a moment later.

Joel: Shopping, are we?

You: Maybe…

Joel: Not going to say no to a pretty dress on a pretty girl.

You stifle a smile behind your hand, lightly biting the nail on your thumb. He’s bolder through text, you’ve noticed, and you think that you might like it. Joel’s attention feels focused, warmer than other men - something you find yourself unaware you were craving, but needing more of the instant it happens. It feels dangerous, but you’re unable to quite put the desire to have it all to yourself out of your mind.

You: A dress it is then.

You: What about specifics? Color? Style?

You: Am I dumb for not knowing how to do this???

Your heart races, and you nearly hurl your phone across the room, hating the rambling you’ve succinctly blown Joel’s phone up with. So much for playing it cool.

Joel: You mean you’re not already taking random men’s money every week and spending it?

Joel: You’re fine sweetheart. Buy whatever you like.

Despite Joel’s blithe blessing, insecurity creeps in as you continue to browse, wanting to make sure you don’t mess this up. It isn’t often you feel like you’re pleasing anyone with your parents being who they are, and you’d always hated that feeling of never living up to expectations that followed you throughout your entire life. Joel made it sound so easy, but would he be disappointed if you didn’t measure up to his past entanglements, likely seeming to know exactly how to dress and act for him?

You’d already been nearing dizzy as he laid out all the terms for you the other day, going into detail about how he liked to do things in these so-called arrangements. At your insistence of needing to earn the lumps of cash he’d be offering you, he’d expected company in return, but nothing else. It struck you as odd, becoming friends with a man you’d known a good portion of your life, someone who was your father’s confidant first and foremost, but Joel seemed too genuine about the entire thing to be playing both sides. You truly got the sense that he wanted to help you from a decent place in his heart.

He requested dinners together every Friday, and the odd lunch or outing when your schedules allowed during the week. He was far busier than you, you assumed, running an entire billion dollar architecture empire, but school kept you occupied enough that you wondered when the two of you would find the time. In between all of it, he wanted texts and updates about what you were spending, making sure you were using that allowance for all the things your heart desired.

Joel requested that you transfer your bills to him, and starting immediately, your tuition. He encouraged you to start exploring what you really wanted to study, even if that involved transferring schools - he was here to fund any of it. More than financially, you felt his support emotionally too, something that struck you hard. Your heart flutters even now, recalling the sincere look on his face, one that showed he really believed in you, despite hardly knowing you on a deeper level yet.

You’re determined to make this work, so you refocus and snap photos of a few dresses on the rack, texting them to Joel. If you were going to do this, you may as well throw yourself all in and do it right.

You: Any preference?

Your heart hammers in your chest again as you await his reply, wondering if you’ve been too bold this time, or if you’re bothering him while he’s tied up with business. It’s likely the middle of the work day for him, and the last thing he might need is your insecurities buzzing in his ear to make the decision for you. Instead, he surprises you with another fast response and you promptly berate yourself for the flutter you feel in your stomach as you read it.

Joel: Oh, the silk one. Definitely.

To your surprise, Joel answers the door on Friday evening instead of Clara, leaving you blinking at him with a soft smile on your face. He’s beaming at you with soft crinkles around his eyes, golden skin glowing as the evening light reflects throughout the house behind him. Joel’s hair is slightly pushed back, showing off streaks of gray that match the ones in his dark, full beard. He’s wearing black dress slacks with a blazer, but no tie adorns his crisp, white dress shirt. The top button is open, letting his chest breathe a little, and you can’t help but transfix your eyes there for just a moment, seeing a hint of chest hair poking out.

Your bottom lip is pulled in, biting it quickly before releasing it and dragging your gaze back to his face. You smile at the effort he’s gone through tonight, knowing that you’d also spent far too long getting ready for something that was supposed to be so casual. You couldn’t help but want to impress Joel though, give him something lovely and desirable to look at over dinner, a sight you’re sure he’s accustomed to. He’s paying you to be here after all, you realize, so you might as well give him his money’s worth.

“Hey there. Glad you could make it,” he says, leaning in for a half hug, one arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you in.

You lean into it a little, opting to just wrap one arm around him as well, feeling awkward. It’s a curt hug, over in just a few seconds, but you catch a strong whiff of Joel’s freshly applied scent - a cologne or soap he uses - something rich and woodsy but also distinctly fresh and classy at the same time. A blend you’re sure has a higher price tag than even you would guess, but the smell intoxicates you and makes your lips turn up even further as he pulls back and looks at you.

“C’mon in,” he urges you, one hand along the small of your back to guide you into the foyer.

“No Clara today?” you ask, and Joel shakes his head, lips pinched to the side in a coy smirk.

“No. Sent everyone home so we could have the place to ourselves.” Joel explains, and you raise your eyebrows a little. You can’t ever imagine your parents or any of their other stuck up friends daring to go one night without their staff taking care of everything. Joel has already proven himself to be different from them in many ways, but he keeps the surprises coming. You like it.

“Let me take your coat,” Joel adds in a hurry before you can answer him. He moves to your back, helping you slide it off before draping it over his arm, standing with a hip popped while he seems to notice you fully for the first time tonight.

“Well aren’t you a vision, sweetheart,” Joel breathes, drinking you in with his eyes, brazenly raking them from head to foot, then back up. The silky material of the dress clings to you, picked out in your favorite color, one you always feel good in. Your immaculate new heels are a perfect compliment to the outfit. Even your purse is new, all at Joel’s insistence, and his eyes seem to darken a shade as they take in all the details of what you’d spent his money on, almost like he’s valuing it all in his head. Then he smiles wider, turning to hang your coat up in a large closet off the foyer.

“This all the new stuff, then? Do a spin, lemme see,” Joel says as he moves back towards you.

You breathe out a small laugh, your cheeks warming at his attention, the way he can’t seem to stop staring at your body, the silk of your dress as it ripples when you start to do a small twirl for him, your heels clicking along the luxurious, shiny floors. Your purse flings with you, bumping your body harder than you’d intended as you complete your spin and you laugh a little harder. Joel scoots close, putting an arm around you, fingers splayed along the small of your back again.

“S’perfect,” he says, tilting his head to look at you. “This way,” he says, his hand slipping away from your back. Your body misses the warmth, the way he’d felt when he was close to you. You don’t know what it is, but Joel feels safe to you, warm and friendly, like a true ally in this messed up hole you’d dug for yourself. You trail along right beside him, following him through the foyer and into the main living room, an area you’d already seen the other day but still jaw droppingly gorgeous and tastefully decorated upon second inspection.

You know Joel of course had someone style and furnish the house for him, but he still must have had some input. Your parents always had done it that way, so you know the man has style. With a blend of mid century modern coziness and upscale modernity, it feels more like a home than a staged house like so many of your parents' friends' places. It makes you smile to yourself as you pass through, seeing the evidence of Joel living here - coasters still on the coffee table, a clearly bookmarked novel sitting on the table next to the couch, a spot where one of the pillows isn’t perfectly fluffed, maybe where he was sitting as he waited for you to arrive tonight.

A large, open frame on the right side of the living room leads you both to the dining room, and your jaw drops to see it in the evening like this. Your mindset had been so different here during the daytime, content to just get the work done and get out, not appreciating all the beauty this old brownstone has to offer. It’s an opulent room, a long and sleek lacquered dark wood table taking up a good portion of it with white cushioned chairs on all sides.

A gorgeous abstract chandelier hovers over the table lit low, clearly the centerpiece of the room. It’s unique: one long piece of gold with twists and turns strung together with lighting on the outside parts, your eyes lingering on the mesmerizing way it’s all woven together. The table and side pieces in the room are adorned with candles burning, warming the space up even further. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Joel was trying to romance you a little. It makes a smile creep onto your face to picture him lighting all of these candles and staging the room just so for your arrival. He struts forward, pulling out the chair perpendicular to the head of the table, gesturing for you to sit. He’s an old fashioned gentleman: another tick in a box for Joel Miller.

Your lips press together, suppressing another grin at his polished manners, the way he’s smooth and fluid with the movement as he helps you tuck the chair underneath you like he’s done it a hundred times before. Then you quickly realize it’s likely that he has. As you sit down and settle in, the thought makes your stomach feel uneasy - you’re just another girl in a long line of women who Joel has given money to and taken on dates. The only difference is you know that this evening most likely ended differently for those other girls - up in his bedroom, under his sheets, sweating bodies doing unspeakable things to each other. You swallow hard, fighting your thighs clenching at the imagery in your head, unsure if you wish it was you, or you just need to get laid in general. You’re hoping for the latter, that you can reach out to an old hookup or find someone to scratch the itch that’s been building since you’d entered Joel’s office that first time just days ago.

But Joel does look handsome as he moves to his chair, sitting at the head of the table and watching you carefully the entire time, seeming to be enjoying himself, blissfully unaware of the confusing thoughts rolling their way through your mind.

“You comfortable?” Joel asks, seeing the way you’ve been sitting nothing but stiffly.

“Y-yes,” you blurt out, trying to appear more visibly relaxed for him. “It’s beautiful…” you add on as you glance around the dining room, unsure of how to start a conversation in a situation so far out of the realm of normal. You’re at your dad’s friends’ house, eating dinner with him alone in a sexy silk dress because he’d paid for you to be here - you could guarantee no handbook was written for a situation like this.

“Thank you, darlin’,” Joel beams, glancing around the room with you. “Recent renovation was jus’ a few years back, love how the place turned out.” He picks up a bottle of wine from where it had been nestled in a chiller on the table, taking the glass set in front of you first, then his, filling them up.

“T-thanks…” you mutter, unexpected jitters sweeping over you. Your hands shake slightly as you reach for the glass, and you look down to your lap. “Sorry, I’m… nervous for some reason,” you admit to him, hoping that if you’re just upfront with your feelings, it might ease some of the tension.

“No need to be. Jus’ a chance for us to get to know each other. A meal, some nice chatter, and we’ll have y’home by ten. Jus’ in time to go back out and do whatever it is you like to do.”

You laugh, the grin reaching your eyes as you feel your face warming up, starting to remember why you’d been excited to come here tonight in the first place. Joel has been sweet and funny, someone you would have been intrigued to get to know outside of all the complications it posed.

“I’m afraid I’m usually one of the world’s most boring twenty one year olds. That’ll probably be bed time for me, actually.”

“Well you have that in common w’ a damn fifty four year old, so how’s that feel?”

“Shitty,” you deadpan, and Joel cracks up, throwing his head back a little.

“Promise me you’ll try to get out more, yeah?” Joel demands, eyes twinkling in the low light of the room, and you nod with a genuine smile.

“On your dime?” you ask, lifting a teasing brow.

“Be upset if it wasn’t,” he quips back, and you laugh again, tilting your head and putting it in your hand as you rest your elbow on the table. You lean forward a little, closing the space between the two of you, letting the intimacy of the moment wash over you.

“Now what do you like to do, if it ain’t bein’ out partying with friends?” Joel asks.

“Nobody said I don’t like that,” you snip playfully. “I’m just… selective with it, I guess. I do like to read, and go… shopping…” You wince at how materialistic it makes you sound, but you’ve never really known anything else. Your mother is the most materialistic person you’ve ever met, and her friends are no better, ever the influence on you while growing up with all of their shopping dates.

“Which isn’t really a hobby, but…” you quickly add on, focusing down at your place setting on the table. Being around Joel seems to have this odd effect of holding a mirror up to you, making you able to understand even more clearly than ever the privilege you’ve lived with. When your entire circle has been curated based on wealth, it’s hard to have moments to reflect on it. But as you’ve gotten older, you realize you don’t want to act like the tantrum throwing, spoiled brats you’d seen in your parents’ and friends’ lives.

“It can be when you’ve got someone who wants you to spend their money,” Joel quips, seeming to sense your shame and wanting to put a positive spin on it. “Kind of the whole point of the allowance, right? You deserve to have nice things, and I wanna be part of that. Thought we already went over this, hm?” He’s trying to poke fun at you, lighten the mood, and it’s working.

You wave him off playfully, cracking a smile. “Yeah, yeah. We did. Sometimes… I guess I’m just trying to figure out how to be my own person.”

Joel nods like you’re the most rational person in the world. “That’s normal. You’re livin’ life, jus’ like the rest of us. That’s what it’s all about. You’ll get there, I promise.”

You offer him a sheepish, appreciative smile. “Sorry that I somehow end up dumping my shit on you every time we’re together.”

“No need for that,” he replies, holding a silencing hand up. “Happy to help. Like I said the other day, you’ve got more potential than you’re givin’ yourself credit for. Hopefully if I say it enough times you’ll believe me.”

“What was the word you used about yourself the other day? Persistent?”

“As can be.” He smirks, and your belly flips at the sight in low light along with the soft rumble of his voice. “So reading, huh?” Joel asks you, changing the subject. “What kinds of books have you been gettin’ into, then?”

You shrug. “Little bit of everything. Classics, some more modern fiction, romance, maybe some fantasy thrown in there. Just sort of seeing what sticks for me.”

“That’s impressive, you makin’ time for all that with school and everything,” Joel speaks with a natural frankness, leaning a little closer as if he’s enraptured by everything about you.

A wave of discomfort rolls through you, unsure of what to do with the compliment from him. It seems to be his main mission that every time you’re in a room with him, you leave feeling better about yourself than before you’d gotten there.

You peer down into the light, glossy liquid in your glass, taking a long swig and hoping it eases your nerves. “Well, what about you? Don’t think I didn’t notice all those corny mystery books on your shelves the other day.” You peer at him, brows raised, and watch his grin light up his face, crinkling the crows feet by his eyes.

“Yeah, you got me. That and westerns, gets me every time.” He shakes his head in mock defeat.

“Western guy, huh? Even New York couldn’t take the Texas out of you.” He snorts out a chuckle and a bubbly little zing travels up your spine at the fact he thinks you’re funny, that he seems to enjoy your company as much as you do his. “I like westerns too, but you may have to lend me one of those mystery ones to try to convince me.”

“Happy to let you raid the library any time,” he tells you, his voice suave as he delicately holds his own glass of wine, taking a sip. You like this, making plans with Joel, the casual way he offers his life and things up to you. He’s generous down to the core, you realize, and that’s something rare in your world, something to hold on to.

“Alright, so if you’re tryin’ to get to know yourself, what else do you like to do, then? What have you found out?”

“I said I was trying, not that I figured anything out yet,” you rib in response, knowing Joel can take it. “I like creative outlets the most, I think. I’ve done a lot of different things since I was a kid, but not a lot of it stayed with me, I guess. My parents kept me pretty busy growing up - always some new tutor to try out different hobbies or instruments. Things that I guess made me seem… proficient, or something. But uh… sorry to bring them up…” you trail off, cursing yourself silently. One way to surely make it even more awkward on a dinner date with your dad’s friend is to keep bringing him up.

Joel chuckles kindheartedly. “It’s alright, it’s gonna come up. You feelin’ weird about it?”

“You’re not?” you ask incredulously.

“I am,” Joel says, contradicting himself by shrugging like it doesn’t really bother him.

“But…”

“But I like you too. I’m allowed to have a piece of the pie wherever I please, regardless of my affiliation with your dad. Just… privately.”

You snort, nodding. “Exactly why we’re here instead of a five star restaurant where you take all your other girlfriends.”

“Who says I have others?”

“Well, you have. Certainly.” You cross your arms in front of your chest, glaring at him playfully.

Joel shrugs again, shooting you a smirk. “Yeah, thas’ true.”

You shy a little under his gaze now, hands dropping as you fiddle with your fingers in your lap. “And… you’ve done this all before? The money stuff? The allowances and all that?”

Joel nods, swirling the wine in his glass a little before taking a sip. “Mhm. Does it bother you?”

“Well… no. I mean, it was pretty obvious with how quickly we got to that point the other day when you caught me here, so I made assumptions.”

Joel leans forward, setting down his glass. His eyes burn a hole in you, studying your expression as you look down again, then back up to fight that same dark stare. “And what did you assume?” he asks, sounding oh so cocky.

You can’t decide if you want to wipe the coy smirk off his face or crash your own lips into his. His demeanor is exactly what you typically go for - self assured and a bit arrogant, but Joel has this sweet side so many others haven’t that’s really reeling you in more than you’d expected.

You scoff quietly, shaking your head at his unashamed questioning. “That you basically pay women to sleep with you, or be your girlfriend, or something like that. Sugar daddy shit.”

“Sugar daddy shit…” Joel laughs loudly, “I like that.”

“Shut up,” you scold him, brows pinching together as you fold your arms across your chest again.

Joel holds up a finger, pushing his chair out and standing up. “One sec. Almost forgot we’re here to eat, didn’t we? Probably should get goin’ on the first course,” he says, smoothing out his jacket with a simple brush of his hands down the fabric.

Before you can speak again, he disappears through a door across the room, giving you a tiny peek into the kitchen. He returns only seconds later with two small plates, setting one in front of you. You see gorgeous, fresh greens and vegetables adorning the plate - a beautiful, simple looking salad.

“‘S a mint vinaigrette,” Joel explains, settling back into his chair. When you take a bite, the salad tastes anything but simple, your mouth watering at the beautiful bursts of flavor and balance.

“Delicious,” you exclaim earnestly after your first bite, going in for another. He smiles, letting the two of you eat in silence for a few moments, but your eyes keep poking their way back towards him, your previous conversation still feeling unfinished.

“So… you’re all good with this, then, still? You’ve done it all before?” you ask.

“I mean that’s the gist, sweetheart. It’s not like I’m going through girl after girl, but well, it’s happened over the years. Turns out I like it.”

You stun for a moment, considering his words. “It doesn’t bother you? That they’re just taking your money?” you question him curiously. If anything it sounds lonely, even with the promise of companionship from them. Just like what you’re doing to him right now, you realize with a sinking heart.

Joel lets your words sit in the air for a moment while he takes another drink. “It don’t… doesn’t bother me,” Joel starts, and you catch the quick fix in his grammar, something you wish he wouldn’t feel the need to do around you. You know he’s Southern - Texas to New York transplant Joel Miller is no secret, every article about his success never forgetting to mention his humble beginnings there. He starts to grin now to himself, like there’s some inside joke you’re not in on. You cock your head, mouth opening in a playful smile in return as your bite of salad hovers mid air on the fork.

“Oh my god…” you mutter, setting down your silverware and twisting your lips to the side to hide your chuckle. “You get off on it, don’t you? Like, of course they all do, but more than your average rich guy. Don’t you?” you ask excitedly, feeling like you’ve cracked the code. “Joel Miller gets off on throwing his oodles of money around.” You fully tease him despite knowing you’re right, and suddenly it all makes sense.

The way his eyes twinkle right now completely confirms it, and you understand now why he’d been so insistent on your arrangement together, not caring about the complicated nature of who your father is. This was a man just trying to get his rocks off in whatever way he could. So typical of a man - thinking with only his cock.

“And what if I do?” Joel asks, throwing caution to the wind and leaning forward, meeting your amused staredown.

“I should have known,” you say, shaking your head. “Ugh, so were you like… fucking hard when you gave me that check the other day?” You hate the little twinge that pulls between your legs at the thought of him being hard in the same room as you, because of you, and brush it off as staunchly as you can, refusing to entertain it.

Joel’s raised eyebrow answers all you need to know, but he speaks anyway. “Not - not ‘till after you left. I’m tryin’ to be respectful.” You scoff at his honesty and he just laughs, shrugging casually as if to say you asked!

“I’m afraid that ship has sailed, Mr. M,” you chortle, taking a long sip from your glass, savoring the bright, fruity flavor from the wine - it was a damn good bottle.

“C’mon now, I’m serious,” Joel says suddenly, his mood shifting. “I only wanted to get involved to that… that… level, okay? Just givin’ the money. You weren’t supposed to know, or guess… any of the other shit. That was…” Joel waves his hand off to the side in a wild, swift gesture before shrugging.

“Private?” you interrupt with a determined glare at him.

“You understand, don’t you?” Joel asks, eyes narrowed in distress. “I was tryin’ to keep you protected, didn’t want you to feel weird about any of this.”

“As opposed to what I’m feeling now, which is… well, weird.”

Joel seems to flush a little, unsure of how to move forward. It was never part of the plan for you to know the hunger he had for it all, this odd thing he’d discovered about himself the more that he’d started doing it. The way his body and mind reacted seemingly all on their own to the prospect of these beautiful, sweet young things enjoying his hard earned cash. It had surprised him at first, but the more he leaned into it, the more he enjoyed every purchase, every moment of seeing it pay off and how much happiness it could bring a woman, someone he felt lucky to just be in his sphere. He feared it was no different with you already, someone he almost felt shameful to be spending time with. It was going to be a constant battle, but one he’d willingly gotten himself into, and now had to face the consequences of.

“I’m sorry, really. I never meant for it to get to this point,” Joel says, looking a bit dismayed.

You peer down at your plate, thoughtfully pushing the greens around for a beat. This was the point to make a decision: if you were going to back out now was the time, while it was still fresh. But you think of how honest Joel has been with you tonight, how kind, how generous he plans to be with you, and you realize that you think you want to be around him. Regardless of the money, Joel sees something in you, and it makes you buzz to have somebody on your side for the first time in a long time, or maybe ever. You look back up, glancing at Joel under your lashes as you bat them a few times.

“It’s… alright. It’s okay. With me, I mean. The… other stuff,” you tell him, and his eyes flit quickly from where they were studying the table to meet your gaze. He looks surprised, like he’d half expected you to give up and walk out as soon as you discovered his dirty little secret. Instead, you see him and meet him where he is with no judgement.

He clears his throat, his voice faint as it cracks. “I won’t, er, make it a thing, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

“Joel,” you sigh, “Stop apologizing. It’s honestly… refreshing to have someone just being their real self with me.”

Joel pushes out an abject chuckle, twisting his lips to the side. “Didn’t think this would be what you’d have in mind for bein’ real, but yeah, I s’pose that’s who I am,” he says thoughtfully, scraping the last bits of salad off of his plate.

“I’ve been with guys with way more intense kinks than this, anyways,” you say, tossing a hand through the air, listening to the tinkling sound of your diamond bracelet as it whizzes by your ear.

Joel’s brows shoot up, his mood quickly shifting to intrigued. “Now is that so?”

“I don’t want to get into it, but yeah. It was a whole thing with feet and toes - just uh, didn’t do it for me at the time.” You clear your throat a little awkwardly, recalling the distant memories you’d tried to neatly stow away of that short lived, toxic relationship.

Joel smirks, taking the bait. “Forgot to mention the other thing I’m really into…” he says with a fake, over dramatic grimace before attempting to peer under the table at your feet.

“Oh, shut up,” you tease, giggling hard and reaching to push his shoulder, the entire thing coming all too naturally to you. Your skin flushes warm as you realize it, hoping you’re not crossing some unspoken boundary. “You know, I can’t believe I never knew you were so funny.”

“You never asked.”

“You hardly ever talked to me,” you quip back, getting a shrug from Joel.

“Would have sooner if I knew you needed money.”

“Ouch,” you say, scrunching your nose at him and laughing softly before taking another bite of the greens. “This is seriously good, by the way.”

“Appreciate it,” Joel replies.

You pause, watching him for a moment as the pieces click into place. “You made this?”

Joel’s head tilts at you, seeming a little confused at your astonishment. “Er, sure did.”

“Huh,” you blurt out, chewing as you think. It was rare in your world for many people to cook for themselves, let alone for a guest. Money makes everything easier, more accessible, and that includes the need to ever have to step foot in your own kitchen for so many of the people you’d met though your parents. Joel was… different from any of them. Cocky on the outside, sure, but deep at his core, he was still humble. It was just another breath of fresh air that Joel was filling you with, and you found a new angle of new appreciation for the man seated next to you.

“Most people would have just had someone do this for them,” you say bluntly, and Joel gives another shrug before gracefully fending off your line of questioning.

“I enjoy cookin’. Try to do it as much as I can f’myself when I have the time.”

You give him an awed smile. “I do too, actually. Well, I tried learning once I lived on my own. My parents… they don’t cook. Ever. I would love to be able to make something that tastes this good, though.”

“Just wait for the second course,” he tells you excitedly, his passion for it shining through. He stands up, taking both of your plates now that you’ve finished. He does the same routine, popping into the kitchen before returning with two larger dishes plated up with another beautiful assortment.

“Happy to teach you, by the way. I’m no expert or anything, jus’ kinda honed it in over the years when I had the time.”

“You - you’d want to cook together?” you ask him with rising interest in your voice. Why were you feeling this pull, this desire to spend more time together outside of this arrangement? Why did you picture yourself, laughing in Joel’s kitchen as he shows you some technique of his, or a favorite recipe? You two are huddled close near the stove, his hand on the small of your back - it’s intimate and cozy and you feel safe there. Why did that thought already bring you so much comfort?

“Well sure, sweetheart. Sounds like fun to me,” he replies genially, and you try to hide the growing stars in your eyes as you watch him sit back down and finally turn your attention to the food in front of you. It’s a stunning plate - lamb, an assortment of glazed, bright vegetables, and some sort of silky, aromatic sauce. You start to suspect Joel may be hiding the full breadth of his skill behind modest words.

“Wow,” you murmur, gazing at the plating that looks like it belongs in some classy, upscale restaurant. “Joel, I need to tell you this because maybe nobody else has. You’re too humble. Please brag a little.”

He laughs, the sound deep and rich, strumming pleasantly through your ears. His head shakes before he speaks, waving his hand in an additional signal of pushing off your request. “No, no. This was just me pullin’ out all the stops to impress you.”

You guffaw, picking up your silverware. “You want to impress me? You’re the one writing me checks.”

Joel shoots you a stern glance. “Doesn’t mean you’re not worth impressin’. You got that?” He points his fork in your direction for extra effect, and you hear sincerity beyond the teasing in his voice, making your chest clench tight. You wouldn’t say you were the most confident person, and the idea of what he’s saying, being someone worth impressing for reasons other than your money, was never something you’d thought much about yourself.

“Thank you,” you reply quietly, silently begging yourself to stop this strange attachment you were starting to form towards Joel within hours of spending time together. You didn’t know just how long this arrangement would go on for, and you had to steel yourself now if you ever had a chance to see this through to the end of reaching your goals.

When you take your first bite of the main course, it’s magic on your tongue. You decide as the flavors dance perfectly in your mouth that you will indeed take Joel up on his offer of a cooking lesson. You’d love to be able to cook like this, maybe even return the favor to him one day if he teaches you enough.

“Jesus, Joel…” you mutter, shaking your head. “This is amazing.”

He seems to beam a little with pride, clearly not hearing often enough just how good he is at this. “This one’s always a winner,” he tells you.

You take the last swig of your wine and Joel promptly refills your glass like the excellent host he is. You banter and eat and drink, having what you’d consider one of the best dinner dates of your entire life. Well, a date that’s not actually a date, you have to remind yourself. It was hard to fool yourself into thinking it wasn’t, with the low lighting, the intimacy of being alone in Joel’s house, and the glint in his eyes that told you that he was enjoying himself too.

“J-Joel…” you utter during a lull in the conversation, overcome with the sensation of something happening within you. “Um, is… is there mustard in this?”

He stiffens, his face going stony as he takes in your fallen expression. “Yeah, some dijon,” he pushes out apprehensively. “Why?”

You inhale through your gritted teeth. “Er, I’m allergic.”

A switch flips within him, activating into some form of panicked paternal mode, his ass off the chair in a flash, over to you and crouching next to where you sit. “Shit, really? Okay, what do you need? Are we callin’ an ambulance? Or maybe my driver would be faster…” Half talking to himself, his eyes scan hurriedly across the room, his mind whirring into action.

You reach out to calm him, placing a hand on where he’s leaning against the armrest of your chair. “It’s not that serious, I promise. I’ll just get kind of itchy and my tongue and throat might feel weird. I can just take some Benadryl and sleep it off tonight.”

He seems to relax a little, but the worried lines stay etched deep in his face, refusing to fully forgive himself. He stands up, towering over your chair, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Sh - should have asked you. I’m so sorry. Shit, what kind of host doesn't ask his guests about allergies…?”

“It’s fine, I swear.” You stand up to meet him. “I forget about it sometimes, I should’ve said. I never have it around, and I sort of don’t think about it much since it’s not life threatening.”

Joel sighs, putting his hands on his hips and pacing towards the door of the dining room, then back in towards where you stand, trying not to giggle at his very sweet and touching restlessness.

“Okay, okay, so the medication. What else? What d’you need?”

“Just the Benadryl is fine,” you say reassuringly, clearing your now scratchy throat. This reaction was worse than you remembered having as a kid, but you don’t tell Joel that. He’s already panicked enough as it is.

“Alright, c’mon,” he says, coaxing you to follow him with a motion of his hand. Long strides take him out of the room and back towards the foyer where you know the stairs are. You struggle to keep up, your heels feeling like they’re making too much noise in the otherwise quiet, tense house.

Joel pauses in the upstairs hallway, opening a closet, and you look on with fidgeting hands. You’re right outside a set of double doors, nearly closed except for a sliver, and you realize with a pulse of inquisitiveness that it’s likely his bedroom.

You should be focused on the task at hand, at Joel’s grumbling to himself as he digs through the contents of the closet, not wondering what his California King looks like behind those doors. What color the bedding is, what state the bedroom is kept in, if it feels as lived in as the rest of the house. Or picturing the women who have graced it - how many there have been, what they had that you don’t seem to if Joel is intent on keeping you out from under his sheets? Why the hell couldn’t you stop thinking about it, about being intimate with him, feeling his touch - is it gentle? Or would he be more rough? You swallow hard as your entire body seems to tense, the allergy induced itchiness in your throat reminding you once again to focus the hell up.

“God damn it…” Joel whips around to flick on a second light switch behind him, bathing the hall in brighter light before he seems to rearrange the entire closet, tearing out a pink box, holding it up in victory. “Only got the drowsy kind,” he laments. “I prefer it.”

“Me too. Puts me right to sleep every time.” You try to smile, hoping to lighten Joel’s mood, but it feels plastered on your face. He appears too far gone, leaving behind the genial flirtation you’d held together at the dining table. He’s too busy berating himself for putting you of all people in danger - someone he was responsible for this evening, supposed to be looking after. Christ, your father would kill him for several reasons if he learned the truth about this evening, but risking your life seemed to push it into a whole new territory.

There’s a bathroom off the same hall, where Joel leads you before popping one of the pills out and handing it to you. He’s too silent now, bordering on brooding as he watches you dip your head towards the running water in the sink, taking a sip.

You stiffen as the water touches your lips at the same time Joel’s hand rests on your back - heavy, warm, and comforting. You slide the pill onto your tongue, swallowing and meeting his eye, his hand remaining in place now that you stand up straight.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, sighing, his thick, broad shoulders dropping their tension.

“Don’t apologize anymore. Please. I’m fine, see?” You flash him a smile, putting your hands on your hips and striking a pose, standing tall and hoping you appear as a vision of good health.

He finally breaks, cracking a crooked smile as he snorts out a half hearted chuckle. It’s suddenly too small in here, crowded next to the sink with him, personal space seeming to be lost to the two of you for a long, stretching minute.

Joel’s voice comes out tenderly. “You’re feelin’ okay, though?”

You nod despite the fear trickling in at your body’s reaction - it’s been enough years that you nearly forgot all of the side effects, but you always remember the way your childhood nanny, Lena, would assure you that it wasn’t life threatening when it does happen. Stay calm, you chant the mantra in your head. And maybe reach for another Benadryl.

Joel eyes you inquisitively as you take a second pill from the box now laying on the countertop, but doesn’t say anything. “For good measure,” you reassure him. “I should probably call Karl, have him pick me up before I get too tired.”

Joel moves in front of you, blocking your body from exiting the bathroom, shaking his head. “Hell no. No way. Go back to your place all alone? With an allergic reaction?”

You sigh at his instinctive protectiveness. “Joel, it’s not -”

“Not deadly, I know. But you’re still pumped full of meds now and anythin’ could happen. You’re staying here. That’s final.”

The instant buzzing in your belly betrays you at his fierce, domineering tone. You crave to heed it, to listen to anything that Joel has to say and follow it, as if you’re already overwhelmingly aware that he knows best. There’s a natural trust here, and the origin is difficult to pinpoint, but you’re lost in the high it brings you already. It’s too hard to trust anyone in your circle, and worst of all, many of them are your own flesh and blood, your family.

“You’re right,” you tell him sweetly, hoping your gratitude shines through. “I - I appreciate it.”

Giving you a satisfied hum, he finally steps out of the way. “That’s more like it,” he says, and you’re relieved to hear the gentle teasing reemerging in his tone. “It’s the least I can do, anyhow. I’ll get you all set up, follow me.”

Joel is stubborn. You should have realized it sooner with all the obvious flags he was throwing out, but the man is staunch and stubborn and somehow it’s only adding to his charm.

You insisted on at least helping clean up dinner if you were going to be incapacitated soon, and the man acted as if you’d asked for something so absurdly out of the realm of appropriate.

“Absolutely not. You’re gonna stay right here,” Joel had insisted right back, gesturing to the tidy, inviting guest room he’d led you to. Blue, plush bedding and warm wood furniture gave the room life even with its minimal appearance - clearly purposefully left that way so that any guest could put their things out and make it feel their own. A hearth lays unlit across from the bed, and a huge flat screen television is mounted above it. It makes you wonder how often Joel even has guests stay over that aren’t sleeping in the same bed with him.

He wants you to make yourself at home, he says, but how can you when this night has turned into something far beyond what either of you could have dreamed up? You awkwardly use the attached bathroom stock piled with unopened toothbrushes, toothpaste, and toiletries to garner some semblance of normalcy, but you’re acutely aware that you’re far from home with a man you know far less than you should.

You hear tinkering downstairs, a distant clinking of dishes as you situate yourself on the edge of the bed and look forlornly towards the open door, feeling the Benadryl starting to take effect. You’d noticed some hives in the mirror back in the bathroom, feeling self conscious as you had absentmindedly scratched at them. You’re up and walking before you can really reconsider it in your hazy state, traipsing down the slick, wooden stairs in your bare feet, having kicked your heels off in the bedroom.

You catch Joel in the kitchen before he can notice you, looking on to a heartwarming moment of him packing up the leftovers you’d barely been able to eat into glass containers, nearly muttering to himself. His blazer is off, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up as he flits about the kitchen with a miffed but determined energy.

When the fridge shuts and he catches you out of the corner of his eye, he takes one look at you lingering in the doorway, eyes clearly glazing over and body swaying, and can’t help but brighten up. You’re starting to wonder if your combination of two glasses of wine plus a double dose of Benadryl was a smart idea, leaving you feeling less inhibited than you’d like. You’re noticing how handsome Joel looks like this - acting in charge of his home and domestic. Your own parents wanted to believe they had any semblance of control over their home - where things were, how things stayed running, but they were so often not the ones pulling any strings. Joel is unexpectedly charming you once again, revealing there is more under the surface than the suave business mogul he’s painted to be.

“Now what are you doin’ out of bed, young lady?” Joel teases, arms folded over his chest, hip pressing against the counter.

Something resembling a giggle erupts out of you, nearly making you snort. “I’m helpin’,” you slur out slightly, stepping into the kitchen on unsure footing. “See?” You reach forward, placing a lid on the container of food.

Joel quirks a brow, snatching it away from you. “Thought we already discussed this.”

“‘M just having too much fun tonight. Don’t wanna sleep.” You hear your own voice, silly and far away, and you giggle another time.

“Nuh-uh. You’re lookin’ three sheets to the wind right now,” Joel says, promptly grabbing your shoulders and redirecting you towards the doorway. You lean back into the touch before you can help yourself, nearly colliding your entire back half with his front, suddenly yearning for his warmth.

It was official: your inhibitions were too, too low. Dangerously so.

“S-sorry,” you blurt out, stumbling on both your feet and your words.

“‘S’alright,” Joel replies. You miss the flush that colors his cheeks, traveling down his neck as your body nearly grazes his in far too intimate of a way. The sight of you leaning into him, searching for that connection and comfort pulls at his heart unexpectedly, followed by a lusty tug between his thighs.

“You’ve gotta lay down now, though. Er, here, hang on.” Joel offers you his arm, nervous in the movement, and you equally so as you link your arm through his. You glide up the steps and back to the bedroom, lost in his scent and his gentle touch, reminding yourself repeatedly who he is and what he should mean to you. Your father’s friend. Giving you money. No sex. No feelings. Just… an exchange. That’s all you can and ever will be to him, is company in exchange for money.

You flop down on the bed as soon as you’re released from Joel’s hold, sighing long and loud as your vision spins. The drowsiness starts to take over, your limbs loose and unwilling to work with you as you try to crawl under the sheets. Joel helps, seeming unsure in his movements as he pulls the duvet up over you.

“I know you said not to bring it up anymore, but I am sorry. You shouldn’t be spendin’ the night here like this, you should be home or out with your friends or somethin’ on a Friday night.”

You quickly shake your head. “N-no. Wanna be here…” you mumble out, blinking slowly up at him.

His gaze softens, nearing something awed at your words. “Appreciate that. But I don’t think you’re in your right mind right now.”

“Promise, I am. I am. This was the best night I’ve had in a while. ‘Fore the mustard.” You let out a weak chuckle that Joel returns.

You are something, alright, Joel ponders as he watches you drift further and further away, lashes curling lower on each blink of your beautiful, captivating eyes. You’re different than he’d expected, nothing like the disjointed and unsubstantial vignettes he’d gathered over the years at parties and gatherings and meetings with your father. He liked your humor and your attitude about life, never seeming to take things too seriously, but seeing how handled it when it was called for. He’d always felt that same way about himself, recognizing a kindred spirit in you from the get go. He knows it complicates things for him to be thinking so far into it, to analyze and decode your personality and how it fits with his, but at the very least, you two got along. That was important in these kinds of arrangements, he’d learned. He couldn’t find himself satisfied in the way he wanted to give out his money if he couldn’t find any spark of connection on the other end of it. And with you… as much as it might be trouble, there was a spark. Undeniably.

“Hey…” you murmur, forcing Joel to snap back to reality.

“Hm? I’m here,” he replies distractedly, trying to turn his attention back to you.

“Mr. Miller… Do…you think I’m pretty? Like… would you sleep with me like the other women if you didn’t know my dad?” Your eyes open again, lost to your grogginess, but with a detectable sadness behind them. You’re no longer in control of your thoughts, your words, everything seeming just out of grasp for you. It’s a stream of consciousness, flowing from brain to mouth in the most regrettable fashion.

Joel’s mouth opens and closes, a tentative hand reaching towards you with a small, uncomfortable shuffle of his feet below him. He shouldn’t answer this, shouldn’t even entertain it in the slightest. But why does he feel himself pulled to say something, anything to ease your worried mind?

You scratch at your brow, running an sloppy, unnerved hand down your face at his silence. “Shit, shit, ‘m sorry. I’m not… I’m out of it. Just being stupid.”

Joel shushes you. He reaches out, brushing tentative fingers along your hairline, making you nearly melt into the foreign touch. “No, it’s alright. I just - we shouldn’t be -”

“I know. That was dumb.” You offer him a watery smile that he doesn’t quite believe, your body releasing a sigh as you relax into the bed. “I just need to sleep.”

He gives a stiff nod in agreement. “Get some rest, yeah? I’ll check on you in a bit to make sure you’re alright.” Joel’s mind reels, itching to say more, to soothe you as you look so vulnerable cozied up underneath the covers. There’s a shift inside of him, wanting to care for you, to reassure you that he can’t see whatever faults you’re so clearly focused on. Forcibly pulling himself away from your bedside, he turns to leave, but your little, tired voice stops him in his tracks.

“Wait -” you call out. “Would you stay? Just ‘till I fall asleep?”

Joel deflates, knowing he’s unable to deny it even if every cell of him is screaming that it’s a dangerous road he’s going down. He offers you a nod, walking across the room to drag over one of the chairs that sits facing the fireplace.

“Thanks,” you utter quietly as he settles in at your bedside.

“Jus’ sleep.” He reminds you, eyes watching you with an intense smoldering, like he’s thinking too hard.

You want to continue to meet his stare in an attempt to read his mind, but your eyes blink closed seemingly against your will. You’d open them if you could, fighting against sleep just for Joel to see the look of appreciation in your now weary eyes. You hope you don’t imagine it, the sincerity in his voice when he says his next words, just before you drift off.

“You are beautiful. So you know.”

Your head pounds before you can even open your eyes for the day. A dimly lit bedroom greets you as you press your fingers to the top of the bridge of your nose, gently massaging it.

What the hell?

Dinner with Joel comes back to you in a flash, the guest bedroom and fluffy, soft duvet wrapped around you. And the mustard. The god damned mustard. Without it, you’d never have made such a fool of yourself, leaving your cheeks blazing from the get go this morning.

You stare up at the smooth, white ceiling and debate in vain whether you actually asked Joel if he thought you were pretty or if he’d have sex with you, or the much less embarrassing option that it was all a Benadryl induced dream.

He’d made it a point to answer you though, hadn’t he?

Making an already awkward situation even more so hadn’t been part of your plan last night, yet here you were still dressed in your silk gown, makeup likely smudged, hair a mess, and clothing wrinkled. You slide out of bed, confirming all of it with one look in the full length mirror perched next to the dresser. A long, drawn out sigh deflates you, making you look just as pathetic as you feel.

Familiar to you, but new to this room, you catch a pile placed neatly on the dresser out of the corner of your eye. These were your things: your clothing, your toiletries - makeup, face wash, everything you liked to use to get ready in the morning. You only manage to blink at it for a few moments, your mind still whirring to life for the day and unable to process it.

You use the toiletries, continuously questioning how they ended up here yet enjoying the convenience, and change into the comfortable ensemble somebody somehow had picked out for you - whoever chose this knew you well.

The last thing you want to do is leave the calm, safe bubble of this bedroom, where you never have to face the consequences of your actions. Could you have ruined this blossoming thing with Joel before it even started? Taken away this opportunity for your future?

Groaning, you realize there’s only one way to find out.

Tentatively cracking open the bedroom door, the house has a different energy in the light of day, making last night all the more embarrassing, feeling like a far away dream. You hear the most commotion from the kitchen, entering to see Joel distractedly sipping from his coffee mug while a tablet lives in his other. He’s on the move, his brow scrunched in concentration at the screen as he scrolls, reading glasses perched on his nose. When he sees you, he stops, always seeming to make sure you feel worth his time of day. He pulls his glasses off and bundles them in his hand.

“Mornin’” he says, clearing his throat. “How’re you feelin’?”

Your cheeks tingle, flushing warm at the sight of him. If luck was on your side, he’d hardly remember the conversation at all, but you know that isn’t possibly the case. “Uh, better, yeah,” you croak out.

“See you found the stuff I had brought over. Hope that was alright.”

Your fingers fidget in front of your belly. “Er, yeah. It’s fine. How - uh - how did you do that?”

“I called Karl for you. Sorry, might’ve been a bit invasive, now that I think about it and say it out loud. Jus’... thought you should be able to freshen up or somethin’. Change your clothes, an’ all that.”

It takes a moment to process his answer and the thought he’d put into making you feel comfortable here. It didn’t feel the slightest bit invasive at all, coming from him. “No, it’s… really thoughtful, actually. Thank you.”

His smile is soft, but he seems to rev back into gear now, his feet on the move. “Got coffee goin’, an’ Clara just finished up some breakfast. Feel free to help yourself.”

You nod, feeling all the fun, flirty confidence from last night so far out of reach from the woman you are today. Spotting the coffee, you glance back to see Joel on his phone, tapping away rapidly with his glasses returned to their spot on his nose. He looks less amused himself, his brow furrowed and his features turned down in a scowl.

He sighs, draining the rest of his mug. “Alright, ‘m sorry about this, but I’ve got to head into the office. Somethin’ needs my attention for a deadline on Monday.”

You weren’t any stranger to the variable, on call schedule you’d watched your father deal with for much of your life, so you understand. You don’t want him to go, though. You want to ask him to stay and share breakfast with you, sip more coffee together and rediscover that banter from last night that made your heart thump a little faster.

You can’t help but wonder if any of his desire to rush out of here has to do with how big of a fool you’d made of yourself, but Joel buzzes by you, placing a reassuring hand on your lower back.

“Stay as long as you like. Enjoy your breakfast, yeah?” he tells you, more soft and focused.

“I - uh - are you sure?” You knew it should feel weird, staying at Joel’s place without him here, but you’d already started feeling more at home here than you could have anticipated.

“‘Course. Don’t rush on outta here on account of me. It’s the weekend. We’ll talk later, okay?”

You muster up as much of a smile as you can and nod, filling a mug from the french press pot sitting on the gorgeous, marbled countertop. “O-okay. Have a good day in the office, then.”

Joel’s fingers move on your back in the tiniest squeeze before he rushes off, and your entire face burns hot at how domestic that had all seemed. Like this was every morning for the two of you where you saw him off to work, wishing him well as he stands far, far too close for comfort. Your head buzzes from the interaction as you blow on your coffee, peering around at the quiet room.

You do as Joel says, trying to make yourself at home for breakfast under the watchful eye of Clara who flits in and out of the kitchen. Her smile is friendly enough, but you can’t help but wonder what she thinks of you. Is she keen enough on things in Joe’s life to have heard about the different kind of arrangement you have with Joel to his usual ones, or does she think you’re just one of the others?

Either way, you suppose you are one of them, whether you want to admit it to yourself or not.

“Hey.” Joel’s voice booms into your ear through the speaker on your phone.

“Hey,” you reply, propping it between your neck and shoulder, staring up at the ceiling from your place on your bed. You may or may not have been wallowing, despite it being a sport you often tried to not let yourself participate in. Some things, though, like embarrassing yourself potentially beyond repair in front of someone as put together as Joel, simply called for it.

“You made it home okay?” he asks you.

“Obviously.” You huff a tiny laugh and instantly regret your rushed, snarky reply.

You’d left shortly after breakfast, unable to take the memories of last night following you around the place. You’d tried to settle in and relax for a while with your second cup of coffee, but couldn’t help but feel like you were trespassing anytime you went anywhere. As much as you wanted to snoop a little and begin to unravel Joel’s mysteries, it hadn’t felt right to even be there in the first place. Your instinct was to run - far, far away from Joel’s house and even him, ending this entire arrangement and going back to slogging away miserably at your job. Then your phone rang this evening, and when Joel’s name appeared on the screen, you knew: there was no chance you were able to give him up that easily.

“Right.” Joel’s chuckle on the other end sounds awkward, strained, and your heart drops. You knew it was too much to ask for you two to just forget what happened last night. You’d promised him it wouldn’t come to anything sexual, and at the first chance, you’d practically asked him to hop into bed with you. You hadn’t even meant it, not really. Although a part of you, settled deep down inside of yourself, wondered why you’d been compelled to ask in the first place, like a urge you couldn’t quite hold back. It made your stomach turn too much to think about, so you’d spent the better part of the day ignoring it.

“You, uh - it was kind of weird… I thought maybe you’d have stuck around today. Like I half expected to come home this afternoon and see you there,” Joel spits out.

Your lips part, feeling your lashes flutter as you blink a few times in surprise before you bite back the smile pulling at your cheeks. Something about Joel seemed to put you at ease so naturally, and after the day you’d had, toiling over your mistakes, his reassurance was an instant balm.

“O-Oh. Really? I - I didn’t know when you’d be back. And I figured… just that I should go.”

“Yeah. I think it’s just that I thought last night felt, uh, unfinished, don’t you think?”

“I - I thought the same thing, yeah,” you tell him, perking up.

“So, I - I’m not really sure how to say this but -”

“Joel,” you cut in, your belly twisting with anxiety. You’d rather be the one to say it, to just yank the elephant to the center of the room and present it to him. This was far too painfully uncomfortable to go on any longer. Besides, you had to own your mistake. “Let me go first, please. I’m sorry about last night. That was not… okay. I shouldn’t have said that. It put you in a weird spot and I’m just… I’m sorry. I won’t do anything like that again.”

You hear the whoosh of his exhale on the other end of the line. “No, that’s alright. No apology necessary. I just want you to know, I understand. This can’t be easy for you - s’all new during an already tough time for you. I know you didn’t mean it like that, an’ you’re just tryin’ to make sense of things.”

His words stun you silent for a long, reflective moment. He’s so patient, his voice gruff with use from the day but soft - god, he speaks to you softly, like you matter to him, like you’re something special to him.

He seems to take your silence as a chance to go on. “Point is, don’t beat yourself up over it. I get what you were askin’.”

You sit forward from your place on your bed, brows scrunched tightly. “You - you do?”

“It’s confusing, I imagine, me being me, an’ this whole thing comin’ about. I’m the one responsible for you here, and if I didn’t make things clear enough… well, that’s on me.”

You nearly scoff, biting it back. His words wound you, which only pisses you off, wishing that they couldn’t affect you like they do. You’d put too much stake in Joel being something different, this fresh start you’d desperately needed, and it gives him too much power over your emotions.

“No. It’s perfectly clear, Joel,” you snap back.

You can practically hear the disappointment crackle in the silence on the other end of the phone. “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you to… Is - is this too much for you? I’ve been wonderin’ if I rushed into this, feelin’ selfish that day. I was in a mood, and if you’re worse off for what I got you into, jus’ tell me now. No hard feelings.”

You nearly laugh at how ridiculous his words are, his self effacing reflection instantly softening you from the irritation you’d felt a moment ago. “Selfish? You’re the one giving me thousands of dollars, and you’re thinking you’re selfish?” you ask him incredulously. “Of course you’re not.”

Your skin prickles at the stretching stillness on the other end as Joel thinks. “It’s just… it’s hard to believe that. Jus’ can’t help but think are - are we doing the right thing? I mean, ‘course we aren’t, but you know what I mean. This is different than what I’ve done in the past, and I just don’t want you to feel obligated over time to doing anythin’ like what you mentioned that night, ‘cause you think that’s what you’re supposed to be doing. This is supposed to be helpin’ you.”

You feel yourself choke up, clearing your throat to try to hide it. What was he saying? Was Joel already breaking things off with you? A sudden mania grips at you, starting low in your belly and tightening all the way to your chest. You couldn’t lose this, lose this comfort - not even monetarily you realize in a flash, but someone you’d confided in for the first time in a long time. Joel knew your dirty little secret and had responded only with kindness that you weren’t sure you deserved. Desperately, you cling to it now, needing him to see that beyond understanding, he already meant something to you.

“N-no. It is helping. I - What are you saying?” you blurt out, hearing the rising emotion climbing up through your throat with each word.

“Hey, no, I’m not sayin’ anything,” Joel quickly replies, seeming to sense your panic. “I want to make sure I do my part. In a situation like this, there’s a certain responsibility of… well, care, that I need to take over you. Does that make sense?”

Your heart squeezes tighter, but this time with an unfamiliar warmth, one that’s difficult to put your finger on. It’s only then that you grasp why - why all of this has felt so right despite it being wrong, why Joel already felt like something addicting, why you’d seemed to be drawn to each other in such an unstable time. That one word: care. It hurts like nothing else you’ve ever experienced, yet lends a little piece of completion to your soul each time he doles it out upon you.

You nod dumbly before recalling that he can’t see you. “Y-yes. It does.”

“Good,” he responds simply.

“I don’t want to mess this up. Not even - not even because of the money. I think you’re really nice, Mr. M, and I had so much fun last night, I really did. I - I don’t want to make you regret doing this.”

He clicks his tongue at you disapprovingly. “No, no never gonna regret it, promise you that. It’s just a learnin’ curve, maybe more than most given our… well, how we know each other. We’ve just got to work out the kinks -” You inhale almost instinctively to make a joke, but Joel quickly cuts you off. “Don’t say what I know you want to say to that.”

You laugh, and when Joel returns it on the other end of the phone, all the tension in your body fizzles out along with it, like it had never been there in the first place. Whatever this was with Joel was simply… right, it had to be.

“God, you already know me too well. It’s scary.”

“I’m good at reading people,” he replies. “You’re easy.”

“Easy? Rude,” you deadpan back to him.

“I mean, you did proposition yourself to me last night. Easy if I ever saw it.”

You gasp in mock horror. “Okay, too soon. I’d love it if we never mentioned that again, actually. Ever.”

Joel’s soft chuckle tickles your brain in just the right way, making you smile into the phone. “Alright, sweetheart, that’s a deal. Consider it forgotten. Now, speakin’ of deals, I actually was calling mostly ‘cause I have some making up to do.”

“You have some making up to do? I thought you called to talk about… uh, the thing we aren’t mentioning ever again.”

“No, no, I was the one that nearly killed you,” he explains, and you roll your eyes at his dramatics. “So I’m takin’ you out to lunch this week as an extra treat.” You like that he presents it as a definitive, not giving any wiggle room for questioning or arguments. What he says, goes. “Tell me your class schedule and we’ll get it on the books when you’re free. What d’you say?”

You don’t even have to consider it, knowing that waiting nearly a week for your scheduled dinner to see Joel had already been a tough reality to face. The fact that he also seems eager to see you so soon makes that strange, new flutter of contentment light up your chest again.

Echoing him, you smile widely as you answer. “That’s a deal.”

#fic: honey honey #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #sugar daddy! joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #x reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction

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wolfbluebird · 3 days ago

Text

The Tape we Erased

Natasha Romanoff x Female!Reader

(The Making of the Tape)

Summary: After a drunken night neither of them remembers, you and Natasha wake up in bed together — naked, marked, and silent. Best friends. Supposedly straight. You agree never to talk about it. But the footage doesn’t lie. What started as a mistake slowly unravels everything you thought you knew about your feelings for her — and hers for you. Avoidance turns to longing, silence turns to ache, until one quiet confession finally breaks the tension. This time, you’re awake for it. And this time, it’s not a mistake.

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: brief angst, avoidance/miscommunication, internalised confusion about sexuality, mentions of weight loss, mild deceptions of emotional withdrawal, first time wlw (r)

(WLW content- Men and minors Dni)

You wake up to a familiar scent—lavender and leather, something sharper underneath. And not your own shampoo. Which is weird, because this is not your pillow. Not your room. And definitely not your bed. You blink into the soft cotton, blinking away the crust of sleep, the throb of a hangover pounding at the inside of your skull like it’s trying to get out. Something’s wrong. Not oh-I-drank-too-much wrong. Not where’s-my-phone wrong. Something more serious.

Because you’re naked.

Fully, absolutely, no-socks-even naked.

And this is Natasha Romanoff’s room.

You sit up slowly. Very slowly. Like the world will tip over if you move too fast. The sheet slides off your bare shoulders and—yep. There they are.

Marks.

Everywhere.

Your collarbone. Your chest. Down your arms. Even lower. You don’t look too long, but your inner thigh looks like someone made out with it like it owed them rent.

You stare at nothing for a long moment.

Then say, very quietly: “…fuck.”

The door to the en-suite creaks open and Natasha walks out in a towel, hair wet, face flushed from steam, skin glowing like she’s walked off a runway and not, presumably, done unspeakable things to you while you were blackout drunk. You don’t know what expression you expected her to have—maybe smugness, maybe regret. But the way her eyes widen when she sees you says everything.

She doesn’t remember either.

“Shit,” she mutters.

You echo it, because there’s nothing else to say.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

You end up in the kitchen twenty minutes later, both in your worst loungewear like you’ve regressed to hungover uni students. You avoid looking at each other. She cooks eggs. You make the toast, which you promptly burn, because your hands are still shaking. Coffee helps. A little. But there’s still this massive, smothering tension in the air.

And you’re still so naked under this hoodie.

“So,” Natasha finally says, chewing like the eggs offend her. “How drunk were we?”

You poke at your plate. “Drunk enough that I remember literally nothing. Like… not even vibes. Just darkness. Brain gone.”

She makes a noise. Not quite agreement. Not quite relief. You steal a look at her, try to gauge if she’s freaking out as badly as you are. She’s got that blank expression on, the one she uses in briefings and fights and when people get too close. You’re best friends—you know her tells. You know she’s quietly imploding.

Your mouth moves before you can stop it. “I mean, judging by these—” You pull the collar of your sweatshirt down slightly to show her the edge of a very angry-looking hickey. “—I think at least one of us had a hell of a time.”

Her face goes scarlet. “Please never say that again.”

“I’m just saying,” you mutter, laughing weakly, because humour is your default defence mechanism when your reality starts cracking like old paint. “Someone was enthusiastic. I have a bite mark on my ass. My ass, Nat.”

She makes a strangled sound like she’s swallowing a laugh and a scream at once.

Then the thought hits you, and it lands like a rock in your chest.

You look up. “Wait… doesn’t the common room have cameras?”

She freezes. Doesn’t answer.

“Oh my god,” you say. “It does. You’ve said it before—Tony has them everywhere. Even here. Are you telling me there’s a recording of us—?”

“Absolutely not,” she says, eyes wide. “We’re not doing this.”

“Come on,” you say, already reaching for your phone. “Aren’t you just a little curious?”

“No. I want it to stay a mystery. Like a blackout horror movie.”

“Natasha.”

She closes her eyes like she’s trying to will you out of existence. “Fine. One look. Then it gets deleted. Forever.”

You nod, trying to hide your grin. You’re totally chill. Completely unaffected. Just curious. Because you’re straight. Obviously.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

You sit beside her on the couch, legs pulled under you, blanket around both your laps like that will protect your friendship from the trainwreck about to happen. The screen flickers on.

“JARVIS,” you say, too casually, “can you pull footage from last night’s common room? Starting around… 9 p.m.?”

“Confirmed,” the AI responds. “Shall I begin playback?”

“No,” Natasha says immediately.

“Yes,” you say over her.

She sighs like she’s aged five years.

And then it begins.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

It starts tame. You and Natasha sitting on the couch, drinks in hand. Laughing. Loud. Leaning into each other. You’re close. Too close. You remember this part, maybe. Sort of. The way her hand brushed yours. The way you nudged her shoulder. The way she was already a little too comfortable curling her legs into your lap.

Then you start touching. Hair. Knees. Her hand slides up your thigh and you don’t push it away.

Then your shirt’s gone.

Then hers.

Then she’s on top of you. You’re in her lap. Your mouth is on her neck. She’s laughing, breathless, flushed. Your hands are under the waistband of her sweats. Her hips roll up. You hear a moan and only realise it’s you when Natasha makes a noise next to you on the couch.

You pause the video.

Silence.

You turn to her very slowly. “We made a sex tape.”

“This is not a sex tape,” she says through gritted teeth.

“This is a CCTV sex tape in Tony Stark’s common room,” you whisper. “That is worse. That is so much worse.”

You stare at yourself on the frozen screen. Sweaty. Shirtless. Looking like you want to devour your best friend.

You’ve never slept with a woman in your life. Never wanted to. You’ve said that. Repeatedly. With confidence. With certainty.

So why does your stomach flip like that?

Why are you still kind of dizzy from the sight of her mouth against your throat, her hands on your hips, the sounds you were making—

“JARVIS,” Natasha croaks, “delete all footage from 9 p.m. to 2 a.m., yesterday. Immediately.”

“Footage deleted,” JARVIS confirms.

You exhale. Collapse into the cushions like your bones have turned to liquid. You feel nauseous. You feel high. You feel like you’re falling backwards into something very large and very dangerous.

“We can’t ever talk about this,” you say.

“Agreed.”

“Like, ever. Not even in passing. Not even jokingly.”

“Especially not jokingly,” she says.

There’s a pause.

And then you both start laughing.

It’s too much. It’s hysterical. The kind of laughter that comes right before a full-blown panic attack. You double over, face in your hands, wheezing. Natasha’s shaking beside you, shoulders hunched, hands over her eyes.

“I bit you,” she gasps. “Why would I do that?”

“I moaned,” you groan. “Like, actual softcore levels of moaning.”

“You straddled me in pyjamas.”

“You pulled my hair!”

“You liked it!”

“Stop!”

More laughter. Collapsing into each other, gripping your sides.

And then, slowly, breath returning, the laughter fades.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

You stare at the blank TV screen. Something silent settles in the room. Not awkward. Just… delicate.

You break it first. “We’re best friends, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And we’re gonna keep being best friends?”

“Of course.”

“So that was… an accident.”

“Drunk mistake.”

“Cool. Cool cool cool.”

You nod. Like if you say it enough, it’ll become true. Like it’s not still sitting under your skin, all heat and confusion and maybe a little bit of longing.

“Pinky swear,” you say, offering your finger.

Natasha stares at it like it’s a grenade.

Then, with a sigh, she loops her pinky through yours.

“Deadly secrecy,” she says.

“Bury-it-under-a-shallow-grave secrecy.”

You both nod.

It’s a pact.

It has to be.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Later, Bucky sees you limping slightly down the hall and raises an eyebrow.

“Yoga injury,” Natasha says smoothly, passing him.

You nod too hard. “Yep. Definitely yoga. Bad downward dog.”

Bucky shrugs and keeps walking.

Natasha smirks.

You glare at her.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

You never talk about it again.

Not once.

But sometimes, she’ll glance at you in the middle of a movie night, and you’ll see her eyes flicker down to your neck. Like she’s remembering. Like she’s not supposed to.

And sometimes you still hear the echo of her voice in your ear, that slurred Russian endearment you didn’t even realise you knew.

You’re still straight. Obviously. Totally. Mostly. Probably.

You don’t talk about it.

You don’t even think about it.

Except when you do.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Natasha’s good at burying things. Lives, missions, guilt. Feelings.

She tells herself she’s buried this, too.

Except she hasn’t.

Because it keeps coming back in flashes. Not even the good parts. Not the sex. Just the look on your face when you paused the footage—laughing, half-horrified, half-gleeful. You looked at her like you’d won something. Like you’d stolen a secret. And maybe you had.

Maybe you’d stolen her.

She can’t stop thinking about the way you touched her. Not even the memory of the touches—just the look in your eyes on the screen. Like you were starving. Like you meant it.

That’s what haunts her.

Because Natasha has always been attracted to women. She’s known it since she was twelve. She’s dated them. Slept with them. Loved one or two, even if she never said the words. But she never let herself think of you that way—not seriously—because you were you.

Straight. Untouchable. A little reckless, a little clueless, always warm, always there.

You flirted with everyone, but it was always harmless. Always safe.

She thought.

And now she can’t stop thinking about the way you said ours. “Our sex tape.” Like it was a thing you’d made together. Like it mattered.

You said you were straight. Again and again. Drunk, sober, laughing over dinner. “Not my thing,” you’d say when she teased you about some actress, brushing it off like it wasn’t even a question.

And yet.

Natasha wakes up three nights in a row thinking she feels your mouth on her throat. Her hips jerking against phantom fingers. Your voice in her ear, slurred and aching: God, you feel so good, Nat.

She’s not imagining that.

She knows she’s not.

But she can’t say anything. Because you’re still doing the thing—playing it off, being casual, being you. Still laughing about it when it comes up in the smallest ways. You elbow her at breakfast when someone on the news says the word “tape” and go, “Not ours, though.”

And she laughs. She does. She laughs because that’s what she’s supposed to do.

But she thinks about the way your hips rolled down onto hers like you’d done it a thousand times before. Like it wasn’t the first time. Like it wouldn’t be the last.

And then she starts wondering—was it? Was it your first time?

You said you were straight. But you didn’t act like it. Not that night. Not with her.

Maybe that’s what’s ruining her.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

She tries.

She really tries to forget.

She throws herself into sparring. Takes extra missions. Works through lunch. Avoids the common room unless it’s empty. Watches you from corners and shadows like you’re a threat she hasn’t decided how to neutralise.

You’re not even doing anything. That’s what makes it worse.

You’re just… being you.

Messy hair, too-loud laugh, feet on the furniture, casual as ever. You joke. You poke. You steal fries from her plate. You fall asleep with your head on her shoulder during movie nights like nothing happened.

Like your teeth were never in her shoulder.

Like you didn’t whimper her name against her throat.

Like you didn’t grab her face with both hands and kiss her like she was air.

She’s drowning in it.

And you don’t even seem to know.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

It finally cracks on a night when the compound is quiet and the hallway smells like rain.

You find her in the gym, well past midnight, hitting the bag like it owes her something.

You watch her for a while before saying anything.

“You’re mad at me.”

She doesn’t stop. Doesn’t turn. “No, I’m not.”

You walk in anyway. Drop your bag by the wall. “You’ve been weird.”

She keeps punching. Keeps not looking at you.

You fold your arms. “Is this about that night?”

Nothing.

“Because you’re acting like I killed your dog.”

That gets her. She snorts, stops, breathes heavy. Lets the bag sway.

You step closer. “I get it. It was a mistake. You don’t have to keep punishing me like I ruined your life.”

She turns slowly. Wipes sweat from her brow. Her eyes are dark. Dangerous.

“You didn’t ruin my life.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

There’s silence. Long. Tight.

Then she says, low and rough, “You kissed me first.”

You blink. “What?”

“That night. You kissed me first. I watched the tape.”

“I—” you falter, “I don’t remember doing that.”

“Well, you did.”

She steps toward you, slow and deliberate.

“You kissed me first. And then you said my name like it was the only word you knew. And then you looked at me like you wanted me.”

“I was drunk.”

“You were you,” she says sharply. “You were you, and you knew what you were doing.”

You back up a step. Not from fear. From the weight of it.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“To what?”

You bite your lip. “I’m not… I don’t do that.”

“You did.”

“Yeah, but I’m not—”

“Not what?” she demands. “Not gay? Not into girls? Not into me?”

Your mouth opens. Closes. Nothing comes out.

She softens then. Just slightly.

“It’s not about labels,” she says quietly. “I don’t care what box you think you fit in. I just know how you made me feel. And I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen anymore.”

You swallow. “Why now?”

She looks away. Her voice goes smaller. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you. And I’m tired of pretending it didn’t mean something.”

You stare at her.

And it hits you all at once—how close she is. How wrecked she looks. How scared.

Not of you. Of what she’s saying. Of being wrong.

You could lie.

You could say it didn’t mean anything. That you were drunk and stupid and it was a blip, a hiccup in time.

You could say you’re straight and you always will be.

But the lie sticks in your throat.

Because your body remembers.

You remember the feel of her hands gripping your thighs, her mouth dragging open-mouthed kisses across your chest, the low growl she made when you pulled her hair.

You remember thinking, mid-kiss, God, this is Nat. This is my Nat.

And it didn’t feel wrong.

It felt like falling.

So you don’t lie. But you don’t confess, either.

You just say, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

And Natasha exhales. Not relief. Just… release.

“Me neither,” she murmurs. “But I’m still here.”

She steps back. Gives you space. Doesn’t push.

“I won’t bring it up again,” she says. “But I had to say it. Just once.”

You nod. Almost imperceptibly.

And she leaves the gym, sweat-soaked and silent, like she just handed you her heart in a body bag.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Two weeks.

Not a word. Not a glance. Not even a pity-like on your stupid sarcastic meme in the group chat.

Natasha Romanoff, former best friend and maker of your “not-a-sex-tape,” has gone dark on you. You know she’s still in the compound—JARVIS told you when you asked if she was on mission. But it’s like she’s erased herself from your orbit.

You’re not sure if you’re supposed to be mad. Hurt. Guilty. Relieved.

You just feel hollow.

You try to tell yourself it doesn’t matter. You weren’t together. You never were. You were friends, drunk, confused—nothing more. You’ve had meaningless flings. You’ve had blurred lines before. But this is Natasha.

You’ve never had silence with Natasha.

You think maybe that’s what’s killing you.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

The final straw comes on a Sunday.

You pass her in the corridor.

Or rather—you don’t.

You hear her voice at the end of the hall, laughter in it, soft and easy. You freeze. You wait. You hope she’ll see you. Say your name. Even scowl. Something.

But she doesn’t.

She turns the corner, laughing with Sam, eyes shining, and never even looks your way.

And something in you shatters so quietly it doesn’t even echo.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

You don’t go to Wanda right away.

You sit on it. Let it curdle. Try to swallow it down like spoiled milk and pretend it’s still edible.

It takes you three days.

And then you knock on her door like a ghost.

She opens it barefoot, wearing an oversized hoodie and leggings, hair messy, no makeup—so soft and real it makes your throat ache.

“Hey,” she says, gentle as wind. “You okay?”

You don’t answer. Just step in and sit on the edge of her bed like your body is moving without permission.

She doesn’t push. Just closes the door and sits cross-legged across from you, waiting.

And you break.

“I think I fucked everything up.”

Her expression doesn’t change. “Tell me.”

So you do.

You tell her about the night. The drunkenness. The tape. The moaning, the biting, the laughing, the pretending.

You tell her about the fight. The hallway. The way Natasha said “You kissed me first” like it meant something.

You don’t cry. But your voice wobbles.

“I told her I didn’t know what I was doing. And I meant it. I still mean it. But she’s been avoiding me ever since, and I feel like—like I’ve lost her. And the worst part is, I don’t know if I’m more upset because I lost my best friend… or because I think I wanted more.”

Wanda doesn’t speak. She lets you fill the silence.

And you do.

“I always said I was straight. I believed it. Still kind of do. Or did, I guess. But that night…” You laugh—shaky and bitter. “That night didn’t feel like a mistake. And not just because the sex was good, which it was, obviously, I mean it’s Natasha—but because it was her. And it felt like—”

You pause.

Wanda’s voice is quiet. “Like something that was waiting to happen.”

Your eyes snap up. “Yes.”

She nods. “And now she’s gone.”

You nod back, helpless. “And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this feeling. I keep thinking maybe I made it up. Maybe I wanted something she didn’t. Or maybe she wanted something I couldn’t give.”

“She wanted you,” Wanda says gently. “I saw it. I’ve felt it. For a long time.”

Your stomach twists. “Then why is she avoiding me?”

Wanda’s eyes are sympathetic. “Because you said you didn’t know what you were doing. Because you never told her if you regretted it. Because she’s scared she misread you.”

You shake your head. “That’s not fair. I didn’t know. I still don’t know. It’s not like I woke up the next day suddenly into women. It’s not that simple.”

“I know,” Wanda says. “But hearts aren’t logical. And Natasha… she doesn’t risk them often. You’re not just someone to her.”

You flinch. “Then why won’t she talk to me?”

Wanda gives a small, sad smile. “Because she thinks talking to you might hurt more than silence.”

You let that sit. Heavy. Dense.

“She looked at me like I mattered,” you whisper. “Like I was hers.”

“You are,” Wanda says.

You shake your head. “I’m not ready.”

“You don’t have to be. But you do need to tell her you’re still there. Even if it’s messy. Even if it’s nothing more than that.”

You nod slowly.

Feeling unprepared and even more confused than before.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

It’s been a week since you told Wanda.

You haven’t really left your room since.

Not in any meaningful way, anyway. You go out once a day, at most, grab something from the kitchen that barely qualifies as a meal, then disappear before anyone can talk to you. Sometimes you reheat leftovers and let them go cold in your hands. Other times you just stand at the counter until your chest starts to ache, then walk away. The others have stopped trying to stop you. You suppose they think you’re busy. Or brooding. Or just being you.

You’re not.

You’re… stuck.

Wrapped in a knot of thoughts you can’t undo, spiralling slowly inward.

You’ve never been good at sitting still with feelings, and now they’re the only thing left in the room.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

You keep trying to rationalise it, make it make sense.

You and Natasha were always close. You’ve shared beds after missions. You’ve fallen asleep with your head in her lap more than once. She used to let you paint her nails while she complained about Clint. You used to steal her hoodies, and she used to steal your fries.

It was always touchy. Soft. Familiar.

Comfortable.

It was never supposed to hurt.

But now it does. It hurts every time she walks into a room and doesn’t look at you. Hurts every time you hear her voice down the hall and your chest clenches like it’s trying to keep itself from saying her name.

Hurts to realise you can’t un-know what she tastes like. Or what she sounds like with your name in her mouth like a secret.

You thought it was platonic.

You wanted to think it was platonic.

But you keep dreaming about her.

Keep waking up flushed and guilty and alone.

And that doesn’t feel very friendly.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

You haven’t messaged her.

She hasn’t messaged you.

She hasn’t been in the same room as you since that morning in the kitchen—since you both laughed awkwardly about your accidental sex tape and agreed, without saying it directly, to pretend it never happened.

You don’t think she meant to cut you out of her life.

But she has.

She’s been avoiding you so obviously it’s almost funny.

You catch glimpses of her sometimes, in passing—leaving the gym as you walk toward it, stepping into the elevator just before you round the corner. A shadow of her in every doorway you’re too slow to reach.

But she’s not ignoring you.

Not really.

Because she’s still looking.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

You notice it in the little things. You left a mug in the kitchen—one you always use, the chipped ceramic one with the whale tail handle—and the next day it was washed and back in your cupboard. You’re the only one who ever bothers to clean up after you. No one else would’ve cared.

A few days ago, you passed Steve in the hall. He gave you that tight-lipped smile of his and said, “Natasha mentioned you’ve been keeping to yourself. You alright?”

You shrugged.

He didn’t press.

You think she’s been asking around.

You think she’s been trying to spot you without seeing you.

It should make you feel better.

It doesn’t.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

You spend hours sitting on the floor of your room with your back to the bed, your knees pulled up and a hoodie wrapped around you like armour. It’s hers—dark grey, oversized, still faintly scented like something warm. She gave it to you two years ago after a mission in the Alps, when you’d taken a fall through thin ice and come out shaking and soaked to the bone. She tossed it over your head like it meant nothing, said, “Don’t freeze to death before debrief, dumbass.”

You never gave it back.

You told yourself you liked the way it fit. That was all.

Now, it feels like the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

You’re not sleeping much. Or at all.

The thoughts won’t shut up long enough to let you rest. You cycle through the same ones on repeat, trying to make them mean something. Trying to figure out when exactly things changed.

Was it in Prague, when she kissed your forehead after a night op?

Was it in that bar in Berlin, when she danced with you like you were the only one in the room?

Was it on movie nights, when she always pulled you into her side before the opening credits even rolled?

Or had it always been like this?

Had you just been too afraid to look at it straight on?

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

The worst thing is you still want her here.

Even now, even after everything, you miss her.

You miss her laugh. You miss the way she teases you, always two steps ahead. You miss the way she used to throw popcorn at you during bad horror movies and tell you to shut up when you overanalysed the plot.

You miss your best friend.

But now you’re not sure if that’s all she was.

You don’t know what she is to you anymore.

You don’t know what you are to her.

And that unknowing—that—is what’s undoing you.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

The knock comes just after eight.

You’re sitting in the dark again, curled up on your bed with your back to the door, wearing her hoodie like a second skin and cradling a half-finished mug of lukewarm tea. You haven’t spoken to anyone in days.

The knock is soft.

Hesitant.

You freeze.

A second passes.

Then another.

Then a voice, low and uncertain: “It’s me.”

Your heart stumbles.

You don’t move. Don’t speak.

You think maybe if you’re quiet enough, she’ll go away. You’re not sure you can handle this. You’re not sure you can breathe with her in the room.

But the knock comes again.

“Please.”

When you open the door, the light from the hallway stings your eyes.

Natasha stands there in a faded tank top and joggers, barefoot, arms crossed tightly over her chest like she regrets this already. Her hair’s up in a messy twist, her jaw tight. But her eyes—they soften the second they land on you.

You know what she sees.

The tear-burns drying at the corners of your eyes. The sleeves of her jumper pulled down over your fists like you’re hiding in it.

You don’t say anything.

Neither does she.

She just stares for a moment, taking you in, like she wasn’t expecting you to look like this.

Like it hurts her to see it.

Then, quietly: “Can I come in?”

You nod without meaning to.

She follows you inside like she’s holding her breath.

You sit down on the edge of your bed, legs folding under you automatically, and she hesitates before lowering herself beside you—close, but not close enough to touch. She doesn’t look at you. Her hands rest between her knees. Her body is angled slightly away, like she doesn’t know if she’s welcome here.

You want to touch her so badly it aches.

You want to pull her close and feel her settle into your side like she used to. You want to bury your face in her neck and inhale the comfort you’ve been missing for weeks.

But you don’t move.

And neither does she.

“I’ve been worried about you.”

It’s quiet. Careful.

You nod again, eyes fixed on your knees. “I’ve been fine.”

You haven’t.

She doesn’t push. Just hums, soft and non-judgmental.

“I was going to check on you sooner,” she says, fingers playing with the hem of her shirt. “I kept meaning to.”

You wait for her to say but I didn’t. She doesn’t. She doesn’t have to.

You look at her from the corner of your eye. The low light of your bedroom makes her look smaller than usual. Her posture’s curled in on itself, defensive. Or maybe nervous.

Natasha Romanoff. Nervous.

It would be laughable if it weren’t so fragile.

“What changed?” you ask quietly. “Why now?”

She shrugs, like the answer is obvious. “I didn’t see you all week.”

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I know.”

And that’s it. Just that. I know.

She doesn’t excuse it. Doesn’t explain. Just owns it.

You almost wish she’d lie about it.

You don’t want to believe she had to choose to look for you.

You want her to have missed you.

You want her to—

“I missed you.”

You blink.

She’s looking at you now. She says it like it’s nothing.

Like it’s just a fact.

“I missed you,” she repeats. “Every day.”

You say nothing.

Your chest is filling with something you can’t name, something trembling and sharp at the edges. Something that wants to burst free.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

“I kept thinking about that night,” she says, voice softer now. “Trying to make sense of it. Wondering if I should’ve stopped us.”

You glance at her. Her brows are drawn in like she’s been stuck in this thought for days.

“I wasn’t that drunk,” she murmurs. “And neither were you.”

You feel your throat close a little.

“I think—” She breaks off. Sighs. “I think I wanted to believe we were more gone than we were. So I could tell myself it didn’t mean anything.”

The ache in your chest flares.

“And it did,” you whisper.

She nods.

You stare at her, stunned at the honesty in her face. No mask. No joke. Just… her.

She’s laying the pieces out for you.

All you have to do is say it.

“I’m in love with you.”

It comes out raw. Desperate. You didn’t mean to say it like that, like your ribs were cracking under the weight of it.

But maybe that’s the only way it could’ve come out.

Natasha freezes.

You stare down at your hands in your lap, blinking back heat in your eyes. You wish you’d eased into it. Said it pretty. Said it soft. You wish—

Her hand brushes yours. Then finds it. Her fingers curl around yours like they belong there. Your heart stutters. You look up. And she’s already leaning in.

The kiss is gentle. Quiet. Full of hesitation and history.

Her lips find yours like they’ve done it before—like they remember you.

There’s no firestorm this time. No drunken frenzy. No bite, no grab, no frantic unzipping of clothes. Just lips and hands and a slow ache in your chest that says home.

Her hand cups your jaw and your eyes flutter shut. You melt into her without a second thought, without even a choice. Your breath catches. Your fingers tighten around hers.

And it feels… right. Uncomplicated. Like this has always been waiting.

When you part, she keeps her forehead pressed to yours. Her breath warms your cheek.

“I knew,” she murmurs.

You frown faintly. “What?”

“I knew. Not that night. Before.” She breathes out a little laugh, short and self-deprecating. “I think I always knew.”

You want to ask why she never said anything. But you already know. The same reason you didn’t. You thought it was platonic. You wanted it to be platonic. Because that would’ve been easier. Because this? This changes everything. And somehow, it feels like you’ve never been more okay with that.

She kisses you again.

But it’s not gentle, not this time.

There’s something desperate in it, something deeper — not rough, but urgent. Like she’s only just allowed herself to want this, and now she’s starved.

You respond without thinking.

Her mouth moves against yours with more meaning, more ache, and when her hands find your waist, your ribs, the side of your neck — you let her. You open to her like it’s instinct, like your body remembers her even if your memory pretended to forget.

Clothes come off slowly.

Not in a frantic way, not like last time. You take your time now. Eyes on each other. Lingering touches. Bare skin unveiled like something sacred. Her fingers trail your spine. Your breath catches. She whispers your name like it’s a confession, and when you tilt your head back and exhale, her mouth finds the hollow of your throat like it belongs there.

You melt for her. You burn.

Your bedsheets get ruffled. Pillows shoved out of the way. Her hands never leave your skin, not for a second. You’re not drunk this time — you feel every press, every kiss, every moment with aching clarity.

You give yourself to her like it’s the first time.

Because it is.

This time, you’re awake for it.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

You sleep tangled up in each other. Her arms around your waist. Your head buried in her collarbone. Her heartbeat against your ear, steady and human and soft.

There’s no shame. No dread in your gut. No fear of what tomorrow will mean.

You don’t stay up all night replaying the footage in your head.

Because this time, there is no footage.

No witness.

Just her. Just you.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

The morning sunlight is softer than it was three weeks ago.

It bleeds across your floor in gold, catching on the outline of her shoulder where the covers have slipped low. Her skin is marked — lightly scratched and bitten in places where you’d been too caught up to think. And you know you match her now.

You wake in a bed full of heat, skin to skin, and you don’t flinch.

You don’t panic.

You just… lie there. Still. Warm. Whole.

Your cheek is pressed against her bare shoulder. Your legs tangled under the duvet. Her breath stirs your hair every so often. She hasn’t woken yet — or if she has, she’s pretending not to.

It’s peaceful.

It’s right.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

You lie like that for a while, unmoving.

Your muscles are sore. Your throat’s dry. Your heart feels raw, but not in a bad way. More like you cracked open last night, and now everything else feels sharper. Realer.

Natasha shifts a little behind you and her arm curls around your waist without needing to be asked.

You close your eyes.

You wonder if she’s thinking the same thing you are — that this is where you were always supposed to end up. That maybe, despite everything, despite the silence and the fear and the three weeks of pretending… this was inevitable.

Maybe you both just needed to get out of your own way.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

You don’t speak yet.

There’s no need.

Not now.

Last time, you woke in this bed naked and marked and full of questions. You spent the whole day terrified that it meant nothing. That it was a mistake.

This time, you don’t even need to look for answers.

She gave them to you last night.

In the way she touched you.

In the way she looked at you like you weren’t a secret.

In the way she kissed you like you belonged to her.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

You shift a little, slow and careful, to face her. The duvet slips off your bare shoulder. She blinks awake at the movement — or maybe she was already awake, just like you.

Her eyes meet yours. She doesn’t say anything. Neither do you. You just smile, small and honest. She mirrors it.

Then her hand reaches to brush a strand of hair from your cheek. The touch is feather-light, but it sends a full-body warmth curling through your chest.

You lean in before you can talk yourself out of it.

And she meets you halfway. The kiss is soft this time. Not frantic. Not desperate. Just real.

[Masterlist]

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